yess letss get a part 2 to before we forget lovedddd
i’m glad you loved before we forget ! ❤︎ it was really spontaneous idea, to be honest. I was listening to ‘rather be’ and was like ohhh, this got some potential.. i’m not sure if there’s gonna be part two. If you have ideas feel free to share with me ! 🫶🏻
IN WHICH you and lando chose to write songs about each other instead of sorting things out. ✉️contains singer! lando & singer! reader. angst. basically au where reader is tate and lando is laroi.
liked by user1, user2 and others
hollygossips BREAKING ‼️ It looks like our favorite pop star duo, Y/n Y/l/n and Lando Norris, have officially called it quits 💔 Rumors exploded after the two unfollowed each other on social media, with Y/n even throwing a little shade in a sarcastic comment about Lando. The pair had been together for almost three years after dropping their hit “I Know Love” in July 2023.
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user1 not my parents 😔😩
user2 love is dead
user3 they said ‘i know love’ and then forgot it
user4 who unfollowed who first tho??
user5 i think y/n unfollowed lando first ! :)
♫ landonorris • A COLD PLAY (original audio)
liked by justinbieber, sombr, khalid and others
landonorris from me to you, A COLD PLAY
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user6 hey so this is insane
user7 this one’s been on my playlist nonstop lately
user8 is this about y/n 😭?
user9 it definitely is lmao user10 oh it’s definitely over user11 the lyric 😭 boy wants to fight user12 so they in fact did not ended up on good terms
♫ ynln • TIT FOR TAT (original audio)
liked by oliviarodrigo, zaralarsson, troyesivan and others
ynln fix your fucking self 💋
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user13 ATE.
troyesivan 😍😍😍😍
user14 answer to a cold play????
user15 100% ! user16 this is way better than cold play oml
user17 “fix your fucking self, kiss my ass for that” lmao i know a diva when i see one
user18 MOTHERRRRR
liked by user19, user20 and others
hollygossips it’s getting heated between Lando and Y/n. Norris dropped ‘A COLD PLAY’ just weeks after unfollowing Y/n, and fans are convinced the lyrics are NOT a coincidence 👀 Then Y/n clapped back with ‘TIT FOR TAT’… and let’s just say, she didn’t hold back.
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user21 nah the timing of both songs is actually insane… they’re definitely talking through lyrics
user22 i mean it’s obvious
user23 i need the whole story of what actually happened but the songs are also cool ig
user24 y/n’s response was PERSONAL. no denial, no mercy
user25 this is what happens when two singers date each other 😭
♫ landonorris • RATHER BE (original audio)
liked by oscarpiastri, sombr, maxfewtrell and others
landonorris ‘rather be’ out now :)
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user26 he has argument for everything 🙄
user27 “cause i’m over us being messy” and who set that system up sir? 😭😭
user28 lmao fr bcs what do you mean by “I’m begging you, baby, text me” user29 first he tells her he can’t fix her and then he’s begging her to text him? 😭is he bipolar lol
user29 lando pls log off and heal 😭
user30 y/n said tit for tat and lando said ‘oh it’s like that?’ 💀
user31 he heard her response and immediately went back to the studio user32 knowing him, he probably did lmaooooo
♫ ynln • NOBODY’S GIRL (original audio)
liked by oliviarodrigo, jurajslafkovsky, macklincelebrini and others
ynln u miss ur bestie but i’m nobody’s girl!
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user33 using his lyrics is wild 😭😭
user34 i started CHOKING on my water
user35 anything but talking things out 😭
user36 honestly iconic user37 anything but telling us what happened omg
user38 this is the most expensive breakup ever documented
user39 someone check on Lando because this is brutal 😭
♫ landonorris • MAYBE I’M WRONG (original audio)
liked by theweeknd, badbunny, oscarpiastri and others
landonorris maybe i’m wrong and maybe you’re right.
