welcome to my masterlist! here is everyone i write for and some fics I have already put out! enjoy :)
my requests box is open!
LANDO NORRIS
- little surprises
- the prince and me (ongoing series)
- loud and clear
- silly superstitions
- fake it till you...love her?
- we got a hugger!
- world of whispers
- mouthreader moments
- can't stay away
- don't walk away from me
- shut me up
- how to lose your best friend in 7 days
- 004 - license to love (ongoing series)
lando x deaf!reader
- world of whispers
- loud and clear
- mouthreader moments
OSCAR PIASTRI
- pretty girl
- mistaken majesty
- gentle lover
- strums of you
- tiny things
- tiny things (that change everything)
A/N: IT'S HEREEEEEEEEEEEEE. sorry this took so long i'm currently an enrolled college student in her senior year sadly. anyways though, enjoy :))
pinterest | masterlist
ch.1: collateral
wc: 6.2k
warnings: guns and violence and death, typical spy drama kind of stuff so just be warned. nothing is really descriptive though.
monte carlo did not believe in subtlety.
it shimmered.
even on a tuesday night in early spring, when the tourists thinned and the yachts bobbed lazily in the harbor like bored royalty, the city glowed as though someone had dipped it in champagne. the lights from the casino de monte-carlo refracted off polished marble. supercars purred down the streets like they were stretching before a race. women in silk dresses and men in tailored suits moved through the night as if they were part of the architecture. something ornamental, intentional, and expensive.
and then there was your bar.
it wasn't a dive bar, nor was it really quite upscale. it lived in the delicate middle ground, tucked between a jewelry boutique and a designer patisserie, all dark wood, brass shelving, and amber lighting. the kind of place yacht crews and locals favored. the kind of place where billionaires' sons came when they didn't want paparazzi. where deals were whispered into crystal glasses. where secrets had a way of settling into the grain of the bar top.
but you liked it that way. you had been bartending there for three years. long enough to memorize regular orders. long enough to tell when someone wanted conversation and when they wanted silence. long enough to know that monte carlo ran on performance.
and you were good at reading an audience.
it was nearly midnight when he walked in. you had noticed him immediately, not because he was someone who was loud, or flashy, or overdressed. but rather because he was quite the opposite.
he looked like he belonged anywhere.
dark jacket. simple tee underneath. no visible watch, which was strange for monte carlo. his hair was messy in a way that felt intentional but not styled. he didn't pause to admire the place or scan for attention. he stepped inside like he already knew the room.
but he did scan. you saw him do it.
the subtle flick of his eyes. entrance. exits. windows. mirrors. the small convex security dome in the upper corner. his gaze catalogued everything in less than a second before settling on the bar.
he took the seat at the far end. back to the wall. clear line of sight to the door.
that's when you knew he wasn't a tourist.
you grabbed a clean glass and wandered down toward him.
"what can i get for you?"
his eyes lifted to yours. green. bright in a way that didn't match the calm of his posture. they assessed you just as quickly as they had the room, but it didn't feel leering. it felt calculating.
"whiskey," he said. british accent. soft. controlled. "neat."
"any preference?"
a flicker. almost amused.
"you choose."
dangerous game.
you reached for a bottle of lagavulin, something smoke, something with bite, and poured a careful measure. you slid it toward him.
he didn't drink immediately. he let his fingers curl around the glass first. tested the weight.
"you don't look like you're from here," you said lightly, polishing the counter with a rag.
"is it that obvious?"
"monte carlo men peacock," you replied. "you don't."
that earned you the smallest smirk. "is that a compliment?"
"observation."
he took his first sip then. slow. controlled. no wince. definitely not a tourist.
"you work here long?" he asked.
"long enough."
"meaning?"
"meaning i know when someone's about to lose money at the casino, and i know when someone's about to break up with their girlfriend in the bathroom."
"and me?"
you tilted your head, studying him openly now. "you're not here for fun."
a pause. "no?"
"no." you shrugged. "you're too sober."
that did it. he huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head slightly, like you'd surprised him. "maybe i just like observing."
"you've already mapped the exits," you said casually.
his fingers stilled on the glass. there it was. the shift. tiny. barely perceptible. but you saw it. his eyes sharpened, not threatening, but alert.
you leaned back on your heels.
"relax," you added. "you'd be surprised how many men come in here thinking they're subtle."
he held your gaze for a long second. then he nodded once, almost to himself.
"occupational habit," he said.
"oh? and what occupation is that?"
a beat of silence. "consulting."
you laughed softly. "right."
before he could respond, the door chimed again. three men entered. they weren't very flashy either, but they were wrong.
you didn't know how else to describe it. their suits were expensive but ill-fitting in subtle ways. shoulders too stiff. shoes too practical. they didn't take in the ambiance. didn't glance at the shelves of top-tier liquor. they scanned faces.
when their eyes landed on the man at the end of your bar, something shifted. and he felt it.
his posture didn't change, but the air around him did.
you turned slightly, following his line of sight. "friends of yours?" you murmured.
"no," he said quietly.
it was the first time his voice had lost warmth. one of the men approached the bar.
"vodka," he said curtly.
you reached for a bottle automatically, but you felt it. the tension. like static before lightning.
the man at the end of the bar took another slow sip of whiskey. you poured the vodka. the three men spread out subtly. not sitting, standing. positioning. your heart ticked up a notch.
you leaned closer to the green-eyed stranger.
"okay," you said under your breath. "now i'm curious."
he didn't look at you. "you shouldn't be."
that should've been your cue. but you'd lived in monte carlo long enough to know that curiosity was currency. and you had no idea you were about to spend yours.
one of the suited men reached into his jacket. you expected a wallet. instead you saw metal.
the world didn't explode into chaos the way it does in films. there was no dramatic music. no immediate screaming. there was just a sound. a suppressed crack. and then glass behind you shattered.
your brain didn't compute it at first. until the man at the end of the bar moved. he was fluid. fast in a way that didn't look human. he knocked you down behind the bar before you even understood what was happening.
the second suppressed shot lodged into the liquor shelf where your head had been. you gasped, heart slamming into your ribs.
"what-?"
"stay down," he snapped.
another shot. another shattering crash. patrons were screaming now. the first of the suited men lunged forward. and the stranger, your quiet whiskey drinker, stood. you saw it clearly from your place crouched on the floor. he didn't hesitated, or panic. he stepped into the chaos like he'd been waiting for it.
and when he struck, it was precise.
efficient and devastating.
you didn't see where the gun game from. one second his hands were empty, the next there was black steel in his grip.
two shots. two bodies dropped. the third man barreled toward him. they collided into the edge of the bar, glasses exploding around them.
you scrambled backward instinctively. and then you did something very, very stupid.
you stood up. you didn't mean to, you just saw the third man reach for something at his ankle. a blade. and without thinking, you grabbed the nearest thing, an empty bottle, and hurled it.
it struck his shoulder. not enough to injure. enough to distract. the green eyed man saw the opening. he disarmed him in less than a second. twisted. forced him down.
the crack of bone was audible. silence followed. heavy. ringing silence.
your ears buzzed, chest heaving.
three men were on the floor. not moving.
the stranger looked at you. not grateful. not impressed. furious.
"what did i tell you?" he demanded.
"i- he had a knife-"
"you don't stand up."
the front door burst open again. you flinched but this time the men wore different suits. they had earpieces and their weapons were drawn.
one of them barked sharply into a comm. "004, abort."
the number hit the air like a bullet. 4.
the stranger's jaw tightened. his gaze flicked to you, then to the bodies, then back to you. and something changed. it wasn't anger anymore, but rather calculation.
"shit," he muttered.
you stared at him. "004?" you breathed.
he didn't answer. but when the men in suits stepped closer and one of them looked directly at you, not confused, not surprised, but assessing, you understood something with a sinking, nauseating clarity.
you had no just witnessed a bar fight.
you had walked into something you were never meant to see.
and the way the men were looking at you? they didn't see a bartender. they saw a complication. and the man at the end of your bar, 004, he looked at you like he'd just realized the same thing.
-
the silence after violence is never clean. it lingers. it hands in the air like smoke that hasn't decided where to settle, thick and suffocating, pressing into your lungs until breathing feels like a conscious effort instead of something automatic.
you were still on your knees behind the bar when the realization truly hit.
three men were on your floor.
not conscious.
not groaning.
still.
the green eyed stranger, 004, stood over one of them, chest rising steadily, not heaving, not frantic. if anything, he looked mildly inconvenienced. like this had interrupted something far more important than survival.
the men who had burst through the door, his reinforcements you assumed, fanned out with mechanical precision. they didn't rush to check the bodies. they didn't panic at the shattered glass or the overturned stools or the terrified patrons huddled near the back exit.
they secured the perimeter.
one of them crouched beside a fallen shooter, pressed fingers to his neck, then gave a small shake of his head.
another spoke into his comm again, voice low but clipped.
you became hyperaware of how exposed you were. your palms were still sticky from spilled whiskey. your knees stung from where you'd slammed into the tile. your breath sounded too loud in your ears.
004 stepped toward you.
for a moment, you thought he might offer a hand. instead, he crouched down to your level, close enough that you could see the faint flecks of gold in his irises.
"you need to listen to me," he said, voice quieter now but edged with something razor sharp. "and you need to do exactly what i say."
"what just happened?" your voice didn't sound like your own. it sounded small. detached.
he glanced over his shoulder toward his team.
"what just happened," he replied evenly, "is that you were very nearly killed."
"that doesn't explain-"
"no," he cut in. "it doesn't."
he stood again, scanning the room. one of the agents approached him, murmuring something under his breath. you caught only fragments.
"-unexpected resistance-"
"-blown-"
"-surveillance compromised-"
004's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. then his gaze shifted back to you. and for the first time since the shooting started, you saw something that wasn't control.
you saw a problem.
"you threw a bottle," he said flatly.
"i wasn't going to just watch him stab you."
"you weren't supposed to do anything."
"well, sorry," you shot back before fear could stop you. "next time i'll just let it happen."
the words left your mouth before you could retrieve them. for half a second, you wondered if you'd just signed your own death certificate.
his expression didn't change. but something flickered behind his eyes. not anger. frustration.
"do you have any idea," he said slowly, "what that looked like?"
you blinked. "like i didn't want you to die?"
"it looked like you were involved."
the words hit harder than they should have.
"involved in what?" you demanded. "i serve drinks."
one of the other agents stepped closer, studying you openly now.
"she interfered," he said to 004. "from their angle, that's complicity."
complicity.
the floor felt like it tilted beneath you. you stared at 004.
"they think i'm with you?"
"they don't think," he replied quietly. "they assume."
"and what does that mean?"
he didn't answer immediately which was answer enough. across the room, the patrons were being ushered out. phone confiscated. voices hushed with firm, authoritative tones. the shattered glass was already being avoided with careful steps.
the efficiency of it all was almost more terrifying than the gunfire had been.
this wasn't chaos. this was routine.
you swallowed. "i don't even know your name."
he hesitated. just a fraction.
then, "lando."
it slipped out before he could stop it. the agent beside him stiffened slightly. you clung to it.
"lando," you repeated, grounding yourself with the syllables. "okay. lando. i'm not involved in whatever this is. i didn't even know you existed until twenty minuted ago."
his gaze softened for the briefest moment at that.
"that's the problem," he murmured.
before you could ask what that meant, one of the agents' phones buzzed sharply. the man glanced down, then up.
"they've got chatter. additional movement two blocks out."
lando exhaled slowly through his nose.
"of course they do."
he turned fully toward you then. decision time.
you could see it unfolding in his head, the calculation, the probabilities, the cost-benefit analysis of a human life weighed against operational security.
you had never felt so transparent.
"listen to me," he said again, stepping closer. "if i walk out that door and leave you here, you won't make it through the night."
your stomach dropped. "that's dramatic."
"it's accurate."
"you're assuming they care about me."
"they care about loose ends."
the words were delivered without cruelty. just fact.
"and right now," he continued, "you're the only one breathing who saw their faces."
your mouth went dry. "i didn't even- i barely looked at them."
"you looked enough."
across the bar, one of the agents was already dragging one of the bodies toward the back exit. no sirens approached. no flashing lights.
this would disappear. like it had never happened. except for you.
you took a shaky breath. "so what?" you whispered. "you're going to what? arrest me? hide me? threaten me into silence?"
lando's expression hardened.
"if i wanted you silenced," he said evenly, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."
the implication wasn't lost on you.
you searched his face then, really searched it. he didn't look cruel. he didn't look unhinged. he looked tired. and deeply annoyed that you existed in this equation at all.
another agent approached.
"004," he said quietly, "we need to move."
4. the number echoed again in your mind.
"004, abort."
that's what they'd said.
you looked at him. "is that what you are?" you asked softly. "a number?"
something in his posture stiffened.
"not tonight," he replied.
before you could process that, a sharp crack split the air. not inside. outside. gunfire. louder this time. not suppressed.
the windows at the front of the bar exploded inward in a shower of glass. you screamed instinctively, ducking as shards rained down like lethal confetti. one of the agents fell with a shout.
lando moved before you even saw the muzzle flashes from across the street. he grabbed you. not roughly. but decisively.
your back hit his chest as he pulled you down behind the heavy oak bar.
"stay down," he ordered, voice low and lethal.
more gunfire. wood splintered inches above your head. your hands fisted into his jacket without permission.
"you said it was contained!" you shouted over the chaos.
"it was."
another crash. a bottle burst, spraying alcohol into the air.
"clearly not!"
his arm tightened around you, shielding your head as debris fell. you could fell the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his chest. not panicked. focused.
one of his agents returned fire. the sound was deafening in the enclosed space.
"004, we're compromised!"
"i'm aware," lando snapped back.
another agent yelled, "they're targeting the back exit!"
which meant-
"they're not here for cleanup," lando muttered under his breath.
your fingers dug into him.
"they're here for what?"
his eyes flicked down to you. and you saw it again. that shift. the moment something clicks into place.
"they're here for confirmation."
"confirmation of what?"
his gaze hardened.
"that you're not walking away."
your blood ran cold. outside, tires screeched. someone shouted in a language you didn't recognize. lando pressed something small and cold into your palm. you looked down. a phone.
"no," you breathed.
"if we get separated-"
"we are not getting separated!"
"that's not how this works."
another bullet tore through the bar inches from your shoulder. you flinched violently. lando's hand came up to cradle the back of your head instinctively.
"look at me," he demanded.
you did.
"stay behind me," he said. "no matter what happens."
"i don't know how to do this!"
"you don't have to. just stay close."
a beat.
"and don't throw anything else."
despite everything, a shaky laugh bubbled out of you.
"you're unbelievable."
he didn't smile. but something in his eyes softened again. just barely there. then he stood, dragging you up with him.
gunfire erupted again. and for the first time, you understood something with horrifying clarity: you were no longer a bystander. you were part of the scene.
and the men outside, they weren't trying to eliminate 004. they were trying to eliminate the witness who made the mistake of caring.
