I am 18 years old, she/her and trying to get into writing more even though I'm a MAJOR procrastinator. In this blog I’ll take requests mainly on F1.
I cool with spam likes i don't care, i love it. i'm not a freak who will block you over some likes lol
Don’t be shy 🙈 Request or ask questions. The opportunity is always open.
⚠️ If you do end up requesting please be specific about your ideas and elaborate. Let me really know what you want 👹 and I will write it to my best capabilities. ☝️😀
Main series》 Spotlight and Slipstream ｜𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒱𝐼𝐿𝐿𝒜𝐼𝒩 𝒪𝐹 𝐹𝟣
I love your writing! Since I'm a minor, I can't read the mature episodes of Lando x Blackpink!reader. Would you consider posting a version without the NSFW scenes? I really don't want to miss out on the plot! Thanks! ❤️👯
Hello! Thank youuu! I actually don’t have any nsfw in any of my posts. I keep seeing that tumblr keeps monetizing/putting a mature label on my posts for some random reason. I don’t really know how to take it off or what to edit to get it taken off.
I checked and saw there was only one (correct me if I’m wrong) that had a mature label and it was spotlight and slipstream pt.2.
I’ll see what I can do, if you don’t mind anon, sending a message so I can tag you or send you a copy on an external drive. 🫶👯
In the 5th member of blackpink I hope pietra realises that she is being mean and disrespectful and understand that idols career is also hard.
I'm Sorry
| Lando Norris Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
warnings: use of y/n
a/n: i was sort of having a hard time writing this because of the POV, which made me think really hard on what POV people like. The internet says third person, some readers hate first person, and people are iffy about second person, so lets vote lol (cause i'm a people pleaser 😔)
ALSO THE POV THAT WINS IS BEING USED FOR THE ABU DUABI IMAGINE (which is coming soon)
Which POV is your favorite to read??
FIRST DUH (me/I)
SECOND DUH (you)
what your doing now is cool w/ me (her/ she)
Voting ended onJan 16
After she and Lando left the club, Pietra stayed seated long after the energy around their booth shifted back into noise and celebration. The space they’d occupied felt louder without them, like the air had been disturbed and never quite settled.
The bitter feeling didn’t even begin to cover it.
Pietra replayed the argument over and over, each sharp sentence looping in her head whether she wanted it to or not.
Her voice—calm, controlled, unapologetic—had lodged itself somewhere under Pietra’s skin. The worst part wasn’t that she’d been called out. It was that it had been done so cleanly.
‘She thinks she’s so composed, so above it,’ Pietra thought, staring into the melting ice in her glass, and yet. The question crept in anyway, unwelcome and persistent.
Was I wrong?
“No,” she whispered to herself, almost desperate to convince herself. “Of course not,” but her answer didn't stick.
Pietra told herself for months that her irritation toward her was justified. That it was about loyalty, about protecting her best friend, about not liking how easily she slithered into Lando’s life and stayed there.
The words she had thrown at Pietra earlier. They hit closer to something Pietra had spent a long time pretending didn’t exist.
Magui shifted beside her, swaying slightly as she leaned back against the booth. The alcohol had softened her edges, loosened her tongue.
“I still can’t believe you said all that to her,” Magui said, squinting at the ceiling like it might give her answers.
Pietra stiffened. “Oh, come on.”
“I mean it,” Magui continued, words slurring just enough to be honest. “You went for her. Hard.”
Pietra turned on her, incredulous. “Are you serious right now? I was doing it for you.”
Magui frowned, blinking slowly. “For me?”
“Yes,” Pietra snapped. “Because for months you were upset. You cried about him not choosing you. You were miserable, Magui. You don’t get to act all evolved now just because she was nice to you for five fucking minutes.”
Magui sat up straighter, the haze clearing from her eyes just enough. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Pietra shot back. “I saw it. I heard it. I was there. There when you were sobbing into my fucking pillows.”
“And I told you I’m over it,” Magui said, firmer now. “I meant that.”
Pietra laughed, sharp and humorless. “Oh, please.”
“No,” Magui said, shaking her head. “I am. I’ve come to terms with it. He didn’t want me. He wants her. Yes, it fucking sucks, but it’s not her fault.”
The words landed harder than Pietra expected.
“And honestly,” Magui added quietly, “you need to come to terms with it too.”
Pietra scoffed, pushing herself to her feet so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Whatever. I’m not having this conversation.”
She wove through the crowd, anger buzzing under her skin like static, and spotted Max near the bar, laughing with someone she barely recognized. Without thinking, she grabbed his wrist.
“Can we go?” she said.
Max looked startled. “Now?”
“Yes.”
He searched her face for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Let me close out the tab.”
She didn’t wait for him. Pietra pushed toward the exit, the bass thudding behind her, the night air hitting her like a slap as she stepped outside. Max caught up quickly, amusement flickering across his face despite the tension.
“You really wanted to leave, huh?” he teased gently. She didn’t answer right away.
The walk back to the hotel was quiet, the streets calmer now, Monaco settling into that late-night hush that always felt a little unreal. Pietra stared ahead, heels clicking against the pavement, her thoughts anything but quiet.
She thought about the things she’d said. About the way she hadn’t raised her voice until Pietra had forced her hand. About the way Lando had immediately wrapped an arm around her like it was an instinct.
Back in the hotel room, Pietra kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. Max disappeared into the bathroom, humming softly, unaware of the war still waging in her head.
For the first time that night, Pietra just sat there, staring at the carpet, wondering when exactly things had gone wrong and why admitting it felt worse than any insult she had thrown her way.
☆
The next morning arrived slowly, like it didn’t want to intrude.
She peeled herself out from under the sheets with care, every movement deliberate so she wouldn’t wake Lando. Her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. The kind of hangover that felt more emotional than physical.
She winced as her feet touched the cold floor and padded into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her.
She opened the bottle of Advil, poured out two into her palm, and chased them with water straight from the sink.
A shower followed—cold enough to make her shiver, grounding enough to clear the fog invading her head. She stood there longer than necessary, letting the water hit her shoulders, replaying flashes from the night before: the argument, everything.
When she stepped back into the room, her hair was damp and her body wrapped in a towel. Lando was still out cold, flat on his back, one arm flung above his head, hair a mess, mouth slightly open.
She smiled despite herself.
She checked her phone quietly, relief bloomed when she saw Rosé’s text from a few hours earlier confirming she’d made it back safely. She sent a quick heart in response and set the phone down.
Right on cue, Lando groaned.
He rolled onto his side, squinting at the ceiling. She leaned against the dresser. “You okay?”
“My head,” he muttered, then cracked one eye open. “My soul.”
She chuckled and tossed the Advil bottle onto the bed. He fumbled for it, struggled to open the tiny bottle. He let out an exasperated sigh, blinked a couple of times before trying again.
“Need help?” she teased. He shook his head, eventually getting it open.
After swallowing two pills dry, he let his head fall back into the pillow. “What happened last night?”
“We partied,” she said easily.
“No,” he said, blinking at her. “I mean—what happened with Pietra and Magui?”
She sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed now. “Pietra started stuff. For no reason.”
His jaw tightened. “What kind of stuff?”
She hesitated, then turned fully toward him. “About us.”
He dragged a hand down his face, already exhausted. “Of course she did.”
“I called her out,” she continued. “I’m done pretending it’s fine. I’ve tried, Lando. I’ve been polite. I’ve been patient. She just won’t let it go because of Magui.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said immediately.“Believe me, I know,” she said. “And I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. That’s not my issue, but I’m not going to sit there while she says these things about me, about us. Especially in front of Rosé.”
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, expression serious now.
“She can talk all the shit she wants about me,” she went on, frustration creeping back into her voice. “But don’t bring our relationship into it. That’s not something I’ll ever be quiet about.”
Lando nodded slowly. “I get it.”
Then, quieter: “Pietra’s always been… weird with other girls.”
She glanced at him.
“She latched onto Magui,” he continued. “And you know how that whole thing went. She never really stopped being her friend, which made things awkward. But this—” He shook his head. “This is crossing a line.”
“I don’t want this to mess with your friendship with Max,” she admitted. “That’s the last thing I want.”
He scoffed softly. “It won’t. Max isn’t blind, and if Pietra keeps acting like this, that’s on her, not you.”
She exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “I just hate that it keeps coming back to this.”
“I know,” he said, reaching out to lace his fingers through hers. “But I’m on your side. Always.”
Lando’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. They both glanced at the screen. It was max. Lando reached over her to answer, putting it on speaker.
“I know,” he said, reaching out to lace his fingers through hers. “But I’m on your side. Always.”
Lando’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. They both glanced at the screen. It was max. Lando reached over her to answer, putting it on speaker.
“Morning,” Lando grumbled.
“Define ‘morning,’” Max groaned. “Because I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
Lando laughed weakly. “Same.”
Max cleared his throat. “Pietra and I are going to lunch if y’all want to join us?”
She met Lando’s eyes.
“Yeah, we’ll go. We’re quite hungry, or at least I am.”
“Sweet,” Max said, happily. “I’ll text you the place. Take your time.”
The call ended.
She leaned back against the pillows. “Well. That should be…something.”
Lando huffed. “At least you’ll be sober.”
She smiled and leaned into his shoulder.
When she and Lando arrived, Pietra and Max were already seated at the small corner table, menus half-open, water glasses sweating onto the wood. They all looked equally wrecked, with tired eyes and slower movements, the unmistakable stiffness of people who had pushed themselves a little too far the night before.
Pietra noticed immediately where she chose to sit, directly across from her.
She slipped into the chair without ceremony, sunglasses still on, posture composed but closed off. She didn’t greet Pietra beyond a polite nod, already turning her attention to Max as he launched into a half-hearted story about almost missing the reservation.
Max, Lando, and (Y/n) fell into easy conversation, the kind built on familiarity—inside jokes, shared exhaustion, mutual teasing. Pietra stayed quiet, smiling when appropriate, listening more than speaking.
Pietra couldn’t stop watching her.
The sunglasses hid her eyes, which somehow made her more intimidating. Pietra tried to convince herself it was nothing. Just a hangover, just nerves, but the tightness in her chest didn’t go away.
Max suddenly cut himself off mid-sentence with a loud, wet burp, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh—nope. I knew it was coming. I’m gonna head to the restroom.”
He pushed his chair back and practically jogged away.
“Gross,” (Y/n) murmured under her breath as she picked up the menu, eyes scanning it calmly.
Lando chuckled. “I’ll go check on him. I’ll just get whatever you’re getting,” he said, tapping her thigh lightly before standing.
She nodded, still reading, and just like that, it was only the two of them. The silence settled fast.
She flipped a page in the menu, unhurried, perfectly comfortable in the quiet. Pietra, on the other hand, felt like her skin didn’t fit right. She tried not to stare, failed, looked away, then back again.
Pietra hated how put-together she looked, even hungover. Hated that she wasn’t visibly upset, wasn’t tense, wasn’t trying to prove anything. Pietra had spent all night replaying the argument in her head, finding new ways she could’ve won it, new lines she should’ve said.
The waiter approached with a bright smile, introducing himself and mentioning happy hour. She grimaced slightly at the word alcohol.
She slid her sunglasses up onto her head and looked up at him. “Um—water, and two orange juices.”
Pietra felt something twist in her stomach. Two juices. Already assuming Lando’s order, already knowing him that well.
The waiter froze for half a second when he actually registered her face.
“Oh—sorry,” he said quickly, flushing as he recovered. He scribbled the order down, then turned to Pietra, who ordered for herself without much thought.
When he looked back at her, his expression softened. “By the way—I love the new song. I’ve had it on repeat since it dropped.”
Her lips curved into a genuine smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“I can’t wait for the album,” he added, clearly emboldened. “I have a feeling you might outshine the others.”
Pietra’s jaw tightened.
She laughed, easy and unbothered. “We’ll see. I’m pretty confident about the work I put into it.”
He grinned. “You’re my bias. I’ve been praying for a solo album.”
She shook her head, amused. “Guess your prayers worked a little.”
They exchanged a few more words before the waiter finally excused himself to grab their drinks.
As soon as he was gone, the quiet returned.
She picked up her phone, scrolling absently. Pietra watched her out of the corner of her eye, noticed the way her expression shifted—small smiles, a quiet laugh.
She was reading comments
HER SOLO ERA IS INSANE WITH ONE SONG
She ate and left no crumbs
This song has been on repeat for HOURS
'keep your hand off my man' is crazy
Album of the year already, I can feel it in my nuggets
She let out a small giggle before she could stop herself, thumb hovering as she liked one of them.
Across the table, Pietra stared anywhere but at her—at the wall, the floor, the condensation on her glass—anything to avoid the growing knot of guilt and jealousy tightening in her chest.
Pietra opened her mouth, about to say her name. About to… what? Apologize? Acknowledge last night? Say something? Anything? But before she could speak, Max and Lando returned.
“False alarm,” Max announced, dropping into his chair. “Crisis averted.”
Lando laughed awkwardly as he sat beside his girlfriend, immediately glancing at her face, reading her posture. He tilted his head at her ‘Are you okay?’
She surprised him by smiling.
“Our waiter’s a fan,” she said casually.
Lando raised a brow. “Of you or me?”
She tilted her head, eyes bright now that the sunglasses were gone. “Who do you think?”
“Oh well, excuse me,” he shot back, mock-offended.
Lunch arrived slowly, as if the restaurant itself could sense the collective hangover at the table.
Max attacked his food as it owed him money, muttering something about “never drinking again” between bites. Lando ate more carefully, stealing fries off her plate despite her half-hearted swats at his hand and noises of irritation.
“Hey,” she murmured, nudging his knee under the table. “Get your own.”
“You aren’t eating them,” he said innocently.
Pietra watched the exchange without meaning to. They were so natural together.
Pietra caught herself looking away too late when she leaned closer to Lando to whisper something that made him grin, head tipping back in a quiet laugh. Pietra stabbed at her salad a little harder than necessary.
When the plates were cleared and the check placed at the edge of the table, Max reached for it automatically.
“Nope,” Lando said, intercepting his hand. “I’ve got it.”
Max squinted at him. “You won Monaco. I should be paying you.”
She nudged Lando with her elbow. “Let him pretend he’s generous.”
Pietra glanced between them, then down at the table, fingers twisting in her napkin.
When they stood to leave, Max and Lando lagged behind, arguing lightly about whether they had time to stop for coffee before heading back—something about Lando needing caffeine.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, already half-turned toward the exit.
Pietra swallowed. “(Y/n).”
She stopped.
Pietra’s voice felt too loud in her own ears. “Can I—uh. Can I talk to you for a second?”
She turned slowly to Pietra, her face unreadable.
Pietra hesitated, then forced herself through it. “I was wondering if… maybe you’d want to get dinner with me later. Just us.”
She blinked once.
Pietra rushed to fill the silence. “Not—like, anything dramatic. I just think we should talk. Properly and sober. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just—”
She thought about it, then exhaled slowly, gaze drifting past her to where Lando was still mid-argument with Max, completely unaware.
“I guess,” she said finally.
Pietra’s shoulders dropped in visible relief. “Yeah?”
She nodded once.
Max called out then, “You two coming or are we forming a new alliance?”
She stepped away first, slipping her hand into Lando’s like nothing had happened.
Pietra stayed behind for a moment, watching them go. Suddenly realizing that dinner wasn’t going to be easy.
☆
Pietra thought about canceling a couple times.
Once while standing in front of her closet, staring at a dress she’d worn to Monaco dinners before. It usually made her feel sharp, untouchable, but tonight, it felt like armor she wasn’t sure she deserved.
another time while doing her makeup, she caught her own eyes in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw. The look of guilt was smeared all over her face.
And the last time while she was in the uber—which she waited forever for—her fingers hovered over her phone staring at the message that said 'hey, maybe another time?' before deleting it.
Pietra realized that (Y/n) never texted a follow-up, which made Pietra even more nervous, but Pietra told herself that it was fair. She was the one who asked. She was the one who’d spent months—longer, if she was honest—letting irritation snowball into something ugly.
She pulled up to the restaurant ten minutes early and asked for a table for two.
‘What if she doesn’t show?’ The thought stung more than she expected.
‘You earned that,’ Pietra told herself as the hostess sat her down at a table on the balcony. ‘If she doesn’t come, that’s on you.’
When she walked in right on time in a simple dress and heels, Pietra let out the breath she was holding. She spotted Pietra and walked over.
“Hey,” she said.
Pietra stood too quickly. “Hey. Thanks for coming.”
She shrugged lightly. “You asked.”
They sat and ordered quickly. She asked questions about the menu, thanked the server, and kept everything smooth and neutral.
Pietra noticed the way she didn’t reach for her phone, didn’t fidget, didn’t fill space unnecessarily. She was waiting for Pietra, waiting for an apology and it made Pietra feel like she was standing under a spotlight.
“I’m not great at this,” Pietra said finally, fingers curling around her water glass. “So I’m just gonna say it straight.”
She lifted her gaze to look at Pietra.
“I was out of line,” Pietra said. “Last night and… honestly, before that too.”
She nodded but didn’t respond.
Pietra pushed on, the words tumbling faster now that she’d started. “I don’t dislike you because of anything you’ve done. That’s the part I hate admitting. You’ve been nothing but polite to me, even when I wasn’t.”
She leaned back slightly in her chair. “Yeah, I was polite to you, even when you disrespected me, my line of work, and my relationship. So enlighten me.”
Pietra swallowed. “It was easier than dealing with my own stuff.”
She waited, raising her eyebrows.
Pietra exhaled. “I don’t like feeling… irrelevant, and when you showed up all confident and untouchable it made everything I hadn’t dealt with feel louder.”
Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. “That’s not an apology. That’s an explanation.”
“You’re right,” Pietra said quickly. “I’m not trying to excuse it. I’m just trying to be honest.”
Their food arrived, buying them a moment. Forks clinked. Plates were adjusted.
She took a bite before speaking again. “Do you understand why I didn’t trust you?”
“Yes,” Pietra said immediately. “And I don’t expect you to now.”
“That’s good,” she replied. “Because I don’t.”
Pietra flinched, but nodded. “Fair.”
She set her fork down. “I’m not here to become your friend. I’m here because you asked to talk, and because I don’t like unresolved tension bleeding into other people’s lives.”
Pietra nodded again, slower this time. “I don’t want to make things weird between Max and Lando.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said tonight that actually matters to me,” She said calmly.
Pietra managed a weak smile. “Figures.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes after that. Cutlery scratching against porcelain. The low murmur of the restaurant filled the space, and neither of them seemed eager to occupy.
She looked up from her plate, studying Pietra, like she was putting pieces together rather than sharpening a blade.
“You liked him, didn’t you?” she asked suddenly.
Pietra froze.
Her fork hovered midair before she set it down carefully, like any sudden movement might shatter something fragile. She didn’t look up right away. “For a moment,” Pietra admitted. “A long time ago.”
She nodded once, slowly. “That’s what I thought.”
“It wasn’t anything real,” Pietra added quickly, then stopped herself. She sighed. “No—actually, it felt real to me. That was the problem. I liked the idea of him. The attention, the way people orbit him.” Her mouth twitched. “And then he didn’t feel the same way.”
She listened without interrupting, her face unreadable but not cold.
“Then Magui came along, and we were so similar that I kinda lived through her, but we all know how that ended and when you came along,” Pietra continued, quieter now, “it wasn’t just that he chose you. It was that he chose you easily. Like it wasn’t a debate, like you were the right one for him, that stung more than I wanted to admit.”
She absorbed that, then said, evenly, “Liking him doesn’t make you a villain. How you treated me afterward kind of did.”
Pietra let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, shaking her head as if at herself. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know andnd I’m sorry. I really am.”
Pietra glanced down at her hands, fingers twisting together before she looked back up at her. “I’m sorry for treating you like shit,” she continued, voice steadier now that she’d started. “I’m sorry for the things I said about your job—especially when I don’t even mean them. What you do is actually really impressive and I’m sorry for downplaying and disrespecting your relationship with Lando.”
She didn't say anything, but the tightness in her shoulders eased a bit.
At the end of the meal, Pietra reached for her purse.
She shook her head once. “I got it.”
Pietra blinked, “Are you sure?”
She nodded, taking out her card and putting it on the small tin tray.
Outside, the night air was cool and clean.
“I’m not forgiving you,” she said as they paused near the front of the restaurant, “But I appreciate you owning it.”
Pietra met her gaze. “That’s more than I expected.”
She gave a small, almost-smile. “Good. Keep your expectations realistic.” She cleared her throat, the tension easing just enough to make space for something practical. “Do you need a ride back to your hotel?” she asked.
Pietra hesitated, then glanced down the street, which was empty and quiet. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “If that’s okay.”
She nodded and hummed. She just turned toward the valet stand and started walking. Pietra followed, half a step behind.
The valet pulled up a sleek black Lamborghini Urus a moment later. Pietra paused.
“That’s—”
“Lando’s,” she said easily. “He let me take it.”
She thanked and tipped the valet without looking at the receipt, slid into the driver’s seat, and waited. Pietra climbed into the passenger side, smoothing her dress, still a little unsure of where to put her hands.
“Which hotel?” she asked as she started the engine.
Pietra told her. She entered the address, the navigation chiming softly, then plugged her phone in. The screen lit up.
The bass was upbeat and confident. Pietra kept her eyes forward as Monaco’s streets slipped past the windshield, lights smearing into gold and white lines. She told herself not to react, not to read into it, not to assume anything but the first line already had its hooks in her.
Pietra’s head turned instinctively. “Is this—”
“Yeah,” she said, eyes on the road as she pulled away from the curb. “New one.”
Baby blues, undressing him…
Her grip on her bag tightened. Not because the lyric was loud or aggressive, but because it was uncomfortably accurate.
funny how you think that I don’t notice it
She drove calmly, one hand on the wheel, posture relaxed, and her expression unreadable.
Acting like we’re friends, we’re the opposite
Pietra risked a glance at her, just once. Pietra swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
I know what you are, trying so hard
That line hit like a car. Pietra’s jaw clenched, heat creeping up her neck. She thought of the night before. Of the way she’d spoken. Of the way she’d justified it to herself. Of the version of events she’d clung to because it was easier than admitting the truth.
Look at the floor, or ceiling, or anyone else you’re feeling. Take home whoever walks in. Just keep your eyes off him
Pietra let out a slow breath, her shoulders dropping slightly.
Yes, I’m Miss possessive.
Pretty girl gon’ learn your lesson. Some fights you’re never gon’ win.
Just keep your eyes off him
By the time the song faded out, Pietra’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap. She stared straight ahead, the city blurring by, replaying everything she’d said, everything she’d thought she was entitled to feel.
“That’s… very clear,” Pietra finally said, her voice quieter than she intended.
She hummed softly, eyes still on the road. “It needed to be.”
Pietra listened quietly, absorbing it, then nodded once. “It was really good.”
She gave a knowing smile, but her grip on the wheel relaxed just a fraction. “I know.”
They drove through Monaco in companionable silence after that—the city lights slipping past the windows, the music carrying them forward.
She drove the car in the hotel's porte-cochère. Pietra unbuckled her seatbelt while Velvet opened the door for her.
She turned to Pietra, “Oh, and Pietra?”
“Yes?”
"you should tell Magui to listen to it" she said, giving a knowing look.
Pietra nodded "I'll make sure to tell her" Pietra turned to leave till she called out to her again.
"also...don’t make me regret coming tonight.”
Pietra turned back to look at her in the eyes, “I won’t.”
| Lando Norris Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
a/n: I did extend for this to be put in through their eyes but it got too long cause I got carried away tehe enjoyyyy. PS i hope yall got my hints hehehe in the other blogs i posted today.
Born Pink tour, Las Vegas
Sound check should have been easy, but today, even the simple steps felt jagged. She moved through the motions with her muscles trembling at the edges, her breath catching in places where it shouldn’t. Every light overhead pressed against her skull like a hand trying to push her down. Her joints ached, her ribs tightened, and she kept swallowing against the rising heat in her chest.
By the time rehearsal ended, she could barely stand fully straight.
When she finally sat on the small sofa in her dressing room, her eyes drifted closed almost immediately. Her assistant, Joomi, worked gently at her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. Every push made her wince, but she didn’t ask her to stop, while the muffled bass from the empty arena thrummed through the walls.
She didn’t realize she’d drifted until she felt a hand settle gently onto her knee.
She forced her eyes open.
Lando sat on the floor in front of her, knees pulled up slightly, eyes locked on hers with a worry he didn’t try to hide. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.
She gave a small hum and turned toward Joomi. “Thank you, that helped a lot. You can go.”
“Are you sure, unnie?” Joomi’s voice was careful.
“Yes. You were a big help,” she squeezed Joomi’s hand, offering a tired smile. “I’ll manage.”
Joomi blushed, bowed politely, and slipped out with quiet purpose, promising to return with the wardrobe team.
The door shut, leaving only silence.
“You didn’t sleep last night,” Lando said quietly.
She pressed her hands over her face. “I couldn’t. I’m so tired, but when I try to sleep, I just… can’t. My brain won’t turn off.” She let her hands fall limply into her lap. “It’s so frustrating.”
He shifted onto the sofa beside her and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her head fell to him immediately, as if her body had been waiting for somewhere soft to land. She blinked rapidly, swallowing tears she didn’t want anyone to see.
The past few days had been relentless. Her body felt like it was working through concrete. A migraine dug deep behind her eyes. Her voice was raw from pushing too hard for too long. Every breath felt heavier than the last.
“I hate saying this,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking, “but I can’t wait for this tour to be over.”
He rested his cheek against her hair. “Me too. I hate watching you push yourself like this.”
“I just need to get through four more shows,” she murmured. “After tonight.”
He opened his mouth to say something, anything. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t worth collapsing for. He wanted to beg her to slow down. He wanted to say he’d rather have her healthy than perfect onstage.
But before he could speak, a knock hit the door.
“Come in,” she called without lifting her head.
The room filled with movement again. Joomi returned with garment bags, followed by the hair and makeup team.
She exhaled, steadying herself before standing. She walked toward the vanity like someone walking uphill, already fighting gravity. Lando stayed seated for a moment, then moved to lean against the wall out of the team’s way.
She sat at the vanity with her phone connected to a speaker, hoping the music would distract her, but even the soft R&B hurt her head. Her eyes closed without her permission, and before long, her chin dipped to her chest.
Her makeup artist gently touched her shoulder. “(y/n),” she whispered. “Wake up for me.”
Her eyes fluttered open. Her team worked quickly, lifting her head when it dropped, fixing her hair into sleek perfection, brushing glitter delicately across her eyelids. When they stepped back, she looked like the version of herself the world expected.
But under the makeup, Lando could see the trembling underneath it all.
They helped her into her sparkly pink mini dress. She steadied herself against Joomi’s shoulder, nodding that she was okay even though she clearly wasn’t.
Lando walked with her down the first hallway, fingers intertwined with hers. She leaned into him in the quiet way she always did when she was overstretched.
He pulled her close and held her tightly. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting her forehead rest against his shoulder.
“You’ve got this,” he whispered into her hair.
She nodded once, lifted her head, and kissed him softly. The kind of kiss that held too many things at once. He lingered a second longer than usual before security ushered him toward the arena seating.
She watched him go until the staff pulled her into the backstage tunnels.
Backstage, she stretched, wincing every time. Her body was working against her, stiff in ways she couldn’t ignore. She drank water that made her stomach twist. Her jaw trembled. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Five minutes before their cue, the girls huddled up. All of them closed their eyes, breathing in together. She tried to steady herself, but the air felt thin and unsteady.
“Let’s do this!” Lisa said brightly, placing her hand in the middle.
She layered hers on top.
“One, two, three—UGH,” they shouted together, more out of habit than energy.
Once they appeared, the stadium erupted. For the audience, it was another unforgettable night. For her, the stage blurred into a feverish haze. The lights stabbed at her headache. Her ears rang. Every step felt slightly delayed, like her body wasn’t reacting fast enough.
She laughed during the talk segment; it was automatic. She smiled on cue, hit marks through memory rather than awareness. Her breaths were short and sharp. Her palms were clammy.
When they finished the group choreography, and the stage lowered for the transition, she stumbled straight into Joomi backstage.
“I’m cramping so bad,” she gasped, gripping Joomi’s arm.
Joomi eased her onto a folding chair and called for ice and water. The backstage team responded instantly. Ice pressed to her neck. A bottle was placed in her hand that trembled too much to lift.
“Don’t move,” Joomi said. “I’m calling medic.”
She swallowed. “No. I need to get back out there,” but her hand shook violently when she tried to drink.
The medic placed an IV in her arm within minutes. Cold liquid ran through her veins, grounding her only slightly. Her hair was damp with sweat. Her eyes kept losing focus.
Jennie crouched in front of her. “Hey. Are you with us?”
She nodded, though it wasn’t fully true.
They stayed with her until a stagehand approached Joomi.
“She needs to get ready for her solo.”
She closed her eyes in defeat. “Okay. Help me up.”
Joomi and Jennie supported her into the quick-change area. Her legs felt unreliable, trembling with each step. They helped her into her solo costume, fastening each clasp as gently as possible.
She stepped onto the rising platform, heart hammering in a way that scared her. She forced herself to inhale and steady her voice.
The crowd cheered for her. The way her body swayed, unbeknownst to them, her vision flickered like a light about to die. Dark spots crept in, swallowing color before returning it, then swallowing it again.
Lando saw everything — the slight sway in her stance, the way she forced her smiles, the tremor in her voice.
Come on, love. Please get through it.
His chest tightened with helpless fear.
When the final group song ended, and the girls bowed, she bent forward, and the world tilted. Her knees wobbled. The stage lights fractured into shards of white.
She stumbled sideways into Jisoo. Jisoo caught her around the waist, steady but urgent.
To the crowd, it looked like a stumble.
She blinked, but everything dissolved. She kept herself upright for as long as she felt the stage move under her feet. But when she felt it begin to lower, her body surrendered.
The platform dipped, and she finally let go.
She collapsed.
Jisoo dropped to her knees with her, waving for help.
He had felt something was wrong long before she fell.
From the moment she stepped onto the stage, he saw the stiffness in her shoulders. The deeper breaths. The way she kept blinking too long after every bright light. She moved like she was underwater, fighting a current only she could feel.
His chest tightened every time she touched her forehead. Every time she steadied herself with a hand on someone else’s back.
He sat forward in his seat until his fingers hurt from being clasped together.
When she stumbled during the final bow, he shot to his feet.
When Jisoo caught her, his heart stopped.
And when she collapsed as the stage descended, everything inside him dropped with her.
He didn’t remember pushing past people. He didn’t remember shouting for security. He didn’t remember anything except the cold fear that spread through his ribs like ice.
He had never run so fast in his life.
Pure chaos met him the moment he burst through the curtain.
Stagehands were running, walkies crackling with frantic updates. The medic team was already kneeling beside her, her head lolled to the side, an IV still in her arm, her chest rising and falling too fast. Someone had placed a folded jacket under her head. Her skin looked pale beneath the stage makeup, her hair damp with sweat.
Jennie, Lisa, Rosé, and Jisoo hovered in a tight circle around her, all of them shaken, all trying not to show how frightened they were.
“Move! Let him through,” Jennie snapped the moment she saw Lando.
They parted, and Lando dropped to his knees beside her, his breath catching in his throat. She was unconscious, or close to it. Her eyelids fluttered weakly at every sound.
One of the medics checked her pulse again. “She overheated. Severe exhaustion. Her blood pressure’s extremely low,” he said calmly, although his hands moved quickly. “We need to cool her down and keep the fluids going.”
Lando swallowed hard. He reached for her hand but stopped himself, afraid of making anything worse.
Jisoo touched his arm gently. “You can hold her hand. It helps.”
He nodded and finally wrapped his fingers around hers. Her hand was ice cold.
“What happened?” His voice cracked. “She looked tired on stage, but this—”
Jennie answered first. “She wasn’t feeling well before the show. She pushed herself through sound check, and halfway through the concert, she started spacing out.”
Rosé rubbed her eyes, trying not to cry. “Her vision kept going blurry. She told me during the last song that she couldn’t see clearly anymore.”
Lisa crossed her arms, frustration pulling tight across her face. “She tried to hide how bad it was. She wanted to finish for the fans.”
Jisoo said quietly. “I thought she tripped at first, but she grabbed my arm and told me she felt like she was going to faint.”
Every word hit Lando like someone tightening a band around his chest.
He looked back at her, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “I should’ve stayed backstage,” he whispered.
Jennie shook her head immediately. “No. She wouldn’t want you to see her like this. She knew you’d worry.”
Lando’s jaw tightened. “I already did.”
The medic adjusted the IV. “She should wake up soon.”
The girls exchanged a look, all hesitant.
Jisoo spoke quietly. “We need to clean up and change out of these outfits.”
Rosé stepped forward. “Stay with her, okay? Call us if anything changes.”
“I will,” Lando said without hesitation.
Jennie touched his shoulder, her voice soft but firm. “Thank you, Lando.”
They filed out one by one, leaving Lando kneeling beside her on the dim backstage floor. He adjusted the blanket they’d placed over her legs and used his free hand to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Wake up for me… please.”
Her fingers twitched under his, her breathing stuttered, and then her eyes opened.
They were unfocused at first, moving slowly around the ceiling before finally finding him. Recognition hit, and her bottom lip trembled.
“Lan…” she breathed, barely audible.
He leaned closer. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
Her face crumpled. Tears filled her eyes almost instantly, spilling before she could stop them. She turned her face into his palm as if she were trying to hide.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” he asked gently.
She sucked in a shaky breath. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand up anymore. I tried. My legs wouldn’t work. Everything went black. I felt sick, and I—” Her breath hitched again. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
Lando’s heart twisted.
“Hey,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his forehead touched hers. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. Nothing.”
She shook her head weakly. “I ruined the show—”
“No,” he said. “You finished more than anyone should have. You kept going when your body was begging you to stop. That isn’t failure. That’s strength.”
Her tears fell faster. She reached for him, and he pulled her carefully into his arms, mindful of the IV. She pressed her forehead to his collarbone, tears dampening the fabric of his hoodie.
“I don’t feel good,” she whispered, voice small and raw.
“I know,” he murmured, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. “Just breathe. I’m right here.”
She clung to him, shaking lightly from exhaustion, everything about her posture stripped of the usual confidence she wore on stage. For once, she allowed herself to lean on someone without fighting it.
Lando held her like she might break if he loosened even a little.
She laid back against Lando’s chest while the medics finished checking her vitals. Her breathing had steadied, though her cheeks were still blotchy from crying, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
One of the medics loosened the blood-pressure cuff and wrote something down. “You're dehydrated, overheated, and severely fatigued,” he said, calm but direct. “The IV helped. Your blood pressure is stabilizing.”
Lando held her a little tighter.
“Should she go to the hospital?” Joomi asked from the side, wringing her hands.
The medic gave a small shake of his head. “She doesn’t present signs of anything dangerous. She’ll be okay to leave once she rests a bit more. She needs electrolytes, a cool shower, and actual sleep. No stimulants and no performing for about a week just to give your body some time to get back to normal.”
She tensed slightly, her voice rough. “We have a show on Tuesday—”
“Do you want to collapse again?” the medic said gently. She closed her eyes, accepting the verdict but visibly frustrated.
When the medics left to prepare discharge papers, Joomi crouched beside her. “We should change you out of the stage outfit. You’ll feel better.”
She nodded weakly.
Lando stood first, then carefully helped her sit up. She winced as the blood rushed to her head, and he held her steady with both hands.
“You okay?” he murmured.
She nodded, though her eyes stayed half-closed.
Joomi hurried to grab the comfortable clothes she’d packed: soft cotton shorts and an oversized faded gray sweatshirt that she always wore on long rehearsals.
They moved slowly to the small dressing partition. She sat on the bench while Lando knelt at her feet, unlacing her heeled stage boots. She kept apologizing for how sluggish she was, and every time he replied:
“You don’t apologize to me for being human.”
She did, leaning slightly on his shoulder for balance. When the boots were off, Joomi helped her out of the glittering dress, supporting her under the arms when her knees buckled. She swayed once, eyes unfocused.
Lando steadied her immediately. “Hey… breathe.”
“I’m okay,” she whispered, though she didn’t sound sure.
They eased her into the sweatshirt, Joomi tugging the sleeves down gently. She sighed the moment the soft fabric touched her skin. She looked like she was fading in and out, fighting waves of dizziness.
The girls burst in, all with relief once they saw her up.
Jennie hugged her first, arms firm around her. “You scared the hell out of us,” she murmured.
Lisa wrapped her arms around both of them. “Don’t ever do that again, please.”
Rosé threw herself into the hug as well.
Jisoo smoothed a hand down her back. “We’re glad you’re okay. We’re proud of you, but you rest now.”
Her eyes watered again, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry,” tucking her face into Lisa’s neck. They all shook their heads at once.
The girls hugged her once more before letting Joomi and Lando guide her toward the van waiting outside.
The moment she stepped inside her hotel suite, her shoulders dropped as the weight of the world had slid off her.
“You need a shower,” Joomi said gently. “Cold water. It’ll help.”
She nodded, even though her legs trembled.
Lando wrapped an arm around her waist. “I’ll help her.”
Joomi hesitated, then nodded. “I trust you. I’ll set up the bed.” And after she did, she slipped out, leaving the pair alone.
Lando led her into the bathroom, guiding her with slow steps. He turned the water to cool, steam barely rising from the glass door.
She leaned against the counter, eyes drooping.
“Hey,” he whispered, brushing her hair back. “Stay with me.”
“I’m awake,” she murmured, though she clearly wasn’t all the way there.
He helped her undress with gentle hands, never rushing, never letting go of her for more than a second. When she stepped into the shower, the cold water hit her skin, and she gasped.
He held her steady by the waist so she wouldn’t slip. She rested her forehead against his chest, water running over her back while he cupped handfuls and let it trickle over her shoulders and neck.
“I’ve got you,” he repeated softly. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”
Her breathing slowly evened out.
He washed her hair carefully, fingers massaging her scalp until her body loosened, tension melting away. When she shivered, he pulled her out, wrapping her in a towel, then carried her to the bed because she was too weak to walk steadily.
Lando helped her into the soft pajamas Joomi had laid out, guiding her arms through the sleeves and pulling the blankets up once she was settled.
Her eyes finally opened a bit wider. “Thank you.”
“You don’t thank me for taking care of you,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“But I do,” she whispered.
He climbed into bed beside her. She immediately curled into his side, her head against his chest, one hand resting weakly on his shirt.
“What do you want to watch?” he asked quietly.
“Something old,” she mumbled.
He put on The Parent Trap.
They watched in silence for a while. His arm stayed around her. Her breathing slowed with each passing minute, exhaustion pulling at her like gravity.
Halfway through a scene, she whispered, “Why do they send the twins to camp if they hate each other?”
“They don’t hate each other,” he said, smiling. “They just don’t know.”
“That’s stupid, like just talk.”
“That’s movies.”
A moment later, her hand on his chest went slack.
He glanced down, and her eyes were closed, breathing steadily. She was completely out.
He brushed a kiss to the top of her head and continued watching the movie, now with a lower volume, careful not to wake her.
----------
The Album | Context : you drop your new album. Lando and your new friends make appearances in the MV's (requested) ❀
Miami | Context : you, Lisa, and Rosé attend the 2025 Miami GP (requested) ❀
I'm Sorry | Context: After being told by Magui to stand down, Pietra realises how disrespectful she was to you and plans to make it up (requested) ❀★
DEADLINE | context: after 3 years, you and the rest of blackpink start what maybe Blackpink last tour (requested) ❀
Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless | context: after the British Grand Prix Lando attends the LA DEADLINE show, along with your ex (requested) ❀★
sisters by chance, friends by choice | contest: FORGET LANDO, BLACKPINK MOMENTS (requested) ❀★
Hello 👋 if your new I'm Mcmuffin, here ill be answering questions i've been getting and updating with dates, any new questions that come in (i just wanna clean my inbox lol).
𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚂𝙻𝙸𝙿𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼
(Dec. 4th, 2025) (sent an Anon) Since ur back i just had one question about y/n, whats her position in blackpink, is she main dancer, is she a rapper or a vocalist
I would say Lead vocalist, Lead dancer, sub rapper, and Maknae
(Dec. 4th, 2025) (sent by an Anon) are we going to see bp manager, bodyguard, staff and agency in bp fifth members au because bp are always surrounded by their teams?
i've been on myself to add assistants and bodyguards. I will add staff and managers when the story needs. I also tend to add them to the story then forget about them soo bear with me
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚅𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙵1
nothing....
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁
(Dec. 4th, 2025) (sent by an Anon) do you write only F1 fanfics?
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
Warnings: use of y/n, SMAU but also cute moments, MEAN ASS COMMENTS (hate wave era goes hard) 😝
If you want to vote for next imagine
a/n: Lando Norris is World Champion AH CRAZYY so happy for that fine ass man🙈. He's had a great season and worked hard for it. And have y'all seen those crazy ass max and oscar fans on tiktok and instagram? if you've seen them it is truly ugly in those comments sections smh. Anyway i kinda just mashed everything into one AND not all of them have pictures cause I couldn’t fit anymore soooo ENJOYYYY
The store was calm for a Friday night, just the usual after-work crowd drifting through the aisles with baskets and half-finished dinner ideas.
She walked beside Lando with her shoulder brushing his every now and then. She wore a cap low over her eyes and tugged her hoodie sleeves into her palms. He pushed the cart because she insisted that since he drove everything else in life, he might as well push the cart.
They moved through the produce section at a lazy pace. Lando picked up a box of strawberries and inspected them, then tossed them into the cart.
“Your breakfast addiction is ridiculous,” she said.
“You eat half of them,” he replied.
She shrugged. “You don't eat them in time.”
At the bakery section, he picked up a long baguette and tapped her shoulder with it. She didn’t even look up from the pastries.
“Put it down.”
He pouted and returned it.
In the canned goods aisle, she stretched up on her toes to reach a jar on the top shelf. He stepped in behind her and grabbed it with ease but also purposefully crushing her between the shelf and his body. He backed off and placed the sauce into the car and looked back at her. She gave him a blank look, which only made him grin more.
They continued wandering. They went past the live fish area. She walked up to the glass case and pointed at the big, dead fish lying on ice, making Lando cringe.
They went through the pasta aisle, snacks, and frozen foods. They debated ice cream for a full minute.
"ew, why mint chocolate chip?" she cringed.
"better than old fashioned butter pecan" Lando sassed back
They continued going back and forth before eventually putting both flavors into the cart.
A woman down the aisle glanced once, then twice, then a third time. She held a package of frozen pizza, pretending to compare brands, but her eyes kept darting toward the pair walking in easy sync beside the cart.
She secretly followed the pair around the store, forgetting about her own shopping, taking more and more photos. She eventually stopped and went back to shopping when they started checking out. The girl waited till they left then sent in the photos
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The beach wasn’t crowded that morning. The sun had only just risen high enough to warm the sand, and the sound of the waves blended with the rustling of palms overhead. She and Lando had chosen a spot near the shore, far enough from passing families that they thought they were safe from attention.
They weren’t.
A photographer perched halfway up the dunes watched through a long lens as the two of them settled into their little pocket of quiet.
She sat cross-legged in the sand, hair tied in a loose knot, sunglasses pushed up on her head. She scooped wet sand into a tiny plastic bucket a child had abandoned nearby.
Lando was beside her, already shaping the base of what he insisted would be “a structurally sound sandcastle,” though it looked more like an uneven blob.
“More water,” he said, tapping the lopsided mound with the seriousness of an engineer.
She raised a brow. “You’re acting like we’re building a house.”
“It’s about integrity,” he said, smoothing a wall that promptly crumbled. “And that was sabotage.”
She laughed and nudged his shoulder. “Maybe you’re just bad at this.”
The camera clicked as she leaned closer, both of them hovering over the castle, hair blowing in opposite directions. Lando stuck his tongue out in concentration, which made her laugh even harder. He looked up at the sound, face softening in that way he never controlled around her.
When they finally gave up on the project, she flopped back onto her towel and stretched out under the sun. Lando settled beside her, one hand behind his head, the other brushing lightly against hers.
A few minutes passed before eventually she sat up and pulled him with her. “Alright. Come on.”
“What now?”
“The ocean,” she said, already on her feet. “You promised.”
He groaned dramatically but followed her to the shoreline. The water was cold enough to bite, but she kept going until it reached her waist. Lando splashed in behind her, pretending he wasn’t freezing.
“You’re so dramatic,” she said, laughing as he flinched at another wave.
“It’s cold.”
“You said you wanted to swim!”
“I said I might want to swim.”
She flicked water at him. He retaliated with a splash equal to a wave, which soaked her fully. Soon they were splashing each other like children, she dodging waves while Lando tried (and failed) not to laugh. A larger wave rolled in, and she stumbled forward. He caught her by the cage of her ribs, steadying her before she could fall. He slid his hands down to her hips.
For a moment, they stayed like that, close, laughing, her hands on his shoulders, his grip firm and warm. The camera shutter kept catching everything: the smile lines, the salt droplets on their skin, the ease in their body language.
She rested her forehead briefly on his chest, breath catching from laughter. “You’re such a baby.”
“You started it.”
She pushed away from him with a laugh, but didn’t go far.
The photographer snapped the last photo as they walked back toward the shore, dripping, hair stuck to their faces, still smiling at each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The stadium was already buzzing by the time they were led to their seats in the club suite. Light spilled down from the rafters in a cool, metallic glow, sweeping across the turf like a stage. The crowd noise wrapped around them — loud, unfiltered, enthusiastic in the way only Americans seemed capable of.
She tugged the sleeves of her Raiders hoodie over her hands as they sat. The thing was slightly oversized on her, the cuffs nearly covering her fingers. She pulled the hood up, not to hide — the suite was mostly private — but because the stadium AC was close to turning her into an ice cube.
“You good?” Lando asked, leaning slightly toward her so she could hear him over the noise.
She nodded, eyes sweeping across the field. “It’s loud.”
“It’s Vegas,” he said. “Subtlety doesn’t exist here.”
She huffed out a small laugh and nudged her shoulder into his. “True.”
Down on the field, players warmed up beneath the lights, streaks of silver and navy darting past black and white. Every few minutes, the big screen flashed crowd shots, and people shrieked, waving like they’d just won something.
The camera drifted, briefly catching them in the frame.
A small wave of noise surged.
Her face appeared on the Jumbotron first — hood up, cheeks slightly flushed, her mouth forming a soft “oh my god.” Then the camera pulled back, showing both of them. Lando lifted a hand in the most awkward half-wave imaginable.
“That’s embarrassing,” she muttered, already flushing.
“I know,” he said, already laughing.
The game kicked off, energy rippling through the stadium. She watched with her chin propped on her fist, genuinely trying to follow.
“So… who are we going for?” she asked.
Lando blinked. “We’re in Las Vegas.”
“Right. So… Raiders?”
“Yeah.”
She eyed the Cowboys’ uniforms. “But the blue team has prettier colors.”
He turned to her with a look of betrayal. “The Raiders are winning, though.”
She nodded, transitioning with zero conviction. “Okay. Go Raiders.”
Two plays later, she whispered, “Which ones are the Raiders again?”
He stared at her. She stared back, completely serious.
“You’re joking.” He sighed dramatically and leaned in. “Black and white jerseys.”
She nodded like she’d discovered a universal truth. “Okay. And the other ones are… Cowboys?”
He started laughing despite himself. “You’re hopeless.”
“Teach me, then,” she replied.
He did, leaning in between plays to explain downs, flags, and tackles. She listened with her brows furrowed, occasionally nodding like she understood everything, even though she definitely didn’t.
Halftime rolled around, and she decided she needed brisket nachos — even though she admitted they’d “probably ruin my life later.” He followed her to the concessions anyway.
On their way back, a little boy in an oversized Cowboys jersey stepped shyly into their path, his mom hovering behind him.
“Hi, I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “He’s a huge McLaren fan. Would you mind…?”
Lando brightened. “Yeah, of course.”
The boy handed him a notebook with hands shaking so much that the cover flapped. “Y’all are really cool,” he blurted, glancing between them.
She smiled warmly. “No, you’re cool.”
The boy grinned, a full gummy smile missing two teeth.
Lando crouched down to sign the notebook. “Who’re you cheering for today?”
“Cowboys,” the boy said proudly. “But also you.”
Lando huffed a laugh. “That’s a solid combo.”
He handed the notebook back and ruffled the boy’s hair. For a moment, the kid looked like he forgot how to walk.
She watched, her expression softening, something almost thoughtful flickering through it as the boy ran back to his mom.
“He was so cute and tiny,” she cooed
Lando glanced sideways at her. “You like kids?”
“I mean… yeah,” she said casually, shrugging. “Someday. Far, far in the future.”
He slowed just a little. “Far, huh?”
She gave him a small smile. “Relax. I didn’t say now.”
They reached their seats again right as halftime ended. The Raiders were already lining up for kickoff.
“Also,” she leaned over, whispering like it was classified information, “I’m a Cowboys fan now. They’re destroying the Raiders.”
Lando stared at her, genuinely offended. “We just went over this.”
“I adapt fast.”
He laughed and slipped his arm along the back of her chair, letting his fingers brush her shoulder. She leaned into him a little, eyes back on the field, pretending she wasn’t melting inside.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Africa glowed under winter lights, every street washed in gold. Outside the venue, the red carpet stretched like a river of velvet, flashing cameras lining either side. Luxury cars pulled up one after another, delivering world champions, team principals, global stars — the usual.
A black Mercedes pulled up, and the shouting began almost immediately.
Lando stepped out first.
He adjusted his tux jacket, gave a quick nod to the reporters, and the flashes erupted. The photographers leaned forward, calling his name again and again. They called his name more than anyone else’s so far. After finishing second in the championship, he was the face they wanted.
A hand slipped into his, and she emerged behind him, earning a small roar from the photographers. She wore a sleek, sculpted cream gown, sharp enough to turn heads instantly. Her hair was pulled back into a polished low bun, exposing her neckline and diamond earrings that winked under the lights.
She stood close, her hand slipping into the crook of his arm while he posed for the shots.
Most of the shouts were the same.
“Lando, to the left!”
“Norris, one more—look this way!”
“Hold the pose—perfect!”
She simply stayed beside him, steady and composed, letting him have the spotlight without distraction. She fixed his bow tie once before they moved down the carpet, a small gesture lost to the crowd but noticed by him.
Inside, the venue glowed with cool lighting and tall glass displays. The tables shimmered with silver cutlery and branding in deep blue. Conversations drifted around them as drivers, team principals, and FIA officials filled the room. Lando greeted a few people on the way in, still a little stiff from the carpet, still adjusting to the weight of being one of the stars of the evening.
