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norriszn

☝️😁

f1 hungarian gp 2026 (26.07.26)

f1atelier

belgium waffles ✶ ln1

it's the belgian gp this week and its full of you exploring, eating, and of course cheering on your boyfriend.

lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ warnings : language, fan culture, hate comments, bambi cameo, mclaren slander ୨୧ note : if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog!

part of the lando's heart series.

📅 july 12, 2026

lando just updated his story !

REPLIES

user omggggggggg athena 🥹🥹🥹🥹 that's so cute

user LANDOOOOO 😭😭😭 your niece sure knows how to get your good sides

moonlightproblems

have you seen lando talking about not planing on driving as long as lewis and starting a family etc? Could you write something about him saying that while being with you fam and everyone is a little shocked because it's the first time he's saying something like that, even for the reader - of course she's shocked in a good way

The Quote Heard Around The Paddock

Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader

Synopsis: Lando says in a paddock interview that he wants kids, and you hear it from home. He comes back terrified you’ll be upset, but you’re soft about it. Max teases him nonstop, and dinner with Cisca and Adam turns into gentle jokes and excited grandkid talk. It’s warm, fluffy future vibes he didn’t mean to announce but absolutely meant with you.

Moonlight Radio: I did see that interview, and honestly good for him!

PATREON: Exclusive Content

ʙᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜱ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ♡

withloveiriss

Angeleyes pt. 1

pairing: max verstappen x ex!reader theme: fluff, angst, second-chance romance, secret baby/pregnancy wc: 11.4K from iris ◡̈ @freddiefromthefandoms, for you to fall asleep to ♥︎ thank you for the overwhelming amount of support for this silly idea based on my bestfriend's request! I did not expect this to get much attention, but I'm glad it did :) I'm so excited to show you what I have in store for this mini-series. I hope it's what you guys expected. leave your comments and thoughts; I'm excited to read them, whatever they are! PS. Just go along with Alex in P2 and William's podium, ok? It's something I will always selfishly add to feed into my delusion. If you go along with it, I promise to release chapter 2 early. deal? ⤷ ゛not proofread ˎˊ˗

After having to walk away from the love of her life, she reluctantly returns to the paddock with her Formula One-obsessed toddler, whose biggest dream is to meet Max Verstappen, the hero he's adored his entire life and the father he's never known, with the very same impossible angel eyes.

masterlist previous | next listen to ♥︎ ocean eyes, you're losing me (from the vault), who knows, we can't be friends (wait for your love)

clovermoters

LN1: hidden embers

pairing firefighter!lando norris x paramedic!reader

warnings non-f1 au; firefighters, romance, hurt/comfort, friends-to-lovers, secret relationship, smut (oral f receiving). Oscar and Max Fewtrell are victims of their stupidity, pet names, minimal use of y/n, injuries related to fire.

word count 13.1k

authors note we are so incredibly back!! this all started because of a fan art I saw on tiktok and a binge-watch of 8 seasons of chicago fire. A heartfelt thank-you to @landojournal & @landopoet for all your support on this one, love you too bad! let me know in my inbox if you would like to see more of these two because i've fallen in love with them. As always enjoy, lots of love, clove! 🍀

──────────── ঌ ─────────────

For the first time in a blue moon, the firehouse was quiet while you stood in it.

Naturally, you rarely stood still since you set foot in Station 41 almost five years ago now. Paramedics were needed for anything up to a gut feeling nowadays.

It was an interesting job, but you loved it. The unpredictability of what awaited you once you walked in every shift made your brain itch for more.

foumevie

( LONG LIVE ) I HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE WITH YOU ✶ lando norris !

﹙ 🇬🇧 ﹚ 𝒻em ! oc ✴ boyfriend / husband ! lando ◟ 🏆 oneshot + smau, fluff ◜ᴗ◝ word count. []k radio. nothing like the intense fomo of not being able to witness landostand year2 in person to awaken my fanfiction writing urges. many of you missed evelan so i figured it would be fun to do a 'silverstone through the years' chapter ／ 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.

YEAR 2021

Lando Norris is practically a genius in the art of making idiotic decisions. Decisions which can be classified as a ‘moderate to severe safety risk’ probably.

To him, yes, but also to Rich and Charlotte who have unknowingly signed up for babysitting when they took up the job of being his bodyguard and media officer respectively. Oh, and Mark, who is likely halfway through an aneurysm since his phone won't stop pinging every two seconds.

If Lando tried a little harder—beyond dragging the brim of his hat to the tip of his nose and trying to hide a very neon orange kit with a jacket two sizes too big—perhaps he would see why walking through a sea of people dressed in all sorts of team colours and armed with cameras is objectively just a bad idea.

ryuinthepaddock

🏁 — copy that, dadda | #LN1

now playing: heaven — niall horan “strange light revolves around you; you float across the room, your touch is made of something heaven can't hold a candle to; you're made of something new”

wc: 6.5k

summary: Lando Norris makes history by securing a back-to-back world championship at the final race of the season. he has a grand, romantic radio proposal completely planned out to crown his victory, but you decide to override his telemetry and deliver the biggest shock of his entire life over the global team radio line.

themes: established relationship, championship final, pregnancy announcement, technical marriage proposals, fluff & absolute chaos.

contains: Lando completely forgetting how to drive a Formula 1 car at turn 4, his heart rate operating in a dangerous red zone (sorry Tom Stallard), McLaren garage in a state of mutual panic and joy, a completely unhinged and tearful Zak Brown claiming rich-uncle status, Lando tossing million-dollar equipment onto the tarmac because priorities, public displays of raw emotion and a 10/10 checkmate in front of millions of people.

request: Hey, how about a cute and funny fanfic? Lando wins another world championship, everyone congratulates him on the radio after the finish, and yn is also given this opportunity. She congratulates him and he says, "yn, will you be my wife?" and instead of answering, yn says, "It depends on how good a daddy you are.

moonlightproblems

Hi bby! Hope you are doing well! I was wondering if you could do a lando fic where they are partying like he was seen doing after the Monaco gp. And the female OC is like the it girl and they are the it couple who used to party a lot but haven’t been seen recently so it’s monumental that they are partying like that again (like they have been together for a while). Maybe add like the fan reactions to it! Thank you so much 😘 😘

Monaco After Midnight

Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader

Synopsis: After months off the nightlife radar, Lando and his longtime girlfriend make a surprise return to Monaco’s party scene post‑GP, instantly becoming the centre of attention as fans lose their minds over the it couple’s chaotic, neon‑lit comeback.

Moonlight Radio: hi!, I’m good ty, I hope u like this!

PATREON: Exclusive Content

ʙᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜱ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ♡

pampushky

My Name is Brutus (And My Name Means Heavy)

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader

The legacy of your grandfather comes with a heavy crown, one partially melted and reformed in flames that should have killed him. Akin to the fire that should have killed you but took your mother instead, leaving you with the same scars that Niki Lauda wouldn’t wish on another, least of all his own grandchild. Yet here you stand, drawing the ire of McLaren’s golden boy, with a twisted crown of his own to wear as you throw everything he was used to to the flames. You force him to adapt overnight when you join the team suddenly after an unknown incident that sends you sprawling as you try to cope with the sudden change in team. You terrify him. And he terrifies you. And somewhere, James Hunt is cackling that Niki Lauda’s child is frighteningly similar to him.

masterlist | ask about the series | A/B/O Stuff Word Count: 55.9k (roughly, as of 3/12/2026)

I. I've been watching him for my entire life II. I hate the air he breathes his foolish decrees III. his words so contrived IV. and I hate the way the townspeople gather outside V. they hang on every breath VI. cling to his chest VII. home to his heart full of pride VIII. the oracle told him to beware the ides IX. and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing, for untimely death or demise X. or am I just wishing I could be like you? XI. that the people would see me too as a poet XII. and not just the muse

p1astritruther

Nice To Each Other

lando norris x reader °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

RARE AESTHETIC : The year is about to be 2023, you’re thriving at your big girl corporate job and all your best friends became influencers, which inadvertently turned you into their sugar baby. In Ibiza, during a girls’ trip to ring in the New Year, you meet a younger guy with a bright smile and a dirty mouth – and everything goes downhill from there.

AUTHOR’S NOTE : heya!!!! reposting this with a very nice little smutty surprise at the end after taking it down a couple of months ago because i thought i could maybe write a second part… which hasn’t happened yet, but will happen soon #trust. anyways, english is not my first language so please have mercy on me hehe and i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it! also please comment what you thought of it i’m #dying to know + let me know if you’d like to be added to an eventual tag list for an eventual part 2 (and 3 and 4 and 5? i see their lore clearly in my head i just need to actually write it down grrrr)!!! anyways, welcome to “Nice To Each Other”!!!! <3

WORD COUNT : 13k :p

WARNINGS : smut… *monkey covering eyes emoji*

Your skin is warm from the sun and your cheeks are rosy from the accidental nap you just woke up from. A couple of feet away, in the infinity pool of the nice little villa you rented for the week, the girls are giggling about something silly, with Pinterest-worthy fruity drinks in their hands and cute sunglasses on the tip of their noses. You can kind of hear the waves hitting the shore and your playlist, the one you've curated perfectly exclusively for this trip, is playing faintly from the JBL you dropped on the sun lounger next to yours. The thought of fuck, this is definitely what life is actually all about comes to you abruptly, and it makes you smile, because yeah, you don't really see how it can get any better than this.

Your best mates, your sexiest bikini and an absolutely divine tan – you've officially peaked at 26 years old.

As soon as you sit up to undo the sloppy braids you went to sleep with, the girls notice, and before you even know it, you've got a glass of lychee sangria and a plate of prosciutto e melone on your lap.

"Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty," Isla gushes, her slowly drying body sliding right next to yours on the lounge chair, a pretty grin on her cherry-tinted lips. "Welcome back to the land of the living. You laid down for two seconds and we lost you for the next four hours. Pretty impressive, if you ask me."

You roll your eyes at that. "Sorry, baby, not all of us can live life on easy mode. My very hardworking body cannot make the difference between a power nap and a 10-hours night of sleep anymore."

You can barely hold back your laughter as you say it, and it's now her turn to roll her eyes at you. She huffs and pushes you back to lay on the lounge chair, and when the mocking laugh finally erupts out of you, the slap she jokingly gives your chest just makes you crack up harder. "Shut up, muppet, you work in PR. Also, you're the sexiest bitch I know, so you wake up everyday and willingly make the choice to suffer. Not my problem you refuse to use your tits instead of your brain for once."

This just makes you laugh harder, and her poker face breaks quickly. Her hands come up to unbraid your hair, and you lean into it. The silence that follows isn't awkward. It's the peaceful type of quiet that can only be found when you're around the people that you love the most, and Isla, as it stands, is one of the founding members of this category.

You met at 5 years old, as lifelong best friends tend to do. She was the goalie in the little kids' football team your parents put you in before they realized that you were definitely more of an arts and crafts' girlie than a "run after a ball for two hours and kick it once in a while" kid. Isla, as it turns out, shared your philosophy, and you would most often than not end up sitting down by the goal braiding flowers into each other's hair for the majority of the game. You quickly became inseparable, and that didn't change as you grew up. At 18, as you moved to London for uni, she, who had quickly realized school was not and would never be her forte, came with you in the hopes of finding a purpose. Your first shared flat was a tiny mess with a lot of personality (mold in the bathroom), but you made do, and you made do so well that while you graduated with honors, Isla, who had always been the epitome of the cool English girl, grew an online community so vast it sometimes felt a little bit suffocating. She had started YouTube as soon as you arrived in London, and in three years, she had become a household name in both the city and the Web in general. Her content was that of a relatable twenty-something who was at the same time a chaotic mess and a bright-eyed it girl, so of course people were eating it up. The longevity of it, however, was actually what was the most surprising, because ten years later, here she still was – the brightest star in the sky, with the world at the tip of her fingers and so many brands competing for her attention in her DMs that it made you both a bit dizzy when you tried to deal with it all.

However, Isla has made it clear that wherever she goes, you, her 9-to-5 best friend with a private Instagram account and a permanent resting bitch face would also be. You were, in this big scary world of public perception and Reddit threads, her trusty sidekick, and while some people may take offence to that, you were exactly where you wanted to be. You got to enjoy all of the perks of being an influencer without having to personally deal with any of the inconveniences – who would ever say no to being their best friend's plus one to every single brand trip she's invited to? Not you, definitely, because while you do love your job, it sure as hell is not sending you to the Maldives for free, even though you did get a nice little New York City week last November, all expenses paid, to attend a one-day conference... So you guess it's not all that bad in the big old corporate world.

You're both still sitting in silence, deep in thought, her hands running in your hair, your face nearly in her rack, when Florence, still in the pool, whistles like a perv, getting both of you's attention and bringing you back to the present.

"While I'm aware you guys aren't fucking, I still hope you know that I would pay some seriously good money for that sextape if it ever comes out," she snickers, and you can't help but join in as you jokingly wrap your arms around Isla's waist, pulling her in in a lover's embrace that would definitely make both of your mums blush.

"What, jealous? You can join, babes, we don't mind a good threesome once in a while."

Flo doesn't hesitate, a wide toothy smirk taking over her face, and she nearly runs out of the pool to join you on the lounge chair, which creaks a little bit as it's definitely not made to handle the weight of three women who do pilates thrice a week for the sole objective of having bigger bums. She leaves behind Tilly and Zara, who are laughing, quite used to this underlying homoerotic tension in your friend group, as this gimmick has been going on since you first came together, in what you've come to collectively call "The Genesis", as it definitely sounds better than "we all met in a club at 18 and became inseparable because somebody drugged all of our drinks, which turned out to be a very strong bonding experience and the foundation of girlhood at its purest form".

You, Isla, Florence, Tilly and Zara. The Core 5, or as they like to call it, Y/N's Angels, because out of the five of you, you are the only one whose job is not to simply vibe, and that automatically makes you both their mother and their sugar baby. What a time to be alive.

As you settle in, with two bad bitches on your lap and a minty cigarette between your lips, the girls start to establish the plan for the night, as it's your first one in Ibiza so of course it needs to be iconic. You're happy to just sit there and enjoy the ride, because they're the ones that get invited to clubs and that need to decide which ones to prioritize over the others. Maybe you're the one living life on easy mode, after all.

"All of the reservations for dinner this week have been made when we first booked the trip, so we can't really move that unless David Guetta himself invites us anywhere... which unfortunately probably won't happen knowing the one-sided beef he seems to have with one of us since last time," starts Tilly, pointedly eyeing Florence, who just smiles and blinks innocently as if she doesn't remember that last year she very much ghosted the DJ after he apparently gave her the worst head in the history of man. "This means that we just need a club itinerary for the week. So? Thoughts?"

"I think we should hit Pacha first of all. It's always a good time. Remember the Australian guy you met there the first time we went, Y/N? Is he still trying to contact you on LinkedIn? You little minx," Zara teases you as she fills up everybody's glass to the brim with a fresh new batch of that to-die-for sangria.

You nod as your cheeks heat up a little bit, remembering the man in question. "Well, I never accepted his follow request on IG, so beggars can't be choosers, I guess."

You're not a player, but you do enjoy the game once in a while, and when a guy has an accent, some nice eyes and a head of very pretty curls that look even prettier after being grabbed a little too hard, what's a mere girl to do but take him back home with her? That's just the polite thing to do, after all, and you were raised well.

Thinking about tall, tan and big everywhere made you kind of clock out from the ongoing conversation, and when you come back to it, a gameplan has been made.

"OK, so, it's five PM right now. Let's say we leave for dinner at eight, that gives us three hours to get ready, or two hours of prepping and one hour to look at her emails for Y/N..."

You cut Tilly off, shaking your head. "So considerate. Thank you for your generosity."

They all ignore you, and Isla brings up her strawberry vape to your mouth to shut you up.

Tilly continues, a focused look on her face that can only mean she's already planning the composition of a killer Instagram carousel. "Dress code for tonight? Let's start basic with the all white fits, and we can come back to change after dinner. So, let's say we do flowy, ethereal, linen and lace, gold accents and natural makeup for dinner. Sounds good?"

Everybody agrees. We cheer to it. The JBL is playing "Tití Me Preguntó", and the sun is just hot enough to make everything a little bit more intense, a little bit more perfect.

