Can you write a story where lando and max f have convinced their childhood friend (landos girlfriend) to take part in a quadrant video. Some type of outdoor challenge possibly, but reader gets hurt slightly and lando panics
Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader(y/n)
Warnings: sprained ankle, overprotective Lando
Summary: When a Quadrant obstacle challenge goes wrong, a minor ankle sprain transforms competitive racing driver Lando Norris into an ultra-protective, hovering caregiver. Refusing to leave his childhood girlfriend's side, Lando hilariously commandeers the video shoot from the couch, turning the outdoor competition into an elite, affectionate pampering session.
Requested: Yes/ @shannonannegan
Author’s note: Thank you so much for the request!! I really hope this is what you imagined when you requested it. If not you can always let me know and i can change it. xx
The morning sun over the Surrey Hills was deceptively bright, casting a crisp, golden glow over the sprawling outdoor activity center. It was the kind of crisp, early summer day that felt perfect for anything, except, perhaps, being talked into running a brutal, military-style obstacle course for a Quadrant video.
You stood by the side of the gravel path, shivering slightly despite the oversized, fleece-lined Quadrant hoodie engulfing your frame. Your hands were buried deep in the pockets, and you glared playfully at the two boys currently high-fiving over a shared protein bar.
Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell.
The duo had been a chaotic fixture in your life since you were all barely old enough to reach the pedals of a go-kart. You had survived their childhood antics, their teenage racing rivalries, and their transition into adulthood. Somewhere along that messy, fast-paced timeline, your decade-long friendship with Lando had shifted, deepening into a relationship that felt as natural as breathing. You had been his girlfriend for over two years now, a grounding force in his high-speed world.
But being Lando’s girlfriend also meant occasionally getting dragged into his content-creation schemes.
“I still can’t believe I let you two idiots convince me to do this,” you muttered, your voice muffled by the high collar of the hoodie. “I could be at home. In bed. Watching Netflix. With a cup of tea.”
Max Fewtrell turned to you, a massive, mischievous grin spreading across his face. He adjusted the GoPro strapped to his chest. “Oh, come on, Y/N! The fans have been begging for you to be in a video for months. ‘The Mystery Childhood Friend.’ ‘Lando’s Secret Weapon.’ We’re giving the people what they want!”
“The people want to see you two fall face-first into a mud pit,” you shot back, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “They don’t need to see my lack of upper-body strength.”
Lando bounced over to you, his eyes bright and full of that infectious energy he always possessed when he was surrounded by his favorite people. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. The familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, mixed with the crisp outdoor air, instantly wrapped around you.
“You’re going to be great, bubs,” Lando murmured into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Besides, it’s a team challenge. Max and Niran are one team, and you and I are the other. There’s no way I’m letting Fewtrell beat us. My competitive pride is on the line.”
“Your competitive pride is always on the line,” you laughed, leaning back against his chest. He felt warm and solid, his hands resting protectively over your stomach.
“Seriously though, thank you for doing this,” Lando added softly, his tone shifting from the hyped-up YouTuber persona to the boy who looked at you like you hung the moon. “I know you hate the cameras sometimes. If you want to stop at any point, just say the word and we’ll cut. Okay?”
You turned your head slightly to look at him, melting a bit at the sincerity in his hazel eyes. “I’m okay, Lando. I’m here now. I might as well try to beat Max.”
“That’s the spirit!” Max shouted, having clearly overheard. “But keep dreaming, Norris! Team Fewtrell-Niran is taking the trophy today!”
“There is a buffet! Afterwards!” Max grinned, clapping Niran on the back.
The production crew signaled that they were ready to roll. The head videographer, managing a heavy stabilization rig, gave a thumbs-up. Lando reluctantly untwined himself from you, giving your hip a reassuring squeeze before stepping into frame next to Max.
The cameras clicked on, and instantly, the atmosphere charged with high energy. Max and Lando stood side-by-side, perfectly in their element, while you and Niran stood just on the periphery, waiting for your cues.