The awards moved quickly at first—junior categories, team acknowledgments, special recognitions. Lando sat with one foot tapping under the table, not out of nerves but anticipation. There was something surreal about seeing the whole season condensed into a slideshow of moments that felt both recent and impossibly distant.
When the announcer finally shifted to his category, the energy in the room sharpened.
“The DHL Fastest Lap Award goes to Lando Norris.”
Applause rose across the hall. Lando stood and buttoned his jacket, giving her a small look before walking to the stage. She clapped, quiet and steady, her eyes following him the entire way.
Under the stage lights, he looked composed, his shoulders squared, expression focused. The photographers stationed near the front fired off shot after shot, filling the first few seconds with rapid flashes. He accepted the award, posed as required, and stepped aside for the next announcement.
On his walk back to the table, she stood just enough for him to see her before sitting back down. He placed the trophy on the floor beside his chair, brushing his fingers along the edge once before letting it go.
The ceremony wound down in a blur of applause and closing remarks. People began drifting out to socialize, but Lando wasn’t in the mood for long conversations. He exchanged a few handshakes, spoke briefly with other drivers, and finally found himself near an open balcony where the cold air spilled in.
She joined him a moment later, stepping into the draft without complaint. She looked up at him, her expression gentle. She slipped her hand around his arm, resting her cheek lightly against his shoulder.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Bruno Mars had barely stepped on stage, and the stadium was already vibrating. Tens of thousands of fans were packed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with heat, perfume, and the kind of anticipation that felt alive.
She led the way through the VIP pit, her eyes were bright with anticipation. Lando followed close behind, hands in pockets, doing his best to blend.
“Wow,” he breathed, overlooking the sea of different fandom lightsticks. “This is… next level.”
She smiled behind her mask. “Korean crowds don’t play around with Western artists. You’ll see.”
The box was already half-full. A handful of idols were scattered across the pit — some from Seventeen, a few from NewJeans, actors, and models. They bowed politely as she entered. Recognition flickered when they noticed who was behind her.
Lando felt the eyes, the whispers. He offered a small head bow — a habit she drilled into him — and received a few warm smiles in return.
Hoshi from Seventeen, waved her over with a bright grin and even brighter energy.
“(Y/n)-ya!” he called, pulling his mask down. “Long time no see.”
She pulled her own mask off and hugged him briefly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“We couldn’t miss Bruno Mars,” he laughed. Then, noticing Lando, he bowed again. “Ah, you're the racer. It’s nice to meet you.”
Lando returned it. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Hoshi smirked, like he knew more than he should, then drifted back toward his group.
She led Lando to their seating in the very front. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just… different atmosphere. Everyone’s so—”
“Famous?” she teased.
He shot her a look. “I was gonna say stylish, but sure that too.”
A moment later, Mingyu and DK wandered over from the other side of the box. Mingyu greeted her with a warm hug.
“You two always pop up in unexpected places,” he teased.
She laughed. “We’re trying to be mysterious.”
Lando stiffened for half a second but relaxed when Mingyu bowed politely to him and held out his hand. Lando shook his hand.
“Welcome to Korea,” Mingyu said. “If you need restaurant recommendations, I’m your guy.”
“He’ll take you up on that,” she said before Lando could respond. “I got him obsessed with Korean barbecue.”
Lando held up his hands. “Guilty.”
The group chatted for a couple of minutes. Mingyu paused his sentence.
“(y/n) Can you check if Coups is giving me the stare?” Mingyu questioned. She tilts her body to look behind Mingyu, only to lock eyes with Seung-cheol.
“Ooo, yeah, you might want to head back,” she winced.
Mingyu sighed, he gave her a side hug and even brought Lando in a hug. He bid them goodbye and headed back to his seat.
“Who’s Coups?” Lando asked.
“You know how almost every group has a leader? Seung-cheol is Seventeen's leader, and he’s a sweetheart, but believe me, he can be one scary ass leader,” she explained, looking over back at Coups. He waved at her with a smile.
The lights dimmed. A sharp collective scream filled the stadium.
“What’s up, South Korea!”
The entire crowd jumped to its feet, and she instinctively reached for Lando’s hand. The moment she felt his fingers curl around hers, she relaxed into him, swaying gently as the stage flooded with gold.
Lando watched her more than the performance. the way her shoulders loosened, the way music made her smile in this effortless, almost childlike way he rarely saw.
When Bruno switched into “Finesse,” the idols in the VIP box shouted along, arms in the air. A few fans caught glimpses of her and Lando laughing together and screamed even louder, which only made her bury her face in Lando’s shoulder.
When the fireworks exploded above the stage for the final chorus, the entire VIP box lit up in color. She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to Lando’s cheek.
“You’re being romantic,” he laughed.
“You bought me VIP Bruno Mars tickets,” she countered. “Of course I’m gonna be romantic.”
The last note of ‘marry you’ rang out, and confetti shot out of canons and floated through the air.
She squeezed his hand once more. “You liked it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But watching you enjoy it was better.”
She rolled her eyes. “I want you to enjoy it too.”
“Fine”
She laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder as the crowd began to spill toward the exits.
When the opening drums of “Locked Out of Heaven” hit, the entire stadium shifted.
She straightened immediately, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god—this one’s my favorite.” Lando laughed under his breath. She elbowed him lightly, then grabbed his hand with both of hers. “No, you don’t get it. You have to stand up for this.”
He didn’t need convincing. She was already pulling him up to his feet.
Around them, idols in the VIP box were singing loudly, half-off key but fully committed. Even the more reserved ones were bouncing, shoulder to shoulder, swaying like a single organism.
She threw her arms up when the chorus hit.
“'Cause you make me feel like—
I’ve been locked out of heaven—”
Lando watched her for maybe two beats too long, smiling like an idiot, then finally joined in. He shook his head, pretending to resist, but the grin gave him away. She tugged him a little closer, clasping her hands around his neck, swaying side to side, bouncing on her heels. He followed her lead, hands finding her waist out of instinct.
For one sweet moment, it felt like the crowd blurred out, leaving only the golden lights, the music, and her fingers glazing the back of his neck.
The chorus came again, louder, the crowd’s harmony layered over the stage speakers.
She tilted her head back and belted the high note with zero shame. He cracked up, leaning forward until his forehead touched her temple.
“Ok, now you’re showing off,” he said into her ear over the music.
“You love it,” she shot back, breathless, eyes bright.
“Unfortunately, yeah.”
When the final chorus hit, the entire stadium jumped in unison. She was bouncing to the beat, hair flying, hoodie slipping slightly off one shoulder. She tugged Lando closer again, their hands still intertwined.
“Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Can I just stay here? Spend the rest of my days here.”
“Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Can I just stay here? Spend the rest of my days here.”
Gold confetti floated down onto them, covering the section in shiny gold.
When the song ended and the lights dropped, Lando leaned in, voice low.
“We’re definitely doing this again.”
She squeezed his hand. “Good, because I already bought tickets for tomorrow’s show too.”
He blinked. “Wait — what?”
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The exit road from the circuit was backed up just as it always was after a race weekend. The slow crawl of team vans, media shuttles, and drivers’ cars inching toward the highway. Outside Lando’s window, fans lined both sides of the barricades, waving flags and posters, phones already raised the second they spotted Lando through the window.
She sat in the passenger seat, one knee pulled up slightly, hand resting on the center console as she talked to Lando about something small.
A sudden burst of movement caught her eye. It was a girl in a McLaren cap practically bouncing in place, holding something wrapped in orange tissue paper. She was just trying desperately to get their attention, lifting the gift higher each time she spotted a glimpse of her through the tinted window.
She paused mid-sentence.
“Hold on,” she murmured.
Before Lando could ask, she reached over him and pressed the button to roll her window down. The reaction was instant — a wave of cheers swelling from the crowd, phones snapping upward like a field of tiny antennas.
Lando blinked, then laughed under his breath. “You’re gonna start a riot.”
She leaned slightly out the window, smiling warmly. “Hi! Oh my gosh—hi, guys.”
The girls in front of her practically melted. One handed her the little gift with shaking hands.
“For you,” the girl said, voice cracking.
She accepted it with both hands. “Thank you so much. Did you make this?” She asked it with genuine curiosity. The girl nodded rapidly, cheeks bright red.
More fans squeezed closer — respectfully, but eager. She waved at each one individually, laughing at someone’s poster, complimenting another fan’s nails painted to match Lando’s helmet, laughing when someone yelled that they loved her latest dance challenge.
Traffic didn’t move for a full minute, which normally irritated Lando. Right now, he barely noticed. His hand stayed on the steering wheel, thumb tapping absently as he watched her talk with his fans.
She glanced back at him once, mid-wave, eyes lighting up when she caught the way he was looking at her.
“What?” she whispered, amused.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Just… keep going.”
One more wave, one more thank you, and the line of cars finally began creeping forward again.
She leaned back into her seat, rolling the window up slowly as the fans shouted goodbyes and blew kisses down the line.
Both she and Lando lifted their hands for one final wave out the window before the crowd disappeared behind them.
When the noise faded and the road opened up again, Lando exhaled, still smiling.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I think they like you more than me.”
She nudged his arm, laughter bubbling up. “Obviously.”
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The Q&A stage always felt different early in the morning. Softer sunlight, quieter paddock, fans still clutching coffee cups and blankets from queueing since dawn.
She slipped in unnoticed at first, McLaren cap low, hoodie zipped up, standing among regular fans like she hadn’t headlined stadiums the night before. The two girls beside her kept glancing over with growing suspicion until one whispered, “Are you…?”
She just smiled.
They smiled widely and softly asked for a selfie. She took pictures with them, with a slightly tilted head and soft smile. They whispered thank-yous like they were sharing a secret.
Then the stage speakers cracked.
The crowd erupted as Lando and Oscar stepped out, waving to the crowd. Lando still looked sleep-warm, eyes squinting at the brightness. Oscar gave a small, polite wave like he always did. Questions started immediately - what they liked about the city, overtaking spots, something about the weather — the usual.
She stayed tucked between her two new fangirl friends, listening, occasionally laughing at the drivers’ banter. Every few minutes, she lifted her hand just a little, hoping he’d scan the crowd long enough to catch her.
He didn’t.
The girls beside her exchanged a look, then one whispered, “We’ll help.” On three, all three of them shouted:
“LANDO!”
Lando looked over, eyebrows pulled together. He looked out over the sea of faces. The fans around his girlfriend started pointing wildly at her.
He froze for half a beat, then slowly raised the mic. “Oh, it’s my girlfriend.”
The crowd exploded into cheers, whistles, and a few dramatic gasps that made her blush and tug her cap lower.
Oscar leaned into his mic. “Really? Where?” he asked, squinting as if he couldn’t possibly miss the only woman in the crowd covering her face in embarrassment.
Lando pointed directly at her. “Right there.”
Oscar spotted her, “Oh, it really is your girlfriend. Hi, (y/n),” he waved enthusiastically
The fans around her cheered even louder. Then, some guy with way too much confidence this early in the morning cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled:
“(Y/N), I LOVE YOU!”
She and Oscar laughed while Lando’s head snapped in the direction of the yell.
He leaned into the mic, eyebrows raised, voice playful but unmistakably territorial.
“Hey. Back off.”
The entire crowd howled. Oscar laughed, shaking his head. She laughed behind her hand, eyes crinkling, her cheeks warm. Lando’s expression softened instantly. He lifted his fingers in a small wave just for her before continuing the Q&A, but every few seconds, he would look back at her.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
She sat at the wooden picnic table outside Mercedes hospitality, the sun warm on her shoulders. Carmen was across from her, sipping an iced drink with her sunglasses pushed into her hair. Alexandra leaned in close, mid-story, one hand gesturing animatedly. Both Lilys listened with easy smiles, and Rebecca had her chin propped in her hand, laughing at something Carmen had just added.
She stretched her legs out and relaxed into the bench. She passed her drink to Alexandra to try, then stole a bite of Rebecca’s snack without asking. Lily Z. nudged her with an amused look, and Lily He shook her head at both of them, hiding a laugh.
Someone brought up a ridiculous story from the driver group chat, and all of them dissolved into laughter again.
She leaned her cheek into her hand, smiling at the back-and-forth. She loved this part of race weekends. Sitting with women who understood the world she had stepped into, but didn’t treat it like a competition. They could talk about anything here—food, travel plans, their pets, the absolute clownery of their boyfriends.
A group of fans walking past spotted them and waved. She waved back with both hands, cheerful and unbothered. The others followed, a soft chorus of smiles and waves.
The breeze picked up. The umbrella fluttered above them. Inside the garage, machinery clanked, and mechanics shouted to one another, but all the noise felt far away from their little table.
For a moment, it just felt like a group of girlfriends hanging out in every corner of the world.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The Vegas night sky glittered over the circuit, neon lights bouncing off the asphalt, every color too sharp to feel real. The air was electric, the kind of buzzing excitement only a street circuit could make. Engines screamed down the strip, the grandstands shook, and she felt the vibration in her ribs.
She was still a new face in the paddock then, still new enough that fans whispered when she walked past, new enough that she wasn’t entirely used to the constant cameras, the noise, the rhythm of race weekends. She was still learning.
Jisoo was beside her, wearing a McLaren jacket zipped up to her chin, eyes wide with the kind of awe only Vegas could inspire.
They were standing near a screen, close enough to feel the energy but far enough from the chaos of the garages. She tightened her grip on her drink, trying to follow Lando’s onboard the way he had taught her weeks before — look at the hands, not the helmet.
He went over the bump, and the car snapped
It happened faster than her brain could process. One second, he was weaving through traffic; the next, the McLaren jolted sideways, skidded, and slammed the front wing first into the wall. Hard.
“Oh my god,” Jisoo whispered, hand flying to her mouth.
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her hands shot up, covering her face instinctively. She dragged them down slowly, forcing herself to watch the replays she didn’t want to see. The replay showed the impact again — the violent shake of the chassis, the way the car refused to straighten before hitting the barrier.
The announcers were saying something, but it was all static in her ears.
Her chest tightened.
He wasn’t moving yet.
Marshals rushed in. One knelt by the cockpit, another signaling for the extraction crew to come over. Jisoo’s hand found her arm, squeezing gently, grounding her.
“They’re helping him,” Jisoo murmured. “They’re right there.”
She swallowed hard, but her throat felt too tight.
She heard sirens, the high, urgent wail of the medical car pulling up to the scene. Her stomach dropped. Sirens always made it real. They cracked through whatever distance a TV screen created.
When the marshals finally helped Lando climb out, a shaky breath left her all at once. The relief mixed with the leftover fear still lodged in her ribs. He was walking, but hunched. His steps didn’t look steady.
They guided him toward the ambulance, and something inside her tipped.
“I need to go,” she said, voice barely there.
Jisoo nodded immediately, already pulling her hood up. They began moving quickly through the paddock walkways. Her pace was fast enough to draw glances. Her hands were shaking, so she tucked them into her sleeves, hoping it would stop the tremor.
The media tried to stop them, calling out her name for a comment, but their security stepped in. She didn’t even bother to look their way.
Outside, a car was already waiting to take them to the hospital — McLaren always moved fast when something like this happened. She climbed in first. Jisoo slid beside her, careful not to crowd but close enough that she wouldn’t feel alone.
The city lights streaked past the window in long, blurry lines. Somewhere behind them, engines still screamed around the circuit, the race continuing as if nothing had happened.
She pressed her forehead to the cool window. The crash replayed in her mind again, and again, and again, even though it made her chest hurt.
“He’ll be okay,” Jisoo said softly. “He walked. You saw him.”
She nodded, exhaling shakily, but the panic still buzzed under her skin.
She didn't know how bad it was. Didn’t know if he was scared, or hurting, or frustrated in that quiet way he had when the world piled too much on him at once.
The waiting room was too bright.
She sat rigid in one of the plastic chairs, elbows on her knees, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were pale. Jisoo sat beside her, scrolling her phone with the screen dimmed, giving her something quiet to lean against.
A wall-mounted TV played muted local news. A vending machine hummed. A nurse walked by occasionally. The world continued to move in this slow, monotonous way, making everything feel even more unreal.
Fifteen minutes passed.
She kept checking the door to the back, waiting for someone in scrubs to call a name that wasn’t hers but might as well have been.
Jisoo finally touched her arm. “Do you want water? Something?”
She just shook her head. Her throat felt glued shut.
When the nurse finally stepped into the room and asked, “Lando N.?”
She stood so fast the chair legs screeched on the tile.
“This way,” the nurse said kindly.
She looked back at Jisoo
“I’ll wait for you,” Jisoo said.
She nodded and followed the nurse down a quiet hallway, heart hammering harder with each step.
The nurse pushed open a door at the end of the hall.
He was sitting upright on the hospital bed, blanket over his legs, a white bandage at his hairline, and faint bruising blossoming near his temple. His McLaren fireproofs were gone, replaced by a loose hospital gown, and he looked exhausted in that way crashes always carved into drivers—something deeper than physical pain.
He looked up the second she entered.
“(n/n)…” His voice was rough, a little hoarse.
She didn’t answer.
She crossed the room in three quick steps and wrapped her arms around him, the hug firm, almost desperate. Her face pressed into the side of his neck, breath shaking. His arms came up immediately, one around her waist, one around her shoulders, pulling her in, holding on like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to breathe again.
“I’m okay,” he murmured into her hair. “Promise.”
“You scared me,” she whispered, voice muffled, not letting go. “Lando, you—god, you scared me.”
He squeezed her tighter, eyes closing. “I know. I know, I’m sorry.”
She finally leaned back enough to see him, palms on either side of his jaw, thumbs brushing the edges of the forming bruise.
“You hit the wall so hard,” she said quietly.
He caught her wrist gently. “But I walked away. I’m fine. Just sore.”
She exhaled shakily, eyes flickering over him, checking for any sign of pain he hadn’t admitted yet.
“You sure?” she asked, softer.
He nodded. “Just concussion checks. Nothing broken.” Then, with a faint smirk, “My pride’s in pieces, though.” That earned a small, breathy laugh from her. His eyes softened. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I wasn’t going to stay in the paddock after that,” she muttered, brushing his hair back gently. “Jisoo practically dragged me out.”
He chuckled. “I’ll thank her later.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, still facing him, still holding onto his arm like she was scared he’d disappear if she let go.
“You don’t have to be brave right now,” she said, voice low. “Not with me.”
Lando swallowed, the facade slipping just a little. “It rattled me more than I thought,” he admitted. “One moment I’m driving, next I’m staring at a wall coming at me fast.”
She reached down, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. He squeezed back.
The room felt smaller then, quieter, as if everything had narrowed down to the space between their hands. The monitor beside him ticked softly. A nurse walked past the door. Somewhere down the hall, a metal tray clattered.
But here, with her beside him, Lando finally let his shoulders drop.
“Can you stay?” he asked.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”
| Lando Norris Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
Warning(s): use of (y/n)
If you want to vote for next imagine
a/n: y'all getting fed today, also before y'all come for me lol yes i am doing Abu Dhabi imagine with blackpink reader (i've been planning it since i watched the race) w/ a surprise that's hinted throughout the posts i posted today. If you catch them lmk what you think hehe ENNNJOYYYY
He’d invited her weeks ago.
“Come to Monaco with me,” he’d said, cheek pressed into his pillow, voice softened by the late hour. “It’s Monaco. I need you there.”
She’d smiled at him from the dresser, hair thrown up messily, drowning in a sweatshirt she’d stolen from him. “I want to, you know I do,” she said, folding a shirt with one hand. “But I’ve got three songs unfinished. If I go, I won’t make the deadline. They’re already on my ass about it.”
He hadn’t argued. He knew better. He knew what this album meant — the way she lit up when she talked about it, the way she disappeared into it like it was the only place her brain could breathe.
He’d begged her to at least let him hear one track. She refused every time. Always telling him that when it comes out, they’ll listen together.
“Okay,” he swallowed the disappointment. “Then I’ll make sure to win Monaco for you.”
She’d laughed, crossing to the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat on the edge. “And when you do, I’ll hopefully be done with this god-forsaken album, and we can actually celebrate.”
“Good thing we have a break after,” he muttered, reaching for her hand. “We can slip away somewhere. Just us,” he’d muttered, then groaned. “It’s not gonna be the same without you there,”
“Lando, you’ll be fine,” she said, leaning forward, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “It’s one race. I’ll be at the next one.”
“You sure you don’t want to miss the flight?” he tried again.
She snorted. “And get myself fired? No thank you.”
“You could be a full-time WAG.”
“Excuse you,” she said, dramatically offended. “I am already a full-time WAG and a singer. Get your facts straight, bebé.”
“My multitasking girlfriend,” he murmured, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her down onto the pillows.
“Lando,” she sighed, half laughing into his shoulder, “I need to pack.”
“Just a couple more minutes,” he whispered into her neck.
She knew “a couple more minutes” meant an hour. Probably two. He would hold her hostage in the bedroom until they were sprinting through the terminal — but she didn’t fight it.
She let him have this moment because he was right: Monaco would feel wrong without her.
A day later, he was sitting in a tiny restaurant tucked off a side street near Port Hercule, late dinner lit by gold overhead fixtures. Forks clicked softly against plates. Outside, scooters buzzed past like flies.
Lando sat opposite Max and Pietra, pretending to look at the menu while the knot in his chest twisted.
“So,” Max said, draping his arm over the back of his chair. “Where’s (Y/n)? Thought we’d hear her before we saw her.”
“She’s in Korea,” Lando said, closing the menu he hadn’t read. “Working on the album. Studio’s basically holding her hostage.”
“So she’s not gonna be at the race this weekend?” Pietra asked, her tone light, and her smile… but something calculating flickered behind her eyes.
Lando shook his head. “Sadly, no.”
Something flickered across Pietra’s face. Not quite sympathy, not quite surprised. Just… calculation.
“Shame,” she hummed, then let the boys talk, her hand already sliding into her bag for her phone.
Max launched into a complaint about different quadrant video ideas, and Lando half-listened. Pietra didn’t listen at all. Her hand slipped into her bag, thumbs tapping fast under the table.
P 💕:
You still not coming to the race?
Magui 🤪:
No
I’m not trying to see them
P 💕:
She’s not coming
Lando just told me
Magui 🤪:
Idk Pietra
It’s gonna be really awkward
P 💕:
So?
She’s always with him and finally this weekend she’s not
This is your chance
Magui 🤪:
P I don't want to get with him
He’s happy with her
I just want to be friends again yk
P 💕:
Ok whatever just come
Plus I don’t want to be alone
Magui 🤪:
Fine
Pietra’s lips curled into a small smile as she set her phone face down beside her glass.
“Everything alright?” Max asked, chewing a piece of bread.
“Yeah,” Pietra said sweetly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Just making sure I’m not third-wheeling all weekend.”
Max missed the tone. Lando didn’t either.
The day of Qualifying, the sun over Monaco was bright and ruthless. Late May heat bouncing off white yachts and polished glass until everything shimmered. The paddock buzzed the way it always did on Saturday: nerves hidden under routines, confidence layered over caffeine and muscle memory.
Lando walked through the McLaren hospitality wearing the outfit she had picked out with him over FaceTime—black trousers, a cream shirt, and a light jacket. The top button undone, sleeves rolled up.
He and Max were halfway through talking about sector times and braking points when Pietra peeled herself away from her seat.
“I’ll be right back,” she announced.
Max blinked. “Where you going?”
She slipped her bag over her shoulder, smiling too sweetly. “Meeting a friend. I’ll bring them by.”
Lando nodded, attention already pulled back toward discussions about braking zones and wind direction. “Cool.”
Ten minutes later, after a quick talk with an engineer, he stepped back into the hospitality entrance and froze.
Pietra stood near the entrance, and beside her stood someone he hadn’t seen in years.
Magui.
For a second, all three of them just stared at each other, silence clamped around them. Even the hum of the paddock felt muted.
Magui gave an awkward half-smile, lifting her hand in a small wave. “Hey.”
“Uh,” Lando said, brain catching up. “Hi.”
He hadn’t seen Magui in person since… before (Y/n), before everything had shifted, before he’d decided that casual wasn’t for him anymore.
She shifted on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look… different.” Then winced. “A good different. I—sorry, that was weird.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, more nerves than humor. “It’s alright. It’s… been a while.”
“Thought I’d come for the race,” she said, looking around as if searching for an exit. “Haven’t been in Monaco in forever.”
Max wandered up behind Lando as he’d wandered into the wrong movie scene. He glanced between them, eyes growing wider by the second.
“So…” Max said. “Fun little reunion, yeah?”
No one answered him.
“Anyway,” Lando said finally, swallowing the knot forming in his throat. “Welcome, I guess. Enjoy the weekend.”
“Thanks,” she murmured.
He could feel the awkwardness clinging to the air. The weight of things unsaid, not romantic things, just unresolved ones. The last time they’d really spoken, he’d been the one to pull away. To choose distance when she’d wanted more.
Pietra smiled into her drink, satisfied in the way only someone stirring trouble on purpose could be.
In Korea, the day couldn’t have been more different.
The recording studio was lit with that sterile white glow that made everything look flat. Lifeless. She’d been running the same chorus for nearly an hour, voice sharp, expression sharper.
“Again,” one of the producers said through the talkback. “The last line needs more bite.”
She opened her eyes, swallowed her irritation, and nodded.
The track rolled. She sang the verse with a sharper tongue.
“Okay,” the producer said. “We’re close.”
They began discussing adjustments in soft Korean murmurs. She slipped her headphones down around her neck. On the music stand, her phone started buzzing. Then again. Then again. Like it was glitching.
She ignored it for a minute, then two, then three. The vibrations were constant, almost frantic.
“Five-minute break,” she said into the mic. “My throat needs it.”
She exhaled sharply, stepped out of the booth, and looked at her assistant. “Joomi? Coffee. Hot, like very hot, please.”
“Yes, unnie,” Joomi said, bowing slightly before disappearing out the studio door.
She picked up her phone, annoyed, until she saw her lockscreen. It was a mess of Twitter mentions, Instagram tags, Stories, news articles, and DM’s, all with the same location, Monaco.
She unlocked her phone and started scrolling. There were just photos of the drivers in the paddock, highlights of qualifying, and a few shots of Lando waving to fans.
She was about to turn her phone off again, but caught it.
A zoomed-in fan photo, taken from somewhere outside the McLaren hospitality. Pietra and Magui leaned over the balcony railing, laughing at something below.
Her jaw tightened before she swiped again. A fan had taken a selfie with another driver, and in the background, Lando was walking past and not too far behind Magui.
The post caption, clearly wanting to start something: Weird how Magui shows up when his girlfriend isn’t attending the race… 👀
She could’ve sworn she felt her eye twitch. The audacity of this girl, waiting for her not to show up like she’d circled the calendar and said, ‘This is my chance.’
She scrolled a little more and saw a post that made her freeze; her blood started to boil. A video of Magui’s reaction to Lando getting first position in qualifying. Magui was clasping her hands over her face in excitement. The kind of reaction fans made. The types of reactions girlfriends made.
And what takes the cake is the official title introducing her.
‘actress, model, Lando Norris’s partner’
The room seemed to tilt. She was shaking at this point, fighting the urge to throw her phone against the wall.
The studio door opened. Joomi slipped back in, carefully setting a coffee down on the side table.
She didn’t look up from her phone. “Joomi, would you be a dear and book me a ticket to Monaco?”
Joomi blinked. “Monaco? But unnie… the album—”
“I know what I said,” she locked her phone, expression folding into something controlled. “Good thing one song is ready to be pre-released.”
Joomi tilted her head. “The title track?”
“No,” she picked up her laptop.
Joomi’s brows shot up. “I thought you weren’t going to release that one.”
“Well,” she said calmly, “the label changed their mind, and I can mix on the plane. Just… book it. As soon as you can.”
“Yes, unnie.”
She picked her phone back up, watched the video again—then locked it.
“Should I tell the producers?”
“Not yet.” She slipped her headphones back on, eyes on the mic. “Let’s finish the next take first.”
Her voice this time had a different kind of bite.
Meanwhile, Monaco was alive with celebration.
Lando had stuck his car on the front row. The garage buzzed, journalists hovered, PRs shoved microphones, cameras flashed. He’d smiled for photos, shaken hands, but the whole time, all he just wanted to get back to his room and call her.
Instead, he was being dragged toward a club.
“You got P1 in Monaco, mate,” Max said, arm slung around his shoulders. “You’re not going to bed. That’s so boring.”
“Can’t we just save this for tomorrow?” Lando muttered. “I’m tired,”
“Shut up and walk.”
The club was loud, lights moving in time with a bass that rattled his chest. Music, bodies, the smell of alcohol and perfume all blurred together.
He checked his phone every few minutes. Making sure he doesn't miss any messages from her, but no responses have yet been received. He’d texted her multiple times, but nothing.
He took a sip from a drink he didn’t remember asking for and leaned back against a booth couch.
“Mate,” Max yelled over the music, with a fresh drink. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” Lando lied.
Max followed his gaze to his phone. “She’s probably recording.”
“I know,” he said. “Still.”
A shadow stepped into the edge of his vision. When he glanced up, Magui was there, drink in hand, cheeks warm from alcohol and dancing.
“Hey,” she said, raising her glass a little. “Congrats on today.”
“Thanks,” he replied, voice rough.
She sat, leaving a respectable amount of space between them. “Didn’t get to say it earlier.”
He nodded. A silence followed, music pulsing around them.
“I’m not here to make things weird,” she added. “Pietra practically bullied me into coming. I just… I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… y’know, mess anything up.”
“I know,” he said.
“I’m happy for you,” Magui said quietly. “I’m glad you’re happy with her.”
He swallowed. Guilt flickered in his chest. Guilt for not telling her. For not calling again. For letting today spiral.
“I didn’t handle things well back then,” he admitted.
“No, you didn’t,” she said, but there was no bite to it. “But we were both idiots.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Accurate.”
They fell into a strange, fragile quiet. Magui leaned in a little—not close enough to be inappropriate, just close enough to be heard without shouting.
“Either way,” Magui said, “we don’t have to be strangers when I see you. That’d be… stupid.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Friends are fine.”
A strobe light flashed; someone on the other side of the booth lifted their phone. The tiny click of a camera was lost under the music, but the angle was perfect: Magui leaning in, his head bowed toward her.
A frame that could be read a hundred different ways.
A frame that would explode online in minutes.
A frame she would see before sunrise.
A short flight and a time-zone jump later, she touched down in Nice. The moment her heels hit the jet bridge, her patience was already wearing thin. The cab ride to Monaco crawled through traffic, the coastline too pretty to match her mood. By the time the car dropped her at the paddock entrance, she felt her pulse in her jaw.
She wore a simple black dress to her knees, closed-toed kitten heels, sunglasses, hair half-up in a loose twist, her purse slung over her shoulder with her laptop practically sticking out.
Her bodyguard walked one step ahead, clearing the path as security scanned her paddock pass. A badge she’d worn dozens of times, but today it felt heavier.
Phones went up the second she appeared. She heard her name in English, Korean, French, and Spanish. It was a chorus she’d grown used to, but today it felt like static. She lifted a hand, smiled politely, but didn’t slow down. Her steps were clipped and purposeful as she headed straight for the McLaren garage.
Inside, the rhythm of pre-race prep thrummed around her: drills, tire blankets humming, crew members shouting for torque wrenches and fuel calculations. The air smelled like rubber and focus.
“(Y/n)!” one of the crew called out, pleasantly surprised. “Good to see you!”
She slipped her sunglasses onto her head and forced the tension in her shoulders to soften. “Hi. Sorry, I’m late to the party.”
A laugh rippled through a few of them. Someone offered her a headset — one with her initials neatly printed on the side. She shook her head gently.
“I’m okay,” she said.
Cameras found her almost instantly. They always did. She straightened her posture, smoothing her expression into something warm, careful, camera-safe.
Her bodyguard took her laptop and purse and tucked them carefully on a shelf behind the screens, nodding once before stepping out of the way.
Drivers began filtering back into the garage after the anthem. Lando stepped inside with his suit half-zipped down to his waist, his mind still in pre-race command mode.
Then he saw her.
His entire body halted. His hand dropped from his zipper. His expression flickered through a mix of disbelief, surprise, and relief.
She stood near the back wall, arms loosely folded, sunglasses perched on her head, her expression unreadable.
He could feel the weight of her stare from halfway across the garage.
He crossed the room fast, almost too fast, the adrenaline from warm-ups and the atmosphere still buzzing through his veins.
He reached for her, already leaning in for a hug.
She hugged him back, but it wasn’t the soft, warm, melt-into-him embrace he was used to. It was quick and half-hearted. Her arms barely closed around him.
His stomach tightened instantly.
“What are you doing here, baby?” he asked, and the second the words left his mouth, he heard it. The guilt. The edge. The tone he didn’t mean.
Her lashes lowered, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut. “What? I can’t be here to support you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.
She tilted her head, eyes unreadable behind the sunglasses. “Were you ever gonna tell me Magui was here?”
His blood ran cold.
“(Y/n),” he murmured, barely moving his lips. “Not here.”
“Oh, so you do know she’s here.” Her voice was still quiet, but the anger beneath it simmered. “Good to know.”
A few mechanics nearby stiffened, pretending to focus harder on tire pressures and data screens.
He didn’t hesitate; he took her gently by the wrist. “Come with me.”
He guided her into a smaller side room connected to the garage — an engineer’s space with white walls, monitors showing sector deltas, and a table cluttered with handwritten notes. It was quiet. Blessedly quiet.
He shut the door, and for a second, neither of them moved. The muffled roar of the paddock vibrated through the walls. A fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
He inhaled shakily. “I didn’t know she was coming,” he started. “Pietra just—”
“Oh, Pietra,” she cut in, a sharp, humorless laugh escaping her. “Of course.”
“Pietra showed up with her yesterday. I didn’t know I was as surprised as you are now.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, I saw just how surprised you looked in those photos.”
He winced. “You’ve seen them.”
“Of course I’ve seen them, Lando,” she snapped. “People sent them to me the second they hit the internet. You walking around the paddock with her there. You sitting in that club—” she rolled her eyes, “—which, by the way, looked like some happy reunion.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said immediately. “We talked, that’s all. She said she wanted to be friends again. I told her I’m happy with you. That’s it.”
Her jaw tightened. “You could’ve told me.”
“I tried to,” he said. “I called, I texted—”
“And yet you never mentioned her, Lando. Not once. A heads-up would’ve been nice.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“I was caught off guard,” she continued, voice tight, “I was recording the same line for an hour. I’m exhausted, my voice hurts, and suddenly I’m looking at photos of you next to the girl everyone online is desperate to rewrite your past with.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Baby, I know. I get it. But you think this was fun for me? You think I liked seeing those posts? You think I saw the angle in those club photos and thought, ‘Oh yes. This is great PR?”
She crossed her arms harder.
“I know you didn’t cheat,” she said slowly. “I trust you, but I don’t trust her, and I certainly don’t trust Pietra. Not with you.”
“This isn’t about trust,” he said, voice rising despite himself. “This is about timing, and stupid photos, and me trying not to make a big deal out of something that felt small—”
“It didn’t feel small to me,” she said quietly.
He exhaled sharply.
“I messed up,” he admitted. “I should’ve told you immediately. I should’ve sent a text the second she showed up. I just…” He hesitated. “I didn’t want it to sound like a big deal. Or a big fight.”
“Well,” she said dryly, “here we are anyway.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, tension fading into something softer. “Here we are.”
They stood in that small room, both too stubborn and too tired to say anything else for a moment.
“God, I hate that she waited until I wasn’t here.”
He sighed. “I can’t control her.”
Her jaw worked for a second, then she exhaled. “I didn’t come here to scream at you. I came because I realized I’d rather be annoyed in the same city than on a different continent.”
He stepped closer, searching her face.
“Are we okay?” he asked quietly.
Her shoulders deflated just a bit. “Of course we are.”
She stepped into him first, her arms sliding around his torso. He let out a shaky breath, arms coming around her, holding her tighter than he meant to. Relief poured into him like oxygen.
He cupped her cheek when she pulled back. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered. “Even if you came ready to kill me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Sorry for doing this right before your race.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’d rather deal with it now,” his thumb brushing her jaw, “than be sitting in the car thinking I’ve lost you.”
She blinked slowly. He’d meant it. She could tell.
He hesitated, then added, “Do you want to watch from the garage? Or with my parents?”
Her face lit up like someone flipped a switch. “Your parents are here?”
He laughed. “Yeah. They’re upstairs.”
She perked up immediately, nearly bouncing.
Before he could answer, a sharp knock rattled the door.
“Lando!” a mechanic called. “We need you suited. Cars are rolling out!”
She stepped back. “Go. They’re waiting.”
“You’ll sit with my parents?”
She nodded. “Yes, now go drive your stupid fast car.”
He pulled her into another desperate hug.
She squeezed him once. “You’d better get a podium after all this.”
“I love you,” he said.
Her eyes met his, steady. “I love you too. Now go do your job.”
She shoved him out of the room and watched him go. he stopped and turned around, and started speed walking back. Which confused her, “What are you-”
He took her face in both hands and kissed her. A deep kiss full of love and apology. She smiled into it, hand sliding up his arm to the back of his neck. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, pulling her fully against him.
“You need to go,” she whispered breathlessly.
He nodded… but kissed her again.
She laughed while she clamped her hand over his mouth. “Lando. Go. Before you get fined.”
He spoke against her palm. “I’d pay a million fines if it meant five more minutes with you.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re so sappy.”
He grabbed her hand, kissed her knuckles, then intertwined their fingers as they walked back toward the garage.
At the edge of the garage, just before the noise swallowed them, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
Then he jogged to the car.
Engines roared to life. She winced and covered her ears as the entire grid thundered onto the circuit.
Her bodyguard stared, eyes wide. “That is… much louder than I expected.”
She smirked. “Welcome to my other job.”
He shifted awkwardly. “This place is… interesting.”
“If you want, you can explore the paddock,” she said in Korean to her bodyguard, “I’ll be here.”
“I don’t think that's a good idea,” he said
“Why not?”
“I don't want to leave you here unprotected.”
Her eyes softened. “I'll be fine here, you did your job,” she waved him off. “Go. Have fun. Don’t get lost and don’t push anything.”
He bowed slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
She watched him walk off, amused. “He’s like a golden retriever in a suit,” she muttered.
She took the stairs up to the hospitality lounge two at a time, heels barely making a sound on the metal steps. At the top, a security guard in a McLaren lanyard stepped in front of the glass door.
She pushed her sunglasses up properly on her nose and smiled. “Hi, I’m with Lando’s guests.”
His eyes flicked to her pass, then to her face, and whatever doubt he had vanished. “Of course, right this way, miss.” He opened the door for her.
The room buzzed with low conversation. Big TVs on every wall played the world feed, delayed by a few seconds. A bar took up one side, stocked with everything from champagne to soft drinks. The balcony doors were open, and the roar of engines floated up faintly from the pit lane below.
She moved through the room in that effortless way of hers — polite nod here, small smile there, a handful of “hello’s” in different languages.
Cisca and Adam were near the edge of the room by the balcony doors, heads turned toward one of the screens. Next to them was a certain Portuguese blonde she recognized from photos, even if they’d never spoken.
She drew in a quiet breath and let it out. Then she called, lightly, “Cisca?”
Cisca whipped around so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. Her face broke into the biggest smile.
“Oh my beautiful (Y/n)!” she squealed, crossing the space to pull her into a hug. “Lando said you couldn’t make it!”
Behind her, Magui went statue-still. Her fingers tightened around her glass. She didn’t turn around. She just sat there, suddenly hyper-aware of every angle of her body. Magui had seen her on screens for years on stage, in music videos, in airport photos, but in person, it hit different. She could hear her laugh now. Hear the warmth in it. Feel that… presence.
And worse, she could feel a cold little pulse of guilt at the base of her neck.
“I thought I couldn’t,” she said, pulling back slightly from Cisca’s hug. Her smile warmed. “But I could never miss a race like this.”
She stepped toward Adam next. He stood to greet her, eyes crinkling as he pulled her in.
“Good to see you,” he said. “He said you were buried in the studio, working on the album.”
“I was,” she replied. “I flew from Korea last night.”
Cisca’s gaze softened immediately, thumb brushing her arm. “Oh, honey, you must be exhausted.”
She waved it off with a small laugh. “It’s okay. I’ll sleep like a rock tonight, trust me.”
Only then did she turn fully toward the blonde at the table.
Magui was sitting as straight as a board, staring at the screen as if she looked away; it might explode. She felt her attention shift her way like a spotlight and cursed silently.
Please don’t be rude, please don’t be rude, please don’t be—
She reached out and tapped Magui’s shoulder gently.
Magui turned, inhaled, and finally saw her up close.
She was unfairly pretty. Skin smooth under the soft lights, eyes sharp but not unkind, lip gloss subtle, not overly done. The kind of put-together that didn’t look like effort. She smelled faintly like something warm and clean — vanilla and citrus.
“Hi,” she said, voice light, polite. “I don’t think we’ve officially met yet. I’m (Y/n).”
Magui stood so fast her chair scraped a little. “Margarida,” she said. “But my friends call me Magui.” She took her offered hand. It was small, soft, and steady in hers. “And I know who you are.”
She hummed, almost amused, then turned back to Cisca and Adam. “Can I get anyone anything? Drinks? Water? Wine?”
They rattled off their preferences — white wine for Cisca, sparkling water for Adam.
She nodded, then glanced back at Magui. “Come with me? Easier to carry if I have backup.”
Magui hesitated only a second, then nodded. “Sure.”
Magui followed her toward the bar, feeling strangely like she was walking behind a teacher she admired and feared a little.
She handed over her ID and a black Amex, opening a tab without blinking. The bartender nodded in recognition.
“White wine, sparkling water, and…” she looked at Magui. “What do you want?”
“Uh—just a gin and tonic is fine,” Magui said, hands folded together so they wouldn’t fidget.
The bartender got to work.
“Thank you for getting me a drink,” Magui said quietly, suddenly aware of how close they were standing.
She glanced over at her, then offered a small smile. “My pleasure.”
Silence settled for a moment.
Magui twisted the ring on her finger.
She just leaned against the bar, posture relaxed, eyes tracking the bartender’s movements. “So you’re an actor?” she asked eventually, tone casual.
“Yeah,” Magui replied, grateful for something normal to latch on to. “Mostly TV.”
“You in anything big?” she asked, not unkindly — simply curious.
“I have a show on Prime called Sweet Strawberries,” Magui said. “It’s… kind of a romance drama.”
She nodded, eyes back on the bar. “I’ll have to give it a watch.”
The answer was simple, but it wasn’t fake. She didn’t sound like she was humoring her, which somehow made it worse.
Magui found herself watching her in profile for a second, thoughts racing.
She had expected coldness and dismissal, maybe even a clipped greeting and then distance. Instead, she had introduced herself first, invited her to the bar, and offered her a drink.
No snide comments, no territorial jabs, no mention of photos or captions or history.
It made her feel… smaller and more guilty.
“You’re working on your album?” Magui asked, trying to contribute, voice braver than she felt.
She turned her head slightly. “Yeah. I am.”
“Is it… a group thing or…?”
“Solo,” she answered simply.
“Oh, that’s great,” Magui said. “Are you all still together? Your group, I mean. I haven’t seen anything new from you guys in a while.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to stuff them back in. It sounded like a dig, even though she didn’t mean it that way.
But she just laughed — not at all offended.
“You’re right,” she said. “We haven’t released anything in a while. It drives me insane, honestly. I love my girls, and I love our fans, but we’re…” She searched for the word. “Mishandled is a nice way to put it. We’re kept on a tight leash.”
The bartender set a coaster down, then began placing glasses in front of them. She continued, voice even.
“When our CEO needs money, he drags us back for a comeback,” she said. “Once he’s got enough to fund his newer projects, we get shoo’d away.”
Magui blinked. “That sounds… rough.”
She shrugged one shoulder, as if the weight of it had sat there long enough that it just belonged. “My members have all done solo albums or EPs now. People have been begging me for one, too. So I’ve been living in the studio trying to make something that’ll keep them occupied.”
The bartender slid their drinks toward them. She gave him a grateful nod, grabbed the glasses, and turned.
“Here,” she said, handing Magui hers carefully.
“Thanks,” Magui said again, quieter this time.
They carried the drinks back to the table as the formation lap coverage wrapped up on the screens. On the balcony, engines howled through the tunnel below.
She set the wine in front of Cisca, the water by Adam, then sat on the empty chair beside Cisca, smoothing her dress and crossing one leg over the other. The big main screen shifted to show the cars lining up on the grid, Lando in P1.
Her chest tightened.
Monaco had always bored her as a race, too processional, too cramped, too… whatever, but with him starting at the front, the circuit looked different. Every corner looked like a threat. Every barrier looked too close to his car.
He needed this. She knew how badly. The points gap, the rhythm of the season, the mental boost of a home-ish win in Monaco — all of it sat on her sternum like a weight.
Down on track, the last mechanic sprinted away from a car. The lights panel lit up red, one by one.
She wrapped her fingers around her glass, knuckles whitening.
“Come on, baby,” she murmured under her breath, eyes locked on the screen as the lights held.
Silence, just for a beat.
Then they went out.
She sat through the race as if every lap was a threat.
Her leg bounced. Her nails dug crescents into her palm. Every time Lando dove into the pits and dropped behind, her breath caught so sharply that Cisca reached over and rubbed her back in quiet circles.
Her bodyguard returned fifteen minutes into the race, towering behind her chair like a silent fortress. He didn’t understand much about F1, but he understood tension and she radiated it like heat.
Cameras kept shifting toward her, the broadcast milking every glimpse of “Lando Norris’s superstar girlfriend.” She barely noticed them. Her eyes never left the screen. Her jaw worked constantly, like she was chewing on worry.
The race in Monaco was slow, strategic, but to her, it felt like torture. Every centimeter of track was a new reason to panic.
When the last lap began — and it became clear he was too far ahead to lose it unless the universe hated him — something unclenched in her chest.
She exhaled for what felt like the first time since morning. Cisca let out a shriek and hugged her tight. Adam high-fived her so enthusiastically that her hand stung.
When the checkered flag waved, she shot to her feet.
They rushed out of the garage, heading down to the podium area. Officers had already formed a tight human barricade. Mechanics screamed. Fans screamed. Everyone screamed.
Lando stood on top of his car like a man who had finally been handed his childhood dream. His arms thrown up, head tilted back, pure joy vibrating through him. He looked young. He looked free. He looked like everything he’d ever worked for had finally clicked into place.
She pressed forward with Cisca, both stopped only by the officers’ locked arms.
Lando jogged toward his team and tried to leap into their arms, only for an officer to practically clothesline him mid-air.
“Lando!” Cisca called.
He spun, scanning the faces behind the barricade.
He found his mother first. Then—
He found her.
Her sunglasses were gone. Her hair was messy from rushing. Lips parted just slightly, like she was trying not to cry.
He broke into the biggest smile she’d ever seen on him — wild, breathless, disbelieving.
She nudged Cisca forward. “Go. This is your moment.”
Cisca slipped through a small opening between two officers, and Lando bent down far enough to press his forehead to hers. Quick words, emotional ones. A kiss to her cheek. Another hug.
Then he looked up again.
“baby,” he mouthed, lifting a hand.
Her heart kicked hard.
She reached as far as she could over the barricade. He leaned forward, letting her fix the mess of curls on his forehead. His breathing was still uneven, chest rising quickly from adrenaline and exhaustion.
He caught her hand before she could pull back — fingers sliding through hers. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them softly.
For a moment, the noise of Monaco dulled. The cameras didn’t exist. The world felt small.
“Good job,” she mouthed.
Lando’s smile softened, then deepened — that rare, helplessly tender version of him that only she ever got to see.
He mouthed three words that hit her straight in the chest:
I love you.
She felt her eyes warm.
She mouthed back: ‘I love you too.’
He hesitated — like he didn’t want to step away — then forced himself to turn around, jogging toward the podium stairs.
Her, Cisca, Adam, and… unfortunately… Magui stood front row under the podium. Close enough to feel the spray of champagne later. Close enough for the cameras to catch every expression.
Zak Brown noticed her almost immediately. “(Y/n)!” he called over the noise.
She turned, smiling politely. “Zak.”
“You need to come to every race this season,” he said, laughing. “Every time you’re here, he pulls out magic.”
She laughed too. “I practically already do.”
Zak kept chatting, but Cisca couldn’t stop side-eyeing Magui. It wasn’t hostility — just mild judgment, wrapped in maternal instinct.
Cisca never hated the girl. She simply never saw Magui as someone who lit Lando up. She’d watched years of fleeting flings, temporary sparks, relationships that came and went like the wind.
But (Y/n)? She made her son glow.
He changed around her. He’s calmer, happier, lighter. Even in the chaos of race weekends, he followed her like sunshine follows a mirror. Cisca noticed everything: every look, every smile, every softening of him.
She was already family in Cisca’s eyes.
Finally, the drivers stepped out onto the podium. She clapped until her hands hurt when Lando walked out, waving to the crowd.
The British national anthem began, and he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He looked almost angelic like that — serene despite the noise. Glowing in white and papaya. She pulled her phone out and snapped a picture.
When he opened his eyes again, they drifted across the sea of fans, past photographers and pit crews.
Then he found her.
For a second, everything in him stuttered. His smile twitched — small, private, uncontainably fond.
He lowered his head to hide it.
The anthem ended. The trophies were handed out, and then champagne exploded everywhere.
Lando soaked the crowd. Charles soaked Lando. Lando retaliated by firing a stream straight at Oscar.
After the celebrations, she made her way down to the garage, weaving through mechanics carrying equipment.
Lando spotted her instantly.
His face lit up like he’d been waiting just for her.
“Want some?” he asked, tilting the champagne bottle in her direction.
“I’m not drinking that,” she said.
He grinned — then tipped the bottle and poured some directly into her mouth anyway.
She sputtered, choked, and the champagne splashed down her chin and onto her dress.
“Lando!” she yelled, swatting him.
He doubled over laughing. “You said yes! That was a yes face!”
“That was a no face!”
He grabbed her waist, pulled her close, still laughing, forehead pressed to hers.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured.
Her breath caught.
“Shut up,” she whispered back, cheeks warm.
After team photos, more champagne, back-slaps, and endless congratulations. Lando finally tugged her toward the motorhome. Both were sticky with champagne and sweat, still riding the high of his win. Inside, they showered together quickly, because they were already running behind, and changed into fresh clothes before slipping out the back of the hospitality.
The sun was low over Monaco, casting a warm, golden glow over the paddock. Reporters lingered. Crew members wheeled equipment. Fans pressed behind barricades, waiting for the drivers to trickle out.
