2025 had been a difficult and stressful year. Not just for Lando who was battling his teammate round and round again for a championship many already deemed lost for him only halfway through the season. But also for you, as you were continuously trying to stay on top of your workload without being to exhausted for anything else once you got home, or to let your bad mood out on an equally stressed and pissy Lando.
Usually the two of you managed pretty well. A perk of knowing one another for most of your life’s. One that had gifted you with the ability to almost smell when to stay out of his way, just like he was gifted, or rather crafted the same skill.
That skill of course didn’t mean that you never argued, no that was far from the case as in ever good friendship or relationship. However sometimes, when you were both exhausted, you were a little… let’s call it tone deaf when it came to reading the other 100% right.
And Zandvoort had come at a moment in life neither of you needed.
You had watched the race, had followed sitting on the floor in front of your shared couch with your laptop open because you originally needed to go through some files you hadn’t managed to work on Friday. Had heard the radio where Lando told Will about the smoke in the cockpit, about the oil leak and in the end saw the car roll to a stop at the side of the track.
Your heart had bled watching the picture of your best friends sunk together form in the dunes of the Netherlands.
And suddenly, Oscar held a 34 point gap.
The short video call you had once he was back in his hotel room, defeated and not in the mood to talk long, only solidified what you already had guessed. That he really had to chew on the fact that once again his hold on the title seemed to slip away from him.
Two days later, after the DNF and debrief in Woking, the door opened.
It was clear that Lando was still processing. Tense shoulders, a permanent frown etched into his face and barely making a sound all the evidence you needed to know.
Unfortunately, after a shift that had you running on fumes, you sported a head ache so big you were barely able to comprehend more then Gremlin walking all over your back as you were laid face down on the couch and the ding of the microwave announcing that your first meal of the day was hot now and ready to be taken out. You didn’t move a muscle, to tired to care about the rumbling of your stomach.
The brit, after grumbling a low hi, had vanished in his room for about half an hour before dragging himself into the kitchen.
You winced when he slammed one cabinet shut after the other, hinges screaming to be left alone and to have mercy as the noise made you flinch with every time it registered in your pained head.
The microwave dinged a second time.
Another cabinet slammed.
“Lando,” you groaned into the couch cushion, voice muffled. “For the love of it, would you please stop taking my kitchen apart?”
An answer that sounded suspiciously like a, “Yeah yeah.” reached your ears before another loud noise came from him.
You groaned. You didn’t want to have to suffer under his mood as you needed just one moment of peace that he was not willing to give and so you resigned yourself to your fate.
You pushed yourself up with a groan, rubbing at your eyes before shuffling toward the kitchen. Gremlin ran off.
“Lando, seriously—”
The sentence died halfway out of your mouth.
Because the kitchen looked like a crime scene.
Cabinet doors hung open. Drawers were half pulled out. A bag of pasta sat ripped open on the counter and somehow there was flour on the floor despite nobody having baked anything in this house for at least six months.
“Dont you have your prepped stuff in the fridge?” you asked.
“Don’t want that.”
“Well if you’re searching for pasta sauce here, we don’t have any in case you haven’t noticed already.”
“No shit sherlock.”
Oh wow, he really was pissy.
You stared at him.
“There’s food in the microwave.”
His eyes flicked toward it.
“That’s yours.”
Taking a breath to cool your frazzled nerves you marched over to the microwave, took the rest of yesterdays lasagna out and set it down in front of him. The smell of the warm dish hitting your nose and making your stomach lurch uncomfortably.
“Close the cabinets and eat it.”
You turned on your heels and went back to the living room.
The plate scratched over the marble counter. A noise not really loud but loud enough to send another wave of pain through you.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Inhale, hold for one, two, three, exhale slowly.
Another cabinet slammed.
Then the sound of a fork being thrown into the sink carelessly.
Something inside you snapped.
You shoved yourself off the couch and marched back into the kitchen.
“What now?” Lando asked before you had even opened your mouth.
You laughed sharply and without and trace of humor to be found.
“What now? Seriously?”
He shrugged.
“You’re the one storming in here.”
“Because you act like our furniture is made of Vibranium!”
His jaw tightened instantly.
“Oh, sorry for being upset then.” Lando nearly spit at you, jaw twitching and a dark look shot in your direction.
“That isn’t what I said.”
“No, but apparently I need to be all sunshine and rainbows because God forbid my championship gets fucked once again.”
You rubbed both hands over your face as you sighed in defeat because you honestly didn’t have the energy to argue with him over this now.
“Listen Lan, I know it was shit. I know what it looks like now and I know you have every right to be as pissed about the DNF as you are…” you said quietly, rubbing at your temples. “But I also had a really shit day and I would appreciate if we could just cool it and not fight over fucking cabinets!”
His first mistake, that could he admit easily, was letting his frustration out on you. His second was to roll his eyes and huff in your face. The tell-ltale signs of your headache and exhaustion written in bold over your face, ignored in his own stress when the next words left him.
“Sure, go ahead and make this about you again.”
Your eyes flew up, jaw nearly dropping to the floor after hearing what he said.
“The fuck did you just say to me?”
If looks could kill, Lando would be dead on the ground by now.
The McLaren driver knew he had stepped onto a Landmine there, that if he moved one muscle wrong it was going to explode under his feet and that he should tread very carefully now.
His temper however bulldozed right over that thought.
“You deaf now?” he scoffed and shouldered past you. The half eaten lasagna thrown in the trash.
Your face went blank. Like someone had reset you to factory settings unable to comprehend the situation.
“You know what?” you said slowly. “I was willing to let it slide,”
Lando crossed his arms.
“But that one?” You laughed once. “That one was a low blow.
“And you have no idea what I feel like y/n!”
“I watched you lose it, Lando!”
“You watched it,” he snapped. “I lived it. Big difference.”
IN part he was right, but how he said it implied something you weren’t going to let slide.
Suddenly every sleepless night spent listening to him spiral after bad races, every cancelled plan, every phone call and every moment you’d dropped everything because he needed someone rushed in.
Every single one flashed through your head and paled.
And judging by the way his expression shifted, he knew exactly what he’d implied.
Still, neither of you backed down.
“Right,” you said quietly.
“Y/n—”
“No. You know what? You’re right.”
The sarcasm was sharp as a knife.
“I wasn’t there for any of it. Not the calls at two in the morning. Not sitting on the bathroom floor while you convinced yourself your career was over every other weekend. Not listening to you talk yourself in circles for months.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“It wasn’t that bad!”
“Yes it was!” Both of you knew exactly that it was indeed this bad on some days. Not all of it but thinking about Saudi Arabia, Miami, Canada…
Your laugh was bitter.
“God, you can be such an unbelievable dick sometimes!”
“Y/n—”
“No, shut up when I’m talking!”
The sharpness in your voice finally made him stop talking.
“You know what’s really funny?” you continued. “I’ve spent two days worrying about you. Feeling awful for you. Making excuses for your mood because I knew you were hurting while constantly wanting to cry because works been actual shit recently and I am so close to collapsing every day!” you pressed between your teeth as you held up your thumb and pointer finger mere millimeters apart before grabbed your keys off the counter. “And then you come home and decide the person on your side is the one you want to take it all out on.
His stomach dropped.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere where you’re not!”
You shoved your feet into your shoes.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
The second the words left his mouth, he knew he had made his third mistake.
A huge one.
Your eyes widene and then you laughed in utter disbelief.
“Wow, just wow.”
“That’s not what I—”
“No, seriously. Keep going.” You pointed at him. “You’ve already called me selfish, implied I don’t support you, and now I’m dramatic. Let’s complete this bingo, please.”
“Y/n.”
“Get lost, Norris.”
“If you would just listen—”
“Eat shit.”
You opened the front door.
“Love, come on.”
“Respectfully?” You looked him dead in the eye. “Go fuck yourself.”
The door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls and rattle Lando.
-------
It was already 11 pm when you returned. The constant buzzing of your phone you had ignored, choosing to set it on silent instead.
For the last 3 hours you had simply walked aimlessly through the streets of Monaco, passing the palace, the casino, the harbor multiple times and stirred in your own misery. The fight had taken it mental toll on you, now feeling worse then before after suffering the chill of the night coming from the sea.
Gremlin greeted you with a demanding meow, winding around your legs and running into the kitchen for food.
“Alright, alright. Momma is coming…” you croaked quietly, voice rough and weak. The cat only answered with another meow.
He’s was hungry wish you understood as it was past dinner time for him now. Grabbing a new can of food from the shelf, a clean bowl and the designated cat food spoon that was now solely used for Gremlin’s food and for nothing else, you prepared everything.
Lando silently appearing in the doorway you notice, and yet you chose to not look as he hovered while wringing his hands nervously.
“You’re back…” he said carefully as if scared you were going to throw that spoon at him.
“Hm.”
The bowl was set down, Gremlin nose-diving into it in the process.
Lando inhaled slowly. “Y/n can we please talk?”
With a glance at him you turned to wash out the old bowl, put it on the drying rack and turned to the fridge to at least get a yoghurt before bed. “No.”
Startled at how scratchy you sounded the man, stepped closer, ignoring the no and how you glared at him when his hand connected with your forehead.
“Stop that, Norris.” You hissed as you bat it away weakly.
“You got a fever,” he stated simply.
“I don’t care, I don’t want to see you and I got work tomorrow at 7.”
In any other moment on any other day he would have most likely doubled down and matched your attitude. Would have done everything to keep his pride and ego intact. But given that his pride and ego were the very reasons you were in the situation in the first place, he knew that wasn’t a good idea.
“Okay then just listen,” he hurried when you wanted to shoulder past him. “You don’t have to talk, but listen please.”
Scoffing you starred at his face, more or less chest to chest now that he was standing in your way and Lando hated that he could now see exactly how glassy your eyes were, how dark the eye bags on you were and how much warmth came radiating from your slightly shaking frame.
“I’m sorry, I was stupid. Everything I said was out of line and not true, I know that. I just couldn’t admit it then.”
Lips pursed you looked to the side.
“You’re not selfish and you’re not dramatic. Have never been. You’re always there when I need you without me having to ask for it. Because that’s just you, always sacrificing yourself for me and Max and everyone you love before you take care of yourself…”
His voice wavered slightly at the end, the situation finally catching up to him properly instead of lashing out.
You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t as you were scared of breaking open in front of him. You knew that was about to happen, you just didn’t want it to happen already.
“I know,” he answered immediately. Too fast. Too honest. “I know, I fucked it today.”
Silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t the same kind as earlier. This one felt heavier and almost fragile as you swayed a bit.
You finally turned your head slightly, just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye.
“I’m tired, Lando,” you admitted. The words sounded raw, scraped straight out of you. “I don’t have the energy to fight you or be your punching bag.”
“I know,” he said again, but softer this time. “I know you are.”
His hands hovered for a second like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was scared that touching you would make it worse, or confirm that he’d already broken something he couldn’t fix. As if that could ever happen.
“I didn’t mean it,” he added quickly. “Any of it. I just… I came in here still and was stoill mad and you were the first thing in front of me. That shouldn’t have happened.”
Shoulders dropping a bit you sighed heavily before looking directly at him. You knew you couldn’t be mad forever and you knew that he was serious, that he really was sorry and that this wasn’t just him saying all of that to shut you up.
“You promise to leave your frustrations on track?” you asked as forcefully as you could manage.
Lando nodded wildly. Yes, he absolutely could do that. If he could do it with Oscar, he could definitely do it with you!
“Yes, yes I promise!”
You nodded once. “Good. Otherwise you got hell on earth coming for your ass.”
And he wouldn’t have it any other way. Just as he opened his mouth to answer, you sneezed harshly.
“Come, lets go to bed, huh?” he said and reached to hold your hand.
To tired to fend him off, you let him drag you into his bedroom and threw your sleep shirt into your hands.
“And no, you wont go to work tomorrow cause I won’t let you go sick. Good try though,” he said as he turned around to let you undress. It wasn’t that he’s never seen you in several states of u dress just like you’ve seen him but right now it felt like he had to keep the fragile truce that he was already stretching by making you stay home the next day.
Stopping while pulling your shirt over your head, you asked if he was serious.
“Absolutely.”
“You can’t stop me.”
A look crossed his face.
“Watch me.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped you, rough and tired and immediately followed by another sneeze.
“See?” Lando murmured, relief flashing over his features for the first time all evening.
“Shut it.
You rolled your eyes but changed into the shirt anyway, legs suddenly feeling twice as heavy as they had earlier. The moment you sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion crashed over you properly.
Lando noticed instantly.
“Love,” he started softly, crawling into bed on the other side. “When was the last time you slept properly?”
“Dun know, July?”
His stare was horrified.
“Y/n.”
“What? Work’s been busy.”
“That’s not a reason!
You shrugged weakly.
A second later a glass of water appeared in your hands along with painkillers from the bathroom cabinet.
“Take it.”
“Stop being bossy, that’s my part”
The knot in his chest loosened at the little attempt of a joke.
“Get some sleep,” he said quietly, pulling the blanket over your legs.
pairing -> lando norris x quadrantPRdirector!reader
summary -> You’ve always been a rule follower. When a PR nightmare forces you into a fake relationship with your close friend and colleague, Lando Norris, you protect your heart the only way you know how: with strict rules written down in a notebook.
But lines quickly blur into a messy tangle of feelings neither of you can control. What started as a temporary fix to protect Lando’s public persona suddenly feels entirely too real. Now, you’re left wondering how much you're willing to sacrifice for the boundaries you insisted on. Falling for your best friend is inherently messy, and it scares you to death. How long can you pretend that getting lost in wonderland won't drive you both mad?
warnings -> fake dating. 2 idiots in love who suck at communicating. a wild magui appearance or two. Use of YN (I know, I’m sorry but it couldn’t be avoided!) timeline/race schedule is ambiguous and a bit hand wavey. Just go with it.
msb yaps -> i can't believe this is the last part of this series. i am so attached to this storyline its crazy. i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i did! as always, thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from jumping off a ledge and beta reading. gonna try keeping a tag list for this series, so lmk if you want to be on it. otherwise, you can follow @the-msb-library & turn on notifs there so you don't miss anything! divider from @somebitchprobably-graphicdump <3
chapter word count -> 5.9k
series master list | main master list | lets yap
“So it was all a lie?” Emma gapes at you from over her wine glass, aghast at what you’d just told her.
Swirling the wine around in your own glass, you nod slowly, “It was all fake from beginning to end. Magui wouldn’t leave him alone and I joked about hiring a Swedish model to pretend to be his girlfriend for a while and it just kind of spiraled from there.”
There were plastic containers of salmon rolls and spicy tuna crispy rice scattered on your coffee table, the soy sauce packets pooling in a messy pile in one of the lids next to a bottle of near-empty merlot. It was not long after you’d walked away from Lando and that devastatingly quiet hotel room in Spain. At first, you’d tried to handle the aftermath of what had happened by yourself, not wanting to bring any of your friends into it.
You were still nervous about people finding out it was fake and going to the press. There was one exception to your concerns though: Emma. She’d been in your corner so many times, you had felt guilty telling her the lie from the start.
The moment she’d answered your call earlier that evening, your voice still hoarse from the crying you’d done over the last 24 hours, she’d dropped everything, picked up sushi and wine, and had been at your flat without a second thought.
Now, she was curled up on the opposite end of your sofa, wide eyed as she listened to you spill all of the secrets you’d been keeping since you’d agreed to the disaster of a PR stunt back in Miami.
“So the kiss after his win? All of the very public PDA? The Instagram posts and comments…” Emma lists, incredulous. She was holding her wine glass halfway to her lips like she was too stunned to move. “All if it was fake? To throw Magui off the scent and get her to leave him alone?”
You nod, eyes fluttering shut as your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “None of it was real.”
Emma watches you for a moment, her eyes narrowed as if she’s trying to put together a puzzle that’s got her confused. Tilting her head to the side, she frowns at you, “Okay, so if it was all fake, then what’s the problem?”
“What do you mean?”
Leaning forward, Emma places her empty wine glass onto the coffee table before she turns back to you. There’s a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You called me crying, babe! You don’t cry, ever! I think I can count on one single hand the amount of times I’ve seen you cry and 3 of them happened when you had to retake that calculus class in uni —”
“That syllabus was too advanced for a calc one class!” You protest.
Emma rolls her eyes and continues, “If it was all fake, why do you look like a five year old who just learned Santa isn’t real?”
Your chest aches, confronted by a question you didn’t want to say out loud. “I’m just exhausted.” You lie. “The constant travel, having to have that perfect, camera ready mask in place at all times, his crash —”
“You’re in love with him.”
Emma wasn’t asking a question.
It was a simple observation made by one of your closest friends, someone who knew you inside out and could read you like a book. You don’t know why you’d bothered hiding the truth from her, pretending that you didn’t have feelings for Lando in front of Emma was never going to work.
Maybe you hadn’t intended on lying to her.
Maybe you had needed someone to call you out because you were too afraid to face the truth yourself.
“Yeah.” You say softly, choking on the single word that feels raw and broken. You set your glass down before you could spill it, your hands are shaking so bad, and pull your knees up to your chest, burying your face against your legs. “Yeah, I am. I am completely, hopelessly in too deep with him, Em. Which is exactly what we didn’t want to happen. This wasn’t supposed to ruin us.”
Emma’s expression softens as she reaches over to stroke her hand over your hair. Before she can reply, you force yourself to sit up straight, blinking back the hot tears that threatened to spill over. You swipe at your eyes, shaking your head.
“It doesn’t matter though.” You continue quickly, forcing your voice to be calmer than you can possibly feel, that defensive wall sliding back into place in a matter of seconds. “It literally doesn’t matter. Lando never felt the same way. This was just pretend for him, a way to get Magui to back off. None of it was real and I was stupid enough to fall for the pretense of it all.”
Emma stays quiet for a long beat, studying the frantic way you’re trying to rationalize your own heartbreak into something that makes sense. Reaching across the sofa, she gently wraps her hand around your wrist before giving it a little tug to get your attention.
“YN.” She says quietly, waiting until you look at her with watery eyes. “Are you absolutely sure about that?”
Austria was, objectively, a disaster. Though, not on track. On track, Lando topped the timing sheets for two of the three practice sessions and ended up P2 behind George when all was said and done. He had a good haul of points that brought him closer to the fight for third with the two Ferrari boys so in all honesty, Lando should have been happy with how the weekend had turned out.
Instead, he was miserable.
Racing in Austria was the first weekend since Miami that you weren’t around and Lando was distressed to find out how unmoored he felt without you in the paddock. He found himself looking for you in the crowd as he got out of the car, caught himself reaching for his phone to text you when an engineering meeting kept him late. By the end of the weekend, he’d spent a stupid amount of time staring at your contact photo in his phone, alternating between talking himself out of calling you and getting angry with how he’d somehow blown whatever it was that had started blooming between you.
After Austria, Lando flew straight back to London to start prepping for Silverstone. He couldn’t focus on much though, what with everything kept reminding him of you. By the middle of the week, Lando was in a miserable mood that everyone around him noticed, especially Max Fewtrell.
It was well past midnight and the relentless, rhythmic clicking of the controller was the only sound Lando had made in the last 45 minutes. In the dim light of Max's living room, he sat on the couch taking out his aggression on whatever unsuspecting opponent tried to virtually kill him.
The glowing light of the TV casts sharp shadows across Lando’s exhausted face as Max slid his gaze over to his best friend. On the screen, his Call of Duty character runs blindly into a sniper’s line of sight for the fourth time in a row, resulting in another immediate, violent death.
“Fucks sake!” Lando snaps, tossing the controller onto the coffee table in front of him with enough force that it goes bouncing across the smooth surface. Sitting back, he aggressively shoves his hands through his curls, his jaw so tight he was starting to get a migraine.
Beside him, Max slowly lowers his own controller before turning his head to gape at his best friend. He’d been putting up with this exact behavior for the last two hours and he was ready to snap.
Lando had arrived at his flat under the pretense of ‘blowing off some steam before the madness of Silverstone started’ but instead, he’d brought a suffocatingly broody cloud of misery into the apartment with him. He was snappy, his reaction time was abysmal and he was being a complete asshole to anyone who joined the game.
“Okay, seriously. You’ve been a miserable bastard since you walked through the door.” Max asks, completely abandoning the game. He shifts on the sofa, crossing his arms as he glares at Lando. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Lando doesn’t look at him, reaching for his water bottle on the coffee table instead. “I’m not a miserable bastard. I’m tired. Between the crash in Spain, then Austria and now with Silverstone coming up, this season is sucking the life out of me.”
“Oh, don’t give me that shit. You’ve had worse seasons before and you’ve never acted like this.” Max calls his bluff, knowing that there’s something else lurking underneath the surface with Lando. “Did you and YN have a fight? Because I swear to God if you fuck it up with her so bad that she quits, I am going to sue you for emotional distress.”
Clearly, Max had noticed how you hadn't been around since Spain, choosing to work from home instead of coming into the office. You’d missed Austria too, which was strange since you had told him you had planned on going to all of the European races just a few weeks ago. It wasn’t like you to go MIA for so long.
The mention of your name has Lando’s chest seizing so painfully, he rubs at his sternum with the heel of his hand.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He groans, burying his face in his palms.
He’d been tied together with a flimsy piece of string since Spain and it was all unraveling right in front of his eyes. The weight of the last few weeks were finally catching up to him and being so close to you but not having any reason to see you was short-circuiting his brain.
“It was all fake.”
Max blinks at him, mouth dropping open. “I’m really hoping I misheard you because I swear you just said ‘it was all fake.’”
Lando looks up and for a moment and Max is caught off guard with how utterly wrecked his best friend looks.
“That’s exactly what I said. The entire thing was fake. We…” He pauses, shaking his head, “I came up with the idea in Miami after Magui showed up as a way to get her off of my back. She was trying to get back with me by any means necessary and I didn’t think I had any other choice.”
For several very long, agonizing seconds, Max just stares. Then, he lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. “You’re fucking kidding me. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“I’m not joking!” Lando snaps, looking at Max with a defensive sort of panic in his eyes that has Max snapping his mouth shut. “We thought that if we convinced Magui that I had moved on that she would leave me alone. YN insisted on rules and then the lines got blurry and…” He shakes his head, not really knowing exactly where it all went off the rails. “I don’t know when it happened but somewhere along the line, I fell for her. Hard.”
Max shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What the hell happened then? If you fell for her, why are you so miserable?”
“Remember that stream before Spain where she was in my lap the whole time?”
Max snorts, “How could I forget? I’m still getting TikTok edits of that bloody stream on my FYP.”
Lando leans back against the sofa, closing his eyes. “Afterwards, I went on and on about how it was going to piss Magui off and how real it was going to make us look.” Max groans. “I was a coward, okay? I didn’t want to admit that I had feelings for her because I didn’t want her to call the whole thing off!”
“That makes no fucking sense, you knob.”
Lando stands, throwing his arms out wide, “I know that!” He shouts. “I know that.” He says, repeating himself quieter the second time as he shoves his hands through his curls again.
Lando starts to pace like a caged animal.
“And then the crash in Spain happened and she completely lost it when I got back from the med center. I realized I didn’t just have feelings for her, I realized that I am completely in love with her.” He swallows the massive lump of regret that sits in his throat. “But she was already packing her bags. She had already booked a flight back to London without telling me. I just…froze. I didn't know how to tell her it wasn't a game to me anymore without looking like a pathetic idiot. So I just let her walk away and now she thinks I was faking it the entire time.”
Max stares at him with a completely dumbfounded expression on his face. He looked like he wanted to pick up the controller and throw it straight at Lando’s forehead. Shaking his head, Max stands so he’s eye level with his best friend.
“You,” Max jabs Lando’s chest with his index finger. “Are an absolute idiot.”
“Thanks, mate. Really helpful.” Lando grits out, crossing his arms over his chest as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Oh, shut up." Max barks. “I’ve watched you two the last few months since Miami. I’ve been on streams with you and in meetings. I saw the way she looked at you after you won Monaco, talked to her after your crash in Spain. She was a total mess, Lando. That reaction? That can’t be faked. The way she looked up at you during that stream? Like you’d hung the stars in the sky? Come on mate, you can’t tell me that she’s not totally head over heels for you too. Are you really that blind?”
Lando stops his pacing, his breath catching in the back of his throat as Max’s words drilled their way through his chest.
“She’s hurting because you made her think it was a game and she realized in Spain that she was in love with you too.” Max shakes his head as he walks towards the door where Lando’s keys sit abandoned on the entryway table. “She ended things because she got scared and thought that you didn’t have feelings for her.”
He tosses the set of car keys straight at Lando’s chest, “And here you are sitting in my flat being a broody asshole while she’s less than 15 minutes away in her apartment thinking she’s alone in this.” Max levels a glare so heated, Lando would’ve been burnt to a crisp had looks could set fire to something.
Lando says nothing. He can’t.
“God, you’re so fucking dense sometimes! Stop pouting and go tell her the truth, you bloody idiot.”
The muffled, rhythmic tapping of rain against your apartment windows was the only sound keeping you company at one in the morning. You’d long forgotten to remind Netflix that you were still “watching” whatever trashy reality tv show you’d turned on hours ago, so it had gone mute some time ago. You were sitting on your living room rug, back braced against the foot of the couch as your laptop hummed on the coffee table.
There were papers spread around you in a chaotic semi-circle of half-organized thoughts and lists, something that only you could understand. You’d spent the last few days after getting back from Spain burying yourself in mountain of work. It was a desperate, pathetic attempt to keep your brain from drifting back to your conversation with Emma earlier in the week.
Are you absolutely sure that Lando didn’t have feelings for you?
It was a question that was too uncomfortable for you to sit with because if you were wrong, if you started to think that maybe there was a chance and there wasn’t? You’d be destroyed all over again. You’d spent the entire time since leaving Lando in that hotel room in Spain building up your walls again, perfecting the professional mask that you’d need when you saw him that weekend. There was no way you’d survive another Spain.
Your eyelids are beginning to droop and you’re contemplating wrapping things up for the night when the jarring, aggressive buzz of your building’s intercom sends your pulse skyrocketing.
You freeze, staring over your shoulder at the offending intercom as it buzzes to life again. It was pouring rain outside and well past midnight. You weren’t expecting a delivery, not at this hour. Emma was with her boyfriend tonight, your parents at their home in the outskirts of London.
Leaving the mess you’d made over the last several hours on the floor, you push yourself up and make your way to the intercom that’s still frantically buzzing.
“Hello?”
“YN. It’s me. Can you let me up?” Lando’s voice crackles through the speaker, sounding incredibly raw, slightly out of breath, and entirely unraveled.
Your stomach does a somersault over itself as you stare at the speaker. Without even thinking, you hit the ‘open’ button and within thirty seconds, there’s a heavy, desperate knock echoing against your front door.
The moment the door swings open, the breath leaves your lungs entirely.
Lando was standing in the dim hallway looking like he’d run through the storm that was raging outside. He was soaking wet in an oversized black hoodie and dark sweatpants. His hair was a wild, damp disaster from the rain, curls plastered against his forehead at all sorts of odd angles.
It was his face that made your chest ache though. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, shadowed with a deep sort of exhaustion you’d never seen on him before.
He doesn’t wait for an invitation, doesn’t stay in the hallway waiting for you to find your tongue. Lando steps right across the threshold into your apartment, his presence instantly consuming the small entryway as he brings the scent of rain, the cold air, and his familiar cologne into your space.
Desperately trying to protect the walls you’ve built, you take a few steps back towards your sofa, ignoring the hurt that flashes in his expression when you move away from him.
“Lando, what are you doing here?” You stutter, your hands shaking “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” He chokes on a laugh, shaking his head. “Everything is wrong! I haven't slept in days. I just lie there, staring at empty spot in my bed that's supposed to be yours, trying to figure out how the hell I managed to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
For a moment, you’re convinced you’ve fallen asleep and this is a dream. There was no way that Lando was actually in your apartment in the middle of the night saying the things that had just come out of his mouth. Your pulse hammers at your throat as you try to understand what was happening.
“What are you saying, Lando?” You ask, utterly confused.
Lando takes a step towards you and for once, you don’t shy away.
“I’m saying that this…” Lando gestures between your body and his, looking at you with wild eyes. The shadows betraying how truly wrecked he’s feeling. “That us being together hasn’t been fake for a really long time and I’m tired of pretending that what happened between us was just a stupid PR stunt that meant nothing to either of us.”
“But that night in your apartment, after Max’s stream?” Lando’s face crumples but you continue, needing to say what you’ve been ruminating on for weeks now. “You were so excited about how good we were going to look on socials. How much it was going to piss her off and make her realize that you were done with her.”
Lando shakes his head, taking one more tentative step towards you. You stiffen but don’t move away and he takes that as a win. Reaching out, his hands hover for a moment, as if he’s trying to work up the courage to touch you. After a moment, his hands settle on your hips.
He nearly cries when you don’t shy away from him.
“I lied.” He confesses roughly, the rasp in his voice scratching down your spine. “I was afraid if I told you the truth, you’d end it because we’d agreed on no feelings, we agreed that we didn’t want it to get messy. I just…couldn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose you and if a pretend relationship with you was the only way I'd get to keep you, then I was going to do whatever it took to make sure I didn't lose you before it was time.”
“Lando…”
He shakes his head fiercely, one hand coming up to frame your face. “No, please YN. Let me get this out, okay? I’ve been miserable and spinning in circles since I let you walk out that hotel room and I just…I’m not good with words, you know that so can you give me a minute?”
You nod, the words you’d been prepared to say dying in yoir throat.
“I’ve been drowning since you left me in that hotel room. When my car hit the wall on Friday and everything went black, I wasn’t thinking about the team or the race or anything else. I was thinking about you. I was terrified that if I didn’t get out of that car in one piece, I’d never get to see you look at me again. I was scared and beyond pissed at myself that I'd almost broken my promise to come back to you in one piece."
“Lando…” You choke out, tears pricking the corners of your eyes hot and sudden as the gravity of what he’s saying crashes over you. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I have never meant anything more in my entire life, baby.” He murmurs fiercely, his grip tightening on your waist as he pulls you closer, your bodies touching. “No more lies. No more rules. I want all the strings and all the mess, everything that comes with loving you. I am completely and hopelessly in love with you."
The realization that you didn’t have to protect yourself anymore, that the man you loved was standing in front of you in your apartment, his heart bleeding out in front of you, causes your remaining armor to completely shatter.
A soft, broken sob falls from your lips as you grasp at the neck of his hoodie, pulling Lando towards you so your noses are almost touching. You're not entirely sure who closes the final gap but when Lando covers his mouth with yours, you feel it all the way down to your toes.
The kiss is explosive. It's fierce and desperate, a collision of lips and teeth and tongue that had been building since he’d knocked on your door. Its not gentle, nothing about you two was gentle or calm. It’s fueled by the lingering trauma of his crash, the agony of the time you’d spent apart, and the overwhelming, intoxicating relief at finally finding your way back to each other.
Lando lets out a log, jagged groan against your mouth, one hand sliding up your spine to cup the back of your head. His grip on you is so strong, you knew there would be bruises blooming on your skin by the morning. He fists a handful of hair, tugging it so your throat is exposed as he presses his lips down the line of your jaw before sucking at that delicate skin of your neck.
It felt like he was trying to pour every piece of his soul into your chest.
When Lando finally pulls back, just a fraction and only to catch his breath, he rests his forehead heavily against yours while your brain tries to catch up to what just happened. Tracing a thumb down your damp cheeks, his ocean eyes drinking in the way you sigh against him.
“Tell me I’m not the only one. You feel it too, right?” He begs, his voice dropping into that quiet, rumbling tone that he used when you two were sharing a bed. “Please tell me I haven’t completely ruined us.”
You let out a wet, breathless laugh as your hands slide down over his shoulders to grip at the fabric of his hoodie, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing left in the universe.
"I lost my mind when you went into that wall.” Lando shudders, pulling you closer. “I was so panicked when Will couldn’t get you to respond to him. My first thought was ‘Oh my God, I can’t live without him’ and then I remembered our final rule and I knew I needed to end it, to protect myself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lando asks roughly.
You shake your head, “I didn’t want to take the risk if it meant knowing you didn’t feel the same way. It would have ruined me.”
Lando draws in a deep, shaky breath. “You think I didn’t feel the same way? With the way I kissed you when I won Monaco? The way I drug you into the dark corner of that palace ballroom? You think I wasn’t completely head over heels for you with the way you folded into me at night and how it felt like the most natural thing in the whole world to wake up with you in my arms?”
The heavy, frantic tension that had dictated every movement since he burst back into your life finally breaks, melting into something deep and entirely soul consuming. Lando reaches for your hands, lacing his fingers with yours as he tugs you towards your sofa. He pulls you down onto his lap, his arms slipping around your middle as he brings you impossibly closer, like he can’t stand if there’s an inch of space between you. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of his cologne that mixes with the damp scent of outside.
“God, you have no idea.” Lando murmurs, his voice exhausted and gravelly. “Every time I had to get into the sim this week, every time Will or Jon tried to talk to me…all I could see was you walking away from me in that hotel. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t sleep. Zak asked me twice if I needed another med check for a concussion or something worse. I almost told him I just needed my fake girlfriend to stop treating me like a stranger and I’d be good.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you bump your nose with his. The last remnants of the heavy knot that had been tied up in your chest since Spain finally comes completely untied. Sliding your hands up his chest before interlocking your fingers behind his neck, you pull him closer to you.
“You were the one who kept talking about optics, Lan.” You remind him softly, though there’s no heat in the accusation. “You made it pretty clear after that stream that you were thrilled to slap Magui in the face with how successful our fake relationship looked from the outside.”
Lando’s expression turns panicked in a flash. “I was terrified, YN.” He admits, the confession raw and honest. His fingers dig into your hips as if he was afraid you were going to slip away again. “I was so afraid that if you got even the slightest inkling that I was falling for you, you’d end the entire thing. I couldn’t stomach the thought of not having you around anymore, of not being able to kiss you whenever I wanted and I panicked.”
He ducks his head, dropping a quick kiss on your temple, his pupils blown wide. “I didn’t care about Magui or what she thought we were doing. I just wanted an excuse to hold you in front of thousands of people and not have to explain why I couldn’t keep my hands off of you.”
The honesty of his confession strips away the very last dregs of your doubts. You look up at him, this chaotic, brilliant, boyish driver who had completely upended your orderly, professional life, and finally realize that you were entirely past the point of no return.
“Well,” You whisper, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, “Maybe next time you should let me be in charge of deciding how we’re going to approach the PR strategy, yeah?”
Lando huffs a quiet laugh, mouthing at the soft, warm spot behind your ear that smells like your perfume.
“That’s one rule I can follow.” He pulls back, looking at you seriously now. “But the others? All of those stupid fucking rules are getting tossed out the window, got it?”
You close your eyes, nuzzling deeper into his chest as Lando pulls you deeper into his chest. For a moment, you listen to the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear before you tilt your head back just a touch so you can look at him, “Got it.”
lando posted!
1,308,208 likes
liked by its_yn, emma_fairchild, max_fewtrell and others
lando for keeps this time🧡 (tagged: its_yn)
emma_fairchild can i like this one million times??? be nice to my wife, @/lando or else i'll come for you
>>>its_yn you'd better listen to her babe, emma is scary
>>>lando no plans on letting you go anywhere, pretty girl
max_fewtrell thank GOD
its_yn xox
>>>lando love you, bunny 🐰❤️
>>>its_yn omg
user002 THE SHADE AT MAGUI I AM LIVING FOR IT
>>>user21 omg i can't
>>>user556 this is the best day EVER
user12 M is never going to show her face around the f1 paddock ever again
>>>user216 and thank god for that
user005 fave couple everrrr
August, 2026
The rhythmic crashing of ocean waves swelling against the shore made you feel like you were a light years away from the chaos of your real lives.
You and Lando were spending summer break in Bali where the afternoon heat was thick and golden as it slipped by slow as summertime honey . The sun was in the middle of its slow descent towards the horizon, painting the tropical sky in bruised shades of peach and violet and for the first time in what felt like forever, you and Lando had nothing to do but be present.
You stir slowly, your face pressed against the soft, sun-warmed skin of Lando’s bare chest. A warm breeze swept across the private beach, rustling the palm fronds overhead as it cooled the light sheen of sweat on your body, sending goosebumps pebbling across your skin.
You blink your eyes open slowly, taking a slow, deep breath. For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of the ocean accompanied with Lando’s even breathing beneath you and for once, you’re not immediately reaching for your phone to check for any urgent emails or PR emergencies. Gone is that deep-seated anxiety and drive to check to make sure nothing was metaphorically on fire. You're pleasantly surprised that the feeling has been replaced with an overwhelming, heavy sense of peace.
You were entirely tangled up in Lando, who was still fast asleep next to and beneath you all at once. One of his legs was hooked over your waist, keeping you securely pinned against him in the woven hammock. He was wearing nothing but a pair of swim shorts, his skin bronzed from a week in the tropical sun. His chest rose and fell in a slow, deep rhythm that gave away how completely relaxed he was in a way you rarely saw during the season.
One of his arms was looped tightly around your waist, his hand resting flat against your hip, fingers tucked beneath the fabric of your bikini bottoms. His other hand was loosely tangled in your hair, fingers resting against your scalp like he was afraid to let you go even in his sleep.
Waking up from a post-swim nap in his arms had become your absolute favorite routine of summer break. One that you were going to sorely missed once you both had to go back to the real world.
A soft smiled pulls at your lips as you shift just an inch, reaching to trace a gentle line down the center of his chest with one finger.
It was entirely surreal to think back to that stormy night in London a few months ago. It felt like it had been a lifetime since you had spent your life hiding behind rigid rules, terrified of loving the man you found yourself tangled up in now, the very thing that now felt as natural as breathing.
The small movement had Lando’s grip on your hip tightening. He lets out a soft, low rumble in the back of his throat as his eyelids flutter open to reveal those brilliant, ocean-colored eyes you adore, a sleepy and content expression finding its way across his face as he fully wakes.
“Hi.” He whispers, his voice thick and deep from sleep, the rough rasp of it scratching pleasantly against your skin. He doesn’t even blink against the bright evening light, just immediately ducks his head to press a kiss, warm and lazy, to your temple. “You’re awake.”
“Not for long.” You murmur, resting your chin on his chest so you could look up at him with wide eyes. “You were dead to the world. I think you were snoring a bit, actually.”
“Liars get left on the beach.” He teases, huffing a quiet laugh as he gently fists a handful of your hair to tug your head back just enough so he could look into your eyes. The playful moment melts away in a fraction of a second, quickly replaced by Lando looking at you with an expression so intensely soft and steady it made your heart flutter. "How long do we have until we have to go back to reality?”
“Another full week.” You remind him, grin splitting your face as he brushes his lips against your forehead. “No emails. No engineering meetings. Just us.”
Lando lets out a heavy sigh of relief, his shoulders sinking deeper into the hammock as he pulls you up his body until your lips were just inches away form his. Reaching up with his thumb, he gently traces the line of your lower lips before you take the finger between your lips, biting down softly with a heated expression that has his hips rolling against you.
“Good.” He says, pupils blown wide as he drinks in the sight of your sun-flushed face. “Because I don’t ever want to take this for granted. I know how terrified you were a few months ago. I didn’t make things easy for us at the start.” He pauses, fingers smoothing over your cheekbone as he looks at you with a softer expression, something that looks a lot like deep, all consuming devotion. “Thank you. For taking a chance on us. For not running when I acted like a fucking fool and almost put an end to us before we really got started.”
Your heart melts completely, a soft, sincere smile tugging at your lips as you lean into his palm. “Best risk I’ve ever taken.”
“I love you.” Lando murmurs, the words tumbling form his chest with such absolute certainty, your chest aches "So much it’s insane. I am entirely hopeless without you.”
“I love you too, baby.” You reply, lacing your fingers behind his neck so you can pull him down that final inch.
Lando smiles against your mouth as he captures your it in a slow, lingering kiss that sets your skin on fire. It tastes like salt and sunshine, a steady sort of confidence that you’d never experienced before. He holds you impossibly close as the waves crash on the shore nearby, the golden tropical sun setting on the horizon, leaving you both exactly where you were always meant to be: together.
its_yn posted!
1,398,218 likes
liked by lando, emma_fairchild, mclaren and others
its_yn out of office 🧡
lando we're never leaving. someone send an email to @/zakbrownCEO that i quit
>>>zakbrownCEO absolutely not, i expect you back at the MTC on time
>>>lando you're no fun boss
user94 what a dreamy life
>>>user441 seriously. so envious
pairing -> lando norris x quadrantPRdirector!reader
summary -> You’ve always been a rule follower. When a PR nightmare forces you into a fake relationship with your close friend and colleague, Lando Norris, you protect your heart the only way you know how: with strict rules written down in a notebook.
But lines quickly blur into a messy tangle of feelings neither of you can control. What started as a temporary fix to protect Lando’s public persona suddenly feels entirely too real. Now, you’re left wondering how much you're willing to sacrifice for the boundaries you insisted on. Falling for your best friend is inherently messy, and it scares you to death. How long can you pretend that getting lost in wonderland won't drive you both mad?
warnings -> fake dating. 2 idiots in love who suck at communicating. a wild magui appearance or two. Use of YN (I know, I’m sorry but it couldn’t be avoided!) timeline/race schedule is ambiguous and a bit hand wavey. Just go with it.
msb yaps -> oh my GOD it's finally here! i am so excited for this! six part series inspired by the song wonderland by taylor swift. as always, thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from jumping off a ledge and beta reading. gonna try keeping a tag list for this series, so lmk if you want to be on it. otherwise, you can follow @the-msb-library & turn on notifs there so you don't miss anything! divider from @somebitchprobably-graphicdump <3
chapter word count -> 5.2k
series master list | main master list | lets yap
Rain had never bothered you before you’d met Lando.
Before him, you'd seen rainy days as the perfect excuse to spend the day inside, buried underneath blankets with a good book and a cup of tea.
When you’d met Lando that had changed.
Not right away, of course. But one night shortly after you’d started working for Quadrant, you’d been unable to sleep and had wandered over to YouTube and ended up watching racing highlights.
It had started off innocently with you trying to get better aquainted with the lore of F1. You’d always been passively interested in motorsport growing up but being in Lando's circle had been your first major introduction to the world of Formula One.