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user40 i fear this is not a petty little disstrack anymore
user41 i’m literally bawling my eyes out cuz I didn’t expect THIS user42 i wanna remind y’all he literally started thiss😭😭
user43 this is the first time I believe both sides are hurting
user44 ‘can't have each other, but still got these songs’ I’M CRYING CUZ WTF? 🫠
user45 this is not music this is a voicemail he should’ve sent instead 😭
user46 someone check on him… this is actually sad
user47 HE SOUNDS GENUINELY BROKEN WHAT HAPPENED
♫ ynln • MEANS I CARE (original audio)
liked by landonorris, willsmith, oliviarodrigo and others
ynln you’re wrong, i care :)
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user48 LANDO. LIKED. THIS.
user49 I KNOW I’M SICKKKK user50 I NEED THEM TO TALK user51 also the caption?? I think she heard maybe I’m wrong 😭
user52 they are literally saying ‘I love you’ in opposite languages
user53 she’s acting tough but the lyrics are screaming attachment issues 😩
user54 they both still love each other and it’s painful to watch
user55 ONE conversation. that’s all it takes.
user56 this is toxic but also… kind of poetic??
user57 this is the healthiest most unhealthy relationship I’ve ever witness lmao
user58 this is giving two people who still love each other but refuse to say it properly
IN WHICH baking with your boyfriend lando! ✉️ contains girlfriend! reader. established relationship. pet names. fluff. 1.5k words.
The kitchen smells faintly like vanilla and something… suspiciously burnt even though you barely started.
You stare down at the recipe on your phone, then at the bowl in front of you, then back at the recipe again like it might magically start making sense.
“This is not that hard,” you mumble to yourself. “People bake cookies all the time.”
From behind you, a voice answers, far too confident for someone who hasn’t contributed anything yet.
“Exactly. Which is why you should just relax, love.”
You don’t even need to turn around to know it’s your dearest boyfriend Lando. You can hear the smile in his voice.
You finally glance over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I should relax? That’s your expert advice?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, pushing himself off the doorframe and wandering into the kitchen like he owns it. “You’re overthinking it.”
“I’m following a recipe, Lando.”
“Same thing.”
You huff, turning back to the counter. “No. No, it’s not. Baking is precise. It’s like—science.”
He leans beside you, peering into the bowl with mild interest. “Looks fine to me.”
“It’s not fine. I think I added too much flour.”
“How much is too much?”
“I don’t know, more than it said!”
He nods like that means absolutely nothing to him. “Or maybe it’s exactly the right amount and you’re just doubting yourself.”
You narrow your eyes. “You literally told me earlier to ‘just eyeball it.’”
“And I stand by that.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “You cannot eyeball baking!”
He grins. “Watch me.”
Before you can stop him, he reaches for the flour bag, scooping up a completely unmeasured amount and tipping it straight into the bowl.
“Lando!”
“What?” he laughs, completely unfazed. “It needed more.”
“You don’t know that!”
“It looked like it did.”
You stare at the bowl like it’s personally betrayed you. “You’ve just ruined it.”
“I’ve improved it.”
“You’ve absolutely not improved it.”
He nudges you lightly with his elbow. “You won’t know until you try.”
You cross your arms, pretending to be annoyed, but it’s hard when he’s looking at you like that—bright-eyed, amused, completely convinced he’s right.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yet you love me.”
You try not to smile. You really do.
“…Debatable.”
“Rude,” he says, though he’s clearly not offended.
You sigh, grabbing the spoon again and attempting to mix whatever disaster he’s just created. The dough is thicker now—too thick, probably—but at this point, you’re committed.
“Okay,” you mutter, stirring. “If this turns out terrible, I’m blaming you.”
“That’s fine,” he says easily. “I’ll still eat them.”
You glance at him. “Even if they’re bad?”
He shrugs. “Especially if they’re bad.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth blooming in your chest anyway.
You keep mixing, focused, until you feel his presence shift closer. His arm brushes against yours, then stays there.
You pause. “…What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You’re not doing anything.”
“I’m moral support.”
“You’re in my way.”
He leans in even more. “You like me in your way.”
You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re so annoying.”
“I know love,” he murmurs, close enough now that you can feel his breath near your ear, “you love it.”
Your stomach flips, just a little.
You try to ignore it. “Can you at least grab the chocolate chips?”
“On it.”
He moves away, and you exhale like you didn’t just forget how to think for a second.
A moment later, he returns, already opening the bag. “How many?”
“It says—” you check your phone quickly, “—one cup.”
He pauses.
Then pours in… definitely more than a cup.
“Lando!”
“What?”
“That was not one cup.”
“Close enough.”
You stare at the bowl, then at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
He grins. “Maybe.”