The instant someone spotted them—Lando in a simple team shirt and trousers, her beside him in his team hoodie with her fresh black dress peeking through.
“LANDO!”
“LANDO, SIGN PLEASE!”
“CONGRATS!”
He unlocked the car so she could drop off her bag and laptop in the backseat. She was about to climb into the passenger seat to wait while he signed things on the opposite side… until she noticed a small cluster of fans down the line. Kids, mostly, holding posters and miniature helmets—stretching their arms as far as they could.
Lando hadn’t seen them; he was facing the other direction.
Before she could think, she closed the passenger door and walked toward the group.
A girl, maybe twelve, perked up. “(Y/n)?!”
She smiled. “Hi. I’ll get him to sign them, okay?”
She gathered the items—carefully, like they were glass—and made her way back to Lando. He was mid-conversation with a fan when she nudged his elbow and held the stack up.
“Sign these too. They’ve been waiting,” she said softly.
He glanced at her—all warmth, exhausted but grateful—and nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
He signed every item she handed him, even adding little smiley faces to ones from kids. She brought everything back, kneeling slightly so the younger fans didn’t have to reach up. They thanked her like she’d just handed them the moon.
“For you!” one girl said shyly, holding up a beaded bracelet. She offered her wrist, and the little girl slipped it on.
Another offered a handmade keychain with tiny charms. “We made them ourselves.”
She softened. “These are beautiful. Thank you, sweetheart.”
Before she knew it, she’d been pulled into small talk—favorite songs, if she liked Monaco, if she was staying for the ball. The kids giggled at everything she said. Their parents thanked her for being kind. She didn’t even notice Lando watching her from a few feet away, an expression on his face that was almost proud.
Eventually, he stepped in, sliding an arm around her waist.
“Sorry, I’m stealing her,” he teased gently.
The fans cooed, waving goodbye as the two of them walked back toward the car.
“Alright?” he asked once he opened her door for her.
She lifted the bracelets on her wrist. “Your fans are adorable.”
He smiled, almost bashful. “They love you.”
When he bent down and kissed her cheek, she melted a little.
They climbed into the car, fatigue finally settling in. As they drove out of the paddock, the crowds thinned, the noise dimmed, and the adrenaline that had carried them through the last few hours finally ebbed.
“We’ve got the prince’s ball tonight,” Lando said, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching blindly across the center console until she laced her fingers with his.
She groaned lightly. “You don't have to be there for long, right?”
Lando shook his head, still looking at the road, ” Not really, we can just show face for like thirty minutes then go home.”
“Deal,” she said as she leaned her head back against the seat, eyes closing for a moment.
He glanced at her, soft and full of something slow and warm.
“You good?” he murmured.
“Perfect,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You won Monaco.”
He laughed under his breath, still in disbelief. “Yeah. I did.”
“And you’ll do it again.”
By the time they made it back to the apartment, the adrenaline of the podium had settled into something softer — tired excitement mixed with that quiet, private joy that only came when the doors closed behind them.
Lando dropped his McLaren duffel by the entryway with a groan.
“My feet are killing me.”
“You didn’t even wear heels,” she said, kicking off her own.
“I drove at 290 km/h on the hardest circuit, my feet deserve to hurt,” he countered.
She snorted, already walking toward the bedroom. “Come on. We’ve got twenty minutes before we need to look royal-ball presentable.”
Their room looked like it always did after a race weekend: half-unpacked bags, her laptop open on the vanity, his socks inexplicably nowhere near the hamper. She stepped over a stack of laundry and headed straight for the closet.
“The black gown or the green one?” she called out.
“The black,” Lando answered from somewhere behind her. “The green distracts me too much.”
She smirked. “You’re easily distractible.”
“And whose fault is that?” he muttered, passing behind her to grab the suit she’d picked out for him during the break. It was black, simple, clean-cut, everything that made him look just a bit older, a bit sharper.
He held it up with a doubtful expression. “Do I have to wear the tie?”
“Yes.”
“I hate ties.”
“You look good in them.”
He paused… then sighed with dramatic acceptance. “Fine.”
She slipped into the bathroom to change. When she stepped back out, her dress zipped, her hair brushed, and her earrings on, Lando looked up from struggling with his cufflinks and froze halfway.
“Oh,” he breathed, blinking once, slowly. “Okay. Wow.”
She tugged at her dress casually. “Too much?”
“I’m starting to think you’re trying to make it impossible for me to focus.”
She walked over and fixed his cufflink for him, fingertips brushing his wrist. “You’re not even dressed yet. Don’t flirt prematurely.”
“Well, when you're dressed like that, how can I not?” he murmured.
“Focus,” she said, turning him toward the mirror like a stubborn child.
He put the tie around his neck and frowned. “Can you…?”
She stepped behind him, looping it with practiced ease. “You always forget how to do this,” she teased.
He looked down at her. “Maybe I do it on purpose.”
“For attention?”
“For you,” he said simply.
She shook her head but didn’t argue.
When she smoothed the tie down the front of his shirt, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “If you promise to stay right next to me all night.”
“I’m literally on your arm,” she reminded him, grabbing her purse.
“Good. Then they’ll know you’re mine.”
She gave him a look. “Possessive.”
“You like it.”
She didn’t deny it.
He opened the apartment door, offering his hand.
“Let’s go meet a prince,” he said, kissing her temple before they stepped out.
The ball was exactly what she expected Monaco to be after a Grand Prix: polished, glittering, and filled with the kind of people who spoke with perfect posture. Soft orchestra music played somewhere in the background, and there were waiters carrying champagne flutes that cost more than most people’s rent.
Lando walked in with her on his arm, his hand resting comfortably at the small of her back. As soon as they crossed the threshold, people flocked.
“Congratulations, Norris.”
“Well-deserved win.”
“A beautiful race. Truly.”
He shook hands, smiled for pictures, threw in small jokes, and every time, his hand came back to her waist instinctively.
She watched him with something warm tugging at her chest. Today had been rough, but seeing him in his element again—glowing, proud, adored—made some of that tension melt.
She played her role well, too, politely engaging when spoken to, smiling for photos, and answering harmless questions without giving anyone anything real.
Every now and then, Lando leaned down to whisper something into her ear, which would make her laugh under her breath.
After close to an hour of mingling, Lando exhaled and looked down at her.
“You wanna get out of here?” he asked softly, voice almost hopeful.
She nodded without hesitation. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He kissed her temple before they politely excused themselves and stepped back into the cool air of Monaco.
They were five minutes from home when Lando’s phone lit up on the dashboard with Max’s contact photo — a stupid selfie he’d taken mid-sneeze.
Lando groaned. “Oh god.”
“Answer it,” she said.
He clicked the green button, “Hello?”
“LANNNDOOOOO,” Max’s voice blasted through the car speakers. “WINNER OF MONACO. CHAMPION OF MY HEART. THE PEOPLE’S PRINCE—”
The couple winced, “Max, mate, please—” Lando said, his hand detaching from hers to turn the radio down.
“We’re going OUT! Tonight is YOUR night. You are NOT allowed to go home. You hear me? I’m outside the club. Everyone’s here.”
Lando shot her a look — half-pleading, half-amused.
She raised a brow. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“You decide,” he murmured, hand resting on her thigh.
She wanted to say no. God, she wanted to crawl into bed, curl up against him, and sleep until next week, but he’d just won Monaco.
Her lips curved. “Sure. Let’s go.”
“You’re a saint,” he whispered, kissing her knuckles.
Back to Max, he said, “Give us fifteen. We’re changing.”
Max cheered so loudly that they winced again. “YES. YES. LOVE YOU BOTH. FIFTEEN!”
The call ended.
She sighed, leaning her head against the headrest. “We’d better be home within two hours.”
“I’ll carry you out if I have to,” Lando promised.
“You’re going to regret saying that.”
He laughed as he turned the car toward their place, fingers still warm on her knee.
They rushed into the apartment, shedding their clothes almost as soon as the door closed.
“What do you want to wear?” he called from the bedroom, rifling through drawers.
“Something easy,” she replied, pulling open her closet. “Something I won’t cry about ruining if someone spills tequila on me.”
He popped his head around the corner. “You planning to get into a fight?”
“With you around? Always.”
He grinned, stepping forward to pull her in by the waist. “We won Monaco. One night out won’t kill us.”
She leaned up to kiss him — soft, quick, warm.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in a fitted black top and skirt, hair tied loosely. He wore a dark jacket, a simple shirt underneath, and a chain glinting at his collarbone.
“Ready?” he asked, grabbing his keys.
“Let’s get this over with,” she corrected, sliding on her heeled boots.
He laughed, kissed her cheek, and opened the door for her.
The drive to the club barely took ten minutes, but Monaco traffic after a Grand Prix was a special kind of chaos. The entire port was packed—paparazzi, fans, yachts lit up like jewelry against the water.
Lando squeezed the Urus between two oversized SUVs and rolled right up to the valet under the cool blue glow of the awning.
Before the valet could reach her door, Lando was already out, rounding the hood to open it first. He never hesitated with things like that. He never made a show of it, never tried too hard. He just… did it.
He held his hand out.
She slipped her palm into his, stepping out of the passenger seat with a quiet grace. Her heels hit the stone with a soft, deliberate click.
“Don’t scratch it,” he said as he handed his keys over. His tone lwas ight but not joking enough to be ignored.
The valet let out a nervous laugh. She swatted Lando’s arm lightly as they walked inside.
The club wasn’t packed wall-to-wall yet, but the room pulsed with energy. LED panels rippled across the walls, casting shifting blues and golds across the crowd. The DJ was elevated above the bar, head bobbing as he mixed something with a deep, rolling beat.
Lando rested a hand on the small of her back as they cut through the people. Her body leaned subtly into the touch.
Max spotted them first, waving wildly from a roped-off corner booth.
Pietra sat beside him, legs crossed neatly, scrolling through her phone.
Magui sat at the far end, stiff and quiet, sipping something clear like she wasn’t sure she belonged there.
“Our winner!” Max shouted over the music, dragging Lando into a firm half-hug.
She pulled Max into a quick warm embrace, then gave Pietra a polite nod. Magui got a small wave.
A few of the sim-team boys recognized her immediately.
“Hey, (Y/n)!”
“Congrats to your man today!”
“Album coming soon?”
She answered each with a small smile, the effortlessly charming kind without trying. She’d learned long ago how to navigate strangers’ excitement gently.
Then her phone buzzed in her hand.
ROSÉ 👭 calling…
She answered instantly. “Unnie?”
“Ayo,” Rosé said, her voice crackling through airport noise. “Guess who’s in Monaco.”
She blinked. “What? Why are you—are you serious?”
“Took the last flight, I have to show face cause I'm a part of that F1 movie,” Rosé replied breezily. “Where are you?”
She gave her the club name.
“Okay. Give me five minutes,” Rosé said, then hung up like it was nothing.
She exhaled a laugh and tucked herself a little closer to Lando, stealing a sip from his drink. He didn’t even look—just held it where she could take another sip if she wanted.
A couple minutes later, the doors opened and Rosé slipped inside like she belonged there, hair loose, eyes bright despite the jet lag. She spotted Lando immediately and headed over.
“Congratulations!” Rosé beamed at Lando, pulling him into a hug. “Pole and Monaco in the same weekend? You’re so cool.”
Then she saw Magui behind him. Rosé’s brows shot up and hereyes flicked immediately to her bandmate.
She let out a quiet sigh. “Come here,” she murmured, tugging Rosé aside.
Rosé leaned in. “What is she doing here? Didn’t she—?”
“Pietra brought her,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “It’s a long, messy story.”
Rosé muttered something in Korean that definitely wasn’t kind.
Across the booth, Magui was whispering urgently to Pietra.
“I swear to God, Pietra, she was nice to me upstairs,” Magui insisted. “Scary, but nice.”
Pietra scoffed. “Nice? She dragged you to the bar like a scare tactic.”
“She offered to pay, for fuck’s sake,” Magui hissed. “Stop pushing. He’s in love with her. I’m not getting involved in that.”
Pietra rolled her eyes, unconvinced. “That’s exactly why—”
Whatever she planned to say died as the duo walked back to the booth.
She slipped naturally into Lando’s side, and his arm immediately wrapped around her waist. She picked up his glass again, took a sip, and returned it. He drank from the same spot.
“Drinks?” Max asked, clapping Lando on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” Lando said. “I’ll come with.”
The boys disappeared toward the bar, leaving the girls behind.
Pietra tapped her nails against the glossy table, each click sharp under the music. “So,” she said, tone light in the fakest way possible. “Big surprise seeing you here.”
She didn’t pretend to smile. “Not really. I always come.”
“Just…” Pietra swirled the straw in her drink. “Funny timing. You show up the second someone else does.”
Rosé’s head snapped toward her. “Excuse me?”
She didn’t look away from Pietra. “Go on,” she said calmly. “Say it clearly.”
Pietra blinked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying—Lando’s finally celebrating, and suddenly you come running back from Korea—”
She laughed once, sharp enough to cut. “Running back? I flew twelve hours to see my boyfriend. You want a medal for staying twenty minutes down the road?”
Magui, poor Magui, sank lower into the booth like she wished the cushions would swallow her.
Pietra leaned forward, lips tightening. “You know exactly what I meant.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, head tilting. “So, why don’t you enlighten me? Because you’ve been weird with me since the day we met. So go ahead—what’s your fucking problem?”
The table fell dead silent except for the bass thumping through the floor.
Pietra shrugged slowly. “Maybe I just don’t like people who act like they own someone.”
She scoffed. “Please. You’re just pissed your best friend can’t date your boyfriend’s best friend. That has nothing to do with me.”
Rosé nearly choked on her drink.
Pietra’s expression snapped. “At least she can hold a normal conversation without acting like a celebrity.”
Rosé lifted a brow. “Actually, Magui is a celebrity.”
She didn’t flinch. “I’m not acting like anything. I’m just not going to sit here and play dumb when someone’s blatantly disrespectful. You’re clearly trying to start something.”
Magui finally raised her hands slightly, pleading. “Guys, can we not—”
“No, Magui,” Pietra snapped. “You told me yourself you regretted how things ended with him—”
Magui’s eyes widened. “Pietra. Shut. Up.”
Her brow lifted. “Wow. Is this really happening?”
Pietra crossed her arms like she’d been waiting for this moment. “Maybe if you were around more, people wouldn’t speculate.”
She stilled. “Speculate about what?”
Pietra held her gaze. “About who he belongs with.”
Rosé stood so fast her drink sloshed onto the table. “Say. That. Again.”
She grabbed Rosé’s forearm, keeping her in check, eyes never leaving Pietra’s.
“If people ‘speculate,’” she said, “it’s because certain people like stirring shit for entertainment.”
Pietra rolled her eyes. “Keep pretending you don’t see what everyone sees.”
She leaned forward just slightly, her voice low. “If people knew their place, they wouldn’t need to speculate.”
Pietra’s jaw tightened. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly unbothered, you sure flew across the continent fast.”
“And for someone who claims not to care,” she shot back, “you’re awfully invested in my relationship.”
Rosé let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Oh, she ate you up.”
Magui quietly whispered, “Please stop,” already rubbing her temples like she had aged five years in five minutes.
Pietra ignored her. “You think you can just walk in here and—”
She cut her off. “Walk in here and what? Be with my boyfriend? Support him? Exist?”
“Act like you own the room.”
“No, sweetheart,” she said, expression smoothing. “That would be you,” pointing at Pietra. Pietra rolled her eyes and scoffed. “And before you say anything stupid,” she added, “remember I’ve been civil to you every time. You wanted a reaction. Now you’ve got one.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Even the music felt quieter.
Pietra opened her mouth, ready with another jab, but (Y/n) cut her off
She leaned back, done. “So now that everything’s out on the table? You can let it go cause your resentment is going nowhere, and I’m not gonna ruin my boyfriend's night arguing with you.”
Then Lando and Max returned laughing, with drinks in hand until they reached the table and walked straight into the tension.
Both froze.
Max’s grin died instantly. “Why does it feel like the room’s on fire?”
Lando looked between the girls, eyes darting from his girlfriend’s stiff posture to Pietra’s pinched expression to Rosé practically vibrating with violence. “What happened?”
She inhaled, steadying her breath, jaw flexing just once. “nothing,” she said softly—too softly. It was the kind of soft that meant I’m swallowing a grenade for you right now.
Rosé rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t eject themselves.
Max looked at Pietra, who was staring blankly at her drink.
Before Lando could say another word, the music cut for half a second then sparklers shot into the air, lights strobed, and a group of bottle girls appeared from behind the DJ booth carrying trays, champagne, and a glowing LED sign that read: MONACO WINNER LANDO!!
Max threw his arms up. “THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!”
The whole corner roared with cheers, completely rewriting the mood. People from nearby tables stopped to clap. Some random guy in sunglasses yelled, “McLaren supremacy!”
Lando flushed, rubbing the back of his neck, but the pride was all over him.
Shots were handed out fast—small glasses, filled to the brim with icy tequila.
“To the king of Monaco!” Max yelled, raising his glass.
Lando groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Shut up,” Max said affectionately. “CHEERS!”
She picked hers up. Her eyes were still tight from the earlier argument, jaw still a little set. But she lifted her glass anyway.
And when they all shouted “CHEERS!” she knocked the entire shot back in one clean, lethal motion.
Lando blinked at her. “…You okay?”
She set the empty glass down as it offended her. “Peachy.”
Rosé whispered to Lando, “She’s about two minutes away from drop-kicking someone, so maybe stay close.”
Lando wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him. She wrapped an arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder.
She tilted her head up near his ear. “I’ll tell you when we get home, but for now let’s celebrate your win.”
That was enough for him. Lando kissed the top of her head, soft and grateful.
The rest of the night blurred into bright lights, sweat-slick air, too-loud bass, and an endless rotation of shots people insisted on handing Lando. He refused half of them while she took the ones he didn’t drink.
Her phone buzzed at one point, and when she checked it (on 6% battery), the screen read 4:57 A.M., and somehow everyone was still partying.
She was slumped back into the booth now, sunglasses perched crookedly on her face—ones she definitely wasn’t wearing when she arrived. Rosé sat next to her, staring dazed at the ceiling like she was waiting for answers from God.
“The roof is spinning,” Rosé said, very seriously.
She pushed her glasses up her nose. “It is.”
Rosé turned her head slowly. “Is it spinning for you?”
“Yeah,” she sighed.
Just then, Lando stumbled over and plopped himself directly onto his girlfriend's lap like a toddler.
She groaned under the weight. “Lando—get off.”
He slid off her legs gracelessly and collapsed beside her into the empty spot, head lolling back against the booth. A glittery crown sat crookedly on his messy curls.
She squinted at it. “Where’d you get that crown?”
Lando shrugged, eyes half-closed. “I dunno. I felt someone put it on my head. That’s all.”
She snorted and reached up to straighten the crown. “You look like a drunk prince.”
“He is a drunk prince,” Max yelled from across the table, raising another shot in salute.
Then Lando twisted toward her. “You hungry?”
She blinked slowly. “Starving.”
“We should get food.”
“Mmhm.”
They exchanged a silent, drunken nod of agreement.
She turns to Rose, “You coming?”
Rose shook her head. “Lewis texted me telling me that he’s headed over. I’ll probably stay with him if I can’t make it back to my hotel.”
She and Lando waited til Lewis showed up, which made Rose get up and start partying again.
Before Lando and she left, she told Rose to ‘text her and let her know when she gets home safe’. Rose responded with a military salute.
And without announcing it to anyone, they both slid out of the booth, fingers interlacing automatically out of sheer instinct, and headed toward the exit. Security held the door open with a knowing look—half pity, half respect.
The Monaco air was cool against their overheated faces.
“We cannot drive,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Nope,” Lando agreed. “Zero driving. I can’t even say the word avacodo.” (avocado)
“That’s not related.”
“Feels related.”
They wandered down the street, unhurried, both wobbling every ten steps. Then like heaven descending…
McDonald’s.
It was nearly empty at that hour, just a handful of stragglers and one very tired cashier who recognized Lando immediately but said nothing except, “Order when ready.”
It was nearly empty at that hour, just a handful of stragglers and one very tired cashier who recognized Lando immediately but said nothing except, “Order when ready.”
Ten minutes later, the two of them sat at a corner table, sharing:
– a 20-piece box of nuggets
– a basket of fries
– Two large fountain drinks, they kept mixing up
– and a singular apple pie, Lando had demanded
They ate like feral raccoons.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Lando mumbled around a nugget.
She nodded, dipping fries into some sauce. “We should get married.”
He blinked. “…Because of nuggets?”
“Yeah,” she said confidently.
“Honestly, fair point.”
When the food was gone, and their drinks were empty, Lando opened the Uber app with his eyes squinted.
He typed their address wrong twice. She corrected it wrong once. Eventually, they figured it out, and a driver was on the way.
They climbed into the car, both sliding dramatically across the seat like their bones had been removed.
The ride was dead silent. Lando is holding her hand loosely, her head resting on his shoulder, both of them warm and exhausted.
By the time the Uber pulled up to their building, they were half-asleep. They stumbled inside, threw off their shoes and clothes in random directions, and face-planted onto the bed without even turning the lights off.
They were both sprawled out on top of the sheets, dead to the world within seconds.
But for the first time all night, everything was quiet.
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
Warnings: use of y/n
a/n: better late then never. I came up with this like half a day ago so bear with me lol enjoyyyy!!
She had been planning this for weeks.
Coordinating a surprise party for a man whose entire job revolved around schedules, timing, and people watching his every move proved to be quite challenging. She figured out quickly that the real solution was simple:
Max Fewtrell.
Max had been assigned the most important mission of his career.
If anyone could distract Lando Norris long enough to pull off the impossible, it was him—the human embodiment of a stalling tactic.
He was pacing outside Lando’s building like a man who feared for his life—because he did. She had threatened him half-jokingly (but not really) that if this party failed, she’d “make him disappear.”
He believed her.
Max’s texts came in rapid succession.
Max MY BRO 🤙:
bro when are u coming down
u said 6:30
stop doing ur hair
Max MY BRO 🤙:
ur not even going anywhere fancy
LANDOOO 🤪 :
Mate wtf is your problem
Max MY BRO 🤙:
JUST COME
LANDOOO 🤪:
I’m coming
When Lando finally emerged from the building, hoodie on, keys in hand, Max plastered on a casual grin that was far too wide to be normal.
“Finally,” Max said. “I think I aged twenty years waiting for you.”
Lando squinted. “You dragged me out for what exactly?”
“Just wanted to hang out,” Max said too quickly.
“Hangout?” Lando echoed flatly.
“Uh… yeah.” Max’s eyes darted left, right, skyward—anywhere but at him. “Found a new place last time I was in Monaco. Since it’s your birthday, figured we'd check it out.”
Lando stared. “…Is it even open?”
Max nodded too aggressively. “Mhm. Totally.”
Lando sighed, too tired to argue. “Fine. Let’s go.”
The moment gave the signal that they had left. The elevator doors opened, and Blackpink poured in like a tactical team.
Her, Jennie, Lisa, Rosé, and Jisoo moved fast—weeks of idol training had prepared them for this exact level of coordinated chaos.
The living room was transformed in minutes. A black-and-chrome balloon arch over the front door. Warm lights. Soft music hums through the speakers.
No tacky streamers or confetti. She knew better, Lando would have hated that.
A long table was set up in the dining area, covered with a variety of food. mostly things she knew he liked.
Different kinds of Beer. Pizza from his favorite place. Actual dishes freshly cooked by Jennie and Rose. A cute cake, Lisa insisted on carrying herself because she didn’t trust anyone else with it.
She wiped her hands on her dress, opened the door and Lando’s mom, Cisca, his dad, and his sisters stood there.
“Ah—welcome. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said, breath a little shaky but smiling.
Cisca stepped inside, eyes widening. “Honey, this looks amazing. You all did so good,” she said, pulling her into a warm hug before hugging the rest of the girls.
“Thank you,” she laughed.
Flo dragged a massive wrapped present inside—bigger than she was.
“Thank you for coming,” she whispered to her.
Flo squeezed her hand. “He’s going to lose his mind.”
“That’s the goal.”
Carlos and Rebecca arrived next, knocking once before letting himself in. He held up a paper bag. “I brought croquetas.”
“Perfect! You can try to find a place on the table,” she said, pointing down the hall.
She kept the door open for Rebecca, carrying a gift bag that looked immaculately wrapped.
Rebecca hugged her. “Everything looks incredible. Seriously, you outdid yourself.”
She smiled. “I’m sweating through my dress, but thank you.”
“It’s worth it,” Rebecca grinned. “He’s gonna love it.”
Minutes later, the door burst open again—Daniel Ricciardo, triumphant, holding a half-wrapped present covered in Christmas paper.
“I tried wrapping,” he said proudly. “Then remembered I can’t wrap. So. This is the best I could do.”
She laughed and placed the gift among the rest, which were piled. “That’ll do.”
At the shopping center, Lando was… done.
“How much longer are you gonna stare at that?” Lando asked, pointing at the plain T-shirt Max had been pretending to analyze for twelve minutes.
“Just visualizing myself wearing it,” Max said, sweating.
“You’ve been visualizing in the last eight stores,” Lando said, deadpan. “You haven’t even bought anything.”
Max tried to laugh. “I’m just—y’know—checking vibes.”
“What vibes?” Lando blinked. “It’s a beige shirt.”
Max nodded like that was profound. “Exactly.”
Lando dragged a hand down his face. “Can we please go back to mine? It’s my birthday. I’m not spending it looking at beige shirts.”
Max panicked. “WAIT—hold on—uh—don’t you want to check one more store?”
“No.”
“How about smoothies?”
“No.”
“Okay but like—maybe we—”
“No, Max.”
Max exhaled dramatically, muttering under his breath, “She’s is gonna kill me.”
“What?” Lando asked.
“NOTHING! I SAID NOTHING!”
By 6 P.M., the apartment buzzed quietly. Lando’s family chatted with the girls, Carlos and Daniel attempted to uncork a bottle and nearly broke it. She paced, checked the lights, fixed the candles.
Her phone pinged.
Max F. (Lando's Friend) :
We’re leaving the damn shopping center
I had to drag him to 10 different stores
(Y/n):
Don’t get him annoyed
Max F. (Lando's Friend):
I’M TRYING
(Y/n):
TRY HARDER 😒
Max F. (Lando's Friend):
pls
I’m scared
She breathed out a laugh, tension easing for a moment. She looked around one more time.
Jennie peeked through the blinds. “They’re walking up the block.”
She almost dropped the stack of plates. “Already?”
'Damn you, Max,' she thought, rushing to light the candles.
Lisa leapt up. “Positions! Everyone hide!”
Rosé ducked behind the kitchen island. “Why are we whispering?”
Jennie calmly walked to the light switch. “Because it’s fun.”
She lit the last candle on the cake, centered it on the table, then wiped her palms on her dress.
Max was dragging Lando down the sidewalk like a malfunctioning golden retriever.
“Where are you going? My building is right here,” Lando said, planting his feet a little.
“It’s a restaurant,” Max said too fast. “Very important. Trust me.”
“I really don’t want to run around right now, and I’m tired of holding your bags.” He lifted the shopping bags Max had bought at the last possible minute.
which, ironically, were all Lando’s gifts. Max had been secretly following Lando around each store, purchasing everything he touched like a deranged personal shopper.
“Hey, you offered,” Max argued.
“I offered to help you with one bag. ONE.” Lando shot back. “Not all eleven.” He eyed him. “And why are you sweating so much?”
“It’s… humid.”
“It’s seventeen degrees.”
“That’s humid for me. I live in London.”
Lando stared. “…You’re acting weird.”
Max forced a laugh that sounded like a car failing to start. “Weird? No. Normal. Look how normal I am.”
“You’re twitching.”
“I’m not twi— okay,, maybe a little.”
They reached the building entrance just as the elevator dinged. The doors slid open and—
Carlos stepped out.
Lando blinked. “Carlos? What’re you doing here?”
Carlos froze. Max shook his head violently behind Lando, making frantic abort mission gestures.
Carlos cleared his throat. “Ah—eh—picking up… something.”
“…From my building?” Lando asked, suspicious.
“Eh…si.” Carlos nodded.
Lando squinted. “What could you possibly be picking up fro—”
“Oh,! Before we go!” Max cut in loudly. “I forgot my wallet inside. Need to grab it.”
“Your wallet? You don’t even pay for d—”
But Max was already shoving both of them into the elevator like a panicked flight attendant. Lando grilled Carlos with questions while Max silently prayed to every deity that she wouldn’t choke him later.
The elevator doors opened to their floor.
Max snatched the bags from Lando, tossed them at Carlos like they were explosives, and practically shoved Lando toward his door.
“Open it. Hurry.”
“Max, what the—”
“OPEN IT.”
Lando slid the key in. The door swung open.
Darkness.
And then—
“SURPRISE!!”
Lando actually took a step back, startled. His eyes shot wide open, like he’d walked straight into a different universe.
His eyes swept across the room, Carlos (who had somehow teleported inside), Daniel, his parents, his siblings, and Blackpink — all crowded around the kitchen, grinning like conspirators.
Max doubled over dramatically, wheezing like he’d just finished a marathon.
And in the center of it all, holding a cake with twenty-five flickering candles—
Her
A slow smile tugged at his mouth, the kind that hits deeper than pure joy — it was disbelief, gratitude, and something dangerously close to overwhelmed all at once.
She stepped forward, the cake steady in her hands. “Happy birthday, Lando.”
He said nothing at first. Just stared at her, chest rising and falling too quickly.
“You did all this?” he finally asked, voice softer than he meant.
She nodded. “Surprise.”
His gaze flicked to the room, then back to her then to his family. He swallowed, breath catching. “You… flew my family out.”
Adam waved from across the kitchen, Flo lifted her giant present like a trophy, his mom was already mid-conversation with Rosé.
Lando blinked hard to clear the sudden burn behind his eyes.
She lifted the cake a little. “Make a wish?”
He didn’t look at the candles. He looked at her, then he exhaled and blew them out.
Cheering erupted. Carlos clapped him on the back.
Jennie yelled, “DO A SPEECH!”
Lando shook his head. “No speech.”
“Speech!” Lisa insisted.
“No spe—”
Jisoo shoved him toward the table. “Speech.”
He sighed, glancing around the room. “I don’t really know what to say,” he admitted. “Just… thank you. All of you. This means more than you think.”
Then he found her again.
“Especially you.”
She looked down, cheeks warming.
The apartment settled into a soft buzz.
Carlos and Lando’s dad debated football in the corner.
Flo was talking to Jennie about horseback riding. Rosé played bartender with suspicious confidence — her drinks nearly knocked (Y/n) and Lando flat.
Daniel attempted to teach Jisoo Australian slang; Jisoo stared at him like he was speaking Morse code.
Lando slipped onto the balcony, breathing in the cooler night air. She followed him a minute later, slipping her hand into his.
“Tired?” she teased.
“Good tired,” he said. “This… this was perfect.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I wanted you to feel loved today.”
He looked down at her, expression softening even further. “You made me feel… everything good,” he admitted. “Haven’t had a birthday like this in years.”
She laughed lightly. “Well, get used to it.”
He glanced sideways at her, voice softening. “I feel like I don’t say it enough… but you make everything in my life feel lighter.”
Her chest tightened. “That goes both ways, you know.”
He pulled her closer, arm around her waist.
“Thank you,” he murmured again, forehead brushing against her temple. “For all of this.”
She smiled up at him. “Of course. Happy birthday, Lando.”
Once it started nearing midnight, the guests began to filter out one by one.
Daniel hugged them both so hard that she wheezed. Blackpink left carrying half the leftovers. Carlos offered a half-wave-half-hug and whispered to Lando, “Be good, hermano.”
The door clicked shut behind the last guest, leaving a quiet that felt warm, not empty. The kind of quiet that settles after a good night.
She turned from the door and clapped her hands once. “Alright, sit.”
Lando blinked. “…Sit?”
“You heard me,” she said, pointing to the floor by the coffee table. “Birthday boy sits. We’re opening presents.”
He laughed, dragging a hand over his face as he dropped to the rug. “I feel like I’m five.”
“That’s the point,” she said, already kneeling across from him. “Now—present time.”
The pile on the table was chaotic. Bags, boxes, ribbons. She grabbed the nearest one, a Christmas-wrapped blob.
“This is from Daniel.”
“Oh god,” Lando muttered.
He tore into it and unfolded a t-shirt with his face on it, that read, in giant block letters:
YOUR REAL BIRTHDAY GIFT IS ME
She slapped a hand over her mouth, wheezing. “I love that,” she said between laughs.
“I’m burning it,” Lando said, dead serious.
“No, you’re wearing it.”
“Absolutely not.”
She tossed the shirt over her shoulder and handed him another box. “Next.”
This one was from Rosé and Jennie. Inside: Luxury hand cream, A candle that smelled unfairly good, and a tiny card: For your hands. For obvious reasons, with a winking face drawn by Jennie.
She nearly fell over. “Oh my god.”
Lando turned red instantly. “They need to stop—”
“At least they care,” she said, stealing the candle from him. “This is mine now.”
He reached for another box before she started more commentary. Carlos and Rebecca had given him a watch. It was simple, yet elegant, and made of leather.
“Finally,” Lando muttered. “A normal gift.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You are so easy to please.”
His family’s gifts were next — sweet, thoughtful. Flo had made a scrapbook page of photos of them as children. His mom gave him a jacket he’d wanted months ago but had forgotten about. His dad slipped cash into a card as if he were fourteen again.
“I think these are yours. Max just… dumped them.” She referred to the overflowing shopping bags.
“The bags he made me carry, that asshole,” Lando said, crawling over and rummaging through. Inside were random things: a stuffed dolphin, sunglasses, socks, shirts, and a beanie.
“What the hell—did I touch all this?” he asked.
“Apparently,” she said, digging deeper. “Baby, you have a problem.”
“I didn’t even realize I did,” he said, shocked at himself. He moved a bag and found a wrapped gift from Max.
He ripped it open to reveal a framed photo of Lando mid-sneeze labeled ‘MY BEST FRIEND’; both Lando and her were dying from laughter.
“He’s sick,” Lando said, between laughs. “Actual illness.”
She was still gasping for air. “Put it by your trophies.”
“That’s disrespectful to the trophies.”
She shook her head, then clasped her hands. “Ok, last one,”
She pulled a small box from behind her, clearly hidden the whole night. Matte black, tied with a thin silk ribbon.
Lando stilled.
“This one’s from me.” Her voice soft.
Lando hesitated. Something about the way she said it — quiet, steady — made his chest loosen and tighten at the same time.
He untied the ribbon slowly.
Inside were two silver keys on a small ring.
He stared at them for a second, brows pulling together. “Keys?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“To…?”
She exhaled, trying to smile without looking nervous. “To the new place.”
He blinked then twice—confusion, then realization — then something warmer than both.
She shifted onto her knees, tugging the sleeve of her his hoodie lightly. “I found a place in Monaco. Big enough for the both of us and the twenty minutes a month we’re actually in the same country when I'm on tour, and I figured…” She swallowed, cheeks pink. “If you still want to, we could make it ours.”
He didn’t move.
Not because he didn’t want it, but because it hit him in a way that made his chest hurt in the best possible way.
“(Y/n),” he whispered.
Her voice wobbled. “If it’s too much or too soon, I can return the keys, I didn’t—”
He kissed her before she could finish. His hands on her cheeks, careful but certain. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “Of course I want to live with you.”
She let out a tiny laugh — part relief, part disbelief — and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. He hugged her back, tighter than he meant to.
They sat like that for a while — surrounded by discarded wrapping paper, the glow of fairy lights, and the quiet hum of something new settling in their bones.
Eventually, Lando lifted the keys again, squinting.
“Did you seriously put them on a pastel pink keychain?”
She grinned. “It matches your eyes.”
He stared at her with love in his eyes, and just like that, Lando realized it wasn’t the birthday party or the gifts or the cake.
It was her knees touching his, their laughter mixing in the quiet, their future together sitting on a tiny silver keyring in his hands.
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
a/n: hello, my beautiful children, i hope life is treating y'all well. i wanted to maybe implement an idea i've seen from other F1 blogs/writers. where whenever you request you add like an emoji to identify youself ig idk. i just thought it was cute and gives me a way to know who's who in my inbox 🤷♀️😀 you do you 😔
THANK YOU FOR ALLL THE COMPLIMENTS!! MUCH LOVE 💕💕🙈 enjoyyyyyy!!!
The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled of it. The cold asphalt, rubber, and disappointment. Mechanics moved quietly through the McLaren garage, clearing debris, wiping down tools. Every sound felt too loud.
Lando sat slouched on a stool in the motorhome, race suit peeled halfway down, staring blankly at the floor. His helmet sat beside him, streaked with grime and a faint chip on the visor where it had hit the halo.
He’d watched the replay three times already. The clip of him clipping Oscar’s rear left at Turn 8. A small misjudgment, but enough to send his own car spinning into the barrier.
Oscar had finished fourth. He’d recovered beautifully.
Lando hadn’t. He had DNF’d again.
He’d done the interviews. He’d taken the blame, said the right words. “My mistake. I broke rule number one.”
The journalists had eaten it up. Rule number one: never hit your teammate. It wasn’t malicious, but it didn’t matter. Headlines didn’t need intent, just impact.
Now it was quiet—just him, the faint hum of the air conditioning, and the echo of his own anger.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, jaw tight. He was genuinely happy for Oscar. He was quick, smart, and smooth under pressure, but lately, it felt like Lando was chasing something that kept moving just out of reach. Every race weekend felt heavier. Every mistake louder.
He picked up his phone. There was only one person he wanted to hear from. Her name was still pinned at the top.
He hit call.
The line rang once, twice, then went to voicemail.
He tried again.
Same thing.
He exhaled, slowly, shaking his head. She was in Korea for rehearsals and final preparation before the start of her group's new tour.
He wasn’t mad at her. He could never be, but god, he wished she’d pick up.
He wanted to hear her voice, just for a minute. Someone who wouldn’t talk about his mistakes. Someone who wouldn’t remind him that Oscar had twenty-two more points now, or that McLaren’s best hope might not be him anymore.
He rubbed his face with both hands, muttering to himself. “You’re fine. It’s fine. Just one bad weekend.”
But that voice in his head wouldn’t shut up.
You’re supposed to be leading this team.
You keep saying you’re unlucky. Maybe you’re just not good enough.
He let out a bitter laugh and tossed his gloves aside.
His phone buzzed. He didn’t even open it. It was just another notification from Formula 1’s official post, a slow-motion clip of the collision. “Drama at McLaren — Norris hits Piastri at Turn 8!”
The comments were what killed him.
Oscar’s so composed. Good for him.
Lando needs to focus on racing instead of being his girlfriend's fanboy.
You hate to see teammates collide, but this one’s on him.
OSCAR COULD HAVE WON IT. IT’S ALL LANDOS' FAULT. GOD I HATE HIM SM
Oscar deserves it more anyway
How dare Lando try to take Oscar out? He’s so selfish geez
He turned the phone face down, then flipped it back over, scrolling down until he reached her contact again. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Lando 🧡:
Just finished the race
He deleted it. Typed again.
Lando 🧡:
DNF’d. Clipped Oscar’s car. My fault.
He stared at the message then sent it. He waited a bit then his thumbs started moving again.
Lando 🧡:
You awake?
It showed “delivered,” but not read.
He leaned back, eyes heavy, watching the orange light flicker against the side of the motorhome. He was sitting there, surrounded by headlines, alone with the noise in his head.
He picked the phone back up, thumb hovering again.
Lando 🧡:
Guess I just miss you. That’s all.
He hit send.
The screen glowed in the dark for a second before dimming, leaving him with the hum of the rain starting up again outside. The only sound left.
The studio clock read close to midnight, but the girls were still at it. The floor was slick with rosin dust and sweat, the mirrored wall fogged near the corners. A faint bass line hummed through the speakers as she moved through the final counts, her breath syncing to every beat.
“Again,” the choreographer said, clapping once.
Jennie groaned softly. Lisa dropped to the floor, clutching her water bottle like it was her lifeline. Rosé nodded in silent agreement, her chest rising and falling fast.
She just smiled weakly and gave a thumbs-up. “Let’s go.”
Her muscles ached, but she was running on autopilot. One, two, step—turn—pose. The world blurred into lights and sound until the music cut.
“Good,” the choreographer called out. “Let’s call it.”
The relief that followed was almost dizzying.
She tossed her mic pack on the table, bent to untie her sneakers, then grabbed her phone off the table. A dozen missed messages blinked across the screen — one from their stylist, three from her manager, and at the bottom, two from Lando.
Her chest tightened.
She opened the first one. DNF’d. Clipped Oscar’s car. My fault.
Then the second: You awake? Guess I just miss you. That’s all.
She stood there a moment, unreadable, thumb frozen above the screen. Jennie walked by and tossed her a towel, catching the expression on her face. “He okay?”
“I don’t think so,” she murmured.
Jennie squeezed her shoulder. “Go call him. We’ll cover.”
She didn’t hesitate. She slipped out the side door of the studio with a hoodie thrown over her sports bra. The hallway outside was quiet, just the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of someone packing up equipment.
She pressed call.
It rang once before he answered. His voice was low, rough around the edges. “Hey.”
“Hey, you,” she said softly. “You sound tired.”
There was a pause, a long exhale. “Yeah. Rough race.”
“I saw,” she whispered, leaning against the cool wall. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Just… embarrassed.”
She smiled faintly, even though he couldn’t see it. “Lando, all you did was accidentally clip Oscar. You didn’t kill him.”
That earned a small laugh — tired, but real. “Yeah, try telling that to half the internet.”
“I could,” she offered, her tone playful now. “But they’d probably quote me out of context and say I’m defending ‘reckless driving’ or something.”
He chuckled again, quieter this time. Then silence settled, gentle and heavy all at once.
“I hate this part,” he said finally. “When I mess up. When I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to do it again.”
“Lando,” she said, voice steady, “you’re human. It happens.”
“Not to the ones I’m supposed to beat.”
Her heart ached at that. She sank slowly to the floor, knees pulled up, the phone warm against her ear. “You don’t have to prove yourself every weekend. People already know that you're one of the top drivers in this sport, and they're scared of that.”
He didn’t answer. She could hear him moving — maybe pacing, maybe just fidgeting.
“I tried calling earlier,” he said. “You were rehearsing?”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “They’re killing us with prep for the tour. I didn’t see it until just now.”
He hummed softly. “It’s okay. I figured.”
“It’s not,” she said gently. “You always call after races. I should’ve known.”
A long pause. Then, quietly, “I just needed to hear you, that’s all.”
That sentence hit something deep inside her — the kind of honesty that made her eyes sting.
“I’m here now,” she said. “Talk to me.”
So he did. About the corner. The spin. The silence in the garage. The way Oscar had driven past the wreck without looking back — not out of anger, just focus. The kind that hurt worse.
She listened to every word. No advice, no interruptions. Just soft hums of acknowledgment, the occasional, “I know,” or “That’s rough.”
Eventually, he laughed again, smaller this time. “Sorry. I sound pathetic.”
“You sound like someone who cares too much,” she said.
“Same thing.”
“Hey, stop that,” she said sharply, “stop beating yourself up.”
The quiet stretched. He didn’t need to answer. She could hear it in the sigh that followed, the subtle softening in his voice when he finally spoke again.
“Thank you,” he said. “For that and calling.”
“Always.” She smiled, eyes closing.
“Go rest, baby.”
“Only if you promise to get out of your head,” she replied.
He didn’t promise, but she heard him laugh — and that was enough, right?
They said goodnight, the call ending with a lingering silence neither wanted to break. She stayed sitting there for a minute afterward, thumb brushing the edge of her phone, before standing up and heading back inside.
By the time she re-entered the studio, the others were half-asleep against the mirrors. Jennie looked up from her phone. “Better?”
She nodded, smile small but real. “Better.”
Back in Montreal, Lando lay on his hotel bed, phone still in hand. The headlines hadn’t gone away, but the noise had softened. Her voice was still in his head.
For the first time that night, he slept.
The first night of DEADLINE was a blur of lights and noise. The kind that hummed in your bones even after the music stopped.
The roar of forty-one thousand people still vibrated in the floor long after the final chorus faded. The air in the Goyang Stadium was thick with sweat, glitter, and that strange electricity that always followed a show — a mix of exhaustion and euphoria.
Backstage, the lights were softer. Staff buzzed around, hauling makeup kits and wardrobe racks, congratulating each other. She stood in the center of it all, her stage outfit half unzipped, damp hair stuck to her neck, chest still heaving.
The walls were lined with flowers — white orchids from Chanel, pale pink roses from Dior, and a massive yellow bouquet sent by YG, accompanied by a card that simply read: Proud of you girls, Make history.
She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the message.
“What a great way to start a tour,” Jennie panted, collapsing onto a couch.
“Seventeen’s here, right?” Lisa asked, pulling out her phone. “I saw them in the VIP section.”
She blinked, surprised. “They came?”
Jisoo grinned. “I think so.”
She laughed, shaking her head. She hadn’t seen them during the performance, but when a staff member poked her head in a moment later and said, “Seventeen’s waiting outside for a photo,” the group practically cheered.
She hadn’t seen Mingyu — one of the members she’d become friends with years ago — in almost a year. They’d met during a variety show shoot, bonded instantly over their shared sarcasm and chaotic humor, and stayed in touch ever since.
When she stepped out into the hallway, still wearing her stage boots and a towel around her shoulders, he was the first to spot her.
“Yah!” he called, laughing as he pulled her into a hug that lifted her slightly off the floor. “Global pop star now, huh?”
“Look who’s talking,” she shot back, laughing. “I watched your last concert. You literally descended from the ceiling.”
“That was the plan,” he said with mock seriousness. “But my cable got stuck. I was upside down for like thirty seconds.”
She nearly choked from laughing. “I knew that wasn’t choreography. You played it off good.”
Jennie came up behind her, greeting the rest of the group, and soon the hallway turned into a small chaos of hugs, photo requests, and everyone shouting over each other in Korean and English.
Mingyu threw his arm over her shoulder as they posed for a picture. “Let’s make it look like we like each other,” he joked.
“Oh, please,” she said. “You wish.”
Click. Flash
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Min9yu_k Proud of my best friend. DEADLINE was unreal 💕
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Back in Monaco, it was 2 A.M. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the low buzz of the city beyond the windows.
Lando laid flat on his back, one arm folded beneath his head, the other holding his phone just above his face.
The glow from the screen lit the room in cold blue light, washing his features pale.
His notifications wouldn’t stop. Mentions, reposts, tags — hundreds of them. Every single one had the same photo attached: Her and Mingyu, backstage in Seoul, smiling like they hadn’t seen each other in years.
He told himself not to open it.
Not to look at the comments.
Not to do the one thing he knew would mess with his head.
But he did.
They look adorable together!
The chemistry!! Someone sign them for a duet, pls 😭
They’ve known each other for years, you can tell.
She’s glowing. He’s clearly into her 🙈🙈
He stared at the screen until the words started to blur, then locked the phone, tossed it aside, and let it fall onto the mattress beside him.
For a few seconds, he just laid there, his eyes on the ceiling, mind somewhere else.
He wasn’t angry. That would’ve been easier. Anger was sharp, clean.
This was quieter.
Heavier.
Like a weight sitting just behind his ribs.
He trusted her. God, he trusted her more than anyone.
But trust didn’t cancel out the faint hum of insecurity that sneaks in when you least expect it.
He rubbed his face with both hands, palms dragging down over tired eyes. The crash from the weekend was still stuck in his bones.
The hollow sound of carbon splintering when he’d crashed into Oscar, the flash of orange and blue as he spun into the barrier, the silence afterward.
He told the team he was fine afterward, but the truth was, he wasn’t. He hadn’t been fine in days, and seeing her smiling beside someone else, so effortlessly part of a world that felt galaxies away from his own, twisted something inside him he didn’t know how to name.
“She’s your girlfriend,” he muttered to himself, voice hoarse. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
But the thought came anyway.
Maybe he fits better in her world than I ever will.
He’d seen them together before, back when she had introduced him to some of her old friends at an afterparty months ago. They’d all spoken rapid-fire Korean, laughing over jokes he couldn’t follow. He’d smiled along, nodding at the right moments, pretending he wasn’t lost.
And she’d squeezed his hand under the table then, whispered, “You’re doing great.”
It helped, but still.
He sat up, elbows digging into his knees, staring out at the city lights through the open curtains. Monaco glowed like it always did, calm, expensive, detached. A place that never cared how you felt, only how you looked.
She was in Seoul. Thousands of miles away. still at the stadium or at dinner. With him.
He knew she’d been preparing for this tour for months. Hours of choreography, endless fittings, dress rehearsals until dawn. He’d seen her exhausted on FaceTime, hair tied up, voice hoarse, still smiling.
She made it all look effortless.
He envied that. That ease. The way she carried herself in rooms that terrified him. The way she seemed untouchable to the noise that always got to him.
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. “You’re being stupid,” he whispered again, softer this time.
But his thoughts kept circling.
She looks happier there.
He’s taller, older, and probably funnier.
He gets it. You don’t.
He laughed under his breath, dry and humorless. “I’m losing it.”
The ceiling didn’t answer, so he leaned back again, pressing his palms against his face until the dark spots bloomed behind his eyelids.
He could still hear her laugh. The one that always broke through static when they called. The one that started in her chest and climbed until it filled the room. He could almost hear it now, soft and real, echoing in memory.
But the thought that followed made his chest ache.
Look at her. Look at them. Maybe you’re temporary.
He opened his eyes and stared at the glow of the city lights bleeding through the curtains. It was a beautiful night, the kind that used to calm him, but tonight it felt intolerable.
He got up, walked barefoot across the floor to the kitchen, poured himself water, then didn’t drink it. He stood there, glass in hand, staring blankly at the countertop.
He thought about her world. A polished, unreachable one. The glitz and glamor, cameras flashing in her face, people everywhere knowing her name. He thought about his own sweat, the pressure, the seconds that defined everything.
They loved each other. He knew that. But sometimes love had to compete with distance, and distance proved to be a cruel opponent.
He pressed his lips together, set the glass down too hard, and let out a shaky breath.
He wanted to text her. To say something small, like ‘miss you, or call when you can, but it felt stupid. Needy. Like handing his insecurity a microphone.
Instead, he went back to bed, sat on the edge, and stared at the phone again. The photo lit the screen, and for the first time, he let himself really look.
They looked great together, and Lando was unraveling over a still frame on a screen.
He hated how easily the jealousy came, how it could take something innocent and twist it into something sharp.