You smile.

Ibiza, baby.

Three days later, on the very first day of 2023, the girls are out and about while you are stuck back at the villa, as you're never really on vacation when you're the youngest Marketing and Communications Manager Burberry has ever had. Saying you work in PR is a bit of an understatement, sure, but you never really have the time to go into the details, so that's what you usually stick to.

Where there is a brand, there is a crisis, and your job is to make sure that the crisis of today never becomes the crisis of tomorrow. Efficient, brutal and just cutthroat enough to be a little bit scary : there's a reason you got the job of your dreams at 25, and there's a reason you're still here, thriving, a year later. Some say you were made for it. You like to say that it was made for you.

It's been midnight for just about 5 minutes when you finally close your two laptops, take off your blue light glasses and try to loosen the knot in your lower back. Your normal phone (not to be confused with your work phone, whose ringtone has given you PTSD) vibrates twice from where you left it on the dresser so as to not get distracted, and two messages from Isla greet you when you pick it up.

ISLA

heyyyyyyyy boss babe idk when you think you're gonna be done, but fyi we actually ended up at cova santa!!!

and we met some blokes we know there, so just text me when you get here so i can come get you!!! vip baby!!

You're about to text her that you just need to get ready and you'll be there in 45 minutes tops when she sends another text that makes a smile grow on your lips.

ISLA

also i know you're trying to be responsible (lol) but this guy here is 110% your type it's kinda scary so i told him his dream girl is coming soon and i showed him a sexy pic of you and now he's trying hard to act all nonchalant but he asked for your number anyways and he keeps looking at the entrance so pls hurry up xoxo i really want to watch you guys kiss!!!!

Yeah, okay. You're definitely gonna need a couple of tequila shots before you get to her level, but you're also definitely up for the challenge – and if the night does end up with you under Mr. "110% your type"... Well, you can't really be held responsible for it.

What would be Ibiza without at least one little adventure, after all?

An hour later, you make it to Cova Santa, and the quarter of a bottle of tequila you downed as you were curling your hair is starting to hit, if the slight fuzzy feeling that’s taken over your head is any indication. You’re glad you put on one of your cosier, more broken in pairs of Miu Miu heels because you can already tell this is gonna be a long night.

The bass is heavy, the crowd is packed, the lights are bright and Isla quickly grabs your hand to drag you towards the VIP section, still hot as hell and nearly flawless even though she’s been drinking for the past 4 hours, and, realistically, for the past 3 days.

She’s trying to debrief you about something as you walk through the sea of people, and while you don’t hear all of it, you catch her drift pretty quickly.

“OK, so he’s a bit shorter than your usual boytoy, but I think what he lacks in height he compensates in banter! And we both know how much you love some good banter!”

Her scream reaches you through the general noise of the club, and you can’t help but laugh and nod, because yeah, it’s not a secret that you’re a sucker for a 6 with a smart mouth.

“And what does he do? Anything but a DJ, please!”

She pauses in the crowd, a wide smile on her burgundy red lips and an evil glint in her eyes that makes you brace yourself for the bullshit that’s definitely about to come out of her mouth.

“Worse! I think he’s a Twitch streamer!”

You roll your eyes, but once again, the alcohol in your veins makes you unable to feel anything but whimsy, so you start giggling. Ah yes, 110% your type, which of course includes men who play video games for a living. “Fuck you, Isla!!! A Twitch streamer, really? If he’s not cute, I’m being mean to him and that’s gonna be your fault, so I hope you feel guilty when I destroy his little ego and leave him for dead in Cova Santa!”

You ignore all of her jabs of “I swear you’re gonna really like him” and “I’m betting 100 American dollars that you end up in his bed tonight anyways you whore” as you finally reach the VIP section, where Tilly hands you a vodka soda as soon as you step one foot past the bouncer.

“Y/N, baby, you look stunning! What the fuck is this wet dream of a dress?” she gushes as her hands firmly grab your shoulders to both keep you at a viewing distance and to balance herself a bit, because you can clearly see that she’s wobbling a little in those 6 inches high heels. Her brows furrow, and you can see, with the sudden widening of her eyes, that she quickly realizes you’re wearing…

“Is this Versace Spring Summer 2004? Shut up!”

Both your eyes turn towards the younger blonde girl who just appeared next to you, her eyes glued to the fabric of your baby pink dress that is, in fact, straight out of the Versace Spring Summer 2004 collection.

You nod your head enthusiastically, because while this is a stranger, this is a stranger who knows her vintage couture, which automatically makes her a friend. “Yes! I love you!”

She laughs, and all three of you cheer to it. You down your glass, and as soon as you put it down, a new one appears in your hand – one of the many perks of looking like a rich pretentious bitch in those foolish VIP sections. You spend money to get more drinks, so of course they get you more drunk so you want to spend more money to get more drinks. It’s an universal trick, and one you, grand master of marketing, is still not immune to.

The blonde girl introduces herself to you as your friends all come to greet you, and you understand quickly that she’s not that much of a stranger to your friend group as a whole. Her name is Pietra, originally from Brazil, and while in your eyes she’s way too young to be hanging out around a bunch of random men in Ibiza, she’s apparently been dating one of them for a couple of months now, so that supposedly makes it all better. Also, she’s got that spark in her eyes that tells you she’s exactly where she wants to be, so while your maternal instincts urge you to feel some sympathy, the more rational part of your brain urges you to just smile and nod, because that’s just a random Tuesday in the world of people with one too many Instagram followers.

You then meet her boyfriend, Max, and everything suddenly makes sense. That is a D-list celebrity if you’ve ever seen one. He’s got a nice smile (he’s too aware of it, it’s a bit freaky) and he insists on shaking your hand like this is a business meeting, because in his world, every person he ever meets is a business opportunity. Anyways, he’s nice enough, but you once again just smile and nod, as this is a girls’ trip, after all, and you personally don’t really see any business opportunity between a Twitch streamer and Burberry. He’s also pretty quick to write you off as “poor pretty dumb girl with an office job”, which you can tell from his slightly patronizing tone when he explains what he and his entourage do for a living (they have their own brand! cool!). You don’t really mind. You’re not there to make LinkedIn connections, you’re here to get drunk with your friends and shake some ass in your favorite Ibiza club.

Quickly, Zara, Flo, Tilly, Isla and you leave them all behind in the VIP section and jump eagerly into the crowd, your little circle of girls being quickly overpowered by the hundreds of people on the dancefloor. You forget all about the mysterious guy that all of your friends promised you was hot as fuck, as he wasn’t even in the VIP section when you arrived, so he’s not really your problem after all.

A house song you’ve heard once or twice in the London clubs is playing and Zara has her arms over your hips, yours finding her neck as you both sway to the music. You can see Flo recording, and while you already know this is going to end up in her “ibiza w/ my girlfriendzzz” vlog (and unfortunately probably in the intro), you don’t really have it in yourself to care. All of your friends’ fans know who you are, but they don’t really know who you are, if that makes sense. The girls have built a narrative in which you’re their smart, busy, work-driven best friend who just gets in the car on the way to the airport and enjoys the ride… which is not really that far from reality, after all. You’ve planned one trip in the past ten years… and it’s when you got Isla’s parents to drive you both to Wembley Stadium for a One Direction concert… in 2013. So, yeah, you exist, you’re an important part of the Core 5, but you’re mysterious and elusive and the most skilled with a curling iron. You still get thousands of follow requests on Instagram every week, and your name appears on a couple of Reddit threads once in a while, but that’s pretty much it. You’ve stumbled once on a TikTok thirst trap edit of yourself, and while you did save it (you looked very sexy in it, sue you), that was enough doomscrolling for the evening.

The night goes on this way, you and your girls and a beat that is surprisingly in sync with your heart, and an hour or two later, your group has spread, as of course five very fine women on a dancefloor don’t go unnoticed for too long. Personally, you’ve talked to a couple of people, but none of them have really grabbed your attention, so as your phone indicates you that’s it’s just past 3 in the morning, you’ve made your way back towards the VIP section to get some fresh air and to light up an even fresher menthol cigarette.

You find a nearly empty spot with some sofas deeper into the forest, and with a cigarette in your mouth and a half-empty glass in your hand, you nearly throw yourself on one of them, excited for some relief after one too many hours on heels one too many inches too high. You take them off sloppily before taking the opportunity to relax a little bit, laying down on your belly and holding yourself up on your elbows with your feet lazily kicking in the air. On your phone, you scroll halfheartedly through the stupidest Instagram Reels ever, so you alternate between taking a hit and giggling to cat videos, with the surrounding fairylights illuminating your face and the house music just loud enough to get your head to bop a little.

That’s how he finds you.

“I’ve never seen anybody having this much of a good time in a club. What are we watching?”

The voice takes you by surprise, but the vodka in your stomach makes your instincts a bit less instinctual, so you don’t jump. You just slowly turn both your head and your screen towards the newcomer, the naive little smile on your face making the whole situation way sillier than it should be. “Baby cat.”

A very nice smile blossoms on his own lips as his eyes focus on the dumb video, and your heart misses a beat. Oh. You make sure that he’s still staring at your phone before letting your own eyes finally take a full look at the stranger, scanning him from head to toe, and as you do, your spine gets a bit more rigid, your grin a bit more solid, your gaze a bit more focused. Oh.

He’s pretty. Not particularly crazily handsome, but pretty enough that you resist the urge to look too hard at his baby face to make sure that it is fully imprinted in your memory. Nice nose, nice lips, nice jawline – and those eyes. It’s pretty dark out here but you can still see them, and you like what you see. They’re gentle, kind eyes, like those of a little lamb (very weird comparison that your just as really drunk brain is extremely proud of coming up with, thank you very much)... until they focus back on your face, and then the gleam that appears in his gaze would never in a million years be found anywhere near one of those sweet little babies. Except maybe if there was a wolf close. Yeah. This boy is the wolf. He smiles with all his teeth and that just confirms your theory… but if he’s a wolf, and you’re a wolf, then who the fuck is driving the bus?

You got so stuck in your head that you lowkey forgot you’ve got an audience, so when you can’t stop a little laugh from escaping your mouth at the thought that just hit you, he just tilts his head, still smiling, as he manspreads on the sofa in front of yours. Fuck, he’s hot.

“You’re way too fit to be a psycho so I’m just gonna ignore that.”

You finish your cigarette, giggling again, before dumping it in the conveniently neighboring ashtray and turning on your side to face the guy, trying very hard to keep your eyes very far from the strip of tan skin that his unbuttoned linen shirt shows off in a way that is much too sexy to be an accident. Fuck, with this and the messy curls and the very nice outfit, he looks like too much of a good time. You need to chill.

As you go to take a sip out of your glass to concentrate on something that isn’t the way he looks at you, you realize that it’s empty, which means only one thing : you’re screwed.

“Famous last words,” you tease him, and your voice, fully against your will, takes that tone that it only ever takes when you want something real bad. Too late, then. “You never know, I might bite.”

This is the same girl who came to Ibiza with the intention of being responsible. Come on, man.

His smile, which was already sharp, just widens, and he leans forward on his elbows. Yeah, you’re in trouble. “Well, who says I wouldn’t be a willing victim, love?”

He’s so close. Too close. Who the fuck puts two sofas this close?

“Cute,” you softly roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the grin that takes over your face, and it just adds some fuel to his fire.

“I already thought you were pretty in the photos your friends showed me earlier, but those actually really didn’t do you any justice.”

Of course, the guy with the cocky smile is Mr. “110% your type”. Of course.

You shake your head at his words, getting into a position that just accidentally makes your boobs look even better than before. You catch his eyes going downwards quickly before focusing back on yours, and while he knows that you just saw that, he definitely doesn’t care. You’re playing a game together, and for once, it seems like you’ve potentially met your match.

“Funny because my friends told me the bloke they spoke with was taller, though, so I think you might have the wrong person…”

He laughs, and the fact that it’s not a fake laugh has you resisting the urge to sneakily rub your thighs together. What do you mean you’re standing in front of a man that’s both proper fit and self assured? This is a trap. It has to be. Where are the hidden cameras?

“Oh, Y/N, right? You and I are gonna have so much fun.”

It’s just you two in what has to be the most quiet spot in all of Ibiza. No interruption, no buffer of any kind. Just you, him and the visceral urge to sit in his lap.

Fuck me, I need a drink.

It’s after a good minute of way too intense eye contact that you realize you don’t even know his name yet. He’s still leaning towards you like your grin is a magnetic force, so it’s not a surprise when he comes even closer as soon as you open your mouth to ask the question. It’s as if he can’t control himself, as if this crazy tension between you overpowers his senses. The feeling of it all is heady, and you shiver lightly at the realization that this is probably the most insane case of lust at first sight in the history of man. That, or you’re so down bad that any guy with some nice blue eyes gets you going like a blushing virgin.

You need to keep your cool. You really, really need a fucking drink.

As soon as the thought hits you, it’s as if the connection between you both goes deeper than just two strangers who want to shag the other, because he raises his own glass to his lips, and the sight of his Adam apple moving as he swallows has you gulping softly. He’s still looking at you with those killer bedroom eyes when you reach your hand out in the universal “give me” motion, and he, without any question, gives you what you want instantly. Be chill. Be chill. This is a man. Just a man.

His fingers flutter against yours for a second or two, and just to add insult to injury, he obviously very voluntarily strokes the back of your thumb with his own calloused one before letting go.

You resist the urge to chug it all in one go, because you’ve still got a little bit of dignity to maintain. Instead, in an attempt to even back the scales, you deliberately put your lips exactly where his were a couple of moments ago. He notices. Once again, his gaze sharpens, and you catch his pupils dilating. There you go. Just a man.

You take a dignified little sip of his gin and tonic, letting out a satisfied little “ah!” when you’re done. You’re not the biggest fan of gin, so this is definitely just a part of this little performance you’ve got going on. He still hasn’t looked at anything else but you, so you guess that it’s working… just as you expected.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask him, before slowly licking your upper lip to swallow the residue of alcohol that stuck to your clear lipgloss.

He sounds a bit winded when he answers. “Lando.”

You tilt your head, still laying on your side on the sofa and holding yourself upright on your elbow. Your maneater smile (as the girls like to call it) softens a bit. “Lando. Cute. Where’s it from?”

“My mum,” he offers, and his eyes crinkle, his gaze turns fond.

In turn, it warms your heart, because while this is definitely a playboy, it is also first and foremost a mumma’s boy. “Even cuter. It’s surprisingly very fitting, so good job to her.”

You’re not lying. He does look like a Lando, as crazy as it sounds. It’s a bit whimsical, and he has what you can only describe as elfish features, in a way. You don’t really know why, but it’s getting to you. Must be that 12 year old you who was obsessed with Legolas is finally waking up from wherever she’s hiding in the depths of your boy-obsessed brain.

“No Star Wars joke? I’m in love,” Lando jokes, and when you laugh, in an attempt to ignore the warmth his voice ignites in your chest, he chuckles too.

He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your skin when he does, and the warmth of it has you losing focus a little bit. You’d just need to lean forward a little bit, to maybe sneakily reach out a hand, to feel his skin against yours again. You feel dizzy with want. This is, you think, the most down bad you’ve ever been, which is fucking preposterous in itself, because as far as you know this man could be – “Are you a Twitch streamer for real or did my friend just say that to freak me out? Because, just so you know, I refuse to fuck a Twitch streamer. So, yeah. Answer wisely.”

It slips out of you too quickly, too honestly, and suddenly all your cards are on the table, and the ball is in his court. Oops. Oh well. So much for mystery and nonchalance and will they, won’t they. You want him, he wants you (if the grin that just blossomed on his lips is any indication) and now you’re both officially aware of each other’s intentions.

He runs his hand through his hair, and while you let yourself be distracted by the veins in his forearm for a second too long, you focus back on his face when he starts talking. “What’s wrong with being a Twitch streamer, anyways?” he asks you, with his eyebrows up and his smile mocking. “And no, I’m not. Well, it’s not my full time job, anyways. So I think fucking me won’t go against your moral standards, baby.”

You ignore the pet name, because it’s now your turn to raise your brows at him. “Lots of words for a guy who definitely is a Twitch streamer.”