You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Unbelievable.”
“Admit it,” he says, leaning against the counter again, “this is more fun than following the recipe.”
You hesitate.
Because… he’s not wrong.
The kitchen is a mess. There’s flour dusted across the counter, a bit on your hands, probably on your face. The recipe is definitely no longer being followed.
But you’re smiling.
“…Maybe,” you admit.
“Exactly.”
You scoop out a bit of dough, placing it onto the tray. “If these taste awful, I’m never letting you help again.”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
You glance at him, suspicious. “Why are you so confident?”
He just shrugs, watching you with that same soft, amused expression. “I’ve got a good feeling.”
You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch into a smile again.
A few minutes later, the tray is ready—lumpy, uneven cookies that look nothing like the picture on your phone.
You stare at them. “…They look kind of weird.”
“They look great.”
“They look like blobs.”
“Artistic blobs.”
You laugh quietly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Put them in the oven,” he says. “Trust the process.”
“You are not the process.”
“I’m part of it.”
“You’re the problem.”
“Wow,” he grins. “And here I thought I was the highlight.”
You slide the tray into the oven before he can distract you further, closing the door with a small sigh.
“Okay. Now we wait.”
He hums, then glances around the kitchen.
Which is… objectively a disaster.
There’s flour on the counter. On the floor. Somehow on the handle of the fridge. A smear of dough near the sink.
You both look at it.
Then at each other.
“…We should clean,” you say.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
Neither of you moves.
A second passes.
Then he reaches out suddenly, brushing something off your cheek.
You blink. “What—”
“You’ve got flour,” he says, softer now.
Your breath catches slightly. “Oh.”
His thumb lingers for just a second too long.
“And now,” he adds, a hint of a grin returning, “you’ve got more.”
He taps your nose with a bit of flour.
You freeze.
“…Lando.”
He’s already stepping back, laughing. “What? It suits you.”
You grab a handful of flour without hesitation. “Oh, you’re done for.”
“Hey—wait—”
Too late.
You toss it at him, hitting his hoodie perfectly.
He gasps, mock-offended. “That was uncalled for!”
“You started it!”
“I was being gentle!”
“That was not gentle!”
He reaches for the flour again, and suddenly it’s chaos.
Flour flies everywhere. You’re both laughing too hard to aim properly. At some point he tries to dodge, but you catch his sleeve, and he pulls you with him by accident.
You end up pressed lightly against the counter, both of you breathless, laughing.
There’s flour in his hair now.
On his face.
Probably all over you too.
The laughter fades into something quieter.
Softer.
You’re still holding onto him.
He’s still close—really close.
“…You look stupid,” you murmur.
“Yeah?” he says, smiling. “You look worse.”
You nudge him lightly. “Rude.”
“C’mere.”
His hand slides to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. His other hand comes up again, brushing gently along your cheek—wiping away flour this time instead of adding it.
Your breath hitches.
“You’re a mess,” he says softly.
“You made me a mess.”
“Worth it.”
You don’t get the chance to respond before he leans in, kissing you.
It’s soft at first, warm and familiar, but it lingers—just enough to make your heart race.
You melt into it without thinking.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you smiling slightly.
There’s a quiet moment.
Comfortable. Easy.
Then—
A faint smell.
You both pause.
“…Do you smell that?” you ask.
He sniffs the air. “…Maybe.”
Your eyes widen. “The cookies.”
You both turn toward the oven at the same time.
“Oh no.”
You rush over, yanking the oven open. A wave of heat hits you, along with the unmistakable smell of slightly overdone cookies.
“Lando!”
“I didn’t touch the timer!”
“You distracted me!”
You quickly pull the tray out, setting it on the counter. The cookies are… definitely darker than they should be.
You stare at them in silence.
“…They’re a little burnt,” you say carefully.
“A little?”
You give him a look. “Okay, they’re burnt.”
He leans in beside you, inspecting them like this is a very serious situation.
“They’re not that bad.”
“They’re literally brown.”
“Cookies are supposed to be brown.”
“Not that brown.”
He reaches for one before you can stop him.
“Wait—Lando—”
Too late. He breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth.
You watch him, anxious. “Well?”
He chews thoughtfully.
You hold your breath.
“…They’re actually not terrible.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not!”
