everyone keeps projecting their idea of lando and evelyn having another baby. unfortunately for them, thats just not in the cards right now. not when they're already living their best life.
﹙🥯﹚ 𝒻em ! oc ✴ husband , dad ! lando ◟ ⚽️ smau , fluff + mild angst ◜ᴗ◝ t.w. some very unsolicited hate comments that are unfortunately very in-line with how irl internet spaces are radio. kinda fell into a writing slump and procrastinated my test prep. have this little piece before i disappear indefinitely ／ 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.
liked by lando , martingarrix and 521,739 others
evelynderieux on the move but the party never stops 🧸🩵 joyeux 4 ans à mon petit tigre ! (translation: happy 4th to my little tiger!)
tagged: ﹫lando
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mclarenf1 ✪ lucky number 4 🧡 ♥︎ by creator , lando
user what?! how is babie so big already 🥹🤏
user hes growing up too damn fast ♥︎ by creator
⤷ user omg evelyn liked ! hiiii queen
lando ✪ yeah we made that cute thing ♥︎ by creator
user BOB?! some things never change 💀
⤷ quadrant ✪ alright boss, back to PR training you go
⤷ user he escaped the leash again huh?
evelynderieux ✪ we did indeed 😶🌫️
carmenmmundt ✪ 🥰🥰 ♥︎ by creator
user her normal hands in Landos PAWS will never not catch me offguard 😧
alexandramalenaleclerc ✪ bonne fête 💝 ♥︎ by creator
user with LN's branding i foshure thought this one would be a way bigger celebration
user here we go 😑 they're literally still in the UK. away from all of Z's friends. who would they have invited??
⤷ user i mean sure. but did you see the ridiculously lavish party Max threw for his kid's 1st birthday 👀
⤷ user obviously he did. bro finally got his long awaited mini-me 😅
⤷ user can we not make everything a competition?
user our boyyyyy he's so precious ❤️🩹❤️🩹
user i swear Z was born just yesterday! time really flies 🎂🌻
lando replied to your story !
lando best use of airport wifi 😁💞 bub takes after you, that
you oh noooo. that is all YOU 🫵 gremlin
lando LIES! SLANDER! evelynderieux reacted with 💀
lando text me before boarding ok?
you ofc!! now go inside before jon ends up calling me
lando i hate training week. it fucking cold out and hes making me run laps 😭
you poor baby :( ik you've got it tho!
you hang in there, only 4 more days ❤️🩹 lando reacted with 🧡
carlossainz55 replied to your story !
carlossainz55 happy birthday to the little one again
carlossainz55 thank you for agreeing on the last-minute video call. bella wouldn't take no for an answer
you no worries carlitos! i get it, they're stubborn little ducklings sometimes 😅
you see you lot at pre-season?
carlossainz55 depends when Qatar prologue preparations finish. but we will try 💪🏼💪🏼
you new WEC champion incoming 🥳 carlossainz55 reacted with 😈
liked by evelyn.n0rris , ln_edr_status and 112,042 others
deuxmoi LANDO NORRIS and his long-time partner EVELYN DE RIEUX are expecting a baby! Full story on https://x.com/deuxmoi/701882673
tagged: ﹫lando ﹫evelynderieux
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📍 laurendr.xoxo Is it fun speculating about the personal lives of actual people, whom you will never know? Ev doesn't owe an explanation to anyone but since this post has been gaining so much bad attention, I'm taking the liberty to make it clear that she is not pregnant. *I* am. Stop poking your nose in others' business and stop shoving cameras into people's faces. It is unpleasant.
user DAMN i had a whole paragraph prepared but Lauren came with serious ammo 😍
⤷ user yep. the frustration was simmering for a while. sis WENT OFF 🙈🤡
user "she was looking irritated" maybe don't start filming them like zoo animals on the street then ??
user look at Ev thooo!!! how is she gorgeous 24/7 ? 🤍
user GOD HAS HIS FAVORITES 😭 (tackling pavements in louboutins is nawt for the faint of heart)
user am i the only one whos kinda disappointed 💀 these two have such beautiful genes
user NO igwym :') just look at Z 🌸
⤷ user DONT 👊 BE 👊 A 👊 FUCKING 👊 CREEP❕️
user revolutionary idea: how about we let their PRIVATE life stay PRIVATE
၊|၊|၊ Dizzy on the Comedown • Turnover
liked by lando , kikagomes and 205,716 others
evelynderieux tan on + lovely architecture + fast cars = 💋
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lando ✪ 🩷🩷🩷🩷 ♥︎ by creator
user how dare i forget how obsessed they are with e/o 🥹❤️
user SHES SHOWING HIM OFFFF
user as she should 🙌 #LN1
user the way she didn't even tag him but hes here FIRST
user may this type of love run me over !
user did you guys see the Sky broadcast today? LANDO WAS CARRYING Z AROUND THE PITLANE 🥺💘
user 😩 forget preseason testing bro MY SHOW WAS ON
⤷ user i am lowkey obsessed with the genre of F1 drivers as dads 🛐 theyre so soft and lovely around kids ohhhh
⤷ user especially Lando with his carbon copy !! can they just get on with making another already 🙄
user one thing i can always count on is for ✨️MOTHER✨️ to serve FACE
liked by evlando.1oves and 62,837 others
norrussull.jpg George and Lando giggling their way through the presser. FORMULA ONE IS *SO* BACK! #AUSGP
"First of all, George, congratulations on the newest addition to your family. You're a father of three now, how's that?"
GR: Yeah, a bit wild [..] We already went through this twice with the boys, so I'm hoping Camila might be easier.
LN: Look at him. He's got so much experience [..] Trying to build a football team?
GR: If he thinks a football team has three people, I feel bad for his kid! [..] I'm talking about soccer, for those on the other side of the planet.
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user nerd george you will always be iconic !
user very important questions being asked in Pre Race conference 😸
user do NOT let Z see this, he will lock Lando out of their house again 🤣
user wait i'm new to this fandom. why do u always shorten "zeke"?? isnt it already a nickname for ezekiel
⤷ user because the name was leaked against EveLan's wishes. they still censor it so we do too, to respect that
user does Russell think american football has only 3 players 🤡🤡 why did he clarify like that
user CAMILA RUSSELL OH HOW PERFECT
user girl dad George era incomingggg 😚💕
user can he please get Lando on that agenda too 🙏🤎 i have been praying for three years now!!!
⤷ user Lan, just imagine a lil baby girl with Ev's big blue eyesss 🔮
⤷ user lmao not ya'll targeting his ONE WEAKNESS
liked by evelynderieux and 85,231 others
norrieux.updates Miss Aesthetic strikes again! this time from her hometown for a friend's wedding 💛
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user sometimes i realize that somewhere in the world, the drivers' families are also tuning in to watch races at the same time as me and it fw my brain a little
user THIS>>> we whine about results but they're probs worried sick for their guy 😞
user "miss"??? THAT IS MRS. LANDO NORRIS TO YOU ♥︎ by lando
user BAHAHAHA ofc he'd like this 😹
user i miss her in the paddock. Queen pls come back 🥹🫶
user wait but if she was in marseille, how was Z in Hungary?
user uh he has two parents. he was with his dad duhh‼️
user classic move. leaving the child with Lando who is working btw while she fucks off to vacation
user why tf are you so bitter my guy? 👀
⤷ user i'm not, it just facts. she shouldn't drop Z on him while he's on the clock. ofc he fucked quali yesterday, he was too busy worrying about unnecessary shit
⤷ user blaming a MAN's mistake on a woman is wild 😒 is she not supposed to have a life of her own?
⤷ user FYI Ev takes care of the kid 70% of the time. and when she brings Z to races, Lando is always with him between media sessions. guess why? because theyre both amazing parents and want to be as involved as possible 💖
user Evelyn is super committed to the color scheme and I LOVE IT 💫💐💐💐
user i'm not surprised by the rampant misogyny in this fandom but i wonder if the reason they chose to not have any more kids is the lack of free time
user at the risk of sounding parasocial, its definitely one of the reasons me thinks. with the guys being away for long periods, all day-to-day responsibilities fall on the WAGs alone. must be a bit suffocating surely 🤷
⤷ user oh damn... my respect for these women has increased exponentially 🪽
liked by lnfour and 27,839 others
lando2wdc "Podium on the last race before summer! And we've heard you had a special guest watching from the garage. How are you feeling about that?"
LN: Yeah, I mean, after the oversteer snap during Quali, we maximised for points this weekend [..] I would have liked to try for a win, especially with my son here with me, watching so closely. Unfortunately it just wasn't possible.
"Is he keen about racing then? Gives you pointers when you go home?"
LN: Yeah [*chuckles*] He's definitely passionate about it. I have two debriefs every Sunday. One from the team and the other from my son personally.
"Any plans on getting him into karting seriously? There are pictures floating around the internet of you frequently visiting a local track in Monaco."
LN: If he wants to do that, why not? [..] Right now, his hobbies are all over the place. He’s recently obsessed with motocross, for example. [..] But he's still very young. I'm not going to push him towards anything that he might later feel pressurised to continue just because of his surname.
"And the missus is fully on board with that, if he chooses to pursue racing professionally?"
LN: My wife is not going to say no outright. The puppy dog eyes are too strong [*smiles*] Although for both our sake, she prays he goes into something safer. Says worrying after one of us gives her enough heart attacks.
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user "my wife" "my son" OH GOD THIS IS SO SWEET IM SICKKKK ❤️🩹
user where can i order an utterly whipped Lando Norris?
⤷ user i fear there is only one limited edition and hes happily taken 😩
user the way he smiled broooo. this is so wholesome im crine
user Dad!Lando DAD!LANDO DAD LANDOOOOO 💞
user someone save Evelyn. both her boys are adrenaline junkies 😭
user do not save her. shes exactly where she wants to be 🙇♀️ ♥︎ by evelynderieux
⤷ user THERE SHE IS lurker pro max !!
user from watching them in 2018 when lando was a reserve driver to 2034. they really grew up in front of our eyes 🥀🥀
user OK FINE ILL CRY OVER MILLIONAIRES AGAIN
user this is my fairytale happily ever after btw
user look at himmmm. this man knows he has won in life
user NORRIS 2.0 COMING SOON ‼️
user Formula One better fucking watch out 😤 (what i wouldn't give to see the next gen rivalries begin)
၊|၊|၊ Good Days • SZA
liked by alex_albon , olliebearman and 1,029,373
lando gracias Majorca 🥭🥂🐚
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user GUYS WAKE UP!!! Lando Norris summer break dump just landed 💌
evelynderieux ✪ you could have chosen ANY picture but why the 2nd one 😒
lando ✪ shush you look pretty either way 💖 ♥︎ by evelynderieux
⤷ evelynderieux ✪ flattery will get you nowhere (je t'adore chérie) ♥︎ by creator
⤷ user GOD IVE SEEN WHAT YOU'VE DONE FOR OTHERS
user i too spent a week in Spain (without the S)
user she is everything and hes just Ken 🙇♀️
user the only acceptable dynamic ever tbh 💅🏼
user can't wait for racing to start again but i'm eating up these vacation crumbs 🥰❤️🔥
maxfewtrell ✪ mate why do I look smashed in the last slide?
lando ✪ because you were, u numpty
⤷ user lol the 'lets bully Max' agenda never dies
user Ev, P please introduce these idiots and their miniature versions to sunscreen 🙏🙏
user this too is carlando argue with the wall 🫸😶🫷
user lmao they hung out right before this trip tho. Z and Bella are bestiesss
pietra.pilao ✪ all the guys are sunburnt but Thiago is ready to go right back ♥︎ by creator
evelynderieux ✪ same 😭 Z won't let us unpack
user Z with his lil scooter 💝💖💞💟
user THEYRE SO PERFECT !!! i want to be them when i grow up
𝒏otes. ✰ i know i made the poll and technically a written oneshot won, but i got a spurt of inspiration and this happened ✨️ hope you enjoyed. i'm running low on ideas for the AU, though, so let me know if you guys have any requests!
hello everyone! after a bit of thinking, i have decided to move to @foumevie permanently. no, i will not be bombing this blog because i have a handful of fics here that many of you have shown much love, so thank you for that! they will remain intact if you want to re-read 💟
and i'd love if you guys could interact with my new blog once i start posting fics there again or just pop over for a chat! that said, i also heavily share my thoughts on certain drivers and the actual racing quite a bit over there—so, i completely understand if that's not your cup of tea. i won't follow a blog that shits on my faves either. this is just a head's up <3
(so so sorry for tagging this as x reader, just wanted it to reach the people who might end up in my asks about not posting)
p.s. that blog is strictly 16+ | if you're younger than that, DNI
a day in the life of the norris fam. that is to say: lando really, really likes this little life.
