Another fandom to add to the list! Grateful to all those who read ✨💕
The song “All these years by Camilla Cabello” inspired this one!
As always feedback is always welcome, hate is not! ✨💕
Day by day : KTH
Kim Taehyung x Fem!Reader
Summery - You end your relationship with Tae due to military service but you can’t move on, you end up reuniting after he hears a song confession you wrote in the studio.
Warnings - Angst but has a happy ending ☁️💕Not fully proof read - I’m sorry but it’s 1am 😭
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The hardest thing you ever did was walk away from Kim Taehyung.
As a songwriter, you lived your life peacefully between the pages of notebooks and quiet melodies, waiting for a story to unfold. You weren’t a professional singer, you preferred to stay out of the spotlight, but you did have a soft, emotive voice perfectly suited for laying down rough demo tracks behind closed doors for those who thrive in the limelight.
Taehyung’s world, on the other hand, was a blinding whirlwind of stadiums, flashing cameras, and endless time zones. The agonizing ache of loving him while he was away on global tours had begun to fray at your nerves.
It didn’t help when the reality of his mandatory military enlistment loomed closer, bringing with it strict communication limits and a long, eighteen-month gap.
It felt like a weight you simply couldn't carry any longer. Believing you were sparing the both of you from a slow, painful deterioration, you made the devastating choice to break his heart … and your own in the process.
You couldn’t scrub the memory away no matter how hard you tried.
You had stood in the shadow of his apartment building, hands completely engulfed in his much larger ones. He was gently rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles, soothing you like he often did, his head tilted down as he spoke to you in that soft, soothing murmur of his.
"I packed the notebook you gave me," he said , a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips as his dark eyes searched yours.
"I'll write to you whenever they let me. The eighteen months will go faster than we think. We'll make it work."
Every gentle, optimistic word he spoke felt like a physical blow to your stomach. The agonizing dread you had carried for months was finally clawing its way up your throat, suffocating you.
Looking into his warm, soulful eyes felt like you were tearing your own heart out. Unable to bear it a second longer, you slowly pulled your hands away from his grasp, taking a half-step backward.
The immediate flash of confusion that crossed his face almost made you lose your nerve entirely.
"Tae..." you started, voice trembling so violently you had to stop. You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the heavy lump that was stuck there in your throat. "I can’t ... I can’t do this." You felt the tears fall down your face as you spoke.
Taehyung’s empty hands hovered in the space between the two of you for a second before he slowly let them fall. The soft wool of his oversized coat shifted as he stepped closer again, his brow furrowing in a mix of confusion and rising despair . He didn't raise his voice; he rarely ever did. Instead, he gently reached out, his long fingers carefully and affectionately tucking a fallen lock of hair behind your ear.
" Y/n, please," he murmured, his deep, velvety voice carrying a fragile tremor he was trying desperately to hide. "We've survived the world tours. We’ve painted over the distance of completely different time zones. This… this is just a pause. We can wait for each other."
"It's not just the distance, Tae, it's the absolute silence," you cried, your tears no longer silent as you looked up at him.
"I was already drowning when you were just on the road, staying awake until three in the morning just for a five-minute call to know you were okay. But this? The weeks and months without hearing from you? The strict limits on when you can even reach out? I'll be constantly terrified. Terrified for your well-being, terrified for us. I'll spend every single day pacing the floor, wondering if our relationship is actually surviving the quiet. It will break me completely. I love you too much to watch us slowly, painfully turn into ghosts to each other. I'd rather make a clean cut now than wait for what we have to just fray until it snaps."
Taehyung’s hand dropped slowly to his side. The physical distance to you was mere inches, but suddenly it felt like a vast, unbridgeable ocean. He looked at you not with anger, but instead with a deep type of sympathy.
He saw the absolute terror in your eyes, and he couldn't bear to fight you if it was causing you this much pain.
It’s like he knew your soul was in agony, bleeding out in front of him.
He let out a slow, unsteady breath, his dark eyes brimming with his own heavy, unshed tears. "If breaking my heart is what you need to do to protect yours... then okay," he whispered into the cold air, his voice unimaginably soft.
He reached out one last time, letting his thumb brush lightly against her cheekbone, offering her a small, deeply sorrowful smile that lacked all of its usual charisma.
"But please... don't tell me this is for the best."
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You had tried hard to move on, burying yourself in writing sessions and late-night mixing, but escaping Kim Taehyung was an impossible task.
When all seven members of BTS completed their service and reunited, the world exploded. He was everywhere. You couldn’t even couldn't buy a coffee without hearing his voice on the radio; you couldn't scroll through your phone without seeing his face trending; you couldn't walk down the street without the band smiling down at you from massive digital billboards.
But seeing him on a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person was entirely different.
Just as you tried to move on you also tried to keep your distance. You managed the distance at least…. that was until a massive collaborative songwriting camp at the agency brought the two of you under the same roof once more.
You were stepping out of a vocal booth when you saw him at the end of the hallway, laughing with Jimin and Jin.
Your breath catches in your throat.
His hair had grown out just a little longer than his military buzz cut, falling softly over his forehead, and the stark truth was that his arms looked a little stronger, his shoulders broader beneath his jacket. He carried a new, quiet maturity, yet his boxy little smile was exactly the same. Seeing him didn’t just stir up old feelings; it resurrected them entirely, hitting you with the sudden, undeniable realization that the love you thought you had buried was still very much alive.
Overwhelmed, you retreated to the safety of your own studio later that night. The emotions you had bottled up for years spilled onto the page, morphing into a cathartic, acoustic-driven track that laid your regrets bare.
You only ever sang to get the melodies out of your head, so stepping up to the microphone felt natural… just to record a raw, unfiltered scratch demo.
You poured your broken soul into the vocals, singing softly over a gentle acoustic guitar: “Your hair’s grown a little longer, your arms look a little stronger... but my heart still skips a beat.”
The song became an agonizing confession, wondering if anyone else had kissed him the way you used to, and lamenting the fear that had driven you away. Your voice cracked slightly as you reached the chorus, singing aloud the painful truth: “After all these years, I never told you... I should have told you, I’m still entirely yours.”
You never intended for the song to be released; it was just a diary entry put to a melody. You had sent the rough demo file to a mutual producer friend, asking him to bury it in his vault or pitch it to an indie artist who could actually sing it professionally.
Yet fate seemed to have another plan.
A few days later, Taehyung was lounging on the leather sofa in that exact producer's studio, casually scrolling through his phone while his friend clicked through folders on a massive monitor, searching for solo project inspiration.
"I have this one acoustic instrumental track that might fit your vibe. Let me pull it up," the producer mumbled, his mouse clicking rapidly. "Hold on, wrong folder.. ah!”
He had clicked on your file by mistake.
The moment the stripped-back, melancholic acoustic guitar drifted through the heavy studio monitors, Taehyung paused. Then, your quiet, unmistakable voice filled the room.
"Your hair’s grown a little longer... your arms look a little stronger..."