“What is up, guys! Welcome back to Quadrant,” Max yelled into his mic, throwing his hands up. “Today, we are out in the absolute wilderness. No simulators, no race cars. Just pure, unadulterated physical dominance.”
Lando scoffed loudly, stepping in front of Max’s camera view. “Physical dominance? Max, you get winded walking up the stairs to your apartment. Shut up.”
“Hey! I am an elite athlete!” Max protested.
“Was an elite athlete,” Lando corrected with a cheeky grin, turning directly to the main camera. “Anyway, today we have a very, very special video. For the first time ever, we have managed to drag a literal ghost onto the channel. She has evaded every stream, every vlog, and every TikTok. But today, she is here. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… Y/N!”
Lando extended his arms toward you like a game show host. You forced a smile, waving awkwardly as you stepped into the frame next to him.
“Look at her, she’s terrified,” Max laughed, pointing the GoPro at you. “Y/N, how does it feel to finally be cornered by the Quadrant content machine?”
“I feel like I need new friends,” you joked, leaning into Lando’s side. He immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head. It wasn’t a gesture for the cameras; it was just how Lando was whenever you were nearby. He was fiercely affectionate, a habitual toucher who constantly needed to be in contact with you.
“And of course, we have Niran!” Lando announced, rounding out the group.
The director stepped forward, explaining the rules of the challenge. It was a three-part outdoor obstacle course. First, a tire-run and hurdle section. Second, a cargo-net climb and balance-beam crossing. Third, a final sprint up a steep, muddy hill to ring a victory bell. The teams would run simultaneously, and the first team to have both members cross the finish line and ring the bell would win.
“We’re going to destroy you,” Max asserted, pointing a finger at you and Lando. “Niran has been doing cardio. I’ve been doing cardio. It’s over.”
“Max, I literally race Formula 1 cars for a living,” Lando said, deadpan. “My neck has a better workout routine than your entire body.”
“Yeah, but Y/N is your teammate,” Max teased, winking at you. “She’s a wild card.”
Lando’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, his competitive streak flaring up, but his voice remained fiercely defensive. “Y/N is going to smoke you, Max. Just watch.”
You looked at the course ahead. The tires looked slippery from the morning dew, and the balance beam hung a few feet above a soft, muddy pit. A sudden wave of nervousness washed over you. You weren’t unathletic, but you certainly didn't train at an elite level.
Sensing your sudden shift in mood, Lando dropped his arm from your shoulders and slid his hand down to find yours. He squeezed it tightly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand.
“Don’t worry about the time,” he whispered, his voice dropping below the threshold of the microphones as Max and Niran did a separate piece-to-camera intro. “Just go at your own pace. I’ll be right next to you the whole time. If Max gets ahead, who cares? I just want you to have fun.”
You smiled up at him, the anxiety dissipating a bit. “Okay. But let’s still try to beat him.”
Lando’s face lit up with a massive, dimpled smile. “That’s my girl.”
The director’s megaphone blasted, and the four of you took off. Max and Lando instantly bolted forward like unleashed greyhounds, their competitive instincts overriding everything else for the first few seconds. Max hit the tire grid first, his feet flying through the center of the rubber rings with practiced agility. Lando was hot on his heels, laughing like a maniac as he tried to elbow Max out of the way.
You and Niran took a slightly more measured approach. You paced yourself, high-stepping through the tires carefully. The rubber was slick, and you had to focus to keep your footing.
“Come on, Y/N! You’ve got this!” Lando yelled from ahead. He had already cleared the tires and the first small hurdle, but instead of sprinting ahead to the cargo net, he paused, turning around to watch you.
Max was already scrambling up the cargo net like a spider, shouting back at Niran to hurry up.
Lando, however, completely abandoned his lead. He ran backward toward you, a massive smile on his face. “Looking good, bubs! Keep it up! Niran’s flagging already!”
“I can hear you, Norris!” Niran panted from a few yards behind you.
You cleared the last tire and leaped over the low hurdle, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline. It was actually kind of fun. You jogged up to the base of the massive cargo net where Lando was waiting.