﹙ 🥟 ﹚ 𝒻em ! oc ✴ husband , dad ! lando ◟ 🧸 oneshot , domestic fluff , implied angsty topics ( mentions of postpartum depression ) ◜ᴗ◝ word count. 2.8k radio. hello, angels! first of all, i apologise in advance for the inaccuracies in tangents about of mental health issues and medical emergencies. regardless, i hope you like the read. the positive response on this series so far means so much to me. do let me know if you guys have any requests! ／ 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.
The little rusted bell dangling from a door with mahogany veneer chipping off it chimes when they push through into the restaurant. The smell of freshly baked garlic bread and noodles lathered in an obscene amount of sauce that would make his nutritionist blush floods them immediately.
“Alright, little man. You decide on our menu yet?” Lando asks, glancing at the tiny figure next to him.
Zeke has his lips parted, head tilted back, looking above at the mural of stars in the sky painted on the ceilings. He snaps to attention just enough for three rapid nods. “The chocolate one? Please please please–”
“We talked about this already,” Lando sighs, cutting off this newly discovered tactic of repeating words until the toddler eventually gets his way. Complete resistance is still a work in progress, but it's far easier to deal with a grumpy kid than a sick one.
And anyway, who puts chocolate on pita bread and calls it pizza?
“You cannot have dessert for dinner. We can negotiate about a treat after,” he says.
“So unfair!” His son pouts, cheeks puffed up in a way that seems dangerously close to a tantrum. Thankfully, he turns to the slices on display before Lando has to resort to underhanded tactics.
Zeke presses his forehead to the glass, breath landing as hazy condensation upon the surface. He remains quiet while a whole minute ticks by. Then two, then three, then four.
By this point, Lando is smirking. “Anytime now, mate. Before we turn into fossils just standing here.”
Finally his carbon copy, in all capacity but the even temper, looks back at him. “Can I get anchovies and pineapple on mine?”
This is surely karma, he thinks as Lando heaves a long-suffering sigh. His own flesh and blood, craving fish of all things. Just where had he messed up so spectacularly?
Nonetheless, he concedes, “As long as you don't bring it anywhere near me, and brush your teeth very thoroughly later.”
“I'm only joking. I want pepperoni,” Zeke giggles, turning around to cling to his trousers. His hands make grabby motions and Lando takes it as cue to pick him up, leveling him with the countertop.
“You're a piece of work, aren't you?” Lando sneaks a quick kiss to his cheek, turning to the woman obviously ogling from behind the computer. “Hi, we'd like to place our order now.”
“Oh– of course!” She startles from a state of semi-shock, fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard. “What would you like today?”
Instead of answering, he adjusts his grip on Zeke who in turn looks up at Lando with wide eyes. “One perpe– uhm, pepperoni pizza, please. And a… chicken ravioli?”
“That's right. What else?”
Zeke is adamant on avoiding eye contact with the staff, though, wringing his fingers together. “And tiramisu for Mama.”
Lando smiles, unabashed pride chafing against his ribcage, offering Zeke a high five. “Good job. And here you were saying you couldn't order by yourself.” He addresses the woman next, slightly concerned for her. She looks ready to simply melt. “Can we take it to-go, if that's okay?”
“That is very okay,” she affirms enthusiastically, almost starstruck. “You're free to take a seat while you wait. Come back when the order number is announced.”
They find an empty table near the farthest corner, just by the window. Outside, the streetlights are beginning to flicker on, bathing the harbour in a golden glow.
Everything sparkles in Monaco—from the polished clean roads to the state-of-the-art buildings that Evelyn wouldn't stop rambling about when she first visited during uni break, all those years ago. The thought brings an instant smile to his face.
Zeke, meanwhile, abruptly snaps out of his trance of drumming his fingers on the countertop and toying with the flowers on the ceramic vase. “Dada!”
Lando mimics his adorable gasp. “Yes, Ezekiel?”
He straightens up at the rare use of his proper name. “How come Mama gets to have sweets for dinner?”
Yeah, that's exactly the line of questioning Lando'd expected. He rolls his eyes, “That's why we got the dumplings, you muppet. Who are those for?”
Zeke laughs loudly at the nickname. “Bonbon!”
“No, we don't give her chocolates. It's bad for her. Would you like it if Bonnie became poorly?”
The toddler looks appropriately horrified at the thought of their dog getting ill. Lando is secretly glad. Saves them the trouble of worrying about Zeke sneaking her chocolates. The same ones he gets showered with any time they bump into any Formula One adjacent residents of the principality.
Which happens worryingly often, given the two squared kilometers they are working with.
Lando sees their order number flash on the overhead screens of the checkout somewhere between a very dramatic recounting of how Isabel Sainz is the best striker—following in her grandfather's footsteps clearly—but even she couldn't get past Zeke's brilliant goalkeeping.
He gets to his feet and picks up his boy in one swoop, worried that Zeke would tire himself out before dinner if he runs around. The inkling he had of the cashier being aware of his occupation rings true, and Lando happily signs her phone case. She must be a new hire, because with how often their family finds themselves dining there, Lando is pretty sure they have a shrine dedicated to orange caps and polaroids alone.
When he's finally buckling Zeke into his booster seat, custom ordered to fit a Miura, he asks, “Did you have fun, bubba?”
“It was the best day ever!” Zeke exclaims, dancing under the clasp of the safety harness. Then he looks a little sheepish, bringing a finger to his lips, “But don't tell Mama.”
The giddiness bubbles up again as Lando ruffles his hair. “Your secret's safe with me.”
All things considered, he too had the best day being a soccer mum. Even if he and Carlos were not-so-discretely scared of the passionate women yelling from the sidelines.
The house is quiet by the time Lando pulls into the driveway, the only sign of life being the porch lights turned on. He jogs towards the scanner to unlock the entry to the underground garage, and leaves behind the salty air and faint crash of waves in Fontvieille.
Zeke is running away the second Lando puts him down. Bonbon greets him when he slips through the door joining the garage stairs to the main hallway. She curls around his feet eagerly, tail wagging at the sight of pizza boxes and takeout containers in his hands.
“You'll get your food soon,” Lando chuckles. “Give me a minute.”
He catches a glimpse of Zeke zooming around in the process of discarding his clothes. The trail of the red and white jersey kit leads to a scene of him sitting on his Winnie the Pooh chair inside the bathtub, dreading what comes next.
Zeke is like a cat in certain mannerisms, Lando muses as he adjusts the water temperature and turns the shower on. For one, he hates any type of water that doesn't come with a side of sand from the beach. Lando washes the sweat and grime from rolling around in a field off his son, and then dries him off with a warm fresh from the sun-warmed laundry.
Finally he wrangles him into short-sleeved pyjamas, kissing Zeke's hair. “Now you can go watch Bluey.”
It's comical how fast the kid scurries toward their living room. Lando takes his time to shower and change before tackling takeout, dumping them into plates and cutting up Zeke's pizza slices into smaller bits. He fills the dog's water dispenser before carefully opening a new packet of kibble, pouring it into Bonbon's bowl.
“Happy eating,” Lando chirps to the Border Collie, scratching between her ears while she digs in. Smartest breed, they're called. Cutest too, apparently, although he's arguably biased.
It takes him a while, moving through the different chores like checking them off some imaginary checklist. He doesn’t do this nearly as much as he'd like to—he's not home enough for that—but it makes him content whenever he can.
There is a distinct comfort in mundaneness.
The sun has fully set by the time he rounds the corner and makes it to the office room tucked at the back of the house, furthest away from his gaming studio. Evelyn is not the biggest believer of feng shui, but any opportunity she has of avoiding his loud gaming chatter, she will happily take.
Lando knocks on the open door, as a formality. “Baby?”
A fond smile tugs on his lips as he watches his wife jump in her seat—an old gaming chair she's claimed as her own—before looking up from her computer, thick reading glasses sliding down her nose. “Hi! Oh my god, you're back already?” Her concerned gaze snaps to the clock, “How late—It's eight already?!”
His pretty busy bee. Lando walks inside, balancing the plate of dumplings in his hand while he leans against her desk right by her chair. Coincidentally his eyes snag on the screen where the payment portal to a ticketing website is open. “It's alright. We got held up for a while at the restaurant. Zeke wanted seafood pizza.”
Evelyn notices him looking and starts fiddling with the cuffs of her sweatshirt. “You look like you took it on the chin,” she jokes. But it's far too strained to be believable.
Lando sighs, reaching over to tug at the scrunchie on her wrist. “Definitely. Talked him out of it in seconds, didn't I?” He gathers all her hair, twisting it into a wonky bun, nudging her cheek gently before his hands fall to his side. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh. Peachy,” she says offhandedly, refusing to meet his gaze. “Just work stuff being… complicated.”
“Evelyn.”
Lando doesn’t mean to probe, but it's not like he can help it. He's skittish on his best days, far too aware of being perceived to just let himself be. The upside to that is noticing every single micro expression on the people surrounding him. His wife and son being the first couple names on that list.
And admittedly, he's a bit scared.
Scared of ever having to face the version of her she was soon after Zeke's birth. He doesn’t resent her for it, fuck no. Still, a selfish part of Lando is aware that if he was trusted with the broken parts of her to piece together for a second time, he's not sure he won't let her down.
Realistically, he also knows things will not get that bad again. Not if Lando can help it.
But it's not like a medical emergency that took all of their plans and ripped them to shreds—ending with Evelyn nearly hemorrhaging before the doctors called for a C-section, and Zeke staying in the NICU for the first few days of his life, supported on a CPAP just to fucking breathe—was in Lando's hands either.
If he had lovingly called her his sunshine, the weeks after were some of the darkest days of summer. So, yes, Lando probes. To measure the burden on her shoulders and share it in any way he can.
Ultimately, his stubborn staring wins out and Evelyn huffs, tucking her legs underneath her. “Remember that mixed-use project I’ve been leading? The one with the weird triangular site and the setback nightmare?”
“The one you’ve been dreaming about in your sleep, yeah,” Lando nods, taking the fork and digging it into a dumpling, offering it to her.