Taehyung froze. The phone slipped from his loose grip, landing with a soft thud on the sofa cushions. He sat up slowly, his dark eyes snapping toward the screen. Every muscle in his body went completely rigid, the air seemingly punched from his lungs.
"Ah, shoot, my bad," the producer stammered, his hand frantically scrambling for the mouse as he realized what he had just played. "That's not the right track. That's just a private scratch demo that got sent over a few days ago, I'm supposed to pitch it to…"
"Don't," Taehyung interrupted. His voice was a barely there whisper, tight and remarkably urgent for someone usually so calm. He leaned forward, resting his elbows heavily on his knees, his gaze locked intensely on the floorboards as the lyrics washed over him. "Don't turn it off. Please."
The producer’s hand hovered awkwardly over the mouse, glancing nervously at the sorrowful expression suddenly etched across Taehyung's face. "Tae..."
"Just let it play," Taehyung murmured, his velvety voice cracking slightly.
The producer quietly withdrew his hand, letting the song run its course. Taehyung didn't just hear a demo; he heard your heart breaking in real-time. He listened in stunned silence as your fragile voice laid bare the questions that had haunted you for three years.
"Does she kiss you like I kissed you? Yeah i never prepared for a moment like that" your voice cracked slightly over the acoustic strum. "Cause after all these years... I still feel everything when you are near."
Taehyung closed his eyes, a heavy ache settling in his chest as the song swelled toward its agonizing confession.
"I never told you... I should have told you. I'm still entirely yours."
As the final, shaky note of your vocal faded into the quiet hum of the studio, Taehyung remained perfectly still. He sat with his head bowed, the weight of your lyrics wrapping around him as he instantly connected the dots between the tragic words and the girl he had never even begun to get over.
For three years, he had wondered if you had moved on, if the quiet life you craved had finally erased him from your mind. Now, he had his answer.
He slowly picked up his phone from the sofa cushion, his thumb hovering over a contact name he had never been able to bring himself to delete.
"I have to go." Taehyung murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming emotion as he stood up and pulled his oversized coat around his shoulders. He didn't wait for a reply, stepping out of the agency and into the damp, gray evening.
That same rainy Tuesday night, you were curled up on your sofa with a notebook, absentmindedly listening to the rhythmic drumming of the rain against your apartment window. You were trying to write, trying to force your mind anywhere but the memory of seeing him in that hallway, when your phone screen suddenly illuminated the dark room.
A breath violently leaves your lungs when you see his name glowing on the screen. You hadn't heard from him in over a thousand days, but you had never deleted his number; you couldn’t ever bring herself to do it. The text was simple, completely devoid of anger, yet it held the heavy, undeniable weight of all the years they had lost.
“I heard the demo you sent in. My hair is a little longer, but I think I’m still the same guy you left. Can we talk?”
You stared at the words until your vision blurred with hot tears. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and your fingers trembled so violently you could barely hold the device as you typed back a quick, breathless “Yes.”
The reply was almost instantaneous, setting a time for that very night. They agreed to meet at your studio, the very place where you had recorded the agonizing confession he had just heard, safely hidden away from the prying eyes of the public.
An hour later, the heavy studio door clicked shut behind Taehyung. The quiet hum of the equipment filled the space between the two of you. For a long moment, neither of you moved. He stood near the entrance in an oversized, beautifully unstructured coat, his eyes wandering thoughtfully over the messy scatter of lyric sheets and tangled cables . He looked a little older, carrying a grounded, soulful maturity, but his presence was just as warm as you remembered.
"So," you started, voice coming out smaller than you had intended. You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. "You heard the demo."
Taehyung offered a faint, almost shy smile, a gentle, subdued echo of his usual playful charm. He took a slow, unhurried step into the room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice a deep, velvety murmur that was so soft you almost had to lean into him to catch it. "I did." He paused, tilting his head slightly as if he was studying you. "Was it... I mean, I have to ask. Was it about me?"
You let out a shaky breath, the tears welling up before you could stop them. "Who else would it be about, Tae?" Your voice broke, as you swiped frantically at your eyes, the polished words you had rehearsed completely abandoning you.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I let my insecurities consume me back then. I was so terrified of you being gone, of us fading out and becoming strangers across all that distance, that I just... sabotaged it. I convinced myself it would hurt less if I just ended it right then."
Taehyung closed the distance between the both of you, stopping just a couple steps away.
He didn't immediately pull you into a dramatic, movie-perfect embrace. Instead, his expression melted into pure, unguarded empathy. It was different to the last time you found yourself face to face with him. He looked at you not with lingering resentment, but with a deep, quiet understanding that made your chest ache.
"It didn't hurt less, you know," he said softly, looking down at his boots for a second before meeting your gaze again. "The first few months in the barracks were really hard. I spent a lot of time just sitting there in the quiet, trying to make sense of it."
Hearing it aloud, the pain you caused, made you flinch, you couldn’t help but look down at the floorboards in shame.
"I know. I'm so sorry.” You whispered, scared of your voice breaking again.
“I had to see your face on every screen, everywhere I went, knowing I threw us away because I was a coward."
Taehyung reached out gently. His long, elegant fingers caught your chin, tilting your head back up so you had to look at him. "I was scared too," he murmured, his thumb lightly and affectionately brushing a tear from your cheek. He sounded remarkably sincere, his introspective nature bleeding into his words.
"But hearing your voice on that track... it felt like finding a piece of myself I thought I had permanently lost. You sounded exactly how my heart has felt for the last three years. It made me realize we never really stopped loving, did we?"
You shook your head, voice now barely a whisper. "No. I never stopped."
"Then let's just try," Taehyung said, a genuine, warm fondness finally settling over his features. He stepped closer, carefully and deliberately wrapping his arms around your shoulders. It wasn't a desperate collision; it was a deeply affectionate, grounding hug. He rested his chin softly on the top of your head, his hands moving to rub soothing, steady circles on your back.
You let your forehead rest against his chest, hands tentatively gripping the soft fabric of his coat. He felt solid, real, and finally, right here.
"We don't have to figure it all out tonight," he whispered softly into your hair, his steady heartbeat drumming against your cheek. "We have a lot to catch up on. We’ll just take it day by day. Okay?"
You closed your eyes, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of him, and finally let out a breath you felt like you had been holding since the day he left. "Okay," you whispered into his coat. "Day by day."
Authors note - An important one for my readers! I would just like everyone to know that while I have loved The Sandman and I am writing for the characters in that series, I DO NOT support or condone anything to do with Neil Gaiman! I am separating the art from the artist so to speak and addressing Sandman as its own entity. The actors have done an amazing job in bringing this tale to life and I believe that needs can be celebrated as Neil’s actions are not their’s to take responsibility for. I do not believe they had any knowledge of Neil’s doings. Their careers and this visual representation shouldn’t be tainted because of the actions of another man. However, once again to reiterate, I DO NOT Support or condone the actions of Neil Gaiman!