“Go up first, I’ll be right behind you,” Lando said, putting his hands on your waist to guide you toward the roped structure.
“Lando, you’re losing the race! Max is already on the balance beam!” you breathed out, climbing up the thick ropes.
“I don’t care about Max,” Lando said, though his eyes briefly darted to his friend who was currently teetering across a log. Lando climbed up right below you, his hands always hovering near your feet, ready to catch you if you slipped. His presence was incredibly comforting.
You reached the top of the cargo net, swung your legs over the wooden platform, and looked down at the next obstacle: the balance beam. It was a long, stripped tree trunk suspended about three feet off the ground over a bed of woodchips and damp earth. Max had just completed it, jumping down with a triumphant yell and sprinting toward the final hill.
Niran was just starting his climb up the cargo net.
“We can catch them on the hill!” Lando cheered, dropping down from the net beside you. “Come on, let’s go!”
You ran toward the balance beam. You felt confident. You had good balance, and the finish line was just on the other side of the hill. You stepped onto the log, extending your arms out to the sides for stability. Lando stepped onto the parallel log right next to yours, moving in perfect synchronization with you.
“Look at us, we’re like Olympic gymnasts,” Lando joked, keeping his eyes locked on you rather than his own feet. “Absolute perfection.”
“Lando, look where you’re going, you’re going to fall,” you laughed, taking another step forward.
But you should have taken your own advice.
The middle section of the log was damp, covered in a thin layer of moss that had retained the morning moisture. As your right foot landed on it, your sneaker lost all traction.
Time seemed to slow down. Your foot slid sideways, slipping completely off the log. Your weight shifted violently, and before you could correct your balance, you plummeted off the side of the beam.
It wasn't a long drop,only about three feet, but as you came down, your right foot landed awkwardly on an uneven clump of earth hidden beneath the woodchips. Your ankle rolled inward with a sickening, sudden pop.
A sharp, biting jolt of pain shot up your leg.
“Ah! Damn it!” you gasped, collapsing onto the bed of woodchips, instinctively clutching your right ankle as tears of shock instantly pricked your eyes.
The lighthearted, chaotic energy of the video evaporated in less than a second.
Lando didn't even think. He didn't safely step off his log; he literally vaulted off the side of the balance beam, discarding all form and landing heavily on his feet before dropping straight to his knees beside you.
“Y/N! Y/N, hey, hey, look at me,” Lando’s voice was suddenly stripped of all humor. It was laced with a raw, sharp panic that you rarely ever heard. His face went entirely pale, his hazel eyes wide with immediate distress.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth, but a sharp wince crossed your face as you tried to move your foot.
“Don’t move, don’t move it,” Lando ordered frantically. His hands hovered over your leg, trembling slightly, terrified of hurting you more. “Where does it hurt? Is it your ankle? Did you break it? Oh god, did you break it?”
“No, no, I don’t think it’s broken,” you panted, holding your breath against the throbbing ache. “Just… rolled it. It really hurts.”
Up ahead, Max had heard the commotion and stopped right at the base of the hill. Seeing Lando on his knees and you huddled on the ground, Max’s playful demeanor instantly vanished. “Yo! Everything alright?” he called out, already jogging back toward the balance beam.
“Cut the cameras! Cut them!” Lando yelled over his shoulder, his voice snapping across the outdoor course with an authority that brooked no argument. He didn't care about the content, the views, or the comedic timing. His entire universe had just shrunk down to you on the ground.
The camera crew immediately lowered their rigs, the red recording lights blinking off. Niran dropped down from the cargo net, his face full of concern, while the on-site medic, a woman named Hannah who had been hovering in the background just in case, began rushing over with a medical kit.
“Bubs, let me see, let me see,” Lando murmured, his voice cracking slightly. He gently, with agonizing care, moved your hands away from your ankle. His fingers were incredibly soft as he touched the edge of your sneaker. “Tell me where it hurts. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you do this. This was a stupid idea. I’m such an idiot.”