She opens her mouth like a baby bird, letting him feed her, while she looks up at him with a mixture of awe and something else that makes him feel all warm and gooey in the best way.
“Right. So we had a coordination meeting this morning—structural, MEP, sustainability, the whole Avengers lineup,” Evelyn continues around a mouthful, “and civil casually mentions that our cantilever over the retail frontage is… ambitious.”
“That sounds like engineer-speak for ‘absolutely fucking not.’”
“Exactly!” She lets out a humorless laugh. “Apparently the column grid we locked in last month doesn’t align cleanly with the parking ramp below. So either we introduce a transfer beam the size of a submarine or we pull back the façade by almost a meter.”
Lando doesn’t bother pretending he knows what that even means. All he hears is sexy mathematical talk from his genius wife. “Is that bad?”
“It’s not catastrophic. Just—” Evelyn flaps her arms helplessly, looking like a very irritated owl. “That façade is the whole concept. The floating glass over the plaza. If we pull it back, the proportions change, so the renderings are now basically a lie.”
“So you have to redesign it?”
She slumps forward in defeat, hitting her head against the keyboard with a whine.
Lando gently nudges her up, offering her another bite. “Okay. So what did you say in the meeting?”
“I tried to negotiate. I asked if we could shift the column grid and absorb it in the core. But then MEP said that would mess with their vertical risers. And sustainability reminded us we’re targeting a pretty aggressive daylight factor on the second floor, so deepening the beam could block light.”
He whistles softly. “That’s… a lot of people to keep happy.”
“That’s the job,” Evelyn mutters begrudgingly. She studies his face, then pouts. “I also feel stupid for caring this much about a cantilever.”
“Hey.” Lando's tone softens, even if his thoughts drift to how Zeke makes that exact same face when he's sulking. “You’re allowed to be upset. You worked really hard on something, and now it might be for nothing. That's disappointing.”
Her shoulders drop a little. “Yeah. That.” Then she mumbles, “And now they're asking me to go down to the site this weekend. As if that's even an option! This whole thing was a complete waste of time.”
And there it is, the crux of the problem.
Even though Lemiel Atelier's headquarters operates in London, Evelyn is still based off Monaco and rarely flies to sites. All the in-person tasks are largely handled by her understudies. But something like a mini crisis surely calls for the owner to be present.
So Lando tilts his head, confused, “And why isn't that an option? I'm easily free for another week.”
Evelyn makes a noise, staring at him like he's offended three generations of her family as she takes off her glasses. “Mon chéri, mais sois pas bête. You are flying to Woking on Wednesday, and then directly to Belgium. Who will look after Z?”
It's his turn to look at her like she has grown three heads. “I can manage alone for half a week. And Z would love a trip to his Omi's! I'm positive my parents will happily take him during the race weekend.”
Instead of being relieved, she looks even more unsettled. “But they are coming to see you race, Lan. It will be unfair for us to just hand him off to them whenever it is convenient.”
Lando goes quiet for a moment, thinking. Finally, he sets down the cutlery and pulls her chair back, standing between her parted legs as he cups her face. “Baby. You're worrying about nothing here.”
Evelyn opens her mouth to retort but he leans down to peck her lips. “No, let me finish. Our parents adore the shit out of that brat, yeah? Mum and Dad will be on cloud nine. Plus, Oli's coming there with his girls. Zeke will go straight to wreaking havoc with them.”
For a bit she gnaws at the inside of her cheek and Lando gladly lets her. Evelyn understandably has a bit of separation anxiety when it comes to their son, and—no matter his input—the decision is ultimately hers.
But eventually, she pushes further in his palms, briefly closing her eyes. “When did you get so wise, Mister Norris? You sound like a motivational speaker.”
“Thank you, Missus Norris, I’ll add that to my résumé.” Lando grins down at her, kissing the crown of her head, backing away to offer her a hand.
Evelyn takes it and stands up, but before he can utter another word, she grabs the front of his t-shirt, dragging him into a proper kiss. It's sure and warm, and all he can do is hold onto her hips, pulling her closer. For them, skin to skin is never nearly enough.
When they do pull apart, he finds himself chasing after her blindly. She giggles sweetly, pecking the corner of his mouth instead. Lando is about to complain but–
“Mama! Dada! Look, I can climb this too!”
Yeah, that. From there it's a mad dash to reach Zeke and pull him down from whatever counter, door or archway he's summited this time. Ideally prior to him jumping off it.
Truly, what a day. And Lando won't trade it off for all the riches in the world.
𝒏otes. 💌 i feel like the conversation got a little too technical on this. but trust me, even i don't know what's evelyn is going on about. i just copy pasted whatever my cousin (who's an actual architect) once rambled in the group chat lol. let me know your thoughts for this one ! byeee
a little ski trip has lando feeling a lot of emotions. evelyn is haunting the narrative and zeke just wants to eat ice lollies.
﹙ 🍧 ﹚ 𝒻em ! oc ✴ husband , dad ! lando ◟ ☃️ oneshot , family fluff ◜ᴗ◝ word count. 2.5k radio. heya, lovelies! i wrote this in under 3 hours so pardon any typos. also, if any of you are interested in this lil au of mine, feel free to suggest some ideas of what you want to see the norris fam do next <3 ／ 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.
Rule number one of parenting is that whatever you think you know about parenting is all hearsay. Because while there are certain universal troubles of keeping a tiny human alive and well, there will be equally as many hurdles that are unique to your custom order from the ‘gremlin distribution system’.
If Lando believed he knew sacrifice prior to acquiring a second shadow, he was ridiculously mistaken. Suddenly race weekends, marketing obligations and his wife's job are not the only predictable handful of factors he is planning life around. There are pediatrician appointments, daycare availability, the peculiar eating habits he swears he has no idea where Zeke inherited from.
And, even though Lando's sort of glad that they have not reached the point of discussing schooling yet—what do you mean his son needs to sit in a classroom and learn fucking multiplication tables? He's a baby!—there is always Little League Football.
In theory, Lando should be ecstatic. Hyperactivity is apparently very common at Zeke's age. So, for the toddler to have found an outlet for his boundless energy and having committed to it for more than half a week should be something of a miracle.
The operative word being ‘should’.
Lando is decidedly not as glad about the kicks that can give fully grown zebras a run for their money. Do zebras even have money?
Needless to say, he's halfway delirious by the time he finally succumbs to the wrath of small feet jammed against his ribs. Evelyn would call it karma for having once whispered to her pregnant tummy in the dead of night, just to coax the baby into moving under his touch. The novelty does wear off eventually.
When Lando lifts his head enough to glance at the clock on the bedside table, it blinks thirty five minutes into eight o'clock on a crisp Monday morning. His head drops into the furrowed pillow again.
“Dada is not snoring anymore.”
“Mhmm. Peut-être qu’il est en train de se réveiller. Dada il est toujours bruyant, hein?” Comes as a whisper from the second voice.
“Like–Like an engine,” Zeke replies so enthusiastically, giggling afterwards and likely blowing raspberries into his own messy fringe.
“Il est tout aussi rapide, lui,” Evelyn chuckles along with him. “Always in a hurry. Except when it comes to waking up.”
Lando bites back a snort.
Half the conversation is lost on him, but it's a price he's gladly willing to pay to see his in-laws light up whenever Zeke responds to them in his broken French. The four-year-old understands mostly everything, but speaking is an entirely different ballpark.
Having enough of the jokes at his expense, Lando flips over without preamble, catching the heel that was wedged into his side and tickling mercilessly. “What was that about an engine, mate?”
“Dada!” Zeke shrieks, peals of laughter falling from his parted lips as he thrashes his limbs carelessly. “You were awake!”
“It's rude to talk about people behind their back.” Openly grinning now, Lando locks his arms around him, planting a dramatic wet kiss to the side of Zeke's head while the boy squirms to get out from the hug.
“‘M sorry,” Zeke finally concedes, giant green-blue eyes blinking up at their mirrors. And while the coloring may be all him, Lando knows that exaggerated puppy eyes are no one but Evelyn's. It should be illegal how quickly that makes his heart swell until the warm fuzziness is spreading all across his body. “Mama says you snore like a race car.”
There is an exaggerated gasp beside him. Lando chuckles, digging out his arm from under the duvet for Evelyn to melt against his side. She mumbles petulantly, always smelling like peaches, “You just sold me out, Z. I thought we had an alliance!”
“Nah, this is my little sleeper agent right here,” Lando boasts fondly, voice still hoarse, ruffling Zeke's curls that stick up every which way. They are both unfortunate in the bedhead department. “Mission accomplished, zero-zero-four. Great work. Over and out.”
Zeke flashes a toothy grin that implies a world of trouble. Immediately he scrambles from the cozy nook between him and Evelyn, throwing himself onto Lando's stomach, knocking the air out of him with an audible ‘oof’. “So I can have pancakes now? With choco chips and syrup? Over and out.”
Lando sighs. “I don't think they have the ones you like here, buddy. How about we get some hot chocolate instead? With whipped cream?”
Bless them, the cooks do try. But when the pancakes are really ambitious crêpes up in the French alps, and the result is an upset toddler in their hands, absolutely nobody has a good day.
“But you promised. In the airplane,” Zeke frowns, little fists balling up. “I ate the broccy.”
Of course he brings up the offensive greens Lando had to bribe him to eat as a last resort. Fuck private charters and their posh menus. He glances to Evelyn for help but she has both eyes closed, pretending not to listen. “Traitor,” he mumbles.
She stifles a laugh under her breath. “Actions have consequences.” When her lashes flutter open, she looks at him smugly.
And the thing is, he can't bring himself to be annoyed. Not when she is so content drowning in a mess of blankets even with the thermostat cranked up in the hotel room, dark brown hair fanning around her head like a halo and, perhaps most importantly, completely at peace.
Guilt has odd ways of creeping into your conscience. Lando feels it the most when making the outrageous demands from his loved ones that have somewhat become his normal. With his line of work, he literally cannot settle into one place. Formula One is not exactly known for its lack of motion.
For a long time, he thought playing family man would be a glorified pipe dream until he was ready to give up racing. Chasing wins while always risking his life by some measure, and still calling himself responsible for somebody is a dangerous juxtaposition. It's always one or the other, never both at the same time.
Yet, Lando has long accepted this about himself: he's greedy to a fault.
Maybe that explains why he didn't shoot down Evelyn's idea of uprooting her entire life to accommodate his.
They bickered about it, by God they did. And no matter how good her arguments were—her work is largely remote, she was already living between Monaco and London, she loved him enough to move countries so they could end this game of ‘match my timezone’—Lando never had a real problem with it in the first place.
Evelyn loves being a mother, anyone with eyes can tell.
That does not mean it doesn't land like a gutpunch every single time. When the mess in their living room spirals out of hand, or when the cutlery sometimes doesn't make it out of the dishwasher until the last possible second. Or the blatant resignation and exhaustion clear as day on her face after one particularly terrifying hospital visit when Zeke—having been feverish for four days straight—became unresponsive after a nap.
All while Lando was sitting in a fucking conference room, in front of a bazillion cameras, marching his own pity party regarding mildly uncomfortable questions.
So, he felt significantly less bothered about dropping off the grid, whisking his family off to the relatively secluded confines of snow-covered mountains as soon as the season wrapped up following an unnecessarily extravagant team Christmas party that Zak insists on every year.
“Tell you what, we can ask them about the pancakes,” Lando says quickly, panicking at the first signs of jutted out lips trembling. “But we will also get some toast and eggs, so you still have options. Alright?”