Happy reading, as always feedback is always welcome, hate is not ✨💕
Morpheus x Fem!Reader
Summary - Dream returns to you after 100 years 🌙
Warnings - Tiny angst, Happy Ending ☁️💕
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You felt the Dreaming shift the way a heart feels the return of a missing beat.
For a hundred years you had lived inside its crumbling borders—patching nightmares, coaxing fading gods back to sleep, holding the sky together with your own will when the constellations threatened to blink out. You had given up sunlight, time, your own aging, all to keep the realm breathing in the absence of its king.
But you had never felt this before.
A low hum rolled across the horizon like a forgotten chord finally played again. The world inhaled sharply. The winds stuttered.
The Dreaming knew.
He was back.
You froze where you stood, stardust clinging to your palms, tears stinging before you understood why. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and squeezed.
“No,” you whispered. “Don’t do this to me… not unless it’s real.”
Shadows shifted.
Reality quivered.
And then—he stepped through the fracture between realms.
Morpheus.
He stood at the threshold of the throne room you had rebuilt piece by piece, a dark silhouette framed by a sky that seemed to kneel in recognition. He was taller than memory, thinner than last, and worn down in ways you had no language for. Shadows wrapped around him like trembling wings.
He looked like a god who had been broken and put back together with hands that didn’t know how.
Your vision blurred.
“Morpheus…?” His name left your mouth like a wound splitting open. You weren’t sure if you’d said it aloud until his head lifted, slowly, painfully, as though resisting gravity itself.
When his eyes met yours —starless, endless, familiar— your heart nearly gave out.
“Y/N .” His voice cracked on your name. Actually cracked. It was a soft sound, but to you it felt like the entire Dreaming itself had whispered it.
You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, a sob escaping before you could swallow it down. “It’s really you,” you choked out. “You came back. You actually—”
Your knees buckled. Not realising how much of your strength had been borrowed from hope. You crumpled to the floor, hands shaking.
Morpheus moved instantly—faster than his weary form should have allowed. In a blur of shadows he was kneeling before you, hands hovering inches from your shoulders but not quite touching, as if afraid he might burn or break you.
“My love,” he whispered again, this time so raw it hurt. “Do not weep.”
You laughed through the tears, wet and shaky. “I thought you were gone. I thought— I tried everything, Morpheus. Everything. But I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t save you.”
His hands finally settled on your shoulders . The touch was cold and warm at once, like moonlight poured into human shape.
“You kept the Dreaming alive,” he murmured. The emotion in his voice—a mix of awe, gratitude, and something softer—unraveled you. “You kept me alive.”
“You don’t know what it was like,” you sobbed. “Every night I felt it slipping further away. I kept telling myself you’d come back, but sometimes I—sometimes I stopped believing.”
His grip tightened, gentle but desperate. “I never stopped believing in you.”
Your breath hitched. Then, unable to stop yourself, you reach out for him—hands cupping his jaw, fingers trembling against his skin, cold enough to be described as pure starlight. Every part of him felt fragile, like a being held together by sheer will.
“You look like you’ve been shattered,” you whispered.
“I have,” he said simply, as if confessing to something he had never intended to speak aloud. “But the moment I stepped back into my realm… I felt you. And I knew I was not beyond repair.”
Your tears spilled over again. You gave up trying to restrain them.
He lifted a hand and, with exquisite gentleness, brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. His fingers lingered, trembling.
“You stayed,” he said, voice barely a breath. “After all the burdens I placed upon you… you stayed.”
“For you,” you whispered. “Always for you.”
Something broke inside him then—not a shattering, but an unlocking. His breath faltered; his eyes shimmered with a grief so profound you couldn’t help but wonder how he had borne it all alone.
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. The contact was so intimate, so heavy with everything unsaid, that you let out surprised gasp at the tension.
“I feared,” he whispered, “that when I returned, you would be gone. That the Dreaming would be empty of your presence. That I would be alone.”
“You’re not alone anymore,” you said softly. “Not ever again.”
He closed his eyes— surrendering to relief—and for the first time in a hundred years, he breathed like a man instead of a myth.
“My love… may I—”
You didn’t let him finish, surging forward, you captured his lips with your own.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was desperate, trembling, full of a century’s worth of grief and devotion and unspoken longing. He kissed you back like he was learning the shape of hope again, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as if afraid you might disintegrate into dreamstuff if he let go.
When the two of you finally pulled apart, both shaking, he rested his forehead against yours once more.
“You brought me back,” he whispered.
“You came back to me,” you corrected.
His expression softened—raw, reverent, undone.
“Y/N,” he said, voice trembling in a way you had never heard, “if you will remain… if you will continue to be the heartbeat of my realm… I will never let the Dreaming—or myself—lose you again.”
You took his hand, entwined your fingers with his, and pressed a kiss into his palm.
“I’ve been waiting a hundred years,” you said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And slowly—slowly—the Dreaming around them brightened, as if exhaling in relief, its king and its guardian finally whole again in each other’s arms.
Summery - Lando is sick but still wants to race. - Fluff 💕
Warnings - Not fully proofread.
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You first noticed something was off with Lando when he came home from training one evening, shoulders slouched and a tired look in his usually bright eyes. He tried to brush it off with a grin, but the cough that followed gave him away.
“You’re sick,” you said, crossing her arms.
“I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice was hoarse, and the slight wobble in his step betrayed him.
Within a day, his fever spiked, and you had insisted he stay in bed. You couldn’t help but fuss over him in the most loving way—making him hot chocolate because you knew he hated tea, bringing soup, fluffing pillows, and teasing him whenever he complained about being “bored out of his mind.” He tried to argue that he needed to train for the upcoming race, but you stayed firm.
“You won’t be racing at all if you don’t rest now,” you reminded him, tucking the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
Lando rolled his eyes but secretly loved the attention. He wasn’t used to slowing down, but having you beside him—reading to him when he couldn’t focus, playing silly games to keep his spirits up, even sitting quietly just so he wasn’t alone—made being sick less miserable.
The week passed with you doing everything you could to help him recover. Still, when race weekend came around, he wasn’t fully back to his usual self. His body felt weaker, his reflexes not as sharp as they normally were, but his determination burned brighter than ever. He still wanted to race.
So when qualifying began, nerves buzzed in your chest. You knew how much setting a good lap meant to him, but you couldn’t help but worry. Lando caught your eye before getting into the car and gave you a wink, as if to say, I’ll be fine.
But once he was on track, he realized just how much of a struggle it was. His arms felt heavy after only a few corners, and every braking zone demanded more effort than his body wanted to give. His chest felt tight inside the helmet, his breaths ragged. His concentration threatened to waver as fatigue pulled at him, but he clenched his jaw and pressed on.
One corner at a time. One lap at a time, he told himself. He wasn’t going to back out—not after you had spent the entire week looking after him, not when you were watching from the garage. The thought of you there gave him the strength to keep pushing.
When the session ended, relief washed over him. He wasn’t at his best—he knew that—but he had managed a respectable position on the grid.