“Lando, breathe,” you said, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek. His skin felt cold, and his heart was visibly hammering against his ribs through his t-shirt. “It’s not your fault. I just slipped. It’s an accident.”
Max reached the scene, crouching down next to Lando. “You okay, Y/N? What happened?”
“Slipped off the beam. Think she rolled her ankle,” Max answered for you, his eyes never leaving your leg.
Hannah, the medic, knelt down on your other side. “Hi, Y/N. I’m just going to take a look, okay? Lando, can you help me get her shoe off very gently?”
Lando nodded quickly, his jaw clenched in pure concentration. He positioned himself at your foot, treating your leg as if it were made of the finest, most fragile porcelain. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay? Immediately.”
As Lando carefully unlaced the sneaker, supporting your heel with his palm, you let out a small, sharp hiss of pain when the shoe was pulled free.
Lando flinched as if he had been struck. “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry, bubs.”
“You’re doing fine, Lan,” you whispered, sweating a little from the shock of the pain.
Hannah gently palpated your ankle, pressing around the lateral malleolus. You winced, but didn't scream. She rotated your foot slightly.
“The good news is, there’s no deformity and the bone feels intact,” Hannah announced, offering a reassuring smile. “It looks like a mild to moderate lateral ankle sprain. It’s going to swell up and be quite sore, but nothing is broken. We need to get some ice on it immediately, elevate it, and wrap it.”
The collective sigh of relief that left Lando’s lungs was loud enough to be heard across the field. He closed his eyes for a brief second, pressing his forehead against your knee, before looking back up at you. The sheer panic in his eyes was slowly replacing itself with an overwhelming, suffocating wave of protectiveness.
“Right. Ice. We need ice,” Lando said, his brain kicking into high gear. “And a chair. Or a couch. Where’s the nearest couch?”
“There’s a lounge in the main lodge office,” Niran offered, pointing back toward the building about two hundred yards away.
“Perfect. I’m carrying her,” Lando said definitively.
“Lando, I can probably limp—”
“No. You are not putting a single ounce of weight on that foot,” Lando interrupted, his tone completely non-negotiable. It was the voice of a man who was used to making split-second decisions at 200 miles per hour. He slid one arm under your knees and the other securely behind your back. “Hold onto my neck.”
You did as you were told, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a grunt of effort, Lando stood up smoothly, lifting you into his arms. He held you tight against his chest, tucking you in close as if he were shielding you from the rest of the world.
Max picked up your discarded sneaker and your socks, looking genuinely apologetic. “Man, I feel bad now for trash-talking.”
“Shut up, Max,” Lando said, though there was no real heat in it. He was just entirely focused on walking carefully across the uneven gravel path toward the lodge, ensuring he didn't jolt you.
Ten minutes later, you were ensconced in the lodge’s private breakroom. Lando had practically commandeered the space.
He had settled you onto a plush leather sofa, propping your right leg up on a mountain of cushions he had aggressively gathered from various chairs around the room. Sarah the medic had wrapped your ankle securely in a compression bandage, and a heavy, condensation-covered ice pack was currently resting over the swelling.
Lando had not left your side for a single second.
He was currently kneeling on the floor next to the couch, adjusting the ice pack for the fifth time. “Is that too heavy? Does it feel too cold? I can put another paper towel under it if it’s burning.”
“Lando, it’s perfect. It feels good. The cold is helping,” you said softly, reaching out to run your fingers through his messy, curly hair.
He leaned into your touch, letting out a long breath, but his eyes were still scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. “Are you sure? Scale of one to ten, what’s the pain?”
“Right now? Like a three. It’s just throbbing a bit.”
Lando frowned, clearly unsatisfied with a three. He stood up, walked over to a table, and returned with a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with an absurd amount of mini marshmallows. He had found them in the staff kitchen and had immediately made it for you.
“Here. Drink this,” he commanded gently, pressing the mug into your hands.
“Lando, it’s like 20 degrees Celsius outside,” you pointed out with a smile.
“I don’t care. Shock requires warm liquids. Or comfort. This is comfort,” he insisted, sitting down on the very edge of the sofa right by your hips. There was plenty of space in the room, but he chose to crowd into your personal space, his thigh pressing firmly against yours.