He is totally spitballing. They will end up sharing the sorry excuse for pancakes when Zeke inevitably gets bored with it. Evelyn knows, and the menace just smirks. Rude.
“Sure!” Thankfully, their son seems none the wiser. Just when the relief of an early averted crisis is starting to settle in, Zeke kicks his feet into Lando's waist as if directing a horse, “Dada, get uuuup. We go now.”
This time Evelyn does laugh and Lando breathes through his nose. “The restaurant is not open yet, mate.”
Zeke opens his mouth to land another dubiously logical yet astonishingly rigid rebuttal, only for his mother to sit upright, coaxing him into her arms. “How about we brush our teeth first, hm? Let Dada wake up properly. You remember that mechanic auntie explaining how some engines need time to start?”
Lando sinks down into the mattress. As if Evelyn talking about his exhaustion has spoken it into existence. He catches her eye when she twirls once making Zeke squeal past happy babbles. ‘Thank you,’ he mouths, truly grateful.
Her nose scrunches up playfully as she wags a finger at him. ‘You owe me one.’
And, oh, his heart is doomed to stutter.
Like this, Lando feels like the first time he's falling in love all over again. But instead of an obnoxiously neat uniform with the bright yellow accents of Acacia house on the lapels, she is in a ruffled hoodie that definitely belonged to him some centuries ago.
With messy hair, scouring through a bag of toiletries, their son hiked up on her hip, providing quick nonsensical replies to Zeke's endless curiosity.
Like this, Evelyn is nothing short of a daydream.
Lando is not overly fond of life threatening situations. Rich, coming from a person who violates speed limits for a job. Yet, given the choice of keeping his limbs intact and spine upright, it's an easy pick.
Evelyn, regrettably, disagrees.
She's beaming when they find themselves in the middle of a busy Val d'Isère by noon. It would be blinding, but the sunlight glinting off pale snow everywhere has got that covered.
He's barely surprised when she kisses him gently, pulling back just as quick—the constant paranoia of public scrutiny does that to you—before kissing Zeke's forehead, too. “I'm going to take the lift up, okay? Let's rendezvous at two for lunch?” But then she hesitates. “If bubba gets hungry–”
And there it is.
As much as he isn't fond of risking his neck jumping off the side of mountains, he knows how much this means to Evelyn. She has basically grown up snowboarding every summer since she was a kid. He's heard the tales of braving through flat light since they made a habit of bunking rugby and hockey together in Year Nine.
He would rather swallow raw fish than deny her this.
“Go on, baby,” Lando cuts her off before she can overthink it, thumb brushing the freckles on the apples of her cheek. “Have fun. We'll be fine on our own, right, Z?”
“So much fun!” Zeke throws both hands up from where he was inspecting the clump of ice cradled in his gloves. Lando is thankful he hasn't tried to taste test. “But what's ran– ranev… uh?”
He chuckles, playfully jostling his wife who is practically vibrating with excitement. “It means we're going to meet up. Say bye-bye to Mama.”
“Bye byeeeee!”
“Bye, my loves. See you soon,” Evelyn coos, eyes softening significantly before she starts trekking up to the queue.
The boys keep waving until she is a nondescript blur in a long line waiting for empty gondolas. Lando places his hands on his hips, “So, what do you want to do first? Try the small slopes, or play here?”
Zeke, however, is awestruck by the tallest cliff in the horizon. “How many lollies can we make if we scoop up all the ice here?”
Lando blinks at him owlishly. “A lot, I reckon.”
“But how much?”
“Enough to feed all your kindergarten mates probably.”
“Really?! How many hoovers do we need to take all of this back home?” His son has literal stars in his eyes, and it makes Lando want to simultaneously laugh and burst into tears.
He settles for pulling at the giant pompom on Zeke's beanie. “You're just made of so many questions today.”
Zeke giggles, attempting to drag Lando along as they trudge through the ice. It doesn't have the desired effect but it's endearing all the same. “Last. D’you think clouds get tired of floating sometimes?”
Lando smiles, putting on a show of thoughtfulness. “Dunno. Maybe that's why they rest against the mountains sometimes. To catch a break. Or like a very shoddy pit stop.”
“Pit stop,” Zeke echoes, fully invested in absorbing the tidbit like a very important piece of information. He then blurts the next part as if it's another universal truth. Like the sky is blue or that candy is sweet: “You have good answers, Dada. They are my favorite ever.”
Out of left field, Lando has the urge to scoop him up in his arms. So, he does. Because he can. Because his son thinks his stupid self, that stumbles over words and is not any better than a train wreck every other day, is good at answers.
He won't cry, he swears he won't. But holy shit—that's the best validation he's ever received.
“Dada?” His sweet boy questions, not fighting the embrace. Zeke leans his head back onto Lando's shoulder, watching him carefully through a pair of tinted goggles.
“Sorry,” Lando sounds choked even to himself. He kisses the soft brown curls once more. “Do you want to walk, sweetheart?”
Zeke shakes his head with newfound alarm. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ before tilting his head and latching onto Lando's neck. “Hug?”
And that one simple word, barely there syllables, instantly knocks the racer back a couple years into the past. When he missed most of Zeke's milestones being stuck in simulators or the cockpit. He loves driving, he really does. This sport has basically shaped his entire life, given him opportunities and luxuries that few others get.
But, Lando also loves his family. They are his whole world.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—will ever compare to the feeling of walking through the front door and straight towards the pastel foam mats that had taken over their house. Only for the most adorable boy, with moon cheeks and the brightest smile, to make grabby hands and mumble, “Hug?”
The first words Zeke ever spoke. And then, to the fond chagrin of Lando and Evelyn, never kept quiet again.
“Yeah, mate. Of course,” Lando whispers, mostly to himself.
And so they go, on their way up to the tiny slopes of the base camp, chattering about everything and nothing all at once. It's a lovely notion, knowing Zeke feels comfortable enough to not shy away from narrating everything that crosses his mind, bouncing between topics faster than his brain can catch up.
It might be Lando's favourite sound ever.
Later at night, when Zeke is expectedly conked out after playing in the snow all day, Lando clings to Evelyn. Caging her against the bathroom counter and recalling the entire exchange in vivid detail into the safety of her warm skin, drinking in the soothing scent of her bodywash. What a sap.
If he leaves out the inconsequential fact that he ended up letting Zeke have not one but two Kinder eggs, then it's nobody's business but his and his tiny sleeper agent's.
𝒏otes. 💌 this was a very vivid dream i had, fueled with a ton of maladaptive daydreaming. in honor of F1 coming back this week and us surviving yet another winter break, hope you had fun reading ~
Hi I love your stories! Sorry if this bothers you or I'm confusing you, but a few days ago I saved a post about a future story of Lando and a figure skater who I would swear was yours and now I can't find it anywhere. So it's perfect if you've decided not to publish it or postpone it but could you tell me if the post was yours? because otherwise I'm officially going crazy.
thank you, darling! you're valid for asking, i don't mind.
yes, i was the one who posted that masterlist, but i ultimately decided to private it. got a bad case of 'hate whatever i write' and entirely scraped the first chapter i'd written. worry not tho! it'll be back sometime this year when i come up with a better outline 🥲
🍪 ────── this is a masterlist for all my works from the dad!lando universe! they can be read as standalone pieces and are not in chronological order. 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
៙ PAiRiNG. lando norris × fem! oc (evelyn de rieux)
៙ RADiO. first of all, as is true for all RPF, this is purely fictional. i do not mean to offend anyone with how their characters are portrayed in this au. that said, i wish you enjoy reading about this family as much as i did writing them. evie and baby zeke have my heart... and lando's, in this universe <3
៙ WARNiNGS. there will be mild mentions of a difficult pregnancy. i will try my best to write these topics with utmost respect for people who actually go through these irl. but i have neither given birth myself, nor raised kids or have had any similar experiences. so, please ignore the medical inaccuracies.
𓏲 ˖ CONTENTS .. ! ࣪ 𓈒 ⭑
with arms wide open. 2.5k , fluff ۶ৎ a little ski trip has lando feeling a lot of emotions. evelyn is haunting the narrative and zeke just wants to eat ice lollies.
notes ✰ i will not be making taglists for it since i'm planning to upload oneshots on a whim. but if you have an idea you want to see, leave an ask or dm!
hi, my loves ! just a bit of heads up: if you see any interactions from @foumevie , it is me 😅 it's just my backup account for when i want to reblog random shit, outright fangirl, lurk and occasionally write some fics in.
real talk: the amount of absolutely shit AI slop floating around the fanfic community rn is a terribly unfunny joke. and what's more disappointing to see is the amount of people giving these so-called 'writers' a platform by engaging with their stories (i'm talking 1k likes in the first 2 days). while i've seen amazing writers work for months on churning out incredible one-shots averaging at 10k words and getting at most 300 notes, if that?
and look, i know the whole deal of 'write for yourself first' but you cannot tell me it's not disheartening to see the same five-word sentences repeated like a broken record (because AI cannot fucking create stories, it just makes empty prose with no thought behind it) getting so much traction.
what's more infuriating is that any person with a higher literacy level than an 8th grader can tell which stories are AI written. there is a distinct hollow pattern to these (which has nothing to do with em dashes btw) that is easily recognizable if you've read more than 5 decent—and most importantly human-made—books or fanfics.
as a reader foremost, i am just so over this. bring back genuine creativity. if you cannot write without having chatgpt build the paragraphs for you, then you should not be 'writing' AT ALL !!
summary: when lando norris keeps coming into your flower shop, you’re determined to figure out why he needs that many orders.
[word count] 6.1k
warnings: strangers to friends to lovers | flower shop owner! reader | fluff | humor | obvious and some not so obvious pining | kissing | humour! | cliches! | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion
a/n: hello!!! and welcome to my very first formula one fic 🙌🏻 I’ve been writing nhl fics for years now and i’ve decided it’s finally time to dip my toe into some new media! hope any devoted f1 readers and/or my previous followers take their time to check this out.
🎶 say you love me by fleetwood mac, message in a bottle by taylor swift + don’t dream it’s over by crowded house
lando norris has never been too fond about the smell of flowers.
it's not that there's anything wrong with the floral scent—it's just definitely, absolutely not for him. there's something about that light, almost crisp musty smell that rubs lando the wrong way.
or maybe it's perhaps what he associates with those smells. red roses? his primary school principal who very clearly had it out for lando. daisies? the single flower he picked for his 1st grade crush, and she threw the petals back in his face as some sort of childish rejection. lilies? his late grandmothers funeral. morbid, yes, but true.
so to say he was dreading walking into this monaco floral shop was an understatement. it's painted a pastel peach, windowsills just a few shades darker so that they stand out from the brick. not that you can really see them though, not with the abundance of flowers in the hanging window baskets.
lando has already passed the store twice in procrastination. the first time he claimed he needed a coffee from the cafe across the street—because if he had to go in a flower shop, he at least needed some caffeine to serve as a pick me up while he did so.
the second time—okay, well, the second time he didn't have a valid excuse. lando simply just kept trucking by like the peach coloured brick wasn't flashing at him. taunting him with its happy colour and girly smell.
it's just...it's his elderly neighbours birthday. his elderly neighbour who he adores and who always bakes cookies for him, and lando won't be home to wish her well because of traveling. and she loves flowers. lando knows this because they're always on her counter, and he can smell peonies on her clothes anytime she stops by for milk, pinching lando's cheek while she calls him adorable.
so he knows he has to do this. his displeasure towards the arrangements be damned. lando tells himself to man the hell up and do this one nice thing for the sweet woman across the hall.
lando inhales strongly, collecting as much monaco sea air as possible before entering the shop. the wooden door creaks as he pushes it open, and instantly lando is hit with a million pollen and petal particles.