-
the front of the bar no longer resembled the place you had walked into for your shift six hours earlier.
the windows were gone, replaced by jagged teeth of glass clinging to fractured frames. the warm amber lighting that had once made everything look intimate now illuminated dust and debris suspended in the air like a storm cloud caught indoors. the scent of whiskey and citrus peel had been overtaken by gunpowder and splintered wood.
and somewhere outside, engines were still running.
lando moved with terrifying clarity.
there was no hesitation in him now. no visible frustration. no flicker of internal debate. whatever calculation had been running behind his eyes had resolved into a single conclusion.
he pulled you upright and kept you tucked behind him as he moved. one hand held his gun low but ready. the other stayed firm around your wrist, not bruising, not cruel, but unyielding.
"back exit's blocked," one of the remaining agents called out. "two vehicles."
"numbers?" lando asked.
"unknown."
a curse under someone's breath.
another volley of gunfire tore through what remained of the front windows. plaster rained down from the ceiling. you felt every impact in your spine.
"why are they still shooting?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the chaos.
"they're herding," lando replied.
"herding what?"
"you."
the word landed heavy. he didn't look at you when he said it. he didn't need to.
you felt your throat tighten. "why me?"
"you interfered," he said, as if that was explanation enough. "they saw you. you weren't random after that."
"but i am random," you insisted desperately. "i don't know anything. i didn't hear anything. i don't even know who you are."
"they don't know that."
another agent stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder where blood was beginning to bloom through his suit.
lando's jaw clenched.
"004," the injured agent hissed through gritted teeth, "we can't hold this."
4. the number didn't feel abstract anymore. it felt like something carved into stone.
lando's grip tightened around your wrist. decision made.
"we're moving," he said.
"where?" you demanded.
"out."
"that's not a direction!"
"it's the only one we've got."
he didn't give you time to argue.
he pivoted sharply, dragging you toward the side corridor that led to the staff entrance. the hallway was narrow, lined with framed black and white photographs of monaco in the seventies—race cars, harbor views, women in oversized sunglasses.
your shoes slipped slightly on spilled liquor and broken glass as you ran.
gunfire followed. closer now. you could hear shouting from outside in a language you still couldn't make out, harsh and urgent.
"stay behind me," lando repeated.
you wanted to snap at him that you were already doing that. that you had no intention of doing anything else. but the words stuck somewhere between your lungs and your throat.
because beneath the fear, and the adrenaline, there was something else.
trust.
unwanted. illogical. but there.
he pushed open the staff door. cold night air hit your face like a slap.
the alley was dimly lit, narrow, with overflowing bins lining one wall. for half a second, it looked empty.
then headlights flared at the far end. a black SUV screeched into view, blocking the exit.
another engine roared behind you at the opposite end of the alley.
trapped. your heart plummeted.
lando swore under his breath.
"this wasn't random," he muttered.
"i keep telling you i'm not important!" you snapped, panic bleeding into anger.
he glanced at you then, something sharp flashing in his eyes.
"you are now."
the SUV doors flew open. men spilled out of the cars one by one. not the same suits as before. these were tactical. efficient. armed openly now.
no more pretense.
one of lando's agents appeared behind you, firing toward the approaching figures. the alley erupted into deafening chaos. muzzle flashes illuminated brick walls in violent bursts of white.
you covered your ears instinctively, crouching. lando didn't crouch. he stepped forward. not recklessly, strategically. using a parked scooter for partial cover, returning fire with unnerving precision. his movements were controlled, economical. every shot deliberate.
you had never seen someone move like that.
he wasn't fighting wildly. he was solving a problem.
a man lunged from the side, trying to flank. lando pivoted smoothly, disarmed him mid-motion, and drove him into the brick wall with a force that made you flinch.
it was over for that man in seconds.
but there were more. too many.
"004!" his agent shouted. "we need exfil now!"
"i'm working on it!"
another bullet ricocheted dangerously close to you. instinct overrode fear and you scrambled toward the only solid structure nearby, a metal service door halfway down the alley.
locked. of course it was locked.
you turned just in time to see one of the tactical men break away from the firefight. running toward you. his eyes locked onto yours. recognition flashed across his face. not confusion. not hesitation. target acquired.
your stomach dropped into your shoes.
"lando!" you shouted before you could stop yourself.
the man raised his weapon. time slowed. you saw the subtle squeeze of his finger on the trigger. you didn't think. you moved. you ducked sideways, slipping on loose gravel, slamming painfully into the wall as the shot rang out.
the bullet embedded in the metal door where your chest had been seconds earlier. the world snapped back into speed. lando saw.
you don't know how, through the smoke, through the chaos, but he saw. and something in him shifted violently.
he crossed the distance between you and the gunman in what felt like a blink. the takedown was brutal. not efficient this time. personal.
he disarmed him, drove him to the ground, and the look on his was was one that wasn't clinical anymore. it was fury.
when he finished, the alley fell eerily quiet.
not silent considering sirens were wailing faintly somewhere in the distance, but the immediate threat had dissolved.
his remaining agent approached cautiously.
"they'll scatter before authorities arrive," the man said. "we've got maybe ninety seconds."
lando didn't look away from you.
you were still pressed against the brick wall, breath coming in shallow, painful bursts. your shoulder throbbed where you'd collided with the stone.
he stepped toward you slowly.
"you hit?" he asked.
"i- i don't think so."
he scanned you quickly, hands hovering but not touching until he was certain. his fingers brushed your upper arm, your side, your waist, checking for blood.
when he found none, he exhaled. something so subtle, but you felt it.
"that's twice," he muttered.
"what?"
"twice you were nearly dead in under ten minutes."
"that's not my fault!"
his gaze snapped to yours. "i know."
the words were sharp, immediate. and real.
sirens grew louder. blue lights flickered at the mouth of the street beyond the alley. his agent checked his water.
"004."
there it was again. the number. the identity. lando looked toward the lights before turning back to you.
this was the moment. you saw it happening. if he walked away now, leaving you standing in this alley with shattered glass in your hair and gunpowder in your lungs, the men who had targeted you would not assume you were innocent.
they would assume you were protected.
which made you valuable. which made you dangerous. which made you very much dead.
lando stepped closer, close enough that you see the tiny scar on his nose that you hadn't noticed before.
"you can't go home," he said quietly.
your stomach twisted. "my apartment-"
"compromised."
"my job-"
"gone."
tears burned unexpectedly at the back of your eyes.
"this is insane," you whispered. "i didn't do anything."
"you existed in the wrong place," he replied.
sirens echoed louder. blue light washed briefly across his face, casting sharp shadows over his features.
"you have two options," he continued, voice steady despite the urgency creeping in. "you stay here, give statements, try to convince the wrong people you don't matter."
"and the other option?"
his jaw flexed.
"you come with me."
the weight of that settled between you. you didn't know his last name. you didn't know who he worked for. you barely knew what 004 meant.
but you knew this. what that man had aimed at you, lando had looked like the world was ending. and that felt safer than the alternative.
another police siren rounded the corner. decision time. you swallowed hard.
"if i come with you," you said slowly, "do i get answers?"
"no."
"honesty. great."
"but you get to live."
the choice shouldn't have been difficult. and yet your entire life was three blocks away.
your apartment. your clothes. your tips jar tucked into the bottom drawer. the tiny balcony where you drank coffee in the mornings.
gone.
because you threw a bottle.
you let out a shaky breath. "this is kidnapping," you said faintly.
"technically," he replied, "it's protective custody."
"i don't trust you."
"you don't have to."
the sirens were nearly upon you now. he extended his hand. not as an order. as an offer.
"decide," he said.
and somewhere deep in your chest, beneath the fear and the shock and the disbelief, you realized something terrifying, if you stayed he would leave.
but he wouldn't stop looking over his shoulder. and you didn't know why that mattered. only that it did.
-
the sirens were close enough now that you could see the reflection of blue lights dancing against the brick walls at the mouth of the alley.
time, which had stretched and warped and splintered over the last twenty minutes, suddenly snapped back into brutal focus.
lando's hand was still extended toward you. not shaking, or rushed. just there. waiting.
you stared at it like it was something foreign. this was insane. you were a bartender. you worried about inventory shortages and rude yacht clients and whether your landlord would ever fix the flickering hallway light in your building.
you did not get into gunfights in alleyways with men who had codenames.
and yet.
you looked past him, toward the mouth of the alley where the police would arrive any second. you imagined trying to explain what you had seen. the blank looks. the rehearsed concern. the quiet filing away of your name into a system you would never see.
you imagined going back to your apartment. imagined the quiet knock at your door at three in the morning. imagined opening it.
you swallowed.
"if i say no," you asked, your voice thinner now but steady enough, "are you going to force me?"
the question lingered between you.
for the first time since you'd met him, lando hesitated in a way that had nothing to do with strategy.
"no," he said finally.
you searched his face for deception. you didn't find any.
"but i will tell you," he added, "that staying is a mistake."
"because they'll come back?"
"yes."
"and you're certain of that?"
"yes."
there was no ego in it. no dramatics. just certainty.
behind him, one of his agents shifted impatiently. "004, we're out of time."
you looked at the man who had walked into your bar and ordered whiskey like he had nowhere better to be. you thought about the way he had shoved you down before the first bullet could hit you. the way he had moved without hesitation when someone aimed at your chest. the fury in his expression when he thought you'd been shot.
this wasn't some reckless criminal dragging you into chaos for sport, this was someone who had never intended for you to be involved at all. and now you were.
your life had split open in less than half an hour.
"fine," you said letting out a shaky breath.
the word felt enormous.
"i'm coming."
he didn't smile. he didn't look relieved. but something in his shoulders loosened, just slightly.
he closed the distance between you in two strides and took your hand, not roughly or possessively, just firmly enough to anchor you.
"stay close," he said again.
the police vehicles turned into the street. lando didn't move toward them. he moved in the opposite direction.
down the narrow alley, past the immobilized SUV, toward a smaller, inconspicuous car parked halfway into a recessed loading bay you hadn't even noticed in the chaos.
his agent peeled off in another direction, already disappearing into shadow.
you stumbled slightly as you hurried beside him.
"are we just leaving?" you asked, breathless.
"yes."
"what about-" you gestured vaguely behind you. "all of that?"
"it'll be handled."
"by who?"
he didn't answer. he opened the passenger door and guided you inside. the interior smelled faintly of leather and something metallic. clean. minimal. no clutter. no personal effects.
he rounded the hood and slid into the driver's seat in one fluid motion. the engine roared to life.
police sirens wailed just at the end of the street now, but by the time they reached the alley, lando had already maneuvered the car into traffic with startling ease.
within seconds, you were swallowed by the glittering arteries of monte carlo.
the city looked unchanged. untouched.
tourists still wandered sidewalks. couples still laughed outside restaurants. a yacht's music drifted faintly over the harbor.
it was obscene.
you pressed your palms against your thighs to stop them from shaking. for several long minutes, neither of you spoke.
lando drove with quiet precision, merging seamlessly, obeying traffic law with frustrating normalcy. if anyone looked into the car, they would see nothing unusual. just a man and a woman leaving a late night out.
you stared at his profile.
the sharp line of his jaw. the slight crease between his brows that hadn't left since the shooting.
"you said i can't go home," you said finally.
"yes."
"so where exactly am i going?"
"somewhere safe."
"you've said that word twice," you replied, tension creeping back into your voice. "it doesn't mean anything anymore."
his hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
"it means not where they expect you to be."
"and they expect me to be...what? alone?"
"they expect you to panic," he said, "to seek familiarity. routine. they'll watch those places."
a chill crept up your spin.
"you sound very certain about how they operate."
"i am."
you turned fully toward him.
"who are they?"
a muscle in his jaw ticked.
"not a question i can answer."
"you said if i came with you, i'd live. you didn't say i'd be kept in the dark."
"you're safer in the dark."
"that's not how that works," you snapped.
his eyes flickered toward you briefly before returning to the road.
"it is in my world."
"and what world is that?"
silence. you laughed weakly.
"i don't even know your last name."
he didn't respond to that either.
the city lights began to thin as he guided the car away from the harbor, up winding roads that curved along the cliffs. the ocean stretched out black and endless to your right, moonlight glinting faintly off the surface.
your phone buzzed in your pocket. the sudden vibration made you flinch violently.
lando's hand shot out instinctively, steadying your arm.
“easy,” he murmured.
you stared at him. he withdrew his hand almost immediately, like the contact had burned.
you pulled your phone out. six missed calls. two from your manager. four from an unknown number.
your stomach twisted.
“they already have my number.”
he didn’t look surprised.
“they likely pulled it from the bar’s system.”
you stared at the unknown number as it began ringing again.
“don’t answer it,” he said quietly.
your thumb hovered over the screen. it rang. and rang. then stopped.
a text appeared seconds later.
xxxxxxxxxx: you should have stayed down.
your breath left your body in a sharp, involuntary gasp. you showed him the screen. his expression went cold in a way that was almost inhuman.
he reached across you, took the phone, and without hesitation tossed it out the open window.
it vanished into the darkness behind you. you stared at him in disbelief.
“that was my phone!”
“it was a tracking device.”
“you don’t know that!”
“i do.”
tears burned at the corners of your eyes again, this time fueled by anger as much as fear.
“you don’t get to decide things for me!”
“you forfeited normal decision making when you stepped into a live operation.”
“i didn’t step into anything! you brought it into my bar!”
lando's grip tightened on the wheel again. for a moment, you thought he might snap back. instead, he exhaled slowly.
“you’re right.”
the admission caught you off guard.
“i did.”
the road curved sharply but he handled it effortlessly.
“you were never supposed to be part of this,” he continued, voice lower now. “you weren’t supposed to see me. or them. or any of it.”
“then why were you there?” you pressed.
“to stop something worse.”
“that’s vague.”
“it has to be.”
you leaned back against the seat, overwhelmed.
“so what happens now?” you asked quietly.
he didn’t answer immediately.
the car finally slowed as he approached a gated property set back from the road, partially obscured by trees and shadow. he tapped something into a small console beneath the dashboard and the gate slid open.
you stared.
“do you just have places like this?” you asked faintly.
“yes.”
he drove inside, the gate closing behind the car with a heavy metallic finality.
he parked near a low, modern structure built into the cliffside, minimal windows, reinforced steel doors.
safehouse.
the word lodged in your throat.
he turned off the engine and for the first time since you’d gotten into the car, the world felt still.
he didn’t get out immediately, and neither did you. the silence between you was thick but no longer chaotic.
it was something else. heavy with consequence.
“you understand,” he said finally, eyes fixed ahead, “that i can’t take you back.”
“i gathered that.”
“if i drop you somewhere public, they’ll follow.”
“and if you keep me here?”
“they’ll look.”
you turned toward him.
“so either way, i’m hunted.”
“yes.”
the honesty hurt more than reassurance would have.