Lando rolls his eyes in fake exasperation and quickly steals his glass back from you, making you gasp in exaggerated consternation at his action. This little game you’re playing is the most fun you’ve had in weeks.

“It doesn’t count, you little brat. I do it for like, an hour a month or something. It’s job number five out of five, so that tells you how much of a Twitch streamer I am.”

That grabs your attention. “And what’s job number one? Professional Fortnite player who, oh, actually does it in front of a camera?”

Lando’s smile widens. You’re so fucking hot, so fucking wrong, and mostly so fucking loud about it it’s adorable. “I’m a driver, actually.”

Your smile drops, and you unconsciously pout a little in confusion, because, yeah, that’s both unexpected and a first. “Like, a taxi driver?”

As soon as you say it, you know there’s simply no way that Lando, with his self-assured smirk and his confident manspread that is surprisingly more sexy than annoying, is a taxi driver.

It’s as if he can read your thoughts. “Yeah, no, no taxis. The cars I drive are a bit faster than that.”

On a normal day, if you were sober, you would probably be able to answer him in a rational way, with a full sentence, a verb and a period at the end. However, it’s nearly sunrise, you’ve been drinking for a couple of hours and his stare makes your already fogged up brain even more of a jumbled mess, so the thing that comes out is a very strong new entry in your Top 10 of Most Stupid Things You’ve Ever Said Ever.

“Lewis Hamilton?”

Your mouth closes straight after, the realization of what you just said hitting you at full speed as soon as it’s out, while his opens, and stays open for a couple of seconds as he considers how to reply to such a wonderful and intelligent claim. When it comes out, it sounds more like a question than an answer. “Well. Yes. But like, Lando Norris?”

“Oh. Cool. That’s… cool,” you declare very smartly, before oversharing as you tend to do when you’re plastered and a bit embarrassed. “I only know Lewis because I work with him, so I don’t really know anything about your cars, other than they're, like, fast. Sorry for not knowing you, anyways. I’m sure you’re just as fast as Lewis. Well, maybe not, because everybody says he’s the best, and I’ve never seen him drive myself, but you know, if everybody says it.. even though everybody said the world was going to end in 2012 and-”

“Wait, you work with Lewis? How? As an influencer? What?”

His voice cuts you off as he shortcircuits, and you’re glad for it because that was a monumental Y/N rant that would have probably ended up with you most probably talking about how you lost your virginity (2012 was a dark time for everyone, okay). His gaze, which is suddenly a bit less sultry and a bit more tense, is intently scrutinizing your face. He’s slowly leaning away from you as in his head, he’s talking about all of the things you could actually be : an obsessed groupie, a journalist, or even a random woman hired by another team to fuck up his already shaky reputation even more.

In his mind, you stop being just a pretty, easy girl with a sharp tongue and doe eyes. You become a threat : an extremely fit threat, sure, but a threat anyways.

You don’t notice his inner dilemma because your eyes close in an unladylike chortle as soon as he says it, as you’re actually both not really surprised and not offended by it all. It’s a common mistake, but it’s still pretty funny to your tired brain at the moment. “I’m not an influencer, you muppet. Just because I’m a pretty girl with a fancy dress doesn’t mean I got it in a brand deal.”

That seems to settle Lando a bit, and while he’s still not fully back at ease, he relaxes a little, taking another sip before handing you the glass so you can finish it off. “So what are you? Because right now, with all the clues you’ve given me, I’ve got one option, and I’m not sure you’re gonna like it.”

You understand what he means as soon as he says it, and you cackle freely, finally sitting up, resisting the urge to let your legs land on his lap. “Lando! Are you implying I’m a whore?”

It seems your laugh is contagious, before his cocky smirk cracks to let a snigger through, and he finally leans back on one of his elbows as his other hand coincidentally lands on your knee, which rubs against his when he moves closer. “Not a whore,” he protests halfheartedly, but the glint in his eyes has you shaking your head as you scoff at his very obvious dishonesty. He still keeps the act up, letting his lips part then purse as he fakes some very intense pondering. “More like… whore-adjacent.”

“Ah! Shut the fuck up, you Twitch streamer!”

You’re still laughing, and he is too, and his left hand tries to sneakily move up your thigh. You jokingly slap it away before it gets too close, and he gasps in mock protest. His nose scrunches as he keeps up the smug eye contact you’ve got going, and suddenly his other hand, just as large, just as warm, is back on your thigh. Cocky motherfucker.

You let him win this round, though, because you can’t deny the fact that his grasp on you has your stomach in knots and your throat drying up.

“So, not a whore, then. Just a very pretty girl with a very mysterious job,” he drawls in an attempt to smooth things over, and you hum.

“Yeah, if you consider working in PR as mysterious, then sure.”

His gaze lights up, and he happily huffs. You act as if you can’t feel his grip tightening steadily on the skin of your thigh. It’s a win-win situation, anyways. No need for drama.

“Well, look at that. You work in PR, I’m a PR nightmare. Match made in heaven,” he playfully exclaims, before quickly understanding, from your raised eyebrow, that this might not be the smartest thing to say to a PR girl who you want to get into your bed at the end of the night. “Which is what I would say if I was a PR nightmare, but as I am of course definitely not any of that, then I guess that’s too bad for the actual PR nightmares out there.”

He shrugs innocently, and that whole little shtick makes you nearly laugh too hard again until you catch yourself right before it happens. Come on, Y/N, you need to grow a spine, like, yesterday.

In his mind, there’s still a question that you haven’t answered. “Are you, like, a PR assistant? Definitely fashion, right? You’ve got that whole thing about you. How did you even end up working with Lewis? I can’t remember him working with any brand recently, except maybe…”

You cut him off, because for once, you’re talking to a guy who seems actually interested in your job, and even though you know that this is not a pissing contest, you can’t resist the animal instinct in your DNA that makes you want to impress the beautiful man in front of you. “Burberry? Yeah, we’ve got a little bit of a partnership going in with Lewis right now, which is pretty cool, to be frank. I’m kind of like the link between his team and ours, actually, as the Head of the Marketing and Communications Department,” you offer in a very humble way, your shoulders rising in your best impression of a nonchalant shrug.

He’s stopped moving, and his thumb, which had been tracing slow circles on the skin of your thigh for the past minute, freezes completely. “Head?! Like Chief? Like Big Boss?”

You nod proudly, manipulating his state of shock to your advantage as you let your hand finally wander up his forearm, because you’ve been a very good girl for the past hour or so and you can’t resist the temptation anymore. It’s like a little treat, a little reward, when you let your fingers trace the solid lines of his arm until they hit the rolled sleeve right under his elbow just to stop right under it. You scratch lightly the sensitive skin there with the tip of your nails, and his breathing speedens a bit, but he hides it quickly, way too curious to let himself be distracted.

His voice is disbelieving, but not in a mean, condescending way. He sounds boyish, a bit concerned, a bit awed, and his following exclamation surprises the shit out of you. “But you’re like 23! And you’re the boss? You must be the most fucking terrifying PR rep ever. I knew you were definitely a bit mean, but this is crazy. And so sexy. Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

It’s your turn to freeze a little, because you’ve only heard one thing out of everything he’s just said, and that’s... “You think I’m 23?”

It comes out strangled, and he nods enthusiastically. His eyes are so expressive that you can see the sincerity in them, and you wince sharply, because you finally see through the lust-tinted glasses you’ve been wearing since you’ve met him, and it’s not looking good. You’ve been staring at him for an hour straight, but it’s the first time you actually see him, all of him. The very noticeable puppy eyes he’s making at you right now, showcasing his confusion at your reaction, just confirm everything, and you sober up nearly immediately.

You quickly take your hand off his arm before sighing deeply, closing your eyes as you do.

“Lando, how old are you?”

He frowns, not really understanding why this is all of a sudden pertinent or important. “I’m 23,” he states, before he flinches back in panic. “Wait, what the fuck, you’re not a minor, right?”

While this situation is nothing to laugh at, his question is so absurd you can’t fight the giggle that wants to escape your throat. Oh, come on.

“A minor? Lando!”

He’s grimacing a bit at himself, realizing how stupid this sounded, and both his hands lift in the air in a “not guilty” gesture, his eyes going from scared to amused in a second or so.

“What? What’s the problem, then? Your name’s not Y/N? You’re not British? Your tits are fake? What is it?”

You just sigh again, both in plain astonishment and in utter disarray, because this is the dumbest situation you’ve ever been in, and you can’t believe it’s happening for real to you on a random Monday morning in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.

“Lando, I’m not 23. I’m 26, about to be 27 in three months. I could, like, be your mother!”

Lando physically recoils, until his brain catches up to the quick math of it all and he tsks at you. “Yeah, okay. Now, I’ve never been very good with numbers, but even I can tell you that this is not true. For a big boss, I would have expected you to know that, but I guess they just promote anyone these days.”

He’s too sassy for his own good, but you can’t even respond before his two hands find themselves back on your thighs, his grip solid, grounding.They don’t move even when you try to push them off, because clearly this boy does not understand the gravity of the situation.

His following statement just confirms that. “So, you still haven’t explained what’s the problem here.”

You gasp at him, your whole mask of nonchalance forgotten ever since you found out his age. “The problem? I don’t fuck kids, that’s the problem. I don’t want to be a cougar, thank you very much.”

This whole speech contradicts wildly with the fact that your hands, even though they’ve stopped trying to push him away, haven’t moved, and are now laying flatly on the top of his, your fingers curling slightly against the curve of his thick wrists. Fuck, I’m turning into my mother.

Your panic just makes him laugh, and it’s such a pretty laugh that you can only pretend to get mad at it. “Y/N, first of all, I’m repeating myself here, but I would definitely be a willing victim if that were to be the case. Second of all, it’s not, so calm the fuck down. Would it help if I told you I turn 24 tomorrow?”

You contemplate that as his calloused thumbs go back to tracing smooth circles on the skin of your thighs, luring you into him, your upper body leaning towards his unconsciously. “Well, yeah, it would.”

He nods, as if to say “well there you go”.

“Great, then. It’s not true, though, but if it makes you feel better, we can go along with it.”

“Lando!”

“What?! I’m trying to help, here!”

You stand up sharply, and he stays seated, which makes him look up at you with these laughing eyes and this sinful, cheeky mouth, and while you do have the higher ground now, you think it makes you even more down bad.

His fucking hands are still on your body. At this angle, they feel enormous, like they could cover the whole length of your thighs, and oh so warm, so inviting… but you are an adult, and your willpower will not be defeated by a nice pair of hands.

“Lando, your brain is not yet fully developed, so I’m making an executive decision for us both here,” you start, right before he cuts you off.

“This is like… reverse ageism!”

His facial expression is insulted, but his tone is mocking, and his grasp on you moves from the front of your thighs to the back of them, which brings you infinitely closer to him and his long eyelashes. When he exhales longly, voluntarily, it nearly hits straight against the junction of your legs, and your eyes narrow in an attempt to scold him and his whorish behavior. It has the opposite effect, however, as the corners of his lips turn up and you feel his fingers inching up, up, up… until they disappear under the hem of your dress.

Lando lets you talk. He knows women like you : if you don’t get it all out, it’s gonna haunt you for the rest of your time with him, and he’d rather you be fully, mentally and physically there with him when he finally gets you where he wants to.

“Stop joking! I don’t want to be like… a predator. You’re probably famous, right? At least a little bit, anyways. Imagine the headlines : Grandma’s Still Got It!”

He guffaws. He can’t help it. This is the most fun he’s had in months, he thinks.

You’re still freaking out, but it’s more of a downward spiral than anything, so he finally cuts you off before you make yourself insane with what-ifs and conspiracy theories.

“And, and I’m going to walk around London, and people are going to point and laugh and go old hag! Old ha-ah!”

Your knees fail you when he jerks you towards him, and you literally fall into his lap, the quick move shutting you up instantly. You’re stretched over his strong thighs, and you feel him right under you. No more mental breakdown : the only thing you can think about is him, and his scent, and his arms, which have now moved right under your bum to hold you against him.

You can’t meet his eyes, and the pout that takes over your face is just a very poor attempt at seeming annoyed and not turned the fuck on. If you’ve lost all control over the situation, at least you still have yourself… right? Right?

“Deep breath, baby. That was a lot of words. Silly words at that,” he chides, and while normally you wouldn’t tolerate the slightly patronizing tone, you’re a bit tired and he’s pretty and his body against yours feels very nice.

You however don’t take that much needed deep breath, because even though he’s a fine man with a deep voice, he’s still a man, and you think listening to him like that would be your final straw. To be fair, you’d rather die, so when you start holding your breath instead, it’s quite funny to watch Lando shake his head dejectedly as soon as he notices.

“Okay, you muppet, be a brat, see if I care.”

You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him, because, well, your own thing was about being too old for him, so that wouldn’t look too good – but God do you want to.

Instead, you let your own hands wander, playing idly with the open collar of his shirt to ground yourself, but mostly to mess with him. In return, his fingers tighten and you feel them getting closer to where you actually want them.

Oh well, may the best tease win here.

Even though you’re distracted, you still haven’t forgotten the problem at hand here, and he knows it, so he adjusts his stance.

“To go back to what I was saying,” he cheekily starts, because you both know that he wasn’t saying anything, “26 and 23 is nothing. You’re not a cougar. You’re a beautiful woman and I’m a man with eyes and, no surprise there, I want you.”

His honesty is charming. Your pout turns into something a bit more mischievous, but you’re still looking anywhere but his eyes. Right now, you’re actually focusing on the cute little moles splattered over his face. They’re adorable. He’s adorable.

As soon as the thought hits you, it’s as if a switch turned on in his brain, because one second his face is a couple of centimeters away and the next his chin is in the valley of your breasts, his head angled up so his slightly open lips hit the tip of your chin and his eyes lock directly into yours when the surprise finally makes you look.

The atmosphere is all of a sudden not light anymore. It’s so tense that you feel it in your core, in the tip of your nipples, in the roots of your hair. The fact that he has this much power over you makes you shiver, because that is a 23 years old guy you met not even a day ago, and this whole thing is pretty fucking terrifying. However, this is a question for later, because right now is not the time for thinking. Yeah, definitely not.

“I also wouldn’t mind being the predator,” he whispers against your jaw, and even though it’s a bit of a shitty pick up line and any other the corniness of it all would have made you cringe, right now it makes a quiver go down your spine, which has you straightening right into him.

Lando just looks at you after that, and with the deadly combo of both his eyes and his hands on you, it isn’t long before you let go of any rational thought holding you back.

He wins this one… but something in you tells you that this might be a win-win situation.

Your hands go up to the back of his head as a symbol of your defeat, and when you finally kiss him, Lando’s smiling.

He’s still smiling as he kisses you back and as he lets his fingers slowly reach under the back of your thong, playing with it, making you arch into him. It’s hot and it’s fast and it’s long overdue, and you’re so fucking glad that you gave in, because that is a man that knows how to kiss. His frame is solid under you, and your arms are around his wide shoulders and tangled in his hair as you can’t resist the urge to grind softly against him. The groan that escapes him is sinful, and it’s now your turn to smile, because it’s a very clear sign that you get to him just as much as he gets to you, and what a delightful thing that is.

You kiss and you kiss and you kiss for what feels like hours. He makes sounds that have your insides clenching and you feel him slowly getting harder under you, and you wonder out of the blue if 23 year old boys can still come untouched. It’s a fleeing thought, though, and you forget it as soon as he pulls you closer as if he can’t stand the mere idea of there being even just a tiny bit of empty space between your two bodies. As it stands, his tongue is in your mouth and his long fingers are so close to your cunt that it nearly hurts and you’re about to break it off to finally tell him to just fucking do it when your long-forgotten cellphone vibrates behind you, on the empty sofa where you left it.

You ignore it the first time, but when it vibrates again, and again, you unwillingly pull yourself away from Lando, who protests nearly whiningly (you’d never thought you’d ever say that but it is sexy as fuck) before throwing his head back, his breath, loud and erratic, sounding like music to your ear. Not to flex, but yeah, you’ve done that. It’s pretty fucking gratifying.