He shut his phone off, dropped it onto the nightstand, and fell back against the pillow, staring into the dark.
Sleep didn’t come quickly.
When it did, it was shallow, restless, filled with flashes of bright lights and her smile turning toward someone else.
beneath it all, one thought that followed him into dreams like a quiet pulse he couldn’t silence:
What if one day, she realizes he fits better in her world than I ever will?
The second night of the DEADLINE tour opener was done — confetti still clung to the bottom of her boots, her pulse still matched the rhythm of the last chorus.
She smiled through the curtain call, bowed with the girls, waved until the stage lights dimmed to black, but as soon as the lights went out, the adrenaline bled away, leaving only the exhaustion beneath it.
Backstage was chaos — stylists, staff, flashes of camera phones. Jennie and Lisa were laughing over something near the dressing rooms.
Rosé handed her a water bottle, her expression softer. “You okay?”
She nodded automatically. “Yeah. Just tired,” but her voice lacked conviction.
When she finally sat down in front of the mirror, the silence between her heartbeat and the muffled cheers outside felt too loud. Her phone was on the vanity. The screen lit up, hundreds of notifications stacked on top of each other.
Her fingers hesitated before she picked it up.
Her and Mingyu.
the kind of picture that looked more intimate than it really was.
And below it were the same comments that Lando had read two nights before.
Her stomach twisted.
It was nothing. Harmless, but on the internet, harmless didn’t matter.
She scrolled through the mentions — fan edits, fancams, hashtags that paired their names together.
Her throat went dry.
It wasn’t guilt she felt — just an ache.
Because she knew exactly how it might look, and she knew exactly who might be seeing it.
Her reflection in the mirror looked tired. Eyes rimmed pink from stage lights, makeup smudged at the corners. The kind of face that had been holding everything together for too long.
Jisoo walked past her, pausing briefly. “Hey,” she said gently. “You’ve been staring at your phone for like ten minutes.”
She forced a small smile. “Just scrolling.”
Jisoo didn’t press. She only placed a quiet hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest, yeah?”
But she didn’t rest. Not that night, because by morning, she was on a plane to Monaco.
☆☆☆☆☆
Lando didn’t hear her come in at first.
He was on the balcony again — hoodie thrown on, hair messy, an untouched cup of coffee cooling beside him. The city below was bathed in orange light, the kind that made everything look too calm for how he felt.
His mind was somewhere else — still looping through thoughts that wouldn’t quiet down.
When the door clicked open behind him, he thought he had imagined it.
“Lando?”
He froze.
Turned.
And there she was.
Standing in the doorway, hair tied up, airport hoodie still half-zipped, dark circles under her eyes, but that small, tired smile on her face.
His chest tightened. “What—”
“I took the red-eye,” she said simply. “Jennie and the girls are handling the next city. I needed to see you.”
He blinked, unsure whether to speak or just move. She crossed the space for him.
And when she reached him, all he could do was exhale as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
He closed his eyes and buried his face against her shoulder, breathing in her shampoo, stage perfume, the faint scent of jet lag, and home.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Finally, she pulled back enough to look at him. “You saw the photo, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away. His throat worked once before he managed, quietly, “Yeah.”
Her gaze softened. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“I know,” he said quickly — and he did.
He’d always known, but knowing didn’t stop feeling.
She searched his face for a moment, thumb brushing his cheek. “You trust me, right?”
He nodded. “Always.”
“Then stop letting the noise get in your head,” she whispered. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s all that’s real.”
For a moment, he just looked at her — eyes tracing her tired face, her wind-chapped lips, the faint crease between her brows.
Then, without a word, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was slow and real
When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. “Next time, just call me instead of reading comments, ‘kay?”
He huffed out a laugh, quiet and shaky. “Yeah. That’s on me.”
She smiled, brushing a thumb over his jaw. “Good. Now come inside. You look like you haven’t slept since Canada.”
He followed her without argument, the weight that had been sitting in his chest finally starting to ease.
Later, when she fell asleep curled against him, her hand resting over his heart, he finally let his body relax.
He stared at the ceiling again, but this time, it didn’t feel empty.
For the first time in days, he felt at peace.
“I was scared I’d lose you,” he whispered into the dark
Because her hand tightened around his just a little — as if to say, you won’t.
☆☆☆☆☆
The first thing she noticed when she woke was the sound.
Not silence exactly — more like the muted stillness that comes after a long storm.
The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a gentle spill of morning light that painted the sheets gold. Monaco hummed faintly outside the windows, seagulls calling from somewhere near the harbor, but inside the room, everything felt still.
Lando was asleep beside her.
He was lying on his stomach, one arm thrown across the pillow, hair sticking up in soft, messy tufts. There were faint shadows under his eyes, not from racing, but from the kind of exhaustion that came from thinking too much. His face looked younger when he slept, calmer.
She watched him for a moment, the rise and fall of his back, the way his lashes fluttered slightly when he dreamed. Something in her chest loosened.
Quietly, she slipped out of bed, pulling on one of his hoodies that hung off her shoulders. The marble floor was cold against her bare feet as she padded into the kitchen.
The apartment smelled faintly of coffee from the night before, stale but comforting. She filled the kettle, humming under her breath, the sound barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to wake him yet.
By the time the coffee machine clicked on, the sun had crept higher, spilling fully across the counter. She cracked two eggs into a pan, rummaged through the fridge for bread that wasn’t completely stale, and made toast anyway.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.
She plated everything quietly, then leaned against the counter, sipping her own coffee and glancing toward the hallway every so often.
Eventually, she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps.
Lando appeared in the doorway. His hair messier now, eyes squinting slightly from the light. He was wearing a t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days, sleeves pushed up, a faint red line still visible on his cheek from the pillow.
“You’re awake,” she said, smiling softly over her mug.
He blinked, still half-asleep. “Barely.”
“You westeled with the sheets all night.”
“Did I?” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Couldn’t really turn my brain off.”
She set her cup down and crossed the kitchen, standing in front of him. “You overthink in your sleep, too?”
He huffed a laugh. “Probably.”
She reached up, smoothing a stray piece of hair away from his forehead. “Good thing I’m here to supervise, then.”
He smiled, small but real this time. “You cooked?”
“Kind of,” she admitted. “It’s edible. Probably.”
He glanced at the plate — toast slightly burnt on one edge, eggs a little uneven. “Looks perfect.”
“You're such a liar,” she laughed.
He grinned, that familiar spark finally breaking through the fatigue.
She shook her head, but her eyes softened. She leaned up and kissed his cheek, whispering against his skin, “Eat.”
They sat at the counter together, bare feet brushing under the stools. Lando ate slowly, one hand around his coffee, the other absently tracing circles on the counter.
The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm — the kind that lets you breathe again.
Finally, she spoke. “You don’t have to tell me what’s in your head,” she said gently, “but stop beating yourself up for it.”
He glanced at her, the faintest flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I just—” He paused, looking down. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for what you deserve.”
Her hand found his, firm and steady. “You’re everything I want,” she said softly. “You don’t have to outshine anyone. You just have to be you.”
Lando swallowed hard, thumb brushing her knuckles. “You make it sound easy.”
She smiled. “That’s because it is.”
He looked at her for a long moment — really looked — then sighed, leaning back in his chair, some invisible weight finally starting to slide off his shoulders.
“Stay the week,” he said suddenly. “Skip wherever you’re supposed to go next.”
She tilted her head. “Bossing me around now?”
“Just asking nicely.”
She bit her lip, pretending to think, then nodded. “Fine, but only if you promise not to spiral again.”
He laughed, and it was the first unguarded laugh she’d heard from him in days. The kind that finally reached his eyes. “Deal.”
Later, when the plates were empty and the coffee gone cold, she curled up beside him on the couch. He rested his chin on top of her head, one arm around her waist, his breathing finally matching hers.
Just two people, one quiet morning, and a kind of peace that didn’t need words to exist.
----------
The Album | Context : you drop your new album. Lando and your new friends make appearances in the MV's (requested) ❀
Exhaustion | Context: Tour and trying to keeping up with Lando takes its toll (requested) ❀★
Through their eyes | Context: moments caught by fans and moments in general (requested) ❀
Gotta love Miami | Context : you, Lisa, and Rosé attend the 2025 Miami GP (requested) ❀
MISS POSSESSIVE | Context: 2025 Monaco Grand Prix and a run in with Magui (requested) ❀
I'm Sorry | Context: After being told by Magui to stand down, Pietra realises how disrespectful she was to you and plans to make it up (requested) ❀★
DEADLINE | context: British GP and Lando getting spotted at DEADLINE (requested) ❀
Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless | context: after the British Grand Prix Lando attends the LA DEADLINE show, along with your ex (requested) ❀★
The request: i would really LOVE a jealous Lando fic, this is just an idea but u can always do wtv u want, since the girls r recently having thier tour, one of the concerts was attended by svtttt i love em so muchhhh, anyway i would love if like y/ns really good friends w one of them and after the concert they meet back stage, take pics and post them which like honestly make lando a bit like sulky or wyv i dunno maybe bcossss the fans r like oh they look so cute together
THIS IS JUST WHAT I LOVEEEE TO SEE, if you dont particularly like this idea that is okkkkk
(lol i had to type it out the huge screenshot wasn't aesthetically pleasing and gave me a FAT ick)
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
a/n: Helloooo i hope your having a great day. this is a little short sadly. idk why there's not many Blackpink moments out there, almost every video I watched had the same stuff so I tried. I also re-wrote Crashing into you fully so go check that out if you want. enjoyyyyy
The sun had already dipped behind the buildings outside the window, painting the living room in long golden shadows. The light caught the edge of the coffee table and the framed photo of her and Lando that sat beside a half-empty mug.
Lando was sprawled across the couch, hoodie half-zipped, one socked foot hanging off the edge, thumb lazily scrolling through his phone. The TV glowed faintly, looping a muted replay of an old race—purely background noise to keep the apartment from feeling too quiet.
He wasn’t waiting for anything. She was with Alexandra and Rebecca for lunch and maybe a shopping spree afterward. He hadn’t asked. She just kissed his cheek and said, “I’ll be gone for a while, don’t burn the apartment down.”
He hadn’t. Not yet.
Now he was sunk into the couch, half-draped in a blanket, scrolling aimlessly through YouTube. F1 clips, cooking videos he’d never make, football interviews, cat compilations and, more recently, a suspiciously growing list of BLACKPINK edits, courtesy of his algorithm and, by extension, his girlfriend.
He passed a video titled “Oscar Piastri being lowkey unhinged for 5 minutes straight” and was about to click it when something else caught his eye.
BLACKPINK moments that boil my noodles
22:04 | 1.3M views | uploaded 6 days ago
He blinked. “Boil my noodles?” he muttered. Curiosity won. He tapped the video.
The intro played over a remix of DDU-DU DDU-DU. A blinking pastel edit filled the screen with blurry gifs, sparkles, glitch transitions. Lando almost tapped out… then Jennie appeared, laughing so hard she folded in half. He paused.
The next clip opened with a wide shot from the middle of a BLACKPINK concert. The stage was slick with light, pulsing pink and white, confetti already beginning to fall like cherry blossoms in a storm.
The camera zoomed in on her. She was crouched, intensely focused on a pile of pink confetti, scooping it into her hands like a toddler at a birthday party. The audience screamed, but she barely looked up. She jogged over to Jennie, who was facing the crowd, mic in one hand, hips swaying lightly to the beat.
She tapped Jennie’s arm, miming for her to turn. Jennie, confused, looked back, eyebrows lifted. She nodded toward the crowd, smirked, and raised the confetti-filled hand. The audience shrieked louder.
She lifted both arms and launched all the confetti into the air. Cue slow-motion. The mic slipped from her grasp. Her face shifted mid-throw from victorious to horrified as she realized what she’d done. The mic flipped once, caught the light, and plummeted off the front of the stage like a war casualty.
Lando burst out laughing. “No way,” he wheezed.
On screen, she slapped her hands to her cheeks, doubled over laughing. Jennie whipped around to find her bent in half, losing it entirely. The camera operator followed her every move like a nature documentary.
She ran to the front edge of the stage, Jennie right behind her. The crowd went wild, pointing toward where the mic had landed.
A security guard climbed forward from the barricade, picked it up, and handed it to her like he was returning a royal heirloom. She bowed dramatically, mouthing “thank you” over and over. She brought the mic to her mouth and…nothing. Dead mic.
She froze, looked down at it, and looked at Jennie. Jennie cautiously took the mic from her and tried it too. Nothing.
She snatched the mic back, gripping it like a traitor, and started banging it on the stage floor.
Editor caption: “NOT HER GOING FULL GORILLA MODE. 😭”
Jennie lunged, half-laughing, half-panicked, grabbing her wrist. She looked genuinely offended that the mic-smacking plan had been thwarted.
The screen faded from black.
A new clip started, this one noticeably different. The video quality was shaky — slightly pixelated, dimly lit, with the telltale lag of an old Instagram Live saved and re-uploaded a hundred times over. Lando leaned forward, already smiling.
There they were — all five of them.
She sat between Rose and Jennie, back pressed to a couch, wearing an oversized black hoodie. Her hair, a dark red and curled slightly at the ends, was pulled into a loose side braid that kept falling over her face as she laughed.
They were speaking rapid Korean, too fast for subtitles to keep up. Lando caught a few phrases — he was getting better — but mostly it was laughter, inside jokes, giggles, overlapping chatter.
Rosé stopped mid-sentence, turned to the camera with a completely serious expression, and said, deadpan: “Mine.”
The rest of the group went quiet for half a beat — and then, as if on cue, all of them repeated it.
“Mine.”
“Mine.”
“Mine.”
“Mine, mine.”
She leaned sideways into Rosé, who grabbed her shoulder for balance. Jennie curled in half on the floor, wheezing. Jisoo, usually composed, cracked a big smile.
The editor cut to the Finding Nemo seagulls in perfect sync.
Lando didn’t realize he was laughing out loud until he caught his reflection in the black screen of the muted TV.
Now it cuts to a shaky cam of a behind-the-scenes vlog. A candid moment in the back of a large black van. The kind fans always tried to pause at the right second, hoping to catch a blurry glimpse of something secret, something real. Lando shifted slightly on the couch
The camera was pointed forward at first, showing the backs of the seats. Then it tilted to reveal all five of them, all in their own worlds on their phones. It looked like the kind of day that had run long and left everyone just a little cracked-out with exhaustion.
Lisa was digging through her tote bag like a raccoon.
The camera cut closer. She pulled out a small, white tube with a triumphant expression, turned to the camera, holding it up like a game show prize.
“Yadom,” she said plainly. There was a single second of silence. Lando blinked. On screen, everyone else blinked too.
She doubled over laughing, head thrown back. Rosé started howling, her whole body shaking as Rose leaned on her shoulder. Jennie covered her face with her hands. Even Jisoo is laughing and looking a bit caught off guard.
Back in the van, Jennie turned to Lisa, giggling: “You surprised me…”
“I thought you said something else!” she managed through laughter, still half-curled over. Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence, setting Rosé off again.
Lando laughed along quietly, the kind of laugh that escaped before you meant to let it. He didn’t even know what “Yadom” sounded like, mistakenly, but from the way everyone completely lost it, he had a good guess.
“You made him laugh,” she announced in Korean, pointing at their manager, making all the girls start laughing again.
The screen went black for half a second before the next clip loaded. The camera faded into glossy, over-lit footage of a Korean award show. Camera operators panning dramatically across the rows of idols in shimmering suits and gowns. The crowd cheered, fog machines hissed. A performance had just ended, judging by the confetti and smoke still drifting over the stage.
Then the camera cut to the front row, BLACKPINK, and they looked… done.
All five girls were seated together, side-by-side, in full glam. Hair done, dresses flawless, makeup set. Expressions? Deadpan.
Jennie stared straight ahead. Rosé had her elbow resting on the armrest, chin propped on her palm, looking as though her soul had already exited the venue. Jisoo blinked slowly like a sleepy cat. Lisa had one eyebrow barely raised, giving the camera the most subtle “girl, please” look of all time.
And (Y/n)?
She was slouched just slightly, her perfect posture temporarily abandoned, eyes fixed somewhere above the stage, expression blank. Like someone who had disassociated so deeply she was no longer in the building. She blinked, one slow blink, then turned her head slightly toward Jennie and said something.
Jennie didn’t respond, only blinked, shook her head.
On screen, the camera stayed locked on them for an awkward beat longer than necessary — long enough for Jisoo to flash a polite smile before returning to her glazed-over stare.
The moment was the kind of dry, deep with real exhaustion that came only from attending your twentieth ceremony of the year to politely clap for the tenth “Artist of the Year” announcement.
She reached for her water bottle, sipped, and side-eyed the camera with a tiny, almost imperceptible glance. The winner was announced, the crowd erupted, and the camera caught Jennie giving the slowest, most reluctant three-tap clap imaginable while Rosé yawned into her shoulder.
Lando shook his head, still grinning.
The next clip loaded, shifting from backstage and award show footage to the formal elegance of a banquet at Buckingham Palace, hosted in honor of South Korea’s president. The hall was gleaming with crystal chandeliers, polished mahogany tables, and long, pristine white tablecloths stretching across the room.
All five members of BLACKPINK were seated at separate tables, elegantly poised. Lando leaned forward on the couch, his eyes widening as the camera panned closer, and there he was, in the video: sitting next to her.
She was breathtaking in a midnight green gown that shimmered under the palace lights. Her hair was done up, pinned into soft waves that framed her face perfectly, and there he was, suit perfectly tailored, little bow matching her gown. Lando’s heart gave a little leap. He glanced down at himself on-screen and smiled at how clean-cut and nervous he looked, compared to the calm elegance radiating from his girlfriend.
The king was speaking majestically, slightly pompous, “I applaud Jennie, Jisoo, (Y/n), Liza, and Rosè, better known collectively as Blackpink.” The caption mocked his accent on Lisa’s name, spelling it out phonetically. Lando chuckled.
The camera switched between the members repeatedly. Jisoo shot small, teasing glances at her members, catching the occasional smile from Jennie. Rosé smirking softly to herself. Lisa looked like she couldn’t care less.
Meanwhile, she caught the looks of her members, shooting them back, then leaned slightly toward Lando in the video, whispering something that made him laugh under his breath.
Lando’s chest tightened slightly, seeing her in the glow of the chandeliers, so composed, so effortlessly elegant. It made the muted living room behind him fade away. He whispered under his breath, almost to himself, “God, she’s unreal…”
Lando leaned back into the couch, still mesmerized by her presence on-screen. Even in a paused clip, she had this pull. He caught himself grinning like an idiot at the way she tilted her head ever so slightly toward past him during the camera pan.
He paused the video for a moment, letting the image of her in that midnight green gown imprint in his memory. Then he muttered, quietly, “How did I get so lucky?”
The next clip faded in with the warm light of a backstage lounge. The kind of low, golden glow that made everything look softer
Lisa was sitting with a small hardback in her lap, squinting down at the page as if it personally offended her.
She was across from Lisa. She had a lollipop tucked in one cheek and her phone balanced on her knee, scrolling absently as she listened.
Lisa cleared her throat dramatically. “Word of this wisdom, hangug-eolo jihyega mwoyeyo?” (What’s wisdom in Korean?) Lisa asked, turning to her with a serious expression.
She looked up slowly, blinking like she was buffering. “Jihye.”
Lisa frowned. “Mwoya jihye (What’s jihye?)?”
There was a beat of silence. Then she tilted her head, deadpan. “Wisdom.”
The editor had added sparkly text across the bottom: “A philosophical crisis brought to you by Blackpink.”
Lando laughed quietly to himself on the couch, shaking his head. His smile softened as he watched her laugh fill the screen.
The next clip was an old horizontal video clearly filmed on someone’s phone, the frame shaky and the room filled with laughter. Colored lights blinked across the walls of a karaoke-style restaurant.
She was on screen with Jennie and Lisa, all of them a little flushed, clearly a few drinks in. Lisa’s song “MONEY” was blasting through a small TV, and the three of them were dancing in the middle of the room, the rest of their group laughing and cheering.
The camera panned across the room, catching a few familiar faces — Lando and his friends among them. He remembered that night. She had dragged him out after a long day, insisting he and the guys meet Jennie and Lisa for dinner.
Lando smiled, shaking his head as the video faded to black. He remembered the sound of her laugh echoing long after the song ended.
The next clip came from an old logbook, filmed backstage in a small green room. The camera was steady, propped on a table, the lighting a little harsh. She sat closest to the lens, fixing her hair — the pink streaks in it catching the light every time she moved.
Behind her, Rosé and Lisa were goofing off, both with headset mics still clipped to their faces.
“Can you stretch my arms?” Rosé asked, turning toward Lisa.
She stopped mid-hair flip, watching. Without a word, Lisa stood behind Rosé, grabbing her arms carefully.
Lisa pulled them up. When Lisa let go, Rosé’s arm snapped back down and smacked Lisa clean across the face with an audible thwack.
She froze for a split second, then burst out laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair. Rosé turned her head, horrified. Lisa just stared into space, expression blank, like she was questioning all her life choices.
“Isa, are you ok?” she asked in between fits of laughter, clutching her stomach.
Lisa blinked once, slowly, then she started laughing too. “I’m fine.”
The editor added text that flashed across the screen: “No Lisas were harmed in the making of Pink Venom.”
The clip ended with her still giggling in the corner, trying and failing to compose herself while Rosé promised for the tenth time that she didn’t mean it.
The next clip opened in a burst of pastel color — a behind-the-scenes look from the Ice Cream music-video shoot. The set looked like something out of a candy-coated dream: bubble-gum pink fences, mint-green props, and fake clouds hanging from strings.
She had pastel blue hair that shimmered under the studio lights. She was seated in a tiny pink electric toy car, knees awkwardly bent, driving slow laps around the set. Jennie was in a cage with capybaras, laughing at her.
In the background, Lisa kept bumping her own mini-car into props — first a fake lamppost, then a foam tree, each crash followed by her loud “oops!” Rosé trailed behind them on foot, pretending to run but clearly walking, her laugh echoing across the soundstage.
She kept circling, giggling to herself, the little car humming softly. A staff member jogged up, camera shaking as they caught up in three easy strides.
“Dangsin-eun chaleul joh-ahabnikka (“Do you like the car?”)?” the staffer asked off-camera.
She looked up, expression dead serious despite the bright contacts in her eyes. The tiny car kept rolling forward.
“I pelalineun maeu neulida (This Ferrari is very slow),” she said, lips twitching. “naneun maeglalenseuleul deo joh-ahae (I prefer McLarens).”
And right as she said it
bang
She drove straight into Lisa’s car.
Lisa’s head whipped toward her, eyes wide, jaw dropped. She froze.
A beat passed, then she quickly reversed the car, still laughing under her breath, muttering something in Korean that sounded suspiciously like, “Running away.”
Lisa revved her tiny engine — as much as a pink electric toy could rev — and started chasing after her. The camera followed two multimillion-selling artists bumping plastic cars at 3 mph.
The video ended with her speeding (very slowly) out of frame, Lisa close behind, both of them laughing so hard neither could steer straight.
He was still grinning at the screen when the sound of keys jingled at the door. The lock turned, and a familiar voice drifted down the hallway. “Smells like… nothing’s on fire. I’m impressed.”
He scrambled to pause the video, nearly dropping his phone. “You doubt me?”
She stepped into view, sunglasses pushed up on her head, shopping bags in hand, cheeks flushed from the evening chill. “Every time I leave you alone, I assume disaster.”
“Disaster-free for—” he checked the clock, “—three hours. That’s a record.”
She kicked off her shoes, padding over. “What were you watching?”
“Uh,” he started, but she was already leaning over the back of the couch. The thumbnail on his phone was paused on her pastel-blue-haired self in the tiny pink car.
Her lips twitched. “Is that me?”
He lifted a shoulder, smirking. “No….”
She dropped her bags and plopped beside him. “Uh-huh.” She reached for the phone, and he held it just out of reach.
“Lando,” she warned, trying not to laugh.
He gave in, letting her snatch it. The video unpaused—her younger self on screen, she squealed immediately, “My hair! My hair was fried after that, you know.”
Lando burst out laughing. “You mean the blue look didn’t age well?”
She threw him a mock glare. “It looked cute, but I smelled like bleach and regret for a week.”
He grinned, leaning back against the couch. “Totally worth it. You were adorable.”
She shook her head, still watching the video with a wince. “Adorable? I looked like I belonged in a cotton candy machine.”
He grinned, leaning back against the couch. “You should dye it a fun color again. Maybe pink or blue again, or something completely insane.”
She gave him a look, one eyebrow lifting. “Oh, really? And what do I get out of it?”
“Uh… bragging rights? Matching hair for our Christmas cards?”
She smirked. “If I do that, you have to bring the mullet back.”
He froze. “Absolutely not.”
“Then no fun hair,” she said, settling it like a business deal as she crossed her arms.
Lando groaned. “You loved the mullet too much.”
“I loved it,” she said, smiling now. “The world loved it. I miss it every day,” she dramatically leaned onto him.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Never happening.”
“We’ll see,” she teased, poking his side.
He reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “Maybe, but that’s not a promise .”
“A maybe is still a maybe,” she murmured, smiling into his shoulder.
----------
The Album | Context : you drop your new album. Lando and your new friends make appearances in the MV's (requested) ❀
Exhaustion | Context: Tour and trying to keeping up with Lando takes its toll (requested) ❀★
Through their eyes | Context: moments caught by fans and moments in general (requested) ❀
Gotta love Miami | Context : you, Lisa, and Rosé attend the 2025 Miami GP (requested) ❀
MISS POSSESSIVE | Context: 2025 Monaco Grand Prix and a run in with Magui (requested) ❀
I'm Sorry | Context: After being told by Magui to stand down, Pietra realises how disrespectful she was to you and plans to make it up (requested) ❀★
MR POSSESSIVE | context: while at DEADLINE you invite your male idol friends back stage for a picture and post it, Lando sees it and for the first time feels…jealous (requested) ❀
DEADLINE | context: British GP and Lando getting spotted at DEADLINE (requested) ❀
Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless | context: after the British Grand Prix Lando attends the LA DEADLINE show, along with your ex (requested) ❀★
Haven’t updated my masterlist with the new requests I've received bc some can be mashed into the ones i already have. So don't be afraid that you request didn't get on it.
requested by an Anonymous user | Lando Norris x Blackpink 5th member reader
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist |
Warnings: drinking?? slightly angsty, tension & yearning 😩 (that's all I can really think of lol)
A/n: I was supposed to edit and post this on Saturday but this little muffin got to go to the US grand prix in Austin and omg my life is forever changed. I saw some of the drivers (17 of them) got vids of carlos and charles. I was waiting for Lando but that little bugger left without anyone noticing. Anyway enjoyyy!!
The night looked alive.
Neon streaks rolled off the club’s glass walls, melting into the sea that stretched endlessly behind it. Inside, the air was thick with music and perfume — heavy, magnetic, timeless. Every bass drop slid around ankles and up spines, curling into ribcages and tugging smiles wider than the Balearic moon.
She slipped in behind the booth with Jennie, both swaying to the beat's pocket like they’d been born for it. Diplo glanced over his shoulder to check on the pair before turning to face the crowd, grinning. They found a spot along the balcony near the speakers, where the floor trembled and the LED haze brushed their skin like static.
Jennie laughed, shouting over the noise, “You realize we said early night!”
She didn’t even try to fight the grin stretching across her face. The club lights painted her hair in quicksilver flashes, her lip gloss caught the strobes every time she laughed. She wasn’t trying to be center stage, not really, but the music kept nudging her there anyway.
The drop hit. Drinks sloshed, arms lifted, and the sound swallowed everything else. Jennie closed her eyes under her sunglasses and let it. She swayed with the rhythm, the hem of her dress catching light like it was breathing.
Down below, thousands of bodies moved like waves rising and falling, never in sync but always together.
On the opposite end of the club, a knot of friends cut through the crowd toward the VIP booths. Lando, cap tucked backward, button-up darkening where the fog machines spit a damp kiss, leaned against a railing, beer bottle sweating in his grip.
His friends were scattered. Max tried convincing someone he knew a guy who knew the DJ, while the others were lost to the music and the women. He’d come to support Calvin Harris’s late set, an easy promise made back in Monaco over a massive hangover and jokes about “retirement ages” in DJ years versus driver years.
Lando tilted his head, eyes tracing the crowd — a blur of color, glitter, and shadow. The kind of night where you forget what time feels like.
He was halfway through his drink when the crowd parted at the edge of the booth, and he saw her.
She looked like electricity in human form, joy wrapped in silk and rhinestones. Her earrings flashed every time she turned. Jennie bumped her shoulder, the kind of affectionate nudge that whispered a thousand shared hotel rooms and inside jokes. He didn’t know them, but the sight was oddly magnetic.
“Mate, you okay?” one of Lando’s friends shouted over the music.
Lando didn’t answer. He’d already stepped closer to the rail without realizing it, that lazy grin he wore in paddocks softening into something almost shy. She had a way of moving that made the room tilt toward her like sunflowers.
She turned to Jennie in the DJ booth and pantomimed, “Drinks?" Jennie nodded and flashed a “go” sign with two fingers. She hopped down from the booth stairs with her bodyguard in orbit, a dark planet of patience and vigilance.
They cut into the flow of the club, and the club tried to swallow them like it swallowed everyone. The music, the lights, the laugh that kept escaping her. Those things made space around her like a bubble. She faced forward just long enough to miss the body that turned simultaneously. They collided, like a meet-cute scripted by subwoofers.
“Sorry!” she said, half-laughing already.
“My fault,” Lando replied, hands up, sudden and sheepish. “Gravity’s weird here.”
Her bodyguard took a step closer, a tide pull.
“It’s okay,” she told him, returning to Lando: “You good?”
“Absolutely,” he said, and meant it. Up close, he could see the glitter dusting her collarbone, the hint of cinnamon in her perfume.
“(Y/n),” she offered, as if he might not know.
“Lando,” he said, as if she might not know.
A beat. They smiled, each recognizing the other’s small generosity, pretending the world didn’t already know their names.
Her bodyguard cleared his throat. “Drinks?”
She glanced at the bar, then at Lando, considering. “Right. Drinks. You want one?”
“Only if you don’t run away with it.” He had no idea what he’d been planning to say when he intersected her, but it definitely wasn’t that.
That won him another laugh. She turned to her bodyguard, voice pitched low enough to turn their bubble private. “Give us a minute? I’m still inside the line of sight.”
The bodyguard evaluated, then nodded once. “Two minutes.”
“Five,” she countered.
“Three.”
She slanted Lando a conspiratorial look. “I try to negotiate with him all the time. He’s undefeated.”
“Three it is,” Lando said, hand over heart in mock solemnity.
The joke landed, but the uneasiness didn’t budge. ‘Three minutes,’ she thought, half daring herself, half bargaining with that old fear. ‘Three minutes can’t hurt anyone.’
They moved toward the bar. The air between them was loud but strangely private, a steady thrum under the lights.
“So what brings you here?” she asked, leaning one elbow against the bar, voice half-drowned by the bass.
He shrugged, eyes still on her. “Didn’t want to waste a night pretending to rest.”
“Ah,” she said, lips curving. “You sound like someone avoiding something.”
“Maybe I am.” His tone was easy, but there was a flicker of honesty — quick, unguarded. “And you?”
“I’m here to feel something that isn’t rehearsed,” she said.
He smiled at that. “That’s poetic for a nightclub.”
“I could’ve said I was here for tequila,” she countered, turning toward him. “But then you’d think I was boring.” The easy line should’ve rolled off her. Instead, it caught—like fabric snagged on a ring. She knew this path: a joke, a spark, a number saved under an alias, the quiet ache later.
‘Don’t do it,’ said the careful voice in her head. The music drowned it out for her.
“Trust me,” he said, meeting her eyes, “that’s the last word that comes to mind.”
The next drop hit like a heartbeat, the lights stuttering between them. Neither moved away.
She tilted her chin, studying him. “You always talk this much to strangers?”
“Only when they make it hard to leave,” he said.
That should’ve been her cue to smile and step away. Instead, it had earned him a quiet laugh — not loud, not performative. Just soft, real. She bit her lip to hide it, only making him grin wider.
“Careful,” she said, her voice dipping low, “you’re starting to sound… tempting.” The word felt reckless on her tongue.
He tilted his head, the ghost of a smile forming. “You say that like it’s a warning.”
“Maybe it is.”
He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the faint citrus on his breath and the salt in his skin. “And if I ignore it?”
Her gaze flicked from his mouth to his eyes — deliberate, slow. “Then you’d better know what you’re doing.”
He smiled, something unhurried curling at the corner of his lips. “I usually do.”
“Usually?” she echoed, amused, though her pulse visibly betrayed her. Her smile curved slowly, teasing. “You do this a lot?”
He shook his head, lips still curved but voice quieter now. “No. Usually I don’t bother.”
She tilted her head, with a curious look in her eyes, searching his expression. “And tonight?”
His eyes met hers, unguarded, every trace of playfulness fading into something quieter. “Tonight’s different,” he said. “You’re different.”
Her gaze held his for a second longer than necessary — a silent standoff, equal parts curiosity and dare. Then she turned toward the bar again, a smile tugging at her mouth.
The three minutes were slipping fast. She must have felt it too, because she lifted a hand, a wordless instruction to her bodyguard, and he melted into the perimeter with the resignation of a man who had long ago learned to trust her instincts.
“You just bought yourself another three minutes,” she said. She could already feel that thin, treacherous tug at her ribs: ‘don’t start another almost.’
He arched a brow. “Generous of you.” He leaned on the bar beside her, the space between them shrinking until it was just breath. “Guess I’ve got your attention now,” he said, his voice low enough to be felt more than heard.
She glanced up, meeting his eyes. “For now.”
“That’s all I need.” Lando’s breath caught on the edge of a laugh that never came. He was standing close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. The scent of his drink, the salt in the air, the heat trapped between their bodies — it was all the same.
She set her glass down on the bar and turned slightly toward him. Her hair brushed his shoulder. For a second, he didn’t breathe.
Neither moved first; they just stood there while the music built itself into a low hum around them. Every flash of light carved out a different version of them — his hand twitching at his side, her lips parted, both waiting for a reason.
When she finally looked at him, the club seemed to tilt. With a look that asked, ‘Are you going to?’ And promised ‘I might let you.’
His hand found her waist. The whole night narrowed to that small circle of heat. The contact was soft, but it felt like the room exhaled. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, her palm flattening lightly against his chest to test whether he was real.
He lowered his head, close enough that she could hear the hitch in his breath when he said, “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asked quietly, voice brushed raw by the noise and the air between them.
“Like I’m the only one here,”
The line landed too cleanly. This is how it happens, said the bruise of memory.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t let go, pressing her fingers harder against his shirt, the fabric warm from the heat between them.
He would’ve said something else, but her hand slid up just enough to catch at his collar, pulling him in. Their foreheads nearly touched; every pulse in the room seemed to sync to theirs—the ache of being right on the edge of it.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, slow and searching. For a heartbeat, neither blinked. His hand tightened slightly at her waist, thumb tracing a path that made her skin rise with goosebumps.
The space between them thinned until there was no more pretending they were just talking. His nose brushed hers, the contact featherlight. She breathed him in, and for a second, the thought of closing that distance felt inevitable.
Her hand stayed at his collar, her thumb tracing the seam of the fabric, a nervous, restless motion. She recognized the tremor in her hand. She promised herself a hundred times that she wouldn’t chase that feeling again. Here it was, chasing her.
His fingers moved higher, to the small of her back, anchoring her there.
She drew a sharp breath and let her forehead fall against his, eyes fluttering shut. Neither moved, but both felt it—the question hanging there, fragile, electric, unanswered.
He exhaled, slow, like the air might shatter it if he wasn’t careful.
Her lips curved faintly against the edge of a sigh. “You should probably let go,” she whispered.
“Probably,” he said. But neither of them did. It occurred to her, faintly, that she was standing on the exact ledge she’d sworn to avoid. The thought didn’t stop her. It only made the ledge feel like a place to breathe.
Somewhere above them, Jennie remembered the mission: drinks. She glanced at the booth’s side stairs, found them empty, and frowned. Diplo caught her expression and leaned in.
“Lost your partner?”
“She’s getting drinks,” Jennie shouted over the loud bumping music.
Diplo peered toward the bar and shrugged. “Looks like she found a little more than drinks.”
Jennie hopped down with grace that made security guards spin like weather vanes. She intercepted (Y/n)’s bodyguard by the rail. “Where is she?”
He glanced at the floor, then back to Jennie. “She’s fine,” he said, voice level. “She’ll call it herself.” Jennie followed the direction of his hand.
Through the strobing light and bodies shifting in rhythm, she caught sight of her friend, pressed close to someone, a man she didn’t initially recognize. The crowd moved just enough for her to see them clearly.
Her hand was still curled in his shirt collar, his head bent near hers, their foreheads almost touching as if the world around them had been turned down to a whisper. They weren’t kissing, but the space between them felt like one long inhale before it happened.
Jennie’s first instinct was to frown, a protective reflex, but it melted into something else. The way this guy looked at her, like she’d pulled the air out of the room. Jennie knew that look.
Jennie smiled and started moving toward them. The bass rattled under her heels as she wove through the dancers, the lights cutting across her face in flashes of gold and red.
Jennie threaded through the bodies and appeared at her elbow, smirking. “You, my dear, are terrible at ‘going to get drinks.’”
She was startled and then lit up, laughter spilling from the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I got distracted.”
“I can see that,” Jennie said, side-eyeing Lando before offering a polite, half-amused smile. “Hi. I’m Jennie.”
Lando straightened a little, trying not to look like he’d just been caught mid-something. His grin found its footing again. “Lando,” he said, voice pitched higher to rise above the music. “Didn’t mean to distract her from getting drinks for y’all.”
Jennie laughed under her breath, the sound half drowned by the bass. “She gets distracted easily.”
She groaned, bumping Jennie’s shoulder. “Don’t make it sound like I have ADHD.”
Jennie’s eyes flicked between them. Her cheeks were still warm from whatever had just happened. Lando noticed and rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish, fleeting gesture that didn’t match his usual confidence.
Jennie leaned an elbow on the bar, studying him for a beat, curious but not unkind. “You here for Diplo?”
“No,” he said, grateful for the pivot. “Calvin Harris, but I wasn’t planning on interrupting anyone’s night.”
“Don’t worry,” Jennie said, tone light but knowing. “You’ve definitely made it more interesting.”
She pressed her lips together to hide a laugh. “Okay, okay. Let’s not scare him off.”
Jennie lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to scare him off. I’m being nice.” She turned back to Lando with a glint in her eye. “Nice to meet you, Lando.”
“Likewise,” he said, and the way his eyes drifted back to her for a half-second.
Jennie picked up one of the cups still waiting on the counter, “Here,” and handed the drink to her. “Before the ice melts. We should get back before Diplo starts thinking we’ve abandoned him.”
She nodded, but her gaze flickered once more toward Lando. He caught it, and so did Jennie. She didn’t say anything; Jennie just looped an arm through (Y/n)’s and began steering her gently through the crowd.
Looking back over her shoulder, she looked at his shrinking figure.
Lando watched them go, the pulse of the lights washing over him in slow flashes. He could still feel the warmth of her touch on his collar, still smell the faint sweetness of her perfume mixed with the smoke and salt. He stayed there, still half-leaning against the bar, the condensation from his drink sliding over his knuckles.
He should’ve returned to his friends, but his body didn’t want to move yet. The noise blurred into a low hum, and all he could think about was how her hand had felt when she’d caught his collar — that split second where everything had gone still.
When he turned toward the VIP booths, the lights had shifted into cooler tones, soft blue and violet washing across the floor. His friends were still loud, still in the middle of the same conversation he’d left. Max waved him over, grinning.
“Mate, where’ve you been?”
Lando dropped into the seat beside him, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite land. “Just got caught up at the bar.”
“Oh yeah?” Max nudged him. “Caught up with who?”
Lando shook his head, took a long sip of his drink, and let his eyes drift back to the crowd. The space where she’d been wasn’t visible from here, but his gaze lingered on it anyway. The longer he stared, the more it felt like she was still there — like the air hadn’t moved on yet.
He caught himself scanning faces, searching through flashes of light and hair and color. Every time a girl turned, a spark of recognition hit and faded. None of them were her.
—————
In the DJ booth, she tried to convince herself to forget about it.
She and Jennie had made their way back near the booth. The crowd was packed tighter now that Diplo was ramping up the tempo. Jennie had both hands in the air, dancing with effortless grace that drew eyes without trying.
She followed her lead, letting her body move with the rhythm and trying to dissolve into it. For a few minutes, she almost managed. The lights, the sound, the sweat—all of it drowned out thought. Then the song changed again, slower and smoother, and she felt the pull return.
That slight ache behind her ribs made her glance over her shoulder, scanning the room's edges.
Jennie noticed, of course, she did. Jennie stopped mid-spin, catching her hand, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re somewhere else.”
“I’m here,” she said quickly, too quickly.
Jennie tilted her head. “No, you’re not. You’re looking for him.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, caught. “No, I’m–– I just—” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
Jennie sighed, but the corner of her mouth softened. “Go, before you drive yourself crazy.”
She blinked. “What?”
Jennie shrugged, pretending to fix her hair. “Go find him. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks.”
That broke the tension instantly. Her eyes brightened, her grin returning like sunlight after storm clouds. “You’re the best.”
Jennie rolled her eyes. “I know. Now go before I change my mind.” She leaned in, gave her a quick, grateful hug, then disappeared into the crowd's current, the hem of her dress catching flashes of gold as she moved.
She started at the bar first, scanning the edges, her pulse still running too fast for how calm she tried to look. No sign of him. She lingered for a moment anyway, pretending to order something, then drifted toward the side booths, checking each face that caught the light.
The club was vast, bodies blurring into color and sound. She kept searching, pulled by something she didn’t want to name.
Each time she thought she caught a glimpse of him—a flash of a white shirt, the glint of a bracelet under strobe lights—it slipped away again. Still, she kept moving, weaving through the haze, caught halfway between the music and the need to see him one more time.
Her pulse skipped. She was halfway through the second sweep of the club when she finally saw him.
In the raised VIP section, a cluster of low couches curved around a glowing table, bottles and half-empty glasses catching the light. Lando sat near the center, half turned toward the dance floor, laughing at something one of his friends said. His cap was gone now, curls a little messy, his shirt clinging to his shoulders in the heat.
He looked relaxed, but his gaze kept drifting, and he made quick glances toward the crowd, as if he was trying not to search for something.
Or someone.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then started toward him, moving through the haze, bodies, and the flashes of color that made the room pulse. The security rope was low, but the bouncer guarding it wasn’t.
He stepped forward, hand out. “Sorry, miss. VIP only.”
She stopped, blinking at him, expression flat but composed. “Really?” she said, voice low but edged with disbelief.
The bouncer’s eyes widened the moment he registered her face. The faint glint of recognition cut through the dim light. His whole stance changed. “Oh—oh, I’m so sorry, miss. Go right ahead.”
“Thanks,” she said simply, brushing past him with the kind of unbothered grace from years of being underestimated.
A few heads turned as she climbed the small steps into the VIP section. Lando’s friends noticed her first, their conversation stuttering mid-laugh. One of them muttered something under his breath that sounded like no way. The two girls sitting near them, with perfect hair and champagne glasses in hand, followed her with thin smiles and eyes that sharpened like glass.
She barely registered any of it. Her focus found him easily; he was leaning forward, scanning the lower level as if trying to place a sound he thought he’d heard. The second he spotted her, that look of quiet surprise crossed his face again—the same one he’d had at the bar.
She didn’t rush. She let the attention follow her, the light catching her dress in soft flashes. When she reached the couch, she stopped just beside him.
“Looking for me?” she asked, her voice smooth, teasing, but carrying enough warmth to soften the edge.
He just stared at her for a second, like his brain needed a full beat to catch up. Then the grin broke through low, involuntary, and a little disbelieving.
“Yeah,” he said. “Wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
“Neither was I,” she admitted, her eyes flicking toward the dance floor, then back to him.
He gestured toward the empty spot beside him. She smiled and sat down, the couch dipping slightly under her weight. Around them, his friends exchanged subtle looks—part impressed, part awestruck. The jealous murmurs from the other girls melted into the background noise.
Lando leaned back, his arm draped casually across the top of the couch. After a beat, he reached down, hands light on her knees, and gently pulled her legs across his lap. The movement wasn’t showy or possessive, just easy, like he’d done it without thinking. She blinked, momentarily surprised, then let out a small breath that turned into a smile.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Not bad,” she said, tilting her head toward him. “You?”
He grinned. “Could be worse.”
The bass rolled through the floor, soft this time, more heartbeat than noise. It gave them space to talk.
“So,” she started, eyes glinting under the club’s amber light, “what do you do when you’re not… here?”
He chuckled. “You don’t know?”
“Should I?” she teased.
He leaned closer so she could hear him over the music. “I drive cars in weird shapes for a living.”
Her eyes lit with amusement. “Ah, professional driver. Sounds fulfilling.”
He laughed. “Painfully. You?”
She hesitated for half a second, not from secrecy but exhaustion. “I sing,” she said. “And dance. A lot. I’m in a group.”
Something flickered in his expression, recognition maybe, but he said nothing. Just nodded, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “Explains why you move like that.”
“Like what?” she asked, though she already knew.
“Like the music’s following you,” he said.
Her cheeks warmed, but before she could answer, he leaned back, eyes tracing the crowd. “You ever get tired of it?”
“Of what?”
“The noise. The cameras. People thinking they know you.”
“All the time,” she said. He nodded, like he understood more than he could say. Then, after a pause, she looked at him again, curious. “You ever been in love?”
He huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Been a while.”
“How long’s ‘a while’?”
He thought for a second. “Years.”
“Why’s that?”
He sighed, his gaze drifting toward the glass wall beyond the booths where the sea shimmered faintly under the moonlight. “My fans don’t really… take kindly to whoever I’m with. The last girl, her name was Luisa. She and I were together for a while, but it got bad, terrible even.” She listened quietly. “Death threats, messages, people showing up where she worked,” he said, his voice low but steady. “She tried to handle it, but after a while, she just… couldn’t anymore. Broke up with me over the phone. Said she loved me, but she couldn’t live like that.”
Her expression softened, the teasing gone now. “That’s… awful.”
He shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug people give when they’ve run out of ways to explain hurt. “You get used to losing things to the job.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the bassline filling in what words couldn’t. Then he turned to her. “What about you?”
She let out a quiet laugh—sad, not bitter. “Relationships don’t really fit in my calendar.”
He smiled faintly. “Yeah, but that’s not the whole story?”
Her jaw tightened, the humor fading from her voice. “No. It’s not.” He waited, patient.
“There was someone,” she said finally. “It wasn’t official, but it was… close, and then Dispatch, our paparazzi, got pictures of us together, leaving a restaurant. Within a day, the internet turned it into a scandal. My company panicked.” She paused, exhaling. “He didn’t face any backlash. I did.”
Lando’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”
Her gaze drifted past him, to the shifting lights above the bar. “I had to apologize publicly with a handwritten letter. For… falling in love, apparently.” He didn’t speak. He just watched her, the sadness in her tone landing heavier than any bassline could. “I almost got kicked out of my group,” she continued quietly. “Got blacklisted by half the industry for a while. People told me I’d ruined everything we’d built. The death threats were bad, but the silence from the people I worked with was worse.”
“Jesus,” he murmured.
She gave a small, almost ironic smile. “He dumped me through text. Said it wasn’t worth it. He was probably right.”
He shook his head, voice rougher now. “No one deserves that.”
“Comes with the job,” she said, echoing his earlier words. “You get used to losing things, too.”
They both fell silent again. The music faded into a slower track, full of echo and hum. Their eyes met, and there was a quiet understanding—different lives, same scars.
Lando’s hand reached for hers, tentative at first, then firm enough that she knew it wasn’t sympathy—it was recognition. She didn’t pull away.
For a long moment, they just sat there. The room moved around them, but neither seemed to notice.
Then he leaned closer, his voice only for her. “Come dance with me.”
She blinked, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Now?”
He nodded. She simply stood there, still holding his hand. The floor felt different—softer, slower, almost suspended.
Lando led her through the crowd, his hand still wrapped around hers, until the mass of bodies thinned enough for them to move freely. The lights flickered low and warm, casting everything in a honeyed golden hue.
The beat wasn’t rapid anymore. It was the kind of rhythm built for breathing together.
She turned toward him, both hands sliding up his shoulders to grasp around his neck. He placed his other hand at her waist, a little hesitant, as if waiting for her to change her mind. She didn’t.
They began to move with small, unhurried steps that matched the bass’s tempo. The world around them blurred into flashes of skin and sequins, and a hundred other people moved to their own stories, but theirs felt still.
He looked down at her, eyes tracing her face as if memorizing how the light hit it. She met his gaze once, then looked away too quickly, the corner of her mouth twitching as if hiding a secret she didn’t want to say aloud.
The space between them grew thicker. He tightened his hand at her waist, pulling her close so that their bodies were pressed together. She didn’t resist. Her fingers curled lightly at the base of his neck, and when she lifted her eyes again, it was a look that made him forget the noise, the people, everything.
Her pulse was visible at the hollow of her throat. The song dropped lower. He bent his head slightly, lips nearly touching hers.
For a moment, the world felt weightless, then she took a step back.
It wasn’t sudden or harsh, just a gentle, deliberate movement that made the air colder. She took a half-step away, breaking the contact, breaking whatever had been building between them.
Lando blinked, breath uneven. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, the words almost swallowed by the music.
She shook her head, fingers curling into her palms. “We shouldn’t,” she said.
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because people are watching,” she said. Her voice was soft, but it carried a tremor that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with memory. “Because you don’t understand what that means for me.”
“Then tell me,” he said, stepping closer again.
She looked up, eyes bright yet conflicted. “If anyone sees us like this, it’s not just a headline for me, Lando. It’s my job. My group. My fans. Everything I’ve worked for since I was sixteen. I can’t...” She stopped herself, biting down the rest of it.
He shook his head, frustration soft but genuine. “You think I care what people say?”
“You should,” she said. “Your fans, your sponsors—”
He cut her off gently, voice low and steady. “My team won’t drop me over this, and I make enough for both of us.”
She froze, startled. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He reached out, fingers brushing her jaw until she let him tilt her face toward him. The touch was careful, reverent. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he said, his thumb tracing along the edge of her cheekbone. “If this—whatever this is—costs you your career, I’d take care of you. You wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder. Anything you want, it’ll be yours.”
Her breath hitched, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” he said. “And I am.”