"fuckin' hell." he mumbles to himself, voice barley audible as his green eyes trail around the shop. with something similar to a grimace on his face, lando takes in the overgrown space. flowers fill every available space, making it almost impossible for a normal folk—or clueless folk—like him to navigate through.
lando takes a step, and the floorboards groan under his weight, giving away how worn and aged this place is. it's been a flower shop for as long as lando has lived in monaco, and for a moment, he lets himself wonder how long before too. surely, years based on the way that the smell so practically oozing from the light blue striped wallpaper.
wallpaper he can barley see, mind you, due to the wall of roses.
"is there something I can help you find?"
lando blinks, head snapping away from a bright yellow bundle of...some kind of flower, and towards the direction of your voice.
there's a section of teal counter, an old fashioned register and company cards sitting on top, and that's where you are. you've got on a apron that's the same peach colour as the bricks outside. and your hair’s pulled back in an effortless kind of way, and lando already knows that you smell like the flowers all around.
he swallows roughly and blinks again.
you smile, almost in amusement, and that's when he realizes that he's been stroking a flower petal like a muppet. "sorry, yeah, actually."
lando weaves through the various display tables until he's at the counter. up close, he's able to get a proper look at you, and his mouth goes dry at the sight. you're ridiculously beautiful. like other worldly kind of beautiful that would make even the most charismatic and charming men fall to their knees.
also known as him.
lando pushes through the sudden school boy nerves that are threatening to climb up his throat, sending you a boyish—yet confident—grin. "I want to send my neighbour flowers for her birthday, but i've got no clue about flowers."
you hum, "okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes?"
he sends you a sheepish look, palms flat on the counter top. "all of them."
you giggle and lando swears he could faint at the sound.
"all of them?"
"yeah," he nods, "I swear that lady is like a bloody flower enthusiast. she's always got them on her island." lando pauses, a smile pulling at his lips, "and her windowsill. and her balcony. and her bedroom surely."
your fingers drum along the counter in thought. lando notes that your nails are painted a pink. it reminds him of the monaco sunset.
"and how old is said neighbour."
he blows out a breath and then grins cheekily, "elderly."
"i'd go with something classic," you tell him after a moment. you reach for a binder tucked between the register and the wall. it's blue and decorated with uniformed stickers and sharpie notes. you flip it open, swiping through a few sheets.
you point to a flower lando has never heard of, but he leans in and looks like he understands anyways. maybe—just a possibility—he was doing it so he could be closer to you. and yup, you smell like a flower field.
"i'd also throw some carnation in there. it's a classic flower for a piece. and beautiful."
lando's eyes dart away from the book and meet yours. they're swimming with passion and eagerness. it's cute, and lando can't help but to smile like a lunatic—teeth on full display. "I trust you, do whatever you think will make her happy."
your smile widens, "what's your budget."
he purses his lips. he hasn't really even thought about it. how much do flowers even cost? a beat passes, "don't have one."
your eyes widen briefly before you manage to control yourself. you're well aware that monaco is full of rich and wealthy people—even if you're not familiar with every single face that walks into your shop—but hearing those words never fails to suprise you.
flowers are expensive, and someone as clueless about flowers as the man in front of you seems to be, would have no idea.
"okay, that's great." you grab a form from behind the counter and then reach for a pen. you click the top a few times, the sound audible over the radio playing softly in the background. "when do you want the flowers to arrive?"
he tells you the date and you neatly write it down.
"and what's the name of the recipient?"
repeat.
"and the name of the sender?" you question after jotting down the previous answer. your eyes flicker up towards his green ones, a hint of personal curiosity in your gaze.
he takes his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to contain the embarrassing grin wanting to take over his face. "lando."
"lando." you repeat.
"and your name?"
the pen in your hand almost falls away, your eyes quickly finding his once more. "y/n." you tell him timidly, warmth collecting high on your cheeks as he repeats your name, slowly, like he's testing out how it sounds.
his eyes don't stray from yours, gaze tense and fond in a way that makes you positively squirm. you clear your throat, ball tip of the pen hitting the paper once more. "and the address?"
lando recites his neighbours address with ease, and you write down it just as quick. you question him on a few more basic things; phone number for contact purposes, if he’d like a card with the arrangement, and if so what he’d like to say, and you even asked him what day he’d prefer for delivery.
he asks if you do the deliveries, and you get warm again—lando wants to bathe in the pink of your cheeks. you tell him you have a driver who does it for you.
after he signs his name on the form, you take it back from him, moving towards the register between you. it’s silent for moment while you presumably log in, nails tapping rhythmically on the screen while you do so.
“can't make her birthday?”
your question has lando momentarily confused, brows pulled tight. it’s only when you raise an eyebrow in silent amusement that lando remembers who he’s getting the arrangement for—and why he’s here in the first place.
“oh, right,” he swallows roughly, “no I can't, i'm traveling for work.”
you hum and shoot him a curious glance. “what do you do for work?”
he laughs once and breathy, eyes falling down towards the floorboards for a few moments. once he meets your gaze again, he notes that you haven’t look away—and you look more intrigued than before.
lando grins, “you're not going to believe me if I tell you.”
“are you putting on some kind of mysterious act?” your fingers halt on the screen—hovering over the baby breath button—and you squint hesitantly.
“depends?” he hisses through his teeth, “is it working?”
“I suppose so,” you breathe a sound that almost sounds like a laugh, eyes darting away before quickly darting back to his. “i'm definitely curious now.”
“wasn't before?”
you kiss your teeth to keep a fond smile from blossoming on your face. you’ve dealt with flirty customers before, obviously, but there’s something about the curly haired, gap toothed smiley one in front of you now that has you actually flustered.
you decide to not answer right away, clicking a few more flowers on your computer for the order print. finally, after what feels like an eternity for lando, you answer.
“you're cheeky,” you muse.
he’s still grinning. “it's a part of my charm.”
you bark a laugh, “I bet it is.”
the door creaks open, breaking whatever trance the both of you had been in. a customer, a few years older than you, walks in causally—moving towards some daffodils you’d potted this morning.
you clear your throat, looking away from lando’s green gaze, and back towards the till. he watches you click a few more buttons and type some codes in—and then the printer is whirling to life.
the customer picks a bouquet and moves to wait behind lando.
his heart pings at the time being interrupted.
“i'll just take your card information then,” you say promptly, “my machine takes a picture of it for billing, if that’s okay with you?”
lando slides his credit card over the counter, “yeah, sure. thank you.” he watches as you carefully take his card—like it’s made of gold—and place it on some fancy machine lando couldn’t even attempt to dissect. it makes a few clicking sounds, presumably capturing the information, and then you pass it back to him.
“all right, you're all set.” your fingers brush his when lando takes it back.
“I appreciate this.” lando shoots a glance over his shoulder once the guy starts impatiently tapping his foot. and look at that—he’s suddenly got the urge to punch out your next customer!! without hesitation, lando looks back at you, continuing like nothing. “I think I would've been completely lost without you.”
you grin, smoothing down the front of your apron like a nervous habit. “we'll, it is my job.”
“you're good at it,” he compliments with an earnest smirk.
it makes you laugh awkwardly, absentmindedly reaching out to straighten up the stack of local business pamphlets. you keep them there for weddings as it helps local venues get recognition. “i'm not sure one could really be good at taking information for a floral arrangement,” you mumble modestly.
“well I think you're great.” lando answers quickly.
the guy behind him clears his throat and lando has to stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull.
you smile politely and lando, despite the annoyance for the douche waiting in line, follows suit, his own toothy grin reappearing. “i'll be seeing you, y/n.”
—
almost a month passes before you see lando again. despite the hopes of him walking back through the front door of your flower shop again, you didn’t believe the day would come.
but here he is, clad in a branded sweatshirt and shorts with his curly hair all unruly like he’s been running his fingers through it on the way over.
lando has some dignity, so he pretends to look very interested in the rose display before letting his eyes wander in search of you. yeah well, that whole self dignity thing lasts 20 seconds before his sights are set on you in your peach apron.
you can’t help but grin once you feel his gaze land upon you. like him, you also wanted to seem casual, so as soon as you realized it was him walking through your door, you reached for a book, and flipped it open to a random page in some attempt to appear scholarly.
you can’t even remember if this book is yours or the delivery guys.
“back for more flowers?” you ask, eyes flickering up to his approaching figure.
lando grins, “yeah.” no.
you close the book and put it back in the half dusty corner you found it. “the neighbour again?” you question, placing your palms flat against the counter.
he rubs the back of his neck. “not this time, but she loved them so much—sent me cookies as a thank you and everything.”
“i'm offended that you didn't bring me one,” you tease him quickly and easily, making lando’s stomach do that funny drop you get on a carnival ride.
you log into the register and lando laughs, answering you with an impressed raise to his eyebrows, “they barley lasted 10 minutes.”
you snicker at that. opening up a new order form in his file, you ask—“so who are these ones for?”
lando almost curses aloud. he really hadn’t thought this far ahead. when he woke up this morning he had a plan. he really did. despite the jet lag he’s still battling from three weeks of consistent travel paired with inconsistent sleep, lando was going to get up early and come visit your shop.
he was going to turn on his natural flirtatious side and ask you to dinner or something just as chivalrous—perhaps the new cocktail lounge that opened up just down the street from your shop.
but then you asked him with a pretty smile if he was back for more flowers and he just said yes without a second to process the question.
you wait patiently, fingers still—and now a bit longer and painted a sky blue—for his answer. an answer that’s taking a suspiciously long time for a person who supposedly came in here to but flowers.
lando clears his throat, “my...sister.”
“your sister?”
“yeah,” he nods, “it's her graduation.” she’s only in second year at uni, you idiot.
your eyebrows draw together with confusion.“in august?”
lando rubs along the back of his tanned neck once more, and you pick up that it must be an anxious habit. “yeah,” he winces, eyes trickling back to yours from where they briefly settled on the worn wood beneath his feet. “i'm a little late.”
“alright well,” you exhale, bringing out that same binder from last time. “let's do something simple, and something that says sorry for the late arrangement.” your teasing tone has lando smiling softly. you don’t catch it, too busy flipping through the pages in search of the flower you’d thought of it your head.
“yeah,” he breathes, “sounds great.”
you make a little trumpet noise when you find the poppies, letting lando choose between the variety of colours. he picks orange, says it’s his favourite, and you think that, oddly enough, it suits him.
you repeat the same process as before, and when you ask for a delivery address, lando just spews out his own. it’s not like you’d know anyways—besides, he can’t tell you that his sister actually lives in the UK and will not be receiving these flowers period.
so yeah, his address will do.
“okay, these will only take me 20 minutes tops. would you prefer delivery again? or would you like me to text you when they’re done and you can come pick them up?”
lando stutters for a moment, the excitement that settles in his chest at the thought of seeing you again today almost too much for him to bear. “I’ll come back, if that’s okay with you?”
you grin with half amusement, “i’m definitely okay with that.” you print the order form and grab it from the printer once it’s finished up. “I’ll text your number on file when they’re done.”
and before he can’t say anything else, lando just smiles dreamily, “please.”
when you do text him 30 minutes later, he returns to the shop almost immediately after, a cheeky grin on his face and two takeaway cups of coffee in his hands, you can’t help but to accept one. it takes him another 20 minutes before he leaves again, both of you too distracted with learning about one another to notice the passing time.