You grab a piece yourself, hesitating before taking a bite.
It’s… not great.
But also not completely inedible.
“…Okay,” you admit slowly. “They’re… fine.”
“See?” he grins. “Told you.”
You shake your head, laughing softly. “We completely ruined the recipe.”
“Improvised,” he corrects.
“Destroyed.”
“Enhanced.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again.
The kitchen is still a mess. The cookies are imperfect. There’s flour everywhere, and you’ll definitely be cleaning for a while.
But he’s looking at you like none of that matters.
And maybe it doesn’t.
You lean against the counter beside him, bumping your shoulder lightly into his.
“…Next time,” you say, “we’re following the recipe.”
“Maybe,” he replies.
“Lando.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Next time.”
He reaches for another cookie, breaking it in half and handing you a piece.
You take it, shaking your head.
“…They’re still kind of bad.”
He shrugs, completely unbothered, a soft smile on his face as he looks at you.
“Yeah,” he says, nudging your hand with his. “But at least they’re made with love.”
IN WHICH your son’s love for cars gets you meet your neighbor. ✉️ contains single mom! reader. fluff. pet names. use of y/n. 1k words.
You learn fast, being a boy mom, that doing one thing at a time is a luxury reserved for people who don’t have small hands tugging at them every five seconds.
Right now, you’re attempting at least three.
The grocery bags bite into the crook of your arms as you juggle your keys, your purse sliding dangerously down your shoulder. You hitch everything higher against your hip, trying to keep momentum without dropping anything.
One bag slips.
Then another.
“Mom—”
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” you insist, even though you absolutely do not, tightening your grip like that alone might magically fix the situation. Your son’s small hand is still wrapped in yours, warm and trusting, making it impossible to readjust properly.
Plastic crackles in the quiet garage as you fumble for the car lock, keys slipping against your fingers while the bags threaten mutiny.
You look down when your son tugs on your hand again.
“It’s broken,” Louis says for the third time, his voice small and serious. He holds out his toy car like it’s something delicate.
And to him, it is.
One tiny wheel hangs off the side.
You sigh and set everything on the hood of the nearest car so you can crouch down.
“Okay. Let me see.”
You take the toy gently, turning it in your fingers under the dim garage light.
Somewhere behind you, a car engine hums, but you barely hear it.
Louis crosses his arms. “It needs fixing.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m trying.”
You pull your keys free and try to use one to push the wheel back into place.
It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t.
You let out a quiet huff.
“Mom, hurry.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying—”
Then—
“Mom!”
Louis pulls at your arm again while you’re still fighting with the tiny wheel. “Lou, just hang on—”
“Mommy, look!”
That finally makes you lift your head.
Before you can even react, Louis slips out of your reach and takes off across the garage, little shoes tapping against the concrete as he runs straight toward a dark, sleek McLaren parked a few spaces away.
You rush after him, heat already crawling up your neck.
“I’m so sorry—he just—”
But Louis reaches the man first.
He stops right in front of him, staring up with huge, amazed eyes.
Then the questions come all at once.
“Is that your car?”
“Is it fast?”
“How fast?”
“Is it faster than a Ferrari?”
“Does it go vroom or VROOOOM?”
You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
“I am so, so sorry—he’s really into cars—”
The man doesn’t look annoyed. Not even a little.
If anything… he looks surprised.
Then he slowly crouches down to Louis’s height. Calm. Relaxed. Like kids running at him in parking garages is something that happens every day.
“It’s mine, yeah.”
Louis gasps like he’s just met a real-life superhero.
“It’s really fast,” the man adds, thinking for a moment. “Probably… VROOOOM.”
Louis lights up.
Actually lights up.
“I KNEW IT!”
You blink.
Okay. That went… way better than you expected.
The man glances up at you then, like he suddenly remembers you exist, standing up. “It’s fine,” he says quietly. “I don’t mind.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Do we know each other?”
“I’m your neighbor,” he says with a small smile.
Right. That explains it. You don’t exactly keep track of neighbors when you’re always doing three things at once.
“Oh—”
“I’m Oscar.” He stands and offers his hand.
“Y/n,” you say, taking it with a small smile. “And this is my son, Louis.”
Oscar looks down at Louis again.
“Do you want to see inside, buddy?”