The sincerity in his voice cracked something in her. He wasn’t grinning now, wasn’t teasing. His eyes were open and bare, and the look in them scared her in the way that only truth could.
“Lando…” she whispered, shaking her head, but he didn’t let go.
He leaned in closer, close enough that she could feel his words against her skin. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” he said. “Maybe ever. I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t just because people think they can decide what we’re allowed to feel.”
The words hit somewhere deep, the kind of place she’d kept locked for years. She wanted to argue, to tell him that love didn’t survive in their world, that it always came with cameras and consequences—but the conviction in his tone made it hard to breathe, let alone fight it.
Her hands came up, not to push him away, but to steady herself. Her palms rested against his chest; she could feel his heartbeat, fast and steady under her touch.
“I can’t let it happen again,” she said finally, voice small but trembling. “Last time nearly broke me.”
He dipped his head until his forehead touched hers, just enough for her to feel the heat of him, the steadiness he carried. “Then don’t let it be like last time,” he murmured. “Let it be different.”
The music swelled around them, louder now, but it all felt far away.
For a few suspended seconds, neither of them moved. She could taste his nearness, the promise in the air, the ache of wanting to say yes even when every part of her said not to.
When she finally exhaled, it came out shaky, half a sigh, half a surrender.
He brushed his thumb once more against her cheek, then let his hand fall, not because he wanted to, but because he understood she needed space.
She stepped back again, eyes still locked on his. The space between them was filled with the weight of everything that hadn’t been said. Her chest felt tight, her hands shaking just enough for her to tuck them behind her. She turned away.
For a second, he stayed frozen in place, staring at the spot where she’d been. The club's loud and heavy noise returned like static in his ears. The people around him blurred into silhouettes, none of them her.
He dropped his hand, which had been holding hers moments ago. His palm still felt warm, but empty now.
It hit him all at once — that strange, sick feeling of knowing he’d just had something real slip through his fingers. The kind of thing that doesn’t happen twice.
He tried to shake it off, running a hand through his hair. The lights swept over his face—blue, then red, then gold. He turned back toward the VIP section, ready to retreat before anyone could see what the moment had done to him.
He told himself she wouldn’t turn around. People like her never did.
So, reluctantly, he looked away.
Each step back made her stomach twist. The air was too loud, too hot. His words, the way he’d said ‘I mean everything I say,’ kept echoing in her mind, refusing to fade. She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. This was the part where she was supposed to remind herself why it couldn’t happen.
The cameras. The headlines. The judgment.
The last time she trusted something like this, it nearly destroyed her.
But there he was, in her mind, saying he’d take care of her like it was the most natural thing in the world, and damn it, she believed him.
She stopped walking.
The bass shook the floor under her heels, matching the pounding in her chest. The lights flickered once, bathing the club in amber. In that brief glow, she turned.
Her decision wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t logical. It was instinct, raw and reckless.
She pushed through the crowd, weaving between bodies that moved like a tide against her. The noise blurred until only her heartbeat was audible. Somewhere ahead, she saw him—shoulders stiff, head bowed.
“Lando,” she whispered, though the music swallowed it whole. Her breath came in quick bursts, half adrenaline, half something else.
He didn’t hear her. He didn’t need to. She reached him in three quick steps, grabbed his shoulder, and pulled him around.
His eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face, but before he could speak or even breathe her name, she grabbed his face and kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was the kind of kiss born out of too many seconds of restraint breaking all at once. The collision of everything she’d tried to suppress.
His hands found her waist instinctively, one sliding up her back, anchoring her as if he was afraid she’d disappear again. She tasted like adrenaline, salt, and something almost sweet — like defiance, like relief.
The lights strobbed over them, the music swelled and faded, the crowd swayed, narrowed, and blurred, but nothing touched them.
The kiss softened, brief tenderness sneaking in after the urgency.
For the first time that night, everything went quiet.
-----------
The request:
a/n pt.2 : might do a q&a post that i'll update regularly for anyone who has questions about the stories or just have questions for me in general. One of them I implemented into this oneshot. Anon said something about bodyguards and it totally clicked in my head that i had been forgetting bodyguards lol. Anyway
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
a/n: IM ALIVEEEE, I think I own y'all an apology. I am truly sorry for disappearing on y’all and taking so long writing this, but DID YALL HAVE TO PICK THE HARDEST TOPIC. I swear I’ve watched the same quadrant videos about a billion times, I’m literally losing it. Also at the end there’s a poll for the next oneshot since y'all voted on voting for the next stories. Anywayy enjoyyy!!
Edit (101125): lol i did not notice that i added to same scene twice but its fixed 😀✌️
Warnings: major use of (y/n)
Quadrant EXTREME Hot Wings Challenge
“Why hello there, everyone, and welcome back! It’s your boy Niran, and today, we’re back on the Quadrant channel for an undisclosed hot wings challenge,” Niran opened the video.
She sat between Lando and Max Fewtrell, a nervous yet excited grin on her face. In front of them, the table was neatly covered with a black cloth, lined with an intimidating array of hot sauces, ranging from mild to “holy-cow-this-will-give-you-heartburn-for-days” levels. Plates of chicken wings and glasses of milk waited for them.
“You all have to get through these wings with sauces of increasing heat,” Niran said, reading from his laptop. “So, tell me—what’s your spice tolerance?”
“I’m… pretty good with spice,” She said confidently, though her tone suggested she hadn’t tested it much.
“Absolutely zero,” Max said without hesitation.
“Yeah, same,” Lando admitted, a slight grimace crossing his face.
“Well, unfortunately, we don’t have a zero-level sauce, so nobody gets off easy,” Niran said with a chuckle.
“I’m gonna stick with this one, I like that,” Max said, reaching for the Sriracha bottle.
“No, that’s already too much for me,” Lando muttered, shaking his head.
“Sriracha?” she laughed.
“Might be a little trouble,” Niran added, smirking at the camera.
“Give me some chicken,” Lando said, finally grabbing a plate as if willing the wings to be friendly.
“Alright,” Niran said, holding up the first bottle. “First one is Sriracha—1,000 on the Scoville scale. Easy start. Pour it on, and let’s see what we’re working with.” One by one, they smothered their wings in the sauce and took a bite.
“It’s alright,” Lando said cautiously, chewing. Niran hummed in agreement. She was expecting something fiery, but found herself pleasantly surprised.
“I mean, it’s only the first one,” Niran said, leaning back.
“Actually, it’s kind of nice,” Max said, nodding with a small grin. She let out a quiet, “Yeah,” agreeing with him.
“If I ever went to a restaurant, this is about as spicy as I’d ever go,” Lando confessed. She couldn’t hold back her laughter, covering her mouth as he turned to look at her. A wide grin spread across his face at her reaction.
“Yeah, this is the limit,” Max said with a chuckle.
“Now for the question,” Niran said, leaning in. “What is y’all’s earliest memory of motor sport?”
“Earliest memory? Uh…” Lando paused. “Playing Gran Turismo on the PlayStation with my dad—PS2 Gran Turismo 5. That was basically the start of it all for me.”
Niran nodded, then looked at her. “And you, (Y/n)?”
She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Uh… I never really followed motorsports. My mom watched F1 sometimes—she was a Lotus fan—but I wasn’t around it enough to get into it.”
“Ah, so Lando introduced you to it?” Niran asked.
“Basically, yeah,” she replied with a smile.
“How about yourself, Max?”
“Mine was definitely when I went to an F1 race in 2008. I just remember getting out of the taxi and hearing the screaming cars come past, and just… falling in love with it.”
“Dang, my story sucks compared to you guys,” she said, and the group laughed. Lando casually draped his arm over the back of her chair, pulling her slightly closer.
“Alright, the next one we’ve got is called,” Niran said, picking up the next bottle. “Dragon’s Breath. This one’s twice as hot as the Sriracha. It should be fun.”
“This is not gonna be fun,” Max groaned.
Fresh wings were loaded, and the Dragon’s Breath sauce coated them liberally. They each took a cautious bite. Lando’s eyes immediately watered a little. Max was coughing, and she was…surprisingly composed.
“Lando, Max, what made you decide—‘I want to be a racing driver’?” Niran asked, watching the sauce work its magic on their expressions.
“So, one,” Lando started, trying to keep a straight face, “was driving on Gran Turismo. My fourth birthday present was a quad bike—it was too dangerous, so my dad sold it. Then… first time I drove a car? That was when I decided I wanted to do Formula One. Seventh birthday, game changer.” He nodded, wiping sweat from his upper lip.
“Nice,” Niran said.
“Yeah, I went to watch a race like Max and then wanted to have a go,” Lando added
“For me,” Max said between coughs, “It was that race when I went to watch, I kind of wanted to go karting immediately after school, went with a few friends, and then that's where I started.” Max finishes.
“Cool,” Niran said, then he turned to her. “Alright, (Y/n)—what made you decide you wanted to be an idol?”
She blinked, thinking for a moment. “Um… back then, I would always watch this one channel on TV with performances from second-generation groups—you know, the groups before Blackpink. My group is third generation.”
“Oh, okay. So, you started watching performances and thought, ‘I want that,’ right?” Niran asked.
“Yeah,” she laughed, “but after a couple of years of watching every comeback, every special stage, I finally got the courage to audition. I think I was around 12 or 13.”
“What?!” Max exclaimed, mid-cough from the sauce.
“That’s really young,” Lando said, wide-eyed. She nodded, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.
“Yeah… you kind of have to start young because the training process takes years. There’s a prime age for idols—once you hit thirty, it’s a little late. Fans want someone who can sing, dance, and connect. Anyway… I got selected as a trainee. I trained for about…” She counted her fingers dramatically, “…five years.”
“Five years? That’s insane,” Max said.
“Yeah,” she continued, shrugging. “It was intense—singing, dancing, vocal training, everything. But it was worth it. That’s how you learn to perform at a professional level.”
“And now you’re here, performing with Blackpink…” Niran interjected. “That’s a wild journey in such a short time.”
She smiled. “Yeah…it was a lot of hard work and dedication, but it all came together, and I’m happy with where I am in life,” she smiled, laughing softly, and glanced at Lando. She made a teasing face at him. “Looks like you’re struggling,” she said, nodding toward the wing in his hand.
Max turned his head, confused. “There’s no way you’re struggling already; it’s not that bad.”
Lando looked between the two, holding the wing near his mouth. “My lips…” he said, pointing to them.
“Are they tingling already?” Niran asked with a smirk.
Lando turned back to Niran, “Yeah… quite a bit.” He laughed, bringing the wing up. “I’m just eating the chicken,” he added, taking a careful bite.
“Rio de Janeiro carnival is next up, now this is 5,000 on the Scoville scale. This is a bit of a step up,” he paused, then turned toward Lando. “So, what's your favorite car you’ve raced in your career?”
“Probably… uh, Ginetta Junior,” Lando said, taking a bite of his wing.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that was—”
“Because you can just smash into people,” Lando added with a grin. Niran nodded, clearly understanding. “I don’t even taste that one,” he said. Max agreed with a nod, both showing they could handle this level… for now.
She took her bite calmly. “(Y/n), what’s your favorite piece of content that you’ve made?” Niran asked. She chewed thoughtfully, the spice slightly pricking her tongue, but not too bad yet.
“Maybe our Netflix documentary, Blackpink: Light Up the Sky, because it gives fans a glimpse into our lives. I also liked being a judge/coach on a show called Produce 48. I really enjoyed that experience, and I hope to do more shows like that.”
Niran asked follow-up questions about the documentary, and she spoke about the challenges of sharing behind-the-scenes moments with fans. Lando chimed in, his voice soft: “We watched it together, and honestly… it makes me feel bad, like I don’t understand the difficulty of her career at all.”
She laughed, nudging him lightly. “It’s fine, I promise. You already know enough.”
Niran picked up another wing. “Next up: Egyptian Fire Scarab. Twice as hot as the last one.” Everyone readied their wings as the heat started to build.
“I’ve asked a decent amount about motorsport so far,” Niran said, “so when did you get into golf, both of you?” He looked at Lando and Max. She felt the tang of the sauce creeping in but tried to ignore it.
“I felt that one,” Max said, reading her mind as she raised an eyebrow. The couple to his right laughed.
“Golf?” Lando exhaled, fanning his mouth. “Um… lockdown, last year. So, what, like January, June—”
“September,” Max cut in.
“March, April,” Lando tried again, the heat starting to cloud his memory. Both of them finally grabbed glasses of milk to cool their mouths.
“Max?” Niran prompted.
“Yeah, pretty much the same. Completely hooked now,” he admitted.
“Now, (Y/n),” Niran asked, leaning in, “are there any hobbies outside of Blackpink that your fans don’t know about?”
“My fans probably already know most of my hobbies, to be honest,” she said thoughtfully. “I haven’t done anything new… actually, wait. I’ve been getting into Legos lately. We did a live together building Legos—built a white car…”
“A Koenigsegg,” Lando added, nodding proudly.
“Yeah, it was so fun. We should do another one soon,” she said, turning to Lando.
“She’s been begging me,” Lando laughed.
“And I'll keep begging till it happens,” she laughs.
The heat continued to build as Niran introduced the next sauce. “Next is Pain.”
“Pain?” she laughed, glancing at the bottle nervously.
“Yes, it’s literally called Pain. 40,000 on the Scoville scale,” Niran said.
Lando looked mischievous. “You know what would make this more fun? I do Max’s wing, Max does hers, and she does mine.”
“You do mine first, and I’ll see how nice you’re being to me,” Max said. Lando picked up the bottle.
“I’ll start off nicely,” Lando said as he poured a careful glob onto Max’s wing.
“That’s… nice,” Max muttered, then grabbed the bottle to pour sauce onto her wing.
Lando leaned toward the camera, joking: “Hey, don’t go easy on her, man. She’s not that fragile.”
She rolled her eyes, taking the bottle from Max to pour just a small amount on Lando’s wing—but a giant blob accidentally splashed out. Everyone laughed.
“Oh great,” Lando said, holding up the wing with disdain.
He took the first bite, and the heat hit immediately. His eyes widened, his lips tingling, and he started coughing lightly. Max followed, grimacing as the sauce attacked his palate. She took her bite calmly—until a sharp tang cracked through her normally composed demeanor, making her chuckle nervously.
Lando staggered to the side with his milk, while Max bent over his seat, chugging. She took a tiny sip, laughing at Lando’s dramatic reaction. Niran and Max joined in, teasing him as he tried to sip milk and not spit it out
She leaned toward him, concerned but smiling. “You okay?” she asked. He was eating ice cream now, trying to tame the spice.
“It hurts so much,” Lando muttered, his face red as he smoothed ice cream over his lips. Max grabbed some too.
“Save some for me,” Max said, getting up to get some ice cream as well.
“Mate, you still need to answer the question,” Niran said, flipping the laptop to show a photo. “Explain this gram. This was Monaco this year.”
“I was quite happy there, um, this was after our team photo, um-” Lando started, trying to focus while the heat lingered. “My mom just called me, she said I was gonna finish third and I finished third, she called me and was like was like—” He switched into a deep, mock-serious voice, imitating his mother. “‘I told you so.’”
She laughed softly beside him.“His mom is really nice,” she added, smiling.
“Was that the first time you met her?” Max asked.
“Yeah,” the pair answered at the same time, causing a small chuckle from the group.
“I took her out for dinner in Monaco. I actually took both her and Lando because he had gotten a podium,” she added, remembering the evening.
“Oh yeah,” Lando said, his expression lighting up as the memory came back.
“Did y’all have fun?” Niran asked.
“Yeah,” Lando laughed. “(Y/n) and I were fighting over the bill.”
“Oh my god, I wanted to punch him so bad,” she said, exasperated and laughing. “He wouldn’t let me pay!”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Lando cut in.
“Even though I was the one who invited y’all out, I was happy to pay. And I did,” she said proudly, grinning.
“You did? I thought I did,” Lando said, looking at her.
“Nope. I did. Happily,” she confirmed.
They went back and forth, teasing each other for a few moments, laughter filling the room, before Niran shifted gears.
“Alright, (Y/n), explain this picture for us,” Niran said, flipping the laptop toward her.
“That picture was from… oh god, let me think… 2018, I think. Yeah, 2018 Gayo Daejun,” she began. “It’s an award show, which was a big deal for us because we, as a group, don’t usually do award shows. First, we don’t always get treated well, and second, we’re just so busy that the company doesn’t prioritize it. But I loved that performance. It was a lot of work, but performing like that—it was really fun.”
“I don’t feel good. Why did you say yes to this?” Max groaned, his face already red from the previous wings.
Lando laughed, his face still beet-red and dripping with sweat from the heat. “I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head.
“Next up, sauce number six. Just to remind you, this is 100,000 on the Scoville scale,” Niran said, holding up the ominous bottle.
Lando took a cautious bite. “This one’s… fine,” he said after chewing carefully.
“Yeah, why is that alright? That’s a bit worrying. Have I lost my taste?” Max muttered, concern crossing his face.
“This one would be good,” she said, carefully taking a bite herself, “but I really don’t taste that strong garlic flavor.” She was in her own little world, watching the heat settle in while Lando, Max, and Niran carried on a conversation she wasn’t fully paying attention to.
Niran turned to her with a smile. “Alright, (y/n), who’s your favorite idol?”
She went quiet, thinking for a moment, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “Oh… G-Dragon,” she said, her voice certain and calm.
“G-Dragon? Who is that?” Lando asked, confused. She almost gasped in disbelief.
“One of the greatest idols to ever debut,” she explained, shaking her head. “I get chills talking about him. I remember the first time I met him—I was literally going to faint.” She turned toward Lando. “Let me put it in F1 terms… um, he’s like… hold on, what’s that guy’s name again?” She looked at him for help.
“You’ve got to be more specific, babe.”
“I can’t pronounce his last name.”
“Schumacher?” Lando laughed. “I was like, who the hell are you talking about?”
“Yes! Schumacher,” she said, nodding. “He’s so cool. He takes care of us, makes sure we’re okay. Whenever we were practicing and he was in the building, he would check up on us and bring snacks—even when we were all on strict diets. He still checks on me sometimes; he’s just doing his own thing right now.”
“I have never heard of him,” Lando admitted, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, you have. I’ve shown you songs,” she said, looking at him, concerned. “Bang Bang Bang.” She sang the chorus softly.
“Oh,” Lando said, snapping his fingers.
“I’ve heard that song. That’s his?” Niran asked. she nodded.
“Yeah… or—or PSY,” she said, laughing. “Y’all should know who he is. I’m gonna say two words and it’ll click in your brains: Gangnam Style!”
The room exploded in a chorus of “OHHHs,” making her laugh along with them.
“Alright, this is Da Bomb,” Niran said, introducing the next wing. “Three times hotter than the last one.”
Max brought the bottle up to his nose and sniffed. “The way that went up my nose… things should not smell like that.”
Max took his first bite while she and Lando watched his reaction carefully. Max closed his eyes, nearly refusing to chew. Max tried to speak, but nothing came out, which made the couple break into laughter.
“I lost my voice,” Max finally croaked, pointing at his throat. Lando had to stand up, laughing uncontrollably. He buried his face in her shoulder, trying to hide his expression. She bent over, laughing, and grabbed his arm to steady herself as she doubled over.
After a while, the group calmed down enough for her and Lando to finally take bites of their wings. At first, it didn’t seem so bad.
At first…
“I’m not—ohh,” Lando started, cutting off mid-sentence as the heat hit him. The sauce burned, and his eyes watered. She felt the pain too, though it was slightly milder, and she groaned softly. Max and Niran yelled and laughed at their reactions.
“I told you it gets worse,” Max shouted, holding his throat dramatically.
She grabbed her cold glass of milk and took a small sip to cool off. She started pacing slightly, shaking her head at Lando’s exaggerated expressions. “Oh my god, Max, you’re right—it does hurt to talk,” she said. Both she and Lando gulped down their milk, though Lando immediately began coughing again. Something Max said offhand caused him to spit most of it out, dribbling down his chin and shirt.
Her jaw dropped at the sight. Lando’s red face, milk dripping everywhere, had her laughing so hard she nearly fell to the floor. Max, meanwhile, was bent over his chair, moaning in dramatic pain. She had to squat to stabilize herself, still laughing hysterically.
She watched him walk over to the table and try to gulp milk down again, but clearly failing because it all came straight out of his mouth again.
“Stop drinking milk, man!” Niran yelled through laughter. Lando and Max ignored her, shoveling ice cream into their mouths to ease the heat. She calmly shared the ice cream tub with Lando, trying to help him cool off. The cold melted against the spice, though it was messy—Lando had ice cream smeared all over his mouth like a frosty beard.
“Can we get some more napkins, please?” she asked politely, holding her hand out to the crew behind the camera. They quickly handed her some. She returned and gently wiped Lando’s face and chin, laughing as he tried to speak through a mouthful of ice cream.
“It feels like someone’s thrown a Molotov cocktail into my mouth,” Max said, making the group roar with laughter again.
Finally, after three wings, each progressively hotter than the last, they were down to the final one. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun; her eyes were glossy, her face flushed, and sweat dotted her forehead. Her taste buds were screaming.
Niran continued asking Lando and Max questions while she braced herself for the final bite. She tried not to think about the heat, knowing it was coming.
“(Y/n)? How about you—what’s an accomplishment you’re really proud of?” Niran asked.
“Oh geez… where do I start?” She dragged her hand across her face, head buzzing from the heat. “Um… my debut solo song Thunder broke records on YouTube. It became the fastest solo K-pop music video to reach 200 million views in 24 hours, and it also broke the record for most music show wins for a solo with 23 wins, I think—I can’t even think straight right now. I also received an award for top 10 songs of the year, best music video, best solo female artist… and our group became the first K-pop girl group nominated for a Billboard Music Award. We’re the most subscribed artists on YouTube, we earned our sixth Guinness World Record, and our album The Album sold over one million copies—a first for any female K-pop group. The list goes on.”
“Damn,” Lando managed to say, processing everything.
“Oh, and that was all this year,” she added, still laughing softly, glancing at him.
“My god, what am I doing with my life?” Niran exclaimed.
“You just remind me that I’m not sitting next to just another YouTuber. You’re… literally a global star,” Max said.
She laughed. “I’m glad you’re able to see me as just another person.”
Niran leaned back, smiling. “Lando, (Y/n), Max… have you enjoyed today’s adventure? I feel like it's really been a bonding experience.”
“I’ve had a lot of fun, thank you for bringing me along,” Max said, sarcastically, while Lando groaned in pain from the spice. She buried her head in her hands, her head throbbing.
“As you can see,” Niran concluded, “Lando and (y/n) had loads of fun as well. If you enjoyed the video, don’t forget to like and subscribe—we’ll catch you next time!”
Lie detector test
All four of them sat on the couch: Lando, Ria, Max Fewtrell, and (Y/n), loosely spaced but slouched like siblings in detention. She was tucked between Ria and Lando, legs crossed, blackpink-themed hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Across from them, Steve sat in front of them, strapped into the lie detector like it was a courtroom cross-examination. The guy manning the machine looked like he hadn’t smiled since the 2000s.
Steve, somehow, managed to tell the truth through most of it — but a few blips exposed him. Some parts had her laughing, muttering something to Ria, who burst out laughing behind her hand.
Next up: Max.
Ria held the iPad like a TV host. “Are you a better driver than Lando?”
A grin tugged at Max’s mouth. “No,” he said quickly. “He’s done more with his career; that’s why he’s in Formula 1.”
The group turned to the lie detector guy, who frowned. “Inconclusive.” Laughter exploded across the couch.
The lie detector guy suggested that Lando ask the question to Max. Ria happily passed the iPad over her to Lando.
Lando sat up straighter, grinning. “Are you a better driver than me?”
Max looked him dead in the eye. “No, I’m not. You’re in Formula One and I'm not in Formula One, therefore I think you’re a better driver.”
All eyes were on the lie detector guy. “I’m sorry, you’re lying on that one.” Max’s eyes widened. He looked appalled by the answer. “When Lando’s asking I'm getting quite a big reaction.”
Lando threw his head back, laughing. Ria leaned into her shoulder, wheezing. She had her hand over her mouth, giggling.
Max held his hands up. “I do think you’re a better driver, I mean, my self-belief’s obviously quite strong, but honestly I do think-”
“Don’t lie,” Lando cut in, still grinning.
“You are a better driver than me,” Max finished, dramatically.
“Do you like living with Lando?” Lando asked next, not missing a beat.
Max nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
“He’s lying on that one,” the guy deadpanned. The room exploded.
Max looked betrayed. “This is a set-up! Can I redo? I need to like, stay calm or something,” as they all laughed.
“You can explain more,” Lando teased, arm slipping behind her on the couch. His finger started lazily tracing shapes on her shoulder.
Max looked flustered. “Yes, I do enjoy living with you. It's made my life better than it was. I’ve enjoyed these last few months."
“Thanks, Max,” Lando said dramatically. “I’m sure you’re lying, but it’s whatever.”
Steve took the iPad. “Have you ever used the line ‘I’m a racing driver’ when talking to a girl?”
Max blinked. “Yes, because they’ve asked what I do. I haven't used it to like pick myself up”
“He’s telling the truth,” the guy confirmed.
“I could never just walk up and say, 'I'm a racing driver, you know,’ Max said, horrified. “That’s cringe.”
She reached for the iPad. “Do you wish you played golf professionally?” she read.
Max took a couple of seconds to think. “ Yes, I think it’d be such an amazing thing to do as a career, so I wish I had started a bit younger. I was totally in love with it.”
“He's lying to that,” the guy said. “Quite a big reaction on that one to that one.”
Max sighed, smiling. “Alright, no — then.”
“He's telling the truth.” Everyone cracked up again.
“The fuck is this man? I'd love to be a professional golfer,” Max added, “I’m so like nervous and on edge with you.”
Lando grabbed the iPad. “Would you take one million pounds never to race again?”
“No, because in the long term, if I perform well, then I can earn more than that throughout my career,” Max said quickly,
“He’s telling the truth.”
“His ass is clenching right now,” Lando joked, making her laugh into her sleeve.
Ria was up next.
“Do you like living with Aarav and Niran?” Max asked Ria while Lando slipped his arm back around her. She leaned into it, glancing up at him. He looked down, grinning. She snorted, turned her head, and nudged his arm playfully.
“Yes, they’re a little bit messy, but apart from that, yes,” Ria said.
“Yes, she's telling the truth.”
“Aww,” she smiled.
“Oh, that's cute, they're gonna be very happy with that,” Lando said as Ria giggled.
“Do you enjoy playing Warzone?” Max asked.
Ria laughed, “Oh no, hm..yes? It makes me stress a lot, but I do enjoy it.”
“Big lie”
“To be fair, that…that was a hit and miss because I do also hate it a lot of the time as well,” she defended
“I get what you mean, it does make you feel terror,” Max agreed as he passed the iPad to her.
She took the iPad. “Have you ever ghosted someone?”
“Yes”
“Yep, she's telling the truth.”
“I think everyone has,” Lando said, grabbing the iPad next as she hummed in agreement.
“Are you a member of Fiat 500 Twitter?” Steve asked.
“No, I'm actually not,” Ria said, looking over at the guy.
“You’re lying.”
The boys burst out laughing and pointed at Ria. She looked at Lando, confused. She had no clue that Fiat 500 was. “They paid you to say that,” Ria asked the guy. “I’m not.”
“I haven’t been paid to say that; it’s your body that's answering.” The lie detector guy deflected.
“Do you think you’ll actually start vlogging?” Max asked.
“Yes”
“You're lying again.”
“Oh my god, I’ve literally got a vlog that's ready to be uploaded, I don’t get it” Ria yelled, exasperated.
Lando’s turn. “I feel calm,” Lando sighed.
“So, Lando, do you like living with Max?” Ria asked
“Um, yes, otherwise I wouldn’t have ever let him stay here in the first place,” he answered calmly.
“We’re off to a good start, he’s telling the truth.”
“Hope you feel bad now,” Ria said to Max, who pouted dramatically.
“Are you better than me at golf?” Max asked.
“No ‘cause I don’t beat you very often,” Lando said.
“Again, he’s telling the truth.”
Max let out a breath, “That felt good, I did win the world champs yesterday.”
“You did” Lando laughed
“I'm the current world champion,” Max said.
“Do you like traveling as much as you do in F1?” she asked.
He shook his head, “No, I don't,” clearly lying.
“To that, you're lying.” Lando giggled. “Could you elaborate?” The guy asked.
“So you do like being away from me,” Max said, as Lando was giggling to himself
“I mean, I like going to different places,” Lando said, “but I don't like being away from home as much as I am,” Lando added, looking at her. She smiled quietly.
“Have you ever lied to get out of a PR or media event?” Ria asked, raising a brow.
Lando didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, yes,” he said, laughing. “All the time. I’m getting in a lot of trouble for that.”
Everyone burst out laughing, including her, who shook her head knowingly. “You pretended to lose your voice once,” she added,
Lando grinned. “And it worked.”
“Could you better every driver on the Formula One grid?” Max asked
Lando sat up a little, head tilted. “Yes,” he said simply.
The lie detector guy didn’t even pause. “He’s absolutely telling the truth.”
Steve jumped in, grinning. “Did you let me win at Whilton Mill that one time we raced?”
Lando laughed before the question was even finished. “Mm… yes.”
“Again, he's telling the truth.”
“Sorry, mate,” Lando chuckled. “You looked so happy — I couldn’t take that away from you.”
Steve let out a dramatic sigh. “I knew you did. I knew it.”
She turned to him, mock offended. “You’ve never let me win.”
“That’s because you never let me forget when I lose,” Lando shot back, and she burst out laughing with the rest of them.
Now it was her turn.
She’d stolen Lando’s beanie. “I’m scared,” she said, tugging the brim over her ears.
Lando smiled. “We’ll start easy. Are you a member of BLACKPINK?”
“Yes,” she giggled.
“She's telling the truth.”
“I would hope so,” she said, making everyone laugh.
“Do you think you’re the best singer in BLACKPINK?” Max asked.
“No,” she answered quickly.
“She’s lying on that one.”
Her jaw dropped, and everyone laughed. “I swear I don’t,” she laughed, trying to defend herself
“She's still lying,” making everyone laugh harder
“I mean, maybe on a good day, oh, Rosé’s gonna kill me.” She shook her head.
“Have you ever been hit on by another male idol?” Ria asked.
She smiled, thinking. “Yeah.”
“She's telling the truth.”
“Who?” Lando asked, eyes narrowing.
“That was a long time ago,” she defended.
“Bonus, would you date another idol over Lando?” Steve asked.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she shook her head “no”
“She's telling the truth.” Lando's smile grew big.
“Aww”
“I’m happy where I am,” she said. “Dating another idol is a nightmare.”
“Still the truth”
“Have you had any work done, like surgery?” Ria asked, and everyone, including her, burst out laughing.
“What are these questions?” she laughed. She cleared her throat, “Yes,” she giggled as she slowly turned her head toward the lie detector guy.
“She's lying.”
Everyone laughed. She was beaming, her leg swinging happily. “I’m so glad you asked,” she grinned. “People think I got a nose job.”
“Do you love all your fans?” Max asks
“Hm, yes,” she answered a little too quickly
“She’s lying,” everyone shared a look of surprise and a laugh
“Well… most of them. Some are kinda scary.”
“Do you like touring?” Lando asked.
“Hmm, yeah, I do,” she nodded.
“That's a lie”
“I do—until it drains you. I like it in doses,” she explained.
“I get that,” Max said.
“Would you trade it for a normal life?” Steve asked.
“Um, yes,” she said, she wasn’t completely sure.
“She's lying. She had a big reaction.”
“I like my life the way it is,” she smiled.
“Hopefully,” Lando said, making her laugh
“Do you like being a K-pop idol?” Max asked. She paused
“Can I say sometimes?” she asked the lie detector guy.
He shook his head, “yes or no answer”
“..yes…”
“She's lying, big reaction,” the lie detector guy said plainly.
She laughed along with everyone else. “I like it. I like the opportunities, the people I’ve met. It’s just… a lot.” Then, to the camera: “If you wanna be an idol — go for it. Just be ready.”
Steve leaned in. “Imagine if Quadrant were K-pop idols.” They all groaned.
“Lando would be the center,” Max said.
“Ria as the maknae,” she added.
“You’re the visuals,” Lando told her. Everyone laughed.
BTS Quadrant Photoshoot w/ Lando & (Y/N)
The studio smelled faintly of coffee and fabric softener, bright lights reflecting off the clean white backdrop. Racks of clothing lined the walls hoodies, T-shirts, jackets—all part of the latest Quadrant collection. Cameras, tripods, and light stands formed a semi-circle around a central area, buzzing with quiet energy.
She stood in the middle, adjusting a charcoal gray hoodie with the Quadrant logo across the chest. The fabric was soft, the fit perfect, and the hoodie’s oversized style gave her that effortlessly cool vibe Lando loved.
“You’re going to kill it,” Lando whispered from just behind the camera, peering over his shoulder. He had that characteristic grin, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “I can’t believe you’re modeling my clothes.”
She laughed, tugging the hoodie slightly to make sure the fit looked right for the shot. “Your clothes?” she teased, turning to him. “I’m wearing them, but you didn’t design them.”
“Technicalities!” Lando shot back, shrugging dramatically, though his eyes were glued to her. “I approved the design. That counts.”
A crew member called, “Alright, (Y/n), let’s try the red hoodie next. Camera ready?”
She nodded and slipped out of the gray hoodie, carefully folding it over her arm. As she put on the new bright red hoodie, Lando crouched slightly to make sure the fit looked right from the camera’s angle. He adjusted the hood, straightened the logo, and whispered, “Perfection. Literally perfect.”
She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously proud,” he corrected, pointing at her in mock seriousness. “You make everything better. Even my merch.”
She smirked, raising an eyebrow at Lando. “Looks like I’m a good luck charm for your company.”
Lando grinned, stepping closer. “A very good luck charm.” He nudged her lightly, and she leaned into his side, laughing softly.
“Okay, (Y/n), let’s get a few shots with the T-shirt now,” the photographer called. She changed into a black tee with the Quadrant logo in bold white lettering. She posed naturally, hands tucked into the pockets of her ripped jeans, shoulders relaxed.
Lando hovered near her, offering directions in a hushed, playful tone. “Tilt your head a little—yes, perfect. Smile like you just heard a secret joke. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly, though she kept her composure. “I swear, you’re going to make me look way too smug in these photos.”
“Not too smug,” Lando whispered. “Confident. People will see this and think, ‘I need that shirt’”
The photographer laughed behind the camera. “I think you’re right, Lando. Keep doing what you’re doing—it’s working.”
She struck a few more poses, laughing and shifting between casual, candid stances and more stylized, editorial looks. Every time she glanced at Lando for approval, he grinned, clapped softly, or leaned in to straighten a sleeve, a hood, the collar of the shirt, or fix her hair.
“Honestly,” Lando said during a brief pause, “I think these are going to sell out before the photos even hit social media. Babe, you’ve got that effect.”
She shook her head, grinning. “You’re definitely biased.”
“Biased? Absolutely. But also… observant,” he teased, ruffling her hair lightly as she rolled her eyes again.
The crew laughed, and the photographer gestured for the next shot—a hoodie layered under a leather jacket. She slipped into the combination, moving effortlessly as Lando adjusted the jacket slightly.
“You’re the only person I’d let touch my clothes like this,” he whispered, grinning.
She laughed quietly, leaning into him just slightly. “You’re so extra.”
“Extra?” Lando said, feigning offense. “I’m just passionate. Professional, even.”
“Professional?” she repeated with a smirk, “you and professional shouldn’t be in the same sentance”
They both laughed, and the camera captured one of the shots—her in the hoodie, hands tucked casually into her pockets, Lando in the background, eyes glued to her with that unmistakable mix of pride and admiration.
By the end of the shoot, she had changed through four outfits: oversized hoodies, a classic tee, a cropped sweatshirt, and a layered look with the leather jacket. Lando had adjusted collars, pulled hoods into place, and whispered commentary throughout, occasionally making her laugh so hard she almost broke character for the camera.
When they finally wrapped, she flopped onto a nearby couch, grinning. “I think we’re done. How do you feel?”
Lando collapsed onto the arm of the couch next to her, still grinning like a kid who’d just won a game. “Like the happiest person alive. And like my merch is officially unstoppable now.”
She shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous… but yeah, these are going to look amazing online. People are going to lose it.”
“Of course,” Lando said, mock-saluting her. “But mostly because you wore it.”
She laughed again, leaning against him. “You’re going to make me blush before lunch.”
“Good,” he said, smiling, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re too good at making my merch look amazing.”
The camera crew captured one last candid shot of them together—her laughing, Lando leaning in close, both glowing from the energy of the shoot—and it was clear: the Quadrant line wasn’t just about clothing. It was about the moments, the chemistry, and the personalities behind it.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
STEAMS
Every Lando fan—and a surprising number of Blinks who only tune in just in case a certain Blackpink member makes an appearance—had tuned into the Twitch stream fully expecting to see Lando sprawled in his gaming chair, headset tilted at the perfect angle, fingers ready to dominate some random video game. Instead, the camera revealed her. She was perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair, legs swinging slightly, eyes glued to her phone as she scrolled through her phone. For a solid minute, she just scrolled, lips pursed, silently reels on Instagram, her expression a mix of bemusement and stoicism.
“Is this a prank?”
“Where’s Lando?”
“OMG it’s (Y/n) 😍”
“BLINKS UNITE”
“She’s literally a goddess why is she on Lando’s stream 😭”
She looked up, frowning slightly at the webcam, then put on Lando’s headset. “Can y’all hear me?” she asked, unsure. The chat responded instantly.
“YES!!!”
“sadly”
“YES QUEEN”
“OMG SHE’S TALKING TO US”
“Cool,” she muttered, slipping the headset over her ears. “How are y’all?” Her voice was casual but nervous, a little higher than usual, and the chat exploded again.
“I’m filling in for Lando, but only for a little bit,” she admitted, scrolling through the screen. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out together.” She tapped around the desktop like a kid fumbling with a new toy. “What should I play?”
The chat exploded with suggestions.
“Minecraft!”
“Call of Duty!”
“Slime Rancher!”
“Dress to Impress omg PLEASE play that 😭”
She squinted at the screen. “Minecraft, haha… I’d probably start a world and forget about it immediately. Call of Duty? No. I’d just… get obliterated.” She laughed quietly. “Slime Rancher… oh my god, I love that game. The slimes are so cute. Okay, okay…” She moved her mouse, eyes scanning the screen. “Actually, there’s this one game I always play on my phone… I’ve always wanted to try it on Lando’s computer.”
She clicked around, the game loading slowly, and the familiar Roblox logo appeared. Her fingers hovered over the mouse as she scrolled through the options. “Dress to Impress… yes. Yes, this one.”
The chat erupted.
“YAAAS”
“SHE’S PLAYING DRESS TO IMPRESS”
“WAIT FOR ME, BESTIE, IM JOINING”
“WE LOVE THIS”
She laughed, adjusting the camera slightly. “Do y’all like this game?” Her character loaded into the game world, a blank slate ready to be decorated. She moved carefully, reading comments and replying as best she could.
“I hope she gets the old money theme?”
“WAIT! How was your day, (Y/n)?”
“WHERES LANDOOO!!”
She grinned at the screen. “Okay, let’s see… the old money theme, huh? That sounds fun. And my day’s been pretty chill, thanks for asking! And Lando? He’s out, y’all. Don’t worry, he’ll make an appearance soon,” she said, winking at the camera.
The game randomized the themes, and the theme that was picked was ‘Kpop’. She squinted at the screen, looking both amused and slightly exasperated. “Really… K-pop? Alright…” She paused, scrolling through the wardrobe options. “What a coincidence. There are too many choices… it can’t be that hard, right? I can’t do all the stacking the pros do, or the fit will look weird.”
The chat didn’t help:
“D4 era outfit!”
“Coachella stage look!!”
“How You Like That!!!”
“BornPink outfit pls”
She let out a short laugh, trying to keep up. “Okay… let’s see. How You Like That? No, that’s… that’s too complicated. Coachella fit… hmm, which one? BornPink… yeah. D4… maybe. Y’all, decide. BornPink or D4? Hurry, the round is starting.”
She quickly scrolled around the virtual world, collecting cash, preparing for the round, muttering, “BornPink it is, since it’s easy… just pink. I got this.” The round started calmly, but as the six-minute timer ticked down, Her calm veneer began cracking.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she murmured, darting between VIP sections and the free area, trying to stack items, accessorize, and perfect her outfit. Her character struts as fast as she can, and she clicked frantically as the timer approached zero. When it hit, she screamed in exasperation, “NOO!”
Now came voting. She was laughing and shaking her head, and clicked on everyone’s avatars to vote fairly. Then she turned to her own character, frowning. “I don’t even have shoes on OR A FACE… my god.”
She typed in the chat, “(Y/N) from Blackpink,” as if introducing herself formally. Her fingers flew over the controls, choosing poses, until the podium screen loaded.
“NO WAY!!!” She laughs.
“QUEEN OF THE GAME”
“SHE WON 😭”
“FIRST PLACE!!! HIP HIP HORRAYY”
“LANDO’S GIRLFRIEND = CHAMPION”
The front door clicked, and Lando stepped into the room, holding a bottle of water, pausing mid-step. “Baby? What are you doing?” he said, his voice laced with amusement.
She spun slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Playing Dress to Impress,” she said with a laugh. “And… I won. I don’t know how. I didn’t even have shoes on or a face.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “You can take over,” she said, sliding out of the chair.
“You can keep playing if you want. I can tell Max to wait,” Lando said, a hand gently resting on her hip as he leaned down.
She shook her head, smiling softly. “No, it’s okay. You go ahead, take over. I’m gonna go shower and lie down for a bit.”
Lando grinned, brushing a finger down her arm. “Alright, we’ll be streaming just for a bit.”
She laughed, leaning into him for a second before stepping away. “Just a bit, yeah, right, don't come barging into the room at 3 again. Good luck, streamer. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Lando gave a mock salute and turned to the computer, already pulling up the next round. She waved at the camera, “Bye, chat,” reading the comments as they poured in. “We stan”
“BYE BESTIEE”
“She is the MVP”
“Couple goals 10/10”
“We stan”
“Lando who?”
She laughed, shaking her head as she disappeared down the hallway, leaving Lando to navigate the chaos of her first Twitch takeover. Behind her, she could hear his voice, playful and teasing, as he muttered something about strategy and shoes, and she grinned.
—---------
The stream went live to the sight of Lando standing in the kitchen, a giant mixing bowl in front of him, flour already dusting the countertop like a crime scene. She appeared behind him, her hair tied up, apron on, holding the recipe on her phone.
“Alright, everyone,” Lando started, grinning at the webcam propped up on the kitchen island. “Today is not a normal stream. Today… we are chefs.”
“Bakers,” she corrected, sliding into frame and holding up her phone dramatically. “Lando is my lovely assistant, and today, we’re baking a cake for BLACKPINK’s 8th anniversary. yay”
The chat instantly blew up:
“(Y/NNNN) 💖💖”
“Lando as sous chef 😭”
“pls don’t burn down the kitchen”
“this is about to be chaos”
Lando glanced at the comments and rolled his eyes with a grin. “You guys have zero faith in me. Shocking.”
She tied his apron for him, patting his shoulder. “No, they’re right. I’m scared of how this is going to turn out.”
He laughed, nudging her hip. “Alright, first step, boss. What do we do?”
She read off her phone. “Step one: preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Easy.”
Lando went to twist the dial dramatically, bowing. “Preheated. Next.”
“Step two: mix the dry ingredients.” She placed flour, sugar, and cocoa powder on the counter. “Here, you do this part.”
Lando started scooping flour, but in his typical fashion, dumped way too much into the bowl. A small cloud puffed up into his face.
“Babe!” she groaned, laughing as she swatted the air. “It looks like it snowed in here!”
The chat exploded:
“Yo mama so old, she breastfeed like this POOF (get it? 😭)”
“chef norris is out of control”
“(Y/n) pls save the cake 😔”
She shook her head, smiling as she carefully measured sugar into the bowl. “This is why I’m head baker.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll redeem myself,” Lando muttered, picking up the whisk. “Watch this form.” He started whisking dramatically, over-exaggerating his arm movements.
She burst into laughter, off-camera. “You look like you’re conducting an orchestra.”
“Hey, it’s all in the wrist,” he argued.
“LMAOOO”
“WTF IS HE DOING LMAO”
“I’m new here, Is this normal??”
She cracked an egg cleanly into a small bowl. “See? Easy.” She handed him the next egg.
Lando held it up like a grenade. “I’ve got this.” He tapped it too hard on the counter—shell fragments rained into the bowl.
“LANDOOO,” she groaned, fishing out shell bits with a spoon while laughing uncontrollably. “You’re banned from egg duty.”
Lando covered his face, red from laughing. “I cracked under pressure.”
“dad jokes already 😭”
“(Y/n) pls fire him as sous chef”
“he’s sabotaging the cake.”
Lando was giggling to himself. “Hehe, get it, Bebe? Cracked under pressure?”
She shook her head, giggling. “Yes, Lan, I get it.”
They finally managed to get the wet and dry ingredients combined, though half the cocoa powder seemed to be on the counter, and Lando’s apron was now a patchwork of flour stains. After transferring the batter into a round cake pan, Lando successfully got it in the oven without spilling it all over the ground.
While the cake baked, they set up the decorating station with pink frosting, black sprinkles, and little edible letters spelling BLACKPINK.
Lando pulled out his phone. “Hold on, I know just the right song to play,” he said with a mischievous smirk.
“Hey, boy,” a familiar whistle played. She looked up from her phone, blinking. “Make ‘em whistle like a missile bomb, bomb.”
“Make ‘em whistle like a missile bomb, bomb,” Lando sang along, nodding to the beat. “YOO, THIS IS MY SONGGG!”
“NOT WHISTLE 😭😭”
“OMG LANDO STOP”
“(Y/N) SAVE US”
She covered her mouth and laughed, slightly appalled by Lando attempting to sing in Korean, shaking her head. “I haven’t heard this song in forever. You’re gonna give me nostalgia overload.”
“It’s a good song, baby,” Lando said, scrolling through his phone. “Wait, no, y’all,” locking eyes with the camera, his grin widening. “This song is a banger.”
“BLACKPINK”
“Ah, yeah, ah, yeah”
“Not D4, Lando!” she yelled over the bass, laughing so hard she almost dropped her spatula.
“HIT YOU WITH THAT DDU DU DDU DU”
By the time the cake was done, they had both sung along, danced a little, and tried not to get frosting on the floor. She carefully spread frosting across the top, concentrating, while Lando, in his usual fashion, decided to “help” by dumping sprinkles all over it like confetti.
“LAN—” she started, but stopped, shaking her head with a laugh. “You ruined the aesthetic!”
“I improved it,” he said proudly. “Look at this masterpiece. It’s… modern art.”
She squinted at the cake, then laughed softly. “It looks like a baby decorated it.”
“😭😭😭 (Y/N)”
“This is the cutest thing ever”
“married energy fr”
They held up the cake to the camera—slightly lopsided, overloaded with sprinkles, but undeniably heartfelt. The words “8 Years of BLACKPINK” were spelled out in wobbly edible letters.
“To eight years,” she said softly, smiling at the cake.
“To the girls who made her cooler than me,” Lando added, grinning.
She elbowed him gently, but her smile didn’t fade. “Happy anniversary, to my girls.” The chat erupted in hearts, pink emojis, and cheers.
“Now… time to eat it,” Lando said, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist.
“Wait! Let me take a picture first, then we can taste test,” she grabbed her phone and snapped a few quick pictures as Lando grabbed a knife to cut the cake.
“Ok, we’re good. Let’s taste it,” he said, lifting a large slice onto a plate. She handed him a fork and took one for herself.
“Let’s do this, chat,” Lando said, stabbing his fork into the cake. She followed suit, and they both took their first bite—only for their faces to contort almost instantly.
“Lando…” she said slowly, her voice hovering between disbelief and laughter.
“OMGGG”
“WHAT DID HE DOO”
“Did… did you add salt instead of sugar?”
“NOT THE SALT CAKE”
“BOOO LANDO”
“BEST STREAM EVER”
The two of them collapsed into laughter, leaning on the counter together. “Well, chat, maybe next time we’ll stick to cookies,” Lando said, still laughing.
“And maybe leave Lando out of the kitchen entirely,” she added, grinning and pointing her fork at her boyfriend.
The chat flooded with heart emojis, laughing faces, and endless GIFs of BLACKPINK.
Lando leaned over, brushing a stray sprinkle from her cheek with his finger. “Even if it tastes salty as hell, it’s perfect… because it’s with you.”
She smiled softly, catching his gaze before turning back to the camera. “And that, my friends, is how you ruin a cake but still have the best time ever.”
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The stream had been running for over an hour, Lando bouncing between games with Max and a couple of other friends. The glow from Lando’s monitor lit up half the flat, spilling a faint blue down the hallway. His laughter carried with it — sharp, unrestrained, bouncing off the walls like he was sitting in the middle of a stadium instead of his gaming chair.
She stirred under the covers, wincing as his voice cut through the quiet again, followed by Max Fewtrell and the others screaming through his headset. She groaned, dragging a pillow over her head in a useless attempt to block it out. Jet lag already had her head pounding, and the last thing she needed was a midnight commentary on whatever game he was playing.
Another burst of laughter rattled her patience. She shoved the pillow aside with a huff, throwing the covers back. Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she grabbed the nearest pair of shorts and tugged them on, then reached for one of his hoodies draped over the chair. It smelled like him faint cologne, laundry soap, something warm — and she pulled it on, sleeves dangling past her hands.
The voices got louder the closer she walked down the hall.
Lando hadn’t even noticed her. He was perched forward in his chair, headset on, eyes glued to the bright screen. His curls stuck up at odd angles under the band, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh again.
“…no, no, no, cover me—Max, what are you doing?!” he shouted, dissolving into laughter a second later.
She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Lando.”
He didn’t hear her.
She tried again, louder this time. “Lando.”
He jumped slightly, swiveling his chair toward the doorway. His headset slipped halfway off one ear, curls sticking up from where the band pressed against his hair. His eyes widened when he saw her standing there, hoodie swallowing her frame, hair messy from sleep.
“Oh—hey,” he said quickly, fumbling for the mute button on his headset. His friends’ voices kept crackling through, loud enough to make her temple throb again.
“SHE’S MAD MAD”
“Ur dead bro pack it up”
“HIS FACE LMFAOOO”
She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, sleeves of his hoodie dangling past her hands, her expression tired and unimpressed.