He picked up a blanket that the staff had provided and carefully draped it over your lap, tucking it in around your waist and your good leg, making sure not to disturb the injured ankle. He smoothed the fabric down with meticulous care.
Max and Niran walked into the room quietly, looking a bit tentative.
“Hey,” Max said, stepping in. “How’s the casualty?”
“She’s okay. No broken bones,” you smiled, raising your mug. “Just getting pampered to death.”
Lando didn't look up from your leg; he was busy adjusting the blanket again. “She’s in pain. It’s a three out of ten.”
Max rolled his eyes affectionately, pulling up a chair. “Lando, mate, she rolled her ankle. You’re acting like she survived a 50G crash into the barriers at Silverstone.”
“It’s different,” Lando muttered, his hand finally coming to rest on your thigh, his fingers gripping you firmly. “It’s my fault. I dragged her into the video.”
“Lando, stop,” you said firmly, setting the mug down on the side table. You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you. “I am a grown adult. I said yes. I tripped on some moss. If you don’t stop apologizing, I’m going to throw a marshmallow at you.”
A tiny, reluctant smile finally broke through Lando’s serious expression. “Okay. Fine. But I’m still taking care of you.”
Max looked between the two of you, then turned to Niran. “Well, the production crew is kind of in a pickle. We still have a video to finish, but obviously, the team challenge is ruined. We only got the first half of the course.”
You looked at Lando, then at Max. You knew how much work went into planning these shoot days. The crew, the travel, the equipment, it was a massive logistical effort. You didn't want them to waste a whole video just because you were clumsy.
“You guys should finish it,” you said.
Lando instantly shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. I’m staying right here. We’re going home.”
“Lando, listen to me,” you reasoned, taking his hand and weaving your fingers through his. “The medic said I just need to sit here and keep ice on it for a while. I’m perfectly fine sitting on this couch. You and Max can go finish the video. Do an intro explaining what happened, and then do a penalty challenge or something.”
“No way,” Lando repeated, his grip on your hand tightening. “I’m not leaving you alone in here.”
Max hummed, a look of pure YouTuber inspiration dawning on his face. “Wait… what if we don’t leave her? What if we change the concept of the video right now?”
Lando glared at him. “Max, if you think I’m putting her back on that course-”
“No, no, hear me out!” Max interrupted, waving his hands. “We stop the athletic competition. We pivot. The new video title is: My Girlfriend Got Hurt, So We Have To Do A Penalty Challenge. Or better yet, we just film the rest of the video right here, or out on the patio, and Y/N is the judge. We can do a quiz, or a punishment challenge, and Lando has to do it while literally being your butler.”
You blinked. “My butler?”
“Yes!” Max grew more excited. “Lando has to complete a series of ridiculous tasks while carrying you, or catering to your every whim, and Niran and I judge him. It keeps the content funny, acknowledges what happened so the fans don’t worry when they see the wrap later, and Lando doesn’t have to leave your side.”
Lando looked at Max, then looked down at your wrapped ankle, and finally into your eyes. He seemed to be weighing the options. The idea of leaving you to go film was an absolute zero-percent probability in his mind. But the idea of staying right next to you, holding you, and continuing the shoot? That was acceptable.
“Can I stay right here?” Lando asked the room at large.
“Mate, you can sit on her lap for all I care,” Max laughed.
You smiled, nudging Lando with your good leg. “I think it sounds fun. And I get to boss you around on camera? Sign me up.”
Lando’s eyes softened, a deeply affectionate look taking over his face. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. “Fine. But if you feel even a little bit of pain, we stop immediately. Deal?”
“Deal,” you whispered against his lips.
The production crew moved a portion of their gear into the lodge’s spacious, rustic lounge. They set up a couple of cameras, adjusting the lighting to accommodate the indoor setting.
You remained stretched out on the leather sofa, your leg elevated beautifully. Lando had refused to move from his spot. He was practically glued to your side, sitting so close that your hip was pressed against his torso. His left arm was wrapped securely around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, while his right hand rested protectively on your knee.