—
a week and many daydreams of lando walking through the front door of the store later, does he actually walk into the shop. he's gotten a hair cut since the last time you saw him. it's neater, but still got that messy look that makes him look like the main love interest in a early 2000s rom com.
lando’s got a container in one hand and a smile on his face. unlike last time, he doesn’t even glance at the flowers, and instead makes a beeline right for you.
you’re fussing over some sunflowers that are beginning to wilt in a large mosaic vase set out in front of the large window—giving the shop most of the sunlight you crave.
“you're back,” you note, eyes closing in to the tupperware in his large hand. “and you've got...are those cookies?” you turn away from the flowers, gently crossing your arms just as lando comes to a stop.
he grins proudly, “I saved you some this time.”
the brief conversation about homemade cookies from his elderly neighbour crosses your mind, and your eyes widen in recognition. “you didn't need to do that,” you scold kindly, not yet taking the container lando is gesturing out to you. “I was only playing,” you admit shyly.
“it's no big deal,” he shrugs, smile growing once you timidly take the clear container that holds four cookies. “plus, it's a thank you for all your help.”
“well,” you laugh once as you walk towards the counter, placing the cookies down next to the register before turning back to lando. he’s not near the sunflowers like you expected. no, he’s followed you to the counter.
you smile shyly, “thank you for the treat.” lando runs his hand over his sweatshirt—it’s a chiller morning in monaco, oddly enough—and mumbles some kind of compliment.
your cheeks heat anyways. “have you only come here to bring me these?” you squint inquisitively after a beat passes, eyeing lando.
“what?” his voice cracks embarrassingly, leaving him no choice but to awkwardly clear his throat. “no.” yes. “I had to be in the area.” no he really didn’t. “met up with a friend for coffee,” oh did he now? “told him all about your shop.”
his awful lies are all worth it the second an appreciative look flashes over your face. “did you?”
“I did,” lando swallows roughly and shoves his hands into his pockets. “he said he'd have to check it out.”
your lips part, but the shrill noise of the mint green phone attached to the wall ringing stops whatever words you planned to say. you look away from the phone and back to lando, sending him a guilty smile. “duty calls. excuse me.”
he watches you round behind the counter and answer the phone. lando’s not too sure why he sticks around for the phone call to finish up. maybe it’s the way he’s too entranced watching you in your element to leave, or maybe because he still hasn’t asked you out, and was planning to do it today before the phone started to ring. lando’s not quite sure.
regardless, he’s still there once you’ve finished the call, and you send him a look. “everything okay?”
lando blinks, “I also came because I need another flower arrangement.” he wonders if you can actually smell the bullshit coming form his mouth.
“oh!” you emote, “really?”
“yeah, my race engineer is getting married.” no lando, actually, your race engineer has been married for 10 years.
your eyes flash, “race engineer huh? you work with cars?” you question while bringing up his file.
“something like that.”
you smile, nodding your head slowly like you don’t quite believe him. lando almost wants to shrink in on himself and hide from your gaze—but that means he wouldn’t be able to look at you, and that sounds downright dreadful.
“alright, well, let me get something together then.”
—
four days before lando needs to leave for the british grand prix, he's walking back through the front door of the peach painted brick building.
it's not like you were expecting him or anything, but you're not surprised when the door creaks open and you catch sight of a familiar head of curls. what does surprise you though is the two men he's with—you presume they are his friends.
your curious and intrigued eyes catch lando's. despite the smile he sends your way, you can see something that looks a lot like embarrassment coupled with annoyance twisted within his expression.
his friends though? they couldn't look further from annoyed if they tried. both tall men who look around lando's age, scan your overgrown floral shop with wide eyes and amused grins.
"hello." you swallow thickly as their gazes land on you. your body naturally wants to freeze in place, especially when lando's friends somehow grow more smug and excited at the sight of you.
"y/n, hi." lando speaks first, his greeting coming out in one long breathe of relief—like physically seeing you now is allowing him to finally exhale.
"hello," the one who previously stood on lando's left greets you, a teasing glint in his eyes that makes you heat up. you note that he's got a similar accent to lando. the guy leans against the counter—not intimidating, but rather casual—"so, you own this place, right? do your own arrangements?"
"I do," you nod, already itching to reach for your binder just to look busy. your eyes narrow, "do you need an arrangement?"
"I actually do," he says, inspecting one of your business cards next to the register. his eyes flicker back to yours, "it's my girlfriend and I's anniversary, so i'd like to get a few big arrangements."
the other friend walks up next to the other one, a wide smile of his face. he's got the same accent—you wonder if they all grew up together. "lando hasn't stopped talking about you and this place for weeks. and when george here mentioned his anniversary, we just knew we had to come see what all the hype was about."
your eyes flicker towards lando, who has now come to stand beside his two friends. lando's cheeks heat and his eyes briefly meet the floor like they've done many times in your shop.
"is that so?" you ask the nameless friend, a slight teasing tone to your voice that has lando grinning automatically. when he looks back up, his eyes naturally lock with yours.
he sends you a meek smile and it doesn't go unnoticed by his friends, the two giving one another a look as you return the gesture.
"don't listen to these muppets," lando grumbles, "they've been in one too many crashes."
you let out a quiet laugh, fiddling with the pocket of your peach apron. you force your eyes away from lando's familiar ones and back to george—or so you think the other one called him. "I've got a form to go over with you, if you'd actually like to place an order."
george smiles appropriately, "yes, thank you." like lando has seen you do before, you go through the entire process with george in a quick yet efficient manner, taking down his information and helping him pick out the florals for the two arrangements george plans on having delivered in two weeks time.
once it's all done and you've printed the order form, you turn your gaze back on lando, a half hidden smile instantly pulling on his lips as you do. "is there anything else I can help you guys with today?"
"i'm okay, thank you," his other friend grins and extends his large hand to you over the counter, "i'm alex."
you take his hand delicately and lando hates how a pang of jealousy hits his chest. alex is literally in a relationship you muppet. "y/n."
the process repeats with george, who makes some kind of lame joke that works in making you laugh in amusement. lando naturally shifts, practically shoving george out of the way so that he's the one closest to you instead.
"lando." you greet with a knowing smile, "are you getting anything today?"
"not today-"
alex interrupts before lando can continue further. "im sure he'll be back soon enough to place an order though," he knocks his shoulder into lando's teasingly, "he really loves your place."
"oh yeah, he really—"
"alright," lando smothers whatever annoying thing george was planning to add on to alex's comment. he sends both of his friends a warning look, "I'll meet you guys outside, yeah?"
the two of them snicker—alex even tosses his hands up in a mock surrender—while the two of them make their way back through the flower shop and in the direction of the door. before the door creaks back open to reveal the monaco skyline, both alex and george send you enthusiastic departures, followed by inaudible whispers and laughter.
silence fills the store once more. lando's face is still tinged red in a flustered and slightly embarrassed way, and it has a little giggle slipping from your lips.
lando's lips turn upwards immediately. "I'm sorry about them, again," he retorted his earlier apology. "they insisted on coming with me when I mentioned stopping by tonight."
well, not exactly the truth. in all honesty, george and alex had both grown sick and tired of hearing lando talk about you and your shop—constantly—and forced lando to bring them so they could see what all the fuss was about. on the way over to your shop, lando had made his friends promise to behave and not scare you away—because that's the last thing he needed.
but then they walked in, saw why lando was so fond of you, and all promises of good behaviour were left at the door.
"they're fine," you reassure truthfully, a small smile playing on your lips. "so there's really nothing for you today?"
lando ponders for a moment, lips pursed while his eyes dart around the shop. right next to the counter you've got a selection of pre-made arrangements, easy for grab and gos for last minute birthday dinners, and early morning stops. lando picks the one with the most orange and places it on the counter between you.
"i'll take these, actually."
your grin widens and in an attempt to conceal it, you duck your head, busying yourself with wrapping them in paper for departure.
after a beat, your gaze finds his once again, except this time, its swimming with hesitation and a pile of curiosity. you clear your throat, finishing the last fold on the arrangement, "so...are these for your girlfriend?"
lando's ears pick up the distaste and envy that laces your question, and his urge to smooth over the situation before you get the wrong idea comes automatically. "no,” he huffs, eyes searching yours, “no girlfriend here. if I did have one though, i'm not sure she'd appreciate how often I visit the nice pretty girl at the flower shop."
your eyes widen, “oh-wha-me?”
lando laughs softly while your shellshocked expression doesn’t waver. he palms the back of his neck, a teasing tinge to his tone. “you are the only one who works here, right?
“yes,” you breathe.
“then yes,” lando’s grin widens. “you.”
like clockwork, you duck your chin to hide your face and lando blushes—the two of you very much resembling nervous primary school children with crushes. we’ll, actually, that’s exactly what it feels like. and clearly, according to alex and george, it what it looks like as well.
lando pays for the orange flowers, and when you ask again who they’re for (this time), he just says one word: you.
lets just say, you keep them in the back office and grin like a manic anytime you go in there and catch sight of them.
—
after the whole buying flowers and gifting them to you exchange that happened two months ago, you never really expected to see lando again. well correction—you expected to see him, but you didn't expect him to keep buying arrangements.
oh, but did you ever assume incorrectly. sometimes it was twice a week he'd walk into your shop, a shy yet confident look to him while he ordered an arrangement for some random event—team dinners, galas or his mothers retirement party.
sometimes you wouldn't see him for three weeks. you didn't ask about his whereabouts—assuming he travels for work—but everytime without fail, his first day back in monaco, he'd come see you. smiling and with a pep in his step, always telling you in a quiet, intimate way that he missed you.
but that's all he says. much to your dismay, lando never asks you out. not to coffee or dinner or anything in between. it's gut wrenching, sure, and then you start overthinking every single interaction with lando. were you misreading the situation?
but then he'd come back all flirty and telling you he missed the smell of the shop and you'd think otherwise. plus, he keeps buying damn flowers.
so today when lando walks into your shop, you're determined to figure it all out—the flirting and the flowers and everything else that gets your heart thumping and mind wandering.
he waltzes right up to the counter that separates you from the rest of the shop, a cheeky smile on his face as he leans on top the counter with his elbows.
you raise a brow, “another arrangement?”
“you guessed it,” he smirks boyishly up at you.
you don’t move to grab the binder like you usually would, and that instantly has lando’s thick eyebrows furrowing. you continue to stare down at him, unamused. “who are these flowers for?”
lando blinks, stuttering while he tries to formulate some kind of plausible response. “ummmm...oscar.”
“who's oscar?”
“my friend.”
you make a noise, eyes narrowing in utter disbelief. “does oscar typically want flowers?”
much to your surprise, lando just shrugs a shoulder, and with his lips pursed, he tells you—“don't really know.”
you don’t answer. not right away. it’s now that you grab the sticker covered binder full of pages upon pages of different flowers, carefully flickering it open so that the cracked spine doesn’t obtain any further damage. you seem very calm, and that makes lando feel the complete opposite.
there’s something your eyes that has lando narrowing his gaze on you. you don’t look at him while you quickly and quietly fill out the information—after all, you’ve filled out enough of these for lando that you’ve got his damn phone number memorized.
finally, you turn your attention back to him. “and delivery adress?”
and it’s then. when lando easily recites that same adress he’s given you more times than you can count, does your curiosity come to a tilt. you softly drop the pen, “i've got a question lando.”