“You’re being really loud,” she said, voice low and a little hoarse. “You woke me up.”
Lando blinked, guilt spread across his face immediately. “Shit. Sorry, baby. I didn’t even think… I didn’t realize you’d gone to bed.” He reached for the mic, fumbling for the mute button while Max and the others kept shouting in the background.
The sudden quiet in his headset was almost comical. He pulled it down around his neck and looked back at her sheepishly. “I was too loud, wasn’t I?”
She raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “You think?”
He winced. “Sorry, babe. I didn’t know you were asleep.”
“I was trying to be,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. The jet lag was still sitting heavy in her bones, her head pounding from the long flight and the time change. “But then someone decided to scream like they’re favorite British driver just took the lead at Silverstone in the middle of the night.”
Lando laughed softly, though it came out nervous. He turned back to his screen, where chat was flying. Even muted, the comments still scrolled:
“Who’s he talking to 👀”
“MY SHAYLAAAAA”
“caught in 4k ”
He shot them a quick look and angled the camera slightly away from the door, protective instinct kicking in.
“Come here,” he said, patting his lap with a grin that he hoped would soften her mood.
She arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t come in here for a cuddle. I came in here to tell you to stop yelling.”
“Can’t I do both?”
“LANDOO NOOO”
“Mans flirting for his life rn”
“Simp confirmed”
She narrowed her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her — the tiniest tug upward.
Lando pushed his chair back, rolling toward her until the wheels squeaked against the hardwood. “Tell you what. I’ll get off in ten minutes. Promise. Then I’ll make it up to you. Tea, water, whatever you want.”
Her eyes softened a little, though she still looked exhausted. “Ten minutes?”
“Scout’s honor,” he said, raising a hand solemnly.
“You were never a scout.”
“Still counts.”
She shook her head, sighing as she stepped closer. “Fine. But if you wake me up again—”
“You’ll smother me in my sleep, I know,” he finished for her, grinning.
She rolled her eyes but leaned down anyway, brushing a quick kiss against his temple before padding back toward the bedroom.
He watched her retreat down the hall, hoodie hanging loose on her, before slipping his headset back on and unmuting.
Max’s voice came through immediately, teasing. “Bro, who was that? You looked terrified, mate.”
Lando smirked, glancing toward the dark hallway. “That was my girlfriend telling me to shut up. Trust me, I’d rather lose this game than lose an argument with her.”
The boys cracked up, but his smile lingered as he turned back to the game, already counting down the minutes until he could climb into bed beside her.
----------
Since y'all voted to vote for what stories y'all want next!!
Options:
The Album | Context : you drop your new album. Lando and your new friends make appearances in the MV's (requested) ❀
BLACKPINK moments that boil my noodles | Context: While scrolling through YouTube Lando finds a video compilation of you in your active BLACKPINK era ❀
Exhaustion | Context: Tour and trying to keeping up with Lando takes its toll (requested) ❀★
Through their eyes | Context: moments caught by fans and moments in general (requested) ❀
Miami | Context : you, Lisa, and Rosé attend the 2025 Miami GP (requested) ❀
MISS POSSESSIVE | Context: 2025 Monaco Grand Prix and a run in with Magui (requested) ❀
I'm Sorry | Context: After being told by Magui to stand down, Pietra realises how disrespectful she was to you and plans to make it up (requested) ❀★
MR POSSESSIVE| context: while at DEADLINE you invite your male idol friends back stage for a picture and post it, Lando sees it and for the first time feels…jealous (requested) ❀
DEADLINE | context: after 3 years, you and the rest of blackpink start what maybe Blackpink last tour (requested) ❀
Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless | context: after the British Grand Prix Lando attends the LA DEADLINE show, along with your ex (requested) ❀★
More DTS moments | context: just some more DTS moments my tiny brain came up with ❀★
WHAT IF | context: situations what would never happen but what if…★ (IF YOU PICK THIS SEND YOUR WHAT IF'S!!)
hii, in lovee with your works abt Lando and 5th member of bp, you write really amazing. And i have request, could you do Lando x her where she's in "hot ones" show and keep mentioning Lando, would really appreciate if you do it. <3
Hot Ones
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
The camera zoomed in on Hot Ones host Sean Evans as he smiled toward his guest, the set buzzing with anticipation. Y/n, the 5th member of BLACKPINK and a rising solo artist, sat across from him, nervously eyeing the first plate of wings on the table. The array of sauces, each one hotter than the last, gleamed ominously under the studio lights.
“Welcome to Hot Ones, Y/n,” Sean said with his usual smile, the calm before the storm. “How are you feeling?”
She took a deep breath, trying to hold back a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure how I feel yet. I definitely regret not eating spicy food before coming here.”
Sean laughed. “Well, you’re about to regret a whole lot more. But I have to ask: You’ve just released your new solo album, and fans are going wild for it. How’s the process been for you compared to working with BLACKPINK?”
She grinned, leaning in slightly. “It’s been a totally different experience. With BLACKPINK, it’s such a collaborative process, and we all have input on everything. But with my album, it was like... it was just me. Which I'm not used to. I had more control over the direction, the themes, the vibe of the music. It was honestly kind of freeing, but also a little nerve-wracking. It’s like, if people don’t like it, there’s no one else to blame but me!”
Sean chuckled, picking up the first wing. “Well, we’re all definitely excited to listen to it. But before we dive into that, we’ve got to start with our first wing. Let’s get that heat going.”
She nodded and picked up the first wing, eyeing it carefully. She had been warned about the heat, but nothing quite prepared her for the experience. “Here we go,” she muttered, taking a cautious bite.
Sean, already taking a bite himself, glanced at her. “It’s a bit milder at first, right? A good intro to what’s coming.”
She nodded, wiping a bit of sauce from her lips. “Yeah, this one’s not so bad. It’s got a really nice flavor to it. Not too overwhelming.”
Sean smiled and dove into the next question. “So, let’s talk about your new solo album. You’ve got a bit of a different sound on this record. What was the inspiration behind it? What were you hoping to explore with your music?”
She leaned back in her seat, her mind shifting to the creative process. “I definitely wanted to push myself in new directions. I grew up listening to a lot of different genres—pop, R&B, even a bit of hip-hop. I wanted to combine those influences and make something that felt true to me. It’s been a journey of experimenting with different sounds I hadn’t really explored before. There are moments where I’m embracing vulnerability, and others where I’m just having fun with the music.”
Sean nodded, clearly impressed with the depth behind her answer. “That’s awesome. And it’s clear the album’s been a huge hit with fans. Now, I’ve got to ask about something that’s been quite a hot topic ever since you went public —your relationship with McLaren driver, Lando Norris. You two have been pretty open about y’alls relationship, and fans are just eating it up. How did you guys meet, and what’s it like to have a relationship that’s out there for everyone to see?”
She chuckled, a warm smile spreading across her face. “Yeah, it’s been a bit crazy, honestly. We met a while ago at a Ralph Lauren event, and we just clicked. Lando’s such a funny, amazing person. He makes me laugh all the time, and I think that’s why it works so well. It’s not always easy being in a relationship when you’re both in the public eye, but we’ve always tried to just be ourselves and not let it affect our connection.”
Sean’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “And how does he handle the attention? I mean, you’re both in the spotlight for very different reasons, but the world definitely seems obsessed with you two.”
She laughed, glancing down at the wings. “Lando’s definitely used to it with the F1 scene, but I think it’s been a learning experience for both of us. We’ve had to set boundaries, keep certain things private when we need to, and just enjoy the time we have together. We’re both super busy at the moment, so when we do get a moment, we try to make the most of it.”
“Sounds like you two have a solid foundation,” Sean remarked, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Alright, time for wing number two. Things are about to heat up.”
She eyed the next wing warily but took a deep breath and took a bite. The heat hit her immediately, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh wow, okay, this one’s definitely packing a punch,” she said, her voice slightly more breathless than before.
Sean grinned. “That’s the idea! So, going back to your music, how do you balance the demands of your group projects with your solo career? You’re doing it all—performing, preparing for tour, recording. How do you juggle it?”
She wiped her mouth, her face cooling from the heat of the wing. “It’s a balancing act, for sure. BLACKPINK’s schedule has always been intense, but we’ve always supported each other in doing solo projects. So, when I have time, I can focus on my music, and when I’m back with my girls, it’s all about BLACKPINK. Lando and I joke about how I have two full-time jobs, but honestly, it’s all about managing your time and being present in whatever I’m doing.”
Sean nodded appreciatively. “Sounds like a lot, but clearly, you’ve got it handled. Alright, wing three. This one’s a little... spicier.”
Her face lit up with a laugh, her eyes darting to the next wing. “I’m starting to think I should’ve trained for this like Lando does with his racing.”
“You should’ve!” Sean said, laughing along with her. “I think Lando would approve of that.”
She took the third wing, already bracing herself for the heat. The spice hit almost immediately, her face contorting slightly as she chewed through it. “Okay, yeah, that one’s got a kick,” she said, shaking her head as she reached for her water. “How do you do this every week? It’s like slow torture.”
Sean laughed, clearly used to it by now. “Years of practice. You’re doing great, though. Let’s shift gears a bit—what’s next for you now? Touring? More solo projects?”
She took another sip of water, then smiled. “Definitely more music. I’ve got a few ideas floating around. I want to keep evolving as an artist, so I’m already brainstorming for my next projects. As for touring, I kind of have been mentally and physically preparing myself. I was definitely struggling on our last tour so I’m focused on making sure I'm at my best and making sure I give the best performance for my fans.”
“Sounds like the future’s bright for you,” Sean said, clearly impressed with her focus. “Alright, time for wing four. This one is... well, let’s just say it’ll make you think twice about that water.”
She shot him a look. “I’m regretting all my decisions right now.”
Her face was starting to flush from the heat as she took another sip of water. The third wing had set her taste buds on fire, but she was powering through it, determined to keep the conversation going. Sean sat back in his chair, a grin on his face as he reached for the fourth wing.
"Alright, Y/n," Sean said, his voice light but teasing. "Let’s take a break from the spice for a second. You’ve got your DEADLINE tour coming up with BLACKPINK, right? It's been a while since you all performed together. What’s the vibe going to be like? What can fans expect from this new tour?"
She raised her eyebrows, a little relieved to have a less intense topic to discuss. She wiped her hands, leaning back as she thought about the tour. “Yeah, it's been a minute since we’ve had a big performance together. Honestly, I think DEADLINE is going to be different from anything we’ve done before. Our music has evolved, and with it, our performances. We’ve got some surprises in store—a new song, new visuals, and of course, a setlist that’s going to blow everyone away.”
Sean raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Surprises, huh? Anything you can hint at? I mean, you’ve all been working on solo projects, but do we get to see some of your solo music mixed in with BLACKPINK’s tracks?”
She grinned, clearly excited to talk about it. “I mean, I can’t give too much away... but I think the fans will love the mix of our solo stuff and BLACKPINK tracks. We’re all going to have a bit of a solo moment during the show. You know, each of us is bringing something a little different to the table, but it’s all about keeping the energy high and having fun together. And yes, I’ll definitely be performing some tracks from my solo album.”
Sean nodded approvingly, clearly impressed. “I love that for you. So, your solo stuff is going to make its way into the show. Now, I gotta ask—how does Lando feel about it? I mean, I can imagine he’s a huge supporter of everything you’re doing. Does he ever give you any advice?”
She smiled softly at the mention of Lando, her eyes lighting up. “He’s amazing. Honestly, Lando’s support means everything to me. He’s always the first to hype me up, especially with my solo work. He’s really good at helping me stay grounded and focused. He’s also got great taste in music—sometimes, I’ll play him a new track and ask for his opinion. He’s brutally honest, but in the best way.”
Sean chuckled, a knowing look in his eyes. “Ah, so he’s a tough critic, huh? I bet he’s no stranger to the creative process with the racing world, always analyzing and strategizing. I’m sure that translates to helping you with your music too.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Exactly. Lando’s one of those people who’s constantly thinking ahead, whether it's on the track or in life. Sometimes, he’ll give me suggestions about my songs, and I swear, I think he was a producer in another life. But I always appreciate his thoughts. And he’s great at pushing me to be better.”
Sean gave her an impressed look. “Sounds like he’s your biggest cheerleader—and it’s clear you’re his too. So, now that we’ve talked about the tour, let’s hit another wing. Are you ready for this?”
She took a deep breath and picked up the next wing, eyeing it warily. “Let’s do it. If I can handle the last one, I can handle anything.”
As she took the bite, the heat hit instantly—stronger, hotter. Her eyes widened, she cleared her throat and she immediately grabbed her milk. Sean grinned, watching her reaction closely. “Oh my god, why”
“Yeah, that one’s a doozy,” he said, taking a bite of his own wing. “But you’re handling it like a pro. Speaking of handling things, how do you manage the whole public relationship with Lando while still trying to focus on your music and BLACKPINK? Does it get tricky to keep some things private?”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. Before letting out a small laugh and slowly opening her eyes. “You know, it definitely has its moments. We try to keep things as private as we can, but I think people like seeing the real side of us. With Lando, it’s easier to balance because we both get it. He’s in a public-facing career, so we’ve learned to respect each other’s space while still supporting each other publicly. I think the key is communication. It’s always about finding a healthy balance.”
Sean nodded, impressed by her ability to handle the pressures of both fame and personal life. “Sounds like you’ve got it figured out. Okay, wing number six. Here it comes. I gotta ask—what’s been the most unexpected thing about your relationship with Lando?”
She paused for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing her face as she took another bite of the hot wing. “I think... how normal it feels. With all the media attention, you would think it would feel different, but with Lando, everything just flows. It doesn’t feel forced, and he’s always been such a down-to-earth person. That’s probably the most unexpected thing—I thought we’d have more challenges because of the public side of things, but it’s been easier than I imagined.”
Sean grinned. “You’re lucky you found someone who makes it that easy. Not everyone gets that kind of relationship.”
Her smile softened, her eyes gleaming with affection as she spoke about Lando. “Yeah, I feel really lucky. He’s got a way of making everything feel so light, even when the world is moving so fast around us. I can always count on him to bring me back to the present.”
Sean’s expression softened, clearly enjoying the candidness of the moment. “It’s great to hear that. Relationships like that are rare. Okay, last wing. You know what they say—the hotter the wing, the hotter the conversation. Ready for this?”
She looked at the final wing, the heat practically radiating off it. She took a deep breath, then picked it up. “Here goes nothing,” she said, flashing a confident smile as she took a bite.
Instantly, the heat exploded in her mouth. Her face flushed red, and she almost gasped for air, her eyes wide as the spice took over. Sean, ever the pro, took his own bite, watching her closely with a smile.
“This is where the fun begins,” Sean teased.
She could barely hold back a laugh, wiping her forehead as she grinned through the heat. “This... is... intense,” she managed to say, her voice a little breathless.
Sean chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Well, you’re handling it like a champ. So, before we wrap this up, I have to ask—after DEADLINE tour, what’s next for you? More music? Anything in the works?”
She wiped her mouth, still feeling the heat but trying to stay composed. “Definitely more music. I’ve already started working on some ideas for my next album , and I want to experiment with some new sounds. But for now, I’m really focused on the tour. I want to give everything I’ve got to BLACKPINK and the fans. After that, we’ll see where the music takes me.”
Sean leaned in slightly. “Sounds like big things are on the horizon. And with Lando cheering you on, you’ve got a solid team.”
She laughs, her expression warm and sincere. “I do. I’ve got the best support system, and I’m just excited to see where everything goes.”
Sean gave her a nod of approval. “I think we can all agree, we’re excited too. Y/n, thank you so much for being here today. You powered through the wings, and we got to hear some great insight into your music and relationship with Lando. You’re a real pro.”
She laughed, finally starting to cool down from the heat. “Thanks, Sean. This was... definitely an experience. But I’m glad I did it.”
Sean laughed along with her. “It’s one of the hottest challenges out there. And you made it look easy. You’re a true Hot Ones legend now.”
She gave him a playful wink. “I think I’ve earned a spot on the wall of fame after that last wing.”
Sean grinned, raising his hand. “We’ll make sure to add you to the Hall of Fame. Thanks for being here, Y/n. And best of luck with the album and the DEADLINE tour. We’ll all be watching.”
She smiled as the cameras faded out. “Thanks, Sean. This was a blast.”
----------
What chapter do you want next?? 👀
Quad (you are featured in Quadrant videos and some streams)
The Album (you drop your new solo album and have special guests in your MVs)
Blackpink moments that boil my noodles (Lando finds a compilation of you)
Exhaustion (tour and keeping up with lando takes its toll (Born pink tour))
Miami (you, lisa, and rosie attend the maimi race 2025)
MONACO BABY (2025 monaco race and a run in with Magui)
I'm Sorry (Pietra tries to make up for her being disrespectful)
THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, THIS DOES NOT DETERMINE HOW CHARLES LECLERC IS AS A PERSON AND ABSOLUTELY NO HATE TO HIM
| Charles Leclerc Masterlist| Main Masterlist|
She had never known love quite like this. The kind that was exhilarating and magnetic, but what she didn’t understand was how to handle love when it was broken, when it turned sufficating. She didn’t expect it to be so painful, especially not with him.
Charles Leclerc, Formula 1’s golden child. She was captivated by him. He was everything she wasn’t: carefree, fiercely independent, always on the go. She was careful, reserved, always aware of her image.
With Charles she didn’t have to be perfect. He made her feel free. Their connection was immediate, an undeniable pull that both fascinated and terrified her. But like all things that burn too brightly, it didn’t take long before things started to unravel.
She met Charles in a posh Monaco nightclub after one of his races. The night had started as any other—bright lights, champagne, laughter—but the moment their eyes locked, everything shifted. It wasn’t supposed to happen, not when they were both at the peak of their careers, surrounded by the constant hum of fame and expectations. But it did.
At first, it was the kind of love that made everything seem easier. Their connection felt effortless—too effortless, maybe. She was charmed by his boyish smile and his infectious energy, while he found peace in her quiet strength and the way her voice resonated with emotion.
They shared stolen moments in crowded hotel rooms, late-night phone calls, and the kind of passion that was pure and overwhelming. But the problem with love built on fire is that it can burn too brightly, too quickly.
They spent days talking, getting lost in each other’s worlds. The contrast between her glittering life and his racing-driven existence made them feel like opposites, but they balanced each other out in a way she hadn’t experienced before. The late-night calls, the stolen kisses, the intimacy—it all felt so natural, so right.
As soon as the honeymoon phase began to fade the cracks started to appear. Now there were moments where she felt like she was being ignored, or when fights started getting scarer . Their bond began to feel like a tug-of-war between love and frustration, and neither of them knew how to let go.
when Charles began pulling away. At first, she told herself it was normal. He was busy with races, and she was juggling a new album. But then came the first real sign that things weren’t as they seemed. Charles promised to meet her for dinner after one of his races. They’d planned it weeks in advance, circling the date on both their calendars, carving out time from two impossibly busy lives. She had been looking forward to it for days, clinging to the thought like it was a lifeline.
She arrived at the restaurant just before seven, dressed in a simple black dress that hugged her frame perfectly, her makeup soft but intentional. She sat by the window, her hair falling in waves over her shoulders, a smile ready and waiting for him.
For the first half-hour, she kept glancing at the door every time it swung open, her heart leaping with hope — only to sink back down when it wasn’t him.
An hour passed. The waiter came by, offering her water, then wine, then just a quiet, pitying smile when she shook her head.
Another hour. The restaurant around her buzzed with quiet laughter and clinking silverware, and yet she felt like she was sitting in a glass box — separate, forgotten. Her phone sat face-up on the table, screen dark. No calls. No texts.
She tried calling him once, then twice, her fingers trembling just slightly as she pressed the screen. Straight to voicemail.
It wasn’t like him — not the Charles she’d first met. The Charles who used to make her feel like the center of the universe.
By the time she finally stood and walked out, the night had swallowed the city whole. The air outside was cool and sharp, and the lights of Monaco sparkled like they were mocking her — too bright, too happy, too alive. She climbed into the back of a cab and stared blankly at the passing streets, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.
But they came anyway.
In the dim privacy of the taxi, she let her head fall back against the seat, silent tears tracing down her cheeks.
By the time the driver pulled up in front of his apartment building, she felt like her entire chest was one tight knot of hurt and confusion. She hated herself for still coming here. For still hoping he’d be home.
When she stepped inside, the apartment was dark.
Empty.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a long moment, her breath catching in her throat. Finally, she slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest.
The black dress felt heavy now, suffocating.
How could he stand her up like that? How could he let her down so easily — as though she were nothing but an afterthought?
She buried her face in her hands, the sobs breaking free at last.
For the first time, she let herself wonder if she’d made a mistake falling for him.
But even then… she knew she’d still pick up if he called.
The next day, he finally called.
She answered on the first ring, even though she’d told herself she wouldn’t.
"Hey," he said, his tone maddeningly casual, as if nothing had happened. "Sorry about last night. It just… slipped my mind. I had a lot going on after the race."
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands knotted in her lap. She’d been waiting for this — for him — all night, and all morning, too. But hearing his voice didn’t soothe her the way it usually did. Not this time.
"You didn’t even think to call?" she asked, quiet, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
"I’m sorry, I just didn’t. It’s not a big deal," he replied with a light laugh, like her question was unnecessary.
Her throat tightened, but she pushed anyway. "It is a big deal, Charles. You promised. You said you’d be there."
There was a pause on the other end of the line — just long enough to sting — before his voice sharpened, more defensive than apologetic.
"I don’t need this right now, Y/n. You knew what you were getting into when we started. I’m busy. I have commitments. You can’t expect me to be available all the time."
Her breath caught.
This wasn’t the Charles she knew — the one who’d made her feel like he’d move mountains just to see her smile. The one who’d sworn she was worth making time for, no matter what.
"I know you’re busy," she said softly, her voice cracking now, "but I… I thought I mattered too."
On the other end of the line, he exhaled impatiently. "Baby, don’t do this. I said I was sorry. Can we not turn this into something it’s not? I’ll make it up to you, okay?"
She nodded before she realized he couldn’t see her. "Okay," she whispered, even though nothing about it felt okay.
When the call ended, she just sat there, staring at her phone.
Her chest ached — not just with sadness, but with confusion. Because this was the first time. And first times leave you reeling.
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe it really had just slipped his mind — that the race, the press, the cameras, the adrenaline had swallowed up his night, and that he hadn’t meant to hurt her.
It wasn’t long after that night that she found herself in a familiar cycle of hurt. Charles would drift away again, only to return with grand gestures of apologies and declarations of love. Their arguments, always explosive, always emotional, only left them more entrenched in the pattern. She was hurt by his constant disappearing acts, him pulling away, but then he’d come back—always promising to change, to be better.
But deep down, she knew things weren’t healthy. She had tried to set boundaries, to explain how his actions were hurting her, but Charles would always twist the narrative, turning the focus back onto her—how she was too needy, how she didn’t understand his lifestyle. When they broke up for the first time, she didn’t even know what she was supposed to feel.
“I can’t keep doing this,” Charles said one night, after another heated argument. “I need space. You need to stop depending on me for your happiness.”
She felt the sting of his words, but a part of her knew he was right. She had been clinging to something that was never solid in the first place.
A few days later, Charles texted her, asking if they could meet. She had felt the pull of the familiar emotional magnetism, agreed. When they saw each other, he apologized, pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and promised things would change.
She believed him.
One late night, he showed up at her apartment after a race weekend, looking wrecked — eyes bloodshot, hair a mess, a storm brewing behind his calm facade.
“We need to stop this,” Charles said flatly, pacing in her living room. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand what it’s like for me right now. I don’t have the time. I don’t have the energy. You deserve someone who can give you more than this. More than me.”
She just stood there, frozen.
“What are you saying?” she asked, even though she already knew.
“I’m saying we’re done,” he said. Her heart dropped into her stomach. He didn’t even stay the night.
That was the first time he broke her heart — clean and sudden, leaving her to pick up the pieces on her own.
Two weeks later, her phone rang in the middle of the night. It was him.
“Y/n,” he said, his voice low, rough with emotion. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I… I made a mistake. Please. Meet me. Let me explain.”
Against her better judgment, she agreed.
He met her on the pier by the harbor. The moonlit water behind him shimmered like a promise he couldn’t quite keep. “I messed up,” he said, stepping closer. “I panicked. You mean everything to me, Y/n. I can’t— I can’t do this without you. Please. Give me another chance. I’ll do better this time.”
And when he kissed her that night, she let herself believe him.
She always did.
For a few weeks, it felt like things were back to normal. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t the change she had longed for. It was another cycle, another round in the game they were both playing, too afraid to truly let go.
Things went from bad to worse. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut whenever Charles’ name appeared on her phone, but his behavior became increasingly possessive and manipulative. He began to control where she went, who she spoke to, and who she was seen with. At first, it was subtle. He would question her about her interactions with other men, especially the photographers or the dancers she worked with.
“I don’t like how close you were to that guy last night,” Charles remarked one evening after a performance, his voice like ice, his eyes narrowing with jealousy.
She looked up from her water bottle, caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone. “Who? The backup dancer?” she said finally, laughing nervously, trying to brush it off. “Charles… he’s just a friend.”
His gaze didn’t soften.“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Charles muttered, stepping closer. She opened her mouth to explain, to soothe, but he cut her off, his voice low and bitter. “And I don’t like the way you look at him.” His eyes were cold now — not the warm brown she’d fallen in love with, but something darker, something that made her stomach churn.
And over the next few weeks, his words grew sharper. His moods more volatile. His accusations more frequent.No matter how many times she tried to calm him — tried to show him he was the only one — it was never enough.
It became a cycle: Charles would pick at her, belittle her, twist her words until she questioned her own intentions. Then he’d show up the next day with flowers or tickets to somewhere beautiful, kissing her cheeks like nothing happened. And she would forgive him.
Until one night, it all broke open.
She had gone out with a few close friends after a brutal, exhausting week. She hadn’t even thought to tell him — mostly because she didn’t want to invite another lecture.
The party was warm, loud, carefree — a tiny pocket of happiness she’d been clinging to. But halfway through the night, the air shifted. He was there.
Charles stormed into the private room without asking, his face a storm cloud of fury. Conversations faltered. Music seemed to dim.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he barked, his voice cutting through the air like glass.
She froze, her glass half-raised. Her friends stared, wide-eyed.“I’m just having a good time, Charles. What’s your problem?” she shot back, her nerves fraying at the edges.
His eyes blazed. “You think you can just go out and have fun without telling me? Without checking in?” His voice rose, pulling all eyes to them now. “You think I don’t see what’s going on?”
Her heart pounded in her chest as heat rose in her cheeks. “Charles, you need to stop,” she said, her voice shaking but firm. “You can’t control me like this.”
But he was already moving closer, then his hand shot out — and he grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
“Don’t you see how it bothers me?” he hissed, his fingers digging into her skin. “You don’t see me all over different girls, do you? You don’t see me embarrassing you like this.”
His grip was starting to hurt. Really hurt.
“Charles,” she said through gritted teeth, “you’re hurting me.”
The whole room had gone dead silent now — even the DJ had stopped the music. Her friends stared in shock. Some looked away. Others exchanged glances, unsure whether to step in.
And that — that silence — was when it really hit her. The room was still, like everyone was holding their breath. Charles’ grip on her wrist was tight enough to make her wince, but she managed to find her voice — soft but cutting.
“Let go of me,” she said.
His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring, but after a long, tense moment, he finally loosened his fingers.
She could feel the eyes of the entire room burning into her back. People she called friends. People who wouldn’t meet her gaze. People who already had their own opinions.
She straightened her shoulders, forcing down the lump in her throat, and looked at Charles. “Let’s go,” she said flatly.
He didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed her bag off the couch, slung it over his shoulder, and placed a possessive hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the silent crowd.
The music slowly started back up behind them, awkward and hollow.Nobody said a word to stop her.
The cab ride home was quiet. He sat next to her, jaw still tight, staring out the window, while she kept her eyes on her hands folded in her lap. Her wrist already throbbed. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
When they got to his apartment, she went straight to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She sat on the closed toilet seat and slowly rolled up her sleeve. The faint outline of his fingers was already starting to darken against her skin — red and pulsing angrily.
She stared at it for a long time, her chest tight, her throat burning.
It was such a small thing, she told herself. Just a bad night. Just emotions running high. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have. But the voice in her head — the one she’d been pushing down for weeks now — whispered back anyway: You don’t deserve this. You deserve better. Her eyes stung.
There was a quiet knock at the door.
“Y/n,” he said, his voice low. “Come out. Please.” She took one more breath, wiped at her eyes, and opened the door.
He was standing there with a bouquet of white roses — like he’d run down to the all-night florist on the corner. His expression was softer now, contrite. That boyish charm she’d fallen for shone through his cracks.
“Baby,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off, his hand reaching to touch her cheek. “You just… you don’t understand what it does to me. Seeing you with other guys. It makes me crazy. Because you’re mine. And I can’t— I can’t lose you.”
He pressed the flowers into her hands, forcing her to grab them. “I’ll be better,” he promised. “You know I’ll be better.” She stared up at him — at his eyes, so full of desperation, like he really believed what he was saying.
Her head screamed no, but her heart… her heart betrayed her, the way it always did.
“Okay,” she whispered. She let him wrap his arms around her. She didn’t hug him back at first. But eventually, her hands rose to his back, and she buried her face into his shoulder, breathing him in.
The roses slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.
The cycle felt endless, and she couldn’t help but fall back into it.
Like she always did.
Her world was falling apart in ways she didn’t know how to fix.
Her schedule had slowed down slightly — fewer appearances, fewer interviews — but the quiet didn’t feel like relief. It felt like suffocation. She was still carrying the weight of her fame, the endless scrutiny, her fragile emotions, and the tangled mess that was her relationship with Charles.
She tried to throw herself into her music — it had always been her safe place. But now every song felt hollow. Every lyric she wrote was laced with a sadness she couldn’t shake, every melody tainted by the quiet ache of loving someone who only hurt her.
When her manager asked if she’d do one more concert, she didn’t even think before saying yes. One last concert. One more chance to pretend she was okay.
It was in Paris — the city of love, what a joke.
She had always adored Paris, it had always cradled her heart during her loneliest nights. She thought maybe it would soothe her now, too.
But standing backstage, the crowd’s roar swelling beyond the curtain, her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded, her palms clammy. Her mind was a blur of Charles — his words, his hands, his apologies, his anger. The endless cycle of love and pain. The pressure to smile. The demand to be perfect, no matter how much it hurt.
The lights went up.
She stepped out onto the stage, swallowed by the glow and the deafening cheers of thousands of voices screaming her name. Suddenly, it all crashed down on her at once.
The weight of it. The futility. The Heartbreak. The exhaustion.
She forced a smile, gripping the microphone tight enough that her knuckles whitened and opened her mouth to sing. But the words… they didn’t come. Her voice wavered, cracking on the first note.
The first verse came out fragile, trembling like a bird in a storm. She could hear the waver in her voice — so could everyone else — but the cheers only grew louder, the fans screaming her name like a chant, a prayer. She forced herself to keep going, but each lyric felt like a lie her throat couldn’t form. Her hands started to shake.
And then the tears came. Hot and unstoppable, streaking down her cheeks as her breath caught. She faltered mid-song, clutching the microphone like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.
The audience didn’t understand — not really. They cheered louder, thinking it was emotion, passion. Some of them even screamed her name, urging her on.
But she couldn’t stop crying. Her chest heaved, her ribs aching from the effort of holding everything in — everything she’d been burying for months.
The hurt.
The anger.
The endless cycle of loving him and losing herself, over and over.
She pressed a hand to her chest like she could physically hold herself together, but it was no use. Her voice cracked again, and this time she couldn’t force the next line out. One by one, the fans stopped cheering, their hands falling to their sides. The band faltered, the music tapering off into an awkward, uncertain silence.
But the silence didn’t soothe her — it roared louder than the cheers ever could. The sob tore out of her before she could stop it. A broken, ugly sound. The kind of sound that silences a crowd.
She stood in the center of the stage, clutching the microphone with both hands now, her head bowed.
The tears kept coming, dripping down her face, her makeup smudging under the heat of the lights and the weight of her heartbreak. Her shoulders shook. Her knees felt weak. And still — the crowd didn’t stop staring but the noise only made the silence inside her feel louder.
She looked out at them — at all those faces that adored her, that thought she was strong and perfect — and she hated herself for letting them see her like this.
Her breath came in short, uneven gasps as she tried to speak into the mic, but the words wouldn’t come.
She had broken.
Right there, on stage.
And the cruelest part?
Charles wasn’t there.
Of course he wasn’t.
He never was when she needed him.
The sobs came harder now, her whole body trembling, and she sank to her knees right there under the lights, curling forward like the weight of everything was too much to bear.
The crowd didn’t know what to do — some whispered her name, some shouted “We love you!”, but the words barely reached her.
She was too far gone.
Too tired.
Somewhere offstage, her manager mostioned for the crew to help her.
Two stagehands appeared at the wings and hurried to her, their footsteps echoing like thunder in the silence. One of them gently took the microphone from her hands — she didn’t even notice — while the other knelt beside her and murmured, “Y/n. Come on. Let’s get you offstage, okay?”
Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore.Her limbs moved because they guided her — not because she had the strength to stand.
The cheers of the crowd started up again when she was on her feet, but she couldn’t even look at them. She stared down at the floor as they led her off, one on each side, holding her elbows like she might collapse again at any moment.
Her legs barely worked. Every step felt like a lifetime.
When they reached backstage, her manager was already waiting, his face drawn tight with worry and something else — maybe guilt, or maybe just sadness.
“Take her to her dressing room,” he said, low and firm. The stagehands exchanged a quick look but nodded.
She didn’t protest when one of them bent down and hooked an arm under her knees, lifting her like she was weightless. She just let her head fall against his shoulder, her tears soaking into his black crew t-shirt.
The hallway back to her dressing room was quiet — too quiet, the roar of the crowd muffled now behind heavy curtains and closed doors.
Every light they passed made her flinch. Every poster of her smiling face on the walls felt like a lie. She kept her eyes closed until they finally set her down on the couch in her dressing room.
The door shut behind them, and for the first time, she was alone. The silence pressed in on her like a second skin.
She sat there for a moment, her breath ragged, her cheeks wet, before forcing herself up and shuffling to the vanity.
The mirror was merciless. Her eyeliner was streaked down her face. Her cheeks were blotchy, her nose red, her lips trembling. Her hair stuck to her damp temples, loose curls falling limp.
She didn’t even recognize the girl staring back at her.
This wasn’t her — not the version the world worshipped, the one who smiled and waved and hit every note perfectly.
This was someone raw. Someone undone.
She leaned closer, her fingers gripping the edge of the vanity so tight her knuckles ached. Her reflection blurred as fresh tears filled her eyes.
Behind her, the door opened quietly.
She didn’t look up. She heard her manager’s voice — soft now, nothing like his usual sharp, efficient tone.
“Y/n,” he murmured. She turned just slightly, and that was all it took. He was by her side in two long strides, crouching in front of her as she finally let herself collapse forward into his arms. Her body shook against him, the sobs coming fast and broken now, muffled against his suit jacket.
“I can’t…” she gasped through her tears. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s okay.” He wrapped his arms tighter around her and just held her, letting her cry until her breath came in shallow hiccups.
No reassurances. No empty promises.
Just silence — and the quiet, steady rhythm of someone who wasn’t letting her fall alone anymore.
She made the decision to break up with Charles for good. There were no grand confrontations. No screaming matches, no dramatic tears on his doorstep. Just a quiet moment alone in her apartment, her phone in her hands, her heart heavy.
She made the decision to break up with Charles for good.
There were no grand confrontations. No screaming matches, no dramatic tears on his doorstep. Just a quiet moment alone in her apartment, her phone in her hands, her heart heavy.
She sent him a simple message: I need to let you go.
When he responded, it was typical Charles — distant, aloof, a little too casual.
"Y/n, I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I still care about you, but I just don’t think we’re meant to be right now."
And that was it. No more promises of change. No more apologies. No more excuses she wanted so desperately to believe.
It was over.
But moving on was harder than she imagined.
There were nights she doubted herself — when the silence was deafening, when she missed the good parts of their relationship. The spark. The chemistry. The way he could be so sweet and attentive in those rare, fleeting moments.
But with every happy memory came its counter-part: the hurt in his words, the bruises on her heart, the person she had become in his presence — a shadow of her true self.
She reminded herself, over and over, that she couldn’t keep holding onto someone who was so emotionally unavailable, so unwilling to fight for her.
For the first time in months, she felt like she could breathe again. She didn’t return to the stage right away. She took a step back, allowing herself the space to heal, to rebuild the parts of herself she’d lost.
She focused on herself — quiet mornings with coffee and a notebook, late-night walks through Seoul where no one recognized her, the soft rediscovery of her own voice when she sang alone in her living room.
The breakup hurt — more than she wanted to admit — but it was also liberating. She wasn’t waiting anymore. Not waiting for him to call. Not waiting for him to change. Not waiting for another apology she already knew was empty.
Months passed, and the relationship became nothing more than a painful memory. They no longer spoke. No longer met-up. The final blow came quietly — the way heartbreak so often does.
Charles won his home race finally— the culmination of years of hard work, a victory he’d been chasing for his entire career.
She was one of the first to see the announcement. She stared at her phone for a long moment, her thumb hovering over his name. She didn’t congratulate him. She couldn’t bring herself to. She had spent too many nights waiting for him, giving pieces of herself he never fully appreciated, and now she was done.
When he reached out later — as he often did — sending her a simple, empty text: “Hey, I won.”
She realized just how far apart they’d drifted.
She didn’t respond.
Her life moved on.
When she was ready, she toured the world, wrote music that spoke of heartbreak, of love lost, of strength regained. Her lyrics became her confessions, her healing. She stood on stages bigger than she’d ever dreamed of, her voice stronger, her presence unshakable.
Charles kept racing — chasing after victories, breaking records, raising trophies. The joy of winning felt hollow now. He never quite found peace. Never quite found the connection he’d had with her.
They were both successful, both powerful in their own right — but they no longer belonged to each other and maybe they never really had.
Looking back, She could see it clearly now — what they’d been.
They were two stars, burning brightly in their own orbits, but never destined to be together.
And though the scars remained, she knew now — with quiet, steady certainty — that she could rebuild.
And she did.
For herself.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Hey if you are in a toxic relationship or don't feel safe in your relationship call 1 800 799 7233 or text "start" to 88788
REMEMBER THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, THIS DOES NOT DETERMINE HOW CHARLES LECLERC IS AS A PERSON AND ABSOLUTELY NO HATE TO HIM
Hii can i request a y/n and the wags moments in the paddock or in public in general
We need more interactions between themmm aghhhh
MORE WAGS
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
a/n: this is just me yapping fr lol, 15k words AHHH help me, soak it up while you can lol jkjk but please do answer the question at the end
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
Kelly Piquet
She had slipped out of the apartment while Lando was still asleep, dragging her hair into a bun and shoving her sunglasses on. Just a weekend in Monaco, where the sky was a clean blue and the air smelled like sea salt and money.
The café was tucked just behind a florist, with seating that leaned into the sidewalk and croissants that felt stolen from a French dream. She ordered an ice latte and sat outside, letting the sun coat her shoulders and the quiet soak in.
She was halfway through a page in her book when she heard, “Is this seat taken?” She looked up.
Kelly Piquet.
In a white linen shirt, sleek sunglasses, her hair gathered in a clip that looked effortless but probably wasn’t. She blinked once, surprised, then smiled.
“Nope. All yours.”
Kelly sat down with a sigh that said thank God in three languages. “I saw you from the corner and thought—either I interrupt or I miss a chance at the only quiet table in Monaco.”
She chuckled. “You made the right choice.”
Their drinks arrived — Kelly’s drink of choice was some kind of tea she didn’t recognize — and for a moment they both just sipped, letting the comfort of women not needing to fill the silence stretch between them.
“You here solo?” Kelly asked eventually.
She nodded. “Lando’s still sleeping. I figured I’d get out before anyone made me do something useful.”
Kelly laughed. “That sounds familiar.”
They talked a little after that — nothing heavy. Just soft topics. Travel. Skincare. How nice it was to be in a city without being on. There was an ease to Kelly that she had always admired from afar. She moved like someone who knew exactly how much she was giving — and how much she was keeping.
Eventually, she set her cup down and leaned in.“Can I ask you something?”
Kelly nodded, curious.
She hesitated for a second, then grinned. “Okay, it’s not that serious. Where do you get your sunglasses? I swear you always have the perfect pair.”
Kelly laughed. “I’ll send you the link. But I’m warning you, it’s addictive. I bought three pairs last month and told Max they were all for press.”
“He didn’t question it?”
“He doesn’t care.”
She laughed, sinking back into her chair. The morning had settled around them like a blanket — the breeze warm, the café hum steady, the kind of quiet you don’t get in their world often.
Eventually, Kelly reached into her bag and pulled out a tube of lip balm, dabbing it on before tucking it back. “You want to walk a bit?”
“Yeah,” She said, standing.
They wandered through the narrow streets of Monaco together — two very well-dressed “civilians,” sunglasses on, voices low. They stopped at a tiny boutique and tried on hats they had no intention of buying. Kelly made her laugh so hard at one point that she had to pretend to sneeze just to cover it.
And when someone finally did recognize them — a young girl who nervously asked for a photo — they both crouched down, arms around her shoulders, and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because for a moment, it was.
When they split up near the marina, Kelly hugged her goodbye.
“Next time,” she said, “we’ll do dinner.”
“Yes!, next time,” she agreed, meaning it.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The Grand Palais had been transformed into a surrealist dream — all velvet draping, towering sculptures, and lights that looked like they were dripping from the ceiling. The designer’s new collection had already been teased in whispers for months: avant-garde silhouettes, bold metallics, unapologetic elegance. The A-list was out in full force — models, editors, artists, influencers. The air buzzed with expectation and perfume.
She arrived just before the house lights dimmed.
She was dressed in deep navy — a high-structured two-piece with silver thread woven through the seams. It fit her like armor, but the kind forged in a studio by someone who knew how to weaponize femininity. Her hair was slicked back in a low bun, makeup subtle but sculpted.
As her heels clicked along the marble floor toward the front row, she spotted a familiar silhouette — Kelly Piquet, already seated, legs crossed, head tilted as she scrolled through her phone.
She ushered to the seat beside her.
Without looking up, Kelly murmured, “That outfit has no business being that good.”
She smirked as she sat. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as gospel.”
Kelly finally glanced over, lowering her sunglasses slightly. “Is it navy or black?”
“Navy,” she said. “I almost wore red, but I figured every other girl here would.”
Kelly nodded in approval. “Good call. You look like a James Bond villain.”
She laughed quietly, smoothing the line of her trousers. “Exactly the energy I was going for.”
They both glanced toward the runway, but the fashion show hadn’t started yet. Around them, camera flashes went off like firecrackers, low murmurs threading through the rows.
“Did you fly in this morning?”Kelly asked, adjusting her cuff.
“Last night,” she replied. “Lando has media in China, so I figured I’d sneak in a show or two.”
Kelly nodded knowingly. “Clever. Better champagne here, anyway.”
The lights dimmed. A hush spread like a ripple through the crowd, and then the first model appeared — a long coat trailing like a storm behind her. The music pulsed, atmospheric and strange, and the show began.
They watched in silence at first, both leaning slightly forward.
“I’ve missed this,” she said under her breath.
Kelly glanced sideways. “Real fashion. Not the circus.”
“Exactly.” she said.
Another model came down the runway in sculptural gold, the fabric folding like origami. Kelly let out a quiet breath. “That draping’s insane. It’s architectural.”
She nodded. “And still wearable, somehow.”
A few more looks passed. One with exaggerated sleeves that made her tilt her head. Another in sheer metallic mesh that made Kelly’s brows lift slightly.
“This designer doesn’t care if you’re comfortable,” she murmured.
Kelly grinned. “No. But you’ll look untouchable.”
she laughed. “You know, I always say I hate clothes that wear you. Like that? ” as another model passed in a floor-length silver cape. “That’s pretty?” she asked, her voice low.
“You’re allowed to contradict yourself when the tailoring is that good,” Kelly said, sipping her champagne.
A few seats down, someone tried to discreetly snap a photo of them. Neither of them reacted. The next model floated by in a translucent cape layered over metallic slacks. It shimmered like heat in the air.“She looks like something out of a dream,” she said.
Kelly hummed in agreement. “Or a nightmare, depending on your PR budget.”They both shared a laugh. After a moment, Kelly leaned slightly closer. “Have you noticed how fashion’s come back around to storytelling again?”
She nodded. “Finally. I was getting tired of empty minimalism. This season feels like people actually have something to say.”
“It’s theatrical, but not hollow,” Kelly said. “Like there’s intent behind every hemline.”
“I’d wear half of this on tour if my stylist didn’t have a stick up his ass,” she admitted.
Kelly turned. “You should. Tour looks are getting lazy. It's just clothes covered with sequins and glitter.”
“For real. I might steal that silver coat.”
“Better text that stylist now before someone from Vogue snatches it for the cover.” They shared a glance, both trying not to smile too much.
As the final model appeared — in a gown that looked like molten glass — the lights shifted to scarlet. The crowd buzzed. Phones went up. The music swelled.
“She’s killing it,” Kelly said, nodding slightly toward the model.
“Reminds me of Jennie,” she replied without thinking.
Kelly smirked. “I still don’t understand how you two know everyone.”
“We don’t know everyone,” she said.
“You’re literally front row with me at a Paris show and comparing models to Jennie like she’s your cousin.”
She laughed. “Jennie and I are basically sisters. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“I can tell,” Kelly said. “You speak about her like family.”
“She is family,” she said simply. “Not by blood — but in every way that counts.”
Kelly nodded, then paused. “You know… if you ever want or need a get away, we have a place in Portugal. Very low-key. Ocean, books, silence.”
She blinked. “You’re serious?”
“I’m not in the habit of inviting people I don’t like to the middle of nowhere,” Kelly replied, deadpan.
She chuckled. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
“I hope you do.”
The show ended in a wave of applause as the designer came out briefly to bow before disappearing again. She and Kelly stood, clapping politely.
“You staying for the afterparty?” Kelly asked as the crowd began to shift.
“Maybe. Depends on how many cameras are lurking by the exit.”
Kelly gave her a look. “Y/n, we just sat front row together.”
“Ugh. Let’s at least pretend we’re above it.”
They walked out together, their heels echoing across marble. The lights of Paris blinked outside the tall windows, the sound of applause still faint behind them.
“I know a place with no photographers and excellent bread,” Kelly said as they stepped toward the car.
“That’s the best sentence I’ve heard all week,” She replied.
They slipped into the back seat, both still holding onto the mood of the runway — all shimmer and steel and unexpected softness.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Kika Gomes
The studio was a clean mix of white-washed walls, soft natural light, and controlled chaos. Racks of clothing lined one side — all sleek tailoring, bold accessories, and silk in shades that could only be described as expensive. Stylists darted between garment bags and makeup trays while the photographer adjusted light stands with quiet authority.
She sat cross-legged on a makeup chair, scrolling through her phone while a stylist touched up the corners of her eyes.
“Your skin’s doing half my job,” the makeup artist muttered, patting on some highlighter. “Ridiculous.”
“Tell me about it,” she replied dryly, not looking up.
Across the room, Kika stood barefoot on a small platform, trying not to laugh as someone pinned the hem of her blazer dress. “If this gets any shorter I’m going to need safety shorts,” she said to no one in particular.
She glanced up from her phone. “You’re gonna have to start charging Pierre for thigh access.”
Kika grinned. “Too late. That man owes me a whole new wardrobe.”
The stylist working on her snorted. “Okay, that’s my cue to let you two talk without supervision.”
Kika stepped off the platform and padded over now in her socks, slipping into the seat beside her. “You’ve been here since seven?” she asked, tugging her ponytail loose.
“Yeah,” she nodded, setting her phone down. “They wanted natural light for the first looks. You’d think we were shooting for National Geographic the way they were chasing the sun.”
Kika kicked at her shin lightly. “You love it. Admit it.”
“I love the clothes,” she said. “The 7 a.m. call time? Not so much.”
They both looked over as a model walked past in towering platform silver heels and a trench coat made entirely of what looked like laminated newspaper. Kika raised a brow. “What do you even call that?”
She tilted her head. “Art school trauma?”
Kika cackled. “Let me guess, it’s going to retail for €3,500 and be labeled avant-garde city shell or something.”
“That or morning panic jacket.”
Kika laughed, then snorted, which made her start laughing too, until they were both holding onto each other for support. Their laughter died down when a photographer’s assistant called her over to change into her next look. She stood up, stretching her arms overhead and groaning.
“You sound like a grandma,” Kika said, sipping from her water bottle.
“I feel like a grandma. All I want is a hot bath and a nap after this.”
“Let’s do a sleepover,” Kika said. “You, me, face masks, something trashy on Netflix. I’ll bring the good snacks.”
“Oo, only if we get sushi too,” she said, walking backward toward the wardrobe rack.
“Done.”
The rest of the shoot moved in a blur — metallic dresses, clean-lined pantsuits, bold reds and forest greens. Her and Kika ended up shooting two looks together, side by side, moving with the ease of people who had done this kind of thing before — and didn’t take it too seriously.
At one point, they both burst out laughing when she nearly tripped over a tangled piece of chiffon.
“How elegant,” Kika giggled.
“I’m a model of grace,” she replied, trying to regain her balance.
The photographer laughed, shaking his head. “If you’re done sabotaging the set, let’s try that pose again.”
By the end of the day, they were sitting on the floor in sweatpants, barefoot, faces scrubbed clean, sharing a bowl of salted edamame someone had delivered.
Kika reached into the bowl, chewing thoughtfully. “You know, I forgot how exhausting shoots are. I’ve been doing more brand meetings lately. This felt like a workout.”
She leaned back against the wall. “You looked good, though.”
Kika smiled. “You too. You’ve got that whole thing down.”
“Thanks,” she said, popping another edamame pod.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the last bits of gear being packed up. Crew voices echoed faintly from the next room.
“Kind of a weird job, huh?” Kika said suddenly.
“Wearing very expensive clothes for people who may or may not buy them?” she replied. “Completely.”
“I meant the whole thing,” Kika said, waving a hand around. “The traveling. Social media. The way your name gets attached to someone else’s and suddenly everyone has a thesis about who you are.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s weird. Imagine you’re just standing next to someone, and the next thing you know, you’re dating.””
“At least we can laugh about it,” Kika said with a smile, and they both chuckled.
“True” she agreed
“But I like that we get to do it together,” Kika added.