That particular night, you’d happened upon a video titled ‘Every 2023 F1 Driver’s Worst Crash’. The title should have been your first warning sign, the first give away that the video wasn’t for you.
You’d watched it anyway.
Lando’s crash in 2021 during qualifying in Spa was featured and you’d watched in horrified stillness as he’d gone careening around in circles, spinning like a top, showering the track with bits of carbon fiber and rubber. The radio of Sebastian Vettle played, his rage at qualifying not being cancelled evident in his voice. Lando’s silence on the radio and Will’s pleas for some sort of acknowledgment had made you sick to your stomach.
That was the night that you started hating the rain.
As you and Lando had grown closer, you found yourself religiously checking the forecast as race weekends drew closer. Any sign of inclement weather sent your anxiety spiraling as the video of Lando’s crash played over and over in your head.
Thankfully, Lando was pretty good in the wet and hadn’t had a major crash due to a wet track since (Brazil 2024 and Russia 2021 notwithstanding, even though you hated reliving those races as well).
When you’d woken up in Spain on Friday morning and heard the rhythmic tapping of rain against the windows, your stomach had dropped before you’d even gotten out of bed.
The gray, low hanging clouds lasted all morning and were still blocking out the sun by the time you and Lando arrived at the track. It threatened rain right up until Lando was finished with his first engineering meeting of the morning but opened up the moment he’d started to look for you in your designated corner of hospitality.
The first practice session ended up being delayed for over an hour before the cars are finally able to venture out on a slick track full of standing water. You’d watched anxiously from the garage, standing near the back of the group of VIP guests that were there that weekend. Lunch had been next and then Lando had been needed in another strategy session ahead of the second practice session that afternoon.
Now, the second practice session was facing the same fate with the skies opening up again just as you were wrapping up your last meetings of the day.
Now, you were sat in a quiet corner of the third floor, staring out the window watching the rain slow to a drizzle as the anxiety churns in your stomach. Your laptop was closed on the couch next to you and were cradling a cup of lukewarm mint tea as if it held the solution to the anxiety thrumming through your veins.
“Hey.” A soft voice breaks through your spiraling thoughts.
Blinking, you pull your gaze away from the gray sky to look up at Lando.
He was standing a few steps away, hands wringing together as he looked at you with an uncertain expression. He already had his race suit on, the top half hanging at his waist. They must be hoping to start the second session on time judging by the fact that he looked like he was about to climb into the car.
Things were still a bit awkward between you two after that night in Monaco. The icy wall you’d put up after his comments post-stream about Magui hadn’t completely melted yet and a lingering tension hung in the air.
As the minutes ticked down towards FP2, the quiet friction from the fallout of what had happened in his apartment took a backseat to the looming anxiety you felt when you thought of him out on a soaking wet track. You were still his friend and you were still worried about his safety, even if you didn’t want to admit you were probably more worried than you deserved to be.
“You’re doing that thing where you look like you’re trying to solve all of the worlds problems in your head.” Lando says softly, taking a tentative step towards where you’re sitting.
“Just checking the weather. It looks like the worst of the rain is moving off to the east.” You lie, voice a little tighter than you intend.
Lando’s smile fades slightly, his gaze dropping to where your hands clutching your mug of tea like a tether that was keeping you grounded. He knew you better than that. He knew exactly what a rainy day at the race track did to your nerves.
Reaching down, Lando gently takes the cup of tea out of your hands before he sets it down on the table in front of you. He threads his fingers through your now empty fingers so he can pull you to your feet.
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.” He says softly, stepping into your space, effectively shielding you from the handful of people milling about the suite. “The car feels stable. We’re just going to do a few laps on full wets to gauge the condition of the track and if it’s bad, I’ll come back in.”
You swallow down the lump of anxiety in your throat and look up at him, the icy armor cracking just enough to betray just how anxious you were for him. “Just…don’t push too hard, okay? It’s only Friday. Be safe. Please.”
Lando stares at you for a beat, his expression shifting into something that looked a lot like genuine affection. The awkwardness of the last few days seems to dissipate under the weight of the rain.
Without warning, he reaches up, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck as his thumb brushes a quick stroke behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut at the sudden warmth.
The casual affection that you two usually managed so easily was something that you’d been missing.
Lando leans down and presses his lips firmly to yours. It isn't some performative peck for any lingering cameras or fans to catch a glimpse of. This was a deep lingering thing that felt like a desperate attempt to reassure you that he would be okay. He kisses you like he needed to anchor himself to you before stepping into the chaos of the garage, like your presence was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Your heart takes a dangerous, painful leap as you melt into his touch, once again choosing to ignore that this was all an act as your hands slide up his chest to grip at the tight black fireproofs that stretch across his chest.
When he pulls back, Lando’s breath is a little uneven as he drops his forehead against yours for a brief, stolen moment.
“I promise I’ll come back to you, okay?” He says, taking a small step back. “I’ve got to go to the garage though. Do you want to walk out with me?”
You take a steadying breath, ignoring the way your stomach clenches with how real this all feels. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”
The rain slows to a slow drizzle not long after you walked into the garage with Lando. There’s an edge of anxiety that ripples its way through the engineers and mechanics. As you find your way to the front of the visitors corner, you could feel it in your chest too.
You were close enough to where Lando was getting quickly debriefed by Will that you hear them discussing how much standing water was out on the track and how some of the runoff drains had been clogged up by debris after the first practice session.
Lando seemed confident though and when he grabs his helmet just as the car is getting fired up, his eyes find yours through the crowd. All of the icy awkwardness that had lingered between you two since Monaco has seemingly fizzled away in the matter of just a few minuets since he’d found you zoned out in hospitality.
He gives you a wink, that signature lopsided grin making an appearance on his face right before he turned towards the car, now humming loudly as it idled, waiting for him to hop into the cockpit.
You stand next to Julie, listening to the hum of the garage preparing for the second practice session of the weekend. Will is in front of his computer, running over last minute stint plans as the engineers booted up their various programs to track telemetry and tire wear.
“Are they worried about the track being too wet to run on?” You ask Julie, nervously turning your phone over in your hands.
Julie shakes her head, “I don’t think so. Will was saying it was dicey in a few spots when they were out there earlier during the first practice, but it hasn’t been raining too hard since then.”
You draw in a deep breath, willing your hands to stop shaking as you watch Lando pull out of the garage right behind Oscar.
Twenty minutes into the session though, the sky opens up.
The steady drizzle turns into a heavy downpour that obscures the onboard cameras and turns parts of the track into something closer to a river than a race track. You watch Alex Albon nearly lose the backend of his car coming out of a corner when he hits a particularly large puddle with no warning. You could hear the nervous chatter among the mechanics as the engineers discussed the merits of brining Lando and Oscar in ahead of the inevitable red flag that the FIA was bound to throw.
You were still standing next to Julie on Lando’s side of the garage, your hands gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles were turning white. Just call him in, don’t wait for the FIA, you thought to yourself as you watched Oscar nearly lose it coming out of a particularly tricky corner. Ferrari had already called Lewis and Charles back and Red Bull was openly asking for a red flag over the radio as they told Max and Isaac to be careful with all the standing water.
Your eyes are glued to the live broadcast that was being shown on the TVs in the garage just as the director switched to Lando’s onboard camera as he comes flying down the back straight.
Through the spray, you see it happen in slow motion. Lando hit the entry to the chicane with just a little too much speed for the conditions, his front left tire catching on a curb that had accumulated a lethal looking puddle of standing water. The car hydroplanes instantly and Lando tries his best to correct the oversteer, wrenching the wheel in the opposite way that the car is flying. The McLaren snaps sideways at such a high rate of speed, you barely choked down the scream that started in the back of your throat.
“Shit.” Beside you, Julie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she watched alongside you just as helpless as you were.
You watch in absolute horror as the car goes airborne for a fraction of a second, hurtling sideways across the grass and slamming violently into the TechPro barrier only to bounce right off again. The impact is deafening even over the noise of the garage and pit lane. It’s a sickening sound; a loud, explosive crunch of carbon fiber that tears the car’s rear wing completely off and shattered the side pods. When the car bounces off the barrier, it spins around three more times like a top before coming to a dead stop in a cloud of smoke and debris.
It was Spa all over again. Exactly like Spa.
The entire world seems to tilt as your knees go weak underneath you. You feel Julie’s hand reach out and grip your elbow when she sees you sway on your feet. In a split second, the professional armor you’d spent years building shatters as your mind works through the worst case scenario of what you’re watching take place in front of you.
Your hand claps across your mouth instantly but it barely dampens the scream that tears from your throat, “Lando!”
You come completely unglued, your phone tumbling to the concrete floor with a loud clatter as you bury your head in Julie’s shoulder. Her arm comes around your shoulder as she pulls you closer, trying to murmur calming words into your ear that go completely unheard.
The live feed shows the wreckage of the car, the front wheel dangling uselessly by its tether. Worst of all, there is no movement in the cockpit. No neon yellow helmet moving.
Nothing.
Your heart slams painfully against your ribs as you strain to hear any sound that the broadcast might pick up coming from the car.
“Lando, radio check. Lando, you okay mate?” Will’s voice is remarkably calm but it sounded like he was talking underwater. Everything around you was muted by the blood roaring in your ears.
“Is he moving? Julie, why isn’t he moving?” You gasp, your voice cracking with a raw sort of panic that you’ve never heard come from your mouth.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the monitor. You grabbed at Julie’s arm that was holding your elbow steady. “Julie, tell me he’s okay. Oh my God, why isn’t he answering?”
“Easy, YN. Give him a second.” Julie says, trying to remain calm as her own face tenses, trying to keep you from completely spiraling.
She could tell you were past the point of rationality.
The fake relationship, the PR optics, the awkwardness that had plagued you and Lando for the past two weeks, all of it ceased to exist. Your entire world narrowed down to the video feed of Lando’s destroyed car as you waited for a sign that he was at least conscious after such a horrific wreck.
After what seems like a lifetime, the radio finally crackles to life, Lando’s heavy breathing playing through the TV speakers, “Yeah…yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine. Sorry, guys. I fucked that one up.”
On the screen, Lando’s helmet finally moves.
You watch as he dislodges the wheel from its docking station so he can hoist himself out. He moves slowly, like it’s taking a lot of effort for him to pull himself up from the drivers seat. It’s strange, seeing him move so robotically when you’re used to seeing him hop in and out with such ease.
The entire garage lets out a collective sigh of relief as they watch the medical team descend upon Lando, doing their initial checks for any potential injury. He’s able to walk without a limp, which is a good sign considering how hard he went into the barriers just moments ago. You quickly scan his body, checking for any limb that he might be holding extra gingerly or favoring. He doesn’t seem to be overtly injured but you’re certain he’s hurt. There was no way he couldn’t be.
You step back away from where you’d been standing, your stomach roiling so violently you think you’re going to be sick. When your back hits the cool concrete wall of the back of the garage, you lean your entire weight against it. The only thing you’re able to focus on is moving air in and out of your lungs. Your heart was still hammering but your panic was starting to subside.
All at once, the sickening dread is replaced by a devastatingly cold sense of clarity.
You had to stop this.
Looking down at your hands, which were still shaking uncontrollably, and then out at the mechanics already snapping into action to get the car repaired when it got brought back into the garage, you just knew.
The truth of what you had to do settled in your bones, the cold dread of what you were going to have to do settling in your stomach like lead. You weren’t just in deep with Lando. You were completely, hopelessly, dangerously in love with him.
And it was going to absolutely destroy you.
As you watch Lando follow two men into the medical car so he could be taken to the med center to get cleared, you remind yourself of the reality of your situation: He didn’t love you back.
None of this was real for Lando. All it was was the ultimate way to get his ex-girlfriend to leave him alone so he could move on. He’d made that clear the night in Monaco when he’d been gleeful about how good the optics would look online.
You indulged in the lingering kisses, the flirtatious glances, and the messy, blurred lines—until loving someone you could never have finally broke you.
As you lean back against the wall, head resting against the firm concrete, you decide it’s time to end the charade. You knew you’d never survive the devastation of losing him if you didn’t end it now.
Your eyes flutter shut as you swallow the bitter, metallic taste of fear as the reality of what you had to do settles in your chest.
The public dates and social media flirting, the late-night ‘platonic’ cuddling and sharing his bed — all of it had to come to an end now because you were in too deep. If you didn’t put distance between yourself and Lando now, you’d never survive when he decided it was time to move on. And you knew that day would come eventually.
You had to protect yourself, even if it meant walking away from the only person that had truly ever made you feel alive and you had to do it that weekend.
f1_gossip_official posted!
f1_gossip_official 20 minutes into the second practice of the weekend in Spain, Lando Norris went flying into the wall after hitting a curb covered in standing water at the wrong angle. The car was destroyed and the red flag was thrown. There were several tense moments on track when Lando didn't respond to his engineer nor seem to be able to move. Eventually, he did find his voice and was able to get out of the car under his own power. A McLaren spokeswoman confirmed Lando was taken to the medical center and later released and will be ready to go for qualifying tomorrow.
user03 holy shit that was a terrifying hit, i was watching it at home and screamed so loud my mom thought i chopped off a finger.
user903 the FIA should've thrown the red flag WAY before that, the conditions were so fucking dangerous
>>>user322 just like his crash in 2021 in spa!
user002 ok but when they showed YN coming unglued in the garage, i felt so bad.
>>>user12 she was so upset!
user34 YN looked like she was about to faint when lando wouldn't respond! idk who that was next to her but she was mothering YN so hard in that moment.
>>>user345 the woman next to her was Julie Danforth! She's Lando's press officer and seems to be pretty close to YN as well.
user034 i hope YN is okay. she looked like she was going to be sick. :(
>>>user464 i just wanted to give her a hug. the way she nearly collapsed when Lando was finally able to get something out over the radio.
>>>user344 i mean, can you imagine? she didn't know if she just watched the man that she's clearly head over heels for get seriously injured! poor girl :(
The rain had finally slowed to a dismal drizzle by the time Lando was released from the medical center.
You’d taken Julie’s suggestion and gone back to the hospitality suite to wait after you’d been told that because you weren’t family, you wouldn’t be allowed to go to him while he got checked out by the track doctors.
It was an agonizing nearly two hour wait. The only thing that you’d been able to do was pace up and down the carpet just inside the glass double doors. You hand’t changed out of your damp clothes, you couldn’t focus on answering any emails either. You’d only barely been able to return Max and Cisca's texts, assuring them that they would be the first to know when Lando was cleared by the medical team.
Nothing else mattered. You just needed to see him, to prove to yourself that he was okay. That was the only way you’d be able to relax.
You’re standing next to Julie, only half listening to her as she chatters away, when the glass doors swing open and Lando walks in.
He looks entirely spent, his shoulders slumped as he walked slowly through the doors. He was still in his race suit, the top half peeled down around his waist. His curls flat and damp against his forehead and there was a dark, purplish bruise already blooming across his left cheekbone. You watch the way he walked, stiff and hesitant, as if he was still bracing for an impact that might knock the wind out of him again.
Lando’s gaze scans the room the moment he walks in, looking for you in the crowd that had gathered to make sure he was okay.
The moment your eyes lock on his, the last remaining thread of your control snaps.
You completely lose it.
The wall that you’d spent the last two hours building around your heart — the cold, logical plan that you’d decided on to distance yourself and protect your heart — completely disintegrates the second you make eye contact with Lando.
If this weekend was going to be the end of it, if you were going to force yourself back into the cold reality of professionalism by Sunday night, then you were going to take whatever you could get right now. You were going to indulge in the lie one last time, allowing yourself to pretend that, for the moment, Lando still belonged to you. You could hide behind the fact that none of this was real to allow your feelings for him to consume you for the next 48 hours.
You cover the distance between you in a handful of quick strides. Lando barely has time to register your movement before you’re throwing your arms around him.
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto him so desperately, your muscles ache. Squeezing him so tightly it feels frantic, you grasp onto the fabric of his fireproofs as if Lando’s presence could physically anchor you to the ground beneath you.
Lando sucks in a breath as the impact from your body colliding with his sends him back half a step. His arms come up, wrapping securely around your middle, his large hands pressing flat against your back to pull you deep into his chest. Burying his face in your hair, he breathes you in with a heavy, ragged sound that sounds like a drowning man finally breaking the surface of the water.
Wet, hot tears soak through his fireproofs as silent sobs wrack your body, your shoulders shaking uncontrollable.
“Baby.” Lando whispers, his voice raw and raspy in your ear. One hand shifts, sliding up your spine to cup the back of your head, holding onto you just as desperately as you cling to him. “Hey, hey, hey, shhh. Baby, look at me. I’m alright, I swear. They cleared me, I’ve just got some bumps and bruises but that’s it. Not even a concussion.”
You don’t look up.
You can’t.
All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut as your tears continue to stream down your face. You let yourself sink into the warmth of his arms, listening to the steady, rapid thumping of his heart beneath your palms.
You allow yourself to pretend, even for just these few stolen moments in the middle of a rainy Friday, that the tight grip Lando has around you was because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you either.
“I was so scared watching you go into that barrier.” You choke, voice thin and high against his neck. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Lando Norris. Do you hear me?”
Lando’s fingers flex into your hair as he cradles you against his chest, swaying back and forth slightly.
“I won’t.” He murmurs, thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into the nape of your neck. He presses a quiet, lingering kiss to your temple, hoping that the gesture will help ground you. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m fine, I promise, okay?”
All you can manage in response is a quick, shallow nod of your head.
The comfort of his embrace is so intoxicating. It’s a devastatingly strong drug that you knew was going to be hell detoxing from. As you hold him tighter, just breathing in his presence, you make a silent deal with yourself.
Sunday would bring heartbreak.
Sunday would be the end of the lie.
But for right now, in the quiet safety of Lando’s arms, you were going to let yourself love him for just a little while longer.
The tension in the hotel room Sunday evening is suffocating.
You had tried your best to keep yourself together the entire weekend and for the most part, you had managed it. Now that the race was over and the end of you and Lando was imminent, you felt like you were drowning.
Across the room, Lando was quietly packing up his suitcase while tossing worried looks in your direction every so often. You hadn’t said a word to him since you’d gotten back to the hotel and he could feel the anxiety rolling off of you in tsunami sized waves.
Lando blamed himself entirely.
He’d finished on the podium just a few hours earlier, the smell of champagne and sweat still lingering. It had been a hard-fought, brilliant drive that had salvaged a good haul of points after the absolute disaster of Friday’s crash. Under normal circumstances, you would have probably had music playing, a bottle of champagne open and plans for a celebratory dinner with the team before leaving for Monaco to relax before the next race.
Tonight though, there was only the quiet sound of zippers and the clink of your skincare being packed up. You were standing by your open suitcase on the opposite side of the room from Lando, methodically folding your clothes as you tried to breathe around the hole that had formed in your chest Friday afternoon. Ever since the crash, you’d been operating on autopilot, your professional mask pinned so tightly in place it was starting to feel permanent.
Lando was distractedly packing his own bag, his shoulders tight and face drawn. He’d already showered while you’d grabbed something to eat in the hotel lobby, the scent of his shower gel and cologne filling the small room.
He kept casting hesitant, worried glances across the bed at you, as if he was expecting you to collapse onto the bed sobbing or something equally as dramatic. Every time you moved to grab another shirt or reached for your laptop, his eyes would track you, watching the slight tremor in your hands that you hadn’t quite been able to shake since the moment his car had hit the barrier.
The guilt radiating off of him was almost palpable. It made anything he tried to eat taste like ash and anxiety. It was bitter and cloying in the most uncomfortable way.
He’d seen how completely unraveled you had been when he’d walked into hospitality on Friday. He felt entirely responsible for the tight set of your shoulders and the exhaustion digging at the hollows beneath your eyes. Neither of you had said anything, but there was no way Lando had missed the way you’d been tossing and turning in your shared bed since that night, your whimpers waking him up when you finally did manage to fall asleep when the dawn had streaked itself across the sky.
Lando tucks a set of trainers into his suitcase and instead of reaching for the clean team polo that he hadn’t needed that weekend, he stops.
For a long moment, he just stands there, staring down at his open bag, jaw ticking as he tried to figure out how to fix the suffocating tension in the room.
Finally, he lets out a heavy, defeated sigh as he pulls his phone from his pocket.
“Max just texted me.” He says softly, his voice sounding louder than he intended thanks to the silence that sat heavily between the two of you. “Verstappen.” He clarifies, watching your face carefully for a reaction. “His jet is leaving for Monaco in about an hour and a half. He wants to know if we’d be ready by then.”
You freeze, fingers tightening around the bundle of cords you’d been wrapping up to tuck in your tote bag. You don’t look up at him, your eyes staying trained on the ground in front of you.
“You should be able to make it to the airport by then.” You murmur, carefully placing the cords inside the pocket of the tote.
Lando’s brow creases, a flicker of confusion darting across his face. “What do you mean ‘you’? We’re flying back to Monaco together, aren’t we?”
You swallow down the massive lump of anxiety in your throat. You’d been dreading this moment since you’d seen Lando walk through the doors after his crash Friday afternoon.
For a few breaths, you can’t make the words you know you have to say come out. Your tongue feels like sandpaper and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.
“I’m not going back to Monaco with you, Lando. I’ve booked myself a flight to London this evening.”
Lando frowns, utterly confused. “London?” He repeats, taking a tentative step towards you. “Why are you going back to London? I thought you were just going to work from your office at my flat until we had to leave for Austria on Wednesday?”
Your eyes flutter shut.
You had known this was going to be heartbreakingly difficult but standing in the room with Lando less than five feet away from you, seeing the look of panic and confusion on his face, was actually going to destroy you.
“That’s not my office, Lando. That’s your spare bedroom.”
"It could be your office.”
You shake your head as you finish zipping up your suitcase, pulling it onto the floor with a thud. Your tote bag goes on top of it and suddenly, you have no more excuses to stay. You know you need to make your escape quick or else you’ll never get away from Lando’s gravitational pull.
“It’s time to stop pretending, Lan. Our…relationship has served its purpose.” You back up towards the door, dragging your suitcase with you. “We haven’t heard from Magui recently and Emma said she posted a story with another guy last night, some tennis player.”
You couldn’t look at Lando in the eye. If you did, you knew your resolve would crumble.
“What are you saying?” He asks almost too quietly for you to even hear.
Tears sting painfully at the corner of your eyes. You tilt your head back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m saying it’s time we go back to our normal lives, the fake dating has run its course.”
Lando takes one step towards you but freezes when you immediately back away from him. His heart clenches so painfully at your desperate attempt to put distance between you, he almost forgets how to breathe.
“Are you invoking the ‘Escape Rule' right now?” he asks carefully.
“I’m invoking the ‘we’ve accomplished our goal and it’s time to go back to normal’ rule right now.” You say, your hand blindly finding the door handle behind you.
“I never agreed to that one.” Lando protests.
You shake your head, “That’s too bad. I’ll go to Silverstone with you, keep up appearances and everything but after that, I’ll just fade into the background. We can come up with an official line later.” You glance down at your phone in your hand. “I’ve got to go, my Uber is here. If anyone asks, I had some important brand meetings in London and will have to miss Austria.”
Lando huffs a dry, brittle laugh. “Always got that PR story at the ready, huh YN?”
You narrow your eyes, a sharp biting reply on the tip of your tongue. This was hard enough, losing Lando like this. You didn’t want to jepordize your job too by mouthing off to the boss now that you had to be professional again.
pairing -> lando norris x quadrantPRdirector!reader
summary -> You’ve always been a rule follower. When a PR nightmare forces you into a fake relationship with your close friend and colleague, Lando Norris, you protect your heart the only way you know how: with strict rules written down in a notebook.
But lines quickly blur into a messy tangle of feelings neither of you can control. What started as a temporary fix to protect Lando’s public persona suddenly feels entirely too real. Now, you’re left wondering how much you're willing to sacrifice for the boundaries you insisted on. Falling for your best friend is inherently messy, and it scares you to death. How long can you pretend that getting lost in wonderland won't drive you both mad?
warnings -> fake dating. 2 idiots in love who suck at communicating. a wild magui appearance or two. Use of YN (I know, I’m sorry but it couldn’t be avoided!) timeline/race schedule is ambiguous and a bit hand wavey. Just go with it.
msb yaps -> oh my GOD it's finally here! i am so excited for this! six part series inspired by the song wonderland by taylor swift. as always, thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from jumping off a ledge and beta reading. gonna try keeping a tag list for this series, so lmk if you want to be on it. otherwise, you can follow @the-msb-library & turn on notifs there so you don't miss anything! divider from @somebitchprobably-graphicdump <3
chapter word count -> 7.2k
series master list | main master list | lets yap
its_yn posted!
394,398 likes
liked by mclarenf1, lando, emma_fairchild and others
its_yn happy monoco race week to all who celebrate!!!
user023 anyone wanna take bets on if magui shows up???
>>>user992 PLEASE could you imagine?!
>>>user332 its a humiliation kink atp if she does
lando hey who's that cute guy in the middle picture
>>>its_yn hmm idk just some random fan that snuck into the garage to cosplay an engineer.
>>>lando weird, thought it was your amazingly talented, wildly handsome boyfriend or sm
>>>its_yn 🤭
>>>emma_fairchild you guys are such losers
>>>its_yn xoxo bestie
user223 genuinely want her life FR
Monaco has always been one of your favorite weekends on the calendar. Sure, the race more often than not ended up being boring with the pole sitter eventually taking the checkered flag in P1 but to you, there was always so much more to a Monaco race weekend than who ended up on the podium. Last year, you’d watched from McLaren hospitality as Lando had crossed the line in P1, overjoyed at watching your friend live out a childhood dream. You’d stayed in the shadows that day though, content to watch from the sidelines.
This year was different.
You’d gotten to Monaco the Monday of race week, telling everyone that it was just easier to set up a temporary Quadrant HQ in Lando’s office rather than move everything from your London flat in the middle of an already stressful week.
You told anyone who had asked that it was simply a business decision, that it made sense for you to be there since Max, Ria, and the rest of the Quadrant crew would be coming and going that week. Answering and reacting to media inquiries from Monaco was just easier.
The truth of the matter was that Lando was still on edge after his encounter with Magui back in Canada and you knew it soothed his nerves having you close. He had asked you to come early late one night the week before and you hadn't even hesitated. Of course you would be there for him when he needed it. What were friends for, after all? Besides, it would look better in the media too. With you spending more time in Monaco, the relationship gained more credibility.
This race weekend you once again found yourself thrust right into the spotlight, a place you were quickly being forced to be comfortable in despite every cell in your body screaming for the quiet anonymity you’d grown used to.
You also weren't alone this weekend like you had been in Canada, as Lando's parents were attending their first race of the season. You’d met Adam and Cisca Norris several times before and they had always been so lovely towards you, towards all of Lando’s friends really. He’d told them about your ‘relationship’ earlier in the week, sticking to the rule of not telling anyone the truth.
When she’s pulled you into a hug Friday morning, Cisca had whispered something about how she’d ’always known there’d been a spark’ between you and her son.
Her words had knocked the wind out of your lungs.
On Sunday, you find yourself sandwiched between Lando’s parents in McLaren’s hospitality suite that sat high above pit lane watching Lando start on pole for the second year in a row. An anxious energy thrummed through the room, crowded with sponsors and family that flocked to the glitzy race every year. You were acutely aware of the cameras seeking you out too, something that still had the anxiety churning in your stomach.
Lando had had a terrible start to the year, crippled by reliability issues as the team struggled to find the sweet spot with the car. By Miami, he had felt more comfortable in the car and finally, it seemed like Lando was settling into maybe making a run at defending his championship. It was still early in the season and you knew how quickly things could change, but him managing to put the car on pole for this race was a good sign.
The tension in the room was heavy as the laps ticked down. The team had made all the right strategy calls and Lando was almost ten seconds up on Kimi, who was sitting back in P2 fighting off his own teammate for the second podium spot that afternoon.
“Alright, mate. Five laps to go. Ten second gap to Kimi behind, keep this up. Watch track limits though, we only have one strike but I don’t want any drama.” Over the radio, Will speaks to Lando calmly as you tried not to get ahead of yourself.
You knew how much this track meant to Lando, how much it would mean to him if he managed to win it in back to back years but you were also afraid to even think of the possibility of him winning.
Beside you, Cisca’s hand finds yours underneath the table as she grins over at you. “You look far too calm considering…” She says, voice edged with the same anxiety you felt clutched in your chest.
“I’m just really good at pretending.” You whisper conspiratorially, small grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “I feel like I’m going to have a stroke.”
“He’s got this.” From your other side, Adam squeezes your shoulder but you refuse to say the words out loud.
After the DNF in Zandvoort last year, you refused to speak about any sort of positive results before the checkered flag was waved. You were too superstitious.
Someone in the suite turns the TV broadcast volume up so you can hear Alex Jacques call the final lap. He talks about how the team had struggled to get back to fighting form in the first few races of the season, how calm Lando had looked through it all, how much confidence he’d had this entire weekend and how good the car was running as Lando started his final lap.
It wasn’t until Lando comes out of that last corner that you feel the tears build, stinging painfully at the corners of your eyes. Behind you, you could hear Max, Ria, Keegan and Pietra murmuring about how he was actually going to do it. You still refuse to say anything, refuse to speak anything into existence until you actually see him cross the finish line. Your grip on Cisca’s hand tightens as he barrels down the last straight still in the lead, now with almost a fifteen second lead on Kimi.
“Lando pulls off what we thought might be impossible at the start of the season! From wrestling with reliability issues early on, McLaren has come storming back! The world champion wins the Monaco Grand Prix for the second year in a row!”
The checkered flag falls and the tears start. You know how much this race means to him, how badly he wanted to prove himself a worthy World Champion. The suite erupts around you, cheers from Lando’s family and friends drowning out the commentating that was still continuing on the screens above your heads. Beside you, Adam lets out a cry of paternal pride while Cisca collapses into her seat, her hands pressed to her face in a mixture of relief and pure joy.
But you? You don’t move. You can’t. The aloof, unbothered mask that you’d been wearing all weekend shatters into a million pieces the moment you hear Will tell him he’d just won Monaco for the second time in a row. The sheer weight of the last few weeks - the fake dating, the feelings that you were desperately trying to ignore, the pressure of keeping Lando’s world steady - all of it comes rushing to the surface as you listened to him over the radio.
“We did it!" Lando crows over the radio. "God, this feels good. Good job team, all those long nights in the factory paid off. Thank you to everyone for making this possible, I couldn’t do it without you all. This one is extra special, two years in a row!” You could tell from the rasp in Lando’s voice he was desperately holding back tears after accomplishing something that he had been nervous he wouldn’t be able to do that year.
“Oh, listen to him.” Cisca whispers, her voice thick with emotion as she reaches over to take your hand back in hers. “He did it, YN. Our boy did it.”
Our boy.
Your boy.
Your heart seizes painfully. He might appear to be yours in public but you knew that Lando could never truly belong to you. Not really, not in any permanent way that meant anything. This arrangement between you and him was never going to last and eventually, this was all going to end. It hurt, realizing this might be the only time you’d be able to celebrate with him like this so desperate moment, you make a choice. You choose to let yourself sink into the charade, even if it could never be your reality.
That would have to be enough.
You’d go back to pretending the feelings weren’t there tomorrow. As long as you didn't say anything out loud, the charade could remain your reality.
You try to nod, to say something coherent in response to his mother’s comment but the only thing that you could manage was a choked sob, catching it barely in the back of your throat as you desperately swipe at your tear stained face. Staring up up at the screen, you watch as Lando got out of the car, pausing for a moment beside it as he collects himself. When he takes off his balaclava, you could see the red around his eyes, giving away the fact that he's already been crying.
At that exact moment, while you stare up at Lando with an awe struck look on your face, the TV director switches the feed to the camera that had been stationed in the McLaren suite once a win had looked imminent.
All of a sudden, you’re looking up at your own tear stained face with Adam’s arm around your shoulders. A graphic bar pops up beneath your image: YN YLN - Lando Norris’ Partner. Your stomach lurches. You should have expected it, McLaren PR had confirmed the relationship to the media earlier that week but it still caught you off guard, the charade you’d been living for over a month suddenly feeling too real.
Blinking furiously, you swipe at your eyes and laugh, shaking your head at how ridiculous you look on the screen. Before you have a chance to do anything else, the feed switches back to Lando chatting with Kimi and Oscar, who had overtaken George at the last minute to snatch the last podium step away from the Mercedes driver.
Lando was beaming, sweaty curls matted to his face, the indent of his radio wires pressed into his face as he looked around Parc Ferme as if he was searching for someone.
“Let’s go congratulate our boy, YN.” Adam says, his eyes twinkling with a knowing smile that made your stomach flip.
You start to shake your head, to say it isn’t your place to be down in Parc Ferme with the rest of the team. You didn’t belong there, you wouldn’t dare assume that you did.
Adam reaches for your hand, tugging you toward the doors. “He asked me this morning to make sure you were down there with the family if he won. Said he didn’t want to celebrate without you.”
You manage a nod, not trusting your voice quite yet with how many different emotions were coursing through your body at the moment. Instead, you just follow Adam and Cisca down the stairs towards Parc Ferme where Lando was doing his post-race media interview with Jenson Button.
Walking from the suite down towards where Lando is parked is a blur of papaya and deafening cheers from the crowds. The sticky heat of the Monaco afternoon presses in on you but all you could feel was the frantic thrumming of your heart against your ribs as you followed Adam and Cisca through the crowd. They’d done this last year. They knew the drill, knew the best way to get to where Lando was to see him before the podium ceremony.
The crowd that was standing against the barriers seemed to part when they realized the people trying to weave their way towards Lando were his parents.
“Oi! Let them through!” A mechanic shouted, grinning when he makes eye contact with you.
Suddenly, you find yourself pressed up against the metal barrier with Lando’s parents just beside you. Lando was finishing his interview with Jenson, his chest heaving with the exertion of the race. His hair was still sweat mussed and he was clutching at a bottle of water like a lifeline. He looked exhausted, his face streaked with sweat and grime but the second Jenson moved on to talk to Kimi, he began to scan the crowd. He wasn’t looking for Zak or Andrea or even his own parents.
He was looking for you.
The moment his eyes find yours, the way his expression changes is so visceral it makes the breath catch in the back of your throat. The professional, triumphant World Champion persona was forgotten in an instant, leaving behind a boy who looked like he’d just found home.
Lando doesn't wait. Doesn't wait for Jenson to finish with Kimi and Oscar. He doesn't even clear anything with Julie. He just makes a decision and starts walking in your direction.
In a few long strides, Lando is in front of you, helmet forgotten on ground behind him. Camera shutters flicker to life around you, totally ignoring anything else other than the way Lando is staring down at you with a singular, daunting sense of determination.
Before you can even get a word of congratulations out of your mouth, his hands are on you. One hand get tangles in your hair at the nape of your neck, the other around your waist hauling you as close as he can get you with the metal barrier between you. The cold metal bites into your skin but you don’t even notice it. Lando smelled like sweat, gasoline and adrenaline and you couldn’t get enough.
Then he kisses you.
It isnt the quick, strategic brush of lips you’d grown used to managing while you and Lando were in public. You could handle those brief flashes of affection by telling yourself he was just acting, that the way he touched you was all just for show.
No, this was a full on collision, messy and so dangerously close to being real that you’re certain you’ll never recover from it. It was deep, possessive and so raw that the ground beneath your feet tilts, your knees nearly buckling.
He kisses you with the hunger of a man who’d been starving for weeks, his mouth moving against yours with such a frantic honesty, the breath is stolen right from your lungs. It shatters every rule, breaks every boundary, and would make you a liar when you inevitably tried to convince yourself that it was nothing more than an act.
For the first time all day, you don't think about the cameras or the crowd. You don't think about Magui or the rules that you keep tucked away in that spare notebook. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his race suit, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a single inch of air left between you. Letting out a broken, jagged sob into the kiss, you couldn’t help the grin that flashes across your face, the taste of his sweat and your tears blurring together.
When Lando finally pulls back, it’s only an inch or so and he doesn’t fully let go. He presses his forehead against yours, his shoulders heaving as he tries to catch his breath.
“Hi.” He breathes, smile so bright and wide that your chest aches.
“Hi.” You laugh, shaking your head at how bold he’s being with his affection.
“You were the only person I wanted to see after that checkered flag waved, baby" He whispers, his voice cracking, rough with an intimacy you’d never heard from him before.
“I’m so proud of you.” You choke out, your hands framing his face, thumbs swiping at the grime on his cheeks.
For one dangerous moment with the crowd losing their minds around you, the charade ceases to exist. It feels like this, right here in Lando's arms , was the only thing in the entire world that was real. The lines hadn’t just blurred in a matter of seconds, they’d been burned away by the heat Lando's expression as he looked at you.
He leans in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on your temple before turning back to face the world, his fingers intertwined with yours between the barriers so tightly it felt like he’d never let go.
When the interviews are done, Julie is waiting on the sidelines, exasperated expression on her face as if to say ‘are you two done?’. Beside her, Jon and Zak are looking at each other with smug, all knowing grins as they shake their head.
Lando turns back to you, taking a step towards where his team is waiting for him. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand once he’s too far to keep you in his grasp.
“I’ve got media duties." He says, backing away even as gaze stays trained on you. "I really hope you brought a gown with you in that giant suitcase you have in my closet at home because I’m not going to the Prince’s Ball tonight without you.”
f1_gossip_official posted!
f1_gossip_official and lando norris WINS monaco for the second year in a row! F1tv also seemingly confirmed his relationship with @/its_yn, who was in attendance all weekend, by identifying her as ‘Lando Norris’ Partner’ during the race. YN watched the entire race sitting between Lando's parents, so it must be getting serious!! the two shared a passionate kiss in parc ferme after the race as well, as his family and team looked on, all with smiles on their faces.
user091 new fave f1 couple
>>>user049 for REAL
user921 idk how to explain it but this just seems so GENUINE, nothing compared to how he acted with his last gf
>>>user002 love that we're not even using her name anymore
>>>user322 @/user002 oh she's gonna HATE that
user445 literally the definition of 'where's the trophy, he just comes running over to me'
>>>user452 @/its_yn is legit living a taylor swift song AHH #jealous
User95 her getting all emotional and hugging his parents? She’s so proud of him 🥹😭
User41 AND THAT KISS? I thought they both were going to burst into flames. 🔥
The Prince’s Ball was supposed to be the crown jewel of the weekend. It was supposed to be the final exclamation point on what was already the most glitzy race of the entire Formula One calendar. Beneath the high ceilings and suffocating weight of sponsor duties and royal protocol though, it was turning out to be an exhausting exercise in patience and endurance. The music was a subdued hum that had your eyes feeling heavy before the first course had even been served, the speeches were long and droning, and the photo ops with the sponsors were endless.
To cope with the corporate small talk and stiff atmosphere, you and Lando had long since turned to the passing trays of champagne. One glass turned into five, after which you’d lost count of how many times Lando had handed you a glass just as you’d emptied the one already in your hands. By midnight, the formal rigidity of the event had dissolved into a warm and hazy blur that had you feeling like you were floating.
You're not exactly sure how, but after dinner you find yourself tucked into a dimly lit alcove near a set of doors that led to the outside terrace. You told yourself that you were simply keeping Lando out of sight from a group of finance bros that had been eyeing him all night.
The truth was that neither of you were paying attention to anyone else in the room anymore. Lando’s world had narrowed down to the way the ivory silk dress you wore shimmered beneath the ballroom lights and the way his chest clenched when you smiled up at him.
His hands curled into your waist, the cool silk bunching beneath his fingers as he tugged you deeper into the shadows. He wasn’t just holding onto you for a photo op anymore. He wasn’t pretending that he was getting handsy with his girlfriend for the sake of getting caught by the media. Lando was simply letting down his guard for the night and fully planned on blaming the alcohol on any poor choices he made.
“You’re supposed to be networking, Lando. All of these people are here for you.” You murmur, your cheeks flaming when you hear how breathy your voice has gone. The champagne has your head spinning, making you far bolder than you would have ever let yourself be otherwise.
“Don’t care.” Lando says, the tone of his voice thick and gravelly against your skin. His eyes were dark, intense and slightly glassy from the combination of exhaustion and champagne. He hadn’t dropped eye contact with you for several minutes.
Taking a step closer, his fingers trace a line up the silk of your dress from your hip to your torso, smirking when he notices the goosebumps littering your skin. He was testing your boundaries, seeing how far you’d let him go. It was in the way his gaze kept dropping to your lips, the way his touch lingered, completely disregarding all of the rules and boundaries he’d agreed to back in Miami. And so far, you were letting him push you as far as he wanted to go.
To anyone watching from across the ballroom, it looked like you two were just a couple completely and hopelessly obsessed with one another.
And that was the problem, wasn't it? You could feel yourself falling. Hard. The very thing you'd been afraid of was coming into focus at an alarming rate. It was so dangerous, what was happening in this dark little corner of the ballroom where you were completely alone because neither of you were performing for the cameras. It was just the two of you, forgetting that the outside world existed, forgetting that this was supposed to be fake.
Every time Lando leaned in that evening, his arm pulling you flush against his chest so he could whisper a joke about a sponsor’s ill fitting tuxedo, your heart took a dangerous leap that you knew there was no coming back from.
You had to actively force yourself not to wrap your arms around his neck the moment he had dragged you into that tiny little cozy alcove. It’s just the win, you told yourself desperately, your fingers clutching at your champagne flute a little tighter. It’s the adrenaline and the alcohol and exhaustion of the day that’s making him behave this way, don’t fall for it. Don’t believe the act.
Lando murmurs your name, his hand moving from your waist to gently cup the side of your neck as his thumb brushes over the swell of your cheekbone. The soft, golden light from the chandelier above you caught the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes. Gone was the smug, cocky playboy that constantly had you rolling your eyes with his antics. In his place was a man who seemed to be completely consumed by the person standing in front of him.
It was the alcohol, you told yourself wildly as your heart rate spiked. It had to be, there was no other reason for Lando to be looking at you like this right now. But for tonight, that was going to be enough.
“Come here.” He tugs you towards him, his warmth flooding through you. “It should be illegal for you to look this pretty.”
You roll your eyes, not used to the flattery coming from his mouth tonight.
“Quit that.” You scold but it comes out weak, utterly devoid of your usual authoritative tone you frequently used with him.
Lando just smirks before leaning even further into your space until your noses were practically touching. For one terrifyingly beautiful moment, you think he is going to break rule number once again and kiss you while no one was watching.