Later, during interviews, a reporter asked how he was feeling. Lando gave a sheepish smile, brushing his damp curls back.
“Honestly, I’m still not one hundred percent,” he admitted. “It was a real struggle out there today—I could feel it in every corner. But I didn’t want to give up. I had my amazing girlfriend looking after me all week, and she gave me the strength to even be out here today. Couldn’t have done it without her.”
Back at the hotel that evening, the adrenaline of qualifying had worn off, leaving only exhaustion in its place. As soon as they entered the room, you guided Lando toward the bed, ignoring his half-hearted protests.
“You’re not lifting a finger,” you say firmly, dropping his bag by the door. “Sit.”
Lando sank onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his damp hair. He looked pale under the warm light, his usual sparkle dulled by fatigue. You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, your brows knitting together.
“You’re still warm,” you murmured, setting a glass of water and some tablets on the nightstand. “Honestly, you shouldn’t have been driving today.”
He caught your wrist before you could move away, his touch gentle but insistent. “I had to,” he whispered. “I couldn’t just… not go out there. Not after the week we’ve had.”
You sat beside him, smoothing his hoodie where it had bunched at his shoulder. “Lando, pushing through when you’re not well could’ve gone so wrong. You scared me watching you fight that car today—you looked so drained.”
His eyes softened, vulnerability peeking through the mask he wore for the cameras. “It was harder than I thought,” he admitted quietly. “My arms felt like lead, my chest burned every time I braked. There were moments I thought I wouldn’t make it to the end of the quali.”
Your heart twisted. You reached up to cup his cheek, voice gentle. “Then how are you going to manage the actual race in the morning? It’s twice as long, twice as demanding.”
Lando leaned into the touch, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the honesty raw. “But I’ll try. That’s all I can do.”
Your throat tightened at his words. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Lan. I’d be proud of you no matter what.”
For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. Then Lando pulled you gently down beside him, curling into your warmth as though you were the only thing keeping him steady.
“You took care of me all week,” he murmured against your hair. “Now let me be selfish and just… stay here with you tonight.”
You smiled softly, kissing his temple as you wrapped your arm around him. “You don’t have to ask.”
He exhaled, the tension in his body finally easing as he let himself melt into you. For once, there was no noise, no pressure, no track—just the two of them, in the quiet safety of the room.
As his breathing slowed and sleep began to pull him under, you brushed your fingers through his curls in a soothing manner and whispered, “I’ve got you, Lan. Always.”
And for the first time all week, he looked completely at peace.
By the time they arrived at the circuit the next morning, the usual buzz of race day filled the paddock — mechanics moving fast, engineers hunched over data screens, fans cheering outside the fences. To everyone else, it was just another Sunday. But to you, every sound felt sharper, every second heavier.
You lingered near the garage as Lando pulled on his race suit, trying not to let your worry show. He caught your eye as he adjusted his balaclava and gave you another quick wink.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly, so only you could hear. “One lap at a time, yeah?”
You nodded, though your chest was tight, riddled with anxiety. “Be safe.”
When he slid into the car, you watched the mechanics buckle him in, stomach twisting. As the formation lap began, your hands were clasped tightly together, knuckles pale.
At first, Lando looked steady. His start was clean, his pace solid. But as the laps dragged on, you saw it — the tiny mistakes, the slight drop in lap times. His body was fighting him.
Inside the cockpit, every movement felt magnified. His arms were heavy, his throat raw, his breaths coming faster than they should. The G-forces pressed down on him, each corner pulling at his weakened body like weights he couldn’t quite shake. Sweat stung his eyes, his chest burned, but he refused to lift off.
Just keep going. One more lap. Don’t stop now.
Your eyes stayed glued to the monitors, heart thudding with each sector split. You cheered when his times held steady, getting moments of relief but winced when he radioed in with a hoarse, “I’m struggling, but I’m okay.” All you wanted to do was climb into the car yourself and drag him out, but you knew this was who he was — relentless, determined, unwilling to quit.
As the checkered flag finally waved, relief surged through you. He crossed the line — not a podium, not his best finish, but he made it. And in that moment, you couldn’t have been prouder.
When he climbed out of the car, his body sagged with exhaustion, but he still managed a smile when his eyes found yours across the garage. After the brief interviews — where he admitted he was “still not one hundred percent” and once again credited you for getting him through the weekend — he finally slipped back into your arms.
“You scared me half to death,” you whispered, pressing your face into his shoulder.
His laugh was tired, his voice rough. “Scared myself a bit too. But I finished. And I swear, babe, that’s because of you.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing sweaty curls off his forehead. “No, that’s because you’re too stubborn to quit.”
“Maybe,” he admitted with a grin, “but I needed you there to remind me why I keep going.”
And as the roar of the track faded into the background, you held him tighter, knowing that win or lose, sick or well, you would always be there — his strength when his own started to run out.
The late autumn sun was already dipping below the skyline by the time you climbed the stairs to Lando’s apartment, a tired yawn catching at the back of your throat. Your uniform still smelled faintly of hay and shampoo from the shelter — you’d spent the day wrangling a terrified spaniel into a bath, coaxing a litter of kittens out from under a cupboard, and mopping up more messes than you cared to count.
By now, though, this little end-of-day ritual had become second nature. You keyed in the door code without thinking, turning the key in the door simultaneously as a soft beep welcomed you into the warm, dim space. The scent of something savoury drifted from the kitchen, and a familiar voice called out from the other room.
“Hey, love. You’re home.”
The word home always made your heart stutter.
Lando was in the kitchen, barefoot and in sweats, leaning lazily against the counter as a pot simmered on the stove. He crossed the room to meet you, hands immediately finding your waist as he kissed your temple.
“You look exhausted,” he murmured.
“Because I am,” you said, laughing quietly as you dropped your bag by the sofa. “I think I’ve got about four different animal’s fur in my hair. Please tell me you ordered takeout.”
“Better,” he grinned, nodding toward the stove. “I cooked.”
You blinked. “You? Cooked?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m capable of boiling pasta.”
You shook your head, still smiling as you curled up on the sofa, tucking your legs beneath yourself . Lando followed, sinking down beside you and pulling your body gently against his chest. The room was soft and still, the sort of quiet you had come to crave after chaotic days — and lately, this apartment had started to feel more like the place you exhaled than your own flat ever did.
“I like this,” he said after a moment, voice low and thoughtful against your hair.
“Like what?” You mumbled, already half melting into him.
“This,” he repeated. “You coming home. Kicking your shoes off. Complaining about fur in your hair. Being here.”
Your chest gave a little flutter, as you tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re getting sentimental on me, Norris.”
“Maybe.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth, but his eyes were steady on yours now — that boyish charm replaced by something far more earnest. “It’s just… every time you’re here, it feels right. Like this is how it’s supposed to be.”
You felt your pulse skip. “Lando…”
“So,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously — a tell you’d come to know well. “What if you didn’t just come over a few nights a week? What if… you just lived here?”