“yes?”
you kiss your teeth, “how come every single arrangement after the first one is being delivered to the same address?”
lando blinks a few times. swallows roughly twice. and then he lets out an awkward chuckle, finger absentmindedly stroking along a divet in the wood counter.
“would you believe me if I told you everyone I know all lives in the same place?” he grimaces, hopeful eyes twinkling with mischief.
your nose scrunches—half amused and half in confusion. “not too sure if i'd buy that.”
“no?”
“nope.” lando’s shoulders sag and an apologetic grin forms at your response. you let out a slow breath, crossing your arms over the apron lando has been dreaming about. he sees that peach colour everywhere now—it’s like a less than kind reminder of how badly he’s been fumbling you. for months now.
“you know you don't have to come in here and buy things all the time,” your voice is laced with masked disappointment, making lando frown. you continue softly, “it's okay if you want to just browse.”
“I don't want to browse.”
“oh?”
lando curses to himself, so softly that to you it simply sound like a heavy exhale. you wait patiently for his response, playing with your bottom lip between your teeth to keep any emotions at bay.
you watch with careful eyes as lando pushes off the counter, his back straightening. his eyes meet your again, and after a tension filled beat, he admits—“I really didn't like the smell of flowers, you know that?”
“i'm sorry to hear that,” your voice is cautious. confused. “why did you come here then?” a pause while your brain jogs with memories. “was the neighbour a real person or…?”
“shes real,” lando reassures you quickly, “and it was actually her birthday.”
“and the others?”
he takes a deep breath, and then finally, after months of months of practiced speeches in his bathroom mirror, and imagining this conversation while the country music you have playing in your shop plays through his headphones before a race, lando spews.
“my sister didn't graduate, no one was getting married and oscar is actually allergic to pollen.”
you complete idiot, he thinks. because instead of that clearing up any of your confusion—and why would it because what the hell?—lando’s words have only made your expression grow tighter. you blink, “so why'd you keep buying the flowers.”
“because of you.”
“me?”
okay, he thinks, this is it. it’s finally time.
lando’s plump lips part, “because I liked you or I still do.” he takes a deep breath, “like you.” when you don’t respond, he continues. “and I know that it's kind of crazy and i'm crazy and i disappear for weeks at a time and im flirty and have too much money to spend on floral arrangements for imaginary occasions…but I just wanted to come see you.”
“lando,” your shoulders drop, and lando’s heart does as well. is this rejection? has he been playing this weird, long game for months only to have misread the situation.
“you can kick me out,” he offers.
“no,” you shake your head softly, and the last thing lando’s sees is your shy smile before you lean over the expanse of the counter, and place a delicate kiss to his cheek. so close to the corner of his mouth that for a moment, lando’s knees go weak. “i'm not going to kick you out,” you promise as you drop back to your heels.
dazed and still reeling form the feeling of your soft mouth on his warm skin, lando can only manage to nod dumbly. “that's good.”
“and I like you too,” you grin, “and all your made up occasions.”
lando exhales with a wide smile, “that's really good.” and because he’s sure he’s finally got it right, lando takes his turn to lean over the teal painted counter, one large hand holding the side of your face while he brings his lips down to yours.
it’s not perfect in the sense of the movies, but it’s perfect for you and lando. you’re both grinning into it, making it hard to actual kiss like normal people, but somehow you still manage to capture one another’s mouths in fleeting, tender kisses.
you pull away after a few moments, a playful laugh passing through your kiss moistened lips. “you're a race car driver.”
lando blinks, forehead bumping your gently while his thumb strokes long your cheek. “huh?”
a giggle sounds between you and then your pressing another quick kiss to his mouth. “that's your job.”
his eyebrows tug down towards his noise while an amused look crosses his face. “how'd you figure it out?”
“I googled you.”
he can’t help but to dip down and steal another kiss, muttering against your mouth—“cheeky girl.”
fav genre of men ? the ones who love to love you i.e. sweet gestures they make when they're smitten
﹙ 🥐 ﹚ 𝒻em ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ✴ 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 ! multi f1 ◟ 🏁 blurbs ◜ᴗ◝ featuring. ln¹ cl¹⁶ gr⁶³ radio. hi, lovelies! here's a very late valentine's treat. and a good practice round for me at writing for these dudes <3 ／ 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.
LANDO NORRIS
He doesn’t tell you he’s doing it.
Not when the cameras are in his face and he’s giving the usual practiced grin, entertaining questions about strategy and the endless ‘what if's. Not when the day officially ends but the garage is still buzzing with team personnel packing up equipment, and the media centre is a beacon of everything he'd rather avoid like a plague.
Lando's good at that. Infusing every word with enough enthusiasm to hide the fact that his heart is somewhere else entirely.
He checks his phone the second he’s out of range for any long lenses to capture his horrifyingly warm expression. There’s a message from you—sent an hour ago, because you always try to time them with when he gets in and out of the cockpit.
So so proud of you, sweetheart <3 Get some rest. And have a safe flight tmrw!
His chest tightens in that quiet way it always does when it reads the unmistakable undertone of care in your every word.
Theoretically, Lando should be on a shuttle to the Hilton where they'd checked him in for the weekend. Maybe exploit his ambassador status by ordering half the room service menu, or take up some of the other drivers on their offer of a night out.
But something in envisioning himself eating his weight in burgers and chips, or changing into something remotely appropriate for a high-end club only serves to make Lando uneasy.
So instead, he bolts it to Jon's rented Chevy Malibu and has the decency to look sheepish as the other man eyes him knowingly. Two hours later, Lando is on the next flight to Nice after bidding you an early night under the guise of feeling absolutely knackered. Which is not far from the truth, he thinks, as he snaps his headphones into place, staring at the bejeweled skyline with sleep lidded eyes.
He tells himself that it’s the right sort of impulsiveness. Why the hell does he earn so much if he won't reap the benefits once in a while? That he’s tired. That he just wants his own bed.
Though who is he kidding —Lando just wants you.
By the time he lands and books a cab to Monaco, it’s properly late. Like the kind where every straggler is sluggish on the streets: either dead on their feet or shitfaced. Lando's got his carry-on slung over one shoulder, having left most of his racing gear with his management to take to Woking. Blessed two week break, he's never been more glad for those.
No florist in their right mind is operating at this hour but the idea of showing up to your doorstep empty-handed is preposterous. So he takes his liberties at the first open 24 hour supermarket—cap pulled low, mask on—and piles all your favourite sweets in a basket to dump on the checkout counter.
There's a voice in the back of his head that oddly resembles his nutritionist nagging about so much processed sugar. But then Lando imagines your face, beaming brightly at him with one cheek stuffed full with chocolate, and he thinks he'll gladly tear up his weekly meal plan and throw it in the open sea.
And in the blink of an eye, he's standing outside your flat, nervous in a way that makes zero sense.
He's faced the fear of his life flashing before his eyes in terrible crashes, handled interviews with a straight face after heartbreak races. But this? This makes him feel faint enough for a breeze to knock over.
Before he can overthink it, he rings the doorbell.
Lando hears some shuffling on the other side, imagines the confusion on your face as you waddle down the hallway toward the entrance, clearly not expecting anyone at midnight, and peer into the CCTV display. He grins wryly at the blinking red light.
The door bangs open with frantic disbelief.
You are in pyjamas—bright pink satin with printed strawberries that have seen better days—with your hair twisted into a loose bun. The way you blink slowly reminds him of a cat while your brain catches up with your eyes.
“…Lan?”
He swallows visibly, slightly lost for words. Just gives you that soft, crooked smile—high strung caricature of a public image sanded down into something real.
“Hi,” Lando says, almost shy.
Your shoulder bumps against the doorframe when you take a step forward. “You– You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rubbing over the stubble he hasn't shaved. Like he needs to occupy his hands with something until they inevitably reach forward. “I got bored.”
Your laugh comes out breathless. “You changed your flight because you were bored?”
He shrugs, but his ears are pink. “Might’ve wanted to see you.”
That’s when you step forward and wrap your arms around him. It should scare him how easily you fit: his arms around your waist while you hug his shoulders firmly, his chin resting on the juncture of your neck. Melded together like butter on warm toast.
Lando exhales. It’s not dramatic. It’s not cinematic. It’s just so much relief. His face presses into your hair and he holds you tighter than he means to. He’s been running on dry gulps all weekend and suddenly someone has dropped him into an oasis.
“You’re mad,” you murmur against his hoodie. “Absolutely fucking ridiculous.”
“Maybe. Possibly.”
“And exhausted probably. Jesus, Lan.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he chuckles, nosing at your skin to feel you shiver.
You pull back, hands on either side of his head, looking up at him. He only slightly choked knowing he feels so precious under your gaze. He thinks he's a mirror of your expression. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.” His thumb brushes your cheek gently. “I wanted to,” Lando says, retrieving the chocolates out from behind his back like he’s in a cheesy fucking rom-com, the packaging slightly crushed. “Peace offering for abandoning you for a week.”
You cradle the heart-shaped box as if it's priceless treasure. “You were working.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I agreed to spoil you until forever, and that starts with giving you cavities.”
You smile at him in that way that makes his stomach flip and hug him again. “You’re so stupid. Welcome home, baby.”
And if he melts under the those orange porch lights, that is nobody's fucking business innit? You usher him inside, and Lando toes off his shoes by the door impatiently, a force of habit. They fall lopsided by your perfectly arranged shoes like they belong there. Like he belongs where you are.
CHARLES LECLERC
He doesn’t mean to overhear.
Charles makes it back after his morning run, unhooks the leash off Leo's harness and lets the puppy run free into the flat. He's walking past the bedroom while stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt when he catches your voice drifting, animated in that way it gets when you're talking to your best friend. It's a losing battle against the smile taking over his face.
“I’m serious,” you say, nearly shrieking in insistence. “Men who can cook? Husband material. Immediately.”
Charles slows. He doesn’t stop completely—he’s not that obvious—but he absolutely slows.
“Like, imagine coming home after work or something, and he's got dinner ready and plated? I would fold,” you sigh, dreamily and his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. Huh.
Charles continues down the hallway as if nothing happened. But there's this restlessness crawling under his skin. It's not that he disagrees about culinary competence being sexy, but what the hell, he never knew it's that high in your book of ideal qualities.
A quality Charles doesn't think he's ever shown or even has. But what did you call it? Husband material? He can fucking manage that, alright.
By the time you hang up after a long drawn weekly catchup, the apartment is suspiciously quiet. Some might say it's too quiet.
Never one to deny your curiosity, you kick both feet off the side of your bed and wander towards the kitchen. And immediately you are met with a scene that looks… intense, for a lack of better adjectives.
There’s flour all over the counter. A pan that is visibly smoking. Three different spice containers are open at once in the cabinet. And in the middle of it all stands Charles, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed in deep concentration while he wrestles with the salt and pepper shakers like he's performing some complicated folk dance.
“Cha?” you say carefully, stepping past the archway past the dining table.
He jumps, swiveling around to spot you leaning on the kitchen island. His eyes are blown wide and he looks distinctly like a toddler who got caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Ah— you’re not supposed to be here!”
You sputter, taken aback. “Supposed to— this is my kitchen.”