Much to your embarrassed dismay, he simply tucks his nose behind your ear, breathing you in while wrapping his arms around your waist in a desperate move that felt dangerously close to a confession.
“Let’s get out of here.” He murmurs against your skin, a shiver shooting down your spine when his lips ghost over the crook of your neck. “Please? I want to go home. With you.”
You swallow hard, your fingers moving on their own accord as they bury themselves in his curls at the back of his neck, holding onto him just sat tightly. You didn’t even care if he was being this way because he was seven glasses of champagne deep and wouldn’t remember it in the morning.
“Okay.” You whisper into his shoulder, letting yourself sink into his warmth. “Let’s go home.”
f1.WAG.fashion posted!
f1.WAG.fashion as is tradition, lando norris attended the Prince's Ball tonight after his win in Monaco with his new girlfriend, @/its_yn on his arm. this is the first time he's made an official appearance with her and she looked STUNNING.
user234 the way i desperately need her to drop her back and arm routine
user099 i was there tonight! my boyfriend works for one of the sponsors and got 2 last minute tickets. these two did not look at anyone else the entire night. they spent the entire night laughing and drinking with their hands ALL OVER each other
>>>user441 ugh love that for them
user002 that dress is to DIEEEEEE FORRRRRR
user911 currently writing a petition to name @/its_yn as most fashionable WAG
>>>user722 SECONDED
The heavy oak door of Lando’s apartment clicks shut, instantly plunging you both into an almost eerie silence that had your ears ringing.
It was well past two in the morning when you two tumbled through the door, both still half drunk off of champagne and the way you’d spent the entire night flirting with each other. Your feet were absolutely killing you inside the brand new designer heels Julie had pulled out of nowhere. Looking at Lando though, with his bow tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck, his jacket slung over one shoulder, the pain was entirely worth it if you got to see him like this.
“Shhh…” Lando whispers dramatically, turning around with a finger pressed to his lips. His eyes were bright, still slightly glassy, amd there was a devastating lopsided grin plastered on his face. “Max and Pietra are asleep in the guest room. If we wake them up now, we’ll never hear the end of it. He’ll probably make me give up half the shit t I’ve bought in Tarkov this year as punishment.”
“I am being quiet, Norris.” You shoot back, dropping your clutch on the side table where it lands with a soft thud. “You’re the one stomping around here like a bloody rhinoceros!”
Lando freezes, looking at you with a hilarious mix of disbelief and offence as his mouth drops open.
The only thing you can manage in response is a bubbly giggle that would've had you cringing if you had been sober.
The alcohol was making everything feel warm, soft, and beautifully low-stakes. Nothing could upset you at the moment and you were just content to drown in the way Lando kept looking at you like you were responsible for hanging the stars in the sky.
Leaning against the wall, you unbuckle the ankle straps of your heels, letting out a sigh of relief when your bare feet hit the cool hardwood flooring.
As you step out of them, you lose your balance for just a fraction of a second. Lando’s hand shoots out instantly, catching you at the waist, his palm hot against the bare skin exposed by the low cut back of your dress.
He doesn’t drop his hand right away like you’d expected. Instead, his gaze lingers, tracing the lines of the ivory fabric of your dress. “You look…" He swallows, his throat bobbing. “Ridiculously good tonight, by the way. Have I told you that already?”
A soft, breathy giggle escapes as you kick your shoes across the hallway, “Only five times before the Prince Albert's champagne toast.”
“Well, let’s make it six then.” He whispers, thumb doing a teasingly slow swipe across your hip before he reluctantly pulls away. “Come on, let’s get out of these clothes before you trip over something.”
“I am insulted you’re implying that I’m the clumsy one, Mister ‘I almost face plant whenever I get out of the back of minivan.”
Lando shoots you a glare over his shoulder, “That was one time, you brat!”
You simply smirk back at him, shrugging your shoulders while you follow him down the hallway.
Lando's bedroom feels like an entirely different universe when you shut the door behind you with a soft snick. The room is cool, the balcony doors cracked open just enough to let in the distant sounds of the waves crashing against the beach below.
You retreat to the en suite bathroom, quickly swapping the heavy gown for a pair of soft silk pajamas. When you walk back out, Lando is already in a pair of grey joggers and tshirt, his curls a wild, chaotic mess from where he’d aggressively run his hands through his hair on the drive home.
As he pulls back the duvet, he glances up at you to watch you approach the edge of the bed. The tension from the party earlier was still humming between you, the alcohol had made the boundaries feel incredibly fluid.
You slide underneath the covers, shivering slightly at the cool sheets against your skin. Lando climbs in beside you, propping himself up on his elbow, his eyes tracking you in the dim light.
“Hey, Lan?” You whisper into the quiet space between you while Lando ignores the itch to reach out and pull you close.
“Yeah?”
“I think we need to make an official amendment to rule number one.” You say, trying to inject a note of professional authority into your voice, even though you were looking up at him though your lashes.
Lando’s lips twitch into an amused, sleepy smile. “An amendment? At two in the morning? This must be very important if it can’t wait until tomorrow.”
You nod solemnly, but Lando sees the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
“Okay then, lets here it.” He prompts.
“I propose we add a cuddling clause.” You manage, heart thumping a little faster at how brave you’re being. “Given the high-stress nature of both of our jobs, the jet lag and the…logistical realities of our current sleeping arrangements, I think it’s legally permissible for us to cuddle while we have to share a bed. Purely for comfort, of course. No strings attached, no hidden meanings, strictly physical.”
Lando’s smile softens into something warm that makes your chest ache. “A cuddling clause, huh?” He repeats softly. “Yeah, I can agree to that. It sounds highly professional, very well thought out.”
“Exactly. Because there are absolutely no feelings involved here,” You insist, looking him dead in the eye as you try to convince yourself as much as possible him. “It’s strictly transactional comfort between two busy people who could benefit from the endorphins that cuddling releases. Honestly, I bet Jon would encourage it as part of your recovery process.”
“I’m so glad I have you looking out for my recovery process.” Lando huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as reaches behind him to switch off the bedside lamp. “Ammendment approved. C’mere, baby.”
Plunged into darkness, with only silvery moonlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains on the other side of the room, Lando doesn’t hesitate. His arm slides around your waist, tugging you so you’re flush against him while the other hand slips underneath your neck. You tuck your face perfectly into the crook of his neck, the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne and warm skin wrapping around you like a shield.
Reaching beneath the sheets, he pulls your leg over his hips, smiling in the dark as you melt into him. His fingers slip underneath the silk top you have on, where he makes slow, soothing circles on your bare skin.
The skin on skin touch of Lando’s hand is searing, sending butterflies into a maddening dance in the pit of your stomach.
You let out a soft breath, nuzzling deeper against his chest. You know that the morning would thrust you both back into the busy world that you both lived in. You also knew that the “no feelings” clause was an absolute lie but you weren’t willing to voice it because that meant ending things according to your own “escape rule”.
For the next few hours though, being wrapped in Lando’s arms in the quiet Monaco night, the lie was enough to let you sleep peacefully.
The hangover from the race weekend had officially lifted from the rest of the principality but inside Lando’s apartment, the delicate bubble you two had built since his win remained completely intact. A week had passed since Lando had crossed the finish line first and life was beginning to settle back into somewhat of a normal routine.
Max and Pietra had packed their bags and returned to London shortly after the race ended the week prior, leaving the guest room entirely vacant. Your suitcase, however, was still stubbornly sitting in the corner of Lando’s closet. Neither of you had brought up the empty guest bed or had broached the subject of you moving your things out of his bathroom. The topic of your return to London had also gone completely unmentioned. It was a mutual, silent cowardice that you both refused to acknowledge.
If you didn’t talk about it, you didn’t have to explain why you were still sharing Lando’s bed every night.
With a break between races, there wasn’t much on the immediate schedule anyways. You’d spent the last week or so handling emails and Zoom meetings from a desk in Lando’s spare office that he’d cleaned off for you. Yesterday, you’d overhead him tell casually tell Oscar that you were ‘working from your office’ and the weight of him calling a room in his apartment yours had made your stomach do a violent, sickening flip. Next week, you’d both have to return to reality and fly back to London together so Lando could do some sim work at the MTC and you could make sure your plants weren’t dying an untimely death in your flat.
That was a long ways away though and tonight, you had just finished up some last second sponsor emails. You padded down the hallway heading towards Lando’s gaming room, looking for your iPad. From behind the door, Lando’s chaotic shouting was loud enough to vibrate the floorboards beneath your feet.
“Max! You absolute donkey! You left me completely unguarded and now I’ve got my arm shot off!” Lando yelled.
He’d disappeared into the guest room that doubled as his gaming room a few hours earlier, telling you he was going to hop on Max’s stream and play Tarkov for a little while. He usually just joined with his audio, preferring to stay off camera for the most part. It distracted chat when Lando appeared on Max’s stream so you figured you’d be safe if you snuck in without knocking.
Pushing open the door, you walk in, your hair tied up in a messy knot at the top of your head, bare feet shuffling across the hardwood floor. “Hey, Lan? Did I leave my iPad in here or —”
You stop dead in your tracks right behind his gaming chair, eyes going wide like a deer caught in the headlights. Right at eye level was a blindingly bright ring light. Your eyes slice over to his secondary monitor where you can see a crystal clear video preview of what chat was currently watching: Lando dead center in the frame and you standing directly behind him, fully visible to the entire audience in a pair of Lando’s oversized gray joggers and a very tiny, curve hugging tank top.
“Uh…Hey there, Boss Lady.” Max’s voice sounded form the speakers of Lando’s computer, eyes going wide with amusement as he watched your cheeks go crimson.
Lando freezes, his fingers slipping off his mouse in an almost comedic fashion. He hadn’t even thought to warn you that he’d lost a bet to Max earlier in the day and was being strong-armed into having his video on for tonight’s stream. He glances at the monitor before turning his head around slowly to look up at you.
Chat absolutely loses it when they realize what’s going on:
User1: IS THAT YN???
User2: Shouldn’t she be back in London??? What is she doing in Monaco still???
User3: IS SHE WEARING HIS SWEATPANTS???
User4: wait girl, please drop the arm routine!
User5: Oh we are being FED TONIGHT
User6: why is everyone shocked? That post-race makeout sesh after his win basically confirmed they're together.
User7: I always knew there was something going on between them and people called me insane!!
“Oh no.” You whisper, your brain malfunctioning as you instinctively take a step backwards in an attempt to dive out of the frame.
Lando’s reflexes are, unfortunately, faster.
Before you can escape, his hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. With a low, rumbling laugh, he doesn’t let you run. Instead, he tugs you just hard enough to knock you off balance sending you tumbling forward and straight into his lap.
“Hi sweetheart.” He grins smugly, wrapping his arm securely around your waist, pulling you against his chest so you can't scramble away from him.
You were sitting sideways across his thighs, your hands resting on his shoulder for balance as you tried to maintain an ounce of dignity and decorum, something that you weren’t really achieving at the moment.
“Lando, you are streaming! With your video on!” You hiss under your breath, glaring at him as chat continues to lose their mind and Max watches on, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Everyone is watching! Let me up!”
“Let them watch.” He murmurs into the crook of your neck, the tone of his voice dropping into that quiet, low rasp that he usually reserved for the dark of his bedroom when he held you until your breathing evened out.
Propping his chin casually on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, he looks right at the camera and grins. “I think chat is enjoying the interruption, yeah? Besides, you look comfy. Why would you want to move when you’re so cozy?”
Chat comes unglued once again:
User92: they are so cute, I cannot handle it
User29: OH MY GOD
User12: The way those paws of his are gripping her. hand placement final boss.
User999: The way he was NEVER this affectionate with…her…
Uesr11: Lando looks so happy, oh my LAWD
User223: he is such a menace. I love it.
From his flat in London, Max lets out a deeply uncomfortable, weirded out groan. “What in the world is going on? This kind of domesticity is freaking me out. Lando, mate, you’ve never been like this, like ever. It’s grossing me out.”
Lando laughs, shaking his head as his arm tightens around your waist, his thumb doing slow, distracting circles against your hip — right in front of nearly 10,000 people.
You were going to kill him.
Lando, on the other hand, was completely unbothered due to the fact that for the first time all week, he didn’t have to hide how much he wanted you near him.
“She’s helping me with my…strategy.” Lando jokes, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you with an intensely fierce expression that made your chest ache.
“Whatever. Can you play with Boss Lady in your lap or have we lost you for tonight?” Max snaps but there’s no heat behind it. If Lando was happy, if you were happy, then Max was only going to give you shit for a little while.
“I am a fantastic multitasker, just ask YN.” He wiggles his eyebrows, earning a groan from Max and an elbow in the ribs from you as you choke on a laugh.
“Lando Norris!” You cry, burying your head in his shoulder as Lando clicks around on the screen, starting up the next round of Tarkov.
For the next hour or so, you stay rooted in your spot, watching the screen in front of you as Lando and Max play several more rounds of the military game. Eventually, you realize how late it’s getting, your eyes growing heavy as you nuzzle into Lando’s neck.
“Tired?” Lando whispers during a lull in the action.
You nod but don’t make a move to get up, having accepted your fate a long time ago.
“Alright chat, that’s my cue. I’m signing off for the night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Maxie!” Lando leans forward, clicking the X in the corner of his screen, ending his video and clicking off the ring light above your head.
The room falls quiet but neither of you make a move to get up. You’re much too comfortable having gotten into a spot in Lando’s lap that felt warm and safe. Lando glances down at you, victorious grin stretching across his face.
“Well,” He chuckles, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “That was unexpected but I don’t think it could have gone better.”
You roll your eyes, “You just spent the last hour cuddling your PR manager slash newly confirmed girlfriend on stream in front of several thousand people. Tell me how that’s not going to cause utter chaos on socials tomorrow.”
Lando shifts you in his lap so he can look at you better, his face eager. “No, that’s exactly what I’m saying! The clips of us flirting and you in my lap are going to be all over TikTok and Instagram before tomorrow morning. It’s going to look so good, everyone is going to be talking about how cute we are together, how real it looks between us.”
Your stomach roils unpleasantly as you untangle what hes trying to get at.
“Magui is going to lose her mind when she sees the clips. She was so sure we were just some flash in the pan fling but the stream was the perfect evidence to prove her wrong. There’s no way she can argue her way out of the way you were falling asleep in my lap at the end. The optics of it all is going to look brilliant.” He has the nerve to look smug as your blood runs cold. “I deserve a pat on the back for my quick thinking, really. We completely shut down her little narrative tonight.”
You stiffen in Lando’s lap, the warm rush of affection in your chest instantly evaporating.
There it was again. The painful reminder that none of this was real and Lando was just pretending to be head over heels for you. His affection was only for the benefit of the public and getting Magui off his back. The easy banter, the heavy looks, the way his thumb had traced your hip on camera. It wasn’t real.
None of it was real.
Tonight hadn’t been Lando finally realizing that he wanted something real with you. It was just an effective strategy that happened to, literally, fall right into his lap. He was just thrilled that he’d successfully weaponized your proximity to hurt his ex, which is what you’d both agreed to back in Miami.
You are an absolute idiot, your internal monologue chides, a sharp bitter ache flaring behind your ribs. You let yourself forget the script once again. He doesn’t want you. He just wants to be free of her.
“Right.” You say softly, your voice going cold as you scramble your way out of Lando’s lap. “The optics. I’m glad the optics are going to look good after tonight.”
Lando’s grin falters, his eyebrows drawing together in a flash of confusion at the sudden, icy shift in energy. He blinks up at you, “Wait. What’s wrong? Are you mad? What did I say?”
You shake your head, grabbing your iPad from the desk. “Nothing is wrong. It's fine. I’m fine. I do have to go check on flight details for our trip to the MTC next week, though.” Your tone is clipped, the professional armor you had allowed to be lowered too quickly locked solidly back into place as you walk towards the door without looking back. “I’ll move my stuff back into the guest room tonight. Good night, Lando.”
Lando sinks back into his chair, staring at the door that you’d shut behind you. Heaving a sigh, he shakes his head. He was confused by your sudden withdrawal, he’d thought you’d be excited about how good you two had looked tonight for the stream. Part of him was too cowardly to push for answers though. He couldn’t risk demanding to know why you were upset because doing so meant admitting how much your distance actually hurt.
The fact that you’d said you were going to sleep in the guest room tonight had his chest aching more fiercely than he was prepared for. He couldn’t let you know that the smug comments about Magui being angry was just a clumsy, desperate shield. It had been a pathetic attempt to hid the terrifying truth that he wasn’t pretending with you anymore. He had completely and hopelessly fallen for you and now he didn’t know how to fix the mess he’d caused.
lando_updates_daily posted!
lando_updates_daily twitch stream watchers were treated to a special treat tonight when lando decided to turn his video on while streaming with max. and not only that, halfway through the stream @/its_yn crashed the party and much to chat's delight, was forced to sit with lando while he continued gaming. YN even posted a story during the stream "complaining" about how she was trapped (we all think she was happily trapped). this was BY FAR the best stream we've had in ages, if not EVER
user394 the look on YNs face when she realized lando had his camera on was hilarious
>>>user90 lando looked so happy to see her! he knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled her into his lap
user42 the way she just straight up GAVE UP and accepted her fate in .05 seconds
>>>user049 and then started falling asleep in his arms. i was DYING
user23 i have NEVER been so happy to not have a life and have my twitch notifs on OMG
user0123 “I’m very good at multi-tasking. Just ask YN” Lando Norris, you horny little elf.
pairing -> lando norris x quadrantPRdirector!reader
summary -> You’ve always been a rule follower. When a PR nightmare forces you into a fake relationship with your close friend and colleague, Lando Norris, you protect your heart the only way you know how: with strict rules written down in a notebook.
But lines quickly blur into a messy tangle of feelings neither of you can control. What started as a temporary fix to protect Lando’s public persona suddenly feels entirely too real. Now, you’re left wondering how much you're willing to sacrifice for the boundaries you insisted on. Falling for your best friend is inherently messy, and it scares you to death. How long can you pretend that getting lost in wonderland won't drive you both mad?
warnings -> fake dating. 2 idiots in love who suck at communicating. a wild magui appearance or two. Use of YN (I know, I’m sorry but it couldn’t be avoided!) timeline/race schedule is ambiguous and a bit hand wavey. Just go with it.
msb yaps -> oh my GOD it's finally here! i am so excited for this! six part series inspired by the song wonderland by taylor swift. as always, thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from jumping off a ledge and beta reading. gonna try keeping a tag list for this series, so lmk if you want to be on it. otherwise, you can follow @the-msb-library & turn on notifs there so you don't miss anything! divider from @somebitchprobably-graphicdump <3
chapter word count -> 7k
series master list | main master list | lets yap
its_yn posted!
493,029 likes
liked by emma_fairchild, lando, quadrant and others
its_yn a little bit of this. a little bit of that.
user902 lando cheesin hard in that pic. haven't seen him this happy in so long omg
user113 lego dates? is this the perfect couple hotline??
emma_fairchild GAWD you are so hot omg date me pls???
>>>lando back AWF my girl
>>>its_yn now children
>>>user444 HIS GIRL??? confirmation that they're together together???
user093 omg does this mean she's going to be in canada with lando???
user402 i need her workout routine like now
user000 i just KNOW magui is somewhere throwing dishes against the wall
>>>user99 DID YOU SEE HER INSTA?! She posted from an airport...surely she wouldn't...
lando posted!
1,298,038 likes
liked by its_yn, emma_fairchild, max_fewtrell and others
lando surrounded by some pretty scenery lately ;)
user093 'pretty scenery' and it's just picutres of YN
>>>user948 boy is down BAD (liked by author)
user885 omg this is so cute
its_yn ❤️
>>>lando ❤️❤️❤️
>>>user009 OH MY GOD
max_fewtrell embarrassingly obsessed mate
>>>lando and what about it?!
>>>its_yn i think you're just jealous you've never gotten a dedicated insta post (liked by author)
>>>user938 i like it when YN bullies max (liked by author and its_yn)
user342 YN is so pretty omg (liked by author)
user042 lando in the comments liking all the nice things about YN. my guy is just sitting in the hotel room scrolling through the comments, giggling and kicking his feet bc he landed a baddie
>>>lando accurate
>>>its_yn such a simp
>>>lando i mean, have you SEEN how pretty you are???
>>>user042 this is the greatest day of my LIFE
The lobby of the hotel in downtown Montreal buzzed with the chatter of a few dozen voices, all milling about trying to sort out room accommodations in a muted sort of chaos.
It as already nearing midnight but due to a flurry of last minute flight cancellations leaving out of Heathrow earlier in the day, most of the McLaren team was still trying to get sorted for the night.
You stood off to the side of the crowded lobby, just out of sight of the main doors where there were surprisingly, several dozen fans waiting outside in hopes to catch a glimpse of someone important.
You’d been running in circles since early that morning, needing to finish up some media inquiries for an interview that Max and Lando had done with a London-based business magazine before packing for the trip to Canada. That, combined with the fact that you’d been too keyed up to even attempt a nap on the flight across the ocean had you feeling dead on your feet as you waited patiently for the team's travel coordinator to get to you with your room keys for the weekend.
Beside you, Lando leaned against the concierge desk, baseball hat pulled down low. He looked equally as wrecked at you, like he was about to fall asleep standing up.
“Alright, here we go.” A blonde woman wearing a McLaren team polo and black slacks steps over with a stack of envelopes. You’d worked with Dana before, coordinating travel plans when Max and the other members of Quadrant had traveled with Lando for various races and she had always been lovely to you. "I’ve got you guys up on the 25th floor, at the end of the hallway. It’s a bit more private and quiet. Lando, your mattress was delivered earlier in the day, so you should be good to go.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lando’s shoulders visibly relax. You knew how wrecked his back was from years of racing cars and having a special mattress delivered to every hotel was the one ‘diva’ move he was never ashamed of.
She hands an envelope to Lando. You wait for her to reach back into her handful of folders for your envelope, but she turns away as she starts shuffling through the stack again.
“Wait, Dana?” You call softly, your cheeks heating, “My key?”
Dana blinks, her smile turning knowing. “Oh, Lando called me from the plane. He said since things were…official between you two now, you guys wanted to keep things simple and share a room. It’s standard that partners are allowed to share rooms, so you guys are good to go.” She waves a hand towards Lando, who is looking particularly smug despite the exhaustion that claws at his throat. “There’s two keys in there, for when you need to split up this weekend for whatever reason.”
Your heart stutters, a flush painting itself crimson across your cheeks.
You open your mouth to correct her, to say that there must have been a huge misunderstanding. And then you catch a glimpse of Kym Illman loitering about fifteen feet away, pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping on your entire conversation.
Frustration burns in your chest as you clear your throat, brain moving a ten thousand miles a minute.
“Right. Of course. I just wanted to make sure we weren’t breaking any rules or anything.” You force a stiff smile. “Thank you for doing that, both Lando and I appreciate it.”
You were going to kill him.
Lando’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you closer. “Ready to go up, baby?” He asks, voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that made you want to kick him in the shins.
“Lead the way, sweetheart.” You mutter through your teeth, hoping that Dana reads the hostility radiating off of you as exhaustion.
The second the elevator doors slide shut, you turn on Lando, your fatigue replaced by sharp anger.
“Lando.” You hiss, stabbing him in the chest with your index finger. “What the hell was that? What about Rule Number One, huh? Romance stops at the door? Does that ring any bells?”
Lando just crosses his arms over his chest and grins like he’s not actually causing a migraine to brew right behind your eyeballs. “We discussed being believable.” He counters. “If we’re supposed to be this new couple who can’t keep their hands off of each other, it’s going to look a bit suspicious if we’re not sharing a room, don’t you think? Really, this is more me following Rule Four than anything."
“You’re a bloody menace, you know that?” You hiss just as the elevator slows to a stop.
Lando doesn’t even bother looking repentant as he watches you stalk out of the elevator. He looks entirely too pleased with himself as he follows you down the hallway. “I think you're just angry that you didn’t think of yourself.”
You consider the merits of throwing him out the window from the 25th floor.
“It’s brilliant really.” He continues as he swipes the card to your shared room. “No one can question us now, we’ve really sold this to everyone on the team.”
You push through the door first, resisting the urge to shoulder check Lando into the wall, ready to claim the bed closest to the window and the first shower. Instead, you stop in the middle of a marble floored foyer.
There, bathed in the golden glow of two bedside lamps was a single, sprawling, solitary king-sized bed.
“One bed.” You whisper, turning to look at him. “Lando, there is one bed.”
Apparently the universe was going to be the one breaking rule number one over and over again this weekend.
Lando clears his throat, palming at the back of his neck as he tries to form a coherent sentence. “Right. Well. It’s a very…wide bed?” He says, voice thin like he knows you’re about ten seconds from throwing him out the window. “I mean, you could totally fit an entire pit crew in there if you really tried.”
“Not the point, Norris!” You snap, though the sight of him looking suddenly flustered made your own heart hammer just a little harder.
“Look,” His tone goes soft, like he was trying to soothe a feral animal. “It’s late. We’re both dead on our feet. I’ll call the front desk tomorrow and have you discreetly moved to another room if you’re that upset. Can we just call a truce for one night? I’ll even sleep on the couch until we get this sorted, okay? I’m sorry. I guess I got a little caught up in the charade.”
You swallow, looking at how apologetic his expression is. Your stomach flips at the thought of sharing a bed with Lando. You look at the bedroom and then back at him. The lines were already blurring but you also knew that if you switched rooms and anyone found out about it, the rumor mill would be spinning faster than a tire gun during a pit stop.
Your eyes flutter shut.
“No, it’s okay. We can handle this.” You shake your head. “We’re adults. We can suck it up and just work through it." Why did it sound like you were trying to convince yourself rather than placate Lando? "If I’m going to be going to more races this season anyway, we’re going to have to get used to it.”
Lando blinks, a little caught off guard at how soft your voice has gone. He clears his throat. “Are…are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Heaving a sigh, you pick up your tote bag. “It’s fine, Lan. I’m just tired and in desperate need of a shower.”
“You get first dibs on the hot water then, I’ll start unpacking."
The shower was exactly what you needed to scrub the germs of international travel off of your skin. It didn’t do a thing to quiet your thoughts though. As steam filled the bathroom, swirling around in lavender scented clouds, all you could think of was that singular, massive bed that was waiting for you beyond the closed door.
When you finally step out into the main bedroom, dressed in a matching silk tank top and shorts and taming your hair into a French braid to sleep in, you notice how unusually quiet the suite was. The main lights were dimmed, leaving on the the warm glow of the table lamps to guide your way.
You wander into the living room, stopping short when you finally find Lando.
He was already changed into soft gray joggers and a t-shirt but he wasn’t unpacking or watching tv. Instead, he was wrestling with a set of thin hotel sheets, trying to tuck them into the cracks of the small loveseat. There was a single, sad looking pillow propped up against the armrest. The sofa was stylish, sure. It matched the decor of the room but it was narrow and clearly built for aesthetic and not comfort.
“Lan, what are you doing?” Your voice catches in your throat.
He doesn’t look up, totally preoccupied with smoothing out a wrinkle in the blanket he’d found buried in deep in the closet. “Like I said, the couch is mine tonight. You take the bed, I don’t want you being more uncomfortable than you already are. I feel horrible for making assumptions without asking you earlier, I shouldn’t have done that.”
When Lando looks up, your chest squeezes at the look on his face. His brow pinches tight, eyes uncertain like he’s been emotionally beating himself up the entire time you’d been scrubbing the plane air off of your skin.
You knew his schedule for the weekend; how tightly it was timed, how busy he’d be in just a few hours now that it was well past midnight. He was going to be exhausted before he even got near the track and you knew that driving the car required an intense level of concentration that usually left him wrung out mentally and emotionally by Sunday night.
“Your back is going to be destroyed by Saturday if you sleep on that.” You say, stepping further into the room. “It’s like, five centimeters too short for you and about as soft as the couch in your drivers room.”
Lando shrugs, trying his best to look unbothered. His curls were a mess and there was a tired but stubborn half-smile on his face. “I’ve slept in trailers and on airport floors, love.” He shrugs as your heart pinches. “I can handle a sofa for a few days. Don’t worry about it, you being comfortable matters more than my back.”
“I am going to worry about it, Lando. I’m going to worry about you, you muppet.” You counter, taking a step closer to where he's standing at the foot of the sofa.
“Come on.” You say, holding out your hand to him.
Lando blinks, his expression uncertain. “What?”
“The bed is big enough for us to add a third person in there and still not touch.” You reason, your heart fluttering in that maddening, familiar way it does whenever Lando gets close to you lately. “I’m not going to let you ruin your back and compromise the race because you’re trying to be a gentleman. Just…stick to your side and I won’t have to kick you in the middle of the night, okay?”
Lando takes a hesitant step towards you, the blanket he’d been clutching in his hands slipping to the floor. The playful, smug demeanor he’d armed himself with in the lobby just an hour earlier was gone. In its place was just something hesitant and shy, an expression you were wholly unfamiliar with coming from Lando.
“You’re sure?” He asks, his voice dropping to a low and gravelly that makes heat stoke low in your stomach. “I mean it, you being comfortable is more important to me than my back. Sharing a bed wasn’t in the rules. In fact, it very much goes against Rule Number One.”
“Rules are meant to be adapted, Lan.” You whisper, desperately trying to be normal about what was about to happen. “And right now, your back needs a real mattress and I need to be an adult about this, okay?”
Lando watches you for a long beat, his gaze searching yours for any hint of second guessing before he finally nods slowly. “Okay. But if I kick you in my sleep, you have full permission to push me onto the floor.”
“Oh, I won’t just push you.” You tease, falling back into the familiar banter that feels like a safe space. “I’ll put the picture of you on the floor on my Instagram story and tag you in it.”
Lando lets out a soft, genuine laugh that pops the tension like a soap bubble. He grabs his phone from the side table and follows you into the bedroom, shutting the lights off behind him.
The mattress shifts slightly as you both climb in, you on the far left and him on the far right. The space between you was enormous, a wide expanse of high thread count Egyptian cotton. And yet, the room felt impossibly small when Lando shuts off the lights with a soft click.
In the darkness, the sounds of hotel are amplified. The hum of the AC, the honk of a taxi down the street, a distant thud of a door shutting down the hall suddenly. You lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling as you pull the duvet cover up towards your chin, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his side of the bed.
A few minutes pass and Lando murmurs your name.
“Yeah?” You reply, turning your head to look at him through the darkness.
“Thanks.” He whispers. "For…" He clears his throat. "For taking care of me even when I’m sure you want to strangle me.”
You can't see his face clearly, but you could feel the way he was looking at you in that soft way Lando saved for only you.
“Always, Lan.” You murmur back, barely resisting the urge to reach out for his hand. “Now, go to sleep. We have a narrative to maintain tomorrow. We don’t want people to get suspicious of us because we can’t think straight, right?”
“Right.” He breathes. “The narrative.”
Neither of you move but the silence that follows, the ‘fake’ part of the weekend feels miles away already, leaving only the two of you in the quiet of the Montreal night.
Morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains of the hotel suite, casting the room in a sort of soft, hazy gold that had everything looking blurry at the edges. For a few blissful seconds, you existed in that strange, floaty space that you could only experience in the moments before you were fully awake. It was soft, warm, and safe. As you fully allowed yourself being pulled from sleep, you noticed you were surrounded by a weight that felt remarkably right.
It wasn’t until you blinked awake that the reality of what that weight was fully registers.
Sometime during the night, the line that had existed in the middle of the bed had somehow been crossed. As you orient yourself back to the world of the living, you discover that not only had that line been crossed, it had been obliterated.
You weren’t on the left side of the bed anymore, inches away from toppling over the side like you had been when you’d closed your eyes late last night. You were in the dead center of the bed, firmly anchored by the weight of a possessive arm draped over your middle.
Lando’s chest was a solid, steady warmth against your back, his breath fanning across the nape of your neck. His hand was tucked comfortably underneath your hip as he curled his entire body around you, legs tangling with yours beneath the sheets.
You freeze, entire body going still as your breath catches in the back of your throat. He smelled like sleep and that sharp, woody cologne he’d worn your first night with him alone in Monaco.
For one long, terrifying moment, you don't want to move.
And then, Lando's alarm starts wailing.
It’s a loud, jarring horn designed to instantly wake a certain racing driver who had the habit of sleeping through what could have been the end of the world.
Behind you, Lando jolts. The arm around your waist tightens instinctively for a beat before his brain has the opportunity to catch up with his body. You feel him go rigid as he sucks in a breath, his mouth dangerously close the crook of your neck.
“Oh.” He croaks, voice thick with sleep. “Oh no.”
Lando tries to yank his arm away quickly but it gets tangled in the sheets so it takes him an agonizingly long time to pull away. When he does, he's moving so fast that he nearly rolls of his side of the bed.
You find yourself scrambling away from him too, a move hampered by the duvet cover as you sit up, desperately trying to regain your balance and dignity at the same time.
“I —” Lando starts, his legs hanging off the side of the bed as he rubs at his face aggressively. His curls are a chaotic mess, sticking up every which way and there are faint indents painting their way across his cheeks from where the sheets had pressed into his face. He looks rumpled and tired in the best way and you have to avert your eyes to get your heart rate to return to normal.
“Jesus Christ. YN…I am so sorry. I didn’t —” Lando struggles for the words as you watch him scramble for an explanation.
“There you go, breaking rule number one again, Lando.” You deliberately keep your tone light and teasing, giving him a look that says ‘just play along and we’ll pretend this never happened’.
Lando laughs awkwardly, palming at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well I’ve never been one to follow the rules now have I?”
You huff a laugh, the tension in the room thankfully fizzling out as Lando stands from the bed. “You’ve never met a rule that you didn’t love to break, that’s for sure.”
Lando clears his throat, the sudden silence in the room settling like a thick blanket. “I’m really sorry though. I didn’t…I don’t want you to think that I was trying to take advantage of you or anything, I’d never do that.”
You laugh, high and thin as you try to put as much distance between yourself and Lando as you can. “Oh God, I know! That would never happen between us! Absolutely not. I know you don’t feel like that about me, Lan. This is just fake for the sake of getting Magui off your back, right? Nothing more.”
Lando looks at you like he’s wrestling with something and you feel your cheeks heat.
“Yeah, of course. It means nothing.” He says soflty, refusing to meet your gaze.
“I’m going to go take a shower, we uhh…we have to be down in the lobby in a bit.” You say, shuffling your way towards the bathroom, staying as far away form Lando as possible.
Lando clears his throat, watching you retreat away from him. “Yeah, good idea.”
As the bathroom door shuts, you lean back against the cool wood, head tipped back so it’s resting on the smooth surface. You could still feel the warmth on your waist where Lando’s arm had been, the way he’d held you burned into your memory.
On the other side of the door, Lando stares at the rumpled sheets that still smell like a mixture of your body wash and his cologne as he realizes that following the rules you had written down in your notebook was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
its_yn posted!
349,028 likes
liked by max_fewtrell, lando, mclarenf1 and others
its_yn oh canadaaaaaa! 🇨🇦
user008 wait that necklace is SICK
user113 already going to more races and more publicly acknolwedged than M ever was
user000 i love them together, they're obvs head over heels for each other
>>>user984 did you see them in the background of F1tv's weekend warmup? he kept teasing her with that ice cream cone? and then was all affectionate when she got grumpy. it was SO cute
>>>user000 omg i KNOW! what i'd do to have lando norris look at me like that
user432 i need her jacket in that third picture omg
The circuit is already a hive of activity by the time the SUV pulls into the car park later that morning. It's sunny that day, perfect conditions for the one practice session and eventual sprint qualifying later that afternoon.
You keep your gaze focused on the crowd outside the window, trying desperately to forget the way your traitorous heart was craving Lando’s touch. It had been all you could do to make it through your makeup routine with Lando pretending to not watch you, the way he kept stealing glances at you set your chest tightening in a way that felt too messy for you to be comfortable with.
Beside you, Lando shifts as the SUV slows to a stop. He pulls at the collar of his team kit, desperate for something to do with his hands that didn't involve touching you. Every time you moved, the scent of your perfume - the same smell that had been pressed against his skin just hours ago - filled the enclosed space.
It was driving him insane.
“Ready?” He asks, his voice a little lower than usual.
“Always.” You say thinly, your heart already thrumming faster than you’d care to admit.
Lando opens the car door and chaos pours in. Jon hops out from the front seat, grabbing Lando’s backpack as the crowd behind the barricades start to stir when they realize it’s Lando arriving for the day. Julie, Lando’s press officer for the weekend, is waiting patiently a few feet away, already tapping away at her phone.
Turning back to you, Lando watches as you slide across the seat to follow him out of the car. Like in Monaco, he holds out a hand to you, making sure you don’t tumble out of the SUV in front of the crowd. When your feet land in the dusty car park, you’re far too pleased that Lando doesn’t let go of your hand.
“Let’s try to keep a steady pace, we’re running behind and there are a lot of photographers here today.” Julie says, her voice professional and clipped as Lando leads you towards the paddock gates. “Let’s not make any comments about Monaco or the status of your relationship right now, we need to keep focused on the race.”
You bite your tongue, wanting to say that you understood what the play was this weekend. You were the one who had come up with the entire thing after all. Instead you keep quiet, smiling over at Lando as he squeezes your hand. The press of Lando’s palm over yours is grounding but it’s also a reminder of the way you’d woken up that morning, tangled in the sheets and his legs.
The walk towards the paddock gates is loud and jumbled, fans and photographers alike yell for Lando, hoping to snag his attention before he passes them. You can hear the shouts asking if you two are together, if Monaco was the first time you two had been out, people clambering for any kind of acknowledgment of the seemingly new relationship. More than once, you make out someone shouting about Magui, asking if they’re really over.
Lando was doing his best to listen to Jon talk about that morning’s strategy meeting and his plans for relieving the tightness in his lower back that Lando had complained about on the flight last night, but his focus was elsewhere. Every time your shoulder brushed his, his hand would tighten just slightly on yours. He found himself unconsciously pulling you closer, narrowing the gap between your bodies until your shoulder was flush with his. He was stuck on the memory of the quiet, sleepy weight of you tucked into his chest and how right it had felt before his alarm had ruined the moment.
“Everything okay, Lando?” Jon asks when Lando misses the third question in a row because he’s so caught up in his own mind.
“Hmm?” Lando drags his gaze away from you as he fishes in his pocket for his credentials. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, just feeling a little jet lagged this morning.”
You catch Jon’s subtle smirk as he taps his own pass against the scanner. He knows what Lando’s jet lag usually looks like: staring into space as he tries not to fall asleep, not staring at you with the particular brand of intensity he’s got going on that morning.
“Fifteen minutes until the engineering briefing, Lando.” Julie reminds him, checking her watch as you all clear the security turnstiles to step into the heart of the paddock. “YN, do you need anything from me? Lando mentioned you had some meetings scheduled this morning.”
You look over at Lando with mild surprise. You hadn’t thought he’d been listening when you mentioned you had some brand meetings with the Quadrant crew this morning. “Yeah, I can just set up shop in a corner of hospitality before practice.”
Julie nods firmly as she leads the way towards the McLaren hospitality building. You follow her in, the sliding glass doors whooshing open. The engineering room is on the main floor of the large, papaya colored building and you need to go up to the third. Gently disentangling your fingers from Lando’s, you ignore the way the loss of his warmth sends regret shooting up your spine.
“I’ll let you get to it then, Lan.” You say, drifting towards the stairs.
Lando stops, ignoring the way Jon and Julie exchange looks. The hustle of the main level seems to stall around him as Lando looks at you like he’s got something to say but isn’t quite brave enough to voice it.
“Wait.” He says quietly, reaching out to take your hand again.
Before you can ask what for, Lando leans in. You swallow thickly, unprepared for him to be in your space so suddenly. To your surprise, he brushes a firm, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s casual, confident, and completely devastating. You fight to keep from jolting backwards, knowing that half the team is watching what is supposed to be a casual kiss goodbye. Lando’s mouth is softer than you expected, tasting faintly of the mint tea he’d had at breakfast and it lasts just a heartbeat too long for it to be ‘just for show.”
You freeze. The air in your lungs feels like it turns to lead and your brain, usually so quick to come up with a calculated PR response, goes completely and terrifyingly silent.
Lando pulls back, his eyes dark and searching as they roam your face, checking for a reaction. A ghost of a smug, boyish smile pulls at the corner of his lips when he sees the slight daze in your expression.
There’s that mess he was certain you were feeling too, he thinks.
“See you later, pretty girl.” He murmurs, his voice low and husky.
It’s all over in a matter of seconds and by the way neither Jon nor Julie bat an eye, the display of affection seems to catch only you off guard. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribcage as you scramble to form words.
Lando turns and walks away with Jon, his stride suddenly lighter than it had been all morning, leaving you in the middle of the hospitality entrance. For a moment, all you can do is watch his retreating form, your brain still malfunctioning from the way Lando had just kissed you so casually.
“YN?” Julie asks, pausing by your side as she looks up from her phone. “You okay? You look a bit…pale.”
Snapping your mouth shut, you force your limbs to move towards the stairs. You wrap your credentials around the handle of your tote bag, willing your hands to stop shaking before someone notices.
“I’m fine!” You say a touch too quickly. “Just a lot to do today. I’m umm…I'm going to head upstairs now.”
As you walk up the stairs towards the quiet of the third floor you know is waiting for you, you yank the professional mask back firmly into place. You could not let yourself get caught up in these feelings that were clouding your judgement. It was unacceptable and only going to cause things to get messy. But as you step onto the landing of the quiet VIP section and make your way towards a corner table, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a window and know you have a very serious problem.
Your lips are burning, cheeks flushed and there was no amount of ’optics management’ that could hide the fact that Lando Norris had just kissed the professional right out of you.
You were in so much trouble.
You’re sitting in Lando’s drivers room later that afternoon, laptop perched on your lap later that afternoon when all hell breaks loose.
There was a break in the schedule, with lunch having just wrapped up so for the time being, you had both retreated into the quiet of his private room to take a break from the chaos that always accompanied race weekends. You were just reaching for a bottle of water when your phone started vibrating on the table in front of you. By the fifth notification, you know it wasn’t just a work email coming through.
You open your messages first. There are five from Emma, three from Max, and one from Keegan. All of them are of the same picture with various comments attached. Your stomach does a slow, nauseating flip as you read through them.
“Lando.” You whisper, voice tight.