“why didn’t you just leave me in the alley?”
the question slipped out before you could stop it.
he finally looked at you fully. because that was the real question, wasn’t it? he could have walked away. he could have let the police take statements and let the system swallow you whole. he could have convinced himself you were just collateral damage.
his gaze softened, not weak or uncertain, but something close to conflicted.
“because,” he said quietly, “they aimed at you.”
you frowned slightly.
“that’s it?”
“they aimed at you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “not at me. not at the team. at you.”
the implication sank slowly into your bones.
it hadn’t been random. it hadn’t been panic fire. it had been intentional.
“they think i matter,” you whispered.
“yes.”
“and do i?”
the question hung in the air between you. it was reckless. too vulnerable.
you didn’t know why you’d asked it.
lando held your gaze for a long moment, then he opened his door.
“get inside,” he said quietly.
“that’s not an answer.”
he stepped out of the car, rounding the front and opening your door before you could argue further.
the night air was cooler up here. quieter. he offered his hand again, you hesitated only a second this time before taking it.
as he guided you toward the steel door of the safehouse, his grip tightened slightly.
protective. possessive. determined.
and somewhere between the shattered glass of your bar and the cold threshold of that safehouse door, lando realized something he had been trained his entire life to avoid.
you were no longer just collateral.
and letting you walk away...that would be a death sentence.
summary: in which MI6’s most lethal agent breaks every rule he’s ever lived by to save a girl who was never supposed to survive his mission or in which agent 004 ends up falling in love with her instead.
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▬ι═ﺤ chapter one: collateral new!
▬ι═ﺤ chapter two: no such thing as safe coming soon…
and what if i said a lando norris x reader james bond au series was in the works…. then what (aka i saw lando in his customized suit and quite literally any suit and he literally looks so mafia or so james bond)
and what if i said a lando norris x reader james bond au series was in the works…. then what (aka i saw lando in his customized suit and quite literally any suit and he literally looks so mafia or so james bond)
first of all, we’re name twins 🫶🏻 but i’m dropping in to tell you how much i love your deaf!reader fics. part of my college degree is in deaf studies so im always so excited to see hearing loss represented in all corners of the internet 🫶🏻🤟🏼
ahhhh!!! hi!! name twins!
thank you so much though! i’m glad you’ve been enjoying all the fics!! happy to bring that representation to f1 and tumblr and such 🫶🫶
A/N: okay, so like, we're going ignore that this a very similar storyline to a different one of my fics because i lowkey absolutely hate that one and like this one better. it's not the same fic, but same premise, but expanded a bunch...clearly from the word count. but if you want to read the semi inspiration for this fic check out fake it till you...love her on my profile. anyways, enjoy, i yapped a lot so this one is like REALLY LONG. but its cute. i don't know how many long fics like this i'm gonna put out so we'll see. anyways enjoy, lemme know what you think in the comments
pairing: lando norris x fem!reader
summary: in which lando norris is desperate for a wedding date and so he decides to ask his best friend or in which she only agrees for the free dress and out of pity.
word count: 9.1k....
lando norris has always been a constant in your life.
not in some grand, cinematic way that causes people to start talking about being soulmates or having some life altering encounters, but rather in the quiet, everyday way that mattered more. he was the person who knew exactly how you took your coffee without having to ask. the one who texted you pictures of dogs he saw on his morning runs. the one who showed up unannounced at your apartment with takeaway when you’d had a bad shift, and somehow made it better just by existing on your couch.
you had been best friends for years. long enough that the idea of not having him around felt strange, like imagining your life without weekends or music.
which was exactly why the look on his face when he walked into the coffee shop you worked at that afternoon immediately set off alarm bells.
it was a tuesday, a slow day for the shop. the kind of day where the espresso machine hummed lazily and the same indie playlist looped for the third time. you were wiping down the counter, half zoned out, when the bell above the door chimed.
you didn’t even look up at first.
“hi, welcome in-” you had started, then stopped when you recognized the scuffed white sneakers and the familiar stance. your head lifted immediately.
lando was standing just inside the door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched just slightly like he wasn’t sure he was welcome. which was a ridiculous thought, this had practically become his second home with the amount of times he had come in. he’d spent so much time here that your coworkers joked about putting his name on a mug.
“why do you look like that?” you asked immediately.
he blinked. “like what?”
“like you’re about to tell me something i’m going to hate.”
you leaned your elbows on the counter, narrowing your eyes at him. he shifted his weight from foot to foot, gaze darting around the shop like he was checking for exits.
that was your second red flag.
“lando,” you warned. “if you’re about to tell me you broke another sim rig or forgot my birthday again-”
“i didn’t forget your birthday.”
“you forgot my birthday last year.”
“i forgot what date it was, not the concept.”
you snorted despite yourself. “i don’t think that’s any better.”
he smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes the same way it always did. he hesitated, then sighed and pulled out the stool at the counter, dropping onto it with a dramatic exhale.
you crossed your arms. “okay. out with it. what’s going on in that empty head of yours”
he ran a hand through his curls, mussing them even more than usual, throwing a glare in your direction for your statement. “so..hypothetically.”
you groaned. “i hate when you start sentences like that.”
“hypothetically,” he continued stubbornly, “if someone invited you to a wedding.”
“uh huh.”
“and that wedding happened to be..your ex’s wedding.”
you froze. slowly, you uncrossed your arms. “your what?”
he winced. “ex girlfriend.”
you stared at him, deadpan. “no.”
“i haven’t even finished.”
“i don’t need you to,” you said flatly. “absolutely not.”
he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “just hear me out.”
“no.”
“please.”
“no.”
“y/n.”
you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “why are we talking about this in my place of work? i have customers.”
as if on cue, one of your regulars cleared their throat politely behind Lando. you forced on a smile, took their order, made the drink, and slid it across the counter with practiced ease. the entire time, you could feel Lando watching you, like a kid waiting to be told whether they were grounded.
the second the customer left, you rounded on him.
“why would you even go?” you demanded. “who invites their ex to their wedding? that’s unhinged.”
“she said she wanted to be mature,” he muttered. “and that it would mean a lot.”
you laughed incredulously. “that’s code for ‘i want you to watch me get married so i can feel superior.’”
he grimaced. “yeah. that’s..kind of how it feels.”
you softened slightly. “then don’t go.”
he hesitated. and that was all the answer you needed.
“oh my gosh,” you breathed. “you’re going.”
“i already RSVP’d.”
“you what?”
“i panicked!”
you slapped a hand on the counter. “lando!”
he flinched, then rushed on. “okay, listen, that’s not even the worst part.”
you stared at him in disbelief. “there’s a worse part?”
he took a deep breath. “she assumed i’d be bringing someone.”
your stomach dropped. “why would she assume that?”
“i don’t know,” he said quietly, “maybe she thinks I’ve moved on.”
you scoffed. “have you?”
he didn’t answer right away. and suddenly, the air between you felt heavier.
“lando,” you said carefully. “have you?”
he exhaled sharply. “not..properly.”
you shook your head. “then why do you care what she thinks?”
“because,” he snapped, then immediately softened, “because I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.”
there it was. he looked up at you then, really looked at you, eyes searching your face like he was bracing himself.
“i don’t want her to see me alone,” he admitted. “i don’t want her thinking she won. Like she moved on and i didn’t.”
your heart twisted, not because you were jealous, but because you hated seeing him like this. insecure. wounded. trying to protect himself with pride.
still. that didn’t mean you were going to agree to whatever insane thing he was about to suggest.
“and this involves me how?” you asked slowly.
he swallowed.
“well..i was thinking.”
that was your third mistake, letting him keep talking. if there was one thing you knew about lando norris and his ridiculous ideas is you never let him keep talking.
“what if,” he said carefully, “you came with me?”
you laughed. loudly. several people turning their heads to look over at you.
“you’re joking.”
“i’m serious.”
“you’re out of your mind.”
“just pretend,” he rushed. “for a few days. fake dating. that’s it.”
you leaned back, arms crossed again. “absolutely not.”
“come on. It’s just for show.”
“no.”
“it’s a free cruise.”
you blinked. “what?”
“the wedding’s on a cruise,” he added quickly. “seven days. food, drinks, ocean views. completely paid for.”
you stared at him. “you’re bribing me.”
“i’m incentivizing.”
you shook your head, laughing. “you are such an idiot.”
he smiled weakly. “you love me.”
“barely,” you shot back.
he leaned across the counter, lowering his voice. “please. I don’t want to do this alone.”
that made you hesitate.
you studied his face, the hopeful tilt of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders, the way he looked at you like you were his safe place.
you sighed. “why don’t you bring one of the other girls you’ve been out with? the ones you know..you’re actually seeing? what about that one girl? magui? you’ve been with her a lot, why not ask her.”
lando bit his lip nervously, like he was hesitating to say something. “it’s not the same..plus..magui and i aren’t really like..you know.”
“dating?” you finish for him.
he nods his head. “she’s fun, sure, but we’re not dating. plus i guess i should mention i cut that off.”
you looked at him shocked. “you cut it off? i thought you liked her.”
“i did, but it ended up not working out, she’s busy, i’m busy, she was jealous of you-”
“jealous of me?” you cut him off. he nodded his head.
“she said we hung out too much. i told her we were just friends, and she made me choose.”
“she made you choose?” you asked shocked. “and you chose me?”
he hesitated in his answer. “well..yes, i guess you could say that, she kind of left first but i did kind of ultimately choose you anyway. point is, i can’t take her, and even if i did take a different girl, it’s not the same, it feels..easier with you in a sense. plus my ex knows you and i feel like that would say a lot more than magui or someone else would.”
you sighed softly. “lando,” you said softly, “you don’t need to prove anything to her.”
“i know,” he said. “but i want to.”
you sighed. “you’re still an idiot.”
“an idiot who is begging and pleading with you to say yes.”
you narrowed your eyes, before finally letting out a sigh and dropping your head. “fine, i will agree, on one condition.”
he perked up at it. “anything. what is it. hit me. i will work as many of your barista shifts as you want if i really have to.”
you considered it. “as much as i want to say yes to that i don’t think they’d let me do that anyway. but my one condition is this. you pay for my dress. and if i hate it, i get to say ‘i told you so’ for the rest of your life.”
he grinned. “seriously? that’s all you want? a free dress and bragging rights?”
you nodded your head. “and you have to come dress shopping with me you can’t just give me your card.”
he grinned. “deal.”
you held out your hand and he shook it. very firmly and in a way that probably was unneeded.
and just like that, you had no idea your life was about to change.
“we’ll meet tomorrow at our spot.” you tell him softly. “to go over the game plan, and then we’ll go shopping. that work for you?”
he nodded his head with a smirk. “see you tomorrow girlfriend.” he said as he walked backwards to leave.
“fake! fake girlfriend! emphasis on the fake!” you yell as he left, watching as his shoulders moved as he laughed.
the next morning, you immediately regretted agreeing to any of this.
not in a dramatic, world ending way. more so in the quiet, simmering dread that settled in your chest as you stood outside the coffee shop fifteen minutes before opening, head spinning with thoughts about what exactly you had just agreed to, keys dangling from your fingers, staring at the reflection of yourself in the darkened glass.
fake dating lando norris, you thought. for a week.
you exhaled slowly. “you’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself, though whether that was directed at him or you wasn’t entirely clear.
the bell chimed the second you unlocked the door. of course it did.
you hadn’t even had time to flick on the lights before lando slipped inside like he’d been waiting just out of sight. he was holding two takeaway cups, a pastry bag tucked under his arm, sunglasses perched on his head despite the early hour.
“you’re early,” you said flatly.
he grinned. “couldn’t sleep.”
you eyed the cups. “is that-”
“oat milk latte,” he said quickly. “extra hot. one sugar.”
your lips parted despite yourself. “you remembered.”
“i always remember,” he said softly.
you hated that your chest did something stupid at that.
“sit,” you ordered, jerking your chin toward the small table by the window. “we need to talk.”
“ooh,” he said, delighted. “this feels like a business meeting.”
“it is a business meeting,” you snapped. “fake relationship logistics.”
he saluted as he sat. “yes, boss.”
you joined him with your coffee, crossing one leg over the other. “okay. first things first, ground rules.”
he leaned back in his chair. “i love rules.”
“no kissing,” you said immediately.
he blinked. “what?”
“no kissing,” you repeated. “no unnecessary touching. no weird stuff.”
“what constitutes weird stuff?” he asked, amused.
“don’t push it.”
he held up his hands. “okay, okay. platonic. totally platonic. except how exactly do you plan on selling that we’re dating?”
you looked at him stunned. he had a point. you hate that he had a point. “fine. kissing and touching allowed only when necessary. and kissing must only be on the cheek unless otherwise stated, and touching should be limited.”
he smirked back at you. he looked smug. like he was getting his way. you hated that you liked it. that you actually found it charming. that you were thinking about wiping that smug look off his face via kissing him. snap out of it.
“okay. i can agree to that. nothing unnecessary. only if we’re being stared down in the moment.” he says trying his best to act like he wasn’t being smug right now.
“second,” you continued, “we don’t embarrass each other.”
“define embarrass.”
“no fake sex jokes,” you said. “no implying things. no exaggerating.”
he smirked. “so i can’t tell people you snore?”
you kicked his shin under the table. “that’s not fake.”
“ow,” he laughed. “okay, okay.”
you sighed. “third, we have an exit strategy.”
he frowned slightly. “an exit strategy?”
“this ends after the trip,” you clarified. “we go back to normal. no weirdness.”
“of course,” he said quickly. too quickly.
you narrowed your eyes but let it slide. “and lastly, if at any point this becomes uncomfortable, we stop.”
“deal,” he said, serious now.
you nodded, then hesitated. “we should probably..you know. talk about the story.”
“the story?”
“our story,” you said. “how we met. how long we’ve been ‘together.’”
“oh.” his ears went pink. “right.”
you pulled out your phone and opened your notes app. “okay. how long?”
he thought for a moment. you could tell he wanted to make a sex joke, holding it in as best he could before ultimately deciding to be professional. “long enough that it’s believable. not so long that people ask why we’re not engaged.” he says as he slouches in his seat, spreading his legs under the table.
“six months,” you suggested.
“seven,” he countered.
you squinted. “why seven?”
he shrugged. “lucky number.”
you stared at him. “i thought your lucky number was four?”
“fine. second lucky number.”
“that isn’t a thing.” you deadpan.
“sure it is.” he countered.
you rolled your eyes. “fine. seven months. how did we meet?”
“at a coffee shop,” he said immediately, grinning.
you glared. “be serious.”
he laughed. “okay, okay. through mutual friends?”
“who?” you asked.
“max,” he said. “everyone believes max.”
you snorted. “true.”
you typed it in. “we started dating casually. kept it private.”
“because i wanted to protect you from media,” he added easily.
your fingers paused. “that’s..actually good.”
“i know,” he said smugly.
you finished your coffee, nerves slowly easing as the absurdity of it all settled into something manageable. it felt almost like planning a skit, rehearsing lines, setting boundaries.
what it didn’t feel like was dangerous. that should’ve worried you more.