Max and Niran stood in front of the couch, holding microphones. The videographer gave the signal, and the cameras began rolling again.
“And… we are back!” Max announced to the camera, his tone transitioning seamlessly back into his energetic host persona. “Now, guys, as you can see, the scenery has changed slightly. We are no longer outside in the mud. Why? Because Team Norris suffered a catastrophic, season-ending injury.”
Max pointed the camera down toward your wrapped ankle. Lando immediately tightened his grip on you, leaning into the frame with a fiercely protective scowl that was half-joking, half-deadly serious.
“Yeah, Y/N took a brutal spill off the balance beam,” Lando explained to the camera, his voice carrying an edge of lingering anxiety. “It was horrifying. I almost had a heart attack. But she is a warrior. The medical team has cleared her, no broken bones, just a sprain.”
“And because Lando refuses to leave her side, literally, look at him, he’s like a barnacle attached to a rock, we have shifted the video,” Max explained, grinning. “Welcome to the *Ultimate Pampering Penalty Challenge*.”
Niran stepped forward with a clipboard. “Here are the rules. Lando has to earn points by completing tasks dictated by Y/N. For every task he fails, he has to do a physical punishment. Max and I will be the strict judges. Y/N, how are you feeling about your newfound power?”
You smirked, leaning back against Lando’s chest, thoroughly enjoying how warm and solid he felt behind you. He shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher up on your chest to make sure you weren't cold from the indoor air conditioning.
“Honestly? I think this is how it should always be,” you joked into your lapel mic. “Lando is usually the one getting pampered, so it’s time to turn the tables.”
“I am an excellent boyfriend,” Lando protested into his mic, though he was smiling, his lips brushing against your temple. “I will do whatever she wants. Name it. Anything.”
“Okay, Task Number One,” Max announced. “Y/N requires sustenance. But not just any sustenance. She needs a perfectly curated snack platter, and Lando has exactly two minutes to raid the lodge kitchen and assemble it. Go!”
“Two minutes? That’s nothing!” Lando yelled.
He didn't want to leave your side, but the competitive drive took over. He gave you a quick squeeze. “I’ll be right back, bubs. Don’t move.”
“I physically can’t, Lando,” you laughed.
Lando bolted out of the room. The camera followed him as he sprinted down the hallway.
While he was gone, Max looked at you with a softer, genuine expression. “Seriously, you okay? He was actually losing his mind out there. I’ve never seen him move that fast off a racetrack.”
“I’m okay,” you smiled, touching the soft fabric of the Quadrant hoodie. “He’s a bit of a hyper-active worrywart, but it’s sweet.”
“He’s obsessed with you, it’s sickening,” Niran joked.
Within ninety seconds, Lando came bursting back into the room, panting as if he had just run a marathon. He was holding a large wooden cutting board stacked precariously with an bizarre assortment of items: three packages of biscuits, a half-eaten block of cheddar cheese, a bunch of grapes, a canister of sour cream and onion Pringles, and a single, unpeeled banana.
He slid onto his knees next to the couch, carefully placing the board on the coffee table before immediately turning his attention back to you. He slid his hand right back onto your thigh, his touch constant and grounding.
“I got everything,” Lando panted, looking up at you expectantly like a puppy waiting for praise. “I found grapes, health. Cheese, calcium for your bones. Pringles, salt for your electrolytes. And biscuits because you love tea.”
You couldn't help but laugh out loud at the chaotic spread. “Lando, this looks like a snack platter compiled by a toddler.”
“Hey! That is an elite selection!” Lando defended himself, reaching over to peel a grape and holding it up to your lips. “Open up. Vitamin C.”
You took the grape from his fingers, chewing it while Max and Niran shook their heads in mock disapproval.
“I give that a 4 out of 10 for presentation, but a 10 out of 10 for speed,” Max judged. “Y/N, what’s your verdict?”
“I’ll give him a pass because he got the Pringles,” you declared.