Across the room, Lando is sitting on the edge of the sofa scrolling through some stint data to prep for qualifying in an hour. He looks up, sensing something is wrong by the tone of your voice. “What’s wrong?”
You don’t say anything at first, just turn your phone screen towards him. It’s a screenshot of an Instagram story that Max sent you with the comment ‘ALERT ALERT! WE HAVE A PROBLEM YN!’.
Lando leans forward, eyes squinting as he tries to decipher what he’s looking at. When he figures it out, the color drains from his face. On your screen is a photo Magui posted about five minutes ago. It’s a high-angle shot of the Montreal pit lane from the VIP balcony inside the paddock. The caption is simple: back in my favorite place. Good luck today @/lando.”
A heavy silence descends over the room as you watch Lando’s face transform. Gone is the soft, relaxed expression he only seemed to wear around you lately and in its place is a sharp, cold look of someone who is on the verge of a panic attack. His expression darkens with a mixture of disbelief and genuine anger.
“The fuck?” He hisses. “I specifically told Julie and anyone else who would listen that she was not to sweet talk her way into getting any more passes from us.”
“She must have gotten them from a sponsor or something, like she did in Miami.” You say, your mind already switching into damage control mode.
On one hand, you almost had to admire the bravery this girl was showing. In Miami, she’d been relegated to a brand tent off of turn three. Somehow, in the span of three weeks she’d managed to land herself paddock passes once again. You knew the moment the gossip accounts got a hold of the photo though, all hell was going to break loose. Her being in the paddock gave credibility to her claim that she was still with Lando. It was going to look like Lando was trying to juggle two women at once the moment people put two and two together. You could only imagine how bad this could get very quickly.
Lando stands up, pacing the small room like a cornered animal. “This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.” Thrusting a hand through his curls, he turns to you, eyes bright with panic. “I feel like I can’t even breathe in my own garage without someone bringing her up. You know a cameraman is going to try to get a shot of her this weekend. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already called Kym to let him know she’s here.”
He looks so vulnerable in that moment your chest squeezes. A surge of protectiveness, fierce and hot, flares in your ribs. This wasn’t about PR anymore, this was about Lando being forced to deal with someone who couldn’t seem to take no for an answer.
“Hey.” You stand, stepping in his path so Lando is forced to stop pacing. Placing your hands firmly on his shoulders, you wait for him to take a breath. “Look at me.”
Lando stops, chest heaving, but drags his gaze up towards yours.
“We are not going to let her win this, okay?” You work to keep your voice steady so the anger that is racing through your veins doesn’t show on the surface. “We knew there was a chance she’d pull something like this so we just continue on with the plan, okay? We show the world a united front. We don’t hide, we don’t look bothered and most of all, we do not acknowledge her little stunt, okay?”
Lando takes a deep breath, his hands settling heavily on your waist. His grip is tight and desperate, like he’s using you as an anchor to ground himself. You shift closer, your bodies dangerously close in such a small space.
“You’re right.” He breathes, resting his forehead on yours. Your pulse takes flight as you try to focus on his words. “I know you’re right, I just don’t know if I can do ‘happy and unbothered’ if I see her. I’m a dumb racing driver, not an actor.”
“Then don’t do happy.” You counter, stroking your thumb reassuringly over his shoulder. “Do ‘obsessed.’ Focus on me, just like I did when we were in Monaco. You got me through that and I’ll get you through this, okay? I’ve got you.”
Lando’s expression softens as he pulls back. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, pretty girl.”
The confession feels too honest in such a small space, like he’s not just talking about you helping him out with his crazy ex. Like there’s something deeper to his statement. Something that you choose to ignore because you don’t know how to deal with it.
“That’s what friends do for each other, Lan.” You say, taking a step back, suddenly needing a bit of space.
Lando blinks. “Friends, of course.”
You manage to dodge Magui for the rest of the afternoon, getting through qualifying and the engineering debrief despite her obvious efforts to put herself in his path. You catch a glimpse of her skulking around the edges of the hospitality suite right before qualifying, pretending to wait for someone.
It’s not until after Lando is done with his last meeting of the day and you two are making your way towards the car park to head towards the hotel that Magui manufactures the moment she’d been trying to set up all day.
You’re walking down the sun-drenched path that leads out to the waiting SUV, your hand tucked firmly in Lando’s. He’s still buzzing from a solid qualifying session, his thumb tracing idle circles over your knuckles, when she appears.
Magui is leaning against a light pole looking like she’s posing for a magazine spread. She doesn’t look angry and she doesn’t look like she’s about to make a scene. Instead, she looks perfectly composed with a small, knowing smile playing on her lips as she watches the two of you approach. There’s no escaping her either, she’s placed herself directly in the path that will take you out to the car park so there’s no other choice but to walk right past her.
Lando’s grip on your hand turns iron-clad in a split second. The hair on the back of your neck prickles as your gaze darts around, trying to take in who could possibly overhear what you know is about to go down.
“Lando.” She says softly, pushing off the pole and stepping right in the middle of the path. She ignores the few fans that are still lingering alongside the dozen or so photographers who are loitering around, hoping to catch a nice photo op. “I was wondering when you would finally finish up. You’ve always been such a workaholic.”
Lando doesn’t respond. He just stares at her, jaw set so tight you can see the muscle fluttering. You step forward slightly, your PR instincts flaring. “Magui, this isn’t a good time. We’ve got a car waiting and dinner plans with the team back at the hotel.”
Shifting her gaze to you, Magui gives you a slow, sweeping once over that drags from your face down to your intertwined hands and back up. It’s not a look of hatred that you see in her eyes, it’s a look of cold pity.
“It’s okay, YN.” She says, her voice dripping with an unsettling kind of calm that makes your stomach churn. “I’m not here to make a scene. I just wanted to say hello to Lando.” Turning back to him, she takes a small step into his personal space. “I see you’ve been busy. It’s a cute look, really. The 'friends to lovers' trope is very popular right now."
“What do you want, Magui?” Lando says, low and dangerous.
“Nothing.” She shrugs, tilting her head. “I just wanted to remind you that I’m here. And that I’m patient. I know you’re having fun with your…” She flicks a dismissive glance towards you before turning her predatory gaze back on Lando. “Distractions. I’m sure she’s great, keeping your schedule tight and your image tidy but we both know that at the end of the day, you’re always going to come back to what’s real. You’re always going to come back to me, Lando."
Lando stiffens, his hand tightening around yours. “We aren’t real anymore. We haven’t been real in months, Magui. You know that. It’s over, it’s time to accept that.”
Magui lets out a soft laugh. She reaches out and for a brief moment, you think she’s going to touch him but she just tugs on the string of his team hoodie. “Is it? You can play house with the help all you want Lando.” Your vision goes red. “You can hold her hand for the cameras and share a hotel room to prove a point but we all know what you and I have isn’t like this. What we have is real, Lando."
She leans in, whispering loud enough for just you and Lando to hear. “I’m willing to wait for you to be finished with your little play thing because I know you’ll eventually get bored. You always do with things settle down and get too normal.” She looks at you then, her eyes sharp and cold. “You’re great at your job, YN. Truly. But don’t get confused. Lando doesn’t do normal, he doesn’t do boring, and he certainly doesn’t do safe, which is what you are.”
With a final, devastatingly causal pat on Lando’s arm, she grins as she steps aside. “You know exactly where to find me when you’re ready to feel alive again, my love.”
Magui turns and walks away without looking back, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and emotional damage in her wake.
Lando is frozen, staring at the spot where she stood, his face pale and breathing shallow.
“Lando.” You whisper, tugging at his hand. “Lets go. Now.”
He doesn’t move at first. When he finally turns to you, there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes that wasn’t there just minutes ago.
Her words had hit the one thing he was most afraid of, that he’d been avoiding thinking of until this very moment. He was afraid that this comfort that he felt with you, the safety and affection that was blooming between you two was just a temporary refuge and that eventually, the charade was going to have to end and the chaos of his life without you was going to drag him back down again.
“She’s wrong.” You say, your voice steadier than you feel as you pull him towards the SUV. “She’s just trying to get in your head, plant a seed of doubt that you’ll never be truly free of her.”
“Is she though?” Lando asks so softly you can barely hear him over the ambient noise of the track. “I thought that this was going to get her off my back, that you were going to be the final nail in the coffin for her, that she’d accept that we were over but it doesn’t sound like she’s going to give up that easily.”
You shrug, trying to keep your voice as calm as possible as Lando opens the door to the waiting SUV. “Then we wait her out. She can’t keep this up forever, socials are already turning against her. If there’s one thing Magui loves more than being associated with you it’s the attention she gets her fans online. The moment the brand deals start drying up, she’ll move onto her next target.”
Lando looks at you in the dim light of the SUV’s backseat. “And you’re willing to keep this act up until that happens?”
You think back to that morning, how waking up in Lando’s bed had felt so natural despite your desperate denial of what was going on in your head. “I made a promise to help you with this and I always keep my promises.”
Lando swallows as the SUV pulls away from the curb and out into traffic. Reaching out, he covers your hand in his larger one, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you.” He murmurs before pulling you closer.
For a brief moment, you forget about the promise to keep feelings out of it. You forget about the fact that the relationship has an end date. You forget that all of this is, one day, going to evaporate into thin air and your relationship with Lando will return to being a strictly platonic one and you allow yourself to fall into the charade and feel like there’s a possibility of a future with him instead.
f1_gossip_official posted!
f1_gossip_official DRAMA in the paddock today! lando norris' ex-girlfriend magui showed up (uninvited apparently) to the track ahead of practice and sprint quali. she posted a story wishing her ex luck but wasn't seen in the garage. YN YLN WAS however in the garage with lando all day. the new couple was seen walking into the circut together holding hands. after everything was done, some eagle eyed fans spotted lando and magui talking as lando and YN made their way towards the car park that evening. people who saw the interaction said it looked...tense. later that evening, YN and Lando were seen out and about getting dinner with the team, smiling and happy so whatever happened at the track, it seems as though it hasn't affected the new couple
user004 how embarassing for magui
>>>user32 right? i want to know how tf she got paddock passes!
>>>user211 AND WHY! why tf would you doooooo that! was miami not embarassing enough?!
user985 clearly M doesn't matter to lando any more, he seems all in on YN
user56 OMG I SAW THIS HAPPEN IT WAS SO UNCOMFY.
>>>user981 SPILL
>>>user56 she was legit waiting for them (pretending not to be but she so was) and was giving YN the side eye while flirting with lando right in front of her. Lando never let go of YN's hand and looked SO MAD after they left. Magui was PISSED afterwards. it was 50 shades of awkward.
>>>user981 omggggggggg
pairing -> lando norris x quadrantPRdirector!reader
summary -> You’ve always been a rule follower. When a PR nightmare forces you into a fake relationship with your close friend and colleague, Lando Norris, you protect your heart the only way you know how: with strict rules written down in a notebook.
But lines quickly blur into a messy tangle of feelings neither of you can control. What started as a temporary fix to protect Lando’s public persona suddenly feels entirely too real. Now, you’re left wondering how much you're willing to sacrifice for the boundaries you insisted on. Falling for your best friend is inherently messy, and it scares you to death. How long can you pretend that getting lost in wonderland won't drive you both mad?
warnings -> fake dating. a wild magui appearance or two. lando being a chaos gremlin & a flirt. Use of YN (I know, I’m sorry but it couldn’t be avoided!) timeline/race schedule is ambiguous and a bit hand wavey. Just go with it.
msb yaps -> oh my GOD it's finally here! i am so excited for this! six part series inspired by the song wonderland by taylor swift. as always, thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from jumping off a ledge and beta reading. i don't keep a tag list anymore so follow @the-msb-library & turn on notifs there so you don't miss anything! divider from @somebitchprobably-graphicdump <3
chapter word count -> 4.3k
series master list | main master list | lets yap
its_yn posted!
34,982 likes
liked by maxfewtrell, quadrant, lando, and others
its_yn: good morning miami!! early start today for the @/quadrant pop up. so excited for this, we've been working SO hard to bring you guys some amazing stuff and maybe a few surprises 😉 hope to see you there!!
user038 we're already heeeeeere! first in line!! (liked by author)
user002 i would DIE for @/its_yn's job. literal dream job. doing PR for quadrant AND lando? come ON
>>>user49 girl is BLESSED
lando is that coffee for meeeeee???
>>>its_yn you're the reason i need a coffee this big. get your own, norris.
>>>lando is that any way to speak to your boss?
>>>its_yn is that any way to speak to the woman who literally holds your brand's reputation in the palm of her hand?
>>>maxfewtrell @/lando, she's got you there big guy
>>>lando whatEVER
May in Florida felt like you were walking on the surface of the sun. It was hot and sticky, the humidity wreaking havoc on your hair and your attitude. The moment you had stepped out of the hotel that morning, it had puffed up like a scared tabby cat. By the time you reached the store where the Quadrant pop up shop was that weekend, you’d already needed to tame it into submission with a giant claw clip and a prayer.
“We should probably have a few of the interns hand out the water I had delivered yesterday to the people standing in line.” You say to Max Fewtrell as you walk into the store early that morning. “The last thing we need are social media posts about how fans fainted waiting to meet Lando Norris today.”
Max nods and gives you a cheeky salute. “On it, Boss Lady.”
You roll your eyes, heaving a sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you, Fewtrell? Stop calling me ‘Boss Lady’. I’m younger than you are.”
Max grins wickedly as he walks towards the front of the store where a few interns stand catting. “I’ll stop calling you Boss Lady when you stop bossing me around.”
“If I don’t boss you around, nothing would ever get done." You fire back. "You were the one who gave me the title of ‘PR Director’ two years ago, weren't you?”
“And I regret it every day.” Max grumbles, dodging the pen you throw at his head from across the room.
“We’d be lost without YN and you know it, Max." From behind you, Lando Norris comes sauntering through the back door flanked by his body guard Rich and Keegan Palmer.
You gesture at Lando while glaring at Max, “See! At least someone around here appreciates my type-A personality.”
Lando slings an arm around your shoulders and it takes every bit of will power you have not to shudder under his touch. “How’s my favorite girl doing this morning?” He asks, flashing you a flirty smile.
Aiming an elbow at his ribs, you quickly duck under his arm when he flinches. You swear you hear Lando mutter something about how you're a feral animal.
“I’d be doing a lot better if it wasn’t already 32* outside at 10 in the morning. I swear to God, it feels like the surface of the sun out there.”
Lando wanders over to a display of new hoodies that were a special pop up feature. “Well, it’s a good thing that this place has air con then, yeah?”
“Yeah, air con that is going to quit working the moment we get all of those people in here.” You snip, smoothing the front of your shirt as if Lando’s arm hadn’t just sent your pulse into a tailspin. “Now, quit touching the display. I spent three hours last night getting those to look right and your giant paws are going to ruin my aesthetic.”
Lando huffs a laugh but obeys, pulling his hand away from the display. “Sassy this morning, aren’t we pretty girl?”
“You’re a HR violation waiting to happen, you know that?” You glare at him over the edge of your iPad.
“I’m the personality hire, everyone knows that.” Lando says easily, thumbing through a rack of Quadrant branded joggers.
You heave a sigh, turning to Keegan. “Can you please keep the personality hire away from the limited edition drops until the doors open? He’s like a toddler in a sandbox, destruction follows him around like a moth to a flame.”
“Hey! I’m the face of this brand!” Lando protests, retreating towards the front window to check out the ever-growing line that snaked down the sidewalk.
“And I’m the one responsible for making sure your brand doesn’t end up as a Harvard Business School case study.” You call after him, turning your attention back to the iPad in your hands. “Max! Are all of the tablets synced? If the POS system crashes during the first hour, I’m jumping off the nearest bridge.”
Max shouts something back about dramatics and shark infested waters, but the retort is cut short when Lando unleashes a string of several choice expletives.
Looking up, you see Lando has gone still, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stares at something outside. His entire body language shifts in a moment, the playful, flirty energy evaporating in a blink. You exchange a worried glance with Keegan and Max before taking a few steps to stand next to Lando.
“Lan? Hey, Lan? We open in five minutes, is everything okay? If you’re having a crisis about the hoodie colors, I will actually strangle-”
“YN.” He whispers, his voice tight. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up when you see how pale your friend has gone in the last thirty seconds. “Look at that black SUV across the street. Behind that blue truck. What do you see?”
You step closer to the window, squinting against the harsh Florida sun. At first, all you see are fans dressed in various shades of neon green and papaya. And then you spot her and your stomach drops into your shoes.
Hovering near the corner, wearing oversized sunglasses and looking entirely too pleased with herself, was Lando’s ex-girlfriend. She was talking to a photographer, one you instantly recognize as a freelancer who specialized in ‘candid’ celebrity sightings that got sold off to TMZ and Tattler. She wasn’t just there randomly, she was waiting, setting up a story that she was going to try to sell to the highest bidder.
“Is that…?” Max started, joining you both at the window.
"What is she doing here?” Lando breathes, his fingers tightening around the phone in his hand.
You all knew the answer to that, even if no one said it out loud.
Magui was having a particularly hard time accepting their breakup this time around. It drove you nuts, but her and Lando had been on and off over and over for several years now. Theirs had been the epitome of a toxic situationship that had been hard launched almost by accident when Lando won the Championship in December. It hadn’t lasted, just as you had predicted, and by the end of January, they were off again.
This time, Lando insisted it was for good.
And then Magui had shown up at that football match, somehow wrangling a ticket for the same suite from some unsuspecting brand representative that didn’t know the history she shared with the McLaren driver. She’d also conveniently managed an invite from Max’s girlfriend Pietra to Portugal a few weeks later, showing up in the exclusive resort where Lando owned a house. She’d dropped several not-so-subtle hints on social media that implied she was with Lando since, despite that not even being remotely close to the truth.
Lando turns to you then, the panic in his eyes evident. The ‘face of the brand’ was gone, his confidence of the last few moments drained from his face. You knew the moment they opened those doors, she’d be on him like a fly to honey and by lunch, the internet would be convinced that they were a couple again. This was the very last thing you needed today during the very public, very popular brand pop up that you’d been hyping up on socials for weeks now.
Your heart clenched fiercely at the look of panic that fluttered across your friend’s face. You knew that their relationship had been dysfunctional, bordering on toxic by the end. You knew that neither party was innocent in the breakup, that Lando shared a lot of the blame for that relationship not working out. You also knew Lando was a certified people pleaser and if Magui wiggled her way into the shop that morning, Lando wouldn’t do anything to embarrass her. He’d let the narrative take off and it would get embarrassing for everyone involved. Again.
And she knew it.
“She’s going to make a scene.” Lando says, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. “She’s going to come in here and I can’t — I can’t do this. Not today, YN.”
You turn to Max, brow creased. “How did she even know Lando was going to be here? He was supposed to be a surprise for the first few guests that come in. We didn’t post about it anywhere and for good reason!”
Max pales and you have to quell the urge to strangle him.
“Did you tell Pietra?" You hiss, watching as Magui crosses the street.
Max doesn’t answer, just runs a hand through his hair.
“Oh my God, Max! Come ON!” You sigh, watching with renewed horror as the photographer follows her across the street, camera poised and ready to go.
Max winces, rubbing at the back of his neck. “P and her are…they’re friends, okay? She probably just mentioned the weeks plans off-handedly. I didn’t think she’d actually show up here! Shes supposed to be filming in Spain or something! That's what P told me last night!”
“You didn’t think?” You take a step forward, your PR training kicking into high gear. “Max, I have two hundred people in line outside and a brand to protect. Get out there and intercept her. Now.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Max asks, voice thin.
“Distract her! Be the charming best friend. Tell her Lando is too busy with fans and that he can’t talk right now. Tell her he’ll call her lat — “
“I am not calling her later.” Lando interjects and you resist the urge to hit him.
“I know that!” You cry, throwing your hands up in the air, “I just need her to leave and right now, I’m willing to tell a few lies to get my way, okay?” Lando just nods as you turn back to Max. “Go out there and fix this! Now!”
Max scrambles towards the door and out into the Miami heat. Through the glass, you all watch Max intercept her with a wide, forced grin as he tries to get Magui to stop her approach into the store. As Max handles the blonde, you turn to Keegan. “Let’s let a few people in early, can you handle that? Just like, 10 people or so?” Keegan nods and you watch as he goes towards the door.
Finally, you turn to Lando. He’s still staring blankly out the window, watching as Max negotiates with Magui on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry, YN.” He murmurs, crimson painting its way across his cheeks. “I don’t know why she can’t just accept that we didn’t work and move on.”
Your shoulders drop at the tone of his voice. He sounds so defeated, your chest aches.
“It’s okay, Lan. We’ll fix this.” You say, running a hand down his arm in an attempt to comfort him. “Come on, Keegan is letting those first few fans in. Let’s go up to the checkout stand. Maybe if we keep you away from the door, she'll get the hint." .
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s do that.” Lando allows you to guide him towards the front of the door. You toss a look at Rich, tipping your head towards the door, hoping that if you post the body guard at the front of the store will deter her even further. Rich nods, understanding the meaning behind your look before he goes to join Keegan at the door.
“It’s okay. We’ll handle this. You focus on the fans, that's all I need from you. Ash is here to get some content for your socials and I’ll get some content for Quadrant too, okay? Let’s focus on that.” You soothe in Lando’s ear as your hand rests steadily on Lando’s elbow, providing him with something to ground himself to.
Right before stepping up to the waiting fans, Lando turns to look at you, relief plastered plainly across his face. “Thanks, YN. Really. What would I do without you?”
You wave off the praise, “Knowing you? Probably cause in international incident involving sushi and a nest full of hornets.”
f1_gossip_official posted!
341,309 likes
f1_gossip_official: lando surprised shoppers early this morning when he showed up for the opening of quadrant's miami pop up ahead of the f1 race this weekend! he was all smiles until a certain portugese blonde was spotted hanging around outside. rumor has it that they broke up earlier in the year, but neither lando or magui have commented on it. they've showed up in the same place and magui has hinted quite a LOT over the last few months that they are together. people at the pop up say that she DIDN'T go into the store though...so what do we think??? together or broken up???
user283 this is the most exhausting game of 'are they or aren't they' i've ever played
user333 I WAS THERE. she didn't go in but max fewtrell came running out and was talking to her. she had a photographer following her??? and she left shortly after. it was all really weird.
>>>user009 omg i was there too! lando looked really upset when i got into the store and YN looked HEATED.
>>>user433 i don't doubt it. YN is super protective over lando and the brand, she was probably beside herself.
user45 if they're not together anymore, why on earth would M be there this weekend?! how strange
user944 they're just super private, you guys. lando is head over heels for magui and they just want their space. not a huge deal, they were at that football match together a few weeks ago, right? and she was at his place in costa terra?
>>>user313 yeah, okay magui.
user048 i wonder if she's going to be at the race sunday
>>>user111 i have a friend who works on the comms team for mclaren. she's causing ALL SORTS of problems and supposedly hasn't been issued a guest pass like YN and Max and the quadrant crew has!
>>>user048 omg JUICY
Lando’s hotel suite was a chaotic mess of random fan gifts, crumpled receipts, and discarded team gear. Outside, the Miami skyline sparkled bright and neon, but inside the only sound was the low hum of a tv show neither of you were watching and the scrape of a fork against a plate of lukewarm pasta. You were sitting cross-legged on the velvet sofa, your laptop perched on your knees as you scrolled through that day’s headlines on social media.
“The fans loved the Quadrant pop-up content.” You say, not looking up from the screen in front of you, though you could feel Lando watching you from the armchair across the coffee table. “But the pap shots of Max and her are already all over Twitter. The gossip pages are having a field day.”
Lando groans, head tipping back against the chair. He’d showered already but you could still see the exhaustion creeping across his features as he picked at the plate of pasta Jon had told him to order. “I saw. I had to turn my phone off. Every time I see her name, I feel like I can’t breathe. It feels like she’s trying to force me into coming back to her.”
“She’s certainly good at presenting a convincing narrative to get her way.” You mutter, finally closing your laptop.
You’d meant it as a joke, but seeing Lando this stressed felt heavy. “She knows that if she stays in the frame long enough, people are going to start believing what they’re seeing on socials and that you’ll have no choice but to play along. We need to beat her at her own game.”
Lando looks at you, his eyes tired. “How? I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cold. I’ve tried ignoring her and then being direct. Nothing works. She refuses to believe it’s over between us.”
You stretch your legs out in front of you, pointing your toes as you enjoy the burn in your muscles. You’d booked a hot yoga class for tomorrow morning to sweat out all of the stress today had laid at your feet.
“I don’t know.” You sigh, rubbing at your temples. “At this point, unless you suddenly announce you’re becoming a monk or getting married, I don’t think she’s going to stop until she gets what she wants.” You bark a laugh, cold and bitter as you shake your head. “Maybe we hire someone. How do you feel about fake dating some unknown Swedish model for a month? It works in the movies all the time, doesn’t it?”
Lando doesn’t laugh. He just stares at you, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass.
“Not a model.” He says softly and you look up, caught off guard by his tone.
“Okay, an actress? Someone American maybe?” You joke, knowing that it would never actually work. “We could even put out a casting call! ‘Wanted: One fake girlfriend to deter a persistent ex. Must look good in papaya and be able to tolerate Formula One fans and online gossip.”
“It should be you.”
The air in the room stills, suddenly feeling thin. Your brain malfunctions, words becoming too difficult to produce, your heart skipping a beat before slamming against your ribs.
“Very funny.” You say, voice a little too high. "Did the Miami heat damage your two remaining brain cells? Lando, be so for real right now. The press would lose their collective minds faster than you can say Schumacher.”
“I’m not joking, YN.” Lando leans forward, his elbows on his knees, pinning you with a look that was entirely too serious. “Think about it. We already spend an absurd amount of time together. You started handling my personal PR when you took the director title at Quadrant. You’re always around, albeit in the background. It wouldn’t be totally out of the realm of possibility for us to actually fall for each other.”
You blink at him, not entirely processing what he was saying. Gripping at the edge of the sofa, your knuckles turn white. “Lando that’s…that’s actually insane. If people find out it’s fake, my entire reputation could be ruined. And if we do, it could get so messy —”
“It won’t get messy.” He interrupts, standing from his chair before coming to sit next to you on the couch.
You stiffen when you catch a hint of his cologne.
He reaches over, his hand hovering just inches from yours. “We’re friends, we have been for years. There have been rumors about us hooking up for as long as you’ve worked for Quadrant anyway.”
“There are rumors about you hooking up with anyone that has two X chromosomes and an Instagram account, Lando.” You roll your eyes.
Lando chuckles softly, shaking his head, “But the rumors about us have been going on for years now. Think about it, we confirm those rumors and she’ll finally get the hint that I’ve moved on. She already knows how close we are, it wouldn’t be too hard for everyone to believe we're actually dating.”
You look at his hand that covers yours, then up at him.
“Strictly for PR?” You manage to whisper, your shield finally starting to crumble.
Lando’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “Whatever you need it to be.” He says. “Just say you’ll help me. I can’t do a repeat of what happened this morning.”
The silence that stretches after Lando’s plea for help feels so heavy, you could feel it settle in your chest.
You know you should say no. You should tell him that he needs to sleep this off and you’d both figure out a different strategy in the morning. You should tell him this was the stupidest idea he’d ever come up with and you'd be dumber than a box of rocks if you agreed.
Instead, you reach for your notebook.
“If we’re going to do this — and I am still ninety five percent sure this is actually the dumbest thing I've ever agreed to— we’re going to do it with structure.” You say, your voice regaining that professional edge you wore like a suit of armor. “We need ground rules. Hard boundaries. We aren’t just going to wing this and see what happens, that will guarantee failure, and I don’t do failure.”
Lando leans back, a small, triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Structure. Right, of course. Where would we be without your structure, YN? Go on then, pretty girl. What’s rule number one?”
Your pen scratches at the paper in your lap. “Rule number one: the romantic relationship happens in public only." Lando lifts a brow. “When we’re alone and behind closed doors, I am Quadrant’s PR Director, not your girlfriend.”
You practically choke on the word ‘girlfriend’.
“Fine.” Lando says, nodding. “What else? I know you’ve got a list for me a mile long.”
“Rule number two: We don’t tell anyone that this is fake.”
Lando shifts his weight and frowns, “Not even Max?”
You huff a laugh, “Especially not Max. He would tell P and P would go running straight to her and it would blow up in our faces in ten seconds. And if the truth gets out, we’re both in for a nightmare of press attention that we’ll have difficulty coming back from.”
Lando’s gaze drops to his lap as he considers. “Okay. Yeah, I get that. He couldn’t even keep today’s appearance a secret. He’d crack under the pressure.”
“Exactly.” You nod, scribbling down the second rule in your notebook.
“I have a few rules then.”
You raise a brow, “You do?"
Lando nods. “Rule number three: you have to attend more races this season. Not as Quadrant’s PR director but as my girlfriend.”
“Lando, I have a job!” You cry, shaking your head. “I can’t just spend all my time jet setting around the world following you around like a puppy!”
“You have a job that I know for a fact allows you to work from anywhere, so that’s not an excuse. You want people to think this is real? Then you have to play the part of supportive girlfriend, babe.”
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
“Are we adding my rule to the list?” He challenges.
“Fine, but you’re footing the bill for all of my extra travel.” You scribble down the third rule reluctantly. “What else? I’m sure you have more ideas on how to torture me with this little charade.”
Lando smirks, “Rule number four: one public date a week at minimum. PDA and Instagram posts included.”
“Oh for the love…” You mutter but you’re already jotting down the fourth rule.
“You know she practically lives inside that phone of hers. If we don’t go out publicly, we won’t be photographed and she won’t see us. If we keep everything off socials, she won’t have any reason to believe I’ve moved on.”
You hated to admit it, but Lando was right. You knew how chronically online she was and how even a whiff of a new woman in Lando’s life caused a tizzy on Instagram and Twitter. If you wanted to sell this, you were going to have to play along.
“I have an amendment to that rule I’d like to propose before agreeing.” You say as seriously as you can manage.
“Go on.” He prompts.
“No over the top PDA. If we’re too in your face with it, people are going to see right through this. We are not two teenagers who can’t keep their hands to themselves.”
“Speak for yourself.” Lando wiggles his eyebrows, ducking out of the way when you chuck a pillow at his head. “Okay, okay, you win! No over the top PDA.”
You pause, the tip of your pen stilling on the paper. “I win? You’re not going to argue with me on that one?”
Lando shakes his head, “Nope. If I overdo it on the PDA, you might fall head over heels in love with me and that would make things very messy.”
You snort, “You wish.”
“Maybe."
Your stomach flips but you choose to ignore it and move on.
"Rule number five: no embarrassing pet names are to be used in public.”
“Now wait a minute, let me stop you right there!” Lando protests, reaching for the pen in your hand. “If I don’t call you by some term of endearment, she’ll never buy it.”
“And why is that?” You yank the pen back out of Lando’s hand and continue writing out the fifth rule.
“Because she knows me and how much I love using pet names! Are you at least open to negotiations on this rule?”
Your eyes flick up to take Lando in. He’s relaxed for the first time all evening, his smile coming easy now, almost as if he’s enjoying himself while torturing you with what you suspect might be flirting. “What did you have in mind?”
Lando reaches for your notebook and pen again, jotting down a few words. “I propose the following be added to a ‘pet name white list' —”
“You’re insane, you know that right?”
“And yet here I am trying to compromise while you’re being the difficult one!” Lando has the audacity to look offended.
“Go on.” You were going to sprain your eyeballs by the time this was all over with how hard you were rolling them.
“The pet name white list should include the following: baby, babe, pretty girl —”
“You already call me that.” You interrupt, earning a swat on your hand from the pen in Lando’s hand.
“I know.” He nods crisply. “And I don’t want to have to stop, so on the list it goes.”
“Jesus Christ." You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Okay, go on.”
Lando turns back to the notebook and continues to write. “Love, my love, sweetheart, bunny —”
“Bunny?” You choke on a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of what is going on right now.
“Yeah. You’re soft and cute like a baby bunny.”
“I hate you.”
"You really don't though." Lando taps the tip of your nose with his index finger, which you immediately try to bite at before he can move his hand to safety.
Unfortunately, you miss.
“Be careful or I’m adding ‘my little piranha’ to the list.” He warns smugly.
“You wouldn’t dare.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes.
“Watch me.”
All you can do is sigh.
“Is that it?” You ask after a beat, making a move to rescue your notebook from the psycho sitting next to you.
"I think so, but can we put in a clause that we can amend the list at a later date if something strikes my fancy?”
You shake your head, looking skyward. “Why did I agree to this? You know what? Fine. Pet name list renegotiation clause approved.”
Lando scoots a little closer to you on the couch and you fight the urge to move away from him. The way his cologne has your pulse thrumming was making you nervous.
“I think that’s a pretty extensive rule list. Is that it?”
You shake your head, “No, I have one more rule. The Escape Rule: If either of us catches real feelings for the other at any time, we immediately call this entire thing off. No questions asked, no hurt feelings. We go right back to being just friends and colleagues. We can’t let this ruin us, okay?” You turn to him then, eyes pleading for agreement on this.
Lando’s expression shifts, the light in his eyes dimming just a fraction. He looks like he’s going to argue, to say something about how that would never happen, that nothing could ruin what you two had but in the end, his shoulders just droop slightly. He didn’t want to seem needy and he certainly didn’t want to admit that the ‘real feelings’ part was the only reason he’d suggested this in the first place.
“Right. No feelings or we call it off.” He repeats, the words sounding a bit hollow. “Agreed.”
You snap the notebook shut with a sense of finality. “Right then, it looks like you have a deal, Mister Norris.”
Lando pastes what he hopes is a bright smile on his face, “Sounds like it.”
SUMMARY: Your ex cheated on you with your own cousin so you decided the best revenge was to hook up with his idol, his favorite driver, Lando Norris.
PAIRING: lando norris x reader
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
You were drained, completely and utterly drained.
The race weekend had been brutal: endless media duties as a journalist and the devastating discovery that your boyfriend of seven years had been cheating on you with your own cousin. Not just cheating, he’d proposed to her after only two months. The same man who never once brought up marriage in your entire relationship.
The last two months had been hell. Ice cream, crying into your pillow, and work on autopilot. You were grumpy, exhausted, and emotionally empty, but your best friend refused to let you waste your summer mourning a man who didn’t deserve you.
That’s how you ended up being forced out of bed and getting ready while your friend went through your suitcase.
“Good damn it, this is so boring. You only packed work clothes. Nothing hot but don’t worry, I got you.”
She left the hotel room and returned almost thirty minutes later with a short skirt and a top while you were doing your makeup.
“Isn’t this too short?” you asked, tugging at the hem.
“Babe, a skirt can never be too short. You have nice legs, why not show them? This is hot girl summer.”
She bounced around you excitedly while you sighed, knowing you wouldn’t win this fight. Still… it was better than crying alone over someone who clearly didn’t give a fuck about you.
You barely remembered the last real party you’d been to. Your friend shoved a drink in your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. A few songs and one strong cocktail later, the alcohol started working. The tension in your chest finally loosened, and you were actually having fun.
“Don’t turn around,” your friend whispered, “but someone has his eyes on you.”
Of course you turned. Your gaze locked with Lando Norris. He was staring right at you, that signature smirk already in place.
“Girl, I said don’t turn around!”
“Sorry…”
“He’s been watching you all night. This is your revenge moment. Wasn’t Lando your ex’s favorite driver? He fucks your cousin, you fuck his idol. I’m a genius.”
“No, that’s completely unprofessional,” you hissed. “I work with him. How am I supposed to act normal in the paddock after that?”
“You’re not at work now, he won’t mind I’m sure. And it looks like he’s back in his party boy / fuck boy era. You can have fun at least one night? And make your ex fuming? That’s the best combination.”
You thought about it. It was a bad idea and a good idea at the same time. Rational speaking, it was a pretty bad idea to do that with someone you had to work with, you would never escape him. It wasn’t like hooking up with a stranger you’d never see again. But on the other side, you wanted revenge. Your ex was the biggest Lando fan.
“Okay, what do I do to get his attention?”
“Nothing,” your friend grinned. “He’s already coming over.”
“What?! No...wait, don’t leave me alone!” you shouted as she vanished into the crowd.
“Have fun!” she called back.
Now what the hell do you even do?
You weren’t good at flirting anymore after seven years in a relationship. You stood awkwardly until you felt a warm presence behind you.
“Unexpected to see you here, Ms. Journalist.”
You turned. Lando was right there, cocky grin and all.
“I can say the same about you, Mr. Driver who DNF’d yesterday.”
“Ouch,” he laughed, voice flirty with a hint of sarcasm. “Not nice even outside the paddock.”
“Does the DNF bring your playboy era back?” you shot back.
“What playboy era are you talking about?” he asked with a knowing smirk.
“Let’s dance if we’re both here,” he suggested.
“You dance?” You burst out laughing.
“Well… not really. Just a little swing or something.”
Calling it dancing was generous. Neither of you were particularly good at it. Most of the time you were just laughing.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Lando said, still grinning.
“Relaxed?”
“Yeah. Lately you always looked like you wanted to murder whoever was in your way.”
“That bad?” you asked, shocked.
“Oh yes. You looked scary. I was genuinely worried during interviews that you’d strangle me if you didn’t like my answers.”
Maybe yes, you had been a little tense and a little bitchy, but that bad? You didn’t even know anymore.
You both got bored of the awkward dance. Lando took your hand and brought you to the table where he had been sitting.
You tried to look around for your friend but it looked like she had left you alone. Lando sat down on the and said, “Looks like you don’t have where to stay,” then pulled you onto his lap with his arm around your waist.
What a lie, you could definitely have taken a seat from the neighboring table but you let him do his charm.
“You can relax a little more. You feel like a stone,” he teased. “Come on.”
You tried to relax while he talked with one of his friends. His friend eventually left, leaving the two of you alone.
Lando’s hand moved to your thigh, playing with it. You tried to take your phone from your bag to get some proof for your ex, but Lando caught what you wanted to do. He took the phone from your hand, put it on the table, and looked like he lost all interest in you.
“I see now… What’s your interest in this?” he asked, still drawing circles on your thigh.
You had two options: lie or tell the truth.
“So, long story short, my ex who I was together with for 7 years cheated on me with my cousin and got engaged after two months. And you are his favorite driver so I thought that maybe I will take somehow my revenge,” you said almost without breathing.
Lando looked at you for a while, not knowing if he should believe you or not. While you looked nervous and fidgeted a little.
Lando took a sip from his drink while he moved you to his other leg, still not letting you go.
You didn’t know if you fucked it up with Lando with this pics thing. Maybe he thought you were going to get some clout or use him.
“Is your ex really such a jerk to cheat and get engaged with your cousin or is it just a story?”
“I swear it’s real. I don’t have reasons to do that, ok? I’m not looking for clout or sending this to gossip pages or posting it. I don’t have an interest in this.”
“Okay,” Lando said, more determined.
“Okay?” you repeated, shocked.
“How do we take the revenge on your ex? How do we take those photos?”
“Maybe like how we are right now it’s good. I mean we are close enough, we don’t have to do something crazy, I don’t know.”
You were just rambling nonsense, so Lando took your phone, opened the camera, and tried to find the best angle.
“You’re again really stiff. Relax more on me. Pretend like you are melting on me.”
You couldn’t find the right position and you were basically climbing on Lando until you found the right one, then Lando kissed the edge of your mouth for the photo.
“Now kiss me too, like it doesn’t matter where. On the cheek or wherever you want.”
The whole photoshoot session was over and you had enough proofs for your revenge. An awkward but strangely comforting silence settled between you.
You stayed on his lap, his hand still resting on your thigh, talking about everything and nothing. Most of it was nonsense, but it felt easy. You were definitely spotted by now and would probably be on every F1 gossip page by morning, so it didn’t even matter anymore.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. After a moment he gathered more courage.
“How about heading to mine?”
You knew this question would come. It was probably the reason he approached you in the first place, the same way your reason for staying here with him was revenge.You had already made so many bad decisions tonight… why not one more? You had fun. Maybe some good sex wouldn’t hurt.
2021: it's Hallway's Talk first ever episode, and of course you have to keep the siblings dynamic.
liked by charles.leclerc, and others
yn.leclerc: that's it, hallway's talk is finally yours ! after months of brainstorming, tears, blood, sweat and horniness, you can finally understand a bit more of my brain and wonder how did i survive growing up with Perceval. hope you'll enjoy it, and if you don't, f you, sincerely.
comments....
yn.leclerc: no really thanks charles.leclerc for taking the time to come, love ya brother (ur still behind Lorenzo) ❤️
-> charles.leclerc: love you too sister (ur still behind Arthur) ❤️
user27891: I just know their life must be something to handle
-> user6329: no one else can handle it like they do
user9455: wonder how she's still single ?
-> user53620: I VOLUNTER
-> charles.leclerc: really don't, run while you still can
user936230: funny how she always tell us about her crushes, but she doesn't want to talk about the new one 🤔
-> user3568: maybe it's because this one's real, like she can actually talk to them
->user865267: true, most of her crushes are fictional or twice her age
->yn.leclerc: not true, last that I heard, aaron hotchner isn't that old
user08638: for once a true influencer who stay herself liked by author
user93720: your editing skills will always be famous
🌟 compilation of charlesyn moments from her last podcast episode
the recording has just started, nothing felt too real for now, and of course, yn had to ruin the calm atmosphere.
"Do you want a bigger mic for your big ass mouth or this one will do ?"
cut to Charles deadass face who wonders why he said yes.
"Have you ever asked yourself why we had ours names ?" yn asked, feeling comfortable enough to be herself for real.
"Because mom and dad named us ?"
"Yeah duh, but like, why the arthurian names ? I don't understand that part of the deal." she looks up and down to him. "I mean you're not very chilvarous, when I look at you."
"Yep, I don't fit the name, you do though... Guenièvre is really fitting you."
"I always thought it was a name that a prostitute could have...you know, stage name."
"I don't think any night club would want you."
"I dance beautifully."
For only answer, Charles looks straight to the camera.
"You should tell your complex apartment to had more parking spaces, I couldn't find one." Charles declares after drinking some water.
"... you literally live two streets away from here, couldn't you have walk I don't know ?"
"How am I supposed to-"
"Don't Charles, you're really deceiving me and the planet." she cuts him.
"I can give you his number if you want..." Charles says lowly, as if trying to be discreet while he was literally recording a podcast.