The words hung in the air, delicate and deliberate.
You blinked, a laugh bubbling up from sheer surprise. “Are you asking me to move in?”
“Yeah.” His smile widened a fraction. “I mean, I know your place is closer to the shelter and all, but we can figure that out. Or I’ll drive you. Or we’ll get you a scooter. I don’t care — I just… want you here. Every night.”
For a heartbeat, all you could do was stare at him — at the boy who drove too fast and teased too much, who now sat nervously waiting for your answer like the question might undo him.
“Okay,” you answered softly.
“Okay?” His brow shot up.
“Okay, I’ll move in.”
The relief that crossed his face was almost comical — quickly chased by a grin so bright you couldn’t help but laugh. He kissed you then, quick and warm and so full of promise it made your toes curl.
“Good,” he whispered against your lips. “Because I was already picturing you stealing all my drawer space.”
“Oh, I fully intend to,” you teased. “And at least half the closet.”
“Deal.” He pressed another kiss to your forehead, pulling her close again.
“Welcome home, baby.”
And for the first time, the word didn’t make your heart stutter — it made it soar.
Authors note - I’m not sure on this one but I wanted to try my hand at something a little different, so I hope you all like it anyways! As always, Feedback is welcome, hate it not. ✨💕
Lando Norris x Fem!Reader
Summery - You can no longer keep your confession to yourself.
Warnings - Angst, but has a happy ending ☁️💕Use of Y/N. Not fully proofread, was finished at midnight 😭.
———————————————————————
You sat curled on the couch, knees tucked into your chest, the tv humming low in the background. The flickering light played across your face, but you weren’t really watching. You’d been quieter lately, not the same sharp, witty presence Max was used to.
He studied you from the other end of the sofa. You hadn’t gone to dinner last night. You skipped the race the weekend before, claiming you had “things to do.” Whenever Lando texted the group chat, you suddenly went radio silent, offering a flimsy excuse hours later.
At first, Max didn’t think much of it. Everyone had off weeks. But this? This was different.
“You’ve been avoiding him,” Max said finally.
You flinched, head snapping up. “What?”
“You know who I mean.” Max shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “Lando. You barely talk to him anymore.”
Your jaw tightened. “I’ve just been busy.”
Max gave a low laugh. “Busy, huh? With what? Staring at your carpet until it reveals the meaning of life?”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your lips didn’t twitch into a smile like they usually would. Instead, you turned your face away, as though the shadow of the lamp could hide your expression.
“Y/N.” Max’s voice softened. “I’ve known you too long. Something’s up.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The silence stretched between the two of you, heavy and fragile, until finally you whispered your confession, almost too quiet to hear: “It’s hard to watch him with her.”
Max’s chest sank. A dozen tiny moments clicked into place—the way you always lit up around Lando, the way you laughed at his dumbest jokes, the way your smile dimmed whenever his new ‘friend’ was around.
“You love him, don’t you?” Max asked gently.
Your throat worked as you tried to swallow. You shook your head, then nodded, then finally breathed, “He’s not mine to love.”
“But you still do?”
Your eyes glistened, but you fought so the tears wouldn’t fall. “More than she ever will.”
Max leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. He hadn’t wanted to be right.
⸻
Lando noticed, too.
Your absence was impossible to ignore. No you in the paddock, no you crashing into his hotel room to steal his snacks, and no you teasing him after interviews. He’d text, call, even FaceTime you, but you always had some excuse. Busy. Tired. Next time.
At first, he thought you were just overwhelmed. But the longer it went on, the more it gnawed at him.
“Have you talked to Y/N lately?” Lando asked one night, glancing at Max over a half-eaten plate of pasta.
Max shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Some.”
“Some?” Lando frowned. “She barely answers me. Did I do something?”
Max looked down at his food, pushing it around with his fork. He didn’t want to say it—God, he really didn’t want to. You trusted him. And this… this wasn’t his secret to tell.
But Lando’s eyes were on him now, sharp and searching.
“She’s just dealing with… stuff,” Max muttered.
“What kind of stuff?”
Max hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. He could lie. He should lie. But then he remembered your cracked voice, the way you curled in on yourself when you said it was too hard to watch.
Finally, Max sighed, low and reluctant. “She’s… she’s in love with you, mate. It’s hard for her to see you with anyone else right now, like she’s really struggling with her feelings.”
The words dropped like lead.
Lando froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “What?”
Max grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that. But… yeah. That’s why she’s been avoiding you. Watching you with… her—it’s breaking her. She can’t pretend she’s fine anymore.”
Silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on both of them.
Lando’s chest felt tight, thoughts spinning. You. His best friend. In love with him. He wanted to say Max was wrong, that it didn’t make sense—but memory after memory betrayed him. The way your smile lingered on him. The way your voice always softened when you said his name. The way you disappeared the second he started holding someone else’s hand.
He’d been blind.
And for the first time, Lando wasn’t sure he wanted to be.
———
The next day, Lando couldn’t focus. Every joke he heard, every engine roar, every laugh from the team seemed to echo your absence. Max’s words kept looping in his head—she’s in love with you… it’s breaking her…
He hadn’t realized how much he’d taken your presence for granted until it was gone. He tried calling you, texting you, even showing up where he knew you might be, but you weren’t nowhere to be seen.
Finally, he found you at the little café they used to haunt after races.
Lando stood outside the café for a long moment, hands stuffed in his pockets, just watching you. You didn’t notice him at first—headphones in, laptop open, typing furiously. To him, in this moment you seemed… small, somehow, hunched over like the weight of the world was pressing down on you. And for the first time, Lando realized just how much he’d truly taken you for granted.
He swallowed hard, then pushed open the door. The chime above the café door barely registered to you. You looked up, startled, and for a second, Lando could see the hesitation in your eyes—fear, maybe, or maybe just the careful walls you’d built around yourself.
“Hi,” you said softly, almost unsure if he was actually there.
“Hi.” His voice sounded louder than he meant. He stepped closer, awkward, unsure of how to bridge the distance that had grown between them over these past weeks.
You gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit.”
He did, trying to gauge your expression. You avoided his eyes, staring down at the coffee cup as if it held all the answers. “You’ve been… avoiding me,” he said finally, gently.
Your fingers traced the rim of your cup, twisting it around in small circles. You figured Max talked to Lando, so it was time to be honest. Your secret was out after all.
“I… I couldn’t handle it. Watching you with her, I mean. It’s—” your voice faltered. “It’s too much.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. “Y/N…” he started. He wanted to ask more, to beg you to explain, but the raw honesty in your voice made him pause.
“I thought if I gave us distance, if I didn’t show up, didn’t talk… maybe it would get easier.” You finally looked up at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But it doesn’t. Not one bit.”
Lando leaned forward, placing his hand tentatively over yours. You couldn’t help but freeze at the contact, body stiffening, but you didn’t pull away. “I… I didn’t know. I didn’t realize how much this was hurting you.”