Lando cheered, immediately shifting up from the floor to sit back on the couch next to you. He adjusted your elevated leg slightly, making sure the ice pack hadn't moved an inch. He rested his hand over the ice pack, using his own body heat to keep the rest of your leg warm. He was constantly hovering, his eyes darting to your face every time you shifted your weight.
“Task Number Two,” Niran read from the clipboard. “The Relationship Quiz. If Lando gets a question wrong about Y/N, he has to do ten pushups with Max sitting on his back.”
Lando groaned. “Max weighs a ton! Come on, I know everything about Y/N. We’ve been friends since we were kids!”
“We’ll see about that,” Max smirked. “Question one: What is Y/N’s ultimate comfort food when she’s stressed?”
Lando didn't even hesitate. He tightened his arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close your head was resting underneath his chin. “Easy. McDonald’s chicken nuggets, twenty-share box, with sweet curry sauce. And she dips the fries in the milkshake.”
You laughed, nodding. “Correct. Disgusting, but correct.”
“Question two,” Niran chimed in. “What was the exact location of your first official date?”
Lando’s posture softened. His fingers began tracing light, soothing circles on your arm. “It was that tiny Italian restaurant down the road from the old karting track in Italy. The one with the checkered tablecloths where the owner yelled at Max for spilling pasta sauce.”
“Hey! Why am I getting dragged into this?” Max protested, though he was smiling. “And fine, that’s correct.”
“Question three,” Max said, leaning forward with a devious grin. “What is Y/N’s biggest pet peeve about living with Lando?”
Lando paused. He looked down at you, his eyes wide. “Uh… oh god. There are a few.”
“Name the top one,” Max pressured.
Lando chewed his lip, his hand sliding down to wrap around your waist, pulling you securely against his side as if to bribe you. “Is it… that I leave my racing gear bags in the hallway?”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s annoying, but not the worst.”
“Is it that I play Sim racing at 2 AM and yell at Twitch chat?”
“Think, Norris, think!” Max chanted.
Lando looked genuinely stressed, his protective instinct morphing back into his desperate desire to please you. “Bubs, what is it? Tell me, don’t let Max punish me.”
“It’s the fact that you take my socks, wear them, stretch them out with your giant feet, and then put them back in my drawer,” you revealed, tapping his nose.
Lando let out a dramatic groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The camera captured the incredibly intimate, sweet moment as he mumbled against your skin, “They’re just softer than mine. I can’t help it.”
“That’s a fail!” Max shouted triumphantly. “Down on the floor, Norris! Ten pushups, and I’m getting on your back!”
Lando reluctantly pulled away from you, but before he stood up, he meticulously rearranged the blanket over your legs, ensured the ice pack was perfectly flat, and kissed your forehead. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“Lando, I’m literally trapped under a mountain of pillows,” you amusedly reminded him.
Lando dropped to the floor, getting into a pushup position. Max, with a massive grin, carefully sat astride Lando’s lower back.
“Oh my god, Max, you’re so heavy! Stop eating those protein bars!” Lando groaned, his arms trembling as he lowered himself to the floor for the first pushup.
You watched him, a deep warmth swelling in your chest. Despite the ache in your ankle, you couldn't remember the last time you felt so thoroughly loved and looked after. Even on a chaotic shoot day, surrounded by cameras and his best friends, Lando’s priority was entirely, unequivocally you.
He powered through the ten pushups, his face turning bright red as Max cheered him on. The moment he finished and Max slid off, Lando didn't even take a second to recover on the floor. He sprang right back up, bypassed the cameras, and slid straight back into his spot next to you on the couch.
He was breathing heavily, but he immediately reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist, his thumb finding your pulse point and rubbing gently. He tucked you back under his arm, his chest heaving against your shoulder.
“You okay?” he whispered, his voice private and soft beneath the noise of Max and Niran wrapping up the segment. “Ankle still okay?”
“I’m perfect, Lan,” you whispered back, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his jaw line. “You’re doing great.”
The final segment of the video was filmed with the afternoon sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long, warm shadows through the lodge windows.