“Yes, but,” Charles gestures vaguely behind him, "consider this a temporary takeover. Go, sit at the table. I will be done soon.”
“Done with what?” You blink at him owlishly. “What’s happening?”
His shoulders drop as if he's being forced to confess to a crime. “I am cooking.”
You stare. “For me?”
He clears his throat, attempting casual, but there is a prominent flush to his cheeks “Yes. Now, will you please go sit down? You are ruining the surprise.”
You try very hard not to smile too widely. “Okay.”
You retreat to the dining table while he continues moving around the kitchen with determined energy. There’s a lot of stirring. A questionable amount of salt being added. A brief muttered string of curses in French when something sizzles too aggressively.
After a while, Charles appears with a plate of spaghetti with a generous amount of cheese and green onions sprinkled on top. It looks decent, if you ignore the charred bits of pasta and tomatoes that look a little too brown.
Yet you cannot help feeling giddy when he sets the food down in front of you triumphantly. A spoil of war, almost. “Voilà.”
But then you notice the stub of bandaid stuck to his little finger and a groan bubbles out. You take his hand into your own to inspect the cut and he slumps into the chair beside you. “Was butchering your finger worth it, love? Why did you suddenly want to cook anyway? Thought we were ordering in today.”
Charles squirms in place, suddenly put on the spot. He's clearly conflicted but ultimately sighs. “You said earlier… that men who cook are…” He trails off, blushing plainly for all to see.
Your eyes widen. “You heard that?”
“Maybe,” he mutters.
And oh, your heart melts. You hadn’t spared much thought when you said it, it was just gossiping for gossip's sake when your friend mentioned her latest date was an actual chef.
Not that there is anything wrong with not being able to cook five star meals. You yourself aren't too keen on it, nor do you have the patience for complicated dishes. But, Charles, with his sweet consideration and eagerness to help in any way, had always been miffed that he is utterly useless in the kitchen.
So, you have a solid system in place. You cook while Charles cleans, and you happily make do with takeout when laziness creeps in.
But knowing that he has even tried just because of an offhand comment you made? That has you reaching for a fork like a starved caveman, shovelling it into your mouth.
It’s— Okay. Slightly burnt. Definitely salty and the pasta is somewhat overdone. But it’s warm and the care Charles has put into it is clear as day. Starting with the unevenly chopped onions and excessive dairy, in a bid to follow some internet recipe, no doubt. All the while ignoring to scale down for the portion size.
And it’s him. And he’s watching you like he is waiting for the most important result of his entire life.
You light up instantly. “Charlie!”
His shoulders tense. “Yes?”
“This is amazing!”
Relief floods him so quickly it’s almost painful how sweet it is. He narrows his eyes jokingly. “Really?”
“Really.” You take another bite to prove your point, nodding. “I love it.”
The smile that breaks across his face has your stupid traitorous heart stumbling. Charles huffs, in relief perhaps, before picking up a fork and twisting the pasta onto it. You brace yourself as he takes a bite.
The smile fades. He chews, then pauses, and his eyebrows lift comically, blanching. “Mon chou, it is so fucking salty.”
You shake your head, stuffing your face to match the cavity of your chest brimming with happiness. “It is flavorful.”
Charles frowns, fingers tracing up your arm as if he's debating yanking the fork out of your grasp. “And maybe a little burned. Stop forcing yourself to eat it. It's terrible.”
“It’s caramelized,” you argue. “And you really think you can force me to do anything? I love this, and I will finish it, thank you very much.”
He looks at you suspiciously. “You are lying.”
“I am not! Seriously, you did great for your first try. You can't expect to get a Michelin star right away, can you?”
He studies you for a second longer, then laughs softly, the tension draining out of him. “Okay. Maybe I got a bit excited with the salt.”
“Yes, a bit,” you concede, squeezing his hand into your own. “Charles.” He looks up and your smile softens into something gentle and certain. “The fact that you heard me say that and decided to cook for me? That is peak husband material.”
Charles’ breath catches just slightly. “Even if I nearly gave you food poisoning?” he teases.
“Especially then." You lean in to press your lips to his cheek and laughing at the sauce smeared there.
His eyes are shining and he’s absolutely overwhelmed, yet trying his hardest not to show it. “I wanted to do something for you. I wanted you to come home and feel… taken care of.”
Your heart aches.
“I do,” you say. “I feel very taken care of.”
And it rings true especially when he tugs you into his arms without another word, and you're practically falling onto his lap. His forehead rests against yours. You like Charles even when he can't cook to save his life. You love Charles because he'll try anything to make you the happiest version of yourself.
GEORGE RUSSELL
The thing is, you hadn’t even asked him to come with. George had clocked you stumbling around the living room halfway into your shoes, scouring for car keys and unsurprisingly failing at both. He'd walked into the bedroom, came back with a scarf and gently looped it around your neck.
“Grab an energy bar, at least. I'll get the car out,” he said, dangling the keys in front of you.
“I’m literally just running errands,” you'd replied, cupping his face and getting on your tiptoes to kiss him softly. “It'll be boring. Plus, you have plans.”
“Plans of playing video games. I can ask Alex to reschedule,” George insists, already walking towards the door. “And I love boring. I can do with some boring right now.”
Now you glance back at him in the middle of the store and chuckle. There’s an inflated tote bag hooked over one shoulder, two glossy shopping bags dangling from his fingers, and somehow he’s also holding your iced coffee because you said it was “getting in the way” of sifting through clothes.
“You okay back there?” you ask sweetly.
George adjusts his grip, posture still perfectly upright despite the growing collection. “I'm alright.”
“You can put some down, you know,” you say for the hundredth time, crossing your—completely empty—arms.
“And have you carry them instead?” He scoffs playfully. “What kind of boyfriend would I be?”
You tilt your head thoughtfully. “The normal kind.”
He gives you a look. “Well, I don't want to be the normal kind. You deserve better than that. Now which dress are we thinking, because I'm not sure about the whole polka dots.”
George follows you from rack to rack without complaint—well, without real complaint. There’s the occasional sigh when you disappear into a fitting room for the fourth time. “How many versions of the same top do you need?” he calls from outside.
“They’re all different,” you giggle through the response.
When you pull back the curtains and step down from the elevated platform meant to prop you up like a doll at the back of your favorite—and only a little obnoxious—boutique, he looks up from his phone, mildly exasperated. “They’re all white, sweetheart.”
“This one is cream,” you counter, tugging the fabric down to your naval. Your face scrunches in concentration, tongue poking out.
“Ah. Of course. Game changer,” George sighs, biting back a fond smile.
But when you turn away from the mirror to show him, he straightens immediately. The teasing fades, replaced with genuine focus. He hums, “Turn, please.”
You roll your eyes, twirling around with the necessary amount of dramatic flair. “I didn’t realize I was dating a fashion guru. Which one is it gonna be, good sir?”
George taps his chin once, twice, thrice, before he nods. “Yeah, this is the one. The other is way too similar to the pink one you already have.”
“You think?” You ask, surprised.
His attention to detail always catches you off-guard but it's nothing new. He is always meticulous, especially about things he cares for. You just happen to be at the very top of that list.
“Mm.” His gaze softens. “You look… really good.”
There’s no over-the-top dramatics with him. Just quiet certainty. Like he’s stating a fact. It comes to him like a rehearsed vow but every time, the words are honeyed with so much sincerity. It swells inside your chest; unasked, unconditionally adored.
You end up buying it. And the skirt he'd picked when he got bored of waiting idly while you changed. And the shoes you definitely hadn’t planned on purchasing but he insisted, saying they complete the look.
By the time you reach the checkout counter, you’re doing that thing where you mentally calculate and pretend you’re not slightly stressed about the egregious sum total.
George, meanwhile, has neatly stacked all the bags by his feet, hands on his hips, standing like he’s waiting at an airport lounge to hear the PA system clearly.
The cashier scans the final item. “That’ll be—” You’re already reaching for your wallet as she announces the bill when George suddenly steps forward, tapping the back of his phone against the scanner.
“George,” you make a frustrated noise, feeling a little ruffled.
“I’ve got it.” He doesn’t even look at you, just smiles at the lady who hands him the receipt, scanning it to make sure everything's as it should be.
“I can pay for my own things.”
“I know,” he says calmly. His fingers find yours, entwining together perfectly while he wrangles all the shopping bags in his other hand. “But I want to. So, you just have to deal with it, darling.”
You stare at him with ill-veiled disbelief and the begrudging flutter in your stomach. Might as well commit to the bit and call it a butterfly zoo. “You didn’t have to do that.”
George glances down at you, faint grin tugging at his lips. “I like taking care of you.”
“And I love that you do! But seriously, it was a lot.”
He shrugs slightly. “It’s just money.” As though a couple thousand euros are pocket change. Well, to him maybe they are. Still it makes you squirmish with every realization. "If it bothers you, consider you looking fantastic as repayment."
“That’s not the point,” you huff, feeling increasingly like you're arguing with a wall. You cannot hate him for it, for catering to your whims whenever and wherever. Not when every action of his feels like a warm embrace.
He has that way about him, leading you without being overshadowing. You like to be independent, and that's something he cherishes about you. But more than often, he does these things without any fanfare.
Footing the entire bill on group dinners. Ordering flowers when he's away; not just for you, but all your friends if they're around. Never letting you drive if he can help it. Not because you're incapable, but because he loves to take you places. To steal glances of your wide eyes and lips parted in awe at the scenery flashing past, deliberately speeding up on empty streets to have you holding the overhead handle for dear life as you end up shrieking with laughter.
Small things that mean the world.
You barely suppress a startle when George hooks a finger under your chin, gently tipping your face up just enough to meet his bright azure gaze.
“The point,” he says, whispering it like a secret, “is that I enjoy doing things for you. Carrying your ridiculous number of things. Standing outside fitting rooms for an hour. Treating you just because it makes me very, very happy.”
And the clarity washes over you like a recurring tide: he doesn’t like the mundane so much as he likes the time spent with you. He likes being yours. The rest of it is just… confetti.
Your lips twitch. “An hour?”
George scoffs, draping an arm around your shoulders as you walk out. “At the very least.”
“Oh, you drama queen.” You nuzzle into him, resting your hand on his chest for a few seconds. You don't expect it to slow the hummingbird against your ribs. “You’re spoiling me. I'm going to develop a horrible habit and lose all my financial competence.”
He leans down enough so only you can hear him, breath ghosting over your ears, ticklish. “You got me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That was my plan all along.”
more yapping. 💌 i wanted to squeeze in carlos' part into this too. i wrote and rewrote it so many times, but it just wouldn't feel right. hope you guys still enjoyed these three and some lovin. mwah ~ (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)
it's 3.35 a.m and ya girl really thought she could finish & post a new fic that she only started writing TODAY 🥴 it's a multiple driver oneshot tho, featuring lando, charles, george and carlitos (with about 1.2k for each of them! ) so i'll see you with it tmrw 🫶
Wiseman — Frank Ocean [the hoops i have to jump thru to listen to this... release it right neow!!!]
Risk — Gracie Abrams
no pressure, but i wanna see ya'll music platters SO bad 🤭: @partiallyderived @verstarris @landosaints @norriszn @vueniz @miss-mastermind ( + whoever wanna join in! 💜)
guess who ended up taking their *official* NEET pictures wearing old Lando McLaren merch 🤡 is this an omen ?? good or bad, guess we'll find out in melbourne
annaxmalina
blakekathryn
izzy806
janainaart
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