Louis looks like he might actually pass out.
“YES.”
You hesitate, stomach tightening. “Are you sure? What if he breaks something? That thing looks really expensive.”
Oscar pauses for half a second.
Then, completely deadpan:
“I’ll take the risk.”
And that’s when you notice it.
The way he moves slowly. The way he’s careful with his words. The way he gives your son his full attention, like nothing else in the world matters right now.
Not rushed. Not annoyed.
Just… kind. Steady. Patient.
Louis is already leaning into the open door, talking a mile a minute.
“What’s this button? What does this do? Do you race? You look like you race.”
Oscar doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.
He just smiles a little, soft and easy, like he’s used to this kind of chaos.
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head.
“I’m so sorry, he’s interrogating you—”
“It’s okay,” Oscar says.
And there it is—the tiniest smile pulling at his mouth.
“I get that a lot.”
You squint at him, curious. “Do you?”
He hesitates for a beat, then looks at you like he’s choosing whether to tell you the truth.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “I race in Formula One.”
Silence drops between you.
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
“…You what?”
Your son doesn’t miss a beat.
He spins around so fast you almost get whiplash, eyes huge, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Mom!!”
You barely have time to process what Oscar just said before Louis grabs your hand and tugs like his life depends on it.
“Can we befriend this one, mommy?”
You freeze.
“…Be—what?”
“Befriend him!” he repeats, louder this time, like you’re the one being unreasonable. He points at Oscar with both hands now. “He knows about cars and he’s nice and he fixes things and he has a fast car!”
Oscar looks between the two of you, trying—and failing—not to smile too much. His mouth twitches. His eyes soften. He’s definitely amused.
You crouch down to Louis’s level, lowering your voice. “Sweetheart, people don’t just get… befriended… like that.”
Louis frowns, thinks for exactly one second, then turns right back to Oscar.
“Do you want to be my friend?”
Your head snaps up so fast your neck almost cracks.
Oscar goes still. His eyes flick to you first—checking, maybe. Or teasing. There’s a tiny smirk on his lips, and God, it’s unfair how good he looks doing absolutely nothing.
There’s a beat.
Then, softly, he nods.
“…Yeah,” he says. “I think I’d like that.”
Louis beams like the sun.
And Oscar… he looks at you again, that same soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he’s not just agreeing to be Louis’s friend.
STOP - more than a car was actually so adorable 🥹 I really hope you consider writing more because that was so sweet! Oscar being so perfectly patient and unphased was everything!!
Thank you darling! 💋 I’m thinking about making some kind of universe!!
IN WHICH your son’s love for cars gets you meet your neighbor. ✉️ contains single mom! reader. fluff. pet names. use of y/n. 1k words.
You learn fast, being a boy mom, that doing one thing at a time is a luxury reserved for people who don’t have small hands tugging at them every five seconds.
Right now, you’re attempting at least three.
The grocery bags bite into the crook of your arms as you juggle your keys, your purse sliding dangerously down your shoulder. You hitch everything higher against your hip, trying to keep momentum without dropping anything.
One bag slips.
Then another.
“Mom—”
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” you insist, even though you absolutely do not, tightening your grip like that alone might magically fix the situation. Your son’s small hand is still wrapped in yours, warm and trusting, making it impossible to readjust properly.
Plastic crackles in the quiet garage as you fumble for the car lock, keys slipping against your fingers while the bags threaten mutiny.
You look down when your son tugs on your hand again.
“It’s broken,” Louis says for the third time, his voice small and serious. He holds out his toy car like it’s something delicate.
And to him, it is.
One tiny wheel hangs off the side.
You sigh and set everything on the hood of the nearest car so you can crouch down.
“Okay. Let me see.”
You take the toy gently, turning it in your fingers under the dim garage light.
Somewhere behind you, a car engine hums, but you barely hear it.
Louis crosses his arms. “It needs fixing.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m trying.”
You pull your keys free and try to use one to push the wheel back into place.
It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t.
You let out a quiet huff.
“Mom, hurry.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying—”
Then—
“Mom!”
Louis pulls at your arm again while you’re still fighting with the tiny wheel. “Lou, just hang on—”
“Mommy, look!”
That finally makes you lift your head.