You blindly stretch back and grab your phone after a few tries, and Lando looks at you while you giggle at the screen. The light illuminates you in a way that makes you look alive, and he catalogues it all in his brain, just to remember that you’re real and not straight out of his teenage wet dreams. He stares under lowered eyelids at your fucked up, nearly fully gone lip liner, at your messy curls, at the little dark smudges of mascara under your eyes. He traces the ridges of your flushed face, the pretty pink apple of your cheeks, the way you bite your sensible, puffy lips as you smile at whatever the fuck you’re looking at on your phone. Lando can’t believe now that he first thought you were a random influencer, because it’s clear to him now that you’re not just a pretty girl in a sea of pretty girls. You’ve got this whole aura around you, and while he doesn’t really know you yet, there’s a feeling in his chest that makes him desperately want to.

He needs to snap out of it, though. This is not very Ibiza-party-boy chill of him.

“What’s so funny?” his voice comes out ragged, a bit worse for wear, and he doesn’t really try to do anything about it because in two minutes tops he plans to be back on track with his mouth fused to yours.

You shake your head, and you gaze up from the screen to lock eyes with him as you do.

“Nothing. Just the girls. They texted me to tell me that they’re about to leave,” you tell him, trying your best to not sound winded from the very intense snogging session that just happened, but failing miserably as your eyes can’t stop darting down to his now wet lips.

He hums lowly, nodding, and as he brings his hands up from your bum to your waist, holding you steady on his lap, he smirks slowly.

“Tell them we’re about to leave too, then.”

It’s now your turn to smile smugly, because yeah, that’s a pretty good plan.

“Should I also make sure to tell them to not wait up?”

He fakes thinking about it for five seconds or so, before nodding twice, nonchalantly, like you’re just two people discussing the weather and not the very intoxicating fact that in the next hour you are most definitely gonna end up naked under him in his bed.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea, baby. You’re very smart, you know that?”

“Hm,” you shrug as you text back an update to the groupchat, ignoring the way his big hands are now gently cupping your breasts as if to give you a bit of a preview. “I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re both grinning as you throw the phone back on the sofa behind you, and you run your hand through your hair to tame it a bit before gripping his forearms again, enjoying the feel of them flexing under your grasp. Ỳou inhale once, before boldly waggling your eyebrows at him in a way that has his own raising in glee.

“So… where were we?”

The door to his room doesn't even have the time to slam closed before the straps of your dress are off and this boy lets vintage couture hit the floor like the brute he is.

Normally you would complain at least a little bit, just for the sake of it, but with his tongue in your mouth and his grip on your arse, you're a bit too busy to care. Oh well, you'll send it to the dry cleaner when you're back in London.

That's not to say that you don't have your hands full too : you're unbuttoning his shirt (well, the last two buttons that weren't already undone) as fast as you can with your eyes closed and as soon as it's off, you're letting your fingers wander, tracing the ridges of his surprisingly robust chest and teasing a little bit as you go down, down, down...

Lando takes his mouth off yours and he huffs a laugh, his forehead leaning against yours for a second or two. "Ok. Bed. Now."

You certainly won't say no to such a wonderful offer.

You push him back towards the edge of it, and his eyes are on you as he backs up. You're naked, bar your Agent Provocateur thongs and your heels. The heat in his gaze has you shivering, but you keep your composure up. You're cool and composed when you kick the Miu Miu's off your feet, smiling a little bit, because this is all a show and you are a wonderful, wonderful performer. He's already lucky enough to just be looking at you, so of course you won't make it too easy a job for him to get you to the second act.

He's sitting on the bed, shirtless, hair a mess, when you walk towards him, and the way he tilts his head back to lock his eyes to yours has your smile widening. In this light, with the very early morning glow hitting the left side of his face just right, there's a glint in his gaze and the lines of his jaw, of his brow and of his nose are so sharp you inhale abruptly at the sight. This guy, this stranger, makes you go fucking crazy. You've never felt this much attraction to a one-night-stand, and you just know the next entry in your journal is gonna be titled "Lando". He doesn't know it, but he's just made it to the yearly "Men Of The Year" PowerPoint night with the girls.

You're still not speaking when you make it in between his thighs, and you just tilt your head a little when his fingers start toying with the sides of your panties. There's a duality in Lando that makes him both cute and sexy at the same time, and it's the type of duality you've only ever seen in the most famous of men you've worked with, which reminds you that yes, you are to about to fuck with a celebrity, and yes, that goes against every single rule you've followed diligently since the beginning of your career. Fortunately, you don't have the time to think too much about it, as he pulls you to sit on top of him and the feel of his warm skin on yours has you blanking.

The feel of his hands settling on your hips is grounding in a way that surprises you. Warm. Certain. Like he's been waiting for this exact moment forever and nothing else exists beyond the press of body on body and the soft dip of the mattress beneath you both.

For a second, you just sit there, thighs bracketing his, the room unbearably quiet except for the sound of your breathing — his a little uneven, yours carefully controlled. You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way his fingers flex ever so slightly, like he's restraining himself on purpose. It does something dangerous to you, that restraint. Makes your stomach tighten.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Lando murmurs, voice low as if he doesn't want to disturb the peace, to cut the tension that's built between you.

You're smiling again, and your voice is just as low when you answer, but there's a hint of mischievousness in it that betrays your true feelings. "Thank you very much."

"Not even a you too? You meanie," he chides lightly, but with his smirking face in your neck and hard cock under you, you don't take it too personally.

"Hm, maybe later."

He's scoffing jokingly, and when he bites the top of your left tit in retribution, you gasp more out of outrage than of surprise, because of course this little brat would do something like this.

As a result, you pull his hair tightly. The moan that leaves his parted lips is a bit of a revelation, but once again not a surprise. Of course this puppy-eyed cocky bastard loves some good hair-pulling. Fork found in kitchen and all that.

He's back to kissing you before you can mock him a bit for it, though, so that'll be for later.

Five seconds later, he has you under him, so quickly that you can't really comprehend how the switch happened. You're so fucking wet that it doesn't matter, anyways. What actually matters is the fact that if in the next five minutes he isn't in you, you are going to actually lose your mind.

He's still kissing you when you take matters into your own hands, trying very hard to unbutton the top of his linen trousers with your hands that are shaking slightly in want. God, you want, you want, you want. You've never been this horny in what feels like forever. You'd like to say that it's not him, it's you being just a very sexual being in general, but you can't lie, his smell and his grip and his everything are getting to you.

He understands what you want quickly, and he helps you to get his trousers off, kicking them away when they get too far down for you to continue. You hum in gratitude and to thank him, because you're a very polite girl, you let your fingers finally flutter against his cock throughout the fabric of his boxers. You're not blind to the straightening of his spine and to the inhale he suddenly takes through his nose. He's so fucking affected by you that it makes you even wetter, which you didn't think could be possible all things considered.

Lando tries to hide how erratic his breath is getting, because the fact that he's literally about to come nearly untouched at the big age of 23 is incredibly embarrassing, as his long fingers come to clench on top of your breasts. You're shaking again, but the want is slowly turning into need and it's all getting a little bit too much. This is, literally, hour 3 or 4 of foreplay, now. Enough.

There's no more hesitation between you two, because it seems you've both come to the same conclusion in your heads. Lando's lips make their way to the valley of your breasts and his calloused fingers slide your thong down your thighs before coming back up to finally feel you. There's something in his eyes when he realizes how much you want this that has you arching into him, because you're not one to be all that thrilled at a man's approval, but he seems so proud of himself (and of you!!! in a weird way!!! this is all so weird!!!) that you're feeling yourself just get hotter and hotter as the moments and the feelings go on.

Your movements also get hasty, as if you're both running against the clock. You pull down his boxers just enough to finally get his cock out, and while you can't see with the way he's pressed against you, you can tell that it's pretty just by the feel of it against your palm. He's thick and veiny and so fucking hard it must hurt. He's also began to breathe choppily against you, as if he just ran past the finish line of a marathon. His strong thighs, which are holding him up over your, are starting to flex rhythmically like he's having a stroke, but no, it's actually just you. You stroke him once, twice, before Lando stops you, eyes closed, jaw clenched. His fingers leave your cunt, which he was lazily petting, surprisingly aware that you were too fired up for more and way too tired for two orgasms in a row, as he slowly starts to rise up from you.

You let up a disapproving noise when his heat leaves you, and with your eyelids low, you wrap your arms around his strong shoulders to keep him against you. No, wait, don't leave, fuck me!

"Wait, wait, wait," Lando nearly begs you, because with your lips pouting and your sad little eyes you're starting to make him feel bad for trying to be a good person. "I'm just getting a condom, baby, I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving."

He kisses your pout quickly, sneakily, and you hate to admit but his tone and his care make you melt.

"I genuinely couldn't leave if I wanted to, anyways. You've got me fucking drunk on that pussy," he mutters as he gets on his knees to reach the bedtable on the right side of the bed, and while this was definitely an inside thought, you're glad he says it because it makes you finally gain some control back over yourself.

"One more second with my hand over your cock and you were done for, by the way," you tease him, using this little break from the feverish sexual tension as an excuse to stretch your arms over your head to fight the tightness that's taken over your shoulders.

Lando nods quickly and his facial expression as he opens the drawer has you grinning, because you've never seen a man look both this horrified and this appalled by his own behaviour. "Oh, believe me, I'm very aware of that," he nearly squeaks, and the break in his composure makes you finally laugh out loud.

You're still giggling when he's suddenly back on top of you, ripping the condom wrapper off with his teeth and frowning at you in fake outrage. "You think that's funny, huh?"

You stop laughing at the sight, because he's tan and wrecked and glorious, but you just cannot stop being a fucking brat anyways, so, with your lip in between your teeth, you nod cheekily. He then nods back, but it is slow and measured, and the way his veins bulge against his thick neck grabs your attention, so you miss the way he takes his cock in his hands and rolls the condom over it. You're still laser-focused on his neck when his fingers end up in your hair and his grip tightens to pull your head back so you can finally look back into his eyes. You gasp, because yeah, sue you but you definitely match his freak when it comes to hair-pulling.

"You want it, hm?" he asks, and the sudden dirty talk has your brain shortcircuiting. Well hello there. "You want my cock?"

You're still biting your lower lip, and while it's starting to fucking hurt, you're grateful for it as it is the last thing holding you back from instantly nodding.

The situation is not in your favor. You're laying down and he's standing upright on his knees, holding his cock while he also holds your gaze. He's tan and there's a slight sheen of sweat over his bronzed skin that makes him glow, and the flexing of both his thighs and his biceps just highlight the sheer strength hiding in his somewhat unassuming body. That's the kind of build you associate with swimmers, in a way : broad shoulders, tight waist and very nice glutes. You think he would do wonderful in a pilates class.

"Come on, pretty, don't get shy on me all of a sudden," Lando adds before very voluntarily letting the tip of his prick hit your clit, and a surprised moan is the only answer you give him. "Yeah, I know, baby, you want it so fucking bad, right?"

Your hands are reaching for his chest against your will, because you just need to feel him. He, who is trying very hard to be in charge of the situation, lets you do it, because he's as hungry for it as you are. He even leans in, letting his navel hit yours and settle there, and you feel his toned stomach extending against yours as he breathes. The intimacy of it all is stifling.

You're undulating your hips under him, and every time the tip of his cock catches your clit, you exhale sharply. "L-Lando," you stutter with your eyes closed, because it's all too much, and you don't think you could give him the begging he wants right now even if you wanted to.

He's pussy-drunk, you're cock-stupid – what a fucking dream team.

"Ok, ok, baby," it's his turn to sound like he's choking on his own breath. "'m gonna fuck you, baby."

And fuck you he does.

As soon as he slips the tip in, you're arching into his body, your face pressing into the spot where his shoulder meets his neck. You're panting at the feeling, at the rightness of it, because this has been a long time coming. You simultaneously both sigh in bliss when he's fully in, because there he is and there I am and there we are finally together.

There's no pause, no break, no moment of hesitation. As soon as he is in your cunt, his hips go to work, and he starts pounding, to your absolute delight. It's so weird that this stranger seems to know exactly what you want when you want it, but you don't spend too much time questioning it because ever since you met Lando 4 hours ago, he proved that you're surprisingly very alike in way too many ways – a fact that is a bit scary considering you're a nearly 27 years old woman and he's a freshly 23 years old guy, and worse, a 23 years old professional athlete. You sure do hope that he's the one that is a bit too mature for his own age and not the opposite.

Your fingers are grasping at any part of him you can reach, and as he fucks into you with vigor, your nails find the middle of his back and press in, because you need to attach yourself to something, anything. Lando shudders against you when the pain hits him and it just makes him piston into you harder because yeah, it's confirmed, you're his fucking dream girl. He never doubted you would disappoint, but here you are, ticking all of his boxes one after the other without even knowing it.

While he's having an eye-opening realization (he never wants this night to end), you are too, but mostly because you're about to come for the first time from penetration alone. His big hands are so tight on your hips that it hurts, keeping you as close as humanly possible, and there is no stimulation other than his cock inside you and his pelvis deeply grinding into your clit with every back-and-forth of his own hips, but for once in your life, that is enough. There's something building slowly but surely in your chest, a feeling you can't name, you can't place, but it's sirupy and it's fluttery and it's undeniably good and special and beautiful.

If you were drunker, this is when you would say "I love you". Actually, you're now stone cold sober, and you're resisting the urge to do it. As you'd rather die than ever do that, you just moan against him, biting his soft skin to ground you to something solid, to something real.

His pace is unforgiving, and his hands have moved to your bum as soon as your legs wrapped around his waist to get him even closer. You're both so fucking loud it's a bit shameful, but there's no place for shame of any kind in a room that is already filled to the brim with so much lust and so much tension. He hits all the right places, all the spots that make you twitch and tweak and scream out in glee, and without any warning, you're coming.

It's loud and it's messy. It doesn't hit you in waves – it hits you like a fucking tsunami. You're panting and he's nearly fucking growling and you can't believe that this is your life. Thank God you came to the club tonight. Thank God you came to Ibiza. Thank God you were born, even. You wish you were exaggerating, and you know the girls are gonna laugh when you try to explain the feeling because you don't think you can put it into words, anyways, so you probably won't even try. This is going to stay yours, and yours only, for now – not like a dirty little secret, but more like a coveted gift from somebody you'll never ever see again.

Your hands are now in his hair, and Lando comes as you're scratching gently his scalp. His hips still into you abruptly and the moan he lets out is more of a whimper than anything, which has your spent brain clocking back in for a second to say nice before going back to an unconscious state. His breathing in your ear is labored as he falls back on top of you, still inside of you, and you both just take a minute to enjoy it, to soak in it. You inhale when he exhales, and your lethargic bodies are like two puzzle pieces that just fit into one another.

The room is silent again bar for your shared breathing, and your eyes close for a second, or probably more than that because the next time you come to, he's off of you with a fresh pair of boxers on as he's washing you clean with a warm water-soaked hand towel.

You hum at the feeling, and his head rises so his gaze can meet yours. The small smile that takes over his face is endearing, so the little bit of energy you still have in you is put to use to give him a lazy grin in return.

"Hi," he boyishly beams, and your heart twists in your chest at the sight. "I lost you for a minute there."

"I think I'm a little tired," you murmur back sluggishly.

It's the understatement of the year, as even bringing your hand up to try to fix your messy hair is a challenge in itself. You honestly think you just make the situation worse, and that is confirmed by the crinkling of his eyes and the toothy smile that just keeps growing bigger and bigger as the seconds go on.

"Go back to sleep then, pretty. I'll take care of everything."

You're about to do just that, lulled by his low voice and his heartwarming kindness, when your hand shakily reaches out towards the wall against which you dropped your purse and your cellphone when you first arrived. "My phone... Can you..."

"I've already plugged it in. Go to sleep, girlboss, your emails will still be there tomorrow," he quips cheekily.

Your eyes close with the thought of fuck, I think I could love this man.

A week later, when you're back home in your London flat and a verified account with a couple of millions of followers requests to follow your very private Instagram account, the memory of this thought alone is enough to have you deciding that you will not press the blue accept button.

Not yet, not now. There's no place in your life right now for a pretty boy with pretty eyes and even prettier words, and if you're honest with yourself, that is unfortunately ultimately for the better.

Luckily for Lando, however, fate works in mysterious ways – which is exactly what he tells himself when he catches a glimpse of you in the Spa-Francorchamps paddock seven months later.

landoughnut

Please read (hey guys its been a while!)