“okay,” you said, locking your phone. “next item on the agenda.”
“dress shopping,” he groaned.
“you promised,” you reminded him sweetly.
“i didn’t realize it would be an all day thing.”
you smiled wider. “Too late.”
➽──────────────❥
three hours later, lando was sprawled across a velvet couch in the fifth boutique you’d dragged him into, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“this is my personal hell,” he muttered.
you emerged from the dressing room in yet another dress, this one pale blue, flowy, soft. you turned once, examining yourself in the mirror. “what do you think?”
he didn’t even sit up. “you look..like you could be attending a brunch.”
“that’s not helpful.”
“you asked,” he said weakly.
you disappeared back into the dressing room with a huff.
the truth was, you were starting to feel bad. you hadn’t meant for this to take so long, but nothing felt right. too casual. too formal. too white. and every time you caught your reflection, the pressure settled heavier on your shoulders.
this wasn’t just about a dress.
this was about walking into a room full of people who knew lando’s ex. who knew lando and the history he had with her. people who would compare. who would look at you and decide whether you were “enough.”
you hated that you cared.
when you stepped out again, this time in a deep green dress, lando cracked one eye open.
“oh,” he said. “that’s..actually nice.”
“actually?” you echoed.
he pushed himself upright. “i mean, yeah. it’s good.”
but not great. you could tell by the way he avoided your eyes.
you sighed. “okay. one more.”
he perked up slightly. “you said that an hour ago.”
“i mean it this time,” you promised. “one more, then we go.”
he rubbed his face. “i’m trusting you.”
you disappeared behind the curtain, heart thudding harder than before.
the dress hung on the hook, rich and dark, fabric catching the light like wine in a glass. you’d almost skipped over it, assumed it would be too much.
but the second you slipped it on, something changed.
it hugged you in a way that felt intentional. confident. the neckline dipped just enough to be daring without being inappropriate. when you turned, the skirt moved like it was made for you.
you swallowed.
oh.
you stepped out. the room went quiet.
lando, who had been slouched back against the couch, sat up so fast his knee hit the table. his jaw dropped. not subtly. not politely. just completely, utterly stunned. he stared at you like he’d forgotten how breathing worked.
you shifted awkwardly. “is it..bad?”
he blinked. once. twice.
“i-” he cleared his throat. “no.”
“no?”
“no,” he said again, voice rough. “it’s..not bad.”
“that pause didn’t inspire confidence,” you teased weakly.
he stood slowly, eyes never leaving you. “y/n.”
your stomach flipped.
“you look…” he shook his head, laughing softly like he didn’t trust himself. “you look unreal.”
heat rushed to your face. “lando.”
“i’m serious,” he said. “like, sit down, jaw on the floor, can’t form words unreal.”
you smiled shyly. “you’re exaggerating.”
“i am not,” he insisted. “i’m actually underreacting.”
you glanced at your reflection again, suddenly seeing it through his eyes. “do you think it’s the one?”
he didn’t hesitate.
“yes.”
the word landed between you, something solid, certain.
you took a step closer without thinking.
he did the same. his hands flexing like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out for you. trying his best to keep his hands from wandering to your waist like they belonged there.
for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between you. the air felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.
his gaze dropped to your lips.
your breath caught. you were acutely aware of how close the two of you were. your lips only a inch from each other to the point where you could feel his breath on them.
and then you cleared your throat sharply, stepping back. “we should..go..you know, check out and such.”
he blinked, like he was waking up. “yeah. right. checkout.”
the spell broke, but the echo of it lingered as you headed back into the changing room and changed back into your clothes, heart racing, the fabric of the dress clutched in your hands as you tried not to think about how close the two of you were just now.
at the register, you pretended not to notice lando watching you, instead focusing on the display case and the necklace in it. the one you thought would look amazing with the dress you just bought but would never actually buy for yourself or even ask lando to buy for you.
you didn’t see the way lando’s eyes stayed on you, watching as you looked at the necklace. watching the look in your eyes almost like he could see you creating outfits with it already.
when your phone rang, you stepped away to answer it, unaware of the quiet conversation happening behind you.
“i’ll take the dress,” lando said casually. “and the necklace she was looking at.”
the cashier smiled knowingly.
you came back moments later, none the wiser.
it wasn’t until you were buckled into the passenger seat of his car, reading through the receipt in your hands, that you frowned.
“this price seems..high.”
you looked down moving to dig through the bag to find the price tag of the dress, you didn’t think it was that expensive. and you knew it definitely wouldn’t break lando’s bank but you still felt bad.
that was when you spotted the small velvet box at the top of the bag, laying gently on top of the dress.
your head snapped toward him. “lando.”
“don’t open that.”
you opened it.
the necklace glittered in the sunlight. the very one you had glanced at, thought was so beautiful, and quickly decided that it was out of your price range.
“what is this?” you demanded, already knowing full well what it was and what he was probably about to say.
“a gift,” he said simply.
you stared at him. “turn the car around.”
“no.”
“you cannot buy me this.”
“why not?”
“because,” you said, flustered, “you’re not my boyfriend or my brother. you don’t get me gifts.”
he shrugged. “guess i broke the rules.”
you argued the whole drive but in the end, the necklace stayed. and neither of you spoke much after that.
because something had shifted. and deep down, you both knew it.
you didn’t talk for three days.
not properly, anyway.
there were texts, logistical, surface level things. flight’s at 9. i’ll pick you up at 6. passport? but the easy banter was gone. the casual you alive? messages. the memes. the late night calls where neither of you said much, just existed on opposite ends of the line.
and you told yourself it was fine.
because this was fake. temporary. something you were doing as a favor for your best friend.
except every time you thought about the way Lando had looked at you in that dress, like the world had tilted off its axis, your stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with nerves.
the airport was chaos.
you stood near the departure gate, suitcase at your feet, fingers twisting the strap of your tote bag like it might anchor you. the scent of coffee and jet fuel mingled in the air, the low hum of announcements echoing overhead.
you hated flying.
not in a cute, “hold my hand during turbulence” way but in a deep, fear in your bones that made your chest tight and your thoughts spiral type of way. a metal tube. no control. thousands of feet in the air.
you checked your phone for the fifth time. while lando had offered to drive you days before you ultimately just decided to drive yourself. but that also meant you had no idea if lando was even up.
where is he?
as if summoned by the thought, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“hey.”
you looked up and there he was.
lando weaved through the crowd toward you, hoodie slung over one shoulder, sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt. he looked relaxed. calm. like this was just another day and you both weren’t flying out to pretend to be dating for his ex girlfriend at her wedding.
your relief was immediate and embarrassing.
“hi,” you said, trying not to sound breathless.
his eyes softened when they landed on you. “you okay?”
you nodded quickly. “yeah. just airports.”
he hummed knowingly. “i’ve got you.”
something about the way he said it, easy and certain, made your shoulders relax just a fraction.
you boarded together, fingers brushing as you walked down the narrow aisle. your seat was by the window. of course it was.
you froze.
“do you want to switch?” he asked immediately.
“no,” you lied. “it’s fine.”
he gave you a look. “y/n.”
you sighed. “i don’t want to be difficult.”
“you’re not,” he said gently. “i’ll sit there.”
he took the window seat without another word, giving you the aisle seat and settling in beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
as the plane taxied, your leg bounced uncontrollably. you stared straight ahead, breath shallow, fingers wringing at your hands nervously
“you wanna hear something stupid?” lando asked softly, his hand coming to rest on top of yours to stop your nervous fidgeting.
you nodded, trying to ignore the way that your stomach tightened when his hand grabbed yours.
“i once cried on a flight because they ran out of the pasta i wanted.”
you snorted before you could stop yourself. “you’re lying.”
“swear,” he said. “full on emotional spiral.”
“that’s tragic.”
“i know. changed me as a person.”
the engines roared louder. your heart followed suit.
“hey,” he murmured, nudging your knee with his own. “you’re good. i got you.”
you nodded, your hand moving to intertwine with his, your head coming to lay on his shoulder as he handed you one side of his earbuds, moving to search on the screen for a movie.
your breathing slowed as the plane lifted off, the ground dropping away beneath you. you clenched your jaw, eyes squeezing shut, focusing on the way his hand felt in yours, the noise of the movie he had turned on.
as the plane leveled out, without asking, lando lifted the armrest, unbuckled your seatbelt and patted his lap.
“come here.”
you hesitated for half a second then laid your head on his lap. his hoodie being used as a makeshift pillow under your head, his hand coming to rub your arm lightly as he watched the movie silently.
the rest of the flight passed in a strange haze, your head in his lap, both of you moving between watching the movie or sleeping, sharing snacks, and quiet jokes. every touch sent a jolt through you, a reminder that this line you were toeing between fake and real was feeling thinner than you had come to realize.
by the time you landed, your nerves had been replaced with something far more dangerous.
anticipation.
➽──────────────❥
the lobby of the cruise ship you were staying on for the wedding was stunning. it was all marble floors and open windows that overlooked the ocean, the very one you would be sailing soon enough. you followed lando to the front desk, exhaustion settling into your bones.
the receptionist smiled brightly. “name?”
“norris, lando,” lando replied.
she typed quickly, then smiled. “ah, i’ve got one room with two people staying, king bed?”
“uh, one bed?” lando said hesitantly.
“she booked it,” the receptionist added cheerfully. “the bride made all the arrangements, said you would need one room for two people, one bed?”
your stomach dropped.
you turned slowly to Lando. “your ex booked us a room.”
he stared at the keycard that he was handed like it had personally betrayed him. “she thought we were dating.”
“so she gave us one bed,” you said flatly.
“yes.”
you exhaled. “i’m killing you.”
he winced. “i deserve that.”
“is there a problem with the room? should i let the bride know of a complication?” the receptionist asked, confused about your bickering.
“no!” you quickly managed to get out. “no, it’s okay, this works perfectly.” you said giving her your best fake smile.
oh you were absolutely killing lando later, but you had to play into the couple part. and you were not about to cause problems on another girl’s wedding day, no matter who she was in this current situation, lando’s ex or not.
the room was..intimate.
large windows. soft lighting. one very obvious bed.
you stood on opposite sides of the room like magnets resisting each other.
“we can-” lando started. “i can take the floor.”
“no,” you said quickly. “it’s fine. we’re adults.”
he nodded, though his ears were pink. “right. adults.”
that night, you lay on opposite edges of the mattress, backs turned, the ocean waves crashing softly outside.
sleep didn’t come easily.
your thoughts kept drifting, to the warmth of his body beside you, to the way his voice had calmed you on the plane, to the realization that this fake thing was starting to feel alarmingly real.
you didn’t notice when he turned over.
or when his hand brushed yours.
but when his fingers curled around yours in his sleep, gentle and unconscious, you didn’t pull away.
the first morning on the ship felt surreal.
sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, painting the room in gold. you lay still for a moment, listening to the steady hush of the ocean, the soft hum of the ship beneath you.
and then you remembered.
Wedding cruise. Fake dating. One bed.
your eyes drifted sideways.
lando was asleep on his stomach, hair a mess, one arm stretched across the empty space between you like he’d reached for you sometime in the night and stopped himself. his face was relaxed in a way you didn’t see often, no cameras, no pressure, no expectations.
your chest tightened.
you slipped out of bed quietly, padding into the bathroom before your thoughts could spiral too far. cold water on your face helped, a sort of reset. a reminder.
this wasn’t real.
by the time you came back out, lando was awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“morning,” he said, voice rough.
“morning.”
an awkward pause settled between you.
“so,” he said, glancing around. “today’s the welcome dinner.”
you nodded. “right. we..should probably look like a couple.”
he smiled faintly. “yeah.”
➽──────────────❥
the welcome dinner was held on the upper deck, white linens fluttering in the breeze, fairy lights strung overhead. music played softly as guests mingled, champagne glasses clinking.
you stuck close to lando’s side, fingers brushing occasionally, deliberate now. performative.
but the stares were real.
you felt them on your skin, curious, assessing. people whispering behind hands, glancing between you and lando like they were filling in a mental checklist.
pretty. confident. new.
you hated how aware you were of it.
“hey,” lando murmured, leaning down slightly. “you okay?”
“yeah,” you lied.
his hand found the small of your back, something so subtle and casual. the contact sent a shiver through you.
“lando!” a voice called.
you turned to see her. his ex. she was beautiful, and so effortlessly so. polished. smiling like she’d already won.
“wow,” she said, eyes flicking to you. “you didn’t tell me she was this gorgeous.”
you forced a smile. “hi.”
lando’s arm tightened around you. “this is y/n.”
“i’ve heard, the infamous girlfriend,” she said lightly. “so, how long have you two been together?”
“seven months,” lando replied smoothly.
she tilted her head. “that’s serious.”
he glanced at you. “it is.”
the way he said it, so soft, certain, it made your heart stumble.
her gaze lingered on his hand at your waist. something flickered behind her smile.
“well,” she said, clapping her hands together. “enjoy yourselves.”
as she walked away, you exhaled slowly.
“you did great,” lando murmured.
you nodded. “she’s..intimidating.”
“she doesn’t matter,” he said.
but somehow, it felt like she did.
➽──────────────❥
the wedding itself happened on day three. it was so beautiful.
an ocean backdrop. soft music. white florals everywhere.
you watched lando’s ex walk down the aisle, radiant and happy, and to your surprise, you didn’t feel bitter for her.
you felt..displaced.
because you kept wondering what it would feel like to be standing next to lando like that. in something real.
the reception blurred into laughter and music and champagne. you danced with strangers, smiled until your cheeks hurt, played your part perfectly.
lando’s eyes gazed over you at every second. the reminder of how you looked in that dress had him staring the very same way he did when you first put it on. his hands flexing in the same way they did when he itched to hold onto you in the store.
until the music slowed, and then he had an excuse to actually do it.
a familiar melody drifted through the speakers, something soft, romantic.
lando appeared at your side like he’d been summoned.
“dance with me,” he said.
your heart skipped. “lando-”
“please.” he muttered cutting you off.
you nodded slowly.
his hand found yours, warm and steady, guiding you onto the dance floor. the lights were low, the ocean a dark expanse beyond the railing.
he pulled you close, closer than necessary.
your arms settled around his neck automatically.
“this wasn’t part of the plan,” you whispered.
“i know,” he said quietly. “am i not allowed to just want to dance with you?”
you swayed together, bodies moving in sync. his thumb brushed your waist absently, like it belonged there.
“i guess not.” you mumble.
“you’re doing amazing,” he murmured.
“you’re biased.”