“That’s half the reason I still show up,” she said with a smile. “If I didn’t have you to make fun of runway descriptions with, I’d have stopped coming months ago.”
Kika raised her bottle in a mock toast. “To mutual survival.”
She clinked hers against it. “And sushi.”
They stayed there until a PA gently reminded them the studio was closing.
Outside, the sky had gone soft and gold. As they waited for their rides, she turned to Kika and said, “Brunch tomorrow?”
“Always,” Kika replied.
Their cars pulled up, and with one last lazy hug, they parted ways — the kind of goodbye that didn’t need words. They’d be laughing again by morning.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The clink of cutlery and low jazz floated through the dim-lit bistro as she swirled her wine glass, watching the amber liquid catch in the candlelight. She looked up just as Kika dropped into the chair across from her, cheeks a little pink from the cold, scarf still looped around her neck.
“Sorry, sorry,” Kika said breathlessly. “I got distracted by some heels I saw in a store window down the street.”
She grinned. “Only you would be late because of heels.”
“I was looking for something for you, thank you very much,” Kika replied, shrugging off her coat. “It was either that or a chocolate croissant. And I know how you feel about crumbs.”
They both leaned in over the table, glancing at the small handwritten board propped near the candle. “Do you know what you want?” Kika asked.
“I haven’t eaten all day,” she said. “I want everything.”
“I say we get the steak tartare to share. And the duck confit. And—”
“Oh my god, yes.”
The waiter arrived and they ordered without overthinking, trading in their menus for wine refills and the comfort of finally sitting still. Outside, Paris hummed on. Inside, they had their own cocoon.
Kika glanced across the table after a moment. “You look good, by the way. Like, annoyingly good.”
She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I curled my hair and wore earrings. It’s the bare minimum.”
“Still counts as effort,”Kika countered. They both laughed, leaning back as the bread basket arrived. She tore into the crusty end of a baguette and passed the butter over.
“I needed this,” she said softly.
“I figured,” Kika said. “You’ve been everywhere lately. Your album rollout alone looked exhausting.”
“Don’t get me wrong—I loved it,” she said, tearing another piece of bread. “But by the end, I didn’t know if I was talking to myself or a press release.”
Kika nodded knowingly. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? You chase the thing for so long and then when you’re in it, it’s like… okay, what now?”
“Exactly,” she murmured, then grinned. “You’re getting wise, even in your twenties.”
“Blame Pierre. He’s been in his ‘journal everything’ era. Now I have thoughts and emotions and—” she made a dramatic face “—feelings.”
She burst out laughing. “Disgusting,” she said. “We need to put a stop to that immediately.”
“Agreed,” Kika said. “Hence, red wine and duck fat.”
Their food arrived a few minutes later—beautifully plated, fragrant, indulgent. They dug in without ceremony, the kind of comfortable silence that only came with genuine friendship settling over them. Between bites, they caught up. On everything and nothing.
Kika told her about a disastrous fitting she had for a campaign that ended with her getting stuck in a corset in front of three stylists and a very amused Pierre.
She leaned forward. “I was supposed to film a dance challenge. Had the outfit, the lighting, the setup all perfect.”
“And?”
“Lando came into the kitchen trying to make pancakes from a TikTok recipe. Managed to set off the fire alarm twice, and somehow got batter on the ceiling.”
Kika covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
“I spent the rest of the day cleaning instead of filming,” she sighed. “The pancakes were not worth it.”
They traded gossip like candy. Who was on whose bad side in the paddock. Which stylist had the best snacks backstage. Why a certain actor should never be allowed to wear velvet again.
They smiled at each other, the kind of unspoken appreciation that didn’t need to be dressed up.
The bill came and Kika snatched it before she could reach.
“No,” she protested.
“Yes,” Kika insisted. “This was my idea.”
“You’re not going to win this.”
“I already did,” Kika said smugly. “You’re out of reach.”
She groaned, pulling out her phone to Venmo her anyway. “You know I’m faster than you.”
“But I’m more charming.”
“Touché.”
They stepped out into the Paris night, where the city glittered like a spilled jewelry box. The air was crisp and the streets were quieter now, holding their breath before the weekend fully arrived.
“Walk a bit?” Kika asked, tucking her arm through hers.
she nodded. “Yeah.”
And so they walked. Down narrow alleys and across quiet bridges. Past bakeries preparing for the morning and bars still glowing from inside.
They didn’t talk much now. Didn’t need to and when they finally hugged goodbye at a corner where their Ubers would split them in opposite directions, it was with the ease of knowing they’d do it again soon. No pressure. No spotlight. Just another quiet night
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Carmen Montero Mundt
The bell above the door chimed softly as Carmen stepped into the little corner bookstore café. She shook off her umbrella, the last few snowflakes clinging stubbornly to its black canopy, and peered around until she saw a familiar figure curled into the back booth by the window.
She had one leg tucked under herself, her oversized scarf trailing off her lap and onto the cushioned seat. She was wearing big black-framed glasses and a long navy coat that nearly swallowed her whole. Her hair was pulled back in a lazy bun, wisps falling around her cheeks as she concentrated on the book in her lap. Without looking up, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a lazy wave—Carmen had been spotted.
“Hey,” Carmen said, smiling as she dropped her bag beside her and unwrapped her scarf. “You look like you belong in a Nancy Meyers movie.”
She finally looked up, face lighting up. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Want to play the role of my cozier, chicer supporting character?”
Carmen snorted as she sat across from her. “Only if I get my own subplot.”
“You always do.”
They settled into easy silence as Carmen ordered a chai latte from the barista. The café smelled like old paper, cinnamon, and ground coffee. Every so often, someone would wander through the book stacks or flip a page. Outside, snow continued to fall, dusting the pavement and softening the grey London skyline into something nearly magical.
“So,” Carmen said once the drinks arrived, “are you hiding or relaxing?”
She quirked a brow. “A little bit of both?”
Carmen shrugged. “Fair.”
There was a small pause before she added, more softly, “Hiding from noise, mostly. The internet’s been… very loud this week.”
Carmen gave her a knowing look. “Lando again?”
She nodded, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug. “It’s never-ending. Someone always finds an old picture or drags up a comment from years ago. Then suddenly I’m the villain for ‘changing him’ or not changing him enough.”
Carmen leaned forward. “People project. All the time. You know that. Half the time they’re not even mad at you—they’re mad at the version of themselves that wants to be you.”
She let out a short laugh, lips curling into a smirk. “Oh I know, but thanks. That sounded like something a therapist on Instagram would say.”
Carmen smirked, holding up her hands. “I’ll take it. I’ve been reading a lot of self-help lately.”
There was another lull, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Outside, a child threw a snowball and missed entirely, the soft thump of it landing on a bench echoing faintly through the café windows. She watched it happen and smiled, her expression wistful.
“You ever think about what you’d be doing if none of this existed?” she asked suddenly.
Carmen tilted her head. “F1 or fame?”
“Both.”
Carmen thought for a moment. “Honestly? Probably something just as high-strung. I like control too much. Maybe managing a museum. Or—god—owning a tiny, outrageously expensive flower shop.”
She laughed, eyes crinkling. “That actually suits you.”
“I’d wear cashmere sweaters every day and pretend I don’t know the names of my regulars even though I totally do.”
“And I’d be the girl with a nine-to-five, who brings the same lunch every day and takes the long way home just to drive a little longer.”
“Exactly. I’d never ask why you always look so tired—but I’d definitely wonder about you more than I should.” They both laughed at that, genuinely—something warm that cracked through the heavier thoughts lingering in their heads.
Carmen took a sip of her latte, then said more softly, “I think about it too. What life would be like if George wasn’t in F1. If we didn’t have to measure every public moment.”
She hummed. “Do you ever get tired of… protecting him?”
The question hung in the air.
“Yeah,” Carmen said eventually. “Not because I don’t want to. I love him. I’d do it forever. But it gets exhausting having to think five moves ahead of everyone all the time.”
She nodded. “Same. Back when I was still with Blackpink, I had to hold my tongue all the time. Sometimes I wanted to say something dumb or impulsive from what people would say about me or my members. But I’d stop myself—because I knew it could get twisted, turned into a headline, or worse, reflect badly on the others. And now with Lando... it’s the same fear, but deeper. I’m so scared of messing things up for him. Or being the reason someone else sees him differently.”
Carmen looked at her, her expression softening. “That makes sense. You’re not doing anything wrong—you’re just visible. People love to pick things apart when they can’t look away. But Lando’s not the world. He sees the whole picture. The fact that you’re trying to protect him? That says more than anything a headline ever could.”
She glanced down at her mug, running her fingertip around the rim. “Hmm, it’s weird, isn’t it? Loving someone that the world thinks they know.”
“Yeah,” Carmen said. “It’s like sharing something sacred with a crowd that thinks it’s theirs. But you’re the only one who really gets it.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. Not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet, bone-deep way that women who get it look at each other. She leaned back in her seat and let herself breathe a little more deeply.
“You know,” Carmen said, breaking the moment, “we should do this more often.”
“Yes, please,” she replied instantly. “We can rotate bookstores. Next time I'll pick one with a fireplace.”
“And I’ll bring wine in a tote bag like a degenerate.”
“We’re gonna get banned from half the cafés in London.” she laughed.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The golden evening light fell softly across the stone patio of the private villa tucked away in the hills outside Monza. The air was heavy with late-summer warmth, a faint citrus tang on the breeze, and the last lazy buzz of bees from the lavender hedges lining the terrace. Inside, someone had set down a bottle of chilled white wine and a bowl of olives.
She padded barefoot across the stone floor, her loose linen shirt fluttering slightly as she opened the doors with her elbow, carrying a plate of fresh figs and prosciutto.
"That looks obnoxiously aesthetic," Carmen said, lounging on the cushioned outdoor bench with her legs stretched out, a glass already in hand. She was wearing one of George’s oversized button-ups.
“It’s an Italian weekend,” she shrugged. “I’m leaning into a new temporary lifestyle.”
Carmen grinned, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. “You say that like you didn’t just make fun of me for buying a cheese board shaped like Italy.”
“That’s different.”They both burst into laughter.
It was one of those rare Saturdays where both qualifying and media duties were done by mid-afternoon, and instead of dinner in some stiff VIP hospitality tent, her and Carmen had talked aka bribed Lando and George into renting this small, vine-covered villa just for the four of them. After a bit of light bribery and some surprisingly coordinated planning, the girls had carved out the evening for themselves.
She flopped down next to Carmen and propped her feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Do you think they’ll come back with pizza or just get distracted by an argument about tire strategy in the car park?” she asked, popping a fig into her mouth.
Carmen raised her eyebrows. “Bold of you to assume they left the car park.”They both cackled again, and she reached over to top off Carmen’s glass.
A lull settled between them, comfortable and quiet. Cicadas whirred faintly in the background. Somewhere down the hill, the sound of a Vespa faded into the distance. She watched Carmen lean back against the cushions, her face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed.
“You know what I love about you?” she said after a beat.
Carmen cracked one eye open suspiciously. “Oh no. This sounds like a trap.”
“It’s not. It’s wholesome,” she said, kicking her gently in the shin. “You’re so... elegant. Like, in the best way. You just exist, effortlessly cool, minimal drama.”
Carmen let out a soft laugh. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“Maybe.”
“You sound like my instagram comments,” Carmen teased, then added more softly, “But I appreciate it. Especially coming from you.” Carmen nudged her shoulder. “But seriously. You make things fun. Like, I wouldn’t have agreed to a weekend in a villa just to chill if it wasn’t with you. You trick me into relaxing.”
“I am very manipulative,” she said proudly. “It’s part of my mysterious charm.”
They clinked glasses. The sun dipped a little lower, casting long golden shadows over the tiled floor. She leaned back and stretched, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time all day.
A faint crunch of tires on gravel made both girls look up. Carmen shielded her eyes. “Place your bets. Are they holding food or arguing?”
The car pulled into view — a rented Fiat, comically small for both drivers. The windows were down. George was behind the wheel, his hands animated, clearly mid-rant. Lando, in the passenger seat, was wearing sunglasses and holding a pizza box like it was a newborn child.
She let out a groan. “Argument and food. Looks like we both lose.”
The girls didn’t move as the guys hopped out and walked toward them — Lando carefully balancing two pizza boxes, a crumpled paper bag, and what looked like a bottle of Fanta sticking out of his back pocket.
“Guess who got extra stracciatella,” Lando said proudly, crouching down to slide the boxes onto the table.
George followed, adjusting his cap. “Guess who had to negotiate for it because someone forgot to place the order in Italian.”
Lando waved a hand dismissively. “I said ‘pizza molto fasto,’ and the guy understood me.”
She leaned into Lando as he sank down beside her and stole a piece of crust. “Good job, delivery boy.”
The four of them sat outside under the soft string lights strung between the olive trees, eating pizza directly from the boxes, sipping cold wine and soda, letting the night hum on without urgency. No one brought up the race. No one talked about sectors or setups or who qualified where. It wasn’t even deliberate — it just didn’t matter right now.
At one point, Carmen got up to grab blankets from inside, and she followed her. The house was warm and quiet, the floor cool beneath their feet. In the hallway, Carmen paused and looked at her with a sleepy smile.
They grinned at each other.
And for a moment — soft and warm and ordinary — everything felt like it was exactly where it should be.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Alexandra Saint Mleux
The sun hung high over the Mediterranean, casting a soft golden light on the streets of Monaco. The luxury of the place was undeniable, with gleaming yachts in the harbor and high-end boutiques lining the streets. It was a rare afternoon off, a break from the constant whirlwind of the F1 world, and she was more than ready to take advantage of it. The opportunity to spend a day with Alexandra, one of her newest and closest friends now, was something she cherished. It was a chance to escape the spotlight and simply enjoy the luxury of Monaco and the pleasure of a good shopping spree.
She stood at the entrance of one of Monaco’s most exclusive shopping streets, wearing a simple, elegant cropped tee that framed her waist and a pair of baggy, light-washed jeans slung low on her hips. Her hair was casually tied back, sunglasses shielding her from the golden afternoon sun. Even though she knew the streets were buzzing with life, today she was determined to enjoy herself without any of the usual distractions.
Alexandra arrived a few moments later, stepping out of a sleek black car. She was effortlessly chic in a fitted black dress and heels, with her own pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. She flashed a bright smile as she approached, and she couldn’t help but return the gesture. Alexandra was always such a calming presence, grounded and genuine—qualities that made their friendship feel both easy and real.
“Hey! You look amazing,” she greeted, pulling Alexandra into a quick hug.
“So do you” Alexandra replied with a soft smile. “I’m so glad we could do this. A proper girls' day out”
She nodded, grinning. “Exactly what I need.”
The two of them walked down the cobblestone streets together, their heels clicking in sync, the gentle breeze blowing through the warm Mediterranean air. Monaco was a city that screamed luxury, but today, it felt different—like they could slip away from the pressures of their respective worlds and simply enjoy each other's company.
Their first stop was a boutique known for its haute couture collections, the kind of place where you didn’t just walk in; you were escorted inside like royalty. The glass doors swung open as they entered, and the soft scent of perfume and fresh flowers greeted them. The shop was quiet, almost serene, with soft music playing in the background. The sales assistants were already eyeing the pair, but there was no rush—today was about enjoying the experience, not about being rushed or expected to buy something extravagant.
She wandered through the racks, her fingers brushing over the luxurious fabrics, while Alexandra followed at a more leisurely pace. The two women chatted casually as they moved from one section to another.
“I love this color,” Alexandra said, holding up a deep emerald green dress. “It would look great on you.”
She looked over at the dress and then back at her friend. “I think it might be too bold for me, but I love it on you. You have the perfect height for it.”
Alexandra smiled at the compliment. “You think? Maybe I should try it on, just to see. But honestly, I think I’ll just stick with some accessories today.”
They moved to the accessories section, where shelves were lined with bags, shoes, and sparkling jewelry. She picked up a delicate gold bracelet, turning it over in her hand as she admired its simplicity. “I love how understated this is,” she remarked.
Alexandra nodded in agreement. “It’s beautiful, and it looks like something you could wear every day. I feel like some of the pieces in these shops are so flashy, they lose their elegance.”
She smiled, her eyes sparkling as she thought about how much she appreciated the simple things. “Exactly. There’s something timeless about it.”
They continued browsing, slipping in and out of rooms filled with couture. The afternoon passed easily, filled with lighthearted conversation and the joy of friendship.
After an hour, they moved to the next store, an upscale jewelry boutique known for its rare diamonds. The soft glow of the diamonds under the dim lighting made them both stop and admire the pieces. Alexandra ran her fingers over a set of diamond earrings, pausing as she saw a stunning necklace at the far end of the counter.
“Oh, Y/n, look at that,” she said, her voice full of wonder. The necklace was an intricate design of diamonds and sapphires, each stone catching the light just right. “It’s perfect.”
She approached, leaning in to get a closer look. “It is. But you’re the one who would rock it, not me. I’m more about simplicity.”
Alexandra laughed softly, her hand resting on her hip. “I know what you mean. I’m just indulging in the fantasy for a minute.”
They spent a few more moments looking at the dazzling jewelry before moving on to a new store across the street. This time, they found themselves in a more relaxed setting, a contemporary boutique with a collection of minimalist yet sophisticated clothing. The atmosphere was cool and airy, a stark contrast to the opulence of the previous shops.
She immediately gravitated toward a section with soft, flowing dresses. Alexandra followed her, and together they looked through the collection, exchanging thoughts on what would suit each other.
“I think this one would look amazing on you,” she said, holding up a soft lavender dress with a simple yet flattering cut. “You have the perfect skin tone for it.”
Alexandra raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t know. I think you might be right, but I’m not sure I’d wear it much. I like the idea of it more than the reality.”
She laughed, picking up the dress and draping it across her arm. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying. I think it would look incredible.”
The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they made their way to the fitting rooms, both of them trying on a few outfits. They gave each other feedback, laughing as they each modeled a few dresses.
“I think this is my new favorite,” Alexandra said, stepping out in a chic forest green dress that fit her perfectly.
She grinned. “Thats stunning.”
After trying on a few more pieces and making some purchases, they both decided to take a break at one of the cafés nearby, sitting outside in the soft sun. The relaxed atmosphere was a perfect end to the afternoon. As they sipped on iced lattes, they continued to chat, discussing everything from upcoming concerts to the latest F1 gossip.
“You know, I’m so glad we did this,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
Alexandra agreed, her smile softening. “Yeah, it’s nice. It’s just about us today”
She chuckled. “Exactly. It’s like we’re in our own little world.”
The two of them laughed, enjoying the easy companionship they shared. There was no pressure, no expectations. Just two women, taking in the beauty of Monaco, and cherishing a rare, peaceful day together.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The sun was high in the sky, casting its warmth over the sparkling Mediterranean water as Charles's sleek yacht glided smoothly through the waves.
The yacht was anchored in a secluded cove, far enough from the noise of the marina to offer a rare sense of peace. The gentle sway of the boat against the water added a soothing rhythm to the air, and the sounds of the ocean were the only backdrop to the day.
She and Alexandra were set up on the deck, their easels facing the open water, the bright blue sky stretching endlessly above them.
The scene around them was serene: the sun-kissed waters, the distant hills of the coast, and the gentle breeze that tousled their hair. The yacht was quiet—only the soft sounds of brushes against canvas and the occasional hum of the yacht’s engine disturbed the stillness.
She was focused, her paintbrush in hand as she added strokes to her canvas. She was working on a landscape, trying to capture the vivid blue of the ocean, the deep greens of the hills in the distance, and the way the sunlight danced on the water.
Painting was a way to unwind for her, a quiet escape from the constant motion of her life in the spotlight. Today, it was more than just a hobby—it was a chance to share a peaceful moment with Alexandra, who had always made time to connect despite the chaos around them.
Alexandra, on the other hand, was completely in her element. As an art history enthusiast, she had spent years studying various periods of art, and her passion for painting was rooted in her love for historical works.
She was working on a piece that reflected some of the techniques she admired—soft, flowing brushstrokes, vibrant colors, and an abstract interpretation of the sea in front of them. The calmness of the ocean seemed to inspire her as she layered colors onto the canvas. Her brushstrokes were bold and free, a stark contrast to Alexandra’s careful, controlled movements.
She glanced over at Alex, admiring the way Alexandra applied the paint, effortlessly blending the colors. “I love how you’ve captured that,” she said, genuinely intrigued. “It’s like your painting tells a story without even trying.”
Alexandra paused for a moment, glancing over at her work before responding. “Thanks, that’s kind of what I’m going for. I’ve always loved the way art can speak without words. But honestly, I think it’s because I’ve spent so much time studying art history. It’s become second nature to pull from what I’ve learned.”
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Art history, huh? I didn’t know you were so into it.”
Alexandra smiled, clearly excited to talk about it. “Yeah, I’ve always been fascinated by the way art evolves, how it reflects the times, the culture, the emotion behind it. I studied it for years, and I even work with a few galleries. It’s what fuels my passion for painting—trying to combine the techniques I’ve studied with my own style.”
She nodded thoughtfully, taking in the new information. “That’s amazing. I love how art can be such a reflection of the world around us. You’re not only capturing the scene, but the feeling behind it, the history that came before.”
Alexandra’s eyes lit up. “Exactly. It’s why I find art so powerful—it’s a language in itself, and the beauty of it is that you can interpret it however you want. I try to bring that feeling into my paintings. Sometimes I pull inspiration from the Renaissance, other times it’s more modern. It all just depends on the mood and what catches my eye.”
She smiled as she looked at the brushstrokes on Alexandra’s canvas, clearly more than just technique—it was art that spoke to a deep passion. “That’s really cool. I feel like I need to dive deeper into art history now. I can see how that would influence your work.”
Alexandra laughed softly, shaking her head. “It’s definitely a rabbit hole. But it’s the kind of rabbit hole that’s worth getting lost in.”
She dipped her brush into a pot of blue paint, adding another layer to the ocean on her canvas. “I think I’m happy just sticking with the basics for now. I’ll leave the deep dive to you, the art expert.”
Alexandra grinned, clearly enjoying the casual exchange. “Fair enough. But I’ll be here if you want to talk about Botticelli, Picasso, or any of the greats. I can talk about it all day.”
She chuckled. “Maybe one day, when I’m in the mood for a good history lesson. For now, I’ll just stick with trying to make this ocean look real.”
They both fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of their brushes against canvas blending with the soft murmur of the yacht’s engine. The two women shared a quiet connection, the painting taking on a deeper meaning as they continued to work. Each stroke of the brush seemed to bring them closer—not just to the artwork, but to a shared understanding of the beauty they both found in creativity.
Alexandra glanced over at her bestfriends painting, Alex’s eyes softening with appreciation. “You’ve really brought that scene to life. It’s like you’re standing on the shore, feeling the breeze.”
The two of them stood side by side for a moment, looking at the work they had created in tandem—two different interpretations of the same scene, but both equally beautiful in their own way.
“Want to grab some lunch?” she asked, glancing at the time. “I think we’ve earned a break after all this painting.”
Alexandra laughed softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Definitely. I’m starving. And hey, I’ll leave the wine pairing to you—this painting stuff has worked up my appetite.”
She grinned, stepping away from her easel. “Deal. Let’s get something good—after all, this day deserves a perfect lunch.”
As they made their way below deck, the lighthearted banter between them continued. They were two friends sharing not just the act of painting but the shared joy of a peaceful afternoon on the water. The creative flow, the art, and the quiet connection they’d formed over their shared experience would stay with them long after the paint had dried.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Rebecca Donaldson
The warm rays of the sun beamed down on the soft golden sands of the beach, the gentle sound of the waves crashing against the shore filling the air. The beach was quiet, not completely empty, but the kind of peaceful place that felt like a sanctuary. It was one of those rare days where the world seemed to slow down, and the only things that mattered were the sound of the ocean and the feeling of the sand between your toes.
She and Rebecca had spent the last few hours lounging under the sun, far away from the noise of the F1 world, the music industry, and the pressure of always being in the public eye. Both women were in simple, comfortable bikinis and oversized hats, a pair of sunglasses perched on their faces to shield them from the shining star in the sky. They had a small umbrella set up for shade, but the day was still warm and pleasant, a perfect day for a break.
She was lying on her stomach with a towel spread beneath her, turning her head slightly to glance over at Rebecca. She smiled, seeing that her friend had found a comfortable spot next to her, her towel spread out perfectly as she flipped through a book. The calm, easy atmosphere between them felt like the kind of peace they both needed—a break from the chaos, a chance to just be.
Rebecca caught her gaze and smiled, tilting her sunglasses up with a lazy flick. “Tell me again why we don’t do this every weekend?”
She let out a soft laugh, pushing herself up onto her elbows to look at her. “Because real life is rude and gets in the way?”
Rebecca stretched her arms above her head, letting out a content sigh as she looked up at the endless blue sky before replying. “We should just stay here forever. Let the world figure itself out without us.”
She snorted. “Honestly, if the world needs me to function, we’re already doomed. I’ll be here, perfecting my new tan and avoiding my responsibilities.”
The two of them shared a brief moment of quiet contentment before Rebecca sat up and took a sip from her water bottle. “So, how’s everything been going for you? With work, the group, your new ablum…and everything?”
She smiled softly, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “It’s been... a lot. I’m constantly on the move, with rehearsals, shows, and everything else. But I can’t complain. It’s what I love doing. I think the hardest part, honestly, is keeping everything in balance. Sometimes it feels like I’m just going from one thing to the next.”
Rebecca nodded, fully understanding what she meant. “Yeah, I get that. It’s tough, especially with the racing schedule. I’ve been trying to find some balance myself. Honestly, these moments—just hanging out and doing nothing—are so rare. I never realized how much I missed it until today.”
She turned her head toward her friend and smiled. “I’m glad we’re able to do this. I think we both needed a break. The world doesn’t stop for us, you know?”
“I know,” Rebecca agreed, leaning back and looking out over the ocean. The peaceful silence between them lingered for a moment, both women taking in the soothing sounds of nature around them. Eventually, Rebecca broke the silence again.
“Have you thought about what comes next for you? You know, when the group’s next tour comes or when things settle down?” Rebecca asked, her voice light but curious.
She paused, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she looked out at the water. “I don’t know. I’ve been so focused on what’s right in front of me that I haven’t had much time to think about the future. But I guess that’s the thing, isn’t it? You can’t just plan everything. Sometimes you just have to let things fall into place.”
Rebecca smiled knowingly. “True. Sometimes, we try to control everything, but life has a funny way of surprising us.”
She laughed softly. “You’re right. I think it’s about finding the right balance. Between work and moments like this—just letting go for a little while and enjoying the simple things.”
“Exactly,” Rebecca said. “Sometimes, it’s the simple things that remind us who we really are, away from everything else.”
She sat up then, stretching her legs out and turning toward her friend. “I couldn’t agree more. I think that’s why I love the beach. There’s something about the vastness of the ocean that makes everything else feel small. Like all the noise just... fades away.”
Rebecca nodded in agreement. “It’s peaceful, isn’t it? The world feels so big, but in a way that’s comforting. You realize there’s a whole universe out there, and everything that happens to us is just a small part of it.”
The two of them sat there for a few minutes, watching the waves roll in and out, their conversation fading as they simply enjoyed the quiet of the moment. The world was still moving, but for just a little while, it felt like time had slowed down for them.
After a while, Rebecca stood up and stretched, glancing down at her. “Wanna go for a walk? I feel like we could use a little stroll along the water.”
She grinned, pulling herself up from the towel. “Absolutely. I need to cool off a bit, and I can never resist a walk by the sea.”
They both grabbed their beach bags, leaving their towels behind as they made their way toward the shoreline. The water was cool against their feet as they walked, the waves lapping gently against the sand. They walked in comfortable silence at first, enjoying the simple act of being together in such a serene setting.
“Do you ever think about the little things?” Rebecca asked, her voice thoughtful as she looked down at the water.
She turned to look at her, puzzled for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“Like... the small things in life that you forget to notice because you’re always caught up in the bigger picture. I’ve been trying to appreciate those little moments more. Like this walk, or just being able to sit down and talk without any interruptions.”
She smiled softly. “I know exactly what you mean. I think I’ve started realizing that the little things are actually the big things. The moments when you’re not rushing or stressing. It’s the quiet mornings or the spontaneous trips like this one. It’s all about those unplanned, simple moments.”
Rebecca smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at her friend. “I’m glad we could share this one.”
As they continued walking along the water’s edge, the conversation drifted from one topic to the next. They talked about their favorite places to travel, the kind of books they liked to read, and the small quirks that made them who they were. It was easy, effortless conversation—just two friends talking about life, their hopes, and the things they loved.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The yacht was alive with energy, the kind of energy that only a late afternoon in Monaco could bring. Neon lights flickered across the deck, casting vibrant hues of purple, pink, and blue onto the water as the bass of the music vibrated through the hull. It was a floating nightclub, the kind of party that felt like it belonged in a dream. The sun was setting over the Mediterranean, the sky painted with streaks of orange and pink, but the yacht's lights were already shining brightly, promising a night of unforgettable fun.
She and Rebecca stood near the edge of the deck, their feet tapping to the music as they looked out over the water. The entire atmosphere felt like a whirlwind of excitement, with guests laughing, chatting, and dancing all around them. It was one of those nights where nothing seemed out of place, and everything was just... perfect.
She was in a sparkling silver dress that stopped mid-thigh and caught the light in all the right places, leaned over the railing,with a drink in hand, watching the yachts drift past as the wind played with her hair. She felt the rhythm of the party seep into her veins, and for a moment, she let herself truly embrace the energy of it all.
Rebecca, beside her, looked equally as stunning in a black, form-fitting dress that showed off her silhouette. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she was already holding a glass of champagne, her smile infectious. Rebecca turned to her. "I can’t believe how crazy this is. I didn’t think it would be so crowded. I swear, Monaco knows how to throw a party," Rebecca said, raising her glass to toast the night.
She grinned, holding her own drink up. "They’ve mastered the art of having fun here. Who needs a club when you’ve got a super yacht like this?"
Rebecca laughed, her eyes lighting up. "Exactly. I think this is my new favorite way to party."
A new song came on, a catchy upbeat tune that had the entire deck vibrating with the bass. Rebecca raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin crossing her face. "You up for a little dance?"
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Absolutely. I can’t let you have all the fun on your own."
The two women made their way over to the dance floor, the flashing lights above creating a kaleidoscope of colors as they moved in sync with the crowd. The DJ spun a mix of electronic beats, and the crowd responded, a mix of guests dancing freely, laughing, and enjoying the electric atmosphere. She and Rebecca found a spot near the center, where the energy was at its peak.
She was immediately pulled into the rhythm of the music, her body instinctively moving to the beat. Dancing was second nature to her—it was what she did for a living. Years of training had given her a level of control and precision on the dance floor that made it look effortless. As soon as she stepped onto the dance floor, she was in her element.
Rebecca, clearly enjoying the infectious energy around her, raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Alright, I know you can dance, but can you still make this look fun, or is your alter ego gonna come out?”
She grinned mischievously, a playful glint in her eyes. “Watch and learn,” she teased, before letting the music take over.She moved with a fluidity that was mesmerizing, her movements sharp yet graceful, effortlessly syncing with the beat of the song with pure confidence.
Rebecca, who was initially just watching, couldn’t help but laugh and join in, her body following the beat in a more carefree, loose style. As the tempo of the song picked up, her movements grew more intense, and Rebecca followed her lead, their steps flowing together as they danced side by side. Their energy was completely contagious, making the entire group around them feel like they were in sync.
“Okay, you’re definitely showing me up here. How do you make it look this easy?” Rebecca called over the music.
She grinned, her body still moving in time with the music. “It’s all about feeling it,” she said, her voice carrying easily over the beat. “You can’t overthink it. Just let the music take over and have fun.”
Rebecca, with her unrefined but enthusiastic moves, gave her a playful glance. “I think I’ll stick to ‘having fun’ for now,” she said with a laugh
She shot her a grin, never missing a beat. “You’ve got some moves too, Rebecca. Don’t sell yourself short!”
As the music shifted to something slower, they slowly backed away from the dance floor, their laughter mingling with the softer beats. It was one of those perfect moments—no expectations, just dancing and enjoying the night with a friend.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Lily Muni He
The early morning mist hung softly over the lush green of the golf course, the rising sun beginning to burn off the haze. The air was crisp, the grass dewy beneath their feet as the world around them slowly came to life. The sound of birds chirping in the distance blended with the soft hum of nature, creating the perfect backdrop for a day of quiet reflection and friendly competition.
She stood at the first tee, gripping her club with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She was dressed in a simple but stylish outfit, a light polo shirt, comfortable shorts, and a pair of sleek golf shoes. Beside her, Lily Muni He, stood with a relaxed, confident smile on her face. She was dressed in a similar fashion, her posture poised and effortless, completely at home on the course.
Lily had invited her to join her for a round of golf. She had never really played before, and although she was always up for trying new things, she couldn’t help but feel a bit out of her element. She had seen how graceful and composed Lily was when it came to golf—after all, Lily had made a name for herself on professional circuits. But Lily had reassured her that today was just about having fun, no competition, no expectations.
“Ready?” Lily asked, her voice light and teasing, her eyes twinkling as she saw her adjusting her grip on the club.
She chuckled softly, giving the club one last practice swing. “I think so, but honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. You’re going to have to teach me along the way.”
Lily laughed, her expression warm and encouraging. “Don’t worry. We’re just here to enjoy the day. I’ll walk you through it—no stress.”
She took a deep breath and nodded, standing a little straighter. She watched as Lily effortlessly lined up her shot, the swing smooth and fluid. The ball soared across the green, landing perfectly in the fairway. It was the kind of shot that made it look easy, as if Lily had done this a thousand times before—which, of course, she had.
“That was incredible,” she said, watching the ball roll to a stop. “I don’t think I’ll ever look that graceful.”
Lily grinned, giving a playful shrug. “It just takes practice. And probably a lot of patience. Don’t worry, we’ll get you there.”
She picked up her own club, giving the ball a tentative tap. It rolled a short distance, landing just a few feet from the tee. She winced slightly but couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “Well, I’ve got a long way to go.”
“Not at all,” Lily said, walking over to her. “You’ve got the basics down already. It’s all about timing, and that’s the fun part. Once you get the hang of it, it’ll feel natural.”
The two of them walked down the fairway together, the sound of their footsteps blending with the quiet of the early morning. They continued talking as they went, sharing stories about their lives outside of the spotlight. Lily asked about her music, her time with BLACKPINK, and what it was like being part of such a massive group.
“I think it must be so crazy,” Lily said as they reached their balls, “just the way your life is always in motion. Constant tours, rehearsals, events. Do you ever get to just... stop?”
She smiled wistfully, a slight tension in her shoulders easing as she talked with someone who genuinely understood. “It’s a whirlwind, for sure. But I think that’s part of the reason I love days like this—days when it’s just about being present and in the moment. No schedules, no deadlines. It’s like a breath of fresh air.” She paused for a moment, a soft smile forming on her lips. “Lando gets it too. He’s always the first to suggest we take time off, just to enjoy the little things together. It’s nice to have someone who understands the need for a break.”
Lily nodded, adjusting her stance before hitting her next shot. “I get that. Alex is the same way. Even with everything going on in the racing world, we both understand the value of those moments together—whether it’s playing golf or just taking time to breathe.” She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Same with golf. It’s the one place I can be totally in control of the moment. But it’s also a way to unwind. A way to reset. I think that’s what keeps me grounded.”
Her eyes softened as she watched Lily’s form. “I can see that. There’s something so peaceful about golf. It’s not like other sports, where it’s all about speed or power. It’s a game of patience, precision. I think I’m going to enjoy this more than I thought.”
Lily smiled, clearly happy to hear that. “I’m glad. It’s always nice to share something I love with someone who’s open to it.”
They continued playing, the conversation drifting naturally between them. The course, with its sprawling greens and calming environment, was the perfect place for them to connect. They shared more about their lives, their goals, and their interests. It wasn’t about fame or attention; it was just two women enjoying each other’s company, and the simplicity of that made the day feel even more special.
By the time they reached the final hole, the afternoon had stretched out into a comfortable rhythm. Her confidence had grown with each swing, and although her shots weren’t perfect, she was having fun. Lily had been patient, offering tips and encouragement, but never pushing too hard. It wasn’t about winning or losing—it was about enjoying the experience.
As they walked to the 18th green, the sun now beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the course, she looked over at Lily with a relaxed smile.
“You know, I can’t believe how much fun I’ve had today. I was nervous at first, but you made it feel so easy,” she said, swinging her club back and forth absentmindedly.
Lily smiled back, her expression soft. “That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s not about being perfect—it’s about enjoying the game. We’re just here for the moment, to be present, and it doesn’t matter what happens next.”
They stood side by side, looking over the final hole, the vast expanse of green stretching out before them. For a moment, everything felt still and serene, as if the world had paused just for them.
“Ready for the final swing?” Lily asked, her tone light but filled with anticipation.
She nodded, a grin spreading across her face. “Let’s do it.”
Lily stepped back, giving her space, watching as she lined up her shot. Her grip was firm, her stance more confident than when she had first started. She swung the club, the motion fluid, and the ball shot forward with a satisfying thwack.
It wasn’t a perfect shot, but it didn’t matter. It landed neatly on the green, a few feet from the hole. She stood there for a moment, staring at it in mild surprise.
“Well, I’ll call that a win,” she laughed, her shoulders relaxing as she glanced over at Lily.
Lily smiled, her eyes warm. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’ve got it. You just needed the right swing, and the right mindset.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You make it sound so easy. I think I need to play more often if I want to be that good.”
Lily raised an eyebrow, teasing, “Maybe I should make you my official golf student. I’ll train you up for next time.”
She shot her a playful grin. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep it fun and not turn it into a serious sport.”
They both laughed, the sound of their voices blending with the peaceful hum of the world around them. As they made their way to the final hole, ready to wrap up the game, there was a sense of satisfaction in the air. Not focusing on anything other than the simplicity of the game and the enjoyment of each other’s company.
After they finished their round, they took their time walking back to the clubhouse, chatting about everything from their favorite travel destinations to their future plans. The sun was dipping lower on the horizon, the day slipping into evening, but neither of them seemed to mind. There was something about the day that felt timeless.
“Well,” she said, as they sat down at the outdoor seating area, “I think I’m officially hooked. Golf isn’t so bad after all.”
Lily chuckled, taking a sip of her water. “I’m glad. I knew you’d like it once you gave it a shot.”
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes soft with contentment. “Thank you for today.”
Lily smiled, her tone warm and genuine. “Anytime. Today was perfect.”
The two women sat there for a while longer, watching the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon, feeling at peace in each other’s company. It had been a day of simple pleasures—golf, good conversation, and the kind of friendship that didn’t need anything else.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The afternoon in Monaco was lazy and warm, the kind of day where the sun hung comfortably in the sky, casting a golden hue over the bustling city. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the sounds of distant chatter and the soft hum of the city blended with the rhythmic lapping of waves against the harbor.
She and Lily had decided to take the day off from their usual routines, lipping away from the ever-present demands of their careers and the spotlight that often followed the pair.
The café was small and charming, tucked away on a quiet street just a few blocks from the marina. The soft hum of conversations blended with the clink of coffee cups and plates, creating an atmosphere that felt comforting and peaceful. The space was intimate, with plants spilling over the edges of the outdoor seating, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of life to the already welcoming space.
She sat across from Lily at one of the outdoor tables, the light breeze gently tousling her hair. She wore one of Lando’s white button-ups, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, paired with denim shorts and sneakers. Her sunglasses rested on top of her head, giving her that effortlessly chic vibe that came with living in Monaco. Lily, in a relaxed black dress and a pair of sleek sandles, looked just as at ease, her posture casual, her smile wide and easy.
“I think I’ve found my new favorite spot,” she said, taking a sip of her iced coffee. The drink was refreshing and smooth, the perfect companion to the warm afternoon. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes softening as she took in the sights of the café, the life of Monaco surrounding them.
Lily grinned. “I knew you’d love it. It’s one of my favorite spots to grab coffee when I just want to chill.”
She smiled, taking a sip from her cup. “It really is perfect. I mean, it’s not too crowded, but there’s just enough going on to keep it interesting.”
Lily nodded, her gaze drifting to the street outside. “Yeah, I love people-watching here. It’s the best part of this place—seeing all kinds of people just doing their thing.”
She laughed softly, leaning back in her chair. “I swear, I could spend hours doing that. Some people walk by with such confidence, and others look like they’re on a mission. It’s like a live show.”
Lily raised an eyebrow. “Oh, totally. You can definitely tell who’s in a rush and who’s just enjoying the moment. It's like an unscripted reality show, just without the cameras.” They both laughed together, the sound blending with the quiet hum of the café. After a moment, Lily casually asked, “What’s the most random thing you’ve seen today?”
She thought for a second, then grinned. “There was this guy walking his dog, and the dog was wearing sunglasses. Like, full-on aviators. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud.”
Lily burst out laughing. “No way! That’s awesome. I think we should get Leo a pair of sunglasses, see if he can pull it off.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. He’s probably strut around like he’s the star of a runway show.”
Lily leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a smile. “I can already picture it—the dog will be the new fashion icon in Monaco.”
They both fell into an easy silence for a moment, enjoying the simple joy of good company and a relaxing afternoon. The buzz of the café and the occasional clink of cups blended into the background as they watched the world go by, both feeling content in the shared peace of the moment.
Lily’s eyes twinkled as she leaned forward. “So, when you need to clear your head, what do you do? You’ve got such a busy life. I imagine it must be hard to find peace with everything going on.”
She thought for a moment, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “I think it’s simple things that help me clear my head. I love being by the water. Me and Alexandra hung out on the beach last week. There’s something about the ocean that just helps me reset. Lando and I also take walks by the water sometimes when we’re bored. It’s just so calming.”
Lily smiled knowingly. “That’s cute. Books are my little escape. I’ve been trying to read more lately, but I find that sometimes I get so wrapped up in everything that I forget to just... breathe.” She paused for a moment, looking out at the street as if considering her words. “Alex and I read together, more like I read to him” she murmured, “but we don’t always get that kind of time. But when we do, it’s the best.”
The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while, the gentle breeze of the afternoon brushing through their hair, the sounds of the city around them feeling like background noise. It was one of those rare moments where time seemed to stretch, and the weight of the world seemed lighter. Just two friends, enjoying the simplicity of the moment.
“So,” Lily said, breaking the silence with a playful smile, “I’ve gotta know—what’s been the best part about your Monaco life so far? I mean, I know it’s glamorous, but what’s something you really love about it?”
She thought for a moment, her eyes lighting up. “Honestly, the quiet mornings. When I get up early enough, and it’s calm outside, I can just step out, take a walk, grab a coffee, and walk around peacefully. Lando and I take advantage of it sometimes, just walking around early in the morning, with no one bothering us.”
Lily smiled, clearly enjoying the thought of the simple pleasures she had found in her new home. “That sounds perfect.”
She nodded, her expression softening as she thought about how much those small, serene moments meant to her. “Yeah, it is.”
The conversation drifted to different topics, like their relationships, how they both navigated the challenges of being with partners in the public eye. They laughed, exchanged stories of funny misunderstandings, and supported each other with insights from their own experiences.
As the afternoon turned into evening, the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden light over the café. The atmosphere shifted from the bright, bustling energy of the day to the quieter, more intimate feeling of dusk settling in. The two women continued, now with their cups empty. They shared everything they could in that peaceful moment, fully present and without the weight of expectations.
Lily picked up her purse, standing slowly as the evening air began to cool. “Let’s make a habit of it, shall we? Just... us.”
She stood as well, nodding. “Definitely. Next time, I’ll treat you to something.”
Lily laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Deal. I love you.”
Her eyes softed “i love you too”
They both shared a laugh, the sound of their voices mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. As they walked toward the exit of the café, the day slowly winding down, there was a feeling of contentment that lingered between them, like a promise that no matter what came next, moments like this would always be worth cherishing
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
Lily Zneimer
The pottery studio was tucked away on a quiet street in Monaco, hidden behind ivy-covered walls and rustic wooden doors. Inside, the atmosphere was cozy and warm, with natural light streaming through large windows, illuminating the pottery wheels, worktables, and shelves lined with completed ceramics. Soft instrumental music played in the background, creating a peaceful ambiance.
She and Lily had decided to spend the day together, eager to try something new and creative. Both had expressed an interest in pottery, though neither was particularly experienced. Still, the excitement of trying their hand at something artistic and tactile was enough to get them both smiling brightly as they tied on their aprons.
She adjusted her sleeves, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Have you ever tried pottery before?” she asked Lily, glancing curiously around the studio.
Lily shook her head, laughing softly as she pulled her blonde hair back into a loose ponytail. “Not really. I took an art class once, but pottery wasn’t included. Honestly, I just thought it looked relaxing.”
She nodded in agreement, running her fingers lightly over a lump of clay resting in front of her. “Same. It always seemed like one of those things you watch and think ‘Oh, that looks easy,’ but I have a feeling it’s going to be harder than it looks.”
Lily chuckled, eyes bright with amusement. “Definitely. At least it’ll be fun, even if we make a complete mess.”
They took their places at the pottery wheels, each carefully following the instructor’s brief demonstration. The wheel hummed gently beneath their hands as they began to shape their clay, spinning slowly at first, and then gaining momentum. She watched carefully, her expression a mixture of concentration and curiosity.
“I think the key is to stay relaxed,” she murmured, her voice filled with gentle encouragement.
Lily glanced over, smiling. “You say that like you’ve done this before.”
She laughed, shaking her head as her fingers carefully pressed into the clay, shaping it into a rough bowl. “Just pretending to sound confident. Fake it till you make it, right?”
Lily grinned, returning her focus to her own spinning clay. Her hands moved gently, trying to mimic the motions they’d been shown, slowly coaxing the clay upward. “Honestly, as long as it doesn’t collapse, I’ll consider it a success.”
The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional humming of the wheels and their quiet laughter when things didn’t quite go according to plan. Her clay wobbled slightly, causing her to make a soft sound of surprise, while Lily’s bowl began to take on an unintended shape.
“Uh-oh, I think mine is leaning,” Lily said, giggling softly as she tried to steady it. The clay began to sway precariously, threatening to topple.
She glanced over, laughing sympathetically. “It kind of looks artistic, though. Like it’s meant to lean.”
Lily chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of clay across her forehead. “I’ll just pretend it’s a modern design. Maybe it’ll become a trend.”
She smiled warmly. “Exactly. Who needs symmetry, anyway?”
The instructor passed by, offering them gentle tips on their technique and helping them adjust their posture and grip. They both listened carefully, eager to learn but also enjoying the playful atmosphere of trying something new together.
Once their initial pieces were complete, the instructor handed them some additional clay, suggesting they try creating mugs next. Her eyes lit up at the idea, quickly forming a new lump of clay into shape.
“I think a mug is more my speed,” she joked lightly.
Lily laughed softly, beginning to shape her clay as well. “True. If it’s slightly wonky, we can just say it has personality.”
She nodded, grinning broadly as she carefully molded the handle of her mug. “Exactly! Mine definitely has a lot of personality.”
As they worked, their conversation drifted to casual topics—favorite movies, books, funny travel stories, and hobbies. Lily shared humorous anecdotes about Oscar’s cooking attempts, and she recounted hilarious backstage stories from her performances with BLACKPINK. Their laughter echoed softly through the studio, the easy, carefree nature of their conversation blending seamlessly with the quiet hum of the pottery wheels.
“I’m definitely dragging Oscar here sometime,” Lily said with a grin. “I think it would be hilarious seeing him try pottery.”
She laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, I’ll bring Lando. He’ll either take it way too seriously or turn it into some sort of silly competition. There’s literally no middle ground with him.”
Lily chuckled, picturing it. “Honestly, if we brought them both here they’d probably turn it into a race to see who could make a mug the fastest.”
She shook her head fondly, her hands gently smoothing the edges of her mug. “Absolutely. But at least we’d get a good laugh out of it.”
The afternoon continued in this relaxed rhythm, with both women engrossed in their pottery creations. Occasionally, their mugs or bowls would collapse or warp unexpectedly, prompting fits of laughter and amused shrugs before they began again.
Eventually, with their finished pieces set aside to dry, they cleaned their hands at a nearby basin, rinsing off the clay residue while exchanging playful banter.
She glanced over at their creations, smiling warmly. “Honestly, not bad for our first try.”
Lily nodded, her eyes bright. “Not bad at all. They have character. I kind of love that about them.”
She laughed softly. “Me too. I think we can officially call ourselves amateur potters now.”
Lily grinned widely. “Absolutely. We should definitely do this again. It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”
She agreed, drying her hands as they stepped outside into the warm afternoon sunlight. “Next time, though, I might aim for a vase or something more ambitious.”
Lily chuckled playfully. “Oh, bold move. I’ll stick to mugs and bowls a bit longer, I think.”
She smiled, linking arms with Lily as they walked leisurely down the quiet street. “Either way, this was exactly what I hoped it would be. Just a relaxing afternoon making art with a friend.”
Lily squeezed her arm lightly, smiling warmly. “Couldn’t agree more. And who knows—maybe one day our slightly crooked mugs will become collector’s items.”
They both laughed, the sound floating gently into the warm Monaco air, their spirits high and carefree. The day had been simple, creative, and filled with laughter—a perfect memory they would cherish for a long time.
Bonus Scene w/ Lando:
She walked into the apartment, her energy light and relaxed after spending the afternoon at the pottery studio with Lily. She had a small box in her hands, carefully cradling it as she moved through the door. Lando was on the couch, his usual goofy grin plastered across his face as he looked up from his phone.
“Hey, I’m home!” she called out, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Lando looked up, his eyes brightening when he saw her. “Welcome back! How was it? Did you make a masterpiece?”
She grinned, walking over to the coffee table and setting the box down carefully. “I wouldn’t call it a masterpiece,” she said, her voice playful. “But it’s definitely... unique.”
Lando raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a curious look on his face. “Unique, huh? I’m intrigued. Do I get to see it?”
She chuckled, opening the box to reveal her creation. Inside was a slightly lopsided mug, the handle a little crooked, but with a simple charm that made it endearing. The glaze on the surface was a soft, calming blue, with small streaks of white that almost looked like clouds.
Lando blinked at it for a moment, then burst out laughing, the sound warm and genuine. “That... is definitely something.” He paused, his smile softening.“I actually love it, though. It’s got character.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not perfect, but I had fun making it. I think it has personality, though. Definitely not something you’d find in a store.”
Lando picked it up gently, turning it over in his hands as he examined it with a mock-serious expression. “Yeah, you can definitely tell it was handmade. But you’re right, it’s got.. soul.”