Your gaze dropped. “Of course you didn’t. You’re happy, right? You’re with her. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to ruin anything. So I stayed quiet. I stayed away. But it’s like I’m invisible.”
The word “invisible” hung in the air between the both of you, heavy and painful. Lando’s chest ached. “You’re not invisible,” he said, his voice low. “Not to me. You never have been.”
Your lips trembled, and you bit the inside of your cheek, looking anywhere but at him. “I love you,” you whispered suddenly, words tumbling out faster than you could stop them. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to happen, not like this, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t. I can’t just watch you with her and not feel this… this emptiness.”
Lando’s heart lurched. He had always thought of you as his best friend, the person who anchored him through the chaos, the one constant he never questioned. But hearing you say those 3 words - he felt the ground shift beneath him. Memories flashed before his eyes: the way you laughed at his dumbest jokes, the way you nudged him when he was frustrated, the countless nights you had stayed up waiting for him to finish a race debrief, the small smile you gave him when he least expected it.
How had he missed this?
Tears escaped, spilling down your cheeks. You hastily brushed them away, embarrassed, frustrated, afraid he might laugh or turn away. “It’s fine,” you said quickly. “You don’t have to… you can’t feel the same way. You’re with her, and I—”
I’m not with her,” he interrupted softly. “At least… I don’t know what I’m doing. I didn’t realize what I had in front of me”
You looked at him, searching his face for reassurance, but then you shook your head slightly, standing up. “I can see that you need to think, Lando. I won’t… I won’t pressure you. Maybe some space will help.”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… maybe.”
You gave him a small, sad smile and left, leaving him alone with the quiet hum of the café.
———
The following hours stretched into days. Lando replayed every memory, every conversation, every moment with you in vivid detail. He thought about how you had always been there, supporting him without hesitation, laughing with him, teasing him, silently making his world better in ways he had never fully appreciated. Slowly, he began to see it clearly: the way his chest tightened when you smiled at him, the way he missed your presence when you weren’t around, the way nothing in his life felt complete without you.
It scared him, realizing it, but also thrilled him—he was in love with you. Truly.
Still, he hesitated. What if you thought he was only saying this because of your own confession? What if you believed it was pity, or obligation? He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you again.
Finally, he called Max. His voice was quieter than usual, serious. “Max… I think I’m in love with her. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t want her to think I’m just saying this because of what she told me.”
Max was quiet for a beat, then said, “Then don’t say it lightly. Show her it’s yours. That it’s not just because she confessed, but because you realized it on your own. Don’t wait. Go to her.”
Lando’s chest tightened with urgency. “You’re right. I can’t wait. I have to—”
He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and rushed through the rain-slicked streets, water soaking through his clothes, dripping off his hair, every step pounding with determination. The city around him blurred, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was finding you.
When he finally reached your apartment building, he hesitated at the door for a moment, chest heaving, then rang your buzzer. The minutes stretched. Then, the door opened, and there you were—sketchbook in hand, hair slightly damp from the drizzle you’d ignored while coming down to see who it was.
“Y/N” he called gently, voice trembling slightly.
You were startled, eyes wide, taking in the sight of him soaked from head to toe.
“I—” he began, swallowing hard, letting the truth settle in his chest before he spoke. “I needed to think, and I realised… I’m in love with you. Not because you said it, not because I feel I should, but because I’ve always felt it and didn’t understand it until now. I want this. I want you.”
Your eyes searched his, full of cautious hope, fear still lingering behind the light.
He stepped closer, water dripping onto the mat at your feet, but he didn’t care. “I don’t want you to ever think I’m staying because I have to. I’m here because I choose you. Always.”
Your lips trembled into the faintest smile, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the possibility that maybe he really meant it—out of his own free will, and not out of pressure.
The door clicked shut behind you, You stood there, clutching your sketchbook to your chest, eyes wide, unsure, and his heart ached at the vulnerability in your expression.
“You can come up” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Lando stepped inside, shedding the soaked jacket, water pooling at his feet. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and your lavender candle, a familiar comfort he’d taken for granted until now. He looked at you, trying to read the subtle tension in your posture. You weren’t running, but you weren’t relaxed either.
“I… I wasn’t sure you’d come,” you admitted, biting your lip.
“I had to,” he said softly. “I can’t… I can’t pretend I don’t feel this anymore.”
Your gaze dropped to the sketchbook in your hands. “It’s just… what if this isn’t real? What if you only said that because I—”
“Stop,” Lando interrupted gently, stepping closer. “This isn’t because of your confession. I realized it on my own. Every little thing you’ve done for me… all those little moments we had together … it’s all made me see that I am in love with you. And I didn’t want to wait another second to tell you.”
Your lips trembled. “But… I’m scared,” you admitted, voice breaking slightly. “I’m scared that… that you’ll realize it’s too much, or that you’ll leave because I’m… me. I don’t want to be the reason you feel trapped.”
Lando reached out slowly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I’m not trapped. I’m here because I want to be. Because I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here, with you. You don’t have to be anyone else. Just you… is enough.”
Your breath hitched, and you sank onto the couch, sketchbook falling forgotten to your side. He followed, sitting close enough that their knees touched, letting the warmth of his presence ground you.
The two of you sat in silence for a long moment, neither speaking, just feeling the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing. Then, almost instinctively, you reached for his hand, tentative, unsure, as if testing the waters. He entwined his fingers with yours, careful, steady, a silent promise in the simple contact.
“You’re really saying this… for you?” You whispered, searching his eyes.
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “For me. For us. I’m not staying out of obligation or pity. I’m staying because I want to. Because I love you.”
Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you let the words sink in, the fear slowly giving way to something warmer, something hopeful. For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to imagine a future where he really meant it—where they could be together, not as friends, not as obligations, but as something more.
Lando shifted slightly closer, still careful, giving you the space to pull away if you needed it. “We don’t have to rush anything,” he said softly. “We can figure this out together… one step at a time.”
You looked at him, a tentative smile breaking through your fear. “Okay,” you whispered, and it was enough.
He squeezed your hand gently, relief and hope washing over him. And in that quiet apartment, away from the chaos of the world outside, you both sat together—hesitant, nervous, but finally allowing themselves to feel what had been there all along.
Please write more of dad!charles i really like the series !
I’m so glad that you enjoyed the series! I do have some ideas that I could add to the series but I also like where I have currently ended it, so I would have to see if / when inspiration strikes ✨💕
Authors note - this one is a self indulgent one as I’ve struggled through another monthly period and could have really done with some comfort 😂. Being a woman is tough sometimes 🥺. As always feedback is welcome, hate is not ✨💕
Lando Norris x Fem!Reader
Summery - You are in desperate need of some comfort when struggling with cramps. - Fluff 💕
Warnings - Mentions of periods.
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You curled up against Lando’s side on the sofa, head nestled against his chest and your body wrapped in one of your favourite hoodies of his.
The rhythmic beat of his heart and the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulled you into a rare sense of comfort. Your cramps had been relentless all day, leaving you drained and achy, and all you wanted now was to feel safe, warm, and close to him.