“maybe.”
you laughed softly, then fell quiet again.
the world narrowed. there was only him, and the music, and the way his forehead dipped closer to yours.
his breath fanned across your lips.
you looked up. he looked down.
and then instead of pulling away like every other moment you had he leaned down further and kissed you, connecting your lips in something so gentle it was like he was scared to break you.
it wasn’t rushed or dramatic.
it was slow. careful. like he was asking permission even as he took it.
your hand fisted in his shirt.
for one perfect moment, everything made sense.
then reality crashed back in.
you pulled away sharply, breathless. “i- i can’t. we can’t.”
he blinked. “y/n-”
you stepped back, heart racing. “i need air.”
you didn’t wait for his response.
you ran.
➽──────────────❥
it had been days. you were ignoring him. for so long that the cruise had felt longer than it needed to be even though it had only been two days since the wedding. he didn’t even know how you could possibly be doing it so well either considering you were staying in the same room. but you did.
you woke up before him. went to bed before he did. put pillows between you both on the bed to separate yourself. and every time you were in the room together you would quickly rush out. and frankly lando had enough.
he didn’t know what was going through your head. but he knew how he felt. and he was tired of hiding from it.
and he was determined to either tell you or die trying, even if it meant getting rejected.
you didn’t know how long you’d been in the room when he came in.
“y/n,” lando’s voice came softly as he opened the door. “please.”
you pressed your eyes closed, tears stinging your eyes.
“i can’t do this,” you whispered.
“do what?”
“this, this fake dating thing, i want out.” you said.
his expression softened, then broke into something achingly tender.
he crossed the room in two strides, blocking you in gently when you tried to leave again, one hand braced against the wall.
“can you listen to me before you make a decision,” he said quietly.
you shook your head, knowing exactly what he was going to say. “you can’t say it.”
“why not?”
“because this is fake,” you insisted. “it was supposed to be fake.”
he leaned closer. “we both know it stopped being fake a while ago.”
your breath hitched.
“i tried to ignore it,” he confessed. “tried to pretend it was just for the trip. but I-” he swallowed. “i’m in love with you.”
tears spilled over. “lando..”
“i don’t want anyone else,” he said. “i never have. and as much as i tried to ignore it, this trip really told me what i’ve already been thinking but never thought to explore. that you’re not my best friend. you’re the girl who knows me inside and out and honestly probably knows me better than myself. the girl who agrees to listen to me and come on the stupidest of adventures like coming and pretending to be my girlfriend at my exes wedding because you’re too kind to just let me suffer in my own misery even when you could have just said no. the girl who looked so gorgeous in that dress i literally couldn’t stop thinking about how i wanted to just touch and hold you. you’re the girl i tried to tell myself was just a friend but then i thought about you every time i went out with another girl, cause none of them were you. i want you. and you can try to ignore it but i think we both know you want me to. so for once in your life will you actually do this for yourself and admit what we both know, or at least reject me because i can’t keep going on acting like this distance isn’t eating me alive and like i don’t want to just come in here and kiss you again.”
you looked up at him, really looked.
“i love you too,” you whispered.
his breath shuddered, a small smile coming to his lips as he leaned down and kissed you again, deeper this time. real.
when you finally pulled apart, you were both smiling through tears.
“guess we’re bad at pretending,” he murmured.
➽──────────────❥
the rest of the trip felt different. it was easier. warmer.
hands held without thinking. laughs shared without restraint.
no pretending.
just two people who’d finally said the truth out loud.
coming home felt stranger than falling in love ever had.
the airport was the same as always, crowded, loud, impersonal, but everything inside you had shifted. you stood at the gate with lando beside you, your suitcases parked at your feet, the buzz of conversation around you fading into background noise.
the week replayed in your head like a highlight reel you weren’t sure you were allowed to keep.
his laugh against your neck in the mornings. the way his hand found yours without thinking. the certainty in his voice when he said he loved you.
and yet here you were. back in the real world.
no labels. no plan.
when your boarding group was called, you both stood at the same time, shoulders brushing. the contact sent a familiar warmth through you, something comforting and terrifying all at once.
the flight home was quieter.
you sat next to each other again, legs touching, but neither of you curled into the other like before. it wasn’t tension, it was hesitation. like you were both afraid that if you acknowledged how real it was, it might vanish.
when you landed, he walked you to your car.
you stood there awkwardly, keys in hand, neither of you quite ready to leave.
“well,” he said softly. “this is me..taking you home.”
you nodded. “yeah.”
another pause.
he leaned down and kissed you, gentle and lingering. the kind of kiss that felt like a promise he hadn’t figured out how to say yet.
“text me when you get home,” he murmured.
“i always do,” you replied.
he smiled faintly, then stepped back. “i love you.”
you smiled shyly as you opened your car door. “i love you too.” you mumbled back softly before climbing in, like it was abnormal to be saying.
and just like that, he was gone.
➽──────────────❥
the days that followed were..confusing.
you went back to early mornings and aching feet, the familiar rhythm of steaming milk and calling out drink orders. life returned to normal with cruel efficiency.
except lando wasn’t there. not the way he usually was.
he texted, of course he did. checked in. sent memes. asked how your shift went. but he didn’t come by. and the absence was loud.
you told yourself it was reasonable. he was busy. you both were. you didn’t need to define anything yet.
still, every time the bell chimed, your heart jumped, and sank, when it wasn’t him.
on the fourth day, you were wiping down the counter when the bell rang again.
this time, it was him.
your breath caught. he looked nervous. that was new.
“hey,” he said.
“hey,” you replied, suddenly hyper aware of your messy bun and apron.
he ordered his usual, then hovered by the counter instead of taking a seat.
“i was wondering..” he hesitated. “can you come sit with me for a minute?”
you glanced toward the back. “i can’t. i’m working.”
“i already asked your boss,” he said gently.
you blinked. “you what?”
“she said you could take ten,” he added quickly. “if you want.”
you stared at him, at the hope in his eyes, then sighed.
“fine,” you said. “but you owe me.”
he smiled. “i already owe you everything.”
you joined him at the small table by the window, the same one where this whole mess had started.
he took a deep breath. “we need to talk.”
“yeah,” you said softly. “we do.”
“i don’t want things to go back to normal,” he admitted. “because normal doesn’t feel right anymore.”
your chest tightened. “it doesn’t feel right for me either.”
he reached across the table, hesitating, then took your hand.
“i know this started fake,” he said. “but what i feel isn’t. and i don’t want to pretend anymore.”
you smiled shakily. “neither do I.”
he squeezed your hand. “be my girlfriend.”
your heart soared.
“yes,” you said without hesitation.
relief flooded his face, followed by the brightest smile you’d ever seen. “really?”
“yes,” you laughed. “really.”
he leaned across the table and kissed you, uncaring of the stares or the coffee shop or the world beyond that moment.
when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“took us long enough,” he murmured.
you smiled. “we’re idiots.”
“yeah,” he agreed. “but at least we’re together now.”
and this time it wasn’t fake.
➽──────────────❥
the thing no one tells you about falling in love with your best friend is how quiet it becomes afterward.
not boring, never that, just soft in a way that sneaks up on you. the kind of quiet that lives in shared mornings and unspoken understanding. in knowing glances across crowded rooms. in the way life settles when you stop bracing for the other shoe to drop.
your relationship with lando didn’t explode into something dramatic, rather it unfolded.
at first, everything felt new even though nothing really was.
he still showed up at your coffee shop far too often. still stole pastries off the counter which you would have to end up paying for and claimed it was “quality control.” still texted you pictures of dogs he passed on the street.
the difference was that now, he leaned over the counter to kiss your cheek before ordering.
your coworkers noticed immediately.
“so,” one of them whispered on your second official day together, eyes flicking between you and lando as he sat at his usual table, working at something on his laptop acting like he wasn’t just staring at you as you worked. “when did that happen?”
you smiled to yourself. “somewhere between fake dating and emotional ruin.”
lando, for his part, was obnoxiously proud.
he walked around like someone had handed him a secret he couldn’t wait to share. his hand was always finding yours, under tables, in the car, on the couch. like he was reminding himself you were real.
the first night you stayed over officially felt momentous and entirely ordinary at the same time.
you brushed your teeth side by side, argued over which movie to watch, fell asleep tangled together, his arm heavy around your waist.
at some point in the middle of the night, you woke to him pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“hi,” you murmured sleepily.
“hi,” he whispered back. “just making sure you’re still here.”
you smiled and snuggled closer. “i’m not going anywhere.”
he tightened his hold like he was filing the promise away.
year two was when everyone else found out. the internet found out the way it always did.
a blurry photo. a hand on your back. a laugh caught mid motion.
lando norris rumored to be dating mystery woman.
he showed you the headline with wide eyes. “do we panic?”
you shrugged. “do you want to?”
he thought about it for half a second, then shook his head. “no.”
so you didn’t.
the soft launch turned into something more official after a candid shot of you two laughing in public went viral. he posted a picture the next day, your hands intertwined, the necklace he’d bought you glinting at your throat, your head on his shoulder as you held onto his arm, smiling at the camera as he smiled down at you, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world.
my favorite person, the caption read.
the comments exploded.
you read them curled up on his couch, legs draped over his lap.
“you okay?” he asked.
you nodded. “yeah. they’re being..surprisingly normal.”
he smirked. “that’s because they don’t know you like i do.”
you glanced up at him. “and how’s that?”
he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours. “perfect.”
travel became harder, but also sweeter.
long distance stretches for races meant facetime calls from hotel rooms and sleepy “i miss you” texts at odd hours. you learned how to love across time zones, how to hold space for each other’s lives without resentment.
and when he came home, he came home to you.
by year three, somewhere along the way, you stopped thinking of his place as his.
your toothbrush appeared in his bathroom. your clothes migrated into his drawers. your favorite mug claimed permanent residence in his kitchen.
he learned how you took your eggs. you learned how to read his moods by the way he shut the door.
you fought sometimes. about stupid things. about schedules. about whose turn it was to do laundry.
but you always came back to each other.
one night, after a particularly long argument, you sat on the floor of the kitchen eating cereal out of the box.
“i hate fighting with you,” he muttered.
you nudged his knee with yours. “me too.”
he sighed. “but i love making up with you.”
you laughed. “you’re impossible.”
“your impossible,” he corrected.
that was the year he first said it casually, like it was obvious.
“home,” he said, when someone asked where he was going.
and he meant you.
year four was when the whispers started before you were ready for them.
when is he proposing? what’s he waiting for?
you tried not to let it get to you, truly. but there were moments, quiet ones, when you wondered. not because you doubted him, never that. but because loving him had become so deeply woven into your life that the idea of forever felt less like a question and more like an inevitability.
you never pressured him. you never asked.
and maybe that was why, one random afternoon, he showed up at the coffee shop looking like he was about to jump out of his skin.
“can you take a break?” he asked.
you blinked. “you didn’t ask my boss this time, did you?”
he grinned nervously. “no. but i can.”
you laughed. “i’m good. what’s going on?”
he hesitated, then shook his head. “nothing. just miss you.”
you softened instantly. “i’ll be off in an hour.”
he nodded, relief flooding his face like he’d just passed some internal test.
that night, he was quieter than usual, thoughtful.
you didn’t notice the way his phone buzzed with a reminder he immediately silenced.
it happened somewhere familiar during year five.
of course it did.
the coffee shop was closed for the night, lights dimmed, chairs stacked. you were there helping clean up after a long day, humming softly as you wiped down the counter.
“hey,” lando said from behind you. “come here.”
you turned. “what’s up?”
he took your hand, leading you to the small table by the window, the one that had slowly become your spot, the one where it had all started, where lando had asked you to be his fake girlfriend, and then his real one, and then where he would sit and pretend to work but actually just watch you.
your heart stuttered.
“do you remember this table?” he asked.
you smiled. “how could i forget?”
he swallowed. “this is where i asked you to fake date me.”
“and where I called you an idiot,” you added.
he laughed softly. “deserved.”
he grew serious then, eyes shining. “i didn’t know it at the time,” he said, “but that was the moment my life changed.”
your breath caught.
he reached into his pocket.
your hands flew to your mouth. “lando-”
he dropped to one knee.
“i fell in love with you before i ever knew how to name it,” he said. “you’ve been my best friend, my safe place, my home.”
tears blurred your vision.
“i don’t want to pretend anymore,” he continued, voice thick. “i want every morning and every hard day and every quiet night with you.”
he opened the box.
the ring was simple. perfect.
“will you marry me?” he whispered.
you didn’t hesitate. “yes,” you sobbed, laughing through tears. “yes, of course.”
he stood, pulling you into his arms, kissing you like he always did, like the world could fall away and you’d still be standing together.
when you finally pulled back, foreheads touching, he smiled.
“guess i owe you another dress,” he murmured.
you laughed. “you’ve already given me everything.”
and in that quiet coffee shop, surrounded by the echoes of the life you’d built together, you knew, this was never fake. it was always love.
➽──────────────❥
the morning of your wedding dawned soft and quiet.
sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, painting the hotel suite in warm gold. the ocean beyond the balcony was calm, glassy, like it knew this day mattered.
you sat in front of the mirror, wrapped in a robe, hands trembling slightly as your stylist worked carefully with your hair. the room smelled faintly of flowers and coffee, a strange mix of nerves and comfort.
your best friend squeezed your hand. “you okay?”
you nodded. “yeah. i just..can’t believe this is real.”
she smiled. “it always was.”
when you were finally alone, you stood and walked to the window, pressing your forehead lightly to the glass.
this is it.
you thought of the coffee shop. of the fake dating deal. of the necklace. of the plane ride where everything changed. of lando.
across the hall, lando stood in front of his mirror, suit perfectly tailored, tie slightly crooked because he’d redone it three times already.
max hovered nearby, watching with an amused grin. “you look like you’re about to line up for a race.”
“i feel worse,” lando muttered.
“never seen you this nervous.”
lando exhaled slowly. “i just don’t want to mess it up.”
max clapped him on the shoulder. “you won’t.”
lando nodded, eyes dropping to the little piece of paper in his hand holding his vows.
“i get to marry my best friend,” he said quietly. “that’s the part that scares me.”
max smiled. “that’s the part that saves you.”
the ceremony space was intimate, white florals, wooden chairs, the ocean stretching endlessly behind the altar. guests filled the seats slowly, murmurs of excitement floating through the air.
lando took his place, hands clasped in front of him.
he’d driven at impossible speeds. he’d stood on podiums with millions watching.
nothing compared to this.
then the music changed.
everyone stood.
and you appeared.
the world stopped the same way it did that day when you walked out in that dress for his exes wedding. except now he could call you his.
you walked slowly, dress flowing around you like it had always been meant for this moment. your smile trembled, eyes shining, fixed on him like he was the only person in existence.
lando forgot how to breathe. he tended to do that whenever it came to you.
when you reached him, he laughed softly, tears already threatening.
“you’re-” he shook his head. “wow.”
you smiled. “hi.”
“hi,” he whispered.
the officiant cleared their throat, and the ceremony began.
but neither of you heard much of it.
you were too busy memorizing the feel of each other’s hands. the sound of shared breaths. the weight of the moment.
when it came time for vows, lando went first.
he took a shaky breath. “i used to think love was supposed to feel dramatic,” he began. “big gestures. fireworks.”
you smiled through tears.