I’m officially heading to university this fall to major in psychology and minor in business.

However, both of my parents lost their jobs this year, and our financial situation completely flipped. Even with all my scholarships and federal loans locked in, I still have a remaining out-of-pocket balance of $14,381 just for the fall semester.

My family is trying to figure out a monthly payment plan, but with my parents barely having an income, covering this gap feels impossible right now (especially since we can barely afford the bills right now.)

I started a gofundme to try to help and any amount helps, even if it’s just $5 or reblogging this post to get it onto people's dashboards - please, please reblog and share as much as you can <3.

✨ THE FUN PART: Since it's summer and I actually have a second to breathe, I really want to write again. If you donate any amount (or even if you can't donate but leave a super helpful signal-boost reblog!), drop a prompt or an idea in my asks/messages, and I'll try to write a few quick fics/one-shots if I have some time over the next few weeks as a massive thank you to everyone helping me out and sharing!

The link is here: help me afford going to Fordham University!

Thank you guys so much, love you all xx

moonlightproblems

Quadrant Cooking Challenge: Lando Can’t Cook Edition

Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader

Synopsis: You and Lando compete to cook the best dish. It goes horribly wrong.

Part of the "Quadrant Chaos" one-shot series.

PATREON: Exclusive Content, up to nearly a month ahead on the “hard tyre” tier!

ʙᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜱ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ♡

lightsoutandawaywewrite

The not so perfect couple pt.6

Pairing: Max Verstappen × Reader(y/n)

Warnings: pregnancy, angst, mad george, bad words, arguing, mention of abortion (i believe that is a woman's right)

Summary: Bound by a flawless Monaco romance, you and F1 star George Russell have the perfect life, until a failed birth control test leaves you pregnant with the child of a man whose brutal championship ambition labels a baby his ultimate downfall. Trapped in the high-stakes paddock, you must hide a secret that could destroy his lifelong dream in a single breath.

lightsoutandawaywewrite

Hii 🫶🏻 can you do one where you are together with lando and staying at max and Pietra in London as the next day you’ll go and spend a few days with his family before you’ll go back to Monaco to get ready for the next race. You have been a f1 fan and lando is your fav driver even before meeting him and tonight there are some other of his friends over and Lando makes a joke about you being obsessed with him that you hunted him down or smth else implying that you were a crazy fan that did anything to make him yours and more and you try so hard not to cry and you don’t say anything and Pietra takes your hand and you go in another room and you just let the tears fall down and you talk to her as not being enough and being a fan of him was a insecure you had. Lando comes later in bed and you don’t talk with him and he asks what’s wrong and you guys fight a bit and he said that it was just a joke and you told him that you can’t believe him and that he made you seem like you were the craziest fan that was so obsessed with him. His family could see that something is wrong as you are always together clinging to each other and touchy and Flo asks you what happened and you don’t really want to say and while you are with his mum, Flo asks lando what did he do and when she finds out she is angry and tells him he better makes up and go asks for forgiveness. Later you are all watching a film and lando moves next to you when Cisca gets up and asks if you can talk and you told him not now. When it comes a scary part you hide your face into his shoulder and grip his arm and he takes you in his arms. You guys talk later and make up and the next day he doesn’t let you go one second and doesn’t stop kissing you. Thank you so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻

The Insecurity Behind the Laugh

Pairing: Lando Norris × Reader(y/n)

Warnings: emotional angst, hurt/comfort, crying, arguments, relationship insecurities, heavy miscommunication, protective family members

Summary: A cozy evening with friends in London takes a painful turn when Lando cracks a thoughtless joke about your past as a fan. Overwhelmed by your deepest relationship insecurity, you retreat into the night, forcing Lando to face the reality of his words before a family trip can restore what was broken.

Requested: Yes/ anon

Word count: 5782

Author's note: I really wanted to dive deep into how much a "harmless" joke can truly sting when it touches on a raw, personal insecurity. Lando is a total sweetheart, but sometimes his mouth gets ahead of his brain! Hope you all love the emotional ride and the absolute sweetness at the end!! xx

Masterlist

The summer air in London was thick and heavy, hanging over the Thames with the kind of lazy warmth that only came in the dead of July. Inside the sleek, high-ceilinged penthouse belonging to Max Fewtrell and his girlfriend, Pietra, the atmosphere was loud, chaotic, and entirely comfortable. The apartment was a familiar sanctuary, a place where the pressures of the Formula 1 grid could be left at the heavy front door, replaced instead by the mindless hum of video games, the clinking of beer bottles, and the easy banter of old friends.

You sat on the plush, oversized cream sofa, your legs curled up beneath the oversized hoodie you had stolen from Lando’s suitcase earlier that afternoon. Lando was sitting right beside you, his thigh pressed firmly against yours, one of his hands resting absent-mindedly on your knee, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles through the fabric of your sweatpants. It was a habit of his, an unspoken, instinctive need for physical contact that he carried with him wherever he went. No matter who was in the room, no matter how chaotic the conversation grew, Lando always kept a piece of himself tethered to you.

The plan was simple, you were staying the night here in London, and the next morning, the two of you would pack up the car and drive down to Somerset to spend a handful of quiet, uninterrupted days with his family. After that, it was back to the sterile, sun-drenched reality of Monaco to pack your bags and prepare for the upcoming race weekend. It was a rare, precious window of downtime in the middle of a grueling season, and you had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Across from you, Max was passionately arguing with a few of their mutual friends about a recent streaming stream, gesturing wildly with a controller in his hand, while Pietra sat on the arm of the opposite chair, laughing softly and shaking her head at the sheer volume of the room. It was a good night, a perfect night, until the conversation drifted, as it inevitably always did, back to how everyone in the room had first met.

"Honestly, I still don't know how Lando managed to pull you, Y/N," Max joked, throwing a smirk in your direction, "He’s a child. We literally have to remind him to drink water and eat his vegetables, and somehow he convinces a girl like you to move across the continent for him."

A chorus of chuckles rippled through the living room, and you smiled, a genuine, warm flush creeping up your neck. "Hey, I ask myself the same question every single day," you replied, giving Lando’s side a playful nudge with your elbow, "Must have been temporary insanity."

Lando laughed, that loud, familiar, high-pitched cackle that usually filled you with absolute warmth. He squeezed your knee, leaning back against the cushions as he took a sip of his drink. But as the laughter died down, a mischievous, slightly reckless glint entered his eyes, the kind of look he got when he was trying to be the funniest person in the room, regardless of the cost.

"Oh, come on, don't let her fool you," Lando scoffed, his voice carrying over the music playing in the background, a wide, prideful grin stretching across his face, "She didn't just stumble into my life. Y/N was absolutely obsessed with me. Like, full-on, borderline unhinged fan status before we even exchanged a single word."

The room grew slightly quieter, interest piqued by the sudden shift in the narrative. You felt a sudden, sharp prick of heat behind your eyes, your smile instantly freezing on your face.

"Wait, really?" one of Lando’s friends asked, leaning forward, "I thought you guys met through mutual management or something."

"Nah, that's the cover story we tell people to make her look sane," Lando continued, entirely blind to the way your posture had gone completely rigid beside him, totally unaware of the way your heart had dropped into your stomach, "Honestly, she practically hunted me down. She used to have an entire fan account dedicated to me, tracking my every move, buying every single piece of Quadrant merch the second it dropped. She did absolutely everything in her power to make sure she’d end up in the same room as me, totally crazy about it. I basically had to give in because she wouldn't stop manifesting it. It was like having a highly organized, very pretty stalker."

More laughter erupted around the room, loud, booming, and completely good-natured from the perspective of everyone else. To them, it was just standard boyish banter, a harmless, exaggerated joke meant to poke fun at a sweet relationship. Max laughed, shaking his head, and someone else made a comment about needing to try that strategy with their own celebrity crushes.

But to you, the words felt like a series of physical blows, leaving you completely breathless.

Before you ever met Lando, before you knew the boy behind the helmet, the one who liked his toast burnt and got anxious before big media days, you had been an ordinary Formula 1 fan. And yes, Lando had been your favorite driver. You had admired his talent, his personality on screen, his humor. When the two of you had actually met through a completely normal, accidental introduction at a marketing event, you had been terrified that he would find out you used to watch his races with a racing cap on your head. Your biggest, deepest insecurity in your entire relationship was the lingering, irrational fear that he looked down on you for it, that he secretly viewed you as lesser, as just a fan who got lucky, rather than an equal partner whom he loved for who she was.

You had bared your soul to him about this late one night in Monaco, whispering your fears into the dark of his bedroom, crying softly as you admitted how insecure it made you feel when people online accused you of using him or being a groupie. He had held you so tight that night, kissing away your tears, swearing to you that he loved you for *you*, that your past as a fan didn't mean a single thing to him.

And now, here he was, using that exact vulnerability as a punchline to entertain his friends. He was rewriting your entire love story, turning a genuine, beautiful connection into a cheap joke about an obsessed, crazy fan who had manipulated her way into his life.

The silence stretching from your side of the sofa was deafening, at least to you. You tried so hard not to cry. You bit the inside of your cheek so forcefully that you could taste the faint, metallic tang of blood. You stared straight ahead, your eyes wide, refusing to blink because you knew the moment you did, the heavy, suffocating tears burning behind your eyelids would spill over and ruin everything. You couldn't say a word. If you opened your mouth, your voice would crack, the illusion of your composure would shatter, and you would embarrass yourself entirely in front of a room full of people.

Lando didn't notice. He was already moving on to the next topic, laughing at something Max said, his hand still resting on your knee as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just torn open a massive, painful wound in your chest.

But someone did notice.

From across the room, Pietra’s eyes found yours. Her smile faded instantly as she looked at your face, seeing the pale, strained set of your jaw and the slight, uncontrollable trembling of your lower lip. She didn't hesitate. She stood up smoothly from the arm of the chair, stepping over a stray pair of sneakers on the floor.

"Hey, Y/N," Pietra said, her voice loud enough to break through the boys' chatter, completely natural, "Can you come help me real quick? I want to grab those extra snacks from the top cabinet in the kitchen and I'm too short to reach them."

You didn't look at Lando. You didn't look at anyone. You just nodded once, a quick, jerky motion, and practically bolted off the couch. You didn't even notice Lando’s hand falling away from your leg, nor did you hear him offer to help instead. You just followed the retreating figure of Pietra, your feet moving on autopilot.

Instead of stopping in the kitchen, Pietra kept walking, leading you down the long, quiet hallway of the penthouse and pulling you into the guest bedroom where you and Lando had set your bags earlier. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind you, isolating the two of you from the distant, muffled sounds of laughter in the living room, your resolve crumbled entirely.

A broken, ragged sob tore from your throat. You pressed the palms of your hands against your eyes, trying desperately to hold the tears back, but it was completely useless. They poured down your cheeks, hot and fast, soaking into the cuffs of Lando’s oversized hoodie. Your chest heaved, your breathing turning shallow and erratic as the sheer weight of the humiliation and hurt crashed down upon you.

Pietra didn't say a word of judgment. She immediately stepped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around your trembling shoulders, pulling you into a warm, grounding embrace. She let you cry, holding you close as you shook against her, her hand gently stroking your hair.

"I’m so sorry," Pietra whispered softly, her voice filled with genuine anger on your behalf, "He is such an idiot. He is an absolute, brainless idiot, Y/N. I am so sorry."

"I try so hard," you choked out, your voice muffled against her shoulder, raw and thick with misery, "I try so hard to just... to be a normal girlfriend. To not let the comments get to me, to not let the internet make me feel like I’m just some... some groupie who got lucky. And he just... he stood there, Pietra. He stood there in front of everyone and made me look like a crazy person. He made it seem like I hunted him down, like I forced him to be with me."

Pietra pulled back just enough to look at your tear-stained face, her hands gripping your shoulders firmly. "Look at me. You know that isn't true. Max knows it isn't true, I know it isn't true. Everyone in that room knows he was just being a stupid boy trying to look cool, even if it was completely at your expense."

"But it hurts so bad," you sobbed, wiping frantically at your cheeks, though fresh tears immediately replaced them, "Being a fan of his before we met... it’s my biggest insecurity. I told him that. I sat in his arms and cried about how much it terrifies me that people think I’m only with him because of who he is. I told him how much it makes me feel like I’m not enough, like I’m just an outsider playing a part. And he used it as a joke. He laughed about it. He made me feel so small, Pietra. So incredibly small."

"He wasn't thinking, Y/N. His brain completely short-circuited," Pietra said, her eyes fierce with protective annoyance, "It doesn't excuse it. Not even a little bit. It was cruel, and it was incredibly thoughtless. You have every single right to be furious with him."

You sank down onto the edge of the neatly made guest bed, pulling your knees up to your chest, burying your face in your hands. The fabric of the hoodie still smelled like him, a mixture of his expensive cologne and the familiar, comforting scent of his laundry detergent, and right now, it made you feel physically sick. You felt utterly exposed, stripped of your dignity by the person who was supposed to protect your heart above all else.

Pietra sat down right beside you, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. She didn't try to force you to stop crying, and she didn't try to minimize your feelings. She just stayed there, a quiet, steady anchor in the middle of your emotional storm, letting you empty out all the hurt and insecurity you had been quietly bottling up for months.

Nearly an hour had passed by the time the apartment finally grew quiet. You could hear the distant sounds of front doors closing, the muffled goodbyes of the departing guests, and the low, rumbling murmur of Max and Pietra cleaning up the kitchen. You had washed your face in the ensuite bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes swollen, bloodshot, and rimmed with a telltale, angry pink. You looked exhausted. You felt entirely drained.

You climbed into the guest bed, pulling the heavy duvet all the way up to your chin, turning your back completely toward the empty side of the bed. You stared blankly at the dark wall, listening to the muffled silence of the London night, your heart heavy and numb.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door crept open, casting a long, narrow sliver of yellow light across the carpet. Quiet, hesitant footsteps padded into the room. The mattress shifted violently as Lando climbed in, the scent of the cool night air and a faint hint of alcohol settling over the space. He slid under the covers, immediately moving closer to you, his body seeking out yours with the easy familiarity of a man who took your presence for granted.

He reached out, his arm sliding around your waist, attempting to pull your back against his chest.

You didn't let him.

With a sudden, stiff movement, you pulled away, shifting closer to the very edge of the mattress, leaving a cold, cavernous gap of space between the two of you. Your body was rigid, a clear, unyielding wall of defense.

Lando froze in the dark. The silence in the room stretched out, thick, uncomfortable, and heavy with unspoken tension.

"Y/N?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with a sudden, nervous uncertainty, "Are you awake?"

You didn't answer. You kept your eyes fixed on the blank wall, your breathing shallow.

"Babe, come on," Lando murmured, reaching out again, his fingers gently brushing the fabric of your sleeve, "Don't do that. What’s wrong? You completely disappeared earlier. Max and Pietra said you went to bed because you had a headache, but I know you're not asleep."

"I don't want to talk to you, Lando," you said, your voice entirely flat, devoid of the usual warmth and affection he was so accustomed to hearing. It was a cold, dead tone that immediately made him sit up in bed, the sheets rustling loudly around him.

"What do you mean you don't want to talk to me?" he asked, a defensive edge creeping into his voice, though underneath it, you could detect a distinct note of panic, "What did I even do? You've been acting weird ever since we were in the living room."

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, turning your head slightly over your shoulder to look at him through the gloom. The moonlight filtering through the blinds caught the sharp angle of his jaw, his curls messy and wild. He looked entirely confused, and that ignorance made the anger flare up in your chest, hot and sharp.

"You really don't know, do you?" you whispered, turning your entire body around to face him, sitting up slightly against the pillows, "You honestly have absolutely no idea what you did."

"No, I don't!" Lando said, throwing his hands up in a small, frustrated gesture, "We were having a great night, everyone was laughing, and then you just vanish into the guest room for an hour and now you're treating me like I’m the worst person alive. Just tell me what’s wrong."

"You made me a punchline, Lando," you said, your voice shaking slightly, though you fought desperately to keep it steady, "In front of Max, in front of Pietra, in front of your friends. You sat there and laughed about how I was an obsessed, crazy fan who hunted you down. You told everyone that I manipulated my way into your life, that you only gave in and started dating me because I wouldn't stop stalking you."