She smiled warmly, watching him as he held the mug with such care. “Exactly. I might have messed up a few times, but it feels good to make something with my hands, you know? It’s different from anything I usually do.”
Lando set the mug back down, his smile turning playful. “Well, I think it’s perfect. Maybe you can make a whole set for us. You know, we could have custom pottery dinnerware—nothing like it on the market.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Sure, our cupboard is gonna be filled with handcrafted mugs and bowls.”
“I’m in,” Lando said, his voice full of enthusiasm. “You’ve got the talent, maybe we can sell them. We’ll be rolling in pottery money.”
She laughed, rolling her eyes fondly at him. “I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as ‘pottery money,’ but I like the way you think.”
Lando laughed, his arms wrapping around her. “And when you make it big, I’ll always remember the first mug you made. It’ll be worth millions one day.”
She laughed, leaning back against him, feeling the warmth of the moment. “Yeah, maybe. But for now, it’ll just be my mug—and a reminder of a pretty perfect day.”
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
The soft afternoon light streamed through the large windows of the apartment, casting a warm glow on the living room. The space was cozy and inviting, with the comforting scent of coffee and the quiet hum of a gentle playlist filling the air. It was the perfect setting for an afternoon of productive focus—and that’s exactly what her and Lily were aiming for.
Lily sat at the coffee table, her laptop open in front of her, a pile of engineering textbooks and notes scattered around her. She had been working on her homework for a few hours now, trying to understand a particularly tricky concept related to mechanical systems. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled a few equations in her notebook, pausing every so often to refer back to the textbook.
She was seated on the couch, a notebook and her laptop in front of her, working on lyrics for her upcoming album. Her pen moved smoothly across the paper as she jotted down phrases, her mind already lost in the creative process. There was a slight rhythm to her writing, the way her hand moved as she thought through each line, the music already playing in her head.
It was a quiet and comfortable scene—two friends, side by side, working on their respective projects. Though their work was different, the sense of focus and dedication in the room was palpable. Neither of them needed to say much; they were simply content in each other's presence, doing what they loved.
Lily stretched her arms above her head, letting out a small sigh. Lily looked over at her, who was completely absorbed in her songwriting. “How’s it going?” Lily asked, her voice soft but curious.
She didn’t look up right away, lost in the melody she was working on. But when she did, she smiled. “It’s coming along,” she said, her tone light but focused. “I’m working on the bridge for one of the songs. I’m trying to get the lyrics just right.”
Lily nodded, tapping a few keys on her laptop before looking up at her. “How do you do it? I mean, I know you’re in a group, but it’s impressive how you just sit down and write a song. I’ve never really understood that creative process.”
She chuckled, glancing over at her. “I think it’s like engineering in a way,” she said, her eyes brightening with the comparison. “You break it down into smaller parts. For me, it starts with a feeling or an idea, and then I build from there. It’s like constructing something, but with words and music instead of metal or wires.”
Lily smiled, leaning back on the couch, appreciating the thought. “That makes sense. I guess I approach my homework in a similar way. I break things down into steps, but it never feels as... fun as what you’re doing.” She glanced at the equations on her screen, her brow furrowing again. “This is the part of engineering that really makes me think I’m not cut out for it.”
She tilted her head, giving Lily a sympathetic smile. “I get it. Sometimes, I feel the same way with music. But the key is to remember that you don’t have to get it all at once. It’s okay to take it slow and give yourself time to figure it out.”
Lily gave her a small smile, feeling the warmth of the encouragement. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just... I don’t know, sometimes it feels like I should already understand it all.”
She shook her head. “I think that’s the hardest part. We all think we should have it figured out, but nobody really does. It’s about trusting the process. You’ll get there.”
Lily nodded, the words sinking in. “I’ll try to remember that.”
She returned to her lyrics, her pen moving fluidly across the page, while Lily went back to her engineering problem, her eyes scanning the text. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound was the occasional tapping of keys and the soft hum of her instrumental tracks.
After a few minutes, Lily let out a soft groan, leaning back in her chair, her hand rubbing her eyes. “Okay, I’m going to take a break. This part has me stuck.”
She glanced up from her notebook, noticing the frustration in Lily’s expression. “Need help?” she asked, her voice gentle but encouraging.
Lily hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to explain it well enough for you to help. It’s just... one of those moments where nothing’s clicking.”
She smiled knowingly, setting her pen down. “I understand, sometimes I feel the same way with songwriting. It’s like everything’s on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite find the right words.”
Lily smiled back, grateful for the understanding. “Ha, literally.”
She leaned back on the couch, thinking for a moment. “Well, if you’re taking a break, I’ll take one too. Want to brainstorm ideas for the song? Sometimes, talking it out helps.”
Lily raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Brainstorm ideas? You mean, like... writing a song together?”
She grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Why not? Maybe you’ll have a breakthrough just from changing things up a bit. Plus, I’ve always thought it would be fun to write a song with someone who isn’t in the music industry. Fresh perspective, you know?”
Lily laughed, clearly surprised but entertained by the idea. “Okay, this is definitely a first for me. But sure, I’m up for it. How do we start?”
She moved her laptop closer to them and played the instrumental. “This is the beat I have for the song. We can add some lyrics. Don’t worry about it being perfect. Just say whatever comes to your mind.”
Lily, feeling slightly unsure, smiled and shrugged. “Alright, let’s see what happens.”
As she pushed play, letting the melody play out, Lily tapped her fingers against the table, lost in thought for a moment. Then, slowly, she started humming along with the tune, her voice blending into the music. It wasn’t polished, but it was real. They laughed as they tossed around silly lines, half-formed ideas that made no sense at first but slowly started to take shape.
Her fingers moved to pause the music for a moment as she looked over at Lily. “Okay, what if we went for something catchy? Like... "Look at the floor or ceiling,’ or “I know what you are, trying so hard,’ you know, like something that, like possessive in a way.”
Lily grinned, clearly getting into the flow. “I like that. How about after “Look at the floor or ceiling”...uh..you could do ‘or anyone else you’re feeling’?”
She laughed, enjoying the playful nature of their collaboration. “I love that!” she wrote words down in her notebooks. She murmured the song trying to find rhymes “After ‘or anyone else you’re feeling’ then we can do ‘Take home whoever walks in, just keep your eyes off him” she continued.
Lily thought for a second “yes that fit so well” she agreed. Then began humming the fresh lyrics, filling in the gaps as they worked together. The song came together piece by piece, their ideas melding into something neither of them had expected but both found surprisingly fun and rewarding.
After an hour of singing, laughing, and jotting down lines, the song started to take shape. They didn’t finish it, but the foundation was there—an upbeat, assertive anthem about living in the moment, dancing through life, and creating memories.
Lily looked up at her, her expression light and happy. “I can’t believe we actually wrote something together. This was fun.”
She grinned, setting her guitar down. “See? Told you it would help. And who knows—maybe we’ll finish it later. I’ll credit you for the help.”
Lily laughed. “Really!? Who knew I’d be a songwriter?”
She chuckled, her eyes warm. “You helped a lot lilypad, we have 3/4 of the song finished and glad you were able to have fun. We've came up with some fun lyrics and a good time out of it.”
Lily nodded, the weight of her homework temporarily forgotten as Lily smiled at her. “Exactly. Maybe I’ll take this energy and try tackling that engineering problem again.”
She winked. “Good luck with that. I’ll be here if you need another songwriting session.”
Lily gave a playful roll of her eyes. “Deal. Next time, we’ll tackle both the song and the homework.”
As the afternoon wore on, the room remained filled with the soft hum of conversation and the occasional laughter. The stress of schoolwork and the pressures of life seemed so far away. In that moment, it was about friendship, creativity, and simply enjoying the flow of a spontaneous, fun-filled afternoon.
*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ
----------
Helloo again. Quick question for my lovely readers children, for a later story in this AU
What songs would/should be on your/her album? And what should the album be named?
Here’s the songs i got (most are based off the lyrics of the song):
Miss Possessive - Tate McRae (with special MV appearance and a definitely)
Whiplash - Aespa
Sports Car - Tate McRae (with special MV appearance)
ABCD - Nayeon
2 Hands - Tate McRae (with special MV appearance)
Love Hangover - Jennie (with special MV appearance)
Fill the Void - Lily Rose Depp w/ The Weekend
Mantra - Jennie (with special MV appearance)
ExtraL - Jennie w/ Doechii
Number one girl - Rosé
And maybe armageddon - Aespa, Igloo - Kiss of Life, 1-800-hot-n-fun - lesserafim
It’s not official yet so i wanted to hear y’all thoughts and recommendations on what songs should be on this fake album lol.
AGAIN THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT, THE FOLLOWS (WE AT 270!!) , THE LIKES, AND COMMENTS. THEY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. I READ THEM ALL AND THEY KEEP ME MOTIVATED. MUCHHH LOVEEE 💕💕
Can i request where y/n and lando was watching jennie’s ruby experience concert in paris together and fans spotted them and maybe them meeting with jennie backstage too🙂🙂🙂
RUBY
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
a/n: y'all I apologize, on my knees, for the wait. Not really proud of this because of how short it is but not much I can do. I've started so many stories from this series and my other. Which I might post throughout the week or all at once on a random day. Anyway enjoy!!
The air outside Le Zenith in Paris shimmered with anticipation,the kind that lived in the bones more than the skin. Paris was cool, the springdusk hanging heavy in the air like a held breath.
Even hours before doors opened, a sea of fans wrapped around the venue, a mass of glitter and red lace, velvet ribbons and smudged eyeliner, lightsticks held tight like devotion.The Ruby Experience wasn’t just a concert — it was a statement. And tonight was one of the most anticipated stops.
She could hear the hum before she saw the crowd — the murmur of voices like bees in a hive, punctuated by the occasional scream when a van rolled by or a staffer passed too close to the tinted entrance.
She hadn’t planned on going.
She’d watched Jennie’s solo journey unfold from afar — proud, in quiet ways. Texts exchanged across time zones, likes and reposts on instagram, the occasional voice note that said more than words ever could. A thumbs-up on a clip of her dancing to ‘Like Jennie’.
They had known each other long enough to not need presence to prove care. They moved through different spheres now — both orbiting spotlight, both shaped by stage and scrutiny, but never needing to outshine each other.
But still.
When Jennie texted her that week — short and sure — it landed in her chest like a stone dropped in a lake.
Come to my show in Paris. Bring him. I want you to see this one. A single heart emoji. The only punctuation it needed.
Lando was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked through the staff entrance. Not stiff — just observant. He had on a black button-up, the first 2 buttons undone, and dark jeans that somehow made him look both underdressed and overdressed but still perfect. There was a subtle curve to his shoulders, that posture he got when he wasn’t in control of the space — alert, but not uncomfortable.
She walked beside him in tailored leather pants and a clean, off-the-shoulder jacket that cut sharp against her collarbones. Her hair was twisted up, two strands framing her face just enough to soften her jawline. She looked like she belonged here — not because she was dressed for it, but because she didn’t seem to care if she did.
They were led down a long, echoing hallway — past dancers stretching in half-splits, stylists carrying garment bags with handwritten name tags, lighting crew members running final checks on timing sheets.
She offered quiet nods and bows, a few murmured greetings in Korean and English. Lando mostly kept his head down and stayed close. It wasn’t nerves. It was respect. The same way he stood on the edge of a pit lane before a red flag cleared, letting the moment unfold before inserting himself.
They were led to a small lounge space off the side of the backstage corridor — not luxurious, but dimly lit and quiet. A wall of mirrors glowed with round bulbs, and the low sound of the stage monitor leaked in from the floor above.
A staffer handed them each a pair of in-ear protection sleeves.
“Gets loud,” the woman said with a grin, “but you’ll want to hear all of it.”
She had just adjusted hers, one tucked neatly in and the other still in her hand, when a voice cut clean through the sound and static of pre-show bustle.
“Finally.”
She quickly thanked the staff member then looked up, already smiling.
Jennie stood in the doorway in an oversized robe that trailed just slightly on the carpet, her makeup only half-finished — one eye smoky and the other still bare, her lips stained red at the center and fading out. Her hair was half up half down.
Jennie looked like a painting.
Jennie crossed the room in two steps, arms already open. She met her halfway, burying her face in Jennie’s shoulder. The hug wasn’t performative — it wasn’t for anyone else. Just full. Real. The kind of hug that told years of stories in a second.
Lando watched from a polite distance, leaning slightly against the wall. He hadn’t met Jennie properly before — maybe a polite nod backstage at an event, a wave in a VIP box. But he knew enough to know this was a different version of her than the internet ever saw. Warmer. Looser. Human version.
“You look like you own the building,” She murmured.
Jennie pulled back with a smirk. “I do tonight.”
Jennie turned to Lando, wiping the corner of her eye with her sleeve and sticking out a hand. “Thanks for keeping her out of the studio.”
Lando took it, nodding. “It’s a pretty easy job.”
Jennie raised an eyebrow. “I believe it,” Jennie then gave her a once-over. “Leather? At my show?”
“Came to be respectful,” she deadpanned. “Didn’t want to outshine the headliner.”
Jennie rolled her eyes but smiled. “You couldn’t if you tried.”
She reached out and plucked an unused beauty blender off the vanity, tossing it lightly at her. “Don’t drag me when I’ve barely sat down.”
The show assistant called Jennie’s name from the hallway. Jennie glanced back at her and Lando once more. “Enjoy the show.” Then she disappeared — like a storm receding just long enough to gather strength again.
A low rumble moved through the arena — the kind that made the floors vibrate before the sound even reached the chest. The lightsticks snapped on in waves of red and pink, a constellation blooming from the ground up. Every person in the venue seemed to lean forward at once, breath held. By the time the house lights dimmed, the crowd was already on edge.
A single spotlight.
A silhouette in the haze.
And the first notes of “Intro: JANE with FKJ” cut through the air like a knife dipped in honey.
From the VIP platform just off stage left, her and Lando stood in the open, fully visible. Not hidden but not trying to take away from the show.
She gripped the front rail with one hand, her other brushing her jacket sleeve up her arm. She was standing still, but the energy coming off her was electric — like something in her recognized the beat, the voice, the weight of the moment in her bones.
Lando stood just beside her, his hand resting casually on the barrier, shoulders relaxed but gaze sharp. He wasn’t just there to support Jennie — he was watching her watch the show.
When Jennie took the stage, the scream that tore through the arena felt physical. She didn’t flinch. Her fingers curled tighter around the rail. She clapped a couple times and pulled out her phone to take a quick video.
Lando leaned toward her slightly, voice low so only she could hear. “Does she always open like this?”
She nodded, eyes locked on the stage. “She doesn’t want to ease them in. She wants to own them from the start.”
“Jesus,” he murmured, almost in awe.
She smiled, just a little.
They didn’t move much through the first few songs. The stage did enough for all of them.
Every setpiece felt sculpted. Every beat is precise. It wasn’t flashy for the sake of it — it was designed. Red lasers split the air during "Zen," while strobes stuttered behind Jennie’s silhouette, making her look like she was made of electricity.
“Nobody gon’ move my soul, gon’ move my aura, my matter”
“Nobody gon’ move my light, gon’ touch my glow, my matter”
“Nobody gon’, all this power make them scatter”
“No, nobody gon’ touch my soul, gon’ match my glow, like, i dare you (HEY)”
Lando didn’t know every song, but he could tell which ones meant something by the way her shoulders would shift. The way her grip on the rail would soften. She was mouthing every lyric, but when Like Jennie started, he caught her singing the chorus under her breath.
“No, I’m not thinking ‘bout no exes, know they miss me,” She lipsung to Lando, which he laughed and shook his head.
“i got the whole room spinning like its tipy” Lando laughing made her start laughing before locking in for the chorus.
(Don’t bore us, take you to the chorus)
“Who wanna rock with JENNIE”
“Keep your hair done, nails done like JENNIE. Who else got ‘em obsessed like JENNIE”
“Like, like, like. I think I really like (JENNIE) Haters, they don’t really like (JENNIE) Cause they could never, ever be (JENNIE) but have you ever met”
She marked the whole dance, not going full out but just enough. All while Lando watched, smiled and laughed softly. Not mockingly. Just admiring
He leaned closer again. “Is that one your favorite?”
“Not mine,” she said. “Hers.”
And when Jennie pointed toward their section mid-song — quick, subtle, but unmistakable — She used two hands to blow Jennie a kiss and laughed, ducking behind Lando’s shoulder for a moment like she’d been caught off guard. Jennie’s smile grew wider, but she didn’t linger for a moment. She kept dancing.
But the fans saw, quickly moving their phone cameras from the stage to them. Snapping quick videos of them and posting it everywhere.
@/rubygirldreams
Y/N AND LANDO ARE AT THE PARIS SHOW I’M ACTUALLY UNWELL
@/Mcmuffin Jr.
Not her mouthing every word like a real one and Lando looking at her instead of the stage 😭 boy is down so bad
@/sweetbutlap3
They were literally just… there. No security. Just vibes. We love a non-attention-seeking couple
@/jenniedotmp4
The way Jennie POINTED at them during Like Jennie and she actually panicked like a fan 😭 she’s so real
@/lapthreelegend
Lando looked genuinely overwhelmed when the lights hit the smoke during “Filter” lol like sir you drive cars for a living, get it together
@/Lando.edits4
Also can we talk about how she had her hand either resting near his or holding his hand the whole show?? Softest thing I’ve ever seen.
Halfway through the show, she finally shifted.
She stepped back from the rail and turned to face Lando fully, lifting her hair to adjust the back of her top. He instinctively reached out to help, pulling the collar straight and smoothing the fabric down her back with one palm.
“You good?” Lando asked, leaning in just a little.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m just taking it in.”
Onstage, Jennie was in full control — sharp, focused, every move deliberate. The lighting had shifted red again, shadows cut across the stage in hard angles. The bass kicked low and heavy.
“This one feels different,” Lando said.
“It is,” she replied. “She’s proving a point.”
Lando glanced at her. “To who?”
“Whoever doubts her abilties.”
Her voice was even, matter-of-fact. No edge, just certainty. She watched the stage with a quiet understanding — like she’d seen this version of Jennie before, just never under lights.
“You’ve done that,” Lando said, more observation than question.
She shrugged. “Not really. But I know the feeling.”
Lando didn’t push. Just let her words sit there, watching as the crowd roared and Jennie moved through the verse like she owned the room.
“You really respect her, huh?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” Sophia said. “She’s doing exactly what she wants. That’s the goal.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Lando nodded, eyes still on her. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
The lights dimmed again —slow. Like an exhale. The last song of the night.
The intro to “Twin” began, the guitar playing softly. Jennie’s voice, raw and unlayered, echoed through the arena like a memory.
“It’s like im writing a letter, and i put in a 12 ounce bottle of Heineken”
She went still. Lando felt it before he saw it — the way her hand eased off the rail, her body slightly untensing.
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her eyes stayed fixed on the stage, but something in her posture changed. Like she’d suddenly remembered every version of herself that had watched Jennie perform over the years — from trainee, to duo, to friend, to sister. Always tethered together.
Onstage, Jennie was alone now.
No dancers. No production tricks. Just her, sitting under a single spotlight, microphone held in both hands like a secret.
“Can you just bear with me? We were ten years in and young and dumb and innocent, my friend, but I knew all along that we were both wrong”
Lando glanced over at her. Her expression was unreadable — a perfectly built wall, honed over years in front of cameras and crowds. But her eyes were wet.
He reached for her hand. He didn’t speak and he moved half a step closer.
And still, Jennie sang.
“I didn’t leave ya, I still see ya. When I'm bumping Ashanti, yeah, on a beach, yeah. I didn’t hold ya, but I still know ya,”
“We will make up, make things right when we get older, Friend”
“Twin, Twin Twin, You and I we drifted apart”
It wasn’t a song for the stage. It felt too raw for that.
It was the kind of song written at 2 a.m., in a studio with the lights off, with only truth left in the room.
A song about being mirrored. Compared. Made into halves of someone else's story.
She finally spoke — barely a whisper. “This one’s my favorite.”
Lando nodded. “Yeah?”
“She hasn’t done it live before. It’s… it’s too personal.”
He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew. This wasn’t just a song Jennie had written. It was a song she’d bled everything into.
The crowd didn’t scream through this one. They swayed, quiet. Some cried. One lightstick flickered out and was relit by a friend. It was the rare kind of arena silence that felt sacred.
And when the last note dissolved into reverb, Jennie didn’t bow. She just sat there, chin slightly tilted down, letting the weight of it settle, as the light dimmed to black. She exhaled.
She looked over at Lando, the edge of her smile a little wobbly now.
“That one got me,” she said simply. Lando didn’t try to make it a moment. He didn’t press it open or try to soften it.
Instead, he leaned in and said, “She meant for it to.”
She looked back at the stage, blinked a few times, then wiped the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “I hope she knows it landed.”
“She knows,” he said, without looking away. “She saw you.”
By the time they made it backstage, the energy had shifted — not gone, just loosened. The kind of high that settled into grins and sweats and someone kicking off their heels in the hallway with a dramatic groan.
She and Lando were led down the familiar corridor, their passes swinging on their lanyards. Crew members passed them, still buzzing, high-fiving, laughing in short, breathless bursts. Someone sprinted by holding a single broken heel like it was a trophy.
Jennie’s dressing room door was propped open with a speaker, faint music still playing from inside — not the concert playlist anymore, but something soft and lazy, like the after-hours version of everything they’d just seen.
She was stretched across a velvet couch in post-show sweats and a tank top, hair piled in a messy top knot, face still glowing with residual stage makeup and exactly zero energy left to pretend. There was a half-eaten energy bar next to her phone and one sock barely hanging on.
When she spotted them, she grinned. “There you are,” Jennie said, pointing at her like she was mildly offended. “You didn’t cry. Rude.”
She kicked off her heels and dropped down beside her, all too familiar. “I teared up during Twin. You just couldn’t see it because your spotlight kept flash banging me.”
“That’s not my problem,” Jennie said, stealing her water bottle from her hand. “Next time, bring tissues.”
“You did amazing though,” she said, swiping the bottle back. “Singing live and keeping up, has your stamina gotten better?.”
Jennie beamed and nodded, then looked at Lando. “You. Be honest. Was I too much?”
Lando grinned. “Hm, yeah .”
Jennie clutched her chest. “Thank you.” she said breathlessly.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who treats being called ‘too much’ as a compliment.”
Jennie sat up, grabbing the champagne bottle off the table and popping it with a loud pop. “It is. I am. And I earned it after all the shit ive been through.”
Lando laughed as she poured into paper cups, handing one to each of them like she was hosting a very low-budget award ceremony.
“To the greatest audience in Paris,” Jennie declared.
She raised her cup. “You mean the 8,000 people who screamed your name or us two in the VIP platform?”
“You,” Jennie said without hesitation. “Everyone else screamed. You guys watched. That’s rarer.”
They clinked cups. It fizzed. It wasn’t the best champagne — Jennie admitted she picked it based on the bottle — but it tasted like something worth remembering.
“You know what the highlight was?” Jennie said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Seeing Lando’s face during with the IE”
Lando blinked. “What about it?”
“You blinked,” she said, pointing. “I saw you. You flinched.”
“I didn’t flinch—”
Jennie nodded solemnly. “He flinched. Meanwhile I was breathing in fog and dancing in heels the height of my standards”
“The same standards that are…nonexistent?” she offered.
Jennie raised her cup. “Correct.”
They all laughed — the good kind, the kind that echoes in your ribs. The adrenaline was still there, but now it felt lighter. Celebratory. Like the part of the night
(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)
| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |
Kelly Piquet
The harbor at Yas Marina glowed like a jewelry box. Neon reflections danced across the water from the yachts docked along the promenade, voices and music bleeding into the warm night air like perfume.
Inside one of the larger yachts — privately rented by a sponsor with more money than taste — the mood was something between effortless luxury and soft chaos. The music pulsed low, cocktails in crystal glasses were passed around, and everyone looked like they belonged in a Vogue spread.
She stood near the back of the upper deck, leaning slightly against the railing, sipping from a glass of still water. Her dress was deep green, silk, and subtle — cut just right, the kind that didn’t scream for attention but always got it anyway. Her hair was twisted up in a way that suggested zero effort, but wasn’t. A soft breeze lifted a few loose strands as she looked out toward the dark sea.
She was waiting for Lando to come back — he’d disappeared five minutes ago to talk to someone from McLaren. She didn’t mind the pause. She liked watching people when they didn’t know they were being watched.
That’s when Kelly approached.
Not directly — not rudely either. Just a quiet, graceful arrival, a flute of champagne in hand, her walk slow and measured across the deck. She wore a backless navy dress, hair slicked into a bun, and looked — as always — like she belonged in three places at once: a Monaco villa, a fashion week front row, and a post-race celebration.
“Y/n, right?” Kelly’s voice was low, clipped, but polite.
She turned, a blink of surprise crossing her features before she composed herself with a soft smile. “Yes. and Kelly?”
They shook hands — briefly, cleanly. No fake kiss on the cheek. Just mutual acknowledgement.
“I’ve been meaning to say hello,” Kelly continued. “Max talks about Lando a lot. And you... sort of became the paddock’s best-kept secret overnight.”
She smiled at that, amused. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything secret. I just prefer… quiet entrances.”
Kelly’s eyes flickered — amused or assessing, it was hard to tell. “That’s rare around here.”
They stood for a moment, side by side, the soft clink of glasses and murmured laughter behind them.
“I liked your lap video,” Kelly said suddenly. “The one with Lando.”
She let out a quiet, half-horrified laugh. “Oh God. That’s going to follow me forever, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” Kelly said, tilting her glass. “And you using his middle name was amusing.”
She playfully rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “He deserved it. He hit that corner like he was trying to access another dimension.”
Kelly took a sip of champagne, studying her out of the corner of her eye. She was graceful, but unpolished — not in a bad way. No forced giggles to blend in, no PR-trained phrases. She wasn’t performing. That made Kelly pause.
“So… you dance, right? Professionally?”
“I did,” She said. “Not so much anymore, but I try to take classes when I can and touring when my company wants a quick buck.”
“And this?” Kelly gestured faintly toward the harbor, the paddock just beyond it. “This has to be completely different from what you're used to?”
“It is. But I love him,” she said simply. “So I’m willing to figure out how to exist in his world without losing mine.”
Kelly actually blinked at that. It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t self-aggrandizing. Just... honest.
Most women, especially in this environment, didn't say things like that. They played the game or pushed against it. She didn’t seem interested in either and Kelly respected that.
“Well,” Kelly said after a pause, offering her hand again, “it’s good to finally meet you.”
She shook it. “Likewise.”
Lando appeared a few minutes later, slipping an arm around her waist and murmuring something low in her ear. She smiled at whatever it was and leaned slightly into him, effortlessly.
Kelly watched them for a second, then turned to rejoin Max on the other side of the deck.
She didn’t envy her — no. Kelly understood something about her now that she hadn’t expected to. She wasn’t here to prove anything.
She was just here to be and support.
Kelly knew she would fit right in.
Francisca “kika” Gomes
The terrace buzzed quietly — VIPs mingling under wide umbrellas, drinks sweating against crystal glasses, the low rumble of race cars still echoing from the track below. The chaos of qualifying had died down, replaced by that brief lull before the media blitz and sponsor dinners.
Kika stood near the railing, half-listening to one of Pierre’s engineers explaining something she didn’t care to listen to. She politely and mindlessly nodded, sipped her spritz, and let her eyes wander.
The rhythm of a race weekend. The polite nods, the glittering people who smiled too hard. She’d learned how to keep her guard up — how to spot when people are being too fake with her or the other wags, also when people who are here for a quick photo for instagram and couldn’t care less about any of the drivers except for Lewis.
Kikas eyes stopped on her, she was standing near the back corner of the terrace, facing away from the crowd.
She wasn’t anything Kika expected, especially from her status. She wasn’t loud or camera-hungry. She was just there and yet she got all the attention.
She dressed like she didn’t care about being noticed — oversized sunglasses pushed up into her hair, black baggy jorts and a cropped Mclaren top, dog tag necklaces layered over her collarbones. She leaned against the glass, sipping something iced from a paper cup, head tilted toward Lando, who stood next to her in full team gear, smiling like he wasn’t even aware he was smiling.
They looked like people who didn’t need to explain anything to each other.
And that — that — intrigued Kika.
Kika watched them for a few seconds. Lando looked relaxed. More than that — at ease. He leaned in when he spoke, eyes crinkling at something she said, and Kika caught the faint sound of her laugh — quiet, low, real.
There was something about her that made Kika want to say hello. Not out of politeness. Just... curiosity. Kika convinced Pierre to walk with her.
“Hey,” Lando said when they approached, spotting Kika first. “Hey Kika, this is Y/n.” he said as Pierre pulled Lando into a bro-like hug.
She turned to Kika, warm but unreadable. She didn’t offer an air-kiss or a perfectly timed smile. Just a simple, “Hi,” and her hand outstretched to shake.
Kika took it. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Her voice was calm. Even. She didn’t fill the space with chatter or apologies. She didn’t seem interested in faking her personality. Kika respected that.
Pierre stepped away a moment later to greet someone else, and Lando followed him — leaving the two women alone by the railing.
They stood in silence for a few moments. Not awkward. Just letting the noise settle.
“You’ve been to many races?” Kika asked eventually.
She shook her head. “A few. I’m still figuring it all out.”
“You seem comfortable.”
Her mouth tilted up. “Comfortable and understanding are two different things.”
Kika laughed lightly. “Fair.”
They both looked out at the track, the sun stretching the shadows across the asphalt.
“You like it?” Kika asked.
She paused, considering. “I like the parts in between. Before the race. After it’s over.”
Kika nodded. She understood that.
She glanced sideways at her. “You’ve been around longer than I have.”
“A bit.”
“Does it ever stop feeling so… big?”
Kika smiled faintly. “Not really. But it gets easier to tune it all out.”
She nodded slowly, like she appreciated the honesty.
There was something steady about her. Quietly grounded, not trying to take up space — but not shrinking from it either.
“I’m glad we finally met,” Kika said, sincerely.
She looked at her for a second, then smiled. “Me too.”
Later that night, when Pierre asked what she thought of her, Kika didn’t hesitate.
“She’s cool,” she said simply, tying her hair up.
“I think we’ll get along.”
And she meant it.
Carmen Montero Mundt
Carmen had gotten good at being unbothered.
You have to be when you’re dating a Formula 1 driver. Especially one like George — polite, polished, endlessly well-spoken, but still... on display. Cameras, fans, whispers, the occasional awkwardly framed headline.
She’d learned how to blend in just enough — offer the right smile, say the right thing, wear sunglasses that made you unreadable but still “present.”
But today, Carmen was a little on edge. Not because of George or the upcoming qualifying.
Because she was here.
Not just “here” in the paddock but here, in the same lounge, a few feet away, sitting with her Mac and a notebook open, on a black leather sofa like she'd dropped out of a Pinterest board and couldn’t care less.
Carmen had seen her before, obviously. She wasn’t blind nor immune to the internet.
Carmen had also seen the fan threads. The shipping. The slow-burn speculation about her and Lando. The way people spoke about her like she was both an enigma and their emotional support k-drama lead.
Now, here she was in real life.
Wearing wide-leg jeans, with vintage dior heels and a strapless sweetheart top, and a vintage leather Lotus F1 jacket. Landos Mclaren necklace mixing with her own. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, light makeup. She looked beautiful even when it seemed like she wasn’t trying at all.
George had gone off to film something with Sky Sports awhile ago, leaving Carmen with her second coffee and too much silence.
She caught her eye first and to her surprise smiled. A genuine, not-too-big, not-too-performative smile. Not the “I know you’re watching me” smile Carmen had expected from someone with millions of fans and a chokehold on Lando Norris.
Just a normal girl's girl smile. Friendly and inviting.
Carmen stood and started approaching her. ‘I’m being normal, I’m being calm, I’m being curious.’ she said to herself in her head.
“Hi,” She said before Carmen could. “You’re George’s girlfriend, Carmen, right?” Her voice was so soft. Softer than Carmen imagined. Not meek, just measured.
“I am,” Carmen said. “And you’re...very brave for doing that lap with Lando.”
She laughed. “Oh, thank you.”
They shook hands. Brief but solid. Carmen sat across from her.
There was a moment — just a blink — where Carmen thought she might shift, go guarded, maybe even cold. But instead, she did the opposite.
“You look great, by the way,” she said, eyes flicking to Carmen’s outfit — cream trousers, navy blouse, Cartier watch. “Effortlessly chic. I’m making mental notes as I speak.”
Carmen blinked. That wasn’t what she expected. She smiled despite herself. “That’s funny. I was thinking the same about you. That jacket is dangerously good.”
SHe grinned, leaning back into the sofa. “It was my mom’s. Shee was a Lotus fan.” No flexing. Just... a distant memory.
They talked. About nothing big at first — espresso quality in different paddocks, the weirdest media request their partners had received, how she had accidentally insulted a McLaren engineer by calling brake dust “glitter.”
And somewhere between the second joke and the third shrug, Carmen realized something:
She wasn’t trying to be impressive. She wasn’t trying to command the room.
She was just watching. Not from a place of coldness — but observation. She moved like a dancer even in stillness — aware of space, of posture, of people. Controlled, but never stiff.
Carmen had met plenty of “it girls.” but she didn’t feel like that. She felt like someone who’d seen too much to waste time pretending.
“Everyone told me you were intimidating,” Carmen said at one point, half-laughing.
She raised an eyebrow. “Everyone?”
“George,” Carmen clarified. “And a few of the other girls in the paddock. They said you were impossible to read.”
“And what do you think?” she asked, sipping her macha latte, eyes steady.
Carmen paused. Then said honestly, “I think you just don’t waste energy explaining yourself.”
She tilted her head. “That’s generous.”
“No, it’s just accurate.”
She smiled — slower this time, but real. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and looked down for a moment, like she hadn’t expected that.
Before Carmen could say more, Lando appeared— hair damp, team shirt half-buttoned, eyes bright.
“There she is,” he said, dropping beside her like he always belonged there. “Did you behave while I was gone?”
“She didn’t even threaten to drive today,” Carmen said dryly.
She looked at Lando. “I like her.”
Lando grinned. “Told you.”
Carmen realized their relationship wasn’t just a trend or one of Lando’s phases or even a public moment waiting to end. Whatever this was between them... it was rooted and growing.
Later that night, Carmen would tell George over dinner:
“She’s not what I expected. But she’s exactly what he needs.”
Alexandra Saint Mleux
The boutique was small — hidden halfway up a hill in Monaco, behind a rusted iron gate covered in jasmine vines. There was no sign outside. Just a brass buzzer and a single name etched into the wall in barely-there serif font: R.MARET.
Inside, it was quiet and cool, all pale stone and soft piano, the kind of place where fabrics were displayed like art and conversations never rose above a murmur. The scent of cedar and orange blossom lingered faintly in the air.
She stepped inside in a Balmain tweed pearl mini dress with black lace tights, Mach & Mach bow satin pumps, baby pony 01 jentle salon sunglasses perched on her head and a Prada purse.
Even since she moved to Monaco she somehow avoided the chaos of cameras and fan accounts — mostly thanks to Lando’s early morning training and her strategic tendency to disappear during peak hours.
She was flipping through a rack of raw silk skirts when the bell from the entrance rang, followed by the soft tap of heels echoed from the entrance.
She looked up — and there she was.
Alexandra Saint Mleux. Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, art history student, and walking embodiment of a French Vogue editorial.
Tall, poised, with that quiet ease she had only seen in women who truly didn’t care who was watching. She wore a linen dress the color of antique paper and simple leather sandals. Her dark hair was twisted up loosely, a strand falling near her cheek like it had been placed there by design.
At her feet, a small golden retriever trotted in eagerly, leash trailing behind. He made a beeline straight for her.
She crouched down instinctively. “Well, hello,” she murmured as the dog licked her fingers, tail wagging hard enough to thump against the leg of the display table.
Alexandra’s laugh — light, accented — floated across the space. “Leo,” she said fondly. “He’s... selective with people. But he’s chosen you, clearly.”
She looked up. “Leo, huh? Like the sign or the king?”
Alexandra smiled. “Both. Charles says he thinks he’s royalty.”
“Typical man,” she said with a grin, still scratching behind the dog’s ear. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”
“I know,” Alexandra said, and then added quickly, “Not in a weird way — just, the paddock is small. And I’ve seen you on the McLaren feed.”
She stood, brushing off her hands. “And you’re... extremely good at being casually elegant in 80-degree heat.”
Alexandra let out a soft laugh. “My secret is to never sit down and never eat bread.”
She gave her a mock gasp. “Unacceptable. Fashion and bread are both sacred.”
“I make an exception for focaccia,” Alexandra said, eyes gleaming.
They wandered the boutique together with Leo — not forced, not performative. Just women who understood the language of fabric and form, of silhouettes and texture. They didn’t talk about F1. Not at first. They talked about old Mugler corsetry, the tragic genius of Galliano’s Dior, and how both of them had considered stealing vintage coats from stylists’ closets.
Alexandra gently held a backless navy dress up to her frame. “You could wear this on the pit wall and no one would notice the cars.”
She scoffed. “If I wear that on the pit wall, Lando will drive into a barrier.”
“Then maybe you should,” Alexandra said thoughtfully. “Ferrari needs the points.”
They burst into laughter — not performative, not overly loud. Just a shared frequency, clean and easy.
At one point, Leo came between them again, flopping dramatically on her feet with a huff. She leaned down to pet him, and Alexandra watched — her head tilted, something soft flickering behind her eyes.
She liked her.
She was... grounded. Naturally funny. Fierce in her silence. There was no competition in her, no guardedness.
By the time they stepped outside with large white bags in hand, the sun had dipped low behind the stone buildings, and she had Leo’s leash wrapped casually around her wrist.
“You’re sure Charles won’t mind if I steal his dog?”
Alexandra shrugged. “He’ll survive. Besides, Leo clearly prefers you.”
She grinned. “Smart boy.”
Alexandra looked over at her, sunlight catching the corners of her eyes. “We should do this again.”
She nodded. “Text me.”
And that was it.
Just two women in Monaco — and one dog who knew exactly who to trust.
Rebecca Donaldson
he padel club in Mallorca was almost too perfect — white stone walls, vines spilling over the sun-bleached terrace, the low hum of cicadas just audible beneath the thwack of racquets on court.
Rebecca wasn’t new to this setting — she’d spent enough off-seasons trailing behind Carlos through southern Spain to recognize the cadence of his world. She could find the nearest espresso machine in any paddock. She knew how long he’d stay after a loss, when to push, when to let him unravel quietly. She was good at reading rooms, especially when the room was full of men like Carlos.
Her, though — she was new.
Rebecca clocked her instantly. Sitting with one leg tucked under the other, oversized sunglasses perched on her face, neatly styled curls piled on her shoulders . She wasn’t on her phone. Just sipping iced tea, watching the game through the chain-link fence.
There was a dancer’s posture in the way she sat — shoulders down, neck long, like she was used to being on camera without trying to be.
Carlos had mentioned her in passing. “Lando’s girl,” he’d said once. “Pretty quiet and to herself. Funny as hell when she's open.”
But Rebecca didn’t rely on secondhand opinions.
So when she stepped up to the table under the shade of the terracotta awning, she smiled just enough. “Y/n?”
She looked up, immediately pulling her sunglasses to rest in her hair.
“Hi — sorry, I didn’t mean to take over the whole table. There was shade here.”
“No, please,” Rebecca said, setting her bottle of water down and slipping into the seat beside her. “Carlos drags me here all the time. This spot’s prime real estate.”
She grinned. “It’s my first time. I’m not sure I even understand it yet.”
“Don’t worry, the rules are fake,” Rebecca said. “They just like pretending it’s intense.”
They both turned toward the court at the same time, just in time to see Lando trip slightly trying to recover a shot, stumble, and catch himself with a laugh. Carlos didn’t even look back — just fired the ball back across the net with ruthless precision.
She winced. “He’s gonna talk about that for days.”
“Carlos already has a victory speech in mind. He’s dramatic like that.”
“Lando’s worse. He’s going to say it was sabotage. Something about the sun angle. Or maybe Carlos rigged the ball.”
Rebecca laughed — really laughed. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t polite.
There was something disarming about her. She didn’t offer much small talk. She didn’t seem to care about impressing anyone — just sat there, comfortably quiet, sipping her drink and reacting with dry commentary when necessary.
Rebecca appreciated that.
They settled into a rhythm over the next hour. A waiter brought them snacks — olives, thin slices of manchego, bread with tomato rubbed into it. They didn’t talk the whole time. Sometimes they just watched. And when they did talk, it was slow.
She asked about Rebecca’s work — her campaigns, her transition from editorial to more commercial work. And she actually listened and asked questions with genuine curiosity .
Rebecca asked about touring. About dancing. Not in the glossy, fan-interview kind of way, but curious. When she talked about the routine — the repetition, the strain, the weird loneliness of being in motion all the time — Rebecca nodded like she understood.
Because she did.
They didn’t overshare. No trauma-dumping. No fake sisterhood.
But there was ease.
When Carlos and Lando finally called it — sweaty, red-faced, Lando pointing dramatically at the scoreboard claiming a moral victory — the boys walked over, still trash-talking each other.
“You survived,” Carlos said, dropping his racquet bag with a thud beside Rebecca and kissing her on the cheek.
“Barely,” she said dryly.
“Lando almost lost a lung trying to prove a point.”
“I won the point, though,” Lando insisted, flopping into the seat beside his girlfriend. She handed him her half-melted iced tea.
“No you didn’t.”
“I emotionally won it.”
“Congratulations,” Rebecca said, taking a sip of her water. “You emotionally tied your shoes this morning too?”
Carlos cracked up.
She smirked at Rebecca over the top of her glass.
Lando blinked between them. “Wait. Are you guys friends now?”
She shrugged. “She didn’t run away.”
Rebecca leaned back, stretching out her legs under the table. “She didn’t make me talk about skincare routines and I didn’t ask her to do a TikTok. It’s the healthiest female encounter we’ve had all season.”
Carlos nodded, mock impressed. “You’re evolving.”
Rebecca liked her.
She wasn’t sizing her up, comparing outfits, pretending to bond over things they didn’t share. She sat there, watched the game, laughed when it was funny, and listened when it mattered.
There was confidence in that kind of simplicity and in this world— where everyone was always performing — that kind of woman was rare.
Lily Muni He
It happened at the Singapore Grand Prix weekend.
Not in the paddock — that would’ve been too loud, too watched. Not at some afterparty either. It was earlier in the week, on a breezy Thursday night, before the chaos really began. Alex and Lando had just wrapped media rounds, and they were both somehow starving and exhausted, the way only Formula 1 drivers can be. Lily suggested dinner at a quiet rooftop spot she'd heard about from a friend — low light, no fans, no cameras. Just views, soft music, and good food.
Lily didn’t know she would be there.
“Lando’s girlfriend,” Alex had said casually while they were climbing the stairs to the rooftop. “You know. Y/n?”
Lily raised an eyebrow. “From Blackpink?”
“Yeah.”
“The one who's been turning the paddock in a fan meet?”
Alex laughed. “That’s the one.”
Lily expected someone… intense. Dramatic. Someone who wore her fame like armor. But when they stepped out onto the rooftop terrace, She was already sitting there, legs crossed, wearing an Alex Perry satin mini dress with black tights and So Kates, sipping sparkling water from a wine glass like it was some elaborate inside joke.
She looked up when they arrived and smiled at them and that was it.
No performative “nice to meet you,” no stiff awkward hug. Just a warm, friendly expression that made Lily immediately understand why Lando kept getting caught staring at her like an idiot.
They were seated across from each other — Lando and Alex, already deep into a debate about track temperatures. Within five minutes, she leaned slightly toward Lily and whispered, “What’s the over-under on one of them saying the words ‘tire degradation’ before dessert?”
Lily snorted. “I’ll give it ten minutes.”
She tapped her glass. “I’m going five.”
They clicked instantly. There was no jockeying for attention. Familiarity, even though they’d never met.
Over dinner, they didn’t talk about the boys.
They talked about different foods. About airports. About sleeping in cars between events. About what it felt like to be seen all the time, and still feel like people only knew the edited version of you.
Lily talked about growing up between cultures — Chinese, American, golf tour families, and endless travel. She nodded, her own stories flowing in: training in Seoul, debuting on world stages at nineteen, the pressure of being both known and unknowable.
By the time dessert arrived, they were sharing it without asking. Picking off each other’s plates like they’d done it forever.
Later, while the boys argued over which karting track in Asia was best, Lily and her stood by the railing overlooking the city — skyline glittering, wind in their hair.
“You’re not what I expected,” Lily said, quiet but honest.
She tilted her head. “In a good or bad way?”
Lily smiled. “Oh, definitely a good way. You’re... calm and very funny.”
She chuckled. “People think I’m meaner than I actually am.”
“I get that.”
There was a pause — a real one, not awkward, just weighty with mutual recognition.
“I’m glad we met,” She said.
“Me too.”
Back at the hotel, curled up next to Alex, Lily scrolled through Instagram stories of the night. Someone had tagged them — a blurry shot of the four of them mid-laugh around the table.
She just looked present.
Lily smiled.
She wasn’t just another girlfriend in the paddock. She was someone real and interesting. Someone who could scream during a hot lap and then have a whole conversation about tiramisu like she wasn’t the most recognizable woman in the room.
Lily liked her. A lot, and even more than that
She respected her.
Lily Zneimer
It happened on a Friday.Free Practice had just wrapped, and the paddock was in its usual state of post-session scramble, engineers debriefing, drivers jogging back and forth with half-zipped suits, and media staff already trying to wrangle everyone into content mode.
Lily Zneimer had ducked into the McLaren motorhome for coffee. Not her usual stop, but Oscar was still in the garage and she’d been waved in by one of the media team who knew her from the GP hospitality rounds.
She slipped inside, tucked behind her sunglasses, hair up in a claw clip, and immediately found herself face-to-face with her.
Not in a fan meet kind of way. Just — there she was.
Standing by the espresso machine, fiddling with the milk frother like it had personally offended her.
She glanced up. Their eyes met.
“Oh,” she said. “Is this yours?”
Lily blinked. “No — I was just…” She trailed off. “I watched your Coachella set from like… four angles. You’re amazing.” she said, quietly.
She smiled, relaxed instantly. “Thank you. That was a blur. I almost passed out mid-bridge of ‘Forever Young’ — dehydration and rhinestones are a bad combo.”
Lily laughed. Not politely — genuinely.
“I’m Lily,” she said, stepping forward. “Oscar’s—”
“Girlfriend,” she finished with a small nod. “I know. He talks about you a lot.”
Lily’s brows rose slightly. “Really?”
she shrugged, grabbing a paper cup. “Only when I’m pretending to listen.”
They both laughed. The tension broke.
They ended up sitting down — two near-strangers in the calmest corner of a chaotic motorhome, sipping espresso out of paper cups.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d be like this,” Lily admitted.
She looked up. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Not… intimidating.”
She raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Were you expecting diva energy?”
“Yeah,” Lily smirked, “but I thought you’d be… more guarded.”
She took another sip of coffee. “I get that a lot.”
“But you’re easy to talk to,” Lily added, quieter now. “That’s all I meant.”
She nodded, and for a second, they just sat in silence. Just two people with overlapping lives, finding a rare bit of quiet in the middle of chaos.
She lifted her cup slightly toward Lily’s. “I’ll take that.”
From the second level of the McLaren motorhome, Lando leaned against the glass railing, arms folded, eyes scanning the paddock without much focus — until he saw them.
Her and Lily.
Sitting side by side near the back corner of the motorhome, just slightly tucked out of view, espresso cups in hand. Not stiff, not forced — actually talking. She had one foot pulled up onto her chair, shoulders relaxed. Lily was laughing at something, head tilted, all guard down.
Lando blinked like he wasn’t sure it was real.
Oscar came up behind him, nudging his shoulder. “You watching quali replays or staring at your girlfriend again?”
Lando didn’t move. “They’re talking.”
Oscar frowned. “Who?”
Lando tilted his head toward the corner. “Her. Lily.”
Oscar leaned in, following his line of sight. His eyebrows shot up. “Huh.”
“Huh?” Lando repeated.
“I thought they’d need like... a five-minute buffer and some scripted icebreakers.”
Lando exhaled through his nose. “I thought Lily might combust.”
“Same.”
“Right?”
They watched for another beat. She nudged Lily’s cup with her own, both of them smiling now — not a polite smile. A real one.
Oscar glanced at Lando. “Should we be worried?”
“Oh yeah,” Lando said. “We just lost narrative control.”
“Did we ever really have it?”
“Absolutely not.”
They both watched as Lily said something that made her shake her head, grinning — a rare, unguarded kind of grin. It was the kind of moment neither of them could stage, even if they tried.
Oscar bumped Lando lightly with his elbow. “I think they like each other.”
Lando nodded. “Which is great. Also terrifying.”
“Same time next weekend?”
“Only if there’s wine involved.”
There was something about her that stuck with lily. Not in a flashy way, not the pop star polish or the style, though both were impossible to ignore.
It was the way she moved in a space.
Comfortable but quiet. Observant. Unbothered by the fact that several mechanics had side-eyed her in disbelief earlier, like they couldn’t believe that girl was with Lando of all people.
Lily got it now.
She was warm, funny in a dry, unfussy way, and carried herself like someone who didn’t need the whole room to look at her, but it did anyway. And when it didn’t, she didn’t care.
And when she laughed?
It was like watching someone shake the fame off their shoulders for a second. Just a girl, in sneakers, sipping espresso, laughing about almost passing out on the Coachella stage.
Lily liked her.
A lot more than she expected to.
And when Oscar asked her later how it went — if meeting the mysterious Y/n L/n was weird or awkward or intimidating — Lily just smiled, took a sip of her drink, and said:
“She’s cool. No — better than cool.”
Oscar blinked. “You’re blushing.”
“Shut up.”
She hovered over the “Follow” button longer than she cared to admit. One by one, she tapped through them — both Lily's, Carmen, Alexandra, Rebecca, Kelly, Kika and finally, Lando.
Her screen stayed still for a beat after. Her PR team wouldn’t love it. Her company guidelines were clear: keep the posts clean, the accounts neutral, the mystique intact. But tonight, she didn’t care. She cared about what felt real. And this — this small, simple rebellion felt like her
And how could she not follow back all her new friends
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This is just first impressions the wags had of her/you. Of course i will build on the friendships a little more later, anyway enjoy.
Don't be a silent reader if you don’t have too leave a comment or drop a message I read them all and don't be afraid to ask anything i'm a very open.🤗