Lando noticed the way you shifted every so often, seeking a position that hurt less. He brushed a hand gently through your hair, murmuring softly, “Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”
That was enough. Wrapped in the scent of him, the quiet of the room, and the protective circle of his arms, you drifted off into a light but very much-needed sleep.
Unfortunately, the peace didn’t last long.
The front door swung open, followed by the unmistakable sound of Max’s voice booming into the flat. “Lando! Mate, you will not believe what just happened—”
“Shhh!” Lando’s voice cut across the room before Max could take another step. His head snapped up, his expression sharp in a way Max rarely saw. “Keep it down.”
Max froze, blinking in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?” he whispered loudly, still too noisy for Lando’s liking.
Lando tightened his arm around you instinctively, shifting slightly so you remained tucked against him, undisturbed. His voice dropped low, firm but quiet. “She’s asleep. She’s not been feeling good all day. If you wake her up, you’re out.”
Max’s eyes flicked to the sofa, where he finally noticed you curled into Lando, face soft and peaceful. The sight softened him, and he held his hands up in surrender. “Got it. I’ll keep it down.”
Lando gave him a look that promised consequences if he didn’t. Then, with one last protective glance at you, he brushed a kiss across your hairline and whispered so softly only you could possibly hear—even in sleep—“Don’t worry, love. I won’t let anyone disturb you.”
Max slipped into the kitchen, uncharacteristically quiet, but Lando’s sharp eyes followed him until he sat down on one of the stools at the counter. The flat was hushed again, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the steady sound of your breathing.
“You’re intense, mate,” Max said finally, keeping his voice low this time. He nodded toward you. “She okay?”
Lando’s arm tightened reflexively. “Yeah. She has her period. Bad cramps. She’s been miserable all day.” His gaze softened as it dropped back to you. “Finally got her comfortable enough to sleep.”
Max raised his brows, surprised at how tender Lando’s tone had turned. “Didn’t realize it hit her that hard.”
“It does,” Lando murmured. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face again, careful not to wake you. “She tries to hide it, but I can tell. All I can do is keep her close, make sure she feels safe and seen.”
Max leaned his elbows on the counter, watching the way his friend stroked your hair so gently, like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. “You’ve changed, you know. A year ago, you’d have laughed me out of the room if I said you’d be here playing nurse, letting someone drool on your hoodie.”
“She can drool on every hoodie I own if it helps,” Lando shot back quietly, but his lips twitched with a small smile.
Max chuckled. “I’ll give you this—you’re good for her.”
Lando kissed the top of your head again, feeling the need to be close to you, just as much as you did. His eyes softened but still held that fierce kind of love. “She’s good for me too.”
For a while, neither spoke. Max respected the silence, sipping a glass of water instead of filling the room with his usual noise. Lando stayed exactly where he was, his arms snug around you, unwilling to risk even the smallest disturbance.
Eventually Max broke the quiet, this time in a near-whisper. “Want me to head out? Give you two space?”
Lando shook his head, his thumb tracing absent circles on your arm. “Stay if you want. Just… keep it quiet.”
Max nodded, strangely humbled by the sight of his friend—the loud, energetic Lando Norris—sitting utterly still, completely wrapped up in keeping one girl comfortable in his arms.
And in that quiet flat, while you slept peacefully for the first time all day, Lando’s protective hold told Max everything he needed to know: his friend was hopelessly, deeply in love.
Authors Note - Here is the winner of the poll! I hope you all enjoy 🥺. As always feedback is welcome, hate it not ✨💕
Lando Norris x Shy!Reader
Summery - The fans show their support for Lando’s girlfriend who is very shy. - Fluff 💕
Warnings - None? Just fluff.
———————————————————————
You had never been one for the spotlight. You liked quiet spaces, the comfort of a book, and the kind of laughter that only came out when you were around people you trusted. So when you found yourself dating Lando Norris—Formula 1 driver, social media darling, and all-around center of attention— you wondered if both worlds could ever fit together.
Yet, to your surprise, they did.
At first, you kept to the shadows. You avoided the cameras in the paddock, stayed out of the glossy Instagram stories, and blushed fiercely when people recognised you, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
Lando never pushed you; he simply took your hand when you needed grounding, stood between you and the flashes, and whispered jokes to make you smile when things felt overwhelming.
What neither of you expected was how much people adored it. Fans noticed the way Lando’s eyes softened when you were near, how he leaned towards you as if you were the only calm point in his whirlwind life. They noticed the way you tucked yourself into his side when crowds got too loud, or the small, careful smiles you offered when Lando teased you into joining a photo.
Soon, clips began circulating:
—Lando coaxing you to wave shyly at fans, your cheeks pink as everyone cheered.
— you handing Lando a water bottle after a race, the touch quick and gentle, like you didn’t realize the cameras were watching.
—A fleeting moment when Lando kissed the top of your head and you had buried your face in his shoulder, overwhelmed but happy.
“Cutest couple ever,” the captions read. “Protect Y/N at all costs.”
Then there were the streams.
You had no intention of ever being on them. You were perfectly happy staying in the background while Lando yelled at his games and entertained thousands of fans. But little by little, you slipped into frame. A laugh caught by his mic when he said something ridiculous. A mug of tea placed carefully on his desk during a long session. The way his face lit up when you peeked in to check on him.
The first time you accidentally appeared on camera, you froze like you had stepped into a spotlight. “Oh—sorry!” You blurted out, already backing toward the door.
But Lando reached out, looping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer. “Don’t run away now,” he said, grinning at the camera. “Chat, this is Y/N. Be nice—she’s shy.”
You gave the tiniest wave before darting out again, and he laughed until his cheeks hurt. “God, I love her,” Lando muttered, not even realizing his mic picked it up.
From then on, little moments slipped into his streams: you setting down snacks with the barest smile, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders during a long session, laughing softly when he was being ridiculous. You never lingered, never played to the camera—but that only made fans love you more. They called you “the soft to Lando’s chaos,” flooding social media with clips of your quiet, unintentional sweetness.
Eventually you began to realise that you weren’t being judged. The world wasn’t laughing at your awkwardness—it was celebrating it. People found it real. Relatable. Refreshing.
You still blushed when the cameras caught you, still tucked yourself into Lando’s side when the attention got too loud. But you wasn’t afraid anymore—not with him there.
Because the truth was simple: you’d never be the one to take center stage, and Lando would never ask you to. He didn’t need you to be bold or loud. He just needed you—the girl who brought him tea, who steadied him when the world was spinning too fast, who loved him quietly and completely.
So whenever the cameras caught the two of you—whether at the paddock, in a photo, or in the soft background of a stream—fans wouldn’t see a shy girl struggling in the spotlight. They would see love—gentle, patient, and impossibly sweet.
Let that WIP in your folder become a short story. Don't feel pressured to create three part novels out of every idea you have. Let the story tell you how much space it needs to play out.