Lando blinked, his mouth dropping open slightly in disbelief. For a second, he looked completely stunned, and then, to your absolute horror, a small, nervous scoff escaped his lips.

"Are you serious right now?" he asked, shaking his head, "Y/N, it was a joke. It was literally just a joke. Everyone was banterin' about how we met, and I was just exaggerating for a laugh. Nobody actually thinks you're a stalker. Max knows how we met. It was just a stupid bit."

"A joke?" You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you didn't even bother to wipe it away. "It wasn't a joke to me, Lando. You know exactly how insecure I am about how we met. You know how much it destroys me when people online call me a crazy fan or say I’m just using you. I literally cried in your arms in Monaco about this, Lando. I told you it was my biggest insecurity, I trusted you with that. And you took the one thing that makes me feel completely inadequate in this relationship, and you turned it into a cheap laugh to make yourself look cool in front of your friends."

Lando’s defensive posture faltered, his shoulders dropping slightly as the gravity of your words finally began to sink through his thick skull. "Babe... I didn't mean it like that. I swear. I wasn't trying to make you feel bad. It was just... we were all joking around, and I didn't think—"

"That’s exactly the problem, Lando! You never think!" your voice rose, a sharp, painful exclamation that cut through the quiet room, "You didn't think about how it would make me feel to sit there and have everyone laugh at me. You made me look like the craziest fan who was so utterly obsessed with you that you had no choice but to take pity on me. You entirely minimized everything we have. You made our whole relationship look like a joke."

"It’s not a joke!" Lando defended himself loudly, leaning closer to you, his eyes wide and frantic in the dim light, "You know how much I love you. You know you're everything to me. I was just being stupid, Y/N. I’m an idiot, okay? I get it. But you can't honestly believe that I look at you like that. I don't think you're a crazy fan."

"But you told everyone else you did," you whispered, the anger draining out of you, leaving only a hollow, crushing sense of exhaustion, "You stood right there and gave them permission to look down on me. I can't believe you did that to me. I really can't."

Lando reached out, his hand desperate as he tried to grasp your wrist, "Y/N, please. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Look at me, please."

"No, Lando," you said, pulling your hand out of his reach and sliding back down into the bed, pulling the covers over your shoulders, "I don't want to do this right now. I’m tired, and we have to drive to your parents' house early tomorrow. Just leave me alone."

"Y/N, don't do this, please don't sleep like this," he pleaded, his voice cracking slightly, sounding incredibly young and entirely lost. He reached across the mattress, his palm resting flat against your hip over the duvet, a desperate attempt to maintain some form of contact.

You didn't move his hand away, but you didn't lean into it either. You lay completely still, staring back at the dark wall, the silence between you now filled with a heavy, suffocating misery that lasted until the early hours of the morning.

The drive down to Somerset the next morning was the quietest, most agonizing three hours of your life.

Usually, road trips with Lando were an absolute spectacle of chaos. He would blast his electronic music, sing horribly out of tune, hold your hand over the center console, and make detours at random gas stations just to buy endless bags of candy. But today, the radio was turned down to a low, barely audible hum. Lando kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his eyes fixed grimly on the highway ahead. Every few minutes, he would glance over at you in the passenger seat, his eyes pleading, begging for you to say something, to look at him, to give him any sign of forgiveness.

But you couldn't. You just stared out the window, watching the grey London suburbs slowly dissolve into the rolling, vibrant green hills of the English countryside. You felt numb, wrapped in a protective shell of silence that he didn't know how to break.

When the car finally pulled up the long, gravel driveway of his family’s beautiful country home, your stomach tightened into a nervous knot. You loved his family. His parents, Adam and Cisca, had always treated you like one of their own, and his sisters, Flo and Cisca, felt like the older sisters you had never had. They were warm, boisterous, and incredibly perceptive, which was exactly what terrified you right now.

The moment the engine cut out, Lando turned to you, his hand instantly flying across the gap between the seats to catch your arm before you could open the car door.

"Y/N, please," he whispered, his eyes wide, rimmed with dark circles from his own sleepless night, "Can we please just fix this? Before we go inside? I can't bear you being mad at me like this. It’s killing me."

You looked at his hand on your arm, then up at his stressed, miserable face. "Your family is waiting for us, Lando. We'll talk later."

Before he could argue, you pulled away, opening the door and stepping out into the crisp, fresh Somerset air. Almost instantly, the front door of the house flew open, and Lando’s mother, Cisca, stepped out onto the porch, a massive, radiant smile on her face.

"They're here!" she called out into the house, walking down the steps with her arms open wide, "Oh, my darlings, welcome home!"

You forced a bright, cheerful smile onto your face, burying your heartache deep down inside as you walked into Cisca’s warm, maternal embrace. She hugged you tightly, rocking you side to side, smelling faintly of lavender and vanilla. "Oh, Y/N, it’s so wonderful to see you. You look a bit tired, sweetheart, have you been sleeping well?"

"Just a bit of travel exhaustion, Cisca, but I’m so happy to be here," you lied smoothly, stepping back as Adam came down to shake your hand and pull you into a brief, warm hug.

Lando walked up behind you, carrying the bags, his face a carefully constructed mask of normalcy. He greeted his parents, but as he stepped closer to you, his hand instinctively reached out to find yours, his fingers trying to lace through your own. It was your usual routine, whenever you were around his family, the two of you were practically glued at the hip, constantly touching, leaning against one another, completely wrapped up in your own little world.

But today, as his fingers brushed against yours, you quietly, subtly moved your hand away, lifting it to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face instead.

Lando’s hand dropped to his side, his face falling completely, a look of sheer, unadulterated devastation flashing across his features before he quickly masked it from his parents. But his family wasn't blind. Cisca’s eyes darted between the two of you, her sharp, motherly instincts instantly picking up on the sudden, icy friction between her son and the girl he usually couldn't stop suffocating with affection.

Inside the house, the tension only grew. Flo and the rest of the family gathered in the spacious, sunlit kitchen, where a massive spread of lunch had been laid out. Usually, Lando would be sitting right next to you, his arm draped over the back of your chair, stealing food from your plate and whispering stupid jokes into your ear. Today, you purposely chose a seat at the far end of the long wooden table, sitting next to Flo, leaving an empty chair between you and Lando that he was forced to watch with a miserable, longing expression.

Throughout the entire lunch, you did your absolute best to engage in the conversation. You talked about the upcoming races, laughed at Adam’s jokes, and asked Flo about her recent projects. But you never once looked at Lando, and you never once included him in your responses.

By the time lunch was over, the atmosphere in the house was thick with unspoken questions. His family could see that something was completely wrong. You were always together, always clinging to each other, always completely in sync, and right now, you were treating Lando like a distant acquaintance.

"Hey, Y/N," Cisca said gently, standing up from the table and wiping her hands on a dishtowel, "Would you mind helping me cut up some fresh fruit for dessert in the utility kitchen? The boys can clear the table."

"Of course, Cisca," you smiled, grateful for an excuse to escape Lando’s burning, desperate gaze. You stood up and followed his mother out of the main kitchen, leaving the rest of the family behind.

The moment the door shut behind you, Flo, who had stayed behind in the main kitchen, turned on her heel. She didn't even wait for her father to leave the room. She marched straight over to where Lando was standing by the sink, looking utterly defeated as he stared down at a stack of dirty plates.

Flo folded her arms over her chest, her expression fierce and uncompromising. "Alright, Lando. Out with it. What did you do?"

Lando didn't even try to deny it. He let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand through his curls, looking entirely exhausted. "Why does everyone automatically assume I did something?"

"Because Y/N is an absolute angel who loves you more than life itself, and right now, she won't even look in your direction," Flo snapped, her voice low but sharp as a knife, "You haven't touched her once since you arrived, and you look like a kicked puppy. You did something stupid. Now tell me what it was."

Lando hesitated, glancing nervously toward the door where you and his mother had disappeared. He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice dropping to a guilty, quiet whisper. "We were at Max and Pietra’s last night... some friends were over. We were talking about how we met, and I... I made a joke. I said she was an obsessed, crazy fan who hunted me down and forced me to date her."

Flo’s jaw dropped. She stared at her brother as if he had just grown a second head, her eyes wide with absolute, burning fury. "You did *what*?"

"It was just banter!" Lando hissed defensively, though his voice lacked any real conviction, "Everyone was laughing! I didn't think she’d take it seriously!"

"Are you completely out of your mind?!" Flo raised her voice, taking a step closer to him, her finger poking hard into his chest, "Lando, you know exactly how insecure she is about that! She has literally spoken to me about how hard it is for her with the online trolls calling her a groupie! She trusts you completely, and you used her deepest vulnerability to make yourself look like a big man in front of your friends? You are an absolute idiot!"

"I know!" Lando cried out, his voice cracking, his eyes suddenly filling with tears of sheer frustration and guilt, "I know I’m an idiot, Flo! I didn't mean to hurt her! I’ve been apologizing since last night, but she won't even look at me. She won't let me touch her. It’s killing me. I don't know what to do."

"You better make it up to her, Lando," Flo said, her voice dropping to a stern, unyielding tone, "You go find a way to make her see how much of a fool you were. You don't get to just say 'sorry' and expect her to forget it. You tore down her confidence, and you made her feel like she isn't enough. You go ask for her forgiveness, and you don't stop trying until she actually believes you. Because if you lose her over your own stupid pride, I will never let you live it down."

Lando swallowed hard, nodding slowly, his chest heaving as he wiped at a stray tear that had escaped his eye. "I will. I want to. She just... she won't let me get near her."

Meanwhile, in the utility kitchen, you were standing by the counter, slowly slicing strawberries into a large glass bowl. Cisca was standing beside you, washing grapes, but her movements were slow, her attention entirely focused on the heavy, silent sadness radiating from your posture.

"Y/N, sweetheart," Cisca said softly, placing a gentle hand on your forearm, causing you to pause your slicing, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I know my son. I know how stupid he can be, and I can see how deeply you're hurting right now. Did he do something to upset you?"

You stared down at the cutting board, the bright red juice of the strawberries blurring together as tears instantly welled up in your eyes once again. You didn't want to cause a scene, and you certainly didn't want to turn his own mother against him, but the sheer warmth and kindness in Cisca’s voice broke through your fragile defenses.

"He just..." you choked out, a single tear spilling over your lashes, "He made a joke last night, Cisca. In front of all his friends. He told them I was just a crazy, obsessed fan who stalked him until he agreed to be with me."

Cisca’s hand tightened on your arm, her expression softening into a look of profound, deeply maternal sympathy. "Oh, my darling..."

"It just hurts so much," you whispered, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, "Because I *was* a fan of his before we met. And I am so insecure about it. I’m always terrified that people look at me and think I’m just some girl who wanted a famous boyfriend. I love him so much, Cisca. I love him for who he is when the cameras are off. And when he said that... it felt like he was agreeing with all the horrible things people say about me online. It made me feel like I’ll never actually be his equal."

Cisca immediately pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly against her chest, just as Pietra had done the night before. "Listen to me, Y/N. That boy loves you more than he has ever loved anything in his entire life. When he looks at you, his entire world stops. But he is young, and sometimes, he lets his mouth run before his brain can catch up. He wanted to look clever in front of his friends, and he did it in the most foolish, hurtful way possible."

She pulled back, wiping your tears away with her thumbs, her eyes fierce with love. "You are more than enough. You are the best thing that has ever happened to him, and we all see it. Don't you dare let his stupid, thoughtless words make you doubt your place in his life. He is entirely in the wrong, and he knows it. Let him squirm a bit, sweetheart. Let him realize exactly what he risks losing when he treats you with anything less than the absolute respect you deserve."

You managed a small, watery smile, nodding softly. "Thank you, Cisca."

By the time evening rolled around, the grey clouds had rolled in over Somerset, bringing a cool, steady rain that drummed softly against the windowpanes. The family decided to settle down in the spacious, cozy home theater room to watch a movie together, a perfect excuse to escape the gloomy weather.

The room was dimly lit, filled with massive, plush leather recliners and heavy blankets. You intentionally hurried into the room first, claiming a cozy spot on one of the smaller couches next to Cisca, pulling a thick knit blanket all the way up to your chest. Lando entered a few moments later, his eyes instantly tracking your position. He looked tired, his hair messy, his posture slumped as he reluctantly took a seat across the room on a different sofa, next to his father.

The movie started, a tense, atmospheric psychological thriller that Flo had chosen. For the first hour, you tried your best to focus on the screen, but your mind kept drifting back to Lando. Every time you glanced subtly across the room, you found his eyes already fixed on you, burning through the darkness, completely ignoring the movie playing on the screen. He looked so incredibly small, so desperately miserable, that a tiny, stubborn part of your heart began to ache for him.

About halfway through the film, Cisca quietly stretched, yawning softly. "I’m going to go pop some more popcorn and grab a glass of water," she whispered to you, patting your knee as she stood up from the couch and slipped out of the dark room.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind her, you felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Before you could even blink, a shadow moved across the dim room. Lando didn't hesitate. The second his mother’s seat was vacant, he crossed the floor, his movements silent and determined. He slid onto the couch right next to you, his presence instantly overwhelming your senses, his familiar warmth radiating through the small gap between your bodies.

You instantly went rigid, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, turning your head away to stare fixedly at the movie screen.

"Y/N," Lando whispered, his voice dangerously low, a soft, raspy plea that was meant for your ears only, "Please. Can we talk? Just for a second. Please."

You didn't look at him. You kept your jaw clenched, your eyes fixed on the bright screen where the tension in the film was steadily building. "Not now, Lando," you whispered back, your tone sharp and final, "We’re watching a movie with your family. Leave it."

"I don't care about the movie," he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, desperate emotion, his body leaning closer to yours, his shoulder brushing against your own, "I can't take this anymore. You're completely freezing me out. Please, just look at me."

"I said not now," you repeated, your voice trembling slightly as you fought to maintain your wall of anger.

Before Lando could utter another word, the movie suddenly took a drastic, terrifying turn. The slow, atmospheric tension built to a sudden, deafening crescendo as a horrifying, jump-scare image flashed violently onto the screen, accompanied by a booming, screeching chord of music that echoed through the surround-sound speakers.

It caught you entirely off guard. You let out a sharp, involuntary gasp of pure terror, your instincts completely taking over before your brain could stop you.

Without thinking, you flinched violently away from the screen, burying your face directly into the crook of Lando’s neck, your hands flying out from beneath the blanket to grip his forearm with absolute, white-knuckled desperation. You pressed yourself entirely against his side, hiding from the terrifying image, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.

Lando didn't waste a single millisecond.

The moment your body collided with his, his arms locked around you like a vice. It was an instantaneous, primal reaction. He wrapped his powerful arms completely around your waist and shoulders, pulling you firmly into his lap, burying his face into your hair as he held you against his chest with a terrifying amount of strength, as if he were afraid that if he let go, you would vanish into thin air.

"I’ve got you," Lando breathed into your ear, his voice shaking, his hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie, squeezing you so tight you could feel the rapid, chaotic thumping of his own heart against your cheek, "I’ve got you, babe. It’s okay. I’m right here."

The sheer comfort of his touch, the familiar, intoxicating scent of him, and the absolute safety of his arms completely shattered the last remaining remnants of your anger. You didn't pull away. You stayed right there, curled up against his chest in the dark room, your fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt as the movie continued to play unnoticed in the background. Lando didn't loosen his grip for a single second, his hand slowly running up and down your back in a steady, protective rhythm, his lips pressed softly against the top of your head.

By the time the movie ended and the lights in the theater room clicked back on, you were still curled against Lando’s side, though you had subtly shifted so you weren't completely in his lap in front of his family. But Lando’s arm was still wrapped tightly around your shoulders, his fingers tangled firmly in your hair, completely refusing to let you move even an inch away from him.

Flo and Adam stood up, stretching, casting knowing, amused glances in your direction. Cisca entered the room a moment later, a satisfied, gentle smile playing on her lips as she saw the two of you finally tangled together again.

"Well, I’m heading to bed, darlings," Cisca said, walking over to press a kiss to the top of your head and then Lando’s, "Don't stay up too late. We have a big breakfast planned tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Mum," Lando murmured, his voice thick and tired, his arm tightening around you just a fraction more as the rest of his family slowly cleared out of the room, leaving the two of you entirely alone in the quiet, dim theater.