"Who ?"
"La-"
"Yep no, you're not doing the wingman with me."
"But I want you to be happy !"
"Who says I'm not ?"
"yn, you know I love you sister, but the only social life you have is with the old lady on your floor."
"And ? She needs company !"
"So do you !"
"Charles ! I... he's not even aware of my existence."
"Trust me, he is."
"He doesn't follow me on instagram !"
"He would if you just... porte tes couilles merde !"
"Easy to say."
"Just... you have the Monaco GP for you to see him."
liked by charles.leclerc, max.verstappen and others
yn.leclerc: don't worry big bro, you'll have it next time ❤️ congrats for the other I guess ?
comments...
charles.leclerc: ❤️❤️❤️ liked by author
max.verstappen: thanks little leclerc
user97392: the way she hugged him when he saw he couldn't start the race
->user6320: real bond here
user97320: monaco babyyyyy
user73529: are we going to be happy once ???
charles.leclerc: at least he got a podium... bold of you to post him like that
liked by charles_leclerc ♡ charles leclerc ig au (pt. 4)
pairing: charles leclerc x female reader
Y/N is not an influencer. She's not famous. She's not in motorsport. She is an ordinary girlie, who just happens to like books a lot. One day a certain F1 driver stumbles upon her account and as faith would have it - their taste in literature is awfully similar.
warnings: ig au, slowburn
note: hello ♡ thank you all so much for all the love on of this fic! it is definitely unexpected! today i am bringing you part 4 of the charles leclerc ig au, inspired by @collapselist - dean
pt. 3 | masterlist | sign up for my taglist
yourusername's DMs
🏎️ charles_leclerc: hello?
🏎️ charles_leclerc: did i scare you away
🏎️ charles_leclerc: i'm starting to regret this
📸 yourusername: sorry
🏎️ charles_leclerc: oh thank god
📸 yourusername: i was in the shower
🏎️ charles_leclerc: significantly less dramatic than what i imagined
📸 yourusername: what did you imagine?
🏎️ charles_leclerc: that you were ghosting me
📸 yourusername: for asking me on a date?
🏎️ charles_leclerc: we don't have to call it a date
📸 yourusername: you literally asked me to dinner
🏎️ charles_leclerc: and?
📸 yourusername: charles
🏎️ charles_leclerc: yes?
📸 yourusername: i'd love to
📸 yourusername
liked by charles_leclerc and 10,237 others
yourusername this week 🤍
posted 11:15 AM
thef1girliecorner: girl don't you have a job
yourusername: unfortunately
charlesssleclerclover1: charles liked in 12 seconds btw
emmawrites: OH WE ARE TIMING NOW???
janedoe: everybody stay calm
jackintheboxx_: I WILL NOT STAY CALM
charles_leclerc: that's a pretty dress
charlesfan16: HE'S HERE
jaysf1corner: EVERYBODY ACT NATURAL
yourusername: thank you
charles_leclerc: can we see it on?
yourusername: depends
yourusername: how attached are you to your sanity
cl16obssessed: THE FLIRTING IS GETTING HARDER TO EXPLAIN
clpaddockfashion: they're either dating or actively torturing us
yourusername's DMs
🏎️ charles_leclerc: they are getting worse
📸 yourusername: who?
🏎️ charles_leclerc: the comments
📸 yourusername: you started it
🏎️ charles_leclerc: i asked about a dress
📸 yourusername: and liked my post immediately
🏎️ charles_leclerc: i was scrolling
📸 yourusername: sure
🏎️ charles_leclerc: you don't believe me at all
📸 yourusername: not even a little
🏎️ charles_leclerc: that's disappointing
📸 yourusername: you'll survive
🗞️ f1gossipdaily
liked by 2,016 others
f1gossipdaily Fans once again noticed the Ferrari driver in the comments section of @.yourusername's latest post. The pair have been interacting publicly for weeks, leading many to speculate that there may be more than friendship between them.
Swipe for evidence ➡️
thef1girliecorner: THIS IS MY SUPER BOWL
f1gossipdaily: they're flirting in 4k
jjanedoes: watch it turn out they're just friends
f1cl16fan: nobody comments this much on someone's posts platonically
angelthegirlie: unless you're obsessed
f1paddockfashionpodcast: which he is
yourusername's DMs
🏎️ charles_leclerc: so
📸 yourusername: so?
🏎️ charles_leclerc: friday
📸 yourusername: friday
🏎️ charles_leclerc: 7?
📸 yourusername: 7 works
🏎️ charles_leclerc: good
📸 yourusername: you seem nervous
🏎️ charles_leclerc: i am
📸 yourusername: why?
🏎️ charles_leclerc: because i'd quite like this date to go well
Seen 11:47 PM
summary: your birthday party is a disaster, luckily lando comes and saves the night
➽───────────────❥
pairing: lando x afab reader (F/M)
tw: smut +18, semi public (again im just sorry at this point lmao)
word count: around 10k
feedback is appreciated!! <3
completed another lap around the sun yesterdaya and wrote this for all those birthday girls who haven't felt special on their day, may a lando come with a crappy cake and lot of laughs.
((( also ! this is not an invitation to jump in a stranger's cars and spend the night with boys you barely know lmao! if you wanna do that, take safety precautions pls! )))
➽───────────────❥
oh but you got a sports car,
and we can uh uh in it
Max’s house was packed and smelled like too many bad things at once: cheap perfume, spilled alcohol, weed and sweat from too many bodies crammed into not enough space. The bass from the speaker system was way too loud for a residential building and it rattled the walls, making the picture frames buzz slightly and your chest vibrate with every beat.
It was your birthday.
Apparently.
You knew this because someone had put a glittery pink sash over your shoulders that read “Birthday Girl” in a loopy font, and because you’d gotten a “SURPRISE!” screamed at you when you walked in earlier tonight.
That was pretty much it.
Pietra, your best friend from uni, had organized the whole thing. She’d said you needed to do something fun this year. “No way you gonna rot at home on your birthday”
She was thrilled, dressed in glitter and already two drinks in when you arrived. You didn’t even have time to take your shoes off before you were handed a plastic cup of something neon and bitter.
She was your best friend, yes, but little did she know this was the opposite of fun for you.
Now, hours later, you stood somewhere between the living room and the kitchen, nursing your third drink, which was mostly melted ice at this point, while your cheeks ached from trying to keep a smile on your face, to look like you’re having the time of your life.
Thing was: it was your party, but no one really noticed you.
Not in the this is your night! way people were supposed to. You’d recognized maybe three faces other than Pietra and Max (her boyfriend whose house this actually was).
Everyone else? Strangers. Friends of friends. People with perfect dresses and curated laughs who barely looked at you unless you were standing in their way of the fridge or the bathroom.
There was no cake. No gifts. No moment of people singing off-key while you blew out the candles and made a wish. Just shots poured in the kitchen and someone dry-humping to a remix of Doja Cat in the hallway.
And you were trying.
You were trying so hard to have fun, to match the mood, to not be the person sitting in the corner scrolling Instagram and pretending they weren’t completely out of place at their own birthday.
Trying. That was the word of the night.
Trying not to look out of place.
Trying not to resent how much fun everyone else was having when you just wanted to go home, put on pajamas, and blow out a single candle on a brownie while watching something dumb on Netflix.
And still… a small part of you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. You didn’t want to be the buzzkill birthday girl. You wanted to get it. You wanted to have the kind of fun Pietra always had. You wanted to look back and say, yeah, that night was wild.
You wanted to be the main character for once.
So you laughed when people laughed. You accepted drinks you didn’t want. You danced a little when Pietra tugged your wrist and spun you around like it was prom and not a house full of drunk strangers.
You even let someone you vaguely remembered from uni light a joint in front of you and pass it over. You took a drag like you weren’t completely awkward about it, held it too long, coughed until your eyes watered, and then pretended it was fine.
Eventually, you ended up perched on a kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, trying to sip your warm drink and not look like you were counting the minutes. You could still hear the music pounding from the other room, some remix of a song that had been everywhere on TikTok.
Just five minutes of quiet, you told yourself. Five minutes to pull yourself together, reapply the smile, and dive back into the party like you belonged there.
“Didn’t expect to find the birthday girl hiding back here.”
You looked up, startled. Lando Norris stood in the doorway, backlit by the flickering lights of the living room. He looked almost cinematic in that moment: black jeans, worn but expensive-looking, a plain grey t-shirt that clung to him in all the right places, and curls falling messily over his forehead. His hoodie was slung carelessly over one shoulder, and he was twirling a bottle cap between his fingers like it had offended him.
Lando Norris. Max’s best mate. F1 star. British celebrity. A small crush you refused to admit out loud.
You straightened up. “Not hiding,” you said, a little too quickly. “Just… taking a break.”
He smirked, stepping fully into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him.
“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing to the fridge. “Funny, ‘cause this is the second time I’ve seen you disappear in the last hour.”
He noticed?
You rolled your eyes but smiled faintly. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
He opened the fridge, crouched slightly to look inside, and shrugged. “Not really. Just hard to miss the girl in a pink sash who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.”
You didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t wrong.
Lando grabbed a can of something, cracked it open, and leaned back against the counter opposite you. He didn’t say anything else at first, just watched you over the rim of his drink, eyes scanning your expression like he was trying to read past the surface.
“You’re not really having fun,” he said finally. Not a question. A statement.
You gave him a flat look and forced a chuckle. “I didn’t realize my party came with a therapist.”
He grinned. “I charge extra for birthdays.”
You sighed, fingers running along the rim of your cup. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know most of the people here. And there’s no cake, by the way, if you were wondering. Feels like the party is for everyone else but me, just a lot of tequila and people making out in corners.”
Lando tilted his head, still watching you. “So why stay?”
The question was so simple yet so complicated to answer.
You hesitated. “Because everyone else is having fun. Because Pietra planned it. Because I’m supposed to be that girl tonight. The fun birthday girl.”
He shifted slightly, that easy confidence never faltering, but his eyes had softened a little. “Maybe you don’t have to be anything.”
You blinked. It sounded easy when he said it, but it felt like a revelation.
Lando took another sip of his drink and stepped closer, shrinking the distance between you two. You noticed the subtle scent of his cologne, clean and understated, with something a little sharp beneath it, like cedar or salt.
Actually, you didn’t even know, you knew nothing about men fragrances after all. But he smelled good and it was invading your surroundings with every movement he made.
His words still echoed too loudly in your mind.
Maybe you don’t have to be anything.
And you wanted that to be true. God, how you wanted it. But reality was heavier than that.
“It’s not nice to leave your own party,” you said after a beat, voice softer now, maybe even a little apologetic. “Especially when someone threw it for you.”
Lando gave a short, quiet laugh, like he wasn’t mocking you, just amused by how earnestly you said it. He took another sip from his drink and leaned against the counter beside you, shoulder brushing yours briefly before he shifted again, just enough to give you space but still stay close.
“Yeah, I mean… sure,” he said slowly, like he was working it out in real time. “But is it nice that no one’s really even looked at you since the party started? I mean, you’re wearing a Birthday Girl sash and I had to find you in the kitchen because no one else noticed you’d left.”
You opened your mouth, ready to object, but nothing came out. Because he wasn’t wrong. Not even a little.
“And Pietra,” he added with a slight smirk, “much as I’m sure she loves you, is probably upstairs shagging Max right now. So let’s not act like she’d actually notice or care if you ducked out early.”
You scoffed. “Wow. Harsh.”
He grinned and shrugged like he couldn’t be blamed for saying what you were already thinking.
“I’m just saying,” he added, his tone was softer now, less teasing. “Don’t bend yourself backwards to stay in a room that doesn’t make space for you. Even if someone decorated it with cheap balloons and blasted Pitbull remixes.”
You looked at him and the corners of your lips slightly tugged upward, slow and almost involuntary.
A smile. The first real one of the night.
You hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t expected him to say something like that. Something that didn’t feel like a throwaway line or a cliché.
He caught your expression immediately, and a lopsided grin curved across his lips.
“There it is,” he said, victorious. “A smile. I knew it was in there somewhere.”
You shook your head, the smile still lingering despite your best efforts to downplay it. But you could feel it, how the mood between you had shifted again. Lighter now. You didn’t know what it was exactly, only that you didn’t want to ruin it by getting too self-aware.
So you did what you always did when things started to feel too close. You changed the subject.
“And what about you?” you asked, stepping back just enough to lean against the edge of the counter, your arms loosely crossing over your chest. “What are you doing at my birthday party? Don’t you have some F1 trendy event to attend?”
Lando smirked, taking a sip from his drink before responding. “Max invited me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Max invited you… to my party?”
“I wasn’t gonna come at first,” he added, quieter now. “Long week. Jet lag. The usual. But I’m glad I did.”
There it was again, that tone. Soft, a little amused, but sincere. Like he wasn’t trying to flatter you, just telling you what he saw. And you hated how it made your chest flutter in response.
Lando took another step closer. Not invading your space, just folding into it like he’d always belonged there. He leaned his hip against the counter beside you, close enough that your arms were almost brushing.
“Why?” you asked, voice soft, barely louder than the low thud of bass from the other room. “Having fun?”
He tilted his head, like he was weighing whether or not to give you the full answer. Then, with a slow smile, he said, “Yeah, I mean I found the birthday girl hiding in the kitchen and she turned out to be a lot more interesting than the party itself.”
You gave a soft laugh and rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”
The tension between you shifted again. Not awkward, not flirty. Something in between. Like you’d both stumbled into a version of the night neither of you had been expecting.
Lando looked down at your drink-less hand, still resting by your side. Without a word, he brushed his fingers lightly against yours. Not a grab, not a move. Just a gentle touch, enough to tease and initiate a small physical contact.
You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t, really. Not with the way he was looking at you now.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, voice low and casual, like he was simply suggesting a change of playlist, not a small act of rebellion.
You chucked. “What?”
He gestured vaguely over his shoulder toward the living room, where the music had picked up again. “This party sucks. And you hate it.”
“I don’t hate it.”
“You’re hiding in the kitchen.”
You gave him a pointed look, though your mouth was twitching with the start of a reluctant smile. “That doesn’t mean I hate it.”
“Come on.” His tone was coaxing now, almost boyish in its charm. “Let’s leave and go literally everywhere else.”
You laughed under your breath. “Together? That wouldn’t look suspicious at all.”
He grinned. “I don’t care.”
That gave you pause. The way he said it. Like the idea of caring what people thought had never once stopped him from doing what he felt like doing. And yet, he didn’t feel dangerous or wild.
You held his gaze for a beat longer, your mind racing.
“Where are we even going?” you asked, your voice barely above the bass vibrating through the floor.
Lando's grin mellowed into something playful, still him, but threaded with intention. “A birthday girl deserves cake, doesn’t she?”
You blinked at him, probably blushing.
“There’s no cake here,” he added, as if that fact alone was an injustice that demanded rectifying. “It’s actually criminal. A party with no cake? I think we can do better than that.”
“You want to go find a cake?” The words came out half-disbelieving, half-intrigued. Like you were trying not to get swept up the craziness of his offer.
You should’ve said no. Should’ve kept your feet firmly planted, shrugged it off with some breezy excuse. Go back into the party and try to let the music drown out whatever strange electricity had crept in between you and this boy with curly hair and a grin that could pull tides.
But the thought of slipping out into the night with him, of escaping this mess of music and expectation and putting on a face that didn’t feel like yours, it felt like breathing after holding it in for hours.
“Come on,” he said. “Get your jacket.”
You looked at him for a heartbeat, your breath caught somewhere in your chest. Then you broke eye contact with a small shake of your head, more in disbelief at yourself than at him, and turned toward the chair where you’d tossed your jacket earlier. Your fingers trembling just slightly as you grabbed it.
Thirty seconds later you were following him out of Max’s place.
You walked side by side, close but not quite touching, his hand brushing yours once, casually, like it was nothing.
“So,” you said, trying to break the silence and the tension curling in your chest while waiting for the elevator “Is this your thing? Rescue sad girls from their own birthdays?”
Lando turned to you with that signature grin, the one that had probably melted a thousand hearts, and tilted his head. “Only the really cute and really tragic ones.”
You rolled your eyes but bit your lip to hide your smile. “Wow. So you’re pitying me”
“Mh, no not at all.” He shrugged, leaning against the wall with an ease that came so naturally to him. “You just looked like you weren’t having the night you deserved.”
Lando was charming, yes. But he was also nice. Kind in a quiet, consistent way that felt dangerous. Because it made it hard to guard yourself. Hard to keep the walls up when he wasn’t trying to break them down.
He was also making you feel seen. For the first time. And that made you analyze everything.
You fought back a grin.
Don’t overthink this. It’s just cake. It’s just a walk. Just a boy you barely know, or maybe never really did.
What were you even doing? Literally everything could go wrong.
But you decided, right then, not to let your thoughts ruin the moment. It was your birthday, damn it. He was right. You deserved to laugh. You deserved to feel something good.
So you let yourself smile as you followed him through the nearly empty lot, your heels clicking against the pavement, until you spotted the sleek black Lamborghini parked beneath a streetlamp.
Of course. Of course he drove a Lamborghini.
Lando unlocked it with a casual tap of his key fob, the lights blinking once.
He walked over to the passenger side, the soft click of the unlocking doors breaking the quiet of the night. Without saying a word, he opened it for you with a mock-serious flourish, then extended an arm, palm up like he was guiding you into a royal carriage.
“Miss,” he said, tone grave but lips twitching, clearly amused with himself.
You laughed, caught somewhere between impressed and amused. “Wow. Thank you!”
You were still smiling to yourself when he closed the door and rounded the front of the car, slipping into the driver’s seat with the same cool ease he carried everywhere. He caught the look on your face as he started the engine and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” he asked, grinning as the dashboard lit up.
“Nothing,” you said too quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
God, he was charming. Too thoughtful. Too casually nice for his own good. And definitely for yours. The way he moved, the way he paid attention to you in little ways like holding the door, that subtle touch to your back. It felt all so natural. But it was doing things to your brain. Making your thoughts feel louder than the low hum of the engine.
He pulled out his phone and opened Google Maps, fingers tapping against the screen as he scrolled.
“Alright,” he muttered, half to himself, eyes scanning the map. “There has to be a Tesco or Sainsbury’s open somewhere. Come on.”
You leaned over slightly, peering at his screen before his thumb paused over a pin on the map. “There we go. Twenty-four-hour Tesco, eight minutes away.”
Lando pulled onto the main road, one hand casually resting on the wheel, the other still holding his phone in his lap.
You glanced sideways at him, trying not to stare. He looked calm. Confident. Absolutely stunning. The kind of person who made it feel like anything could happen and it might actually turn out okay.
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” you said quietly.
The eight-minute ride felt like two seconds, too quick to fully sink in, until suddenly he was pulling into a dimly lit Tesco parking lot.
“Here we are,” he announced like it was the grandest destination in the world, his grin widening as he cut the engine.
You caught your reflection in the windshield for a moment: hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way they hadn’t been all night.
Two hours into your birthday, and finally, maybe, you were starting to have some fun.
Inside the store, the harsh fluorescent lights were a stark contrast to darkness of the night, but the familiar aisles and quiet hum of refrigeration units were oddly comforting.
You followed Lando down the baking aisle, your footsteps echoing softly with his.
He stopped in front of the fridge and started scanning the options. “Alright, what kind of cake does the birthday girl want? Something classic? Chocolate?”
You glanced at the neatly arranged cakes, their frosted perfection almost surreal in the stark lighting. “I don’t know... chocolate sounds good,” you said finally, shrugging like it was the safest choice.
Lando nodded approvingly, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Chocolate it is. Can’t go wrong with it”
He reached out and picked up a modest chocolate cake, the kind that promised comfort more than extravagance, and held it up like a prize. You caught the soft gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, as if this little mission had become more important than either of you expected.
“Now,” he added, turning to the next aisle with that same confident ease, “we need candles. Can’t have a birthday without candles.”
He handed you a small pack with a careful tenderness, his fingers brushing yours just enough to make your pulse hitch.
Lando carried the cake and candles to the self-checkout with a kind of casual confidence that somehow made even a 2 a.m. Tesco run feel cinematic. You trailed behind him, arms crossed loosely over your chest, watching as he scanned the items with one hand, the other tucked easily into the pocket of his hoodie.
Once you stepped back out into the night, the cool air kissed your cheeks, and the world felt quieter somehow, like the city itself had turned the volume down.
“Mind holding onto that while I drive?” Lando handed you the Tesco bag and unlocked the car with a click.
You nodded, accepting the Tesco bag from him as he opened the passenger side door for you again. A quiet “thank you” passed your lips, but the smile tugging at them gave more away than you meant to. There was something disarmingly endearing about Lando’s late-night chivalry—like it wasn’t just instinct for him, but intentional. It made your chest flutter in a way that felt far too dangerous at 2 a.m.
As he rounded the car and slid back into the driver’s seat, you held the bag in your lap, the candles rattling softly against the plastic container of cake. You glanced over at him, curious and a little breathless from how this strange, impulsive detour had somehow become the best part of your birthday.
“So,” you said, side-eyeing him as he shifted the car into gear. “Are we heading back to Max’s or…?”
He shook his head, lips quirking into a small smile. “Nope. Got somewhere better in mind.”
You gave him a sideways look, eyes narrowing slightly with playful suspicion. “Where are we going, Norris?”
He glanced at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road, the city lights reflecting on the window and in the curve of his grin. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”
You did. More than you probably should have.
The next ten minutes passed in the blink of an eye. London looked somewhat different this late and you sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the occasional click of the indicator and the quiet thrum of the engine.
Every so often, your gaze drifted to him, to the way his fingers moved on the steering wheel, relaxed and sure. It was ridiculous how effortless he looked, how being near him pulled at something you weren’t sure you were ready to name yet.
Finally, he pulled into a narrow side street and eased into a small parking area tucked between a few low buildings.
The second you stepped out of the car, you understood.
The view opened up in front of you like something out of a movie.
You were high up on South Bank, overlooking the Thames. Tower Bridge was lit up in the distance, glowing like a crown across the water. The London Eye turned slowly, faintly glowing behind the trees, and the spire of Big Ben stood tall and golden in the skyline. The city stretched out like a blanket of stars, each light shimmering in its own rhythm.
You blinked, breath catching in your throat. “Wow…”
Lando stepped up beside you, hands in his hoodie pockets. “Yeah.”
“Are you trying to impress me, Norris?”
“Is it working?”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling before drifting you eyes to the view again.
“I did a photoshoot here once, couple years ago,” he said, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Middle of the day. Full crew, chaos everywhere. But I remember looking out and thinking… this place deserved silence. Stillness.”
You glanced back at the view. “It’s beautiful.”
His gaze softened, and for a moment, you both just stood there in the hush between city sounds, the only thing moving the occasional breeze that played with the hem of your jacket and the ends of your hair.
Then Lando exhaled, breaking the spell with a small grin. “Alright. Let’s get that cake now”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine, as if it had been sitting at the base of your throat all night, just waiting for the right moment to escape.
“Yey! Cake time,” you rejoiced, spinning on your heel and making your way back to the car.
Lando followed at a leisurely pace, hands still tucked in his hoodie pockets, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you.
You reached back into the car, careful not to jostle the bag too much, and pulled out the chocolate cake with the kind of reverence it deserved. It wasn’t fancy a little smushed from the ride, but it suddenly felt like the most important cake you’d ever held as you gently placed it on the hood of car.
Lando helped you peeling back the lid with slow, careful fingers, like it was something breakable. Or maybe it was just that the moment felt that fragile.
From his pocket, he pulled out the pack of pastel-colored candles you’d grabbed from Tesco, opening it and tapping a few into his hand.
“Okay so,” he said with a crooked smirk, tilting his head as he examined the cake’s surface. “We’ve got space for, what… five candles?”
You laughed softly, already shaking your head.
“That’s how old you’re turning, right?” he teased with a playful tone.
“Oh my God,” you gasped, trying to hide your grin. “You’re actually so rude.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile wouldn’t go away.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this, like something was blooming in the center of your chest and you didn’t want to stop it. It was ridiculous, really, how a supermarket cake and five mismatched candles could feel so important. So personal.
Lando stepped in closer, the warmth of his body brushing your side as he leaned over to help you press the tiny candles into the soft frosting. Your arms moved together in this quiet rhythm, his fingers brushing yours here and there as you worked, and neither of you rushed. The silence between you had settled into something comfortable, like you were both reluctant to break it.
Once the last candles were in, Lando reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a black lighter. His brows pulled together as he lit each one, shielding the little flames from the night breeze with his hand, his thumb instinctively curling inward as if protecting something precious.
“There,” he said softly once the final flame flickered to life, standing upright again.
You stared down at the cake, then up at him. “I can’t believe you actually did this.”
His expression softened, mouth curling into something gentler. “Why not?”
You shrugged, hugging your arms around yourself against the breeze. “I don’t know. We barely know each other and… this? It’s… really nice.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you with that same unreadable expression.
Then, in a voice barely louder than the wind, he said, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
Your breath hitched.
And before you could say anything else, he did it. He started to sing. Just a few notes at first, tentative, like he wasn’t sure whether to commit.
“Happy birthday to you…”
“Oh no,” You let out a stunned laugh, instantly covering your face with your hands.
He grinned, eyes crinkling as he kept going, singing the whole song just a little off-beat for comedic effect.
“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Now, time to make a wish.”
You rolled your eyes with a grin, but when you turned your gaze down toward the flickering flames, something shifted inside you.
The warmth of the engine beneath your fingertips, the city glittering in the background like spilled stardust, the boy beside you who somehow felt both brand new and strangely familiar, all of it felt like a moment suspended in time.
What would you even wish for?
You didn’t really want anything extravagant.
But you closed your eyes anyway.
And in the quiet between your heartbeats, you wished. Not aloud, not even fully formed but something close to “more of this”. More moments where you could feel good with being reckless, where you could breathe deeply and laugh until your stomach hurt. Moments where things felt easy. Real. Light.
Moments where you could feel seen.
You opened your eyes again, meeting Lando’s blue ones briefly before leaning forward and blowing out the candles with one long breath. The tiny flames snuffed out one by one, tendrils of smoke curling upward into the night air.
He clapped his hands with mock enthusiasm, grinning like a kid who’d just watched fireworks. “Atta girl, nailed it.”
Lando then reached for the plastic cake knife tucked in the side of the container and carefully made the first slice, eyebrows furrowed in exaggerated concentration. “Alright,” he said, biting his bottom lip as he focused like he was performing surgery. “Two big slices!”
You giggled, folding your arms and watching him, your body still buzzing faintly from the moment you’d just shared: from the laughter, the quiet wish, the way his eyes had lingered on yours like they saw something most people missed.
When he finally lifted a generous slice with the flimsy plastic knife, it promptly fell sideways onto the container lid with a soft splat.
“Well,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans with a grin, “we, uh… may not have plates.”
You laughed again, real, loud and delighted, and then accepted a chunk of the cake he passed to you with his bare hands. “It’s okay, we’re embracing chaos, at this point.”
He tapped his slice against yours like it was a champagne toast. “Cheers.”
And for a few minutes, you sat there like that, side by side, sharing lopsided bites of chocolate cake in the warm glow of the London skyline, Tower Bridge lit in the distance, the sound of the Thames moving just beyond the railings.
There was no small talk, no need to fill the space. Just the occasional shared look, the bump of shoulders, the quiet between you stretching wide and comfortable.
Eventually, you set the last bit of your cake down beside the container and wiped your fingers with a napkin he passed you, still smiling faintly.
“Thank you,” you said softly, turning toward him now, the weight of the moment finally catching up with you. “Really, Lando. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”
He blinked, surprised by the shift in your tone. His expression softened instantly, and he tilted his head a little, his voice just as gentle. “Told you. You deserved a good one.”
Your heart thudded, not in that dizzy, anxious way it sometimes did when your thoughts ran ahead of you, but in a steady, weighted rhythm. Like it knew exactly where you were, and exactly who you were with. “Yeah, you’re right...”
You looked down at the cake, half eaten and crooked on the plastic lid, and something in you clicked into place.
Fuck it.
You set it down gently on the hood of the car, not breaking eye contact as you did.
And then you took a step closer.
Lando’s brows lifted slightly, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He didn’t ruin the moment. He just stood there, still and waiting, watching you with those wide, curious eyes like you were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all night.
You reached up, fingers brushing lightly against the collar of his hoodie, steadying yourself more than anything. He leaned in just a fraction, barely perceptible, but you felt it.
And then, with one breath, you closed the space.
Your lips met his in a soft, slow kiss that silenced everything else. No sounds of traffic in the distance, no hum of the city lights, no intrusive thoughts clawing their way in. Just the warmth of his mouth and the way his hands, tentative at first, came to rest gently at your hips, grounding you in the moment.
He tasted like chocolate and something unmistakably him, and he kissed you back with such quiet intention, like he’d been waiting to do it all night but didn’t want to rush you.
It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you gave when you didn’t know what it meant.
It was soft. Anchored. Real.
When you finally pulled away, it was only by an inch, your forehead lingering close enough to brush his.
Lando let out the smallest laugh under his breath, like he wasn’t entirely sure that just happened. His eyes flicked to your mouth and then back to your eyes, a flush rising in his cheeks.
“Wasn’t planning on kissing you, I’m sorry,” you admitted, voice soft, almost shy.
His eyes softened. He shook his head almost immediately, the corners of his lips tugging up, not in amusement, but in something gentler. Close to relief.
“Don’t be,” he murmured. “Honestly… I was.”
You blinked, caught off guard, and he gave you a sheepish little smile, his hands gently sliding from your hips to your waist, steadying you. Or maybe steadying himself.
“I was gonna wait, though,” he continued, gaze flickering between your eyes and your mouth. Again.
“Didn’t wanna be that guy, you know? Creeping in on your birthday like some cliché. Thought I’d at least get your number first and maybe go out on a date before I tried anything…”
You laughed again, brighter this time, the sound echoing off the quiet city around you. Something about the way he looked at you: like he was still amazed you were here, that this was happening, it made your heart skip and your skin warm, even in the cool night air.
And before you could say anything else, Lando’s hands found your face, cupping it so gently it made you forget how to breathe for a moment.
He kissed you again.
Not tentative this time. Not questioning or soft. This one was firmer, anchored in certainty, in heat, in the low burn of chemistry that had been slowly curling around you all night. It wasn’t rushed, it was intentional.
His thumbs brushed over your cheeks as his mouth met yours, and you didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie near his chest, needing something to hold on to because everything else suddenly felt weightless.
Your back pressed gently against the hood of the car as he stepped in closer, his body warm against yours, grounding you with every inch.
You could taste laughter still on his lips, feel the way his breathing shifted when you deepened the kiss just a little, how one of his hands slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair with a quiet exhale that made your knees go soft.
“Lando…” you whispered against his mouth, the syllables shaky and too honest. “You said I deserved a good night.”
He pulled back just enough to see you, just enough to let his eyes search yours. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone.
“I did,”
“I want to have a good night,” you said, barely more than a breath.
His gaze flickered, the meaning not lost on him.
He knew what you were alluding. So he stilled for half a heartbeat, and you could see it: the way he recalibrated, checked himself. Lando might have looked relaxed, but you saw the exact moment he stepped into the moment fully, no longer dancing on the edge of it.
“Are you sure?” he asked, quiet and calm, though you heard the question buried beneath it. “It’s not what this is about…”
Your fingers tightened in his hoodie.
“I know, I know…”
And then everything changed, because you added: “ve never been more sure about anything.”
His hand slid into the back of your hair, warm and careful, as if he were trying not to jostle the moment too hard, like you were glass he wasn’t ready to shatter. But the kiss that followed, that wasn’t careful. That was full and greedy and slow in the way that meant he was trying to take his time, trying not to devour, even as his mouth tilted into yours with heat that didn’t lie.
He let his fingers skim down to your waist, both hands now cradling your hips, and as he stepped you gently backward, the curve of his lips ghosted over yours again.
Your back hit the car and you felt the way his palms splayed wide along the back of your naked and smooth thighs, guiding. His fingers hooked just enough under your knees to give the suggestion. You shifted, letting him lift you with a small grunt of effort onto the hood of his car, knees parting instinctively.
He stepped forward to stand between them with an ease that could have melt down any girl’s heart.
That angle changed everything.
Suddenly his chest was right there, level with yours, and his hands didn’t hesitate, finding your hips again, thumbs stroking along bare skin where your dress had ridden up.
You tilted your head, watching him as his eyes swept down your body slowly, deliberately, like he was giving himself permission to look.
“I want you to know… I didn’t bring you here with any intention.” His voice was rougher now, quieter.
You didn’t even blink.
Your hand slid up to cup the side of his jaw, thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone, guiding his gaze back to yours so he could see the truth as clearly as you felt it.
“I know,” you whispered. “Lando. I kissed you first, remember?”
Some invisible wall cracked open and he stepped all the way through, no longer trying to calculate or control the moment.
It was different now.
There was no tension in his body, only heat and longing and a kind of sweetness that unspooled with every stroke of his tongue against yours, every soft inhale between kisses that sounded like he was trying to memorize how you tasted.
He pressed a kiss to the center of your neck, just beneath your ear, then again lower, and lower still, trailing a map on your skin as you tipped your head back to give him more room.
And oh, he groaned when you did. A sound of approval that buzzed against your skin as his tongue flicked out to taste the salt of you where your pulse fluttered hard.
His hands were moving too now.
But even then, even with his mouth on your neck and his hands beneath your dress, there was no rush in him. No crude hunger. Just a kind of aching patience, like he wanted everything but wanted to take his time earning it.
And god, he was so good at kissing. Not just skilled, but present with every press of his lips.
“I’d love to touch you,” he whispered, voice rough like gravel scraped thin with emotion. “I want to. So bad. But… I would be totally okay if you didn’t want this to happen here like… out in the open”
He trailed off, clearly giving you the out, even as his thumb brushed your lower lip but never pushing.
You laughed softly, breathless, a little dazed from his mouth, and kissed him again. Quick and teasing this time, pulling back before he could deepen it. “You’re sweet,” you murmured, voice low with heat, brushing your nose against his.
“There’s a whole car behind us, you know,” you whispered. “We don’t have to do this on the hood.”
For a second, Lando just looked at you, blinking once, then breaking into a grin so bright and filthy that it made your chest clench.
“Yeah, you’re right” he said, chuckling a little bit keeping his tone serious “But that still applies, y’know.”
You kissed him again, to reassure him and give him a fingere answer. And he seemed to get it immediately because one of his hands slipped around to the small of your back, the other trailed up, knuckles brushing the underside of your thigh where your dress had bunched.
He squeezed, pulling you flush against him on the hood, and your body responded automatically, grinding against the pressure of his hips with a soft, needy whimper in your throat.
“Back seat,?” he murmured against your skin.
You giggled, light and breathless, and slid your arms around his neck, letting him help you down. “Back seat.”
He caught you effortlessly, hands strong and sure under your thighs as he lowered you off the car hood, your bodies never quite separating. Even when your feet touched the ground, you were still in his arms, still held, his mouth dragging over your temple, your cheek, the corner of your jaw.
He laughed again and then slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you both to the rear door of the car. He opened it with one hand, never letting go of you with the other, and then gestured gallantly with a tilt of his head.
“After you,” he said, grinning.
He followed, door closing behind him with a soft thunk, and as soon as the latch caught, something between you changed again. He leaned in without a word, hand catching the back of your neck, pulling you to him.
The kiss this time was messier, hungrier, full of urgency he hadn’t let himself indulge on the hood. His hands found your waist, tugging you closer as he shifted in the narrow space, and your legs opened to make room, thighs parting around him.
You wanted all of him. Right here in the darkened space of the backseat, where the world narrowed down to breath and skin and that dizzying, perfect electricity that only existed between two people who knew this wasn’t just about sex.
For once.
You could feel him smiling when you arched into him, a cocky, breath-warmed curve of his lips against your cheek.
“God, you’re unreal,” Lando murmured, voice reverent, like the words had broken out before he could stop them.
And the way he said it, cool and teasing but laced with awe, like you were the sexiest thing he’d ever touched, it made your skin shiver.
His hands weren’t rushing, weren’t fumbling. They knew what they wanted. He pushed your dress higher, thumbs hooking the fabric and sliding it up your thighs until it bunched around your waist, then his palm found the curve between your legs.
A deep inhale. Then a low, smug exhale when he felt it.
“Shit,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to yours like he needed to see your face as he traced over the damp cotton of your panties. “Already this wet for me?” His fingers pressed gently, dragging slow lazy circles, his knuckles grazing the edge of the damp spot spreading wider with every pass. “Haven’t even touched you yet.”
The space was tight, his knees bumping between yours, your back shifting against the seat as he leaned in, crowding you completely.
And then, his fingers finally slipped past the waistband, sliding under, and your breath caught hard as he groaned again, deep and low, the sound like it had been torn from his chest.
His thumb pressed to your clit and stayed there, firm and steady, while two fingers slid through the slick heat of you slow and patient, like he wanted to feel every inch.
“Jesus, baby,” he said, “So fucking wet I’m sliding right in.” And he did, curling just enough to make your hips jolt.
His fingers sank deeper with that perfect curl and the gasp that left your mouth was broken, high and helpless, with your head falling back against the seat as your hips instinctively rocked into his hand. You didn’t even mean to do it. But your body just moved, greedy and aching, chasing every pulse of pressure his fingers gave you.
You were soaked all of a sudden. You could hear it every time his fingers pumped in, the slick wet sound filthy and perfect in the closed, humid air of the car. And Lando… he was eating it up, enjoying every second with eyes fixed on your face with the kind of focus that made your chest squeeze tight.
It was absurd. All of it.
Not even an hour ago, you’d been sitting in the corner of your own birthday party, surrounded by people who smiled too wide and asked all the wrong questions, feeling invisible at your own celebration.
And now?
Now your head was thrown back in the steamed-up cocoon of Lando’s car, your thighs spread wide around his narrow hips, your panties pulled to the side as his long, perfect fingers worked inside you like they’d been crafted by a god with nothing better to do than design the exact way you liked to be touched.
So now you were moaning, writhing, clenching around him every time he curled those fingers just right, while the goddamn remnants of the Tesco birthday cake were probably still stuck in your teeth.
And it felt like a dream. A delirious, aching, impossible dream.
A boy with cake crumbs on his shirt and the fastest hands in F1 was making you feel more chosen in fifteen minutes than most people had in years.
And then, it happened so fast. Or maybe not fast enough.
He shifted just slightly, adjusting the angle of his wrist with that effortless finesse, and suddenly his fingers slammed against something deep inside you that made you suddenly feel devastatingly good.
And the noise that tore from your throat wasn’t a moan. It was a sob, a broken, grateful cry that punched out of you like it had been waiting your whole life to escape. Your entire body jerked in response, thighs clamping around his hand even as your hips rolled down to meet the next thrust, desperate and uncontrollable.
“There,” Lando breathed, eyes wide and wild with something bordering awe. “Right there, huh?”
And then he kept going.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. His fingers hit that same spot over and over, unrelenting, like he’d found the part of you that made you sing and had no intention of letting it go. The heel of his palm crushed against your clit with each motion, every thrust coiling tighter, higher, harder inside you until you were shaking, babbling nonsense against his jaw as he kissed you again.
You couldn't think. Couldn’t see.
“Fuck, Lando…”
The pressure detonated. You came around his fingers with a wet, clenching pulse that didn’t seem to end, your body bucking against him as his name tore out of your mouth in strangled, gasping whimpers.
And you should have been spent. Should’ve melted right there in the heat of it, let him cradle you until the buzz faded.
But you didn’t want to stop.
Your hands moved on instinct, fingers scrambling for his belt, tugging open the buckle with clumsy desperation. You pulled at his jeans, dragging the zipper down even as you crashed your mouth to his again, kissing him like you needed air from his lungs. Lando let out a breathless laugh and pulled back just enough to yank his hoodie over his head, tossing it behind him somewhere in the front seats.
“Hey—hey, wait,” he said, voice low but steady, one hand catching yours just as it slipped inside the waistband of his boxers. He held you there, not stopping you, but grounding you. His fingers were still sticky with your arousal, warm against your skin. “Are you sure?”
His eyes searched yours in the dim light, the sincerity in them so naked it made your throat tighten. “We don’t have to do this just ‘cause it’s been a shit birthday or… I don’t know.”
The question wasn’t just words. It was in his touch, in the way he held you like you were breakable, precious. And you’d never felt less fragile than you did in that moment.
You leaned in, your lips brushing his in a slow touch, so tender it made his breath hitch.
“I said I want this,” you whispered, “ And not because it’s my birthday. Or because I was sad and you bought me a cake.”
“I want this,” you repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss: cheek, jaw, the corner of his mouth. “I promise you.”
Then you pulled back just far enough to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, curls damp from the heat between you, his lips parted and kiss-swollen, and his cock straining against his boxers under your palm. But his eyes… his eyes were soft. Waiting. Giving you space.
A slow smile curved your lips as you leaned in and whispered, hot and sweet against his skin:
“Now shut up, and get a condom.”
Lando’s laugh was breathless, shaky, and so fucking turned on. “Yes, ma’am,”
He moved fast, fumbling with the glovebox with one hand while the other never left your body, fingers sliding along your thigh, tracing lazy shapes in your skin like he couldn’t not touch you. He found the little silver packet, tore it open with his teeth like he’d done it a hundred times before he rolled it down his length smoothly.
You couldn’t stop staring. He was flushed down to his chest, muscles shifting under that perfect, lean body as he settled back between your legs. His cock was already leaking before he even touched you, it stood proud and heavy in his hand, and the sight alone made your thighs fall open wider in welcome.
Before you could even catch your breath, his hands were suddenly on you: one strong arm sweeping under your thighs, the other gripping your waist, and with a breathless yelp you were lifted effortlessly off the seat. You squealed, half-laughing, half-shocked, hands scrambling f on his shoulders on instinct as he shifted you into his lap like it was nothing.
“Lando!” you gasped between laughs, still breathless from arousal and now from surprise, your thighs bracketing his hips.
He grinned up at you, that infuriatingly confident smile laced with just the right amount of sweetness, like he lived to make you laugh like that.
“C’mere” he murmured “If we’re really gonna do this, I want the birthday girl to fucking ride me in the backseat.”
He was watching you like he wanted to burn every second of this into memory. His hands slid down, slow and patient, fingers curling under the edges of your ruined panties, still damp and clinging to your thighs.