Authors Note - Thank you for everyone who voted on my latest poll! The winner was Lando x Shy!Reader, Fluff! 💕
I’m going to edit it and post it as soon as I can! I hope you all enjoy it. In the meantime I hope you all enjoy this! Let me know if I should make into a series! As always feedback is welcome, hate is not ✨💕
Lando Norris x Fem!Reader
Summery - Lando was tired of seeing you heartbroken. He confesses something he held into for years. - Angst ☁️
Warnings - Mentions of heartbreak and doubt.
———————————————————————
You stared at the half-empty wine glass in your hand, trying to ignore the way your chest still ached. You had sworn this time would be different—that maybe, finally, you had found someone who meant it when he said he cared. Instead, you had ended up right back where you always did: discarded, wondering why you weren’t enough.
“I don’t get it,” you muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest on the couch. “What’s the point anymore? Love’s just… disappointment on repeat.”
Across from you, Lando leaned back in the armchair, his jaw tightening. He hated seeing you like this—eyes swollen from crying, shoulders curled in defeat. He hated even more that you had let yet another guy convince you that you were anything less than extraordinary. For years, he’d watched you chase people who never deserved you, and for years, he’d bitten his tongue.
“Y/N,” he said softly, his British accent curling around your name the way it always did, gentle and warm. “You can’t think it’s you. It’s not. They’re idiots.”
You gave a weak laugh. “Seems like a lot of idiots, then.”
The sound of it tugged at his chest. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and for a moment he almost lost his nerve. But then you looked at him—really looked at him—with those tired eyes, and something inside him snapped.
“Maybe it’s because you’ve been looking in the wrong place,” he said.
Your brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lando swallowed hard, then forced himself to meet her gaze. “I mean… you keep waiting for someone to treat you right, but—” He blew out a breath, nerves rattling his words. “I could show you. How you deserve to be treated. How it feels when someone actually cares, and isn’t going to bail the second things get real.”
Silence stretched between them. You blinked, stunned, as if his words hadn’t quite landed yet.
“Lando…” your voice was barely a whisper. “Are you saying—?”
His eyes were fixed on his hands as he picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “All these guys you’ve been with, they don’t get it. They don’t see how lucky they are. How lucky they were.”
His voice caught, and he paused before continuing. “If it were me… I’d never let you feel like you were too much. I’d spend every day making sure you knew you were exactly right.”
Your breath caught, heart thudding against your ribs. “Lando…”
He looked up at you again then, his brown eyes steady and unguarded in a way that made your chest ache. “I’m not saying this to complicate things. he murmured, voice low but sure. “But I can’t keep pretending either.”
Your lips parted, but no words came.
“I love you.” The words slipped out like a breath he’d been holding for years, fragile but certain. “I don’t mean as your best friend, or in some casual, easy way. I love you in the way that makes everything else feel… smaller. I’ve tried to bury it, to be just what you needed as a friend, but every time you hurt, every time someone else makes you cry, it kills me, because I know I’d spend the rest of my life making sure you never felt like that again.”
His fingers twisted the blanket tighter, knuckles white. “I love you. Always have. I just—needed you to finally know.”
Lando…” you whispered, panic and confusion laced throughout your voice.
“I’m not asking you to fall for me overnight,” he said quickly. “Just give me the chance to prove that love doesn’t have to hurt. If it doesn’t work, fine—we go back to being us. You will never lose me. But if it does…” His lips curved into the faintest, most hopeful smile. “Then maybe you’ll see what I’ve seen all along.”
Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to run—to protect yourself from another heartbreak. But another part, the part that trusted Lando more than anyone else in the world, whispered that maybe… just maybe… you should let him try.
Caught between fear and longing, all you could get out was, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Lando’s gaze softened, and he finally rose to his feet, closing the space between the two of you slowly, carefully, as though giving you every chance to pull away.
you lando fic maybe the world needs a wake up call is amazing. i am sitting here crying. i suffer from really bad back pain too (i have scoliosis and i recently fell down the stairs causing even more pain) and honestly it was just amazing 💕💕
Aw I’m so glad that you enjoyed it! I didn’t know it anyone would relate but I’m glad that you can find comfort in it 💕. I’m so sorry that you have injured yourself 🥺 I fall a lot too because of my disability I know it can be frustrating but I hope you are resting well! You are so strong you got this! Thank you again for reading my work it means so so much to me! 💕
Summery - You wear Lando’s hoodie for the first time. - Fluff 💕
Warnings - None.
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You had spent the afternoon at Lando’s flat while he was out for simulator training. The plan was simple: wait for him, maybe order food later, and try not to get too lost in the endless maze of motorsport documentaries he had queued up.
At some point, you had gotten cold. His flat was modern and sleek, but the heating clearly had a mind of its own. You padded toward his bedroom, pulling open the wardrobe with only the slightest pang of guilt. If he could leave you alone surrounded by all his things, he couldn’t possibly expect you not to snoop a little.
That was when you found it. His hoodie. Soft, a little worn, carrying that faint cologne-and-fuel scent that clung to Lando himself. You slipped it on before you could think twice. It was huge on your small frame, sleeves hanging past your hands, but it was warm—and, it felt safe.
By the time Lando came home, you were curled on the sofa, hood pulled up, one sleeve tugged between your fingers as you scrolled through Netflix. You didn’t even notice him walk in at first.
“Hey—” he started, shutting the door behind him. Then he froze.
You looked up, startled. “What?”
Lando’s eyes narrowed, but a grin tugged at his lips. “Is that… my hoodie?”
You blinked, feigning innocence. “…No?”
He dropped his gym bag on the floor and walked toward you slowly, dramatically, like a detective closing in on a suspect. “That is definitely my hoodie.”
You tugged the hood over her face, feeling it heat up, “Might’ve borrowed it. Temporarily.”
“Temporarily,” he repeated, sliding onto the couch next to you. He reached out, pulling at one sleeve that was way too long for your arm. “Baby, this thing is swallowing you.”
“It’s cozy,” you defended, not wanting to surrender the item of clothing.
“And it smells nice.”
His grin widened. “You mean it smells like me.”
You rolled yours eyes at that, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.”
But his hand didn’t leave your sleeve. Instead, he played with the cuff, tugging it gently, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “You look… really cute,” he admitted, voice dropping a little. “Like, unfairly cute.”
Your stomach flipped. You tried to act casual, though your cheeks burned. “Guess I’m keeping it, then.”
Lando groaned, throwing his head back. “That’s my favorite hoodie.”
“Was,” you corrected, smirking. “Now it’s mine.”
He turned to you, mock-offended. “Unbelievable. You steal my hoodies, you eat half my snacks, you hog the blanket—what do I get out of this relationship?”
You simply leaned into his side, the hoodie bunching up between them. “Me.”
For a beat, he went quiet. Then, softer than before, he murmured, “Yeah… fair enough.”
And even though he pretended to sulk about it for the rest of the evening, Lando didn’t stop smiling every time he caught you tugging the oversized sleeves over your hands.