Once the door shut, leaving only the faint hum of the projector in the background, the silence returned, but the icy friction from earlier was gone, replaced instead by a heavy, raw vulnerability.

You slowly lifted your head from his shoulder, sitting up to look at him. Lando’s eyes were completely red, filled with an overwhelming, painful mix of exhaustion, guilt, and absolute adoration. He looked so incredibly fragile in that moment, stripped of the cocky, confident Formula 1 driver persona, leaving only the boy who loved you with everything he had.

"Can we talk now?" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the soft skin beneath your eye.

You let out a long, heavy sigh, your hand rising to rest over his wrist. "Yeah, Lando. We can talk."

"I am so incredibly sorry, Y/N," he broke out instantly, the words pouring from him in a frantic, desperate rush, as if he had been holding them back for centuries, "I haven't slept a single wink. I feel like absolute dirt. What I said last night... it was the stupidest, most thoughtless thing I’ve ever done. I was just trying to be funny, I was trying to banter with the boys, and my brain completely shut off. I didn't think about how it would affect you, and that makes me a horrible boyfriend."

He leaned closer, his forehead coming to rest gently against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "You are not a crazy fan, Y/N. You are the most beautiful, incredible, intelligent woman I have ever met in my entire life. You are my absolute equal in every single way, and honestly, I am the one who got lucky. I am the one who thanks God every single day that you chose to be with me. I completely diminished everything we have just for a cheap laugh, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I made you cry. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough."

A fresh tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, Lando’s thumb was there to catch it instantly, wiping it away with an agonizingly gentle touch.

"I just... I felt so small, Lando," you whispered, your voice cracking with the lingering pain of the insult, "When you said those things, it felt like you were telling everyone that our love story wasn't real. It made me feel like you looked down on me for ever being a fan of yours."

"Never," Lando swore fiercely, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away, "Never, Y/N. I love that you supported me before. But I love *you*. The real you. The girl who holds me when I have a bad qualifying session, the girl who makes me laugh until my stomach hurts, the girl I want to build a life with. You are my whole world, babe. Please believe me. I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you if I have to. Just please don't look at me the way you did today ever again. It completely broke me."

Looking at his tear-stained, utterly sincere face, you knew you couldn't hold onto the anger anymore. You loved him too deeply, and you knew his heart. He was foolish, and he had made a terrible mistake, but his love for you was the truest, most certain thing in your life.

"I forgive you, Lando," you whispered softly.

Lando let out a shaky, broken gasp, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief escaping his throat. Before you could say another word, his lips crashed onto yours. It was a desperate, passionate kiss, filled with all the unspoken apologies, the fear of losing you, and the sheer, overwhelming love he held in his chest. He pulled you entirely back into his lap, his hands gripping your waist tightly, deepening the kiss as if he were trying to pour his very soul into your body.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his soft curls, finally letting yourself sink completely into the warmth of his embrace. The hurt was gone, washed away by the absolute certainty of his devotion.

The next morning, a bright, golden sunshine broke through the Somerset clouds, flooding the house with warmth. But inside your bedroom, the world was entirely still.

True to his word, Lando did not let you go for a single second.

When you finally opened your eyes, you found yourself completely pinned beneath him. Lando was lying half on top of you, his heavy leg thrown over your thighs, his face buried deep into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped securely around your waist like a security blanket. The moment he felt you stir, his grip tightened instantly, a low, sleepy rumble vibrating against your skin.

"Morning," you whispered, a bright, happy smile finally returning to your face as you ran a hand down his bare back.

Lando didn't answer with words. He simply lifted his head, his eyes half-closed, heavy with sleep, and immediately pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. Then, he kissed your jaw. Then, the sensitive skin of your neck, making you giggle softly as his curls tickled your chin.

"Don't move," he mumbled against your skin, his voice deep and raspy from sleep, "You're not allowed to leave this bed today. I’m keeping you right here."

"Lando, your mum is making a massive breakfast downstairs," you laughed, trying to shift slightly, but he immediately groaned, burying his face back into your neck and squeezing you tighter.

"I don't care about breakfast," he grumbled, his lips brushing against your pulse point, "I spent the last twenty-four hours not being allowed to touch you, and it was the worst experience of my entire life. I am making up for lost time. You are stuck with me."

True to his declaration, the rest of the day became a masterclass in absolute, suffocating affection.

When the two of you finally made it downstairs for breakfast, Lando didn't leave a single inch of space between you. He sat right next to you, his thigh pressed firmly against yours under the table, his hand resting flat on your thigh, his thumb constantly moving. Every time you reached for a glass of juice or a piece of toast, Lando would lean over, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to your shoulder, your cheek, or your temple, completely unbothered by the amused, teasing smirks from Flo and his parents.

"Lando, for goodness' sake, let the poor girl breathe," Adam joked, shaking his head as Lando literally fed you a piece of his own bacon, "She’s not going to run away."

"Not taking any chances," Lando replied completely seriously, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you even closer to his side, his eyes fixed on you with a look of pure, unyielding adoration, "She’s stuck with me forever. I’m never letting her go."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, looking up at him with a bright, radiant smile that completely cleared away any remaining shadows of doubt. You knew who you were. You knew what you shared. You weren't just a fan who got lucky, you were the center of Lando Norris’s entire universe, and as he leaned down to press another soft, lingering kiss to your lips, you knew that nothing in the world could ever change that.

tiretrashdiaries

Until You Wake | LN1 x OC

Summary: Aurelia got into a terrible accident and Lando tried holding onto the pieces of his world while it fell apart around him.

lia’s note: this story was in my drafts for a while. wanted to write light-hearted lando fics before dropping this one. to enhance the reading experience, play the songs that were stated in the story. enjoy! ♡

Warnings: none, just sadness.

Ratings: NC-16 for the cursing

Word count: 5.2k

Act I

Lando met someone four years ago. Her name is Aurelia Sinclair and she is the best thing that ever happened to him. They bonded easily over their love of trashy reality-TV shows. Lando remembered their first date. They were at a fancy restaurant he picked and she was slightly fidgeting with her dress.

She has never been to a fancy restaurant (or has anything fancy) before but for some reason, Lando’s presence calms her down—even for a first date. They talked easily over wine and the next thing they knew, they woke up the next day beside each other in his penthouse.

He had his arms wrapped around her as she fell asleep on his chest, listening intently to the sound of his beating heart. As they both woke up, Lando naturally made breakfast for her as though they have been together for months or years.

As they sat on his kitchen island sipping coffee and talking about their lives, Lando found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with her. Aurelia found herself laughing harder at his jokes than she has ever done in her entire life.

Loving her is easy. Loving him is easier. They’re now twenty-six, completely in love. They rarely fight and yell at each other. They disagree about everything from what movie to watch to whether pineapple belongs on pizza, but somehow they always end up tangled together on the couch before bed. Lando has never had a relationship this perfect. Neither did she.

It all sounds too perfect. Too good to be true.

Because it is.

—

Lando’s feet padded against the floor of the Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco. His heart was racing as he clutched the bouquet of flowers. His hair was tousled messily with bags under his eyes.

Accident. Car. Bad condition.

That was all he could process when the Emergency Physician called him. They have each other as emergency contacts and Lando nearly dropped his phone hearing the news. They were supposed to go to Switzerland tomorrow for his off-season. But then here they are.

Lando could barely process what the nurse told him at the counter. Something about operation and ICU. He could barely process his own thoughts. He talked to the doctor who took her case, Dr Montague, and she explained to him what happened.

Aurelia was a pedestrian. A McLaren Artura hit her when that driver tried beating a red light. She flew 30m. She is now in critical condition. At surgery.

Lando’s breath hitched. Covering his mouth, he sank down to the floor, sobbing. A McLaren. Aurelia. His heart is broken into a million pieces. The bouquet in his hands fell beside him as the flowers tumbled out.

Dr Montague crouched down to the floor beside him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything but simply held him. She has seen the best and worst for everyone.

And for Lando? This is the worst day of his life.

—

When Lando stepped into the ICU, he could feel the dread coming from this place. The sickest patients in the hospital are here and Aurelia is one of them. As he approached her room, he hesitated before entering. He’s not sure if he wants to see her this way. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

He froze when he saw her.

Aurelia is a strong woman. She is intelligent, beautiful, and extremely kind. He doesn’t recognise the woman in the hospital bed. A breathing tube was sticking out of her throat. Casts wrapped around her arms and legs. Her face bruised up from the impact.

She looked small.

Lando quietly walked up to her, his hands shaking as he reached out for her hand. They were cold. His hand shakily took hers and the moment he wrapped it around his fingers, he sank to the chair by her beside, breaking apart quietly.

They said she’s in a medically induced coma because if they were to take her off of it…

Lando couldn’t think straight. Could barely open his eyes, refusing to acknowledge that this is his reality now. He gently opened his eyes and a sob broke out.

With trembling fingers, he gently brushed her hair back. His fingers lingered on her cheekbone of her once flawless skin. Bruises littered everywhere.

That McLaren driver took away the love of his life. That driver will pay for it.

The anger went away quickly when he took her in again. He leaned his forehead against her temple and sobbed quietly.

“My love…I’m here.” He whispered shakily, smelling the shampoo on her hair mixed with a hint of disinfectant.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swore, holding her hand tight as he kissed her knuckles gently.

–

Act II

Aurelia doesn’t have any family. It’s just her and Lando. And his family. His mum and dad love her so much. When Lando brought Aurelia home for his niece’s baby shower, his family welcomed her with open arms.

Aurelia bonded easily with his family. When she held little Lily in her arms, Lando couldn’t help but imagine it to be their baby someday. He went up to them and he gently booped baby Lily’s nose. She squealed softly and the two of them melted.

Without knowing, Cisca, his mum, took a photo of the three of them. It is now a framed photograph at their home. Lando loves looking at it every time he walks past it. A swell of love and excitement surge through him when he imagines that as their future.

Lando woke up.

His warm hand still clasped gently around her cold ones. He blinked awake as reality came crashing down.

He looked at her.

“Hey, bunny,” he whispered hoarsely, gently rubbing her bruised cheekbone. She didn’t reply. Lando’s grip tightened. Silent tears flowed down his cheeks as he gripped onto the shards of his world.

The nurses gave Lando some snacks and food because he’s been sitting on that plastic chair for over two days. His parents are flying into Monaco from Bristol today. He called them and his mum cried over the phone.

He even called Zak, his CEO to inform him that he won’t be around for the next few races. Zak said:

“Family comes first. We will release a statement. Praying the best for you and her.”

Good man.

Dr Montague came by in the morning, updating Lando on her bloodwork and CT scans. Dr Montague said she is doing better than expected. She will need to be in this medically induced coma for another week before they can take her off it.

However, she may or may not wake up from the coma.

It is entirely up to her.

Lando bowed his head, clutching her hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re a fighter, my love. I believe in you. Please…please my love…come back to me,” he begged, placing their clasped hands against his forehead.

He began praying to God. He rarely went to Church and only celebrated the occasional Easter. He began praying desperately, begging Him to give him back his world.

—

When his mum and dad arrived at the ICU, Lando barely processed it. His mum choked out a sob as she ran to Aurelia, gently cradling her face.

“Oh my sweet girl…who did this to you?” Cisca cried, kissing Aurelia’s temple as her tears landed on the hospital bed. His dad gently held Aurelia’s hand as he stared at her. He looked grim.

“That McLaren driver is in custody of the police,” Lando muttered quietly, jaw clenching. “He was under the influence of alcohol.”

Cisca gasped.

Lando kept quiet, holding Aurelia’s hand protectively. He swore on everything he has that he will get justice for her. He will make that drunkard bastard suffer.

“I’ve contacted my lawyers,” Lando added quietly.

“He will pay.”

“Good.” His parents said in unison.

Good.

–

Cisca finally got Lando to leave the ICU for just a few hours. She told him he needed to go home, take a shower, and sleep.

“Lando…Aurelia will not be happy to see you breaking apart like this,” Cisca cried softly, hugging her son. Lando wept into her shoulder, tears soaking her blouse. He still cannot believe this is his reality now. Aurelia on the hospital bed, tied up with all those tubes, and him—racked with guilt.

The truth is, Lando was supposed to pick her up that day. He couldn’t because he had a sim session. And now, his world is broken into tiny pieces. Just like his heart. He couldn’t take this. Nothing else matters. Not his Title, or sponsors, or F1. She is his world. Entirely his past, present, and future.

Lando nodded quietly, agreeing with his mother’s sentiments.

“I’ll go home. Shower, sleep. Just a few hours, okay? Will you…stay here with her, please?” Lando asked softly to Cisca. She nodded instantly.

“Of course, Lando. Your dad and I will stay here with her. We will call you if anything changes.” Lando’s shoulders dropped a fraction.

–

The moment Lando stepped foot in their apartment, he felt the shift in the air. It was silent. The air was still as he walked through the threshold. Her shoes are still waiting by the door, an unwashed cup is still in the sink. It’s hers. She had been rushing out of the house after drinking her coffee. He glanced at their pictures on the wall. Them in Boracay, New Zealand, Hawaii, and the baby shower photo.

He choked out a silent sob.

Gently picking up the picture frame, he sank to the floor on his knees, tears brimming in his eyes. They looked so happy in the photo. She was in the beautiful pink sundress that Lando loves on her. It makes her hazel eyes bright. Her dark hair was falling past her shoulders like a black waterfall and she had the most beautiful smile.

His grip on the frame turned knuckle-white. He stared at the photo as soft tears landed on it silently. His biggest fear has been realised.

What if he loses her?

What if…she doesn’t wake up?

He pressed the frame into his chest as he rocked, cradling onto that beautiful memory as it burned through his mind. He shut his eyes—picturing the scene. Aurelia, radiant under the sun, cradling Lily. Lando, eyes crinkling in happiness as he booped his goddaughter while watching the woman he loves. His dimples showing as Aurelia kissed his cheek gently, equally loving the scene.

Without noticing, he has laid down completely on the floor, falling asleep with that beautiful memory.

–

Aurelia is a Trauma Nurse at Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco. She’s been working there for over five years now. She enjoyed her job. The sheer adrenaline you get when the whole team is actively trying to save a person’s life, when the patient has been successfully resuscitated and sent up to the Operating Theatre or the ICU. She really enjoyed it.

It has dark moments too—as it naturally does. When she has lost one too many patients in her career, she often sits down on the stoop right outside her trauma bay and stares at nothing. Lando once saw her staring at one spot for almost thirty minutes—catatonic. He had to gently guide her back to his car, send them home and run a bath for her. As Lando gently scrubs the dried blood from her hands, he will mutter soft words to her:

“I’ll always be here, bunny.”

“You can talk to me any time. No pressure.”

“I love you so much, my love.”

As Lando’s words hit her, her expression shifts subtly. She’s coming back. She sighed softly into his touch as he gently shampooed her hair. Lando had a tough day himself. The simulator he ran for Bahrain did not go very well. There were issues with sponsors too.

But when you have a girlfriend who is a Trauma Nurse and actually saw a person die—which you then scrub the blood off, it really puts things into perspective.

Lando gently dried her with a towel and blew dry her hair methodically. Her expression has since shifted entirely. She’s more unguarded now—more her. Lando smiled softly at her as he blew dry her hair. He placed a gentle kiss at the top of her head—savoring her presence.

“I’m thinking of getting pizza tonight,” Lando said softly, gently brushing her hair. Aurelia’s eyes lit up entirely. She nodded vigorously to that idea. Lando chuckled softly. He loves how much of a sucker she is for pizza.

–

Lando woke up on the cold floor of their apartment. His hands still gripped onto the photo frame as though it was a safety blanket. As reality sank in, Lando sighed quietly—closing his eyes for just a moment. He never wanted to leave the memories. He slowly stood up, placed the photo back to where it belonged and went to the bathroom.

As the hot water hit his skin, he exhaled. It helps with the tension—but it doesn’t erase the fact that Aurelia is not here. They’ll often shower together, gently kiss each other under the running water, shampoo each others’ hairs and laugh when Lando makes a beard out of the foam.

He closed his eyes—embracing those memories. As he soaked in the memory, silent tears slipped past his eyes. He faced the water and let it wash away the pain.