“but loving you taught me that it’s quieter than that,” he continued. “it’s coffee in the morning. long flights. bad days and better ones.”
his voice wavered. “you’ve been my constant. my courage. my home.” he swallowed. “i choose you. every day. in every version of life, and i can’t wait to live this one with you.”
the crowd sniffled.
you stepped forward, hands shaking as you took your turn.
“i didn’t expect to fall in love with my best friend,” you said softly. “but you made it impossible not to. you and your charming smile that would walk into my coffee shop and act like you weren’t about to say the most atrocious thing ever. you who broke every rule we probably ever set to stay platonic, acting like it was doing anything to keep us from falling in love with each other.” you laughed through tears. “but you showed me that love isn’t something you chase, it’s something you build.” you met his eyes. “and i choose you, and building our love together, always."
when the officiant pronounced you married, lando didn’t wait.
he kissed you, gentle and sure and full of everything you’d built together, his hands cupping your cheeks, your hands finding his waist and fisting his suit jacket as you smiled against his mouth.
the cheers were deafening.
the reception was joy made tangible. laughter. music. glasses raised high.
lando spun you around the dance floor like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this. you rested your head against his chest, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
later, under the stars, you slipped away together, barefoot on the deck, the ocean stretching endlessly around you.
he wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.
“so,” he murmured. “wife.”
you laughed softly. “husband.”
“i still can’t believe you agreed to fake date me,” he said.
you smiled. “i knew you’d need me.”
he kissed your temple. “i always do.”
you leaned back into him, heart full and steady. because this wasn’t the end of the story. it was just the beginning, something so big built on friendship, love, and the quiet certainty of choosing each other.
summary: in which luke falls in love with the girl who sings in the stairwell of his apartment complex.
warnings: none.
A/N: this is a fic series! check out the masterlist here!
luke hughes didn't mean to stop walking.
he was halfway up the concrete stairs of the apartment complex to go to his apartment he shared with jack, his hood was pulled over his head, headphones dangling uselessly around his neck, when the sound hit him.
not something loud. not showy. just something warm.
a voice, echoing gently over the stairwell walls, carrying a melody so familiar it made his chest tighten before he brain could catch up.
"i found myself dreaming...in silver and gold..."
luke froze on the landing between the third and fourth floors, one sneaker lifted like he'd forgotten how stairs worked. the song floated down to him, unaccompanied, no guitar or piano, just a girl's voice, clear and soft and steady. not perfect in the polished, studio way. perfect in the real way. like she wasn't trying to be heard. like she was singing because she needed to.
he slowly turned, leaning his shoulder against the cold railing, listening.
taylor swift, he realized belatedly. "daylight."
jack was always saying he listened to "sad girl music" too much, but luke never cared. and hearing it like this, something raw and unfiltered, echoing through concrete, it felt like discovering the song all over again.
by the time the chorus ended, luke's heart was beating embarrassingly fast.
he waited for footsteps. for laughter. for the sound of someone else there.
but there was nothing. just silence.
after a moment, luke shook his head, huffing out a quiet laugh at himself, and continued up the stairs. he didn't see anyone on the upper landings, didn't hear the elevator, didn't catch a glimpse of a stranger slipping away.
but the sound followed him the rest of the night.
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
the next morning, it happened again.
luke was coming home later than usual, shoulders sore from practice, phone pressed to his ear as jack rambled about something completely unimportant.
"i'm telling you, lukey, the vibes in this place are off tonight-"
"jack," luke interrupted absently.
"what?"
"i gotta go."
he hung up without waiting for a response. because there it was again. this time, it was landslide.
luke slowed as he entered the stairwell, heart in his throat like a stupid teenager. he took the steps quietly now, each footfall careful, like he might scare the sound away if he moved too fast.
he spotted her on the sixth-floor landing.
she was sitting on the stairs, back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, a canvas tote bag at her side. her hair was loose, falling in soft waves down her back, catching the yellow light overhead. she wore a sweater too big for her frame and worn converse with sharpie scribbles on the sides.
she was singing to no one. eyes closed. hands wrapped around her arms like she was holding herself together.
luke stopped a few steps below her, suddenly acutely aware of how big he was, how loud his breathing felt in the quiet space. he didn't want to interrupt. didn't want to break whatever fragile thing she had going on.
but then her eyes opened. they locked on his. she startled, inhaling sharply, the song cutting off mid-lyric.
"oh-" she said, scrambling to her feet. "i-sorry, i didn't know anyone else was-"
"no," luke blurted out, way too fast. "don't be. i mean- please don't stop. i wasn't- i didn't mean to-"
he clamped his mouth shut, face heating.
great. real smooth, hughes.
she blinked at him, then smiled. a small, hesitant thing at first. "you..liked it?"
luke nodded. "yeah. a lot."
her shoulders relaxed a little. "i usually come here because the acoustics are better than my apartment. and my roommate works nights, so.."
"smart," luke said, gesturing vaguely around them. "it-uh. it sounds really good."
her smile widened. "thank you."
there was a pause. the good kind. the kind that felt like the beginning of something instead of an awkward end.
"im luke," he said finally.
"i know."
he blinked. "you do?"
she laughed softly. "it's hard not to know who you are when you live in the same building as jack hughes."
luke groaned. "gosh. i'm sorry."
"no, no," she said quickly. "he's entertaining. loud. but entertaining."
"yeah, that tracks."
she shifted her tote bag higher on her shoulder. "i'm (y/n)."
luke repeated it quietly, like he wanted to make sure he got it right.
"well," she said, rocking back on her heels. "i should probably let you get home."
"right," luke agreed, even though he absolutely didn't want to. "yeah. uh-maybe i'll see you around?"
"maybe," she said.
then she smiled again, turned, and disappeared up the stairs.
luke stood there for a full minute after she left, staring at the space she'd been in.
when he finally walked into the apartment, jack was on the couch, controller in hand.
"you look like you just saw a ghost," jack said.
luke dropped onto the other end of the couch. "i think i just met the girl who sings in the stairwell."
jack paused the game. "the what."
luke smiled to himself. "nothing. never mind."
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
after that, the stairwell had become something sacred.
luke started taking the stairs instead of the elevator, even when his legs burned and his lungs protested. sometimes she'd be there. sometimes she wouldn't. sometimes he'd hear her voice before he saw her, and sometimes she'd be sitting in comfortable silence, scrolling through her phone or scribbling lyrics in a notebook.
they didn't rush it. some days, they just smiled at each other in passing. other days, they talked for hours.
she told him she worked at a small café a few blocks away, that she sang because it helped her process things she didn't know how to say out loud. luke told her about hockey in the careful, understated way he talked about it to people who didn't already know everything.
she didn't treat him like a headline. she treated him like luke.
sometimes he sat on the steps while she sang, elbows on his knees, watching the way her throat moved with each note, the way her hands unconsciously kept time. sometimes she asked him what he wanted to hear.
"anything," he always said.
once, she sang something she wrote herself. her hands shook a little. luke listened like it was the most important thing he'd ever been trusted with.
when she finished, she looked at him nervously. "you don't have to say anything."
"i do," luke said quietly. "it's beautiful."
she swallowed. "yeah?"
"yeah."
that night, when he went upstairs, jack took one look at him and said, "you're down bad."
luke didn't argue.
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
it was raining the night everything shifted.
luke came home soaked, hair plastered to his forehead, hoodie heavy with water. the stairwell smelled like damp concrete and ozone.
and there she was.
sitting on the landing. knees pulled in. not singing.
he slowed immediately. "hey."
she looked up. tried to smile. failed.
"hey."
luke sat beside her without asking, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. he didn't push. didn't pry. just waited.
after a moment, she exhaled shakily. "do you ever feel like you're...running out of time?'
luke frowned. "for what?"
"for the thing you love," she said quietly. "like if you don't do it now, you'll miss your chance."
he thought about hockey. about the pressure. about the way time felt like something always chasing him.
"yeah," he said. "all the time."
she nodded, eyes glassy. "i auditioned for this program today. didn't get in."
luke's chest tightened. "i'm sorry."
"i know it's stupid," she rushed. "it's just- singing is the only thing that makes me feel like me, and sometimes i worry it's not enough."
luke turned to face her fully. "hey."
she met his gaze.
"you're enough," he said, firm. "even if you never sing another note. but the fact that you do- that you put yourself out there like that? that matters."
she stared at him, something fragile and hopeful flickering across her face.
"thank you," she whispered.
without thinking, luke reached out, brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles.
she didn't pull away.
the silence stretched. thick. charged.
luke's heart hammered. "can i-"
she nodded before he finished.
he leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to stop him.
she didn't.
their kiss was soft. careful. like something they were both afraid of breaking. her lips were warm, rain-sweet, and luke felt something settle in his chest that had been restless for a long time.
when they pulled back, she laughed breathlessly. "guess that answer the 'running out of time' thing."
luke smiled. "guess so."
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
after that, it was different. better.
she started coming to games, sitting quietly in the stands, wearing his hoodie even though it swallowed her whole. he started stopping by her café, pretending he needed caffeine even when he didn't.
jack found out accidentally, of course. he walked in on luke in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, smiling like an idiot.
“i’ll see you tonight,” luke said softly. “sing for me?”
jack’s eyes widened. “oh my god.”
luke groaned. “don’t.”
“you fell in love with a stairwell singer,” jack said, delighted.
luke didn’t deny it. because it was true. sometimes, late at night, when the building was quiet and the world felt too big, luke and her would sit on the steps, her head on his shoulder, her voice echoing softly around them and luke would think..
if this is where it started, maybe this is where it’s meant to be.
A/N: it's coming, it's coming, it's coming. here you will find all the fics associated with stairwell girl!
stairwell girl will be a luke hughes x reader fanfic series! i have a bunch of ideas for this world but also feel free to send your own! i'm editing the base fic right now so hopefully it'll be posted soon!
hope you enjoy!
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ stairwell girl - new!
in which luke falls in love with the girl who plays on the stairwell of his and jack's apartment.
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ penny for your thoughts - coming soon
in which luke has a lot of love for the idea of penguins having a mate for life
chat i’m gonna tease stairwell girl because im absolutely in love with it. it’s gonna be a luke hughes x reader series (ish). not like chapters but more so a bunch of different blurbs from the same world and i am absolutely so smitten with them bro.
anyways here’s your sneak peak. the full thing should hopefully be out soon
jack found out accidentally, of course. he walked in on luke in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, smiling like an idiot.
“i’ll see you tonight,” luke said softly. “sing for me?”
jack’s eyes widened. “oh my god.”
luke groaned. “don’t.”
“you fell in love with a stairwell singer,” jack said, delighted.
luke didn’t deny it. because it was true. sometimes, late at night, when the building was quiet and the world felt too big, luke and her would sit on the steps, her head on his shoulder, her voice echoing softly around them and luke would think..
if this is where it started, maybe this is where it’s meant to be.
hii! I’m new here I don’t have a request but I just finished binge reading your Lando x Deaf reader and I was curious what inspired you to write about that? I loved it so much I’m currently trying to learn asl (the universe is making it hard tho 😔) and I love seeing the representation! Anyways lovely work have a nice day/night 💜
hi! welcome!
loud and clear was originally supposed to be a standalone! it still kind of is since none of the other deaf!reader fanfics are really tied together persay, like it's not all just based in one world, more so just a series of fanfics about lando with a deaf!reader.
im hard of hearing though! and i have a completely deaf friend with cochlears and i kind of just wanted to write something based off that, so hence loud and clear was born.
but then from there i had a bunch of other ideas so then i guess that was when the deaf!reader world was kind of born. i still have a bunch of other ideas that i kind of want to write but also considering its not a series persay im also trying to focus on the other people i write for and trying to get some stuff out for them too. so like oscar, i have a couple max fanfics in the works and such, and im starting to write some NHL ones for luke, jack, and quinn, so hopefully those will be going out soon.
but yeah, there wasn't really inspiration persay i guess, more so of there wasn't a lot of deaf!reader or hard of hearing!reader fanfics out there that i saw so i kind of just took the ideas i had and rolled with it, and will continue rolling with it. i just wanted to be able to make those who are actually deaf, or hard of hearing, also feel at place in a sense since there wasn't a lot, i think i only knew of like one honestly, and it was a charles fic.
im glad you enjoyed though! i hope to put out some more deaf!reader stuff soon so i guess you can be on the lookout for that :)
summary: in which lando's girlfriend is a rambler or in which he just loves using shutting her up as an excuse to kiss her
warnings: none that i can think of
you had never thought of yourself as a rambler. sure, you had thoughts, and a lot of them. thoughts that had collided into your brain, multiplied, gained momentum, and then poured out of your mouth in a continuous stream of consciousness you had never really quite learned to control.
but lando loved it.
at least, that's what he had kept insisting, whenever he wasn't shutting you up with his mouth of course.
and that happened a lot.
you were in the middle of narrating something, your own downfall honestly, because you were pacing through your living room ranting at full volume.
"...and then she said it wasn't even that big of a deal. like what do you mean it's not that big of a deal? if it wasn't a big deal then why did you bring it up in the first place? people don't just-"
your front door opened.
lando stepped inside like he lived there, his hoodie half zipped, his curls slightly damp like he had run his hands through his hair too many times, and that stupidly endearing look on his face, the very one that said he was already amused by you.
"hi," he said simply.
you stopped in the middle of your pacing. middle of your sentence. middle of your breath even.
but only for half a second.
"okay, so listen," you continued, spinning toward him, waving your hands as your rant reset itself, "i swear i wasn't trying to make an argument out of it, because why would i? but she just kept saying things in that tone, you know the tone, and i honestly could feel my brain trying to fold itself in half because i-"
he stepped closer.
"but really, it wasn't like i was trying to be confronta-"
closer.
"i just- are you even listening right now?"
he kissed you.
hard. fast. decisive.
one hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as his lips had pressed into yours with that quiet, smug yes i'm shutting you up on purpose confidence he never had even tried to hide from you.
your thoughts had dissolved almost instantly.
he pulled back just enough to breathe against your lips. "hi," he repeated, grinning, warm and soft and so annoyingly charming.
you blinked. "...hi."
"you were spiraling." he shrugged like it was the weather. "i fixed it."
"you assaulted me with your mouth."
"you loved it."
maybe. definitely.
later, the two of you ended up on the couch. him sprawled out, you half across him, head on his chest as you continued to give him a deeply unnecessary play-by-play of your day.
"so then i accidentally spilled coffee on my shoe, my favorite shoe, by the way, the one i told you i'd cry over if anything bad every happened to it. and the barista tried to hand me extra napkins but i was already too flustered so i-"
lando hummed, running his fingers slowly through your hair.
he wasn't listening.
scratch that, he was listening, just not to your words.
his attention was all on the way your body had been moving when you talked, the way your lips had formed the sounds, the subtle bounce of your voice when you got passionate about something meaningless.
his hand slid down, curling more around your waist. his thumb stroked a lazy circle.