Max and Niran stood in front of the couch for the final outro.
“Well, guys, there you have it,” Max said to the main camera. “The outdoor challenge took an unexpected turn, but honestly, I think we learned a lot today. Mainly, that Lando is an incredibly clingy boyfriend when his significant other is injured.”
“I am not clingy, I am attentive,” Lando corrected loudly, though he proved Max’s point by shifting his position so that he was practically wrapping his entire body around you from the side, his chin resting on your shoulder, his hands clasped tightly over your stomach. He hadn't stopped touching you for the past two hours.
“He hasn’t let go of her hand in forty-five minutes,” Niran pointed out, gesturing to where your fingers were tightly intertwined with Lando’s.
“And I’m not going to,” Lando retorted cheekily, squeezing your hand. “Anyway, make sure to like, subscribe, and buy the new Quadrant merch so we can afford Y/N’s medical bills.”
“Lando, it’s a sprain, and we have the NHS,” you laughed, shaking your head.
“Doesn’t matter! Buy the merch!” Lando yelled into the camera.
“Alright guys, see you in the next video! Bye!” Max shouted, waving as the director finally called out, “And… cut! That’s a wrap, people!”
The room immediately relaxed. The production crew began packing up the tripods and lights, chatting amicably about the chaotic shift in the day’s plan.
Max walked over, handing Lando your sneaker and socks. “Good job, mate. Honestly, the footage looks great. The fans are going to lose their minds over how soft you are.”
Lando flushed slightly, but he didn't care. He looked down at you, his eyes full of gentle concern. “Alright, the cameras are off. Let’s get you home. Can you lift your leg up for a second?”
You carefully lifted your right leg, and Lando removed the melted ice pack, throwing it onto the table. He inspected the compression wrap Sarah had done, ensuring it hadn't slipped. Satisfied, he carefully slid your left sneaker onto your uninjured foot, tying the laces with a neat bow.
“Okay, ready?” Lando asked, shifting to stand up.
“Lando, seriously, let me try to walk. I can lean on you,” you pleaded gently. “You’ve carried me enough today.”
“No,” he said, his voice soft but completely unyielding. “The doctor said R.I.C.E. Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Walking does not fit into any of those categories.”
Before you could argue further, Lando leaned down and scooped you up into his arms once again. You let out a small gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck. He held you effortlessly, his chest warm against yours.
He carried you out of the lodge, stepping carefully into the bright afternoon air. Max and Niran followed close behind, carrying your bag and the leftover snacks Lando had insisted on bringing.
Lando walked all the way to his car, unlocking it with the key fob in his pocket. He carefully maneuvered you into the passenger seat, lowering you down as gently as if you were made of glass. He reached across you, pulling the seatbelt over your lap and clicking it into place, ensuring the strap didn't press against your leg.
He lingered in the open doorway, his face just inches from yours. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away a stray strand of hair from your forehead.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, his hazel eyes searching yours. The frantic panic from earlier was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, simmering tenderness.
“I’m okay, Lando,” you smiled, reaching up to touch his chest, right over his heart, which was finally beating at a normal rhythm. “Honestly, the ankle barely hurts anymore. You took really good care of me.”
Lando leaned in, pressing a deep, passionate kiss to your lips. It was slow and full of a quiet reassurance, a silent apology for the accident and a promise that he would always be there to catch you. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“I’m going to take care of you all weekend,” he murmured, a soft, dimpled smile finally returning to his face. “You’re staying on the couch. I’m making dinner. I’m playing movie marathon director. You don’t have to lift a finger.”
You chuckled, leaning back into the comfortable leather seat. “Well, in that case… maybe rolling my ankle wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened.”
Lando laughed, a bright, beautiful sound that filled the car. He kissed your cheek one last time before shutting the passenger door. He rounded the front of the car, waving a quick goodbye to Max and Niran, and slid into the driver’s seat.
As he started the engine, his left hand immediately reached across the center console, finding yours and locking his fingers tightly through yours. He didn't let go for the entire drive home.