As he got dressed in their room, he looked at her side of the bed. Her stuffed pink teddy bear, Dolce, was seated there. Dolce was her childhood teddy and it’s been with her everywhere—even when she travels. After getting dressed, Lando picked Dolce up.

She would want to wake up holding it.

Act III

Lando gently places Dolce in the crook of her arms at the ICU. He looked at her. She’s still so small, it tugs his heart to see her hooked up to all the lines and machines. He slowly sank down to the plastic chair by her bed and paid vigil. His mum and dad are back at Lando and Aurelia’s apartment, resting. He gently held her hand and kissed each knuckle and finger tenderly.

“Bunny, I’m here.” He rasped out softly, placing her hand against his cheek.

No reply.

His breath shuddered as he moved their clasped hands to his forehead, praying again.

Please bring her back to me. Please.

He fell asleep again on her bedside. His head bowed as he held onto his world.

—

Three Days Later

Lando’s lawyer, Mitchell contacted him and asked if they would want to pursue the case.

“Absolutely. I want to see justice served,” Lando said quietly outside the ICU, running his hand through his curls. Mitchell nodded once.

“Very well.” Mitchell asked professionally. Lando nodded once, ending the call. Cisca, who was standing nearby, asked Lando about the call.

“Mitchell, my lawyer, will coordinate with the prosecutor. We will pursue a civil suit at the same time as the criminal case,” Lando said quietly, anger radiating from him. Cisca nodded firmly, sighing softly.

“Dr Montague said that they’re taking her off the medically induced coma tomorrow,” Lando said softly, fidgeting with his hands.

“She can choose whether or not to wake up,” Lando added, rubbing his face once. Cisca pressed her lips together, trying to remain calm.

“Have faith in her, love. She’ll wake up.” Cisca whispered softly, hugging her son. He is all cried out. His phone has been blowing up the past few days when the world found out about Aurelia’s accident.

Everyone is angry for her and is in support of his brilliant girl. She doesn’t deserve this. There’s even a petition online to put that McLaren driver who hit her behind bars.

When they reached her bedside, a physiotherapist was doing small exercises for Aurelia, ensuring she keeps her muscle tone and mobility whilst in the coma. Lando appreciates all of the healthcare workers that are looking after her. Her colleagues from the Emergency Room came by multiple times, sending prayers and love for her.

Her ICU room looked like a little botanical garden. Bouquets lined her room, bringing colour into the sterile white ICU walls. His heart squeezed at the thought of how much lives Aurelia has touched. He gently held her hand and kissed it softly.

“I know you can hear me. I read up that people in a coma could hear,” he began softly, clutching her hand tight. “Aurelia…please come back. Come back to us. Come…come back to me,” he cried softly, kissing her temples gently. The bruises on her face are healing but he can’t help but trace it gently. Her once flawless skin is now marred by that fucker.

—

The Next Day

Lando slept overnight. He always has this past week. He only went home to shower and take a five hour nap that will make him dream about their past. He was still holding onto her hand, Dolce still in the crook of her arm. She looked…serene. Lando’s breath hitched softly, gently rubbing her cheek.

“Good morning, bunny,” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He kissed her eyelids and just looked at her. He has been praying daily, praying for her to wake up, praying for them to be together again.

He misses her laughter, how her nose scrunches up like a bunny when something really tickles her. He misses how intelligent she is, teaching him basic trauma protocols that he absorbed with ease. He misses how she held his hand easily as they walked through the paddock, how she loves Formula 1 as much as he does, and how they discuss race strategies for fun at 12am.

“I know you’re in there, my love. Please come back. Please…I want eternity with you,” he whispered, brushing her hair back gently.

—

Dr Montague explained everything to Lando calmly.

“Once we take her off the breathing tube and sedation, she will not wake up immediately,” she spoke gently, as Lando’s breath hitched.

“She will take a few hours, maybe days. We will be monitoring her vital signs routinely and it should flag up anything abnormal.” Lando nodded quietly, absorbing this.

“We will also be doing an ECG to check her heart rhythm the moment we take her out of the coma. We have a few tests for her to ensure that she is still with us.” Dr Montague explained softly, placing a hand on Lando’s shoulder as a show of support.

Lando took a deep breath and nodded once.

“I understand.”

Cisca, Adam, and Lando were in the room when they did it. Lando’s breath hitched when they gently removed the breathing tube out of her mouth and turned off the infusion pump that was pumping the sedation medication.

For a while, silence.

And now?

They wait.

Act IV

Lando brought a small speaker into her room and softly played her favourite band, ‘Against The Current.’ She loves their music, she appreciates 80s rock and 2000s pop rock. Lando and her don’t share the same music tastes but they appreciate each others’ tastes. He began playing ‘Strangers Again.’ As the song played, he gently brushed her hair and braided it.

This is what he has been doing for the past three days. Staying beside her, reading her favourite books to her, playing music, talking to her about everything. What he ate that day, what he saw, anything at all. He knows she can hear him. And he wants her to know that he will never leave.

McLaren sent her a huge bouquet. Zak Brown came by, greeting her and Lando, paying respects. Oscar and Lily, Max and Pietra. Everyone that knew her well came by and greeted her. Lily couldn’t stop crying and talked to Aurelia about a new book she’s reading.

“You will really love it, Aure. The story is amazing,” she whispered softly, dabbing her eyes. Oscar gently touched Lily’s shoulder as she cried—hugging her motionless friend tight. Oscar looked at Lando.

“You two don’t deserve this,” the Australian said quietly, looking at his friend. Lando ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“How are you holding up?” Oscar asked quietly. Lando looked at him.

“I know you’re not doing well, but I need to know what’s going through your mind.” Oscar added quickly.

“I miss her. So much, Osc,” Lando whispered softly.

“I just…I want to hold her, talk to her. I miss her voice,” his voice broke, as he rubbed his face roughly. Oscar exhaled and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“She’ll come back, mate. We know she will.”

—

The Next Day

Lando was eating lunch at Aurelia’s bedside as usual. He barely tasted it–just eating it mechanically. The speaker was playing ‘Disenchanted’ by My Chemical Romance. Lando remembered the day Aurelia played this song at their apartment. She said it reminded her of her nursing school days, how hard it was and how this song helped her heal. Tears brimmed in Lando’s eyes as he listened to it, shovelling food quietly.

The song is fitting to their situation. Lando hated that. He sighed quietly, watching her sleeping figure.

Her tests have been good, so why is she still sleeping?

Does she not want to come back?

Before Lando could continue his thoughts, his gaze fell upon the window, where a monarch butterfly was sitting at the window sill. Its beautiful orange wings made Lando’s breath hitch. Aurelia loves monarch butterflies. Lando went to it. He stared at the butterfly for a long time, memories of Aurelia and him at the park, enjoying a picnic and the sun washed in.

He closed his eyes–relishing in the memories. They often go to the park to have picnics. Aurelia in a beautiful sundress or linen shorts and shirt as they ate sandwiches they made together. Lando smiled sadly, thinking about how messy the kitchen always gets when they cook together. Aurelia is the clean freak and Lando loves making a mess—which will make her yell at him. She doesn’t yell mean-spiritedly. They’re often followed up with a laugh as she cleans up after him–gently hitting him with the rag.

Behind him, Aurelia’s eyes fluttered open softly.

She frowned–taking in her environment. Hospital. “Disenchanted’ playing softly. Dolce in her arm. Her arms and legs are in casts. It hurts. She winced silently as she turned head—gaze falling on Lando at the window.

“Lan?”

–

She spoke softly, voice hoarse from disuse. Lando’s gaze snapped open as he turned sharply to the sound of her voice. He stared at her in disbelief before running to her bedside. He hugged her tight.

“My love…” He whispered, crying into her shoulder. Aurelia frowned, hugging him tightly–unsure what was going on.

“Baby, what happened to me?” She asked softly, voice croaking. Lando quickly gave her water. As she sipped on it, Lando gently brushed her hair back, still not believing his eyes. He pressed gentle kisses on her temple as tears flowed freely.

With a shaking voice, Lando told her what happened. Aurelia listened intently—face morphing from confusion to horror. She took him in. His hair is messy, eyes wrecked—dark circles under his eyes. She gently placed her hand on his jaw where his facial hair was growing messily. She choked out a sob.

“I’m sorry…” She cried out—hugging him tight. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“No…no please don’t apologise, bunny. Please.” Lando begged—gripping her tight as his tears soaked her hospital gown.

They leaned against each others’ foreheads, breathing in. Lando’s tears soaked her cheeks as he breathed in her breath. The nurses did daily oral care for her so it smells like the solution. He didn’t mind it—his world came back and he would do anything in his power to protect her.

“I love you so much…too much…” He whispered, pressing his face against her hair—breathing her in. Aurelia’s breath hitched, as tears flowed freely.

“I love you so much baby…” She whispered—crying into the crook of his shoulder.

His grip on her was desperate, clinging—praying to God that this wasn’t a dream. He blinked his eyes open and looked at Aurelia. He smiled softly at her as tears brimmed in his eyes.

She’s here.

She came home.

Act V

One Year Later.

Aurelia gently brushed her hair out, twisting it into a low bun. As she applied her lipstick, she looked at herself in the mirror. Sometimes it irks her how different she looks. The accident didn’t change her physically—only mentally. She decided to quit her job at Princess Grace, and Lando practically retired her entirely. He told her that if she wants to go back to nursing, or do anything else—she is free to do so and that he will be there for her.

The McLaren driver who hit her is now serving 20 years in prison. The civil suit gave her €2 million, and additionally, he had to pay for every rehabilitation and hospital check ups she had. Lando was there with her for every single session. Aurelia’s rehab took six months. Lando took a break from racing for those six months. McLaren still pays his basic salaries—just no race bonuses.

Ever since the accident, she is more…cautious. She will check the traffic at least 5 times before crossing. If there’s the ‘green man’, she will wait for all the vehicles to stop before walking—and while she walks, she will look at the traffic. Her seatbelt is always on. Lando has completely stopped driving faster than 100km/h if she’s inside.

Lando has even asked her to share her location the moment she leaves the house to go anywhere without him. He doesn’t stalk her—just keeps the notifications on and she will text him the second she reaches the place. When they walk on the street, he’ll walk on the outside. These little things add up and Aurelia didn’t mind him being more protective now.

She understands.

Knock knock.

Lando gently opened the door to their room—looking at her. His breath catches, taking her in. She’s in a beautiful silver dress that accentuated her figure. He smiled softly at her.

“You look magnificent,” He whispered adoringly, snaking a hand around her waist as he gently kissed her. Aurelia smiled softly—adjusting his lapel.

“You look handsome, baby,” She whispered, kissing his cheeks. Lando blushed slightly, still not used to her compliments.

Today is the day of their anniversary. Their fourth one. Lando has booked a dinner at an Italian restaurant that they both love. It’s near the harbour. As he handed her a bouquet of lily of the valley—Aurelia smiled brightly. She loves them so much. She kissed him gently—hands tracing his jaw.

“Thank you, my love. They’re perfect,” she whispered against his lips. Lando smiled softly.

—

As they sat down at the restaurant, Aurelia couldn’t help but notice how fidgety Lando was. He’s nervous about something. Before she could ask anything—the waiter came by with the wine menu. Lando ordered it easily. As they flipped through the mains menu—Lando fixed his lapel for the 5th time. Aurelia kept quiet, not wanting to ask him much. She’ll just ask after dinner.

Lando could see how Aurelia is observing him. Trauma nurse things. She may be retired—but her observational skills are always for life. He sighed quietly, praying to God that she couldn’t see the little box in his pocket. Aurelia wanted to eat the truffle risotto. Lando smiled at her words—glad that she’s not bringing anything up.

The moment the waiter came by with their food, they began eating. Aurelia was so hungry but she even offered Lando a bite. He swallowed thickly and leaned forward—eating out of the spoon in her hand. He ran his hand through his hair for the 8th time and nodded appreciatively.

“It’s really good,” he said softly, voice slightly strained. Aurelia’s eyebrows raised at his tone but shrugged it off.

“It really is,” she smiled easily, sipping on her wine.

They began updating each other on their weeks. Lando is having his off season now—so he’s been at the simulator. Aurelia has been reading poetry recently. She found a new author and she introduced them to Lando. Lando smiled softly—glad that she is doing something she loves. Ever since retiring her, Lando feels at ease knowing that she will never go through the ‘stoop’ situation again.

She deserves everything good that the world has to offer. He wants to show her that the world is more than just trauma nursing and traumatic post-shift stoop life. He smiled gently at her—taking a deep breath.

It’s time.

–

As the dessert menu came by, Lando fixed his collar once more. Aurelia’s attention was diverted to the menu as she looked at the crème brûlée options. Lando cleared his throat gently.

“Bunny?” He said softly—looking at her. Aurelia looked up from her menu.

“Yea?”

Lando swallowed.

“A year ago I almost lost the world,’ he began quietly—eyes looking at her. “I gripped onto your hand every single day and did not want to let go. You have always meant everything to me but when I heard the news—it solidified it. I never wanted to leave your side. Even if you were in a coma for three or fuck—ten years—I’ll stay.” Lando said softly, tears brimming. Aurelia covered her mouth.

“I love you so much that I was willing to let you go if you wanted to. But, you came back. You came back to us. To me. You are the most intelligent person I know. The most empathetic, loving, everything. You are my world, Aurelia. And I will never take you for granted. I will spend eternity proving to you how much I love and cherish you,” he added quietly as a tear slipped out of his eye.

Standing up—he kneeled down on one knee beside her. Aurelia gasped softly. Lando reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny box.

A ring.

“Aurelia Sinclair, will you marry me and live the rest of our lives together?”

Aurelia laughed softly.

“Yes, Lando Norris. I’ll marry you.”

–

The two of them walked by the harbour after dinner. Aurelia’s ring catching the light of the full moon. It’s a solid 4 carat solitaire diamond. Classy, and perfect—just as she likes it. She can’t stop staring at it.

“It’s really perfect,” she smiled brightly to her fiancé. Lando chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head.

“It really suits you. I know you wouldn’t want anything more than a 4 carat,” he said simply, knowing her style. Aurelia chuckled softly, knowing what he’s talking about.

They stopped at a bench and sat down. The Monaco breeze gently hit them as they held each other gently. Aurelia looked up at Lando and gently kissed his jaw. Lando looked down—smiling gently at his world. He traced her jaw gently, looking into her eyes. They’re so full of love.

As they kissed, they exhaled softly. He’s perfect for her and so is she for him.

As he kissed her, Lando knew one thing.

He will love her in this lifetime and all the other lifetimes they will have.

He will find her in every reincarnation and he will cherish her forever.

Because what they have is eternal.

-final author’s note-

hi, did anyone cry? because i did. writing this was so visceral for me—i thoroughly enjoyed writing it whilst blasting ‘Disenchanted’ on loop. also—i almost wanted to kill her off but my heart couldn’t take it! send help fr. anyway, i hope everyone enjoyed the story! stay safe and enjoy life!

- love, lia ♡

dreamauri

— ᨳଓ . SIGNS OF YOU 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

FIC SUMMARY ⋆˚꩜｡ ( lando norris x deaf!fem!reader ) ( 1.7k wc ) ⤷ Lando is immediately hooked after a brief, flirty encounter at a Monaco party with a beautiful stranger who can't seem to keep her eyes off his lips. What he mistakes for coy, mysterious eye contact turns out to be something much more meaningful, setting off a sweet journey of learning how to communicate in a whole new way.

WARNINGS: ⤷ fluff and romance, meet-cute / coincidence trope, deaf reader / lip-reading, sweet/whipped lando norris, language barriers, learning sign language (bsl & fsl), disability representation (deafness/hearing aids), emotional sweetness, zero angst bc why would i do that?

REQUESTED! ⤷ this fic was requested by annon, see request here

( my m. list | more of LN1 ) ( requests )

The party was already halfway to wild when Lando arrived, music pulsing through the walls like a second heartbeat, voices echoing off marble and glass. Monaco knew how to throw a party, and his friends knew how to fill it with beautiful strangers.

He wasn’t expecting anything. Just a few drinks, a few laughs. Maybe a bit of dancing if the night got loud enough. He wasn’t looking. But she—you—were impossible to miss.

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