You lifted your hips and let him ease them down your legs, the fabric dragging sticky and slow over your slick skin. He let the panties fall to the floor, his eyes never leaving yours as he smoothed his hands up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, exposing you completely.
You felt open, bare, seen in a way that should’ve made you feel vulnerable, but it didn’t. Not this time. Not with him.
You could feel him there, hot and hard, pressed against the soaked heat of your cunt. It made your stomach flip, made your heart race, made you need him.
“Ready?” he murmured against your lips.
You nodded, barely able to breathe.
He gripped himself in one hand, the other steady on your hip, and guided you down slowly, the tip of his cock parting your folds with maddening, delicious pressure.
“Oh fuck,” you hissed, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance as you sank onto him, inch by inch.
It was a lot. He was thick, long, stretching you open in a way that made your thighs tremble instantly. You paused halfway down, your walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust, and he didn’t push. He held still, hands rubbing soothing circles into your hips while his lips started pressing tender kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, that nickname giving you shivers “So fucking good. Take your time. You feel incredible.”
You whimpered, eyes shut, muscles tight with the effort of taking him. But slowly, breath by breath, you began to lower yourself again, feeling every thick, pulsing inch as he slid deeper inside.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Can feel you squeezing me.”
You bottomed out with a gasp, your body fully seated in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you.
“Fuck,” you whispered, breath shuddering. “You’re… big.”
Lando’s laugh was low and wrecked “Yeah?” he said, hands smoothing up your sides, thumbs brushing just under your breasts.
You nodded, unable to form words.
“Take a second, then” he murmured, kissing your chest and trailing up to your shoulder again.
You did, staying still as your muscles slowly adjusted, the stretch turning from burn to pleasure. You could feel your heartbeat in your cunt, every throb dragging against the thick press of him inside you. And when you finally rocked your hip, just a little, you both groaned in unison.
His hands slid back to your waist, fingers splaying, guiding your movements as you began to ride him in slow, tentative rolls.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that, baby. You’re doing so fucking good”
The praise went straight to your core, as potent as the stretch of him inside you. You rocked against him again, a little harder this time, your thighs clenching around his waist. He moaned, his head dropping back for a second before snapping up again, eyes locked on the way you moved.
You needed more. More than slow and soft.
So you shifted your balance, planting your feet on either side of his hips and leaning back until your spine arched and your palms found leverage on his thighs.
And fuck, the new angle…
Your head fell back with a sharp moan, your hips beginning to move in deliberate, grinding circles now, your ass slapping softly against his thighs as you started to ride him with intent. Each thrust dragged him over that sweet, devastating spot inside you, and he felt it. How clenched and tight you were, how you were squeezing him.
“God, look at you…” he mumbled between his teeth “Riding me like it’s what you were made for.”
And then his hands were on your breasts.
He leaned forward, strong arms wrapping around your torso to pull you closer, mouth trailing hot, open kisses down your chest. His lips closed around one nipple, sucking gently before teasing it with his tongue, his hand kneading the other breast as if he couldn’t decide which one he loved more. The sensation made your hips stutter, made your breath break in your throat.
“Fuck, Lando—”
“Yeah” he growled. “Take what you need, baby.”
You reached up blindly, one hand bracing against the car’s ceiling to steady yourself, careful not to bump your head as your pace built.
But even with him inside you, even with his mouth on your breasts and his hands guiding your hips like they were the most sacred thing he’d ever touched, it wasn’t close enough. You needed more. Needed him. Surrounding you, holding you, breathing you in like you were the only air in the car.
So you shifted again, chest heaving as you leaned forward, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him in until there was nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the frantic rhythm of your bodies moving together. He went willingly, groaning into your mouth as your lips found his again. This time it was all tongue and teeth.
You moved like that: close, tight, grinding down onto him with deeper, rolling thrusts that had his head falling forward against your shoulder. Every sound you made now was right in his ear. You felt him shudder every time you gasped his name, felt the tremor that ran through his thighs when you moaned, “Lando, fuck… feels so good…” like it was the only truth left in the world.
And then his hand slid between your bodies again.
You felt it, slipping down your belly, finding that swollen bundle of nerves just where you needed it most. His thumb pressed in slow, steady circles against your clit, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of your hips, and your whole body jerked, a shudder ripping through you as your forehead dropped to the crook of his neck.
“Oh god” you whimpered, arms tightening around his shoulders and ails digging into his back. “Fuck, don’t stop—”
“Wasn’t planning to,” he groaned while his teeth were gently scraping along your jaw. “Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart, takin’ my cock so well.”
Every filthy word made your hips move even harder, your walls clench around him. He was everywhere: inside you, around you, with you. His voice in your ear, his hand on your clit, his cock filling you so deep it made your legs tremble.
“You close?” he was now kissing along your collarbone softly. “Can feel you fucking gripping me …”
You nodded, not even trying to hold your moans anymore.
“Good girl,” he breathed while his fingers were circling your clit even faster now. “That’s it, then. Come on, birthday girl. ”
Your orgasm tore through you like a wave breaking clean and wild against rock. Violent and consuming. You cried out arching your back and locking your arms tightly around his shoulders as your cunt clamped down on him with need.
Your hips didn’t stop tho, or maybe couldn’t stop.
You still moved.
Even as the waves of pleasure tore through you, your body kept rolling, grinding, giving, chasing every last bit of stimulation because you wanted him to feel it too. You wanted to pull him over the edge with you, keep him deep and tight and overwhelmed until he had no choice but to let go.
And he did.
“Shit,” Lando choked, his voice ragged and shaking as he bucked up into you one final time, deep and desperate, fingers digging into your hips like they were the only thing tethering him to reality. His whole body locked beneath you, breath punched out of his lungs as he came, hard, cock twitching inside you as he spilled into the condom with a groan that vibrated against your collarbone.
You clung to him, chest to chest, body slick and trembling and full, your cunt still fluttering in the aftershocks of your own climax, milking every pulse of his release. He moaned again, quieter this time, buried against your skin, the sound soft and wrecked, like he was being undone even as he started to come down.
This time, you didn’t move. Neither of you did. Your bodies were pressed together, molded in sweat-slick intimacy, your heart hammering against his as your fingers slid through the curls at the back of his neck.
It was a long moment before either of you could speak.
“Jesus Christ,” you whispered finally “That was…”
“Incredible,” he finished, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils were still blown wide, hair clinging to his damp forehead, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. “You’re incredible.”
You laughed softly, a helpless, breathless sound that shook through you. You blinked down at him, your legs still draped around his waist, your dress hiked up, your panties missing somewhere on the car floor.
“You’re still inside me,”
He smirked, cheeky even while panting, his hands smoothing up your back. “I know,” he said, voice warm “Don’t wanna move. And If you gave me like ten minutes, I’d go again.”
You burst into laughter, collapsing onto his chest, burying your face in his neck. “I don’t think I can.”
The haze softened into something golden, sweet. He held you close, one hand stroking slow circles on your bare thigh while the other stayed curled at your lower back, like he was afraid to let go. You nuzzled closer, kissed the skin just under his jaw, and let your eyes flutter shut for a second.
It was four in the morning.
You could see the faintest pale light beginning to spill over the horizon, brushing the fogged windows with a ghost of dawn. The air in the car had cooled just enough to make your skin goosebump where you weren’t pressed to him. And you were wrecked. Spent. Sticky and sore in all the best ways.
And still… you’d never felt more alive.
You hadn’t expected anything. Hadn’t wanted anything, not really. Not a surprise party let alone a hookup.
And yet, here you were: two orgasms deep, wrapped around Lando Norris in the backseat of his Lamborghini, your dress hiked to your hips, your panties forgotten, your legs sore from straddling him.
It was absurd.
And perfect.
Eventually, Lando sighed, tilting his head to kiss your temple as he gently shifted beneath you. The movement was slow, careful, and when he finally slipped out of you, the sensation made you shiver. He hissed under his breath, half-sensitive, and reached down to peel off the condom. He tied it off, searching the car blindly until he found one of his sweatshirts and used it to gently clean you up between your thighs. You winced as he wiped over your oversensitive cunt, but he was gentle, murmuring soft apologies as he worked.
“We made a fucking mess.”
You giggled, wriggling at the ticklish sensation, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek again.
“I’ll take you home, now” he said softly. “Make you some tea, yeah? Then maybe…” He ran a thumb down your spine, slow and suggestive. “If you're up for it, we see what round two looks like in an actual bed.”
summary: it was supposed to be simple: you had a fiancé, a job in the paddock, and a life that made sense if nobody looked at it too closely. then lando norris came along and made things even more complicated
content: slow burn, best friends to lovers, f1 journalist!reader, mutual pining, oscar as unwilling witness, burnt out stale relationship
AN: hi guys! haven't been on here in a while! hope you are all good!! loads of kisses x
There were places in the world where one was expected to behave with dignity.
Libraries, for example. Churches. Courtrooms. The quiet, perfume-polished lobby of a five-star hotel where men in linen jackets pretended not to stare at women in sunglasses.
The McLaren garage, by contrast, had never once managed dignity for longer than three consecutive minutes.
It was not entirely the garage’s fault. It was difficult, you supposed, to preserve a sense of solemn professionalism when the place was full of men who handled million-pound machinery with religious reverence, then turned around and argued for twenty minutes about whether a banana counted as a sufficient lunch. There were engineers hunched over screens with the intensity of wartime codebreakers, mechanics moving with practiced precision around carbon fibre and tyres, and somewhere, always somewhere, Lando Norris causing trouble with the self-satisfaction of a man who considered mischief to be his civic duty.
You found him almost immediately.
Not because you were looking for him.
You were not looking for him.
Technically, you had come into the garage with your microphone bag over one shoulder, your press pass warm against your chest, and the perfectly reasonable intention of finding your fiancé before the day grew too loud and too fast.
Clive worked on Oscar’s side of the McLaren garage as one of his tyre technicians, which had once felt like a lovely coincidence and now felt more like one of those practical arrangements life made on your behalf before asking whether you still wanted it. He had been your childhood sweetheart, though neither of you used that phrase because it made the whole thing sound more picturesque than it felt now. He was the boy from home. The one who had known your parents, your old bedroom, your first terrible haircut, the version of you who had not yet learned to walk through a paddock with a microphone in one hand and three follow-up questions already forming in her head.
You had loved him in the earnest, uncomplicated way young people love before they understand that love requires tending. There had been years when being with Clive felt as natural as knowing the way back to your own house. Then time had done what time sometimes does. It had simply worn the shine off, little by little, until the thing remained but no longer quite glowed.
The engagement had happened four years ago, in the natural way of things that have gone on so long everyone assumes they must continue. There had been a ring, and your families had cried, and Clive had looked relieved, almost proud, as though he had reached a checkpoint. Since then, no date had been chosen. No venue visited. No serious conversation survived long before being folded away under work, travel, exhaustion, timing, money, next season, next month, someday.
Someday had become a room you both kept passing without entering.
Still, you came to the McLaren garage often. At first because Clive was there, and because your job as an F1 journalist meant your paths crossed naturally enough for people to joke that you had become a semi-permanent fixture beside the papaya walls.
Then, somewhere along the way, you had stopped feeling like someone’s fiancée visiting his workplace and started feeling like you belonged there in your own peculiar, unofficial way.
The mechanics nodded when you passed. Someone usually had a coffee for you if you arrived early enough. Oscar gave you one of his dry little greetings if he was feeling generous.
And Lando.
It had happened without ceremony. The first time you properly spoke to him, he had made some ridiculous comment under his breath about you looking far too intelligent to willingly spend time with McLaren, and you had answered before you could think better of it. He had laughed, surprised and pleased, and from then on the two of you had fallen into a rhythm as easily as if someone had left a door open.
It was like things just clicked. It was friendship. Fast friendship, perhaps, but the paddock had a way of speeding ordinary things along. Everyone lived too closely, travelled too often, worked too late. You learned people in fragments: how they took their coffee, what annoyed them, when they were pretending to be fine, what sort of joke would pull them out of a bad mood.
With Lando, the jokes came first.
He pulled pranks on Oscar and looked to see whether you had noticed. You pretended to disapprove and then laughed anyway. He sent you terrible memes between media sessions. You corrected his spelling with unnecessary severity. He started saving the more ridiculous garage stories for you because, according to him, you had ‘the best horrified face.’ You told him he had the attention span of an over-caffeinated todler. He told you that was rich coming from a woman who once lost her phone while it was still in her own hand.
It was easy.
That was all.
You were loyal. You knew where the lines were. You did not cross them. You loved Clive, or at least you loved the life you had built around loving him, and you had never been the sort of woman who went looking for trouble just because someone else made her laugh.
But if anyone had asked why the McLaren garage had begun to feel brighter whenever Lando saw you first, you would not have had a sensible answer.
You were used to it by now. The nods from the mechanics. The occasional coffees passed your way. Oscar’s eyebrows raising as a form of greeting if he was feeling generous. Lando’s grin if he saw you first.
Today, he saw you first.
He was standing beside Oscar’s corner of the garage with an expression far too smug to not be suspicious. His curls were slightly messy, one hand tucked into the pocket of his shorts, the other holding what appeared to be a neatly stapled stack of papers. Oscar stood in front of him, arms folded, face blank in the particular way that meant he was either deeply unimpressed or spiritually departing his own body.
“Morning,” you said, slowing down.
Lando turned to you with a look of immediate delight.
It was always a little unfair, that look, the twinkle lighting up his green eyes. Like you had arrived exactly when he had hoped you would.
“Morning,” he said brightly. “Or should I say zǎo shàng hǎo, actually.”
Oscar closed his eyes. “No.”
You glanced between them. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Lando said.
“That’s usually how I know something terrible happened.”
Oscar held up the papers in his hand.
At first, you did not understand. They looked like normal race notes: printed tables, tyre information, track analysis, little diagrams that made your brain feel as if it had stepped into a room where everyone spoke fluent engineering and you had arrived carrying a tambourine.
Then Oscar turned the top page toward you.
It was entirely in Chinese.
You blinked.
Lando pressed his lips together.
You tried not to laugh. It was a noble effort, brief and doomed.
“Oh my God,” you said, covering your mouth. “Lando.”
“It’s educational,” he said quickly. “Global sport. International mindset. Oscar’s always talking about self improvement.”
“I have never once said that in my life,” Oscar said.
“You implied it.”
“When?”
“Details.”
Oscar looked at you. “See what I deal with?”
You should have been sympathetic. You did try. Oscar had the faintly haunted look of a man who had woken up expecting a normal day and instead been handed his professional instructions in a language he did not speak. There was something tragic about his composure, something almost Victorian in the way he endured suffering without theatrics.
Unfortunately, Lando was looking at you.
And that ruined everything.
He was not watching Oscar anymore. Not really. He was watching the corner of your mouth, waiting for it to betray you. His eyes were too bright, too alive with that private triumph he always wore when he had managed to make you laugh before the day had properly begun.
You bit down on your smile.
His grin widened.
“No,” you said, pointing at him. “Don’t look at me like that. This is workplace bullying.”
“It’s team bonding.”
“It’s trauma bonding.”
“It’s love.”
Oscar lowered the papers. “It’s awful.”
“Mind your tone, Osc,” Lando said. “Mandarin is a beautiful language, you’re being disrespectful now.”
You laughed then, properly, despite yourself. The sound slipped out of you before you could dress it up as professionalism, and Lando’s face changed in that small, dangerous way it sometimes did. Barely anything. A softening, perhaps. A little warmth gathering behind his eyes before he caught himself and turned back to Oscar with renewed theatrical seriousness.
“Right,” he said. “Shall we go through page one?”
Oscar stared at him. “Can you read it?”
“No.”
“Then why would we go through it?”
You leaned against the partition, shaking your head. “Give it a shot Oscar, you’ll be fluent by Shanghai next year.”
“See,” Lando said, tilting his head, “she always gets it.”
There were sentences that should not have been allowed to mean anything.
That was one of them.
Because he said it lightly, of course. Carelessly. In the same tone he used for everything ridiculous and harmless. But his eyes stayed on yours for half a second too long, and suddenly the garage felt slightly warmer than it had a moment ago. Around you, people moved and called to each other; someone laughed near the back; a wheel gun sounded briefly from somewhere nearby. The whole world continued in its noisy, mechanical rush.
You looked away first.
“Have you guys seen Clive by the way?” you said, too quickly.
Lando’s expression did not fall. That would have been too obvious. He merely looked down at the papers in Oscar’s hand and nodded once, as if remembering a fact he disliked but had agreed not to argue with.
“Right,” he said. “Clive.”
Oscar, who noticed more than anyone gave him credit for, became suddenly fascinated by page two of his translated notes.
As if summoned by the sound of his name, Clive appeared from the far side of the garage with a half-empty coffee in his hand and his headset pushed around his neck. He was good-looking in a sensible sort of way, with a square jaw, broad shoulders, and the kind of face your relatives liked because it suggested reliability. He had once been very charming to your mother. This fact had done an unreasonable amount of damage to your life.
“There you are,” Clive said, though he did not sound as if he had been looking very hard. His gaze passed over you, then Lando, then Oscar’s papers. “What’s all this?”
“Lando translated Oscar’s race notes to Chinese,” you said, still smiling.
Clive gave the papers a brief look, then snorted without much interest. “Must be nice having that much free time.”
That was the trouble with Clive. He rarely said things that were bad enough to defend yourself against. They were only small. Dull little stones dropped into the middle of a conversation until the whole thing sank.
Your smile thinned.
Lando’s did too, but the change was so quick that it was nearly unnoticable.
Then he smiled.
“Yeah,” he said lightly. “Terrible habit, having fun. I keep meaning to become joyless, but Oscar’s already taken the position.”
Oscar did not look up. “I’m not joyless. I’m tired of you.”
“Sure you are, buddy.”
You gave Lando a look. “You are aware this is his workplace?”
“It’s my workplace too.”
“And this is how you contribute?”
“I bring atmosphere.”
Oscar held up the papers. “I’m trying to find a single word I understand.”
Lando leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “That’s how I feel in strategy meetings.”
You laughed again, softer this time, grateful in a way you did not want to examine. Lando did that often: caught the edge of something awkward before it cut too deeply, then turned it into a joke and handed the room back to you lighter than he found it.
Clive did not notice.
He took a sip of coffee and looked at you. “You coming? I need to grab something from the back before briefing.”
It was not quite an invitation. More an assumption.
You straightened. “Yeah. Sure.”
Lando’s eyes flicked to you.
For a brief, foolish second, you wished he would say something. Not something meaningful. God, no. Nothing that dangerous. Just one more joke, one more excuse to keep you there, one more absurd comment about Oscar’s tragic academic journey.
But he only gave a small smile.
“See you later, trouble.”
“You’re the trouble,” you said.
“Debatable.”
“It’s really not.”
You were still laughing when Clive began walking away, and because you were engaged, because you had been engaged for four years, because everyone knew it and nobody said anything, you followed him.
The ring on your finger caught the garage lights as you adjusted the strap of your bag.
You used to look at it often after Clive proposed. Not obsessively, but with a kind of shy, startled pride. It had once seemed like proof of something: that your life was moving forward, that love had a shape, that someday had been promised to you in metal and stone.
Now you mostly noticed it when it felt heavy.
Lando watched you go.
He kept smiling until you disappeared behind the partition with Clive’s hand resting absently between your shoulder blades, guiding you forward without ever quite holding you.
Only when you were gone did his expression change.
Not dramatically. Lando was too practiced for that, too quick with humour, too used to folding softness into jokes before anyone could see it.
But Oscar saw.
He always saw.
He looked from the empty space where you had been back to Lando, then down at the translated notes in his hand.
“You know,” Oscar said, “for someone with so much free time, you’re making your own life very complicated.”
Lando took the papers from him and tapped them neatly against the counter.
“Don’t know what you mean, mate.”
Oscar stared.
Lando avoided his eyes.
…
There was something rather peculiar about the media pen after a race.
You had always thought it faintly theatrical. The bright lights, the microphones, the tired men in race suits trying to sound philosophical about tyre degradation, the journalists nodding gravely as if the fate of nations depended on sector two. You loved it, though. You loved the little absurdity of it, the speed of it, the fact that everyone was half-performing and half-telling the truth.
You were still checking your notes when Lando appeared in front of you, still flushed from the race, curls damp at his forehead, eyes bright with that dangerous kind of mischief that usually meant he had decided to make your job more difficult or more pleasant.
Possibly both.
“Right,” he said, before you had even introduced the segment. “Be nice.”
You glanced up. “I’m always nice.”
“Only when I tell you what you wanna hear.”
“Better make sure to give me some good answers then.”
His smile pulled to one side, bright and troublesome, like he had found the loose thread in your composure and meant to tug. “Maybe ask better questions then.”
The cameraman shifted behind the lens. Your producer gave you the silent signal.
You lifted the microphone, rearranged your expression into something professional, and began.
“Lando, strong recovery drive today, especially after the opening stint. How are you feeling after that?”
He answered properly at first, because beneath all the nonsense there was a serious driver with serious instincts, and you liked that about him more than you should. He spoke about balance, traffic, tyre wear, the grip coming in later than expected. You nodded, listening, asking him about the strategy window and whether the car had felt better in clean air.
Then, because restraint was not one of his more developed virtues, he glanced at your notes.
“What’s next?” he asked. “Are you about to ask about my deeply controversial race weekend food regime?”
You blinked. “That was not on my list.”
“Looked like it was.”
“I wrote ‘race weekend fuel management.”
“It definetly said food.”
“You read what you want to read I suppose.”
“Arye you calling me fat?” ,” he said, with the grave disappointment of a man betrayed by the press. “And here I was thinking you respected me.”
“Respect is a big word, Lan.”
His eyes narrowed, twinkling. “Careful.”
Behind you, your cameraman made the fatal mistake of laughing under his breath.
Lando pointed toward the lens. “Let it be known to the world she thinks my butt is getting too big.”
You should have stopped there. A better journalist would have. A wiser woman, perhaps. Someone less susceptible to boys with bright eyes and terrible timing.
Instead, you said, “Nothing wrong with improving the rear-end performance.”
He leaned slightly closer to the microphone, his expression lowering into that half-cocky, half-amused look that made him unbearable. “Is that so?”
There it was. That little phrase. That little shift. As if the whole interview had tilted away from professionalism and toward something with a pulse.
You felt the smile trying to break over your face and fought it with all the dignity you had left.
Unfortunately, dignity had never done well around Lando Norris.
“I’m simply reporting what I’ve observed,” you said.
“Oh, so you’re watching me now?”
The words were light. His voice was playful. But his eyes stayed on yours just long enough for the noise of the media pen to draw back around you like a tide.
You opened your mouth, then shut it again.
Lando smiled.
Not triumphantly. Worse. Softly.
You forced yourself back to the job.
“Final question,” you said, trying to sound severe. “Looking ahead, what’s the main thing to improve before Barcelona?”
“Media training,” he said.
“For you?”
“For both of us, apparently.”
You gave him a look.
“Oh, and the car.” He nodded, pretending to remember the existence of Formula One. “Yes. That. Probably qualifying pace, bit more consistency through the slower corners. But mostly answer discipline.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “Thank you, Lando.”
“Always a pleasure.”
He stepped away, but not before giving you one last look, quick and familiar and bright enough to make your heart behave foolishly.
You pretended to check your notes.
The next driver was already approaching.
George Russell stepped into place next, looking far too amused for a man who had only just arrived. He glanced after Lando, then at you, his mouth already curving.
“Well,” he said, before you had asked a single thing, “I’ll try not to disappoint after whatever that was.”
Heat rose to your cheeks with such speed that you resented him immediately.
You adjusted your notes. “George, please.”
“What? I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being crazy.”
“No, no. Crazy would be discussing on live TV whether chicken nuggets is now part of McLaren’s official performance programme.”
You gave him a look.
He smiled, perfectly composed. “Right. Sorry. Racing. Lovely sport. Cars go quickly.”
You lifted the microphone again, grateful for the structure of your work, for lap times and sector splits and the lovely impersonal safety of performance analysis. George answered cleanly, charmingly, with just enough humour to keep you on your toes.
But your attention was not as obedient as it should have been.
Because beyond George’s shoulder, Lando had stopped.
He must have heard the comment. Perhaps he had only caught his own name, or perhaps George’s voice had carried clearly enough through the pen. Either way, he looked back.
For a moment, the playful mask had gone.
He was not smiling now. Not quite. He was looking at you as you laughed at something George said, and the expression on his face was so unguarded that it felt almost indecent to see it. There was fondness there, yes, but also an ache he had no business wearing in public.
As though there was no one else in that crowded, noisy, overheated paddock he would rather look at.
Then Carlos Sainz appeared beside him, calm as ever, handsome in that composed, older-brother way that made even sympathy look stylish. He followed Lando’s gaze, understood everything in approximately half a second, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Lando startled slightly.
Carlos did not smile too much. He was kinder than that.
“Ay, cabrón,” he said softly. “Sometimes life gives you a beautiful problem, no?”
Lando looked away at once. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.”
“She’s just—”
Carlos waited.
Lando stopped.
Across the pen, you asked George another question, smiling politely, microphone steady in your hand, utterly unaware of the quiet little tragedy occurring ten metres away.
Carlos squeezed Lando’s shoulder once.
Lando tried to laugh. It did not quite work.
“Plenty of fish in the sea, yeah?” he said, attempting lightness and failing so badly that even Carlos looked pained on his behalf.
Carlos tilted his head. “I thought you didn’t like fish.”
Lando had no clever answer for that.
So he looked back at you instead.
…
Barcelona had softened into evening, turning gold at the edges as if someone had held it briefly to a flame. The streets outside the restaurant were warm and crowded, filled with the lazy music of cutlery, passing scooters, laughter thrown from one table to another. Inside, the private room McLaren had taken over was already loud enough to suggest that no one present had ever been shy in their life, and if they had, the Formula One circus had beaten the habit out of them.
Terracotta dishes appeared and disappeared as if by magic: pan con tomate glossed with olive oil, patatas bravas in a deep red sauce, little croquetas with crisp golden shells, prawns bright with garlic, bowls of olives no one remembered ordering and everyone kept eating. There were glasses of wine and bottles of sparkling water and men in team polos telling stories with the slightly feral relief of people who had been released from the paddock for two hours and intended to make poor use of the freedom.
You arrived with Clive.
Or rather, you arrived beside Clive, which was not always the same thing.
He was in a good mood, at least by his standards, one hand resting briefly at the small of your back as you stepped into the restaurant, the other already raised toward someone from the garage.
“There’s everyone,” he said, and then he was gone into the easy noise of men who knew one another from long hours, quick repairs, bad flights, and shared cigarettes outside loading bays.
You knew most of them now. Knew the names of the mechanics who always asked if your interviews had gone well, knew which engineers became unexpectedly funny after half a glass of wine. Being Clive’s fiancée had opened the first door into the world of McLaren, but you had stayed because you liked the people.
And, though you did not care to admit it even to yourself, you liked how often the McLaren garage meant Lando.
He arrived late with Carlos.
Of course he did.
Carlos, Lando’s usual plus one, entered first, elegant with the air of a man who had never once rushed in his life and yet somehow was never truly late. Lando came beside him, talking already, hands moving as if the story required illustration. His curls were still slightly damp from a shower, his shirt half tucked in the lazy way of a man who never really cared enough, and when he looked up and saw you, his face changed.
Not greatly. Nothing one could accuse him of.
But enough.
A quick brightening. A private spark. A smile that seemed to find you before it found the rest of the room.
You looked down at your glass.
“There they are,” Clive said, returning heavily to the seat beside you. “The celebrities.”
Lando heard it as he reached the table.
“Careful,” he said. “Carlos gets very sensitive when people reduce him to his beauty.”
Carlos pulled out his chair with magnificent calm. “It is a burden, but I manage.”
“You’re so brave,” you said.
Lando placed a hand over his heart. “And me?”
“You clearly have nothing to worry about.”
Carlos laughed. Lando looked wounded, though the effect was somewhat ruined by how pleased he was to see you smile.
The seating had happened in that careless way group dinners often did, though it felt less like chance when Lando ended up across from you, Oscar on his left, Carlos on his right. Clive sat beside you, but he leaned away almost immediately, drawn into a conversation with two mechanics about some flight delay in Montreal and whether one of them had insulted an airline employee in a way that could technically be described as “provoked.”
You should have listened. You tried for nearly four minutes.
Unfortunately, across the table, Lando was trying to steal one of Oscar’s croquetas with the careful concentration of a man defusing a bomb.
Oscar did not look at him. “I can see you, Lando.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Your hand is on my plate.”
“Could be anyone’s.”
“It has your watch on it.”
Lando paused, looked at his wrist, then at you.
You laughed into your glass, and Lando looked up immediately, triumphant in the softest, stupidest way. It was the sort of look that should have meant nothing and therefore meant far too much.
Clive’s elbow brushed yours as he reached for bread.
“What’s funny?” he asked, without really looking at you.
“Lando’s trying to steal Oscar’s food.”
Clive glanced across the table, gave a short snort, then turned back to his conversation. “He’s always doing something.”
Lando’s eyes flicked toward Clive.
Then back to you.
Then he lifted the stolen croqueta in a silent toast and ate it whole.
Oscar stared at the empty space on his plate. “I hope you choke.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do, actually.”
“You’d miss me.”
“Sure I’d do.”
You had to look away, smiling.
Dinner warmed around you. Plates passed, glasses were refilled, someone began telling a story about Zak accidentally ending up in the wrong meeting room and committing to the bit for ten minutes before admitting it. Carlos spoke easily with the people around him, Oscar contributed only when necessary and usually to ruin Lando’s version of events with what he deemed to be ‘irrelevant’ details.
For a little while, you were happy.
Not wildly, not foolishly. Just quietly lit from within, the way one sometimes became at a table where the food was good, the city outside was beautiful, and someone across from you kept looking as though your laugh had improved his evening.
Then Clive spoke loudly enough to make several heads turn.
“So,” he said to Lando, leaning back in his chair with the satisfied confidence of a man about to be unpleasant and call it banter. “You brought Carlos tonight instead of some chick, then?”
The table shifted, not much but enough. A fork paused. Oscar looked down at his plate. Carlos lifted his eyebrows very slightly.
Lando smiled, but there was less ease in it now.
“I mean Carlos is the ultimate babe, isn’t he?” he said.
Carlos nodded. “This is true.”
Clive laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Heard you were spotted with a model last week though. How’s that going though?”
You felt something in your stomach sink a little bit without knowing exactly why.
“Wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Lando said lightly.
“Come on, mate.” Clive grinned, warming to his own coarseness. “Must be nice though. Models lining up and all that. I’d be hitting all of them if I were you.”
You set down your glass.
No one had insulted you directly. That was the old defence, the one men like Clive relied upon without ever needing to name it. It was only a joke. It was just lads talking. It wasn’t about you. Except it was, in the way such things were always about every woman present, quietly reducing the world to something to rank, take, brag over, consume.
You smiled because you had been taught too well.
“I’m going to get another drink,” you said.
Clive barely glanced at you. “Oh babe can you bring me another one too?”
“I’ll see what they have.”
You stood anyway.
Lando looked at you then.
Only briefly, but you saw it: the irritation carefully tucked behind his eyes, the instinct to say something, the better instinct not to make a scene you would have to stand inside. He stayed seated as you walked away, and for that you were grateful.
For about thirty seconds.
Then he appeared beside you at the bar.
Not too quickly. Not obvious. He leaned one elbow against the counter as if he had wandered there by accident, though Lando Norris had never wandered anywhere in his life without purpose.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said.
You gave him a look. “At the bar?”
“Mad coincidence.”
“At the restaurant we’re both having dinner in?”
“Honestly, what are the odds?”
The bartender placed a glass of sparkling water in front of you. You picked it up, grateful to have something to do with your hands.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Behind you, the table was noisy again, but the sound seemed distant now, softened by the warm light over the bar. Lando looked down, dragging one finger through a ring of condensation on the counter.
Then he said, very casually, “For the record, only thing I’d like to be hitting right now is him in the face, to be fair.”
You nearly choked on your water.
“Lando.”
“What?” His eyes widened with perfect innocence. “I said to be fair. That makes it balanced.”
“You cannot say that.”
“I can’t do it,” he said. “Saying it seems like the compromise.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t think it too.”
You laughed then, unwillingly and all at once, the kind of laugh that escaped before you could make it polite. Lando’s face softened before he turned it back into a grin.
“There she is,” he said.
It was too gentle.
Your laughter faded into something smaller.
He seemed to realise it at the same time you did, because he looked away first, clearing his throat with great interest in the bar snacks.
“Anyway,” he said, briskly recovering, “this whole model thing is very misunderstood.”
“Oh?”
“Terribly lonely life. Every day a new glamorous woman. Flashing cameras. Private jets. No one understanding the real me.”
“The real you being?”
“A sensitive soul with a complicated relationship with Oscar’s approval.”
Across the room, as if sensing his name had been used for nonsense, Oscar looked over.
Lando pointed at him. “See? He feels it.”
Oscar frowned.
You laughed again.
This time, Lando did not bother hiding how pleased he was.
“Also,” he added, leaning a little closer, “I don’t know why Clive thinks Carlos isn’t a proper date. Look at him. Man’s gorgeous.”
You glanced over at Carlos, who was listening to a mechanic with grave attention, one hand under his chin like a prince receiving news of war.
“He is gorgeous,” you admitted.
Lando’s eyes came back to you, bright and offended. “Wow.”
“What?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You brought him up.”
“I didn’t ask you to agree that quickly.”
You smiled into your glass. “Jealous?”
He held your gaze for one beat too long.
Then his mouth tilted.
“What if I am?”
The words were playful, nothing more than another easy toss of the ball between you, and still your pulse tripped stupidly over itself.
…
You liked the paddock the best in the morning, before the real chaos settled in.
There was still a little softness in the air then. The sun had not yet made the tarmac shimmer. The hospitality doors were open, spilling out the smell of espresso and warm pastries, and everyone walked as though the day might still be reasonable if treated kindly enough.
You were walking toward the pit lane with Lando, which rather ruined the possibility of reason.
He had fallen into step beside you outside the McLaren motorhome, claiming he was going the same way. This was possibly true. It was also possibly the sort of truth men used when they did not want to admit they had waited seven minutes by a door while pretending to be busy on their phone.
You did not accuse him of this.
One had to preserve some illusions.
“So,” he said, lowering his voice with the seriousness of a man about to discuss international diplomacy. “I need your opinion.”
“Dangerous start.”
“It’s important.”
“You’re making me worried.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then leaned slightly closer, as if the papaya walls themselves might report him. “Oscar’s diffuser.”
You slowed half a step. “His diffuser?”
“Yeah.”
“Oscar has a diffuser?”
“He says it keeps him calm.”
“I’m sure he needs whatever peace he can find with a teammate like you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lando said.
You looked at him. “But okay, so he’s using it to stay calm?”
“No one his age should be that composed. It’s unnatural. He’s a baby still but has the energy of a retired accountant who owns a very good chair.”
You tried not to laugh. You failed privately first, which was the most dangerous stage because Lando always noticed.
His eyes flashed with triumph.
“Exactly,” he said. “You see it.”
“I see that you are about to become a workplace hazard again.”
“I’m just doing what needs to be done.”
“I bet Oscar is thrilled he extended his contract.”
He grinned. “He wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t secretly love what we have.”
Around you, the paddock continued its steady morning ballet. A group of Alpine mechanics passed with crates, someone from Haas nodded at you, two photographers were already crouched in search of the perfect shot of a man walking while looking tired. Lando moved easily through it all, cap backwards, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing as he spoke. He had that extraordinary gift of seeming casual in a world that wanted everyone to be tense.
It made people look at him.
It made you look at him too, though you were generally careful about that.
“So what are you planning with Oscar’s diffuser?” you asked.
Lando’s face lit up.
“No,” you said immediately.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“I know your face.”
“My face is innocent.”
You just gave him a concerned look.
He smiled, far too pleased with that. “Australian spray tan.”
You stopped walking.
Lando took two more steps, then turned back, pretending to be surprised you had not followed. “What?”
“No.”
“It would be subtle.”
“It’s fake tan in a diffuser.”
He looked at you for a second, then nodded gravely. “So… it needs a little refinement perhaps.”
A slight giggle escaped your mouth.
Lando came back toward you, walking backwards now. “Imagine, though. He finishes debrief, completely unaware, just slightly more sun-kissed than when he started.”
“He would murder you.”
“He’d have to catch me first.”
“He drives a Formula One car.”
“Who has the number 1 on his car?”
You gave him a look.
He gave you one back, the little cocky one, all mouth and eyes and mischief, and the terrible thing was that you did imagine it. Oscar sitting calmly beside his diffuser, gradually acquiring the complexion of a man who had spent six weeks in Byron Bay. Lando pretending to know nothing. The entire garage slowly realising something was wrong.
You pressed your lips together.
Lando saw.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “That’s a laugh.”
“It is not.”
“That is absolutely a laugh. I see those cute dimples.”
“You really need to find a hobby, Lan.”
He put a hand to his chest. “This is my hobby.”
“A real one.”
“This is real to me.”
“Like golf,” you said. “Or chess.”
He pulled a face. “I’m too good at that already, it’s gotten boring.”
“Or,” you continued before you could think better of it, “a girlfriend.”
The word arrived lightly.
It should have stayed that way.
It was only a joke, tossed into the bright morning between espresso cups and camera shutters, the sort of thing you had said a hundred times in different forms. Get a life, Norris. Find a hobby. Bother someone else. Poor Oscar. Some harmless little thread in the fabric of your friendship.
But this time, for whatever reason, it caught.
Lando stopped smiling first.
Only the smallest shift, like a cloud moving across the sun. His gaze stayed on yours, and all the noise of the paddock seemed, unhelpfully, to place itself somewhere far away.
“A girlfriend,” he repeated.
You swallowed.
There were many sensible things you might have said. Yes, a girlfriend, preferably one with a high tolerance for nonsense. Or, God help her, whoever she may be. Or even something ordinary about Oscar filing a complaint with HR. Anything would have done.
Instead you stood there with your press pass against your chest and your heart behaving as if it had forgotten there were rules.
Lando’s eyes moved briefly over your face, not boldly, not greedily, but with an attention that felt far more dangerous because it was careful. He looked as though he might say something honest if the morning gave him half a chance.
You looked away.
It was not cowardice, you told yourself. It was decency. There was a difference, although lately the two had begun to resemble each other in poor lighting.
Lando breathed out, and when he spoke again, his voice had recovered its usual shape, though it sat a little softer around the edges.
“Bit harsh,” he said. “Imagine subjecting some poor girl to me full time.”
You forced a smile. “Exactly. There are limits to what one woman can reasonably be expected to endure.”
“You care about the people.”
“I’m a journalist. It’s my burden.”
“A noble profession.”
“Someone has to ask the difficult questions.”
“Like whether Oscar’s new skincolor is to rep the papaya brand even more?”
“If this prank happens, I’m reporting you myself.”
He started walking again, slower this time, and you fell into step beside him. The bubble had not burst exactly. It had changed. Thinner, perhaps. Easier to see through.
“You’d never expose your source,” he said.
“You’re not my source, Lan. You’re the suspect.”
He smiled, but it was not the same smile from before. “I’d look good in a mugshot, I reckon.”
“Sure you would.”
Ahead, the pit lane opened bright and busy, lined with people who had no idea that one careless word had made the morning feel different. You could see the McLaren garage now, mechanics already moving around the front, screens alive, the day beginning to tighten into schedule and performance and obligation.
Lando slowed near the entrance.
For one foolish second, you thought he might say something. Something small, maybe. Something not quite honest but close enough to be dangerous. His shoulder brushed yours as someone passed behind him, and he did not move away immediately.
Then Oscar appeared in the garage doorway with a suspicious look on his face.
“Why are you both smiling?” he asked.
You straightened. “We’re not.”
Oscar looked from him to you, then back again. “I don’t like when you two arrive together. Something always happens to me.”
“You’re paranoid,” Lando said.
“No, that’s pattern recognition.”
You laughed despite yourself, and Lando looked at you then, with that open, foolish warmth people only wore when they truly let their guard down.
Oscar saw that too.
Of course he did.
Oscar sighed with the patient misery of a man who had been placed among fools and given no immediate means of escape. “I’m locking my dressingroom today.”
“Smart,” you said.
Lando leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “Cowardice, really.”
“You think Zac has a spare key?”
“I like the way you think.”
Oscar pointed at both of you. “Separate. Immediately.”
You lifted your hands. “I’m innocent.”
“You’re never innocent when he’s involved,” Oscar said.
Lando made an offended little noise, you rolled your eyes, Oscar disappeared back into the garage muttering something about changing his lock.
…
There are few things more dangerous than a bored Lando Norris with access to a printer.
Oscar had learned this the hard way, as most people learned the truths that mattered. He had survived the translated race notes with the pale endurance of a man who knew that protest would only feed the beast. Since then, he had begun treating the garage like a crime scene: checking his water bottle before drinking from it, eyeing his chair before sitting down, regarding all stationery with the suspicion of a Victorian widow receiving anonymous letters.
Still, somehow, Lando found a way.
You arrived in the McLaren garage late in the afternoon, when the day had begun to feel a little frayed at the edges. Screens glowed in the papaya-lit dimness. Mechanics moved with tired precision. Someone laughed near the back, someone else swore softly at a cable, and the whole place smelled faintly of coffee, rubber, and the metallic warmth of machines that had been worked too hard.
Clive was somewhere in the garage. You had seen him earlier for perhaps fifteen seconds, during which he had looked up from his phone, asked, “Busy day?” and returned to whatever he was reading before your answer had fully formed.
It was nothing new.
That was almost the sadder thing.
Then you saw Oscar.
He was standing perfectly still beside his side of the garage, which, with Oscar, was less a posture and more a warning system.
Lando stood nearby looking serene.
Too serene.
Every visible object near Oscar had Lando’s face on it.
Tiny stickers. Little smug Lando faces, all giving thumbs-up, scattered across Oscar’s belongings like a plague of cheerful, badly supervised insects. One on his water bottle. One on his laptop. Three on the rim of his helmet. Another on his notebook. One, most boldly, right on the back of his racesuit, just above his butt.
Oscar lifted his helmet with the terrible calm of a man presenting evidence before a court.
“Why,” he asked, “is your face on my visor?”
Lando looked at you immediately.
Not at Oscar.
At you.