"but it wasn't totally my fault," you continued, oblivious, "because the cup was weirdly slippery, and i know i've told you the paper ones at that place are always too soft, like they get soggy fast, and maybe they changed their supplier because-"
he nudged your chin lightly with his knuckle.
you stopped. "what?'
he smiled up at you, slow and playful. "you're cute."
"lando, i literally just told you about a tragedy-"
"yeah." he lifted your chin higher. "and you're cute."
"is this your way of making me shut up aga-"
this time the kiss was gentle. his lips were soft, pressing slowly. they were warm and sweet. a quiet exhale into your mouth like he'd been waiting for this exact moment to steal it from you.
your fingers curled into his hoodie.
when he pulled back, his voice was low, warm, teasing. "keep talking. i like watching you get annoyed when i interrupt."
you shoved him weakly. "you're impossible."
"you're noisy." he countered.
"you love it."
he smirked. "desperately."
traveling with lando meant one thing. that you were surrounded by high-energy chaos at all times. which, unfortunately, triggered your tendency to narrate your life like someone was recording a documentary.
so race mornings were..something.
you followed him through the paddock as he adjusted the sleeves of his fireproofs, listing every single thing that had gone wrong that morning.
"so i forgot my toothpaste, and then the hotel coffee machine completely malfunctioned, and then your trainer wouldn't let me steal a banana because 'those are for the drivers' which is ridiculous because-"
he glanced back, a half-smile forming. "do you breathe between these sentences?"
"yes, lando, i'm not a dolphin."
"dolphins breathe."
"shut up."
you didn't stop.
"and the elevator was broken, and someone kicked my ankle, and i couldn't find my left earring, and then there was random guy taking a video of me eating a muffin? like why would anyone-"
he stopped walking.
you didn't. you kept going until you crashed into his chest.
"ow- what are you-"
he held your face with both hands. right in the middle of the paddock walkway.
"lando- don't- you're not gonna-"
he kissed you. full. warm. stealing every complaint right out of your mouth.
someone passing by muttered something about "get a room," but lando didn't even look away from you.
"thought you'd never shut up," he murmured affectionately, thumb brushing your lower lip before he dropped his hands and resumed walking.
you stood frozen. your brain rebooted like a crashed computer.
"you're the worst," you hissed, rushing after him.
"you keep saying that." he slung an arm around your waist without looking. "yet here you are."
lando also tended to know exactly when you were rambling because you were overthinking.
it happened that night after the race.
lando, exhausted but buzzing with adrenaline, sprawled face down on your hotel bed while you paced in front of the window wringing your hands.
"...and i know it wasn't like, catastrophic or anything, but it felt weird and then i started worrying about whether i had done something wrong or if maybe i said something wrong at breakfast- did i? because you didn't seem mad but maybe-"
lando didn't even lift his head. instead he just mumbled into the pillow, "come here."
"i'm serious, lando, i think you might be annoyed with me or something because you didn't look at me when-"
"come. here." his voice dropped into that quiet, raspy warning tone that always turned your boned into jelly.
you reluctantly crossed the room.
as soon as you were within reach, he rolled onto his back, grabbed your wrist, and tugged you onto him, your knees bracketing his hips.
you yelped. "could you maybe not-"
he sat up enough to kiss you. not rushed. not teasing. not playful.
slow. decisive. a kiss that said stop spiraling, i'm literally right here.
you melted instantly. his hands slid to your waist, holding you in place as he kissed you again, deeper this time, until your thoughts quieted one by one.
when he finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his.
his voice was soft. "you think i'm mad at you?"
you swallowed. "...maybe."
"baby." he tipped your chin up gently. "if i'm mad at someone, trust me, you'll know."
"comforting."
he smirked. "i'm not mad. i'm tired. and you worrying about it is pointless."
"i wasn't worrying that much."
"you were pacing a hole into the carpet." he pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of your mouth. "you only do that when it's bad."
you sighed. "okay..fine, maybe a little."
"a little?" he kissed you cheek. "a little?"
"lando-"
he kissed you again.
"stop doing that!"
"nope."
one night, after dinner with friends, you were in the passenger seat of his car giving him a detailed review of the restaurant. about the lighting, the chairs, the waiter's haircut, the weird bread basket, the dessert you wished you had ordered, the dessert you were glad you didn't order, and who even thought tiny spoons were a good idea-
"and honestly, if you think about it, the layout doesn't make sense because if the bar is on one side and the bathroom is on the other-"
he reached over. you didn't even see it coming.
his fingers hooked gently around your jaw as he leaned across the console and kiss you, something quick, sure, heat blooming everywhere his lips touched.
"hey-"
he sat back calmly. "needed a moment of peace."
you slapped his arm. "you can't just do that while you're driving."
"i can, actually."
"you- lando- i was in the middle of-"
"i know."
"then why did you-"
he kissed you again. not as quick. not as innocent.
heat flushed your cheeks. "you're abusing your power."
he smirked. "what power?'
"the kiss to shut me up power!"
"that's not a real power."
"it is when you have it."
he shrugged lightly and focused back on the road. "well. i might as well use it then."
you groaned. "you're unbelievable."
"and you're loud," he said pleasantly. "match made in heaven."
you tried once, just once, to get him back.
he was in your kitchen, rummaging in your fridge for a snack while you stood behind him, arms crossed, ready to enact your master plan.
you started rambling on purpose.
"so i was thinking about what we should do this weekend, and then i remembered that one time you said you'd never go to a pottery class with me which is honestly rude because i feel like you'd secretly be really good at it, and also i saw this video of someone making a mug that looked like a frog and i feel like-"
he didn't look up. "are you trying to bait me?"
"no."
"you are."
"no, i'm not."
"you are." he straightened slowly, turning you with that devilish smirk that meant you were screwed. "you're doing the thing. the chaos thing. the ramble trap."
"i don't know what you're talking ab-"
he boxed you in against the counter.
"oh, you definitely know," he said, leaning in close.
"i wasn't- i'm not-"
he brushed his nose lightly along your cheek. "you wanted me to kiss you."
"no, i-"
he kissed you. because of course he did. your fingers clutched his hoodie, balance abandoning you entirely.
when he finally let you breathe, his voice was low against your ear. "next time, just ask."
"i hate you."
"you don't."
"maybe i do."
he kissed you again just to prove his point.
it was late, really late, and you were curled up in bed with him, legs tangled, your head on his bare chest while he traced lazy shapes on your arm.
you were talking, because you always talked before sleep. something about a podcast, and a funny video you saw, and why you weren't convinced birds were real (you still weren't sure he knew you were joking).
he listened quietly. or, at least, he pretended to. but this time, he didn't interrupt you. not until you yawned mid-sentence and tried to pretend you didn't.
he smiled down at you. "you're falling asleep."
"no i'm not- so anyway the thing about pigeons is-"
he kissed you. just a soft press of lips. nothing heated. nothing teasing. just gentle.
you blinked slowly. "...why'd you dot hat one?"
"hmm?" he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. "you were drifting."
"you wanted me to stop talking?"
he paused. that was unusual. then he shook his head.
"no." his voice was soft, warm, unfiltered. "i just...i like you quiet sometimes."
you shoved his shoulder lightly. "wow. rude."
"not like that." he laughed, pulling you closer until you were completely against his chest. "i like your talking. you know i do."
"you like interrupting it."
"i like kiss you." he corrected, nudging your nose with his. "the shutting you up part is just a bonus."
you flushed, staring at him through sleepy eyes.
he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. "but i like hearing you, too. your voice...it just feels like home now."
your breath caught.
"and when you ramble?" he smiled. "that's my favorite. because you're comfortable. you're yourself. and you let me be close enough to quiet you down when you start spiraling."
your chest warmed.
your voice dropped to a whisper. "you love me."
he exhaled a soft laugh. "i do."
"you didn't say it."
"i'm saying it now." he kissed your forehead. "i love you."
your heart melted all at once.
he kissed you again. slow. soft. final. this time, you didn't say anything back. not aloud. you curled into him instead, your lips brushing his collarbone in a quiet, wordless reply.
he whispered, "there's my quiet girl."
and for once, you didn't bother arguing.
you woke up tangled in his arms, hair a mess, sleep still in your eyes.
and you immediately started talking.
"i just realized something- do you ever wonder how many hotel pillows are actually clean? like really clean? because i don't know if they actually wash them between every single person or if they just kind of rotate them out and-"
he groaned into your neck.
you giggled. "you awake?"
"no. sleeping."
"then why are you talking?"
"to kiss you."
"wait, what-"
he rolled you onto your back and kissed you before you could even inhale another word.
your laugh disappeared against his lips.
he broke away just long enough to whisper, "good morning."
then one day he does his usual i got u something and its a ring alhfoihefiahefpiauhpfiuabwp;
A/N no because what if i said i have been thinking about this concept since i first wrote this and it's been in the drafts as an add on since.....
tiny things (that change everything)
pairing: oscar piastri x reader
summary: oscar's girlfriend is a collector or in which she can't make some races and so oscar brings back one of the most important things ever.
warnings: none. this goes with it's sister fic tiny things so you might want to read that first before this. you don't have to but it provides some context.
you never initially expect anything when oscar comes home. he was never forced to get you anything, he always just did. so you never assumed that he would just do it.
because for you and oscar, "i brought you something" usually meant something like a smooth stone that reminded him of your hands, or a tiny figurine he found in a dim airport shop. something that was small and quiet. something that only the two of you would understand.
so when you hear his keys and his footsteps in the hallway, you just smile sleepily from your spot on the couch.
"hey," he called softly, not wanting to break the quiet environment you had been sitting in, just wanting to join you instead.
"hi," you answered, the same tone, already moving to sit up.
he dropped his stuff at the door, toeing off his shoes, coming straight to you like he always did without fail. he smells like laundry detergent and jet lag and home.
"i brought you something," he says.
you start to glow a little almost immediately. "did you?"
he nodded, serious in that way that usually meant he thought he did very well.
he reached into his back pocket and you were expecting something small. something like a trinket, or a charm, or a smooth coin.
instead, he pulled out a small velvet box.
your smile faltered a bit. not in fear. not in panic. but just quiet disbelief.
"oscar..." you breathed out, barely.
he looked almost shy now, suddenly all hands and nerves.
"i saw it," he said quietly, "and i thought of you. and then i couldn't stop thinking about it."
he opened the box. inside of it was a simple ring. nothing flashy, nothing even oversized. just a delicate and beautiful thing, something perfectly you. a thin gold band with a tiny, soft shimmer of a stone that caught the light like it's breathing.
for a second, everything went quiet, neither you or oscar saying anything, both of you not really breathing either.
your chest felt so full.
"it's...little," you whispered.
he laughed softly, relieved. "yeah. thought you'd like that."
you nodded. because that was exactly it. it wasn't something that was some dramatic moment, kneeling and cameras and speeches. it was just him. in your living room. in sweatpants. offering you the smallest, biggest thing he's ever given you.
"i wasn't going to make it a big deal," he admits, eyes flicking between the ring and your face. "that felt...wrong for us."
he swallowed.
"i just...know. about you. about us."
you reached for him before you could even realize that you had moved.
"osc."
your voice shook. you take the ring box from his hands carefully.
"is this-" you tried, failing. breathing in. "is this you asking me..?"
he only nodded.
nothing dramatic, or him kneeling. no speech. just honestly in his eyes.
"yeah," he said softly. "it is."
your fingers trembled, just a bit, when you slide the ring out.
"it's small," you say again, this time with a little laugh through your tears. "it's perfect."
you hold your hand out to him. he froze.
"you have to...put it on," you whisper. "i think that's the rule."
a soft laugh escaped him, something that was half breathless.
he took your hand. so carefully. like you were something fragile, like one of the many trinkets you had collected. like the moment was.
he slid the ring onto your finger. it fit like it was something that had always belonged there.
you stared at it for a second, then at him.
"yes," you say, because it felt like the only possible word in the world.
he exhaled so hard it was almost a laugh, almost a sob, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.
"yeah?' he asked quietly, stupidly happy.
"yeah," you confirm, arms sliding around his neck.
you kissed him slowly, deliberately. like you were sealing something that was soft and sacred between you.
when you pulled back, he touched your hand again, turned it gently so he could watch the ring catch the light.
"you can add it to your collection," he said, half teasing.
you shook your head. "no," you whispered. "it's not a thing."
he blinks.
"it's you."
he smiled then, that small, private smile that he only ever gave to you, and pressed another kiss into your hair.
and later, when you were laying in bed together, his arm heavy and warm around your waist, he murmured drowsily. "i guess i finally brought you something big."
you laced your fingers with his, the ring cool and solid and real between you.
"still small," you whispered back. "still just ours."
Pairing: Lando Norris x Lacie Campbell (Original Character)
Summary:
Oscar expected a normal MTC tour.
He did not expect Lando Norris to suddenly reveal fluency in sign language, a year-long hidden relationship, and the fact that Oscar apparently has a sign name that involves an adorable marsupial.
Meanwhile, Lando just wants to go home to his girlfriend and tell her about the kid who made his whole day.
Warnings and Notes:
Lando's curse for the week... We are keeping it fair till the line.
Also this is my first time trying to write deaf/hard of hearing characters. All my research came from Reddit, Google, Youtube and Tiktok in that order. I tried my best but if you have any idea of how to make it better, tell me!
Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble about all my ideas and has an unending patience for me and to @leodette, who was very proud for not making this 10k +😂
The McLaren Technology Centre was usually loud in a way people didn’t notice.
Machines. Air vents. Boots on tile. Laughter echoing off glass.
Today, though, someone did notice.
The little boy—maybe eight, maybe nine—flinched when a cart rolled past with a metallic rattle. The sound hit him too sharply, too suddenly, and his shoulder jerked like someone had pinched a nerve. His mother crouched beside him, voice soft, hands hovering but not touching.
“Do you want to take it out?” she asked, slow and clear.
The boy nodded and pulled his cochlear implant off in one smooth motion.
Oscar Piastri watched the whole exchange with sympathetic confusion, standing beside Zak Brown and a comms intern holding an “I LOVE MCL35” sign that had far too many glitter stickers.
Zak clapped his hands loudly—too loudly, honestly—and cheerfully declared:
“Right! Who’s ready to meet the drivers?”
The boy did not react.
His parents smiled politely.
Oscar panicked internally.
He leaned toward Zak.
“Uh—should we…? Like… write it down?”
Before Zak could answer, a voice appeared beside them:
“I’ve got it.”
Oscar turned—and nearly fell over.
Because Lando Norris—chaotic gremlin, avoider of mornings, man who once forgot his own passport at Heathrow—was already walking toward the family, hands lifted.
And then he signed.
Fluid. Confident. Natural.
“Hi. I’m Lando,” he said, at the same time, as his hands were making the handshape for L, followed by 4 tapped against his shoulder—a name sign. “What is your name?”
The boy’s face lit up like someone had turned the world’s happiest floodlights on.