Before you can even react, Louis slips out of your reach and takes off across the garage, little shoes tapping against the concrete as he runs straight toward a dark, sleek McLaren parked a few spaces away.
You rush after him, heat already crawling up your neck.
“I’m so sorry—he just—”
But Louis reaches the man first.
He stops right in front of him, staring up with huge, amazed eyes.
Then the questions come all at once.
“Is that your car?”
“Is it fast?”
“How fast?”
“Is it faster than a Ferrari?”
“Does it go vroom or VROOOOM?”
You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
“I am so, so sorry—he’s really into cars—”
The man doesn’t look annoyed. Not even a little.
If anything… he looks surprised.
Then he slowly crouches down to Louis’s height. Calm. Relaxed. Like kids running at him in parking garages is something that happens every day.
“It’s mine, yeah.”
Louis gasps like he’s just met a real-life superhero.
“It’s really fast,” the man adds, thinking for a moment. “Probably… VROOOOM.”
Louis lights up.
Actually lights up.
“I KNEW IT!”
You blink.
Okay. That went… way better than you expected.
The man glances up at you then, like he suddenly remembers you exist, standing up. “It’s fine,” he says quietly. “I don’t mind.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Do we know each other?”
“I’m your neighbor,” he says with a small smile.
Right. That explains it. You don’t exactly keep track of neighbors when you’re always doing three things at once.
“Oh—”
“I’m Oscar.” He stands and offers his hand.
“Y/n,” you say, taking it with a small smile. “And this is my son, Louis.”
Oscar looks down at Louis again.
“Do you want to see inside, buddy?”
Louis looks like he might actually pass out.
“YES.”
You hesitate, stomach tightening. “Are you sure? What if he breaks something? That thing looks really expensive.”
Oscar pauses for half a second.
Then, completely deadpan:
“I’ll take the risk.”
And that’s when you notice it.
The way he moves slowly. The way he’s careful with his words. The way he gives your son his full attention, like nothing else in the world matters right now.
Not rushed. Not annoyed.
Just… kind. Steady. Patient.
Louis is already leaning into the open door, talking a mile a minute.
“What’s this button? What does this do? Do you race? You look like you race.”
Oscar doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.
He just smiles a little, soft and easy, like he’s used to this kind of chaos.
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head.
“I’m so sorry, he’s interrogating you—”
“It’s okay,” Oscar says.
And there it is—the tiniest smile pulling at his mouth.
“I get that a lot.”
You squint at him, curious. “Do you?”
He hesitates for a beat, then looks at you like he’s choosing whether to tell you the truth.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “I race in Formula One.”
Silence drops between you.
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
“…You what?”
Your son doesn’t miss a beat.
He spins around so fast you almost get whiplash, eyes huge, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Mom!!”
You barely have time to process what Oscar just said before Louis grabs your hand and tugs like his life depends on it.
“Can we befriend this one, mommy?”
You freeze.
“…Be—what?”
“Befriend him!” he repeats, louder this time, like you’re the one being unreasonable. He points at Oscar with both hands now. “He knows about cars and he’s nice and he fixes things and he has a fast car!”
Oscar looks between the two of you, trying—and failing—not to smile too much. His mouth twitches. His eyes soften. He’s definitely amused.
You crouch down to Louis’s level, lowering your voice. “Sweetheart, people don’t just get… befriended… like that.”
Louis frowns, thinks for exactly one second, then turns right back to Oscar.
“Do you want to be my friend?”
Your head snaps up so fast your neck almost cracks.
Oscar goes still. His eyes flick to you first—checking, maybe. Or teasing. There’s a tiny smirk on his lips, and God, it’s unfair how good he looks doing absolutely nothing.
There’s a beat.
Then, softly, he nods.
“…Yeah,” he says. “I think I’d like that.”
Louis beams like the sun.
And Oscar… he looks at you again, that same soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he’s not just agreeing to be Louis’s friend.
made with love baking with your boyfriend lando! ✶ ( fluff , established relationship )
𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈
more than just a car! your son’s love for cars gets you meet your neighbor ✶ ( fluff , single mom! reader )
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂
tba.
━━━ ␥ 𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔 !
before we forget you and lando chose to write songs about each other instead of sorting things out ✶ ( angst , singer! lando norris x singer! reader ) ln1
stormborns
vaporwave
janainaart
annaxmalina
kaledo-art