You tried to keep it in. Truly, you did. You thought of serious things. Press briefings. Deadline pressure. Clive’s mother’s extremely beige living room.
Then Oscar turned the helmet, and tiny Lando beamed up at you from beneath the visor like an irritating little guardian angel.
You broke.
Lando grinned as though the sun had personally risen for him.
“No,” Oscar said, pointing at you. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not.”
“You are visibly encouraging him.”
“I’m horrified.”
“You’re entertained, don’t lie.”
Lando leaned back against the counter, gleaming with satisfaction. “She has good humor.”
“She has poor impulse control when you’re around,” Oscar said.
Your laughter caught, just slightly.
Lando’s eyes flicked to yours.
There it was: that small, bright pause in the middle of the joke. One careless sentence turning the air warm enough to notice.
“Poor impulse control is the backbone of our friendship.”
“Well,” Oscar said. “I’m glad you are having fun together.”
You moved closer, examining the laptop. “How many are there?”
Lando suddenly found the ceiling interesting.
Oscar turned slowly. “Lando?”
“Just a few.”
“Define a few.”
Oscar closed his eyes.
A moment later, one of Lando’s engineers called his name. Lando gave Oscar a final smirk, which Oscar ignored with heroic commitment, then turned to you, smile returning, easy and too bright for the world.
“Behave,” you said.
He smiled. “You’d be bored.”
It was nothing.
It was always nothing.
Then he disappeared into the busier part of the garage, and the air he left behind seemed oddly less colourful.
Oscar began peeling a sticker from his laptop.
“You know,” he said, not looking at you, “the worst part is that you’re both equally annoying.”
“I am not equally annoying.”
“No,” he said. “You’re worse. You pretend you’re above it.”
You gave him a look. “Do you want help or not?”
He handed you the helmet.
For a while, neither of you spoke. You picked at a tiny Lando face near the visor while Oscar worked on his water bottle. The sticker came away slowly, stubbornly, as if even printed Lando refused to leave easily.
Then Oscar said, “You’re happy around him.”
Your fingers stilled.
“He’s funny,” you said.
“He is occasionally funny.”
“He makes everyone laugh.”
Oscar glanced sideways. “Not like that.”
You looked down. “Oscar.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You are very clearly saying something.”
“I’m saying you understand eachother very well.”
Somewhere behind you, Clive laughed at something one of his mates said. The sound reached you thinly, like it belonged to another room, another life.
“I’m engaged,” you said.
“I know.”
“So.”
“So nothing.” Oscar peeled another sticker from his bottle. “I just think sometimes people stay in things because they make sense on paper.”
Your throat tightened.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It usually isn’t.”
You gave a small laugh, though it had very little joy in it. “He’s my best friend.”
Oscar looked down. “Since you like him so much, might I interest you in some stickers?”
That got you. A soft laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
Oscar’s expression gentled, barely.
“You’re allowed to want more than just fine, I hope you know,” he said.
The words settled quietly, like dust in sunlight.
Fine.
That small, respectable word. The word you had used for years because it asked so little of you and explained even less.
Oscar reached over, removed the last sticker from the helmet, and placed it neatly on the front of your notebook.
You stared at it.
“Oscar.”
He handed it back with perfect calm. “You missed one.”
Tiny Lando smiled up at you from the cover.
For the first time all afternoon, Oscar’s mouth twitched.
You laughed.
Across the garage, Lando looked back at the sound.
You didn’t notice.
Oscar did.
And, for once, he let mercy win.
…
Zak Brown, in one of those bursts of cheerful American leadership which seemed to involve equal parts morale and mild chaos, had decided that what the McLaren team needed after a race weekend was bowling.
“Proper team bonding,” he had declared, as though he had not just invited forty exhausted people to throw heavy objects at polished wood under fluorescent lighting.
Still, the place had its charms.
The bowling alley sat tucked away from the worst of the Barcelona noise, glowing in red and blue neon, with plastic seats, sticky tables, music just loud enough to forgive everyone’s worst jokes, and the warm, greasy smell of chips drifting from the bar. Mechanics occupied two lanes already, competing with the seriousness of men who spent their professional lives calculating fractions of seconds and had now turned that precision toward knocking over ten pins.
Oscar stood near the ball return, looking as though he had been brought there against his will by a youth group.
Lando, naturally, looked delighted as he selected a bowling ball and held it up with far too much confidence.
“This,” he said, “is where champions are made.”
Oscar glanced at the ball. “You picked the child-size one.”
“It’s part of my strategy.”
“It’s being unable to lift the adult one.”
Lando ignored him and held the ball out slightly. “I can smell your fear from here, Osc.”
“That’s rental shoes.”
You laughed despite yourself, and Lando seized on it with the shameless speed of a man who had been waiting for one friendly witness.
“There,” he said. “She gets it.”
“She’s laughing at you,” Oscar said.
“She’s laughing near me. Counts.”
“It really doesn’t,” you said.
Lando shrugged with a big smirk. “I’m taking whatever I can, honestly.”
Clive was there too, though only technically. He had claimed a seat at the table with two of the garage boys, already holding a beer, one ankle resting over his knee as he settled into the easy masculine comfort of not participating. When you asked if he was playing, he glanced at the lanes and shrugged.
“Nah. I’m knackered.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, you go on. I’ll watch.”
You bowled first and did terribly, the ball veering with tragic determination toward the gutter.
Lando pressed both hands to his mouth. “Wow.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You don’t even need to.”
“I’m just speechless.”
“Good. Stay that way or I’ll throw the next bowlingball to your head.”
He grinned. “With your aim, I’m not sure that’s the best threat.”
Oscar picked up his ball. “Can you two flirt less near the machinery?”
You turned. “We are not flirting.”
Lando, at the exact same time, said, “This is coaching.”
Oscar looked between you both. “Right. My mistake. Very professional.”
You tried to glare at him, but unfortunately Lando was already demonstrating a bowling stance with such unnecessary confidence that it became impossible to remain dignified.
“See,” he said, stepping beside you, “it’s all in the wrist.”
“You look like you learned this from a children’s birthday party.”
“You go to a lot of children’s birthday parties?”
“Oh yeah. I love crushing their little spirits.”
Oscar sighed from a distance. “I believe that.”
On your next turn, perhaps through skill, perhaps through luck, perhaps because the universe enjoyed comedic timing, you threw a strike.
For half a second, you simply stood there, stunned.
Then Lando erupted.
He cheered so loudly that three mechanics turned around. “Yes! That’s my-” He stopped himself so quickly it almost hurt. “That’s… that is bowling. That’s what that is.”
You spun toward Clive automatically, face bright.
He was laughing at something on one of the boys’ phones.
He had not seen.
The happiness faltered before you could protect it.
Then Lando was there, sweeping you up before you could think, lifting you clean off the ground and spinning you once while you shrieked.
“Put me down!”
“Absolutely not. We are celebrating.”
“Lando!”
“Osc, did you see that?”
“I saw it, Lando. Now put the lady down.”
You were laughing too hard, hands gripping Lando’s shoulders as he set you back down. For one second, you stayed too close. His hands were still at your waist. Your cheeks were warm from laughing. His eyes flicked over your face, bright, proud, and soft around the edges.
Then Oscar coughed.
Lando let go.
You stepped back.
“So, whose turn is it?” Oscar said, breaking the tension a bit.
“Mine! Thank you,” Lando replied.
“Anytime, mate.”
The game continued, and somewhere between Lando celebrating a spare like a world championship, Oscar quietly becoming much better than both of you, and you accusing Lando of sabotaging your technique by hiding the good bowling balls, the evening began to feel golden.
The kind of happy feeling that crept in when no one was expecting it.
Clive remained at the table. He drank, laughed with his mates, and occasionally glanced over with the vague expression of a man seeing a television on mute. When you bowled another strike, Lando pointed dramatically toward the scoreboard.
“She’s unreal,” he announced.
Oscar nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
You looked again toward Clive.
Nothing.
This time the disappointment arrived quieter, which made it worse.
A little later, Clive came up behind you with his jacket already in his hand.
“I’m tired, babe,” he said. “Let’s head back.”
“Oh.” You glanced at the lane, then at him. “Now?”
“Yeah. Long day.”
“I thought we could stay a bit longer.”
He gave a half-shrug. “You can if you want.”
It should have been generous. It sounded indifferent.
You hesitated, caught between the life you were supposed to return to and the one currently making Oscar argue with Lando about bowling shoes sizing.
Oscar, blessedly, looked up from the scoreboard.
“She’s winning,” he said. “You can’t make her leave now. Zak would be disappointed.”
You looked at him carefully. “Are you sure you don’t mind going alone?”
“Nah. Have fun.”
He kissed your cheek, quick, then left.
No argument. No jealousy. No disappointment.
Just gone.
You watched the door close behind him.
For a moment, the neon seemed a little too bright.
Then Lando’s voice came gently from beside you.
“You okay?”
You turned back.
He was not joking now. His expression had softened into something kind and careful. He knew you so well, he could read you like a book.
You smiled because that was easier. “I’m winning.”
His mouth lifted, but his eyes stayed on yours. “Yeah. You are.”
Oscar looked between you and groaned. “Right. I’m getting nachos.”
The game carried on. You bowled better after Clive left, which felt like a piece of information you did not want to examine. Lando accused you of hustling the entire team. You accused him of lacking discipline. Oscar returned with nachos and the defeated look of a man who had accepted that his evening had become a romantic subplot against his will.
When you went to the bar for drinks, you left Lando and Oscar alone near the lane.
Oscar watched you walk away, then turned slowly to Lando.
Lando did not look at him. “Shut up, please.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is very loud.”
Oscar took a nacho. “You should just tell her.”
Lando’s smile faded.
Across the room, you leaned against the bar, laughing politely at something the bartender said, bright under the neon, free for one brief evening from the dull gravity of being overlooked.
Lando watched you.
“I can’t,” he said quietly.
Oscar followed his gaze.
For once, he did not make a joke.
Lando picked up his bowling ball, turned it once in his hands, and gave a small, helpless laugh.
“I’m so screwed.”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”
Then, after a pause, he added, “Also, you’re still losing.”
Lando looked at the scoreboard.
You were, in fact, beating him.
His grin returned, softer this time.
“Kick me when I’m down, Osc,” he said.
And when you came back with the drinks, he looked up at you like the night had handed him something beautiful, something he knew better than to reach for.
…
The streetlights blurred against the windscreen. Balconies passed above you in dark little rows. Somewhere, music came from an open window and vanished as Lando turned down another narrow street.
He was still arguing about the bowling.
“I’m not saying the system was rigged,” he said, one hand on the wheel, “but I am saying there should be an inquiry.”
“You lost.”
“Under suspicious circumstances.”
“You threw the ball into the gutter twice.”
“It was the shape of the ball that was off.”
“You blamed the shoes.”
“It was all rigged.”
You turned your head against the seat, smiling. “You’re such a sore loser.”
“I think we should do a rematch again soon.”
You laughed, and the sound filled the car for a second, warm and easy. Lando smiled at the road, though quieter than before.
The evening had left you light in a way you did not quite trust. Bowling shoes, neon lights, Lando making too much ceremony out of your strikes, Oscar looking as though he had been personally wronged by joy. Clive leaving early with no argument, no irritation, hardly even a glance back.
You had told yourself that meant nothing.
You had become very good at that.
Lando pulled up outside your Airbnb, a narrow cream building with a green door and a tired little lamp above it. The street was quiet. The engine hummed. For a moment, neither of you moved.
“Well,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt with unnecessary brightness. “Thank you for the lift.”
He did not answer.
You looked over.
His hands were still on the wheel, his thumbs resting against the leather, but his expression had gone somewhere far away. All night he had been quick, impossible, alive with some new joke before the last one had properly ended. Now he was still.
“Lando?”
He breathed out, almost a laugh but not quite.
“I need to say something.”
The words changed the car at once.
You felt it before he went on. The sudden weight. The drop in your stomach. The terrible, instinctive knowledge that some conversations arrived with a door behind them, and once opened, would not close neatly again.
“Don’t,” you said.
He looked at you then, and the softness in his face made it worse.
“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“I think I do.”
A faint, sad smile moved across his mouth. “Yeah. You probably do.”
You looked down at your hands. Your ring caught the streetlight in a dull flash.
“I’m engaged,” you said, because it was the fact you had. The shield you had. The oldest, easiest thing to put between you.
“I know.”
“Then don’t.”
“I’ve been trying not to.”
The honesty of that made your throat tighten.
He looked back through the windscreen, jaw working once, as though he could still decide to swallow the whole thing down and drive away. Then his hands left the wheel. He sat back, quiet for a second, and when he spoke again his voice was lower.
“I’m so in love with you.”
There was no drama in the way he said it. No grandness. That was what undid you. He said it like something exhausted and plain. Like a truth that had been standing in the room for months, waiting for both of you to stop pretending it was furniture.
“No,” you whispered.
His eyes closed briefly.
“Don’t say that,” you said.
“I know.”
“No, Lando, you can’t just-”
“I know.”
“You can’t say that to me.”
“I know.” He looked at you then, and there was something almost helpless in his face. “But I can’t keep doing this.”
Your throat tightened. “Doing what?”
“This.” His voice was quiet, but the word seemed to fill the whole car. “Pretending I don’t notice when you look for me in a room. Pretending I only make those stupid jokes because I like the sound of my own voice. Pretending it doesn’t ruin me a little when you laugh at something I say and then go back to him.”
You looked away.
“Lando.”
“No, I know.” He nodded quickly, as if he could already hear every sensible objection before you gave it to him. “I know what I’m allowed to be. I know where I’m supposed to stand. I know I’m your friend.”
“You are my friend.”
His mouth pulled into something too sad to be a smile.
“Am I?”
The question was so soft it hurt.
You stared at him.
He swallowed. “Because I don’t think friends do this. I don’t think friends sit in parked cars and feel like they’re about to lose something they never had. I don’t think friends have to remind themselves not to touch each other every time they stand too close.”
Your eyes burned.
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.” His voice cracked slightly. “I know it’s not.”
“You can’t say that.”
“I know,” he said again, but this time the words sounded almost broken. “But you know it too. That’s the worst part. You know we’re not just friends. You know this isn’t normal.”
The silence after that was unbearable because it did not feel like accusation.
It felt like recognition.
You looked down at your ring, at the small dull glint of it in the streetlight, and for one terrible second it looked less like a promise and more like proof.
“I’m engaged,” you whispered.
Lando’s eyes softened, but he did not look away.
“I know.”
You looked away because if you kept looking at him, you would not be able to remember the correct shape of your life.
Clive. The ring. Your parents knowing his parents. Years of birthdays and Christmases and old photographs. The kind of history that wrapped itself around you until leaving it felt less like making a choice and more like tearing fabric.
“I have a life mapped out I can’t just leave behind,” you said.
“I know.”
The silence that followed was worse than arguing.
Lando swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
You expected that to make it easier.
It did not.
“I didn’t want to do this to you,” he said. “I just needed you to know once. Just once. Because I can’t stand the thought of you thinking I only want to be this.”
He gave a small, broken little laugh. “I mean, I do. Obviously. I love being your friend. I love all of it. The stupid conversations, the way you pretend you’re above my jokes and then laugh anyway, the way you look at Oscar when he’s about to murder me. I love that you know when I’m being an idiot and when I’m actually not okay.”
He paused.
“But I don’t only want that.”
The words settled between you, quiet and devastating.
You reached for the door handle.
Not because you wanted to leave.
Because you did not.
You just had to.
Your fingers curled around the handle. He did not stop you. He only watched, breathing carefully, as if movement itself had become too much.
You should have opened the door.
Instead, you looked back.
Lando was close enough now that you could see the tiredness around his eyes, the thin crack in the confidence he wore so easily in every other room. He looked frightened of what he had said, but not sorry for feeling it.
And perhaps that was what broke you.
You leaned in at the same time he did.
The kiss was gentle at first, almost unbearably so. His hand lifted to your face slowly, carefully, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. His thumb brushed your cheek, and you kissed him again, a little less carefully this time, because the first had only proved what both of you already knew.
The second broke the surface.
It was not wild, not yet. It was worse than that. Familiar. Like arriving somewhere you had been trying not to call home. His mouth moved against yours with a tenderness that made your whole chest hurt. Your hand found the collar of his hoodie, holding there as though the world had tilted and he was the only steady thing in it.
For a few seconds, there was no Clive. No ring. No garage full of people who had been noticing before you dared to. No careful explanations.
Only Lando, warm and close and trembling slightly beneath your hand.
When you broke apart, he stayed near, his forehead almost touching yours.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered.
Your eyes closed.
The truth came out small.
“Me too.”
His breath caught.
And then the world came back.
The ring. The green door. The life waiting upstairs. The years behind you.
He moved as if to kiss you again, and you pulled back before you could let yourself.
“No,” you said, tears rising too quickly now. “I can’t.”
He went still at once.
You shook your head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said, though his voice had gone rough. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I have to be with him.”
He looked at you for a moment, and the hurt in his face was so quiet it was almost worse than if he had said something angry.
Then he nodded.
“It’s okay.”
That single word nearly ruined you.
You opened the door.
The night air slipped in, cool against your face. You stepped out before you could change your mind, before you could say his name, before you could climb back into the warmth of the car and choose the part of your heart that had been awake all evening.
At the door, you looked back.
Lando was still there, both hands now resting in his lap, staring ahead as if moving too soon would break something.
For one impossible second, you thought of going back.
Then you turned the key and went inside.
…
The next race weekend arrived grey around the edges, that sad weather that made everything look as if it had been drawn in pencil: the pit lane, the hospitality roofs, the morning faces of people who’d been working late and lacking sleep.
Lando arrived with his headphones on.
That was the first thing Oscar noticed.
The second was that he did not say anything.
No comment about Oscar’s trainers. No accusation that the weather had been personally arranged to ruin his hair. No attempt to tell anyone that he had discovered a new excuse to wear heelies in public. He only walked into the garage, nodded once at someone from the team, and disappeared into the quiet corner near the back with a bottle of water in his hand.
The garage, which was never truly still, seemed to notice anyway.
Lando without noise was not peace. It was a storm brooding.
He sat with one ankle crossed over the other, headphones covering his ears, cap low, trying so hard to disappear that he became the first thing anyone noticed.
People passed. Screens glowed. Mechanics spoke around him. Somewhere a tyre blanket was being adjusted, somewhere else a tool clattered too loudly against the floor.
He flinched at none of it.
He was thinking about Barcelona.
He had told himself not to. Then again, he had told himself many things lately, and most of them had proved useless.
The kiss kept returning in pieces.
Her breath before it happened.
Her hand in his shirt.
The small, ruined honesty of me too.
The green door swallowing her back into the life that had been waiting for her.
And after that, only the streetlight, the quiet car, and the stupid fact that his mouth still remembered her.
Every bone in his body was begging him, do not look for her.
So naturally, he looked.
Not obviously. Not desperately. Only in the little ways a person looks when he is trying to convince himself he is above it. A glance toward the garage entrance. Another toward the media pen corridor. Once, when someone laughed outside, his head lifted before he could stop it.
It was not her.
Of course it was not.
He took a drink of water and hated how ordinary the bottle felt in his hand.
Then he saw a new guy.
Not new to the world, obviously. New to the garage. Standing by the tires, headset around his neck, speaking to one of Oscar’s mechanics with the slightly too-eager nodding of someone trying to learn names quickly. He was young, or perhaps not as tired yet. His shirt was too clean. His lanyard sat wrong.
Lando stared for half a second longer than he should have.
Oscar appeared beside him.
He did not say anything at first. Oscar had a merciful side, though it often wore the disguise of exhaustion.
Lando pulled one side of his headphones back. “What?”
Oscar looked toward the new guy.
Then back at him.
“Didn’t you hear?”
Lando’s grip tightened around the bottle. “Hear what?”
There was a pause, not long enough to be dramatic, but long enough to change the air.
“Clive quit.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
The garage continued. The screens glowed. A mechanic laughed softly at something near the front. Outside, the grey morning pressed itself against the open doors.
Lando blinked. “What?”
Oscar kept his voice low. “He quit after Barcelona.”
“Why?”
Oscar’s expression shifted, careful now. “Apparently they broke off the engagement.”
The words moved through Lando slowly, as if they had to pass through several locked rooms before he understood them.
They broke off the engagement.
He looked down at the bottle in his hands.
For one wild, selfish second, hope rose in him so quickly it almost felt like panic.
Then guilt followed.
Then the memory of her tears forming in the passenger seat.
Then the kiss.
He swallowed. “Is she-”
“I don’t know,” Oscar said before he could finish. Softer, then, “I haven’t seen her.”
Lando nodded, though he was not sure why.
The new guy laughed at something near Oscar’s station. Life, with its usual poor taste, continued.
Oscar studied him. “You okay?”
Lando almost laughed.
No. Yes. Maybe. Terrified. Happy. Sick with it. Alive for the first time in a week and ashamed of how badly he wanted to be.
“Yeah,” he said.
Oscar gave him a look.
Lando put his headphones back around his neck. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” Lando admitted quietly. “I’m not.”
The garage opened brighter as the clouds shifted outside, a pale wash of morning light spilling over the floor, over the tyres.
Lando looked toward the entrance again.
This time, he did not pretend it was accidental.
…
By Friday afternoon, the paddock had remembered how to breathe. As did Lando.
He had spent the whole session doing what he was supposed to do. Brake points. Balance. Feedback. Corner exits. A small complaint about rear stability that his engineer had written down with the patience of a priest taking confession. He had spoken when spoken to, driven when required, and given absolutely no indication that his heart had been behaving like an unsupervised animal since Oscar told him Clive had quit.
Apparently they broke off the engagement.
The words had not left him.
They had followed him into the car, sat with him through the out-lap, returned every time the straight gave his mind half a second too much space. He had tried to be sensible about it. He had failed with impressive consistency.
And then he saw you.
You were standing near the barrier with your microphone in one hand and your notes in the other, talking to one of your crew members. The afternoon light caught along your hair, warm and forgiving. You were dressed for work, composed for work, smiling that professional little smile he knew too well.
Except it was different now, as if a burden had been set down after years of carrying it.
Lando stopped walking.
Only for half a second.
Oscar, coming up behind him, nearly walked into his shoulder.
“Oh,” Oscar said dryly. “There she is.”
Lando did not look at him. “Don’t.”
Oscar followed his gaze toward you, then softened in the smallest possible way. “Go on, then.”
Lando swallowed. “I can do sky news first?”
“Man up.”
“Damn it, Osc.”
Oscar looked at the McLaren garage behind them. “I’ll be waiting here, if you need me.”
Lando finally glanced at him.
Oscar only lifted his brows, calm and infuriating. “Try not to make it weird.”
Lando gave a short laugh. “Bit late for that.”
Then he walked toward you.
You saw him when he was close enough that pretending not to would have become childish. For one second, your expression opened before you could arrange it. Not entirely. Not in any way the camera would have caught. But enough for him to see the relief, the nerves, the question.
His chest went tight.
“Hi,” he said.
You looked at him, microphone lowering slightly. “Hi.”
It was ridiculous that one word could hold so much.
Your crew member gave a little nod toward the camera, blissfully unaware of the emotional architecture collapsing two feet away. “We’re rolling in ten.”
You cleared your throat, glanced down at your notes, and became, with noble effort, a journalist again.
Lando tried not to smile.
He failed.
The camera started.
“Lando, solid running in FP1, though we heard a few comments on the radio about the rear of the car. How did it feel out there?”
He answered properly at first. Mostly. Something about balance, a little instability in the slower corners, track evolution, nothing dramatic. The sort of answer he could give in his sleep. He had given it a hundred times.
The answer should have ended there.
It would have, with anyone else.
But your mouth betrayed you first, curving before you could stop it. “So the rear was giving you trouble?”
Lando’s eyes flicked up.
Instantly.
“Careful,” he said.
“I’m asking about the car.”
“Are you?”
You looked down at your notes, mostly because looking at him had become a liability. “You said it felt unstable.”
“I did.”
“Loose on entry?”
His smile grew slowly, like he had all the time in the world and every intention of misusing it.
“That depends,” he said. “Are we still talking about turn seven?”
“Lando.”
“What? I’m clarifying.”
“You’re absolutely not.”
“No, I am.” He leaned a little closer to the microphone, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “I want to make sure I’m giving you exactly what you’re asking for.”
Behind the camera, your producer shifted.
You held his gaze for a fraction too long.
“I’ll keep it professional,” you said.
“That’ll be new for us.”
Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, and Lando’s smile changed. Not into the old thing, not the easy garage grin, but something gentler, fuller, the expression of a man watching a door open and trying not to run through it.
Charles, standing nearby with his own microphone waiting, looked over with raised brows and a smile he clearly did not intend to hide. George, next in line, leaned slightly toward Carlos, who had just joined him near the barrier.
George murmured, “Is this part of the broadcast?”
Carlos folded his arms, watching with the calm satisfaction of a man seeing something inevitable finally stop pretending. “It should be.”
Your producer, less romantic and more concerned with employment law, said from behind the camera, “Guys. We are still live.”
You blinked, suddenly remembering several horrifying facts at once. The camera. The crew. The paddock. Your job.
Lando looked at the lens, then back at you.
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “That’s good.”
Your heart tripped.
“Lando.”
He took half a step closer. Just enough to make the air between you change.
The entire paddock seemed to tilt its attention in your direction.
He looked at you the way he had in the car, only now there was no darkness to hide in, no door waiting for you to disappear behind, no ring on your finger catching the streetlight like an accusation.
Only you.
Only him.
His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back to yours.
You should have stopped him. You did not.
He leaned in and kissed you.
For one breath, the whole world held still.
Then you kissed him back.
Lando’s hand came lightly to your waist, careful even now, even with everyone watching. The kiss was soft, not long enough to be scandalous in the way people would claim later, but long enough to make pretending impossible.
When he pulled back, he was smiling.
Not smugly. Not even triumphantly.
Happily.
So plainly happy it almost hurt to look at.
Your face had gone warm. Your microphone was still in your hand, though tilted uselessly toward the floor. Somewhere to your left, George made a strangled little sound of delight.
“Well,” George said, polished even in chaos, “I’d say that answers the chemistry question.”
Charles laughed into his hand. Carlos only nodded once, deeply pleased.
Oscar stood near the McLaren garage with both hands on his hips, looking directly at Lando with the expression of a man who was reliefed to be freed from the seemingly everlasting will-they-wont-they.
Lando glanced over.
Oscar pointed at him, then at the camera, then shook his head as if to say: unbelievable.
You laughed.
That was what finally broke the strange, glowing tension of it. Your laugh. Real and helpless and bright.
Lando looked back at you, and this time there was no need to hide the softness in his face.
He pulled you gently into him, not for the cameras, not for the paddock, but because, for once, he could. His arms settled around you with a quiet certainty that made your throat tighten. You let yourself lean into him.
The world was still loud but against his chest, beneath the noise of cameras and laughter and someone from your crew whispering, “We are so getting called into a meeting,” there was a small, impossible peace.
Lando bent his head, his voice low against your ear.
“So,” he whispered, “dinner after work?”
You pulled back just enough to look at him.
He was trying to be casual. Badly. His smile was bright, nervous at the edges, hopeful in a way that belonged more to the boy in the car than the driver in front of the cameras.
You thought of Clive then.
Not with guilt exactly. Not anymore. With sadness, yes. With gratitude for the years that had not been wasted simply because they had ended. With the strange tenderness one feels for a life that almost fit.
Then you looked at Lando.
At the boy who had made you laugh when things were dull, made room for you without asking, seen you before you had known you wanted to be seen. Your friend. Not only your friend. Never only that, not really.
You smiled.
The answer was very small.
Just a nod.
But Lando’s whole face changed.
George lifted a finger. “For the record, I called this during the nuggets interview.”
“You called nothing,” Oscar said.
Charles, still laughing, looked at you with open amusement. “Congratulations, I think?”
Your producer finally lowered her headset and stared at you both. “Can we please finish the segment?”
You looked down at the microphone in your hand.
Then at Lando.
He grinned.
You lifted the mic between you, trying very hard to sound professional while still standing inside the circle of his arm.
“Right,” you said, breathless and smiling. “So. About that rear stability.”
Y/N's French bulldog falls in love with a stranger outside a bookstore. Unfortunately for her, the stranger turns out to be Lando Norris, and her dog seems determined to choose him over her at every possible opportunity.
warnings: fluff, y/n!reader
note: hello ♡ i fear every Lando fic eventually turns into golden retriever meets golden retriever. this one just happens to include an actual dog. enjoy. - dean
masterlist | sign up for my taglist
The betrayal occurs on a Wednesday afternoon.
This particular act of treachery comes in the form of a nine-kilogram French bulldog named Marcel. Marcel is charcoal grey, stubborn beyond reason, and the undisputed love of your life. You are not, unfortunately, the love of his.
You realize this while standing outside a small bookstore in London, waiting for a friend who is twenty minutes late and counting. One hand holds an iced coffee. The other grips Marcel's leash. Or at least it does until Marcel decides otherwise. Without warning, he lunges forward. The leash jerks violently. Your coffee nearly becomes one with the pavement.
"Marcel!"
The dog ignores you. As always.
He barrels toward a man crouched beside the bookstore window, tail wagging so hard his entire body seems to vibrate. The stranger laughs.
"Hello, mate."
Marcel emits a noise that can only be described as ecstatic. The stranger scratches beneath his chin. You stop a few feet away, utterly horrified.
"Wow."
The man glances up.
"What?"
"I've raised him for three years."
Marcel rolls onto his back. The traitor.
"And?"
"And he's never looked at me like that."
The stranger grins.
"You seem jealous."
"I am jealous."
Marcel chooses this exact moment to climb into the stranger's lap. You stare. The stranger stares. Marcel stares at neither of you because he's busy living his best life.
"Wow," the man says.
"Don't."
"What?"
"Don't encourage him."
The grin widens.
"You know, I think he likes me."
You narrow your eyes.
"He's confused."
The stranger laughs again. Marcel's tail wags harder. You briefly consider giving the dog away.
"What's his name?"
"Marcel."
The stranger nods thoughtfully.
"Good name."
"Thank you."
"Very French."
"He judges people if they mispronounce croissant."
The stranger looks down at Marcel. Marcel immediately sneezes.
"Fair enough."
You study the man properly for the first time; brown hair, hazel eyes, a baseball cap pulled low. It clicks.
"Oh."
The stranger raises an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"You're Lando Norris."
He winces.
"Unfortunately."
Marcel seems delighted by this information and wags his tail at speeds that can rival that of any one Formula 1 car.
"You're famous."
"So I've been told."
"And my dog prefers you."
"Also true."
You look at Marcel. Marcel is far too invested in his new friend. You assume that will be the end of it - London is large, people disappear into it every day. Lando Norris would surely be no exception.
Then three days later you see him again. Or rather, Marcel does. The dog spots Lando before you do. One second he's trotting peacefully beside you, the next he's dragging you across an entire street.
"Marcel!"
No response.
At this point you're fairly certain the dog only acknowledges commands when they benefit him. Lando looks up from his phone just in time to be nearly flattened by a French bulldog.
"Oh, hello."
Marcel loses his mind. You don't know whether to laugh or cry.
"You're joking."
Lando looks delighted.
"I think he missed me."
"You met once."
"He seems pretty committed."
Marcel chooses that exact moment to sit directly on Lando's shoe. The man looks unbearably pleased with himself.
You sigh.
"This is becoming a problem."
"It seems fine to me."
"Of course it does."
The encounters continue. Not intentionally, of course. Who could have known that the daily route you take when you are walking your dog, is apparently marked with all the spots Lando likes to go to, as well? You run into each other at the park, in front of coffee shops, by the grocery shop.
Once it's outside a bakery where Marcel abandons an expensive pastry in favor of greeting Lando. That one hurts. You paid four pounds for the pastry. Marcel's loyalty, apparently, costs less.
Each time the routine remains the same.
Marcel spots Lando. Marcel loses his mind. You endure the humiliation. Lando enjoys every second.
"You know," he says one afternoon, scratching behind Marcel's ears, "I think he loves me."
"You say that every time."
"Because it's true every time."
Marcel places both paws on Lando's knee. You look paler than usual.
"God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers."
Lando nearly chokes laughing.
The problem begins sometime around the fifth encounter, not because Marcel likes Lando. That problem has long since established itself. No. The issue is that you're beginning to look forward to seeing him.
Very unfortunate, because Lando is easy to talk to. The conversations start small - coffee, books, films, travel - anything to kill the awkwardness from him crouching to play with Marcel. Then somehow become larger - dreams, childhood, the strange pressure of growing older and realizing nobody actually knows what they're doing.
One afternoon you spend nearly an hour sitting on a park bench talking while Marcel sleeps across both your laps. Neither of you notices how much time has passed. And when you do you don't mention it.
Then one Tuesday Marcel has a vet appointment, which means you walk through the park alone. You miss the sound of paws against pavement, the weight of the leash in your hand. You miss Marcel. A little.
You definitely do not miss somebody else, which is why you're surprised when you hear your name. You turn. Lando.
For a second he looks confused. Then disappointed. Then embarrassed for looking disappointed.
"Where's the tiny traitor?"
You smile despite yourself.
"Vet."
"Oh."
The answer arrives far too quickly.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You sound disappointed."
"I liked seeing him."
"Sure."
Lando studies you.
"I liked seeing you too."
The words land softly, yet somehow feel heavier than they should. Your heart does something that can only be described as a jump. Lando looks away first.
"You know," he says, "without Marcel around, I might actually have to talk to you."
You laugh.
"Terrifying."
"Absolutely."
Yet neither of you leaves.
Two days later Marcel receives a clean bill of health. To celebrate, you take him to the park.
You spot Lando immediately. He spots you too. Marcel spots him first and tears forward. Lando crouches, but halfway there Marcel slows. Then stops.
Instead of launching himself at Lando, he returns to you. You stare. Lando stares.
Marcel settles comfortably against your leg. For a moment nobody speaks.
"Wow," Lando says.
"Wow."
"This is new."
"It is."
Marcel glances between the two of you. Then wanders over to the empty space between and settles onto the grass, completely satisfied with himself. A diplomatic genius.
Lando laughs first. You follow.
"You know," Lando says quietly, "I think he finally likes you."
You gasp.
"That's unbelievable."
"He had to think about it."
"I fed him."
"He needed time."
You shake your head. Then he asks,
"Would it be weird if I asked for your number?"
You look down at Marcel. Marcel looks up at you. Then at Lando. Then back at you. The little traitor. You smile.
"Only slightly."
Lando grins.
"I can work with slightly."
And somewhere between a bookstore, a park bench, and one very disloyal French bulldog, things begin.
p.s. Marcel was not sorry. Marcel had excellent taste and would absolutely do it again.
The decision to go on vacation with your girlfriend was not a planned one. It was a spur of the moment thing after finding out that your scheduled off days from work miraculously overlapped in which you and Maya, had found yourself huddled together in her bedroom, staring at the Laptop screen and comparing different destinations together.
Gremlin would be taken care off just like Chilli, Maya’s Labrador pup and both of you deserved a bit off time away from everyone and everything.
And so the decision to go to Bali had felt like the best idea in the world.
Warm weather. Beaches. Good food. No work.
Just you and Maya and the endless calm that was upon you for a week straight.
The flight had been long, the airport chaotic as ever and the drive to the villa even longer but the second you stepped onto the balcony and felt the warm ocean breeze against your skin, every little bit of exhaustion melted away.
Maya had wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder as both of you stared out at the endless stretch of blue water as she was peppering your neck with soft kisses that had you shivering.
For the first time in months, neither of you had anywhere to be, no schedules to follow and nobody demanding your attention.
The days quickly settled into a comfortable rhythm of sleeping in, wandering through markets, eating far too much food and ending every evening curled up together while listening to the waves crash against the shore.
Waking up by having her press kiss after kiss onto your shoulder and up your neck, her hands wandering over your skin as she had you moaning into the crook of her neck.
Having you unraveled underneath her, Maya couldn’t help but think of how Lando would never get to have you like this. Well…👀
The thought came uninvited and made Maya smile against your skin, because for all the years Lando had been in your life, this was something that belonged entirely to her.
He got the video calls, the banter and the chaotic energy that seemed to follow you two everywhere you seemed to go together.
And Maya got this version of you instead; soft and pliant under her touch, demanding her attention that she was very much willing to give, someone she could imagine building a life together in the future.
You shifted closer to her with a quiet sigh, unconsciously seeking out her warmth even though she was already wrapped around you.
Maya tightened her arms around you instinctively, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your head as a quiet sense of contentment settled over her chest.
You made a small noise of protest when she shifted even the slightest bit, immediately reaching back to tug her closer again, and the action drew a fond laugh from her.
“Clingy,” she murmured against your hair.
“Says you,” you mumbled sleepily, not even bothering to open your eyes.
With a quick move the other woman rolled herself on top of you. Naked skin sticking together ever so slightly from the warmth coming from outside.
“Yes, says me. Because you are. And I love it.” She whispered, leaned down and stole a proper kiss this time. Your eyes fluttered open and your hands found themselves tangled in the curly mess on her head as you pulled her back once she wanted to sit up on your lap.
“You just proved my point, you know that?” Maya giggled. A stray strand that had yet to be tamed and had escaped the makeshift bun she had gone to bed with, falling into her eyes.
Maya opened her mouth to make another teasing comment when a familiar ringtone suddenly cut through the quiet room.
Both of you froze.
You whined dramatically and covered your face as if that would make the offending noise go away.. “Nooo…”
Maya snorted, already reaching over to the nightstand where your phone was vibrating wildly.
“You saved Lando as Papaya Man?” she laughed when she saw the caller.
“Ugh,” you muttered. “Am I wrong?”
“Not really.” Maya replied dryly before accepting the call and holding the phone away from her ear before putting him on speaker.
“Oi!” came the immediate shout. “Why did that take so long?”
“Because some people are trying to enjoy their alone time,” Maya answered.
There was a brief pause.
Then, “Wait. Maya?”
“Well duh,”
“Why do you have y/n’s phone?” Lando asked completely baffled.
For a second you simply looked at each other, trying to figure out what to say when you shrugged. Giving Maya the go-ahead for whatever unhinged answer you knew was swirling around her brain.
“Because right up until you called, I was about to have Sex with her. Now what do you need?”
Hearing what she had said you nearly chocked on your own saliva just as Lando loudly complained that he did not need that kind of information.
Stifling a laugh you gestured for her to hand over the phone.
“Love, why is she telling me this?” he frowned into the phone.
“Man, you asked. I answered.” Maya pointed out, entirely unapologetic as she settled back against your side.
“I was expecting something normal, like she was in the shower or getting breakfast.”
“Would have been breakfast time for me if you hadn’t called” Maya replied, earning another scandalized noise from him.
You buried your face in her shoulder to hide your laughter while Lando simply chose to keep his none existent innocence intact and hung up.
“You do know that he will hold that over me for the next 10 years, yeah?” you laughed.
Leaning back against the wall of the new Ferrari Hospitality, phone in hand, clad in red and your bag slumped over at your feet you were waiting.
For what? Or rather, whom? Lando. Your best friend and one of the many drivers who had suffered a tragic ending to his race today.
The other one, who you had already handed over to his wife, your boss Charles had already left a bit ago. You still phantom heard him rage at his engineers about his brakes and how the tarmac should never have looked like it had. Broken open and causing his front left to lock up and end in the wall.
It was devastating but nothing that could now be do e differently. You just hoped that the team finally fixed his brakes for Barcelona the following week.
Now however you were waiting for Lando.
He had texted you earlier that he would be finishing up at the garage and then come pick you up to go home together.
One of the upsides off having a race only 200m away from your shared apartment. You were home quick and without hours stuck at an airport somewhere.
Checking and scrolling through Twitter, seeing what fans were saying about the race you let out a slow heavy exhale.
“Ready to leave?” Lando’s voice sounded all of a sudden. Your head snapped up to look into the direction it came from just as he stopped by your side, bent down and shouldered you bag onto his back.
“Yeah, but you know I can carry that, right?” you asked reaching for your bag. The McLaren driver quickly dodged your attempt.
“Nah it’s cool, don’t worry,” The smile on his face honestly creeped you out a bit given that this was his second mechanical DNF in a row. “Max and P are meeting us at the entrance.”
Nodding you accepted defeat and followed.
“Did the Team say what caused your out?”
Lando shrugged, stopped when someone came over with a cap, signed smiled at them and continued his way. “PU something something. We’re gonna talk about it in debrief when I’m at the MTC next on Wednesday. They were still trying to figure it out when I left.”
“And you’re really good with your result?” you questioned with a raised eyebrow.
Lando chuckled easily. “That’s life, love,”
You groaned loudly already knowing what was coming. “don’t say it, I swear if you—”
someone in monaco is driving around your dream car — a porsche 911 gt3 rs. you are determined to find out who the driver is.
note: inspired by max fewtrell being obsessed with lando's porsche. set vaguely during the 2026 season. this is my first attempt at smut so go easy on me 🙏 inde as the fc bc i havent been able to stop thinking abt her after watching obsession LOL. please check the warnings on this one and i hope you guys enjoy :3
word count: 3.4k warnings : smut (18+ mdni), oral (m receiving), semi public sex (parking garage and a public road), car sex, messy reader, cheating (kind of—lines are a little blurry. reader isn't afraid to be a homewrecker, you've been warned.) magui (if you're a fan of her maybe skip this one), swearing
fc: inde navarrette
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
view story replies:
user: GIRL LMAOOOO
user: oh you’re gonna be insufferable about this fucking car aren’t you
↳yourusername: YESSIR
user: please you’re so embarrassing 😭😭
↳yourusername: leave me alone unless ur gonna tell me who drives that damn car
↳user: MOVE ON
↳yourusername: DIE
↳user: omg my fav actress told me to die
↳user: #cancelled
↳yourusername: STOP IT
view story replies:
user: what are you even doing in monaco?? filming something?
↳yourusername: staying with my cousin and her bf for the summer 🫶
user: there ain’t shit to do in monaco go somewhere else
↳yourusername: lowkey ur right bro this place sucks
kikagomes: Pierre wants to go to this car meetup thing tonight if you want to come with us.
↳yourusername: SAY LESSS
user: you’re so pretty please don’t move to monaco for tax evasion
↳yourusername: lmaooo i’m crying
↳yourusername: just visiting <3
yourusername just posted
liked by kikagomes, and others
yourusername: some guy said my nissan skyline gtr was ugly? my baby? he’s lucky i don’t have a gun.
view all comments:
user: this caption is taking me out lmfao do you not have a pr team?