He signed back—quickly, excited—and Lando laughed, real and warm.
Oscar blinked.
Zak blinked.
The comms intern’s jaw hit the floor loud enough to be heard from the next department.
“What is happening,” Oscar whispered.
Lando turned to the parents next, signing as he spoke out loud—slightly slower now, synced with his hands.
“It gets loud in here sometimes. Milo can take a break whenever he needs. No pressure.”
The mother smiled in a way that was part relief, part disbelief.
“You sign very well,” she said aloud.
Lando shrugged modestly. “My girlfriend’s deaf,” he said easily. “She signs sometimes, lip-reads when she’s tired. I learned so we could talk the way she felt most comfortable all the time.”
THAT got Oscar’s attention.
Girlfriend.
Girlfriend?!
Lando--secret-relationship-Norris? Since when?!
But Lando was still talking, casual as if announcing he bought a new hoodie.
“She has a cochlear implant, too. She has fun covers for it—custom stuff. One with my blob helmet design. Makes it feel hers, you know?”
The dad’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your girlfriend wears a cochlear implant?”
“Yep,” Lando replies, still signing to the boy so he could follow. “She also has a sticker for it in Papaya Orange, obviously.”
Milo perked up at the colour sign.
Orange.
Bold. Visible. Proud.
Lando crouched to eye level, expression soft.
Do you like racing? he signed, as he said it aloud at the same time.
The boy nodded so vigorously the implant almost slipped from his fingers.
Lando grinned.
“Me too.”
He guided him to the simulator, letting him press buttons, pick the track—Monza—because every child instinctively loves chaos.
At one point, the room got loud again—laughter, wheels moving, an espresso machine hissing—but Lando didn’t push him to reinsert the implant. He just stayed beside him, signing commentary and jokes as the sim loaded, patient and natural like he’d done it a thousand times.
Oscar slowly approached, eyes still wide.
“When,” he whispered, “did you learn sign language?”
Lando shrugged again like this was normal, everyday, nothing special.
“A while ago.”
“That’s not—” Oscar gestured helplessly. “Mate, you just casually— fluent.”
“Takes practice,” Lando said lightly, not looking away from the kid.
Oscar stared.
“You have a girlfriend.”
Lando blinked slowly.
“Yes, Oscar.”
“And she’s real.”
“…yes?”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
Lando finally looked over, lips twitching.
“I didn’t tell you because you’d make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird.”
“You’re absolutely making it weird.”
Oscar folded his arms, affronted.
“I think I’m being very calm.”
“You’re vibrating.”
“I’m processing.”
Lando? the boy signed suddenly, tapping his arm.
Lando paused and signed back.
Yes?
The boy lifted his implant, hesitated—then signed:
Do you think… I can drive a car like you one day?
Lando didn’t smile.
Not immediately.
He sat with the question, watching it, respecting it.
Then he reached out, tapped the boy’s shoulder—same place as his own name sign.
You already can. The world just needs to catch up.
The boy’s grin was galaxies.
Oscar swallowed the lump in his throat.
Zak muttered, “I’m going to cry and I hate that.”
When the family finally left—with photos, simulator videos, and one (1) papaya helmet sticker Lando dug out of his bag—the place felt quieter.
Not silent.
Just softer.
Oscar bumped Lando’s shoulder.
“She must be special.”
Lando didn’t answer for a long second.
Then, quietly:
“She is.”
And Oscar—finally, finally—smiled.
“Good. So,” Oscar began, voice careful, “when were you planning to tell me you’re secretly fluent in sign language?”
Lando tilted his head. “When it came up.”
“It came up just now!”
“Yep.”
“And the girlfriend.”
“Yep.”
Oscar inhaled through his nose like he was meditating.
Or trying not to shake Lando.
They started walking toward the office when a voice called:
“WAIT.”
An intern — approached breathlessly, phone in hand. “Um—Lando? The family said something before leaving. They said to tell you they’re so grateful and that Oscar’s sign name is perfect.”
Oscar froze.
“…My what?”
Lando stopped walking.
Silence.
Not the awkward kind — the oh no kind.
Oscar slowly turned toward him.
“Explain.”
Lando scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere except Oscar’s face.
“Okay so… sign names are kind of a cultural thing. They aren’t just initials — they mean something about the person. You don’t choose them, someone in the Deaf community gives them to you. Usually after they know you.”
Oscar stared.
“Someone named me something?”
“Yep.”
“Who?”
Lando mumbled.
“What?”
“My girlfriend.”
Oscar blinked rapidly. “She gave me one? We have never met!”
Lando shrugged as if this were entirely logical.
“You’re important to me. So she came up with one.”
Oscar stared.
“What is it.”
Lando bit his lip to hold back a smile.
Oscar narrowed his eyes.
“Lando.”
“Koala.” Lando blurted.
Oscar froze.
“Excuse me?”
Lando quickly clarified by signing it — hands curled like hooked paws that tap at his chest.
“Because you’re Australian,” he added weakly.
Oscar stared harder.
“Do I look like a koala?”
“I mean… a little?”
“A little?”
“Like a cute koala!” Lando insisted, voice rising defensively. “Not like… didgeridoo kung-fu drop-bear koala. Just—tiny and clingy.”
“Clingy?”
“You hang off me sometimes?”
Oscar sputtered. “I hang off you because you steal my chair!”
“It’s because you love me.”
“OI—”
Lando signed the motion again, slower.
O + koala.
“It’s cute,” Lando insisted. “She picks sign names based on personality. She was very proud of this one.”
Oscar crossed his arms. “So she’s met me exactly zero times, and she has decided I’m an adorable marsupial.”
“Yes.”
“…I’m fine with that actually.”
Lando snorted. “You’re impossible.”
Oscar bumped his shoulder, calmer now.
“How long have you two been together?”
Lando hesitated — but not from uncertainty.
From wanting to protect something precious.
“A year and a bit,” he said softly. “We’ve been… keeping it ours, y’know?”
Oscar’s expression softened instantly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I get that.”
They reached the simulator bay again — now quiet, the lights dimmed.
Oscar tilted his head.
“So… what’s hers?”
Lando smiled, slow and entirely love-drunk.
“Fingerspell L for Lacie, then”—he held both hands in an open position and moved them upwards while twisting his wrists —“the sign for sparkle. Because she lights up when she laughs.”
Oscar’s face did something embarrassing and soft.
“That’s disgustingly romantic.”
***
Their flat in Monaco was dark when Lando slipped the key into the lock.
Dark, and quiet.
He shut the door behind him gently, instinctively, even though nobody else in the whole world would bother. Hard habits from years of learning her rhythms.
Lacie was curled up on the sofa under a blanket, lamp casting warm gold across her hair. Her cochlear implant sat on the coffee table beside a cup of tea that had gone lukewarm.
She was reading — which meant she hadn’t heard him come in.
Lando smiled and walked into her line of sight, slow enough not to startle her. When she looked up, her eyes softened, bright even without sound.
He mouthed:
Hi, Lacie.
(And signed a tiny hello wave, just for extra.)
She closed her book, tucking a finger in the pages to hold her place, and watched his lips carefully.
“Long day?” she guessed with a little grin.
Lando dropped onto the sofa beside her, legs folding automatically toward her.
He exaggerated his mouth movements just slightly — the way she preferred when she was tired.
“You have no idea,” he said, resting his head against the back cushion.
She glanced toward the implant but didn’t reach for it. Some nights she wanted silence. Wanted the world off. He never pressured her otherwise.
“What happened?” she asked, and Lando saw her eyes flick to his mouth mid-sentence, tracking every shape.
“We had visitors,” he said. “A family. The winner of that MTC tour contest. Their son was deaf.”
Lacie straightened, interest sparking.
“And?”
“And—” He laughed under his breath. “He was amazing. His name is Milo. Smart. Curious. Loved the simulator. And when it got too loud, he took his implant out. Just like that.” He mimed the motion. “Everybody panicked except him.”
Her smile was slow, proud.
“Good. He knew what he needed.”
“That’s what I told him.”
Lando’s voice softened without him meaning to.
“It was really nice. Talking to Milo. Seeing him light up.”
Lacie’s gaze drifted, warm and thoughtful. “You helped him feel safe.”
“I hope so.”
There was a pause — comfortable, grounding — and then Lacie nudged him gently with her foot.
“Did you show off?” she teased, lips shaping each syllable clearly.
He feigned offense.
“I’m always cool and subtle, thank you very much.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrow arched. “Oscar told you to tell me that?”
He snorted.
“Oscar nearly had a breakdown because he learned I have a secret girlfriend. Apparently that’s shocking information.”
Lacie laughed — silent, but sparkling through her whole face.
“And,” Lando continued, smiling at the memory, “he found out you gave him a sign name.”
Lacie froze.
“What did he say?” she mouthed cautiously.
“That he’s ‘fine with being an adorable marsupial.’ His exact words.”
She hid her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Oh my God. He wasn’t supposed to know that!”
“Well.” Lando poked her knee. “He does. And he loves it.”
She peeked at him through her fingers.
“Maybe I’ll teach him how to sign koala properly.”
Lando melted a little at how she lifted her chin when she felt proud.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear — slow, asking permission without words — and she leaned into the touch.
“He asked if you were real,” Lando said quietly. “And I told him yes.”
Lacie’s features softened, something gentle and grateful.
“And what did you say when he asked if you were serious about me?”
Lando blinked once.
He hadn’t told her that part.
So he just signed it.
Always.
Her breath caught — a tiny visible hitch — before she cupped his cheek and drew him closer.
“Tell me everything,” she said.
“I want to know about him.”
So Lando told her — about the boy’s bright grin, the papaya sticker, the hopeful question.
And Lacie listened — truly listened — with her eyes and with the quiet space she always made for him.
When he was done, she mouthed:
“He’ll remember that forever.”
“I will too,” Lando replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She snuggled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder, content even without sound.
Lando wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the line, he had learned that love didn’t always need noise.
summary: oscar's girlfriend is a collector or in which she can't make some races and so oscar's a collector for her
warnings: none
you had always been a collector, you liked collecting things. not in the expensive hobby, shelves full of rare memorabilia sort of way, but int he quiet sentimentalist with a box under the bed kind of way. a pressed flower from a picnic date. a tiny wooden spoon from a market in italy. the keycard of the first hotel you and oscar ever stayed in together.
your life was made of so many little pieces, things that you had kept just because they tugged on specific little memories.
oscar had learned about this little habit of yours early on. he learned about it the day you found you slipped a single blue candy wrapper into your pocket after a walk in monaco.
"what're you doing with that?" he had asked, amused at you.
you shrugged having been a little embarassed. "it's pretty. and it's from today."
he didn't tease you. he just smiled, soft and fond in the way that only he ever looked at you.
and he never forgot about it.
at his home race, you had picked up a tiny enamel pin that was shaped like a kookaburra from a vendor outside of the track. it had been smaller than your thumbnail, but you beam at it like it's a diamond.
oscar had watched you examine it while he had been tying his shoes in the motorhome.
"another one for the collection?" he asked.
"mhm." you hummed as you held it up. "it's cute."
"you're cute," he murmured, not even bothering to think about it before saying it, and you glow just a little.
you place the pin into the little zippered pocket of your bag and he pressed a kiss to your cheek, almost subconsciously.
the next one was imola. he went alone this time. you had to stay at home because of work, and you had tried to hide your disappointment when you went to say goodbye at the airport. but he had noticed, of course he had noticed.
when he got home four days later you had been half asleep on the couch waiting on him. he crouched beside you, brushing your cheek gently with his knuckle.
"hi, love," he murmured. "i brought you something."
you had perked up immediately. from his backpack he had produced a tiny stone figurine, something smooth, pale, and barely an inch tall. a little turtle.
you gasp softly. "oscar, this is adorable."
"i saw it in a shop window," he says. "it reminded me of you."
"because it's tiny?" you tease.
"no," he said back, his voice warm. "because it looked...gentle."
you kiss him for that, him kissing back with a sleepy sweetness and jet lagged tenderness.
it was raining after fp2 in montreal, and while he was doing media duties you had wandered just outside of the track. there's a vendor selling beaded bracelets, simple little things, nothing fancy.
you picked one up with orange beads threaded through. oscar would have rolled his eyes having pretended to be offended that you had matched it to the papaya on his car, and then secretly love it.
when you had showed him later he had followed that exact script.
"really?" he asked, deadpan. "papaya beads?"
"yes," you answered, a small smile on your face. "for my boyfriend."
he tried not to smile but failed miserably.
he took your wrist, rubbing his thumb across the beads. "can i steal it sometimes?" he asked.
"depends," you respond, leaning into him. "how good are you planning on being at qualifying tomorrow?"
he tucked you into his side, laughing, shaking his head. "deal."
you weren't able to travel for silverstone either but you had woken up to a short video on your phone from oscar. the boy had filmed himself outside a tiny local stand.
"so," he says, zooming in on a small metal keychain, shaped like a teacup, "i know you already have about three hundred random things by now, but look. british. tiny. reminded me of you. perfect."
you laugh, replying with a sleepy selfie.
when he lands back home, he puts the keychain directly into your hand.
"it's heavy," you comment, weighing it.
"to make up for how light the last one was," he says. this was when you realized he remembered exactly which things he had gotten for you. you fell a little more in love.
in singapore the heat was unbearable, but you had found a perfect little paper fan, blue and gold, delicate, hand painted. when you brought it to oscar later, fanning him dramatically just to annoy him, he snatched it from your hand and held it between you.
"you're going to break this," he warned.
"i'm not," you protest.
"you are," he corrects, but he's smiling, that crinkly eyed smile that scrambles your insides. "let me keep it safe."
and he did. he carried it around the rest of the weekend. he tucked it into your backpack after the race, careful, almost reverent. like he had understood exactly why the little things mattered.
you had been packing to head home after the last of the year in abu dhabi when oscar dug around in his suitcase, a suspicious amount of purpose.
"i have something for you," he says.
your heart does its usual patented flutter.
he sits beside you on the hotel bed and holds out the smallest, softest plus camel you had ever seen. two inches tall, round, absolutely ridiculous.
you choke on a laugh. "oscar- why does it look like that?"
"i don't know," he had said honestly. "i just saw it and immediately though that this was something that you'd pick up. so i got it before you could."
you took it from him, cradling it gently.
"it's perfect," you say softly. and it was. because he got it for you with you in mind, like everything else he got you.
you look at him, warmth rising in your chest.
"you know," you say, "my collection is like mostly you at this point."
he blushed, his cheeks growing pink even under the soft hotel light.
"then i'll keep bringing you things," he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "so i'm always there, even when i'm not."
you kiss him properly this time, something slow, grateful, and all heart.
and when you went home you placed the camel on your shelf of tiny things. right beside the turtle. and the teacup. and the dozens of tiny, little treasures that made up your entire world. all of them small. none of them flashy.
but every single one proof of how deeply, quietly, oscar loved you.