⤷yourusername: they can’t control me
user: omg yn you’re so pretty- KIKA GOMES???
user: hold on you know kika??
⤷yourusername: we are related
user: im crying how do you know kika but you dont know who drives the porsche youre obsessed with
⤷yourusername: wdym?? are u saying kika knows who drives it??
⤷user: why don’t you ask her or pierre LOLLL
kikagomes: ❤️🏎️
—
lando answers your call only seconds after it starts to ring. you’re met with the man who you’ve only seen through the windshield of his porsche. he’s smiling, though he looks a little bit confused.
“so uh-” lando speaks first, leaning closer to the camera to get a better look at you. “you are real.”
“very real,” you smile. “disappointed?”
“Nah, pleasantly surprised maybe.”
you blush at his words, tucking a fallen piece of hair behind your ear. the two of you stare at each other for a few moments, taking the other in. your initial interest in lando was due to his car, but you’re happy the man is so attractive. it’s definitely a bonus. you stay on facetime with lando for a bit, getting to know one another. he’s not subtle with his flirting, but you like it.
“soooo, i passed your test?” you question him.
“maybe” he smirks at you, “think i’ll have to take you out to make sure.”
“give me a place and time and i’ll be there.”
“deal.”
—
view story replies:
lando: Damn🔥
↳lando: Pretty girl
↳lando: Cant wait 2 see you tonight
↳yourusername: you want me so bad lol
↳lando: True.
yourusername just posted
liked by lando, pierregasly, and others
yourusername: i won btw
view all comments:
user: liked by LANDO???
user: what’s going on…
user: don’t be shy, tell us who the man is 🎤
user: Something isn’t adding up 🤔
—
lando gets out of the car as you approach, walking around to the passenger side and opening the door. he greets you with a kiss on the cheek, placing a hand on the small of your back as you slip into the sleek lamborgini urus. he closes the door behind you and makes his way back around to the driver’s side door. lando starts the car and begins driving, placing his hand on your thigh while he focuses on the road. you can’t help but stare at him, his side profile draws you in. the slope of his nose and sharp jaw distracting you from the music playing quietly on the radio.
he catches on to your staring, his lips twitching into a smirk. lando squeezes your thigh, turning to look at you as the car pulls to a stop at a red light.
“you should take a picture, baby. it’ll last longer.”
“it’s a nice view, sue me.” you laugh, finally looking away from him. “keep your eyes on the road, mister.”
“yes ma’am.” he slides his hand higher up your leg, giving it another squeeze and turns his eyes back to the street, revving the engine and speeding off.
the drive is over quickly, monaco isn’t very big after all. lando pulls into the underground parking lot. you marvel at all the cars you see, keeping your eyes peeled for the dark green paint job you couldn’t stop thinking about.
he stops the car and drives into a spot between a stunning deep blue lamborghini miura and the mclaren spider he’d driven the other night. you should have known a f1 driver would have a beautiful car collection, you look around in awe.
lando hops out of the urus, coming to open the door for you again.
“c’mon pretty girl, i’ll show you around.” he grabs your hand, gently pulling you out of the car.
lando guides you through the garage, showcasing his expansive collection of cars. you’re unsurprised to see a number of mclarens, but the rosso corsa ferrari f40 has your jaw dropping. you never thought you’d see this car in person, though it does appear on many of your pinterest boards.
your attention is drawn away from the ferrari as the two of you approach the end of the garage and you see the car that put you in this situation. the dark green carbon fibre almost sparkles in the bright fluorescent lights of the parking garage. you slide your hand across the side of the porsche, the white and black interior calling to you. you’ve never wanted to drive a car so badly, you’re basically frothing at the mouth over it.
lando laughs, coming up behind you and gripping your waist with both hands. “seems like you’re more interested in this car than you are me.” he rests his chin on your shoulder, pouting as he joins you in admiring the car. “is this your favorite?”
“yep.” you smile, leaning back into his hold. “what’s a girl gotta do to take her for a joy ride?”
you turn your head toward him, bringing your face closer to his, and giving him your best puppy dog eyes.
“sorry love, we’re not there yet.” he apologizes, letting go of your waist and turning you around so you’re face to face. “i showed you my cars, now how about my reward?”
he pushes you up against the porsche, holding your jaw with one hand and your waist with the other. gripping your jaw, he pulls your face closer, staring at your mouth. you smile and lean in, pressing your hands against his chest. lando kisses you hard and full of want, tilting your head up for a better angle.
you grip his shirt in your hands, biting his lip as you pull away from the kiss. you push him away from you, switching your positions so that he’s the one leaning against the dark green exterior.
you kiss him again and he slides a hand into your hair and breaks away from your mouth, gently guiding you onto your knees. you kneel in front of lando, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you rest your hands at the waistband of his jeans.
“let me fulfill my end of our deal.” you say, popping the button on his pants and slowly unzipping them. “what was it you said before? it’s all about give and take?”
lando lets out a breathless laugh, using his hands to keep your hair pulled away from your face. “i’ll take whatever you want to give me, baby.”
you slide his jeans down onto the ground, sliding your hands up his thighs. you mouth at his cock through his calvin klein boxers. he’s hard, throbbing beneath the fabric, a wet spot already forming.
“fuck.” lando sighs, his hands in your hair gripping tighter. “don’t tease.”
“so demanding.” you smirk, looking up at him. you slip your fingers into the elastic of his boxers, tugging them down his legs. “let me take my time.”
his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. he’s bigger than you expected and you lick your lips, eager to taste him. you stroke him a few times before taking him into your mouth, teasing his tip with your tongue. lando groans from above you, swearing and his hips jerking.
“shit.”
you pull back, taking a breath, and licking a stripe up his cock. you gather your saliva in your mouth, spitting on the head to make your strokes smoother. you bob your head, taking him deeper into your mouth. your nose brushes the soft hairs at the base of his cock and you take a deep breath, taking in his scent, his taste. you pull off of him again, using your hand to stroke his shaft. you look up at lando and see that his eyes are closed, his mouth open.
“you like that?” you ask, leaning forward to circle his sensitive head with your tongue. you smirk when he lets out a whine at your teasing.
“yes, fuck. it’s so good.” lando moans, finally looking at you again. “don’t stop.”
he removes one of his hands from your hair, reaching down to guide his cock into your mouth again. with his other hand, he pushes your head down, forcing you to take him deeper. you moan around his cock, your eyes tearing up.
“is this okay?”
you hum around him in agreement, covering his hand with your own, directing him to keep going.
“you’re so good.” the sounds lando lets out are music to your ears, moaning and whining. he’s more vocal than anyone you’ve been with before. you’re glad the two of you are in a private parking garage, because the man refuses to keep quiet. not that you’re complaining.
you let lando set the pace, guiding your head up and down his cock. you can tell he’s getting close when he holds you against his pelvis, feeling him tense up.
“you gonna be a good girl and swallow for me?”
you nod as best as you can with his cock in your mouth and his hands holding your head in place. he groans and his hips jerk when he releases into your mouth. you take everything he gives you, swallowing around him. you pull off of him, breathless and he finally releases your hair. you look up at the man, his cheeks flushed and eyes hazy.
“holy shit.” lando breathes out, looking down at you. “i think i just lost some braincells.”
you giggle, wiping your lips as you stand up. your knees ache from the harsh pavement but you relish in the pain.
“did you have any in the first place?”
“funny.” he rolls his eyes, bending down to pull his boxes and pants back on. “c’mon, let’s go inside. i’m not done with you yet.”
—
yourusername just posted
liked by lando, maxfewtrell, and others
yourusername: this is how you deal with a shit race
view all comments:
lando: I won this time
⤷yourusername: if u call pocketing half the balls while i wasn’t looking “winning” then yeah you did
user: damn lando takes a year to even acknowledge magui and here he is only a few months into being with yn interacting with her publicly lmao
user: they’re so cute together i’ll kms if they ever break up
user: lando let her drive ur damn porsche
⤷yourusername: what they said
user: he’s had the shittiest time bro throw the whole season away atp 😭😭
view story replies:
user: i just know ur mad af sitting in that passenger seat
↳yourusername: you got me
user: do you think he picks you up in the porsche specifically to irritate you?
↳yourusername: yes
—
lando drives you through the winding roads above monaco, the windows are down and music plays low on the radio. the view of the coast is breathtaking from up here, the yachts in the riviera are only white specks dotting the vast blue of the sea. lando hums along to the music, his hand in its favorite place on your thigh. your eyes are drawn away from the view as you notice lando bringing the car to a stop, pulling to the side of the road. you turn to look at him, confused.
“is something wrong?”
he ignores you, getting out of the car and coming around to open your door.
“c’mon baby, it’s your turn.” he helps you out of the car, placing his hands on your waist once you’re standing in front of him.
“really?” you squint at him in suspicion. “this isn’t a prank?”
he laughs at you, squeezing your hips. “no baby, it’s for real. you’ve earned it.”
you beam at him, reaching up and grabbing his face. “i love you.” it might be a little soon to say those words but you know they’re true.
“more than the car?” he asks, pouting at you.
“i wouldn’t go that far.” you can tell he’s about to argue with your words, so you kiss him instead. he smiles against your lips, pulling you closer. his hands on your waist slip under your top, sliding up your back and sides. you pull away from the kiss quickly, too eager to get behind the wheel of the porsche. he lets you go, taking your seat on the passenger side.
“you have no clue how long i’ve been wanting to do this.” you say, giddy with excitement.
“no way, really?” his voice is full of sarcasm. “i had no idea.”
“shut up.” you reply, revving the engine and speeding down the road. lando wasn’t ready for you to go from 0 to 100 and the man slams back against the seat.
“jesus, woman. slow down.” he grips the seatbelt, bracing himself. “i’m regretting this.”
you just laugh maniacally in response and whip the car around a hairpin. you cheer, feeling exhilarated as the wind blows your hair all over the place. “i love this fucking car!”
lando lets you drive his car for a while and you’re grateful for it. you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of this feeling. this porsche has ruined you for all other cars, nothing else will compare. you hope lando knows now that he’s let you drive it once, you have no plans to stop.
he directs you to pull over to a quiet, private spot of road. you listen to him, stopping the car and cutting the engine. you rest your head against the seat behind you, a bright grin on your face. your cheeks hurt from it and you giggle to yourself. you turn your head to see lando smiling at you, taking in your happiness.
“thank you, lando.” you reach out, grabbing his hand. “seriously.”
“you’re welcome, baby.” he squeezes your hand and pulls it up to his mouth, placing a kiss there. “did you have fun?”
“sooo much fun,” you reply, letting go of his hand and moving to take the seat belt off. lando does the same, but you stop him before he can open the car door to switch seats. you maneuver yourself over the middle console and take a seat in his lap. you straddle him and he rests his hands on your ass giving one cheek a little slap.
“what are you doing, hmm?” he leans back, looking up at you.
you reach a hand up into his hair, brushing it through his curls and he leans into your touch. “i think i better show you how much i appreciate this.”
“yeah?” he whispers, his cheeks beginning to flush.
“yeah.” you respond, pressing yourself closer and grinding against him. he’s already hard in his sweats, groaning as you rub on him.
lando moves one of his hands between you, slipping up your skirt and inside your panties. the fabric is damp from your wetness and he groans when he feels how slick you are.
“is this all from me, baby?” he rubs his fingers between your folds, rubbing tight circles on your clit.
“y-yeah” you moan when one of his fingers slips inside you. “you and the car.” you giggle, leaning down to kiss him.
he pulls back from you, a bewildered look on his face. “driving my car has you this wet?”
“i told you i fucking love this car.”
“you’re insane, woman.”
“you like it.” you remove his hand from your panties, sitting back and managing to take them fully off without too much difficulty. lando watches you shove your hands in his waistband and lifts his hips to make pulling down his sweatpants easier. he’s not wearing underwear, how unsurprising.
freed from his pants, his hard cock stands at attention, red and leaking. you spit into your hand and give it a few good strokes. he moans and pushes your hand aside, gripping himself and rubbing his cock between your folds, paying special attention to your clit. you whine at his teasing, annoyed.
“get on with it, lan,” you moan. “need you inside me.”
“yeah, you need my cock?” he continues the teasing, “should i give you what you want?”
“p-please” you pout at him. “want you to fill me up.”
“okay, baby. since you’ve been so good for me.” he lifts you up finally slipping his cock inside you. you moan at the stretch of him, no longer feeling empty. he gives you time to adjust to his size, pressing his face into your neck and breathing deeply. “ready?”
you nod your head and lift up onto your knees before going back down. he grips your hips and guides your movement. his fingers dig into your sides, sure to leave bruises. lando leans back, looking down at where the two of you meet, watching you take his cock.
he groans as you grind down onto him, lifting his hips to match your rhythm. you whimper when he moves a hand back to your clit, rubbing with his thumb. you clench around him and he swears. the car is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and his grunts. the stimulation to your clit has you seeing stars and you can feel him twitch inside you.
“lan-lando, will you come inside me?” you manage to ask between moans, “p-please, baby”
“fuck” lando groans at your question holding your hips and grinding up against you. “you want me to fill up this pretty pussy?”
“please, please, please.” you moan, clenching tighter around his cock. you’re so close and he’s right there with you.
the windows of the car are fogging over and you pant against lando’s mouth as you bounce on his cock. he grunts when you squeeze around him, continuing to rub your clit. “c’mon baby, come for me and then i’ll give you what you want.”
his words have you coming around his cock and he holds you down while you shake from your release. he lifts you up and down a few more times before he’s grunting and coming inside you. you moan as you feel his cum fill you up. you fall forward, leaning against him and catch your breath. you can feel him dripping out of you, his cock not enough to keep his cum inside.
lando runs his hands through your hair, petting your head. you lean back and flinch when you move, still sensitive with him inside you. you lift off of him and his seed drips out of you, his cock glistening from both of your releases. you lean into him, pressing your mouth against his and he kisses you back, rubbing his hands up and down your back.
“can i drive us home?” you ask when you end the kiss, giving him puppy dog eyes.
“sure baby, whatever you want.”
—
yourusername just posted
liked by kikagomes, lando, and others
yourusername: i hope he doesn’t think i’m giving the keys back to this car
view all comments:
user: he finally let you drive it? omg
user: now lando is the passenger princess 👸🏻
⤷yourusername: he looks so pretty in the passenger seat 🤭 right where he belongs!
maxfewtrell: Can we share custody of it?
⤷yourusername: as if
user: dreams really do come true
lando: Baby i know you love it but thats my car
⤷yourusername: did yall hear something?
⤷user: lando just buy her one and then all ur problems will be solved!
⤷yourusername: you got the right idea over here
⤷lando: I think that might be my only option atp
SUMMARY: A casual situationship between Y/N and Lando slowly spirals into something far more complicated than either of them ever expected. What began without clear intentions starts to blur into something emotionally charged and impossible to ignore. Between moments of closeness, distance that lingers too long and impulsive choices they can’t take back, they find themselves trapped in a cycle they don’t know how to break. As boundaries fade and feelings surface in ways they never planned for, both are forced to confront a connection that no longer fits the rules they once set for themselves.
WC: 10K
masterlist
“I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now — not with you, not with anyone. I only want something casual, and if that’s not something you’re comfortable with, then I think it’s best if we just stay friends.”
Hearing those words from Lando Norris shouldn’t have triggered any reaction in me, because from the very beginning of our “situationship,” I had known perfectly well that nothing serious could ever exist between us. Never.
So why did it feel like someone had shot me straight through the heart? Because I was an idiot, that was the harsh truth.
“Don’t worry, I’m fully aware of that.”
The small smile I gave him never reached my eyes.
Lando let out a quiet breath of relief before leaning in to kiss me, relieved that he could still keep me by his side with no conditions, no complaints, no labels. Completely willing to keep crawling back into his bed.
We were celebrating his twenty-sixth birthday at a club in Monaco. The next day, he had to leave for the United States to prepare for his race in Las Vegas. The championship was almost over, and Lando was the clear favorite to win it, so right now all of his energy was focused on that.
I excused myself to the bathroom because I couldn’t handle the pressure building in my chest anymore. The moment I walked in, all I could do was stare at myself in the mirror, thinking about how pathetic I was.
How could I've ever thought that someone like Lando would want a serious relationship with me? He had never given me false hope. I was the one who built those fantasies in my head, so there was no one to blame but myself.
I took a few deep breaths while staring at my anxiety-ridden reflection in the mirror. At no point had I imagined things would end up like this when, almost ten months ago, we’d ended up having sex in the backseat of his car.
We’d known each other for years. We weren’t friends — just acquaintances. Every now and then we’d have a conversation or two, but nothing particularly meaningful. Until that damned day when we both ended up at the same party, and the chemistry between us while we danced was so intense it practically sparked.
The most logical thing after that was to fuck like rabbits and keep doing it on a regular basis and somehow, that’s how we ended up here tonight.
With Lando making it painfully clear for the first time that he wanted absolutely nothing from me beyond sex — all because I hadn’t liked the way he openly let someone else flirt with him right in front of me.
I pulled myself together as best as I could and went back to where Lando and his friends were sitting.
“Let’s go home,” Lando whispered into my ear the second I sat down beside him.
His hand tightened slightly around my thigh. I already knew exactly what that meant. And like the idiot I was, all I could do was nod before following him out to his car.
(…)
Days passed, but that small thorn of dissatisfaction left behind by my conversation with Lando never really went away.
I tried to keep myself as busy as possible so I wouldn’t think about it, but eventually night would come, and once I was alone in my room, I couldn’t run from those thoughts anymore.
I felt like the most insignificant person in the world. How had I let myself get to the point where a man could treat me like this? Being in love was one thing, but I needed to face reality once and for all.
The problem was that every time I became determined to end things for good, Lando would come back with that smile and those beautiful eyes, and suddenly I’d find myself thinking: I’ll leave him next weekend.
I hated myself after every encounter, because I always ended up worse than before — desperate, with my heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
It was Sunday night, and I was getting ready for bed when a message from him popped up on my phone.
LANDO: You awake?
ME: Kind of.
ME: How was your weekend?
LANDO: Terrible. We got disqualified from the race.
ME: What???
LANDO: Yeah. I'll call you in five minutes.
Immediately, I searched online to see what had happened. I'd completely disconnected from everything that weekend and hadn't paid much attention to Lando's race.
The first headline read: NORRIS AND PIASTRI DISQUALIFIED FROM THE LAS VEGAS GP AFTER MCLAREN CARS FAILED POST-RACE INSPECTION.
Shit.
My phone started ringing, and Lando's name appeared on the screen. My heart immediately began to race.
"Hello?"
"Y/N. It's good to hear your voice. We haven't talked much these past few days."
"Lando, I just saw what happened. I'm really sorry. I know you needed those points."
I tried to sound sympathetic, Lando let out a long sigh.
"Yeah. The gap between Verstappen and me isn't that big anymore. Hopefully the next race goes better."
"I know how badly you want to win the championship. I hope things improve."
"Yeah, me too. But I actually called to see how you're doing. We haven't talked much lately, and I know things might feel a little weird after our conversation that day, but..." He paused. "You matter to me. I don't want you to pull away."
My cheeks flushed, and I shifted uncomfortably against the mattress. Talking about that conversation was the last thing I wanted to do.
"Yeah, don't worry about it. Like I told you that day, I understand where you stand on all of this, so you can relax."
Lando exhaled softly.
"I'm glad. Because, you're like a ray of sunshine in my life, and I don't want you to stop being part of it."
A couple of tears slipped down my cheeks. How could he say something like that after everything? Right now, I should have felt angry. Outraged, even. But for a pathetic girl hopelessly in love like me, all those words did was make my heart melt a little more.
"You looked good in the picture you posted today."
My cheeks warmed further.
"I wish you were here," he continued. "I miss having you around."
The pre-Lando's birthday version of me would have smiled at those insinuations, but now they only left a bitter taste in my mouth. Because after his birthday, I couldn't ignore reality anymore. Lando didn't miss me. He missed what I represented. The easy girl who was always willing to give him her love, her attention, and her company.
"I'm sure you do," I replied flatly.
Lando went quiet for a moment.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.
"Yeah. Of course."
"You sound different. Your tone changed all of a sudden."
"I'm just tired."
"Okay..." Another pause. "Then I'll let you get some sleep."
Without waiting for my response, he hung up. It felt strange not immediately meeting Lando's emotional needs the moment he expressed them. For the first time since our little situationship started, I wasn't acting as his consolation prize.
And I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
From then on, our conversations followed the same pattern. Lando would text me expecting me to drop everything and devote all my attention and sympathy to him and his problems, only to run into a wall of excuses and clipped replies.
After a few days, he seemed to give up. As if he'd decided I was no longer worth the effort. It felt like a punch straight to my already wounded heart. It was the first time I'd felt distance from him. Or maybe it was because I was finally beginning to understand how easy it was for him to live without me.
A few weeks after that call, Lando was already preparing for Abu Dhabi.
The final race of the season. His chance to become World Champion. It was the most important weekend of his career, and everyone was going to be there.
His family, friends, the people who mattered the most to him.
I waited for an invitation. One that never came.
At first, I convinced myself he was simply too busy. Then I told myself I probably shouldn't have expected anything in the first place.
Soon, Instagram stories started appearing.
Our mutual friends looked happy, proud, excited for him and among all the people accompanying him was the girl who had flirted with him that night in Monaco. Of course she was there.
I had known something like this would happen the moment I stopped giving him my undivided, almost humiliating level of attention, he'd simply move on to the next person.
And of course it would be her, the girl I'd spent months trying not to be jealous of.
A knot formed in my stomach, I knew I had no right to feel that way.
Lando wasn't my boyfriend, he never had been. He had made that painfully clear. So why did it feel like rejection? Why did it feel like I had just received confirmation that I didn't belong—and never truly had belonged—in his life? Why did I feel so replaceable?
That Sunday, I watched the race from my apartment.
I watched him cross the finish line, lift the trophy and celebrate, surrounded by everyone he loved.
And I just couldn't feel happy for him.
Because as I watched that celebration unfold, reality hit me once again. If I disappeared from his life tomorrow, nothing would change for him.
But if he disappeared from mine, my entire world would fall apart.
And that was exactly what was happening.
(...)
The weeks after Abu Dhabi passed in a strange sort of haze.
I congratulated him on his victory, of course I did.
My heart was shattered, but he was still my friend. Beyond our complicated relationship, I knew I cared about him in a way that would never completely disappear.
Lando replied, happy and relieved, like whatever had been going on with me was finally over.
Or that's probably what he thought, because our communication slipped right back into place as if nothing had happened.
Sometimes Lando texted.
Sometimes he didn't.
Some nights he'd call me out of nowhere, and we'd spend an hour talking about absolutely nothing. Then he'd disappear for three days.
It was torture for both me and my sanity because every time I started feeling better, he'd come back with one of his random messages.
Every time I managed to move forward, he'd remind me why I couldn't.
I was trapped.
The worst part was knowing he wasn't doing it on purpose.
To him, this was normal.
To him, I was still there—available, waiting for him.
Whatever had happened between us during those past few weeks was probably nothing more than an emotional slump in his eyes. Something that had affected me more than it should have and made me act unlike myself.
Unlike the Y/N he knew.
One Friday night, my friend Saima finally got tired of listening to me talk about it.
"You're coming out with me."
"I don't want to," I refused immediately.
"That wasn't a suggestion."
So I went, because it was easier to remove Saima's head than one of her ideas.
I spent nearly two hours getting ready, trying to convince myself I was excited. Trying to convince myself I wasn't checking my phone every five minutes with the secret hope that Lando would text me.
By the time I was done, I looked beautiful. Saima let out a loud whistle the moment she saw me, and all I could do was laugh.
When we arrived at the club, it was packed. The music was deafening, and the heat was almost unbearable.
For the first hour, surprisingly, I managed to enjoy myself.
Dancing had always been therapeutic for me, it was the quickest way to flood my body with serotonin. I was having such a good time that I even forgot to check my phone for a while.
Then I saw him.
Dressed head to toe in black, standing by the bar with a few of his friends, laughing without a care in the world.
My heart leapt.
Warmth spread through my chest, and I took a step toward him when I finally noticed the rest of the scene. One of Lando's arms was wrapped around a blonde girl who was laughing hysterically beside him.
Her.
The girl.
My smile vanished instantly.
God, I was pathetic.
Such an idiot.
I didn't know why I kept placing my hopes on a man who had made it painfully clear that he didn't take me seriously.
A man who only saw me as temporary entertainment, as a shoulder to cry on. Someone he could use whenever he felt lonely, then toss aside the moment he no longer needed her—like a shirt thrown into a laundry basket, only to be picked up again whenever he felt miserable enough.
I decided not to stay and watch any longer. I'd had enough. My feelings were practically begging for mercy.
So I turned around and walked away, trying my best to forget the person I was leaving behind.
(...)
That night, I didn't sleep for a single minute.
After leaving the party, I returned to my apartment and sat on the edge of my bed for hours, staring blankly at a spot on the white wall.
Thinking about how ridiculous I felt, how stupid I'd been. It was obvious that Lando felt no responsibility to protect my feelings, he'd made that clear, maybe not through his words, but certainly through his actions.
I was exhausted from spending months trapped in the exact same cycle. A constant swing between extremes, one day I was happy because he'd called. The next three, I was miserable because he'd disappeared.
One week, I convinced myself that maybe he was beginning to feel something for me because of the way he treated me, because of how special he made me feel. The following week, I'd be trying to come to terms with the fact that he was probably sharing his bed with someone else.
I couldn't do it anymore.
For the first time, my mind and my heart were in complete agreement. Both of them were begging me to end this.
When the sun finally began to rise, I threw on a jacket and left my apartment.
I didn't even know where I was going. I just knew I needed to get out of there before I lost my mind. I needed to stop feeling like I was drowning.
I walked for almost two hours, mostly in circles. Monaco wasn't nearly large enough to wander aimlessly for that long, but I didn't care.
At that hour, the streets were quiet.
Monte Carlo was only beginning to wake up.
And then I saw it.
A church.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd stepped inside one.
I pushed the door open because it felt like something was calling me.
The interior was almost empty. There was no service and no one seemed to be inside. Just the faint scent of incense and the soft glow of burning candles. The kind of peace I hadn't felt in a very long time lingered in the air and that was enough to break me.
I sat down in one of the last pews and cried.
I cried in a way I hadn't cried in years.
I cried for everything.
For the ten months I'd spent waiting for something that was never going to happen. For every time I'd settled for crumbs because I was afraid of losing him. For every moment I'd pretended I was okay. For every night I'd stared at my phone waiting for a message. For every single time I'd felt like I wasn't enough.
I cried until I was exhausted.
As if something I'd been carrying inside me for far too long had finally been released.
I rested my elbows on my knees and buried my face in my hands.
"What am I doing?" I whispered.
My voice sounded strange in that place.
"What am I doing to myself?"
Because that was the real question.
Not what Lando was doing.
Not what he felt.
Not who he was with.
What was I doing? Why was I still allowing one person to define my happiness? Why was I still giving him the power to destroy me whenever he wanted? Why was I still expecting love from someone who had told me, clearly and honestly, that he couldn't give it to me?
The silence offered no answer.
So I continued my desperate plea.
"God, if you exist somewhere beyond all of this... if that man isn't meant for me, please help me get him out of my heart. Help me forget he exists. Give me the strength I need not to fall back into this."
I felt so small.
So foolish.
Yet a laugh escaped me as I looked up at the enormous stained-glass windows.
How could anyone claim to understand love if they'd never begged a higher power to help them stop feeling it?
After a few minutes, I finally pulled myself together. Mentally, I gave myself a few well-deserved slaps. I had to stop blaming other people for why I felt so miserable.
Lando wasn't a bad person. He had never lied to me, never promised me anything. His behavior could be morally questionable at times, sure. But at the end of the day, he had never forced me into anything.
I was the one who stayed.
I was the one who kept waiting.
I was the one who kept breaking myself apart piece by piece.
And if I wanted the suffering to end, then I had to be the one who walked away.
The realization was so simple it almost made me laugh. For months, I'd been searching for some complicated solution when the answer had always been the same.
I had to let him go. Not because I didn't love him but precisely because I loved him too much and I was losing myself in the process.
I remained there for several more minutes, sitting quietly.
The pain was still there, it would probably remain for a long time, but something had changed. Because for the first time, I wasn't thinking about how to make Lando choose me.
I was thinking about choosing myself.
And when I finally stood up to leave, I made a decision.
I wasn't going back.
It was over.
Truly over.
Even if it broke my heart.
Even if it took me months to move on.
Even if I still loved him.
It was over.
For the first time in a very long time, as I walked out of that church, I felt like I could finally breathe.
(...)
The first few days were easier than I expected.
Not because I didn't miss him, I missed him constantly. I missed him whenever my phone buzzed. Whenever I saw something funny that I normally would have sent him. Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night and had to fight the urge to text him.
But for the first time, all the pain had a purpose.
This time, I wasn't suffering to keep him, I was suffering to let him go and there was a world of difference between the two.
Three days after that morning in the church, Lando called me.
I stared at the glowing screen for several seconds. Normally, I would have answered before the second ring.
This time, I let it ring until it stopped.
A minute later, a message came through.
LANDO: Everything okay?
I stared at the words.
A simple question. Nothing extraordinary.
And yet, I felt like crying.
Because for months I had been waiting for something like this. Something that showed I occupied space in his mind too. Unfortunately, now that I finally had it, it wasn't enough anymore.
ME: Yeah. Everything's fine.
His reply came almost instantly.
LANDO: You sure?
ME: Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?
After that, he didn't text again.
Strangely enough, I was the one who sat there staring at the conversation, waiting for more.
But nothing came.
Because that's how it had always been.
Lando appeared.
Lando disappeared.
And for ten months, I had allowed my happiness to depend on that.
Not anymore.
At least that's what I kept telling myself.
Stay strong, you'll get through this.
A week later, he called again.
I didn't answer.
Two days after that, he texted.
I didn't reply.
Then he sent a meme.
Then a picture of a dog.
Then a screenshot of something ridiculous he'd found online. As if he was testing the waters, trying to find a door back in.
I replied hours later. Sometimes the next day. Sometimes I didn't reply at all.
And I started to notice he seemed uncomfortable. Because dynamics change quickly when one person stops chasing.
"Are you mad at me?" he asked during a call I eventually accepted one evening.
"No." I delivered the answer in the calmest, most relaxed tone I could manage.
"Then you're acting weird," he concluded.
I closed my eyes.
Before, I would have rushed to reassure him. I would have explained myself. I would have done everything possible to convince him that everything was fine. But I no longer felt like putting that kind of effort into someone who had never been willing to do the same for me.
"Maybe I'm just busy."
The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.
"You were never too busy for me."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them. I knew it immediately and so did he.
You were never too busy for me.
As if I belonged to him. As if my availability had become such a natural constant in his life that he'd never even noticed it until it was gone.
"Goodnight, Lando."
I hung up.
That night was the first time I cried without wanting to go back. The first time I cried and still felt proud of myself.
Because every day away from him still hurt, but it hurt a little less.
And that meant something, that was progress.
A small victory that earned myself a quiet pat on the back.
(...)
Lando started noticing the change even harder.
He noticed when I stopped being the first person to view his stories. He noticed when I started going out more. He noticed when our friends mentioned my name and he no longer knew what I was doing. He noticed when he stopped being the center of my world.
And he didn't like it one bit.
"Where were you last night?" he asked during a phone call.
I frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"I saw that you went out."
"Yeah." I didn't deny it because, honestly, why the hell did he care?
"With who?"
The question made me freeze.
For months, I'd wanted to be someone who had the right to ask things like that and he'd reminded me over and over again that I wasn't.
"Friends."
"What friends?" he pressed, trying to squeeze every piece of information he could out of me.
"Why do you care?"
The silence was immediate.
"Just asking."
Bullshit.
We both knew it.
After hanging up, I stared at my screen for several seconds, trying to make sense of this new feeling that had appeared amid all the chaos.
Confusion.
Because something was changing.
And it wasn't me.
It was him.
The following weeks were strange.
Lando started showing up everywhere.
At one point I genuinely wondered if I needed to go back to that church and repeat my prayer because apparently my request hadn't been clear enough.
He commented on my posts. Replied to stories he normally would've ignored. Started conversations over the most ridiculous excuses.
A video.
A meme.
A random news article.
Anything.
Every time I took too long to answer, he'd push a little harder, trying to get a response out of me one way or another. He wasn't aggressive but he was starting to seem desperate. Like someone trying to hold water between their fingers.
Meanwhile, I kept moving forward.
Slowly.
With setbacks.
With difficult nights.
But forward nonetheless.
Then one afternoon, I received a text from him.
One that felt completely different from the casual, almost indifferent messages he'd been sending before.
LANDO: Can we meet?
My heart stumbled.
For months, I'd dreamed of receiving that text.
For months, I would've dropped everything and run to him.
But I was trying not to be that person anymore.
ME: What for?
His response took several minutes.
LANDO: I just want to talk.
Lies or at least a half-truth. Because Lando had never been the kind of person who wanted to talk. Lando always wanted to avoid uncomfortable conversations.
And yet, I still agreed to meet him.
Maybe because a part of me needed to find out if I was really capable of doing it. If I was truly capable of saying no.
(...)
We met at a small café.
It was beautiful, discreet, and quiet.
I arrived first, as always, and during the ten minutes I spent waiting, I seriously considered getting up and leaving.
Then he arrived and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Because it was Lando.
And because despite all my efforts, he still had exactly the same effect on me.
A smile spread across his face the moment he saw me.
"Hi."
"Hi," I replied.
He sat down across from me, the silence between us felt uncomfortable.
Almost suffocating.
Lando looked nervous. So nervous that it caught me off guard, I'd never seen Lando nervous around me. In fact, one of the things he'd always liked about being with me was that there was no pressure and no expectations.
"So..." he began. "What's going on?"
I blinked.
"What's going on with me?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah."
A small, disbelieving laugh escaped me.
"You asked me to meet you so you could ask me that?"
"I've spent weeks trying to figure out what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Yes, there is."
His answer came immediately.
"You barely reply to my messages anymore."
"Because I'm busy," I said, as if it were obvious.
"You were busy before, too."
"Before was different." The words escaped before I could stop them.
We both heard them and we both understood exactly what they meant.
Lando's expression tightened.
"Is this still about my birthday?"
Something inside me cracked. For him, it had been one conversation. For me, it had been the beginning of the end. A humiliation I was still recovering from.
"No," I said quietly. "This is about the last ten months."
Lando fell silent.
"I can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?" The question made me stare at him.
It seems like he genuinely didn't understand.
"Waiting for you."
For the first time, he had no answer ready.
"I never asked you to wait for me."
The words landed between us—heavy, painful, casually cruel.
Exactly the kind of thing Lando said when he was being completely honest. I nodded slowly, feeling like someone had just put a bullet through my chest.
"I know."
And that was the problem, he had never asked anything of me. I had given everything willingly.
My time.
My heart.
My dignity, sometimes.
Everything.
"Then I don't understand."
"Because you never had to."
Frustration finally appeared on his face.
"Then explain it to me."
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself, I didn't want to cry. I just wanted this conversation to end so I could go back to rebuilding my life.
"I love you, Lando."
The silence was absolute.
"And I'm tired of it."
I said it so casually that his eyes widened instantly.
Like the confession had caught him completely off guard.
"I can't keep seeing you because every single time I do, I end up hoping for something that is never going to happen."
Lando still didn't speak.
"So this is it."
"What does that mean?" He asked.
"It means it's over."
Not once did my voice shake. I mentally congratulated myself for that.
Lando's expression changed immediately.
"No."
The answer came so fast that I was left in a little shock.
"No?"
"No, you can't just..."
He stopped, frowning as he searched for the right words.
"Just what?"
"Disappear."
My heart stumbled.
For months, I had been the only one terrified of losing him and now, it seemed like he was feeling a fraction of that fear.
"I'm not disappearing."
"That's exactly what it feels like."
I looked at him carefully, he seem genuinely upset.
Not heartbroken.
Not devastated.
Upset.
Like someone who had just lost something he'd always taken for granted.
"I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say.
"I don't want you to do this." The plea in his voice was so faint it was almost nonexistent.
Almost.
But it was there and that was exactly what made it hurt more. For months, I would've given anything to hear him say those words.
Now they had arrived far too late.
"Goodbye, Lando."
I stood up.
This time, I was the one who walked away.
I didn't look back.
Not because I was strong. But because I knew that if I did, I might not have the courage to keep walking.
(...)
During the first few days after my disastrous confession, nothing happened. No messages, no calls, no memes, not even a reaction to my stories.
Nothing.
At first, I felt relieved because it was what I wanted, wasn't it? I had fought for months to get to this point. I had prayed for this. I had cried for this.
So why did I feel such an unbearable emptiness?
The first few days, I kept myself busy. I went out with Saima, worked more hours than necessary, read books, watched shows. I even became one of those insufferable people who go running in the mornings.
I did anything that could keep my mind occupied, but there were moments that were impossible to avoid. Like finding a funny video and automatically opening Instagram to send it to him. Or reading a Formula 1 article and immediately thinking of him. Or waking up in the middle of the night and reaching for my phone before remembering there was no longer anyone waiting for me on the other side.
It was humiliating how, after everything that had happened, my brain was still looking for him while he was already gone.
Two weeks passed.
Then three.
Then a month.
A whole month without hearing anything from Lando.
Little by little, I began to understand that forgetting him was so difficult because I had turned him into a habit. I wasn't just trying to forget a person—I was trying to break an addiction.
One that was almost impossible to recover from, because Lando was everywhere.
In my routine.
In my thoughts.
In my reflexes.
In the empty spaces of my day.
And even though it hurt a little less each week, it still hurt.
One night, I even found myself scrolling through his profile. His latest post had been uploaded three days earlier. It had thousands of comments and thousands of likes from girls.
And there I was, staring at a screen like an idiot.
I closed Instagram immediately because I knew myself too well, and I knew that if I kept looking, I would never manage to leave.
The weeks kept passing.
And then something started happening that, at that point, I never thought would happen. At first, it was so subtle that I thought it was a coincidence.
One morning, I posted a picture of my coffee.
Two minutes later, I got a notification.
He had liked it.
I stared at the screen, trying to convince myself it didn't mean anything, because it probably didn't mean anything.
But the next day it happened again.
And the day after that too.
Then he started appearing in my stories and liking every single one of them.
He didn't reply.
He didn't text.
He didn't start conversations.
He was simply there, watching every one of them like a shadow, like someone standing on the other side of a closed door. Every time it happened, I would stare at the screen for several seconds, something in my chest telling me that it wasn't a coincidence.
Because I knew Lando.
Lando had never been a persistent man. If something drifted away from him, he usually let it go.
But now he was doing the opposite.
He wasn't trying to come back in.
Not yet.
He was making sure I knew he was still there.
The feeling followed me all week, it was as if I could feel him slowly getting closer, without a rush, with no pressure and without saying a single word.
But making one thing very clear: He hadn't disappeared.
And he wasn't willing to let me disappear so easily either.
(...)
Almost six weeks had passed since our conversation at the café.
Since I said goodbye.
And since my life had become a constant battle between missing him and convincing myself that I was better off without him.
It didn't always work, but at least I was still moving forward. Until Saima ruined everything.
"No."
I refused immediately.
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
She insisted again, crossing her arms.
I looked at her from the couch.
"I don't want to go."
"Perfect. Because I wasn't asking."
I hated when she went into dictator mode.
"Saima..."
I sighed.
"You've spent a month emotionally locking yourself inside your apartment. You're coming."
"I go out every day."
"Buying groceries doesn't count."
"I go running."
"That's the number one sign that you need to get out more."
I hated her.
I hated her so much.
And unfortunately, she was also right.
That's how I ended up getting ready that night, because surrendering was easier than arguing with her for two hours.
The plan seemed harmless, a gathering between friends, just drinks, music, and familiar faces. Exactly the kind of situation where nobody could get hurt.
I was so wrong.
Because the moment I stepped through the penthouse door, I saw him.
Apparently the universe still enjoyed making fun of me.
His back was turned toward me while he talked to Max and Oscar. He was wearing a simple black shirt and white pants, nothing special, nothing extraordinary.
And yet my body reacted like I had seen a ghost.
"Shit."
Saima shot me a look.
"Don't tell me..."
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Well."
"Well?"
"At least you look amazing."
I wanted to strangle her.
I tried to stay away.
I talked to other people.
Avoided looking in his direction.
Avoided even hearing his voice.
But it was impossible, because the harder I tried to ignore him, the more aware I became of him.
His laughter.
His movements.
His presence.
And the way he always seemed to know exactly where I was.
It was ridiculous. Every time I looked up, I ended up catching him staring at me.
Not for long, not enough for anyone else to notice.
Just one second, maybe two. Then he'd look away as if nothing had happened, as if it had all been my imagination.
The first person from his circle who approached me was Oscar.
"Hey."
I smiled.
"Hey."
"Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah."
My voice was barely above a whisper.
"Lando's unbearable."
I laughed.
"What did he do now?"
"Exist."
I laughed again, and Oscar joined me. I'd always liked talking to him. He was calm, observant, and far too intelligent to miss details.
Which was exactly why I got nervous when he tilted his head slightly.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Liar." He narrowed his eyes.
I sighed.
"Oscar..."
"I'm not going to ask." He raised his hands in surrender.
"Thank you." I breathed out in relief.
"But you should know he doesn't seem to be doing great either."
My heart made an unpleasant leap.
"I don't want to talk about him."
"Then I won't."
And he kept his word. But the comment stayed in my head for the rest of the night.
Later, I ended up sitting next to Max.
It was impossible not to like Max, he had that irresponsible older-brother energy that made everyone feel comfortable.
"You disappeared."
It was the first thing out of his mouth.
"Me?"
I played dumb.
"Yeah, you."
"I think everyone disappears sometimes." I tried to sound casual.
"Not as much as you."
He watched me for a few seconds and smiled.
"But I probably understand why."
Damn it. Did everyone know something I didn't?
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
"Max."
He shrugged, trying to play it off, but the little smile on his lips said otherwise.
"Nothing."
I didn't push it. Instead, I went to grab another drink and as I turned a corner, I almost collided with someone.
With him.
My footsteps froze.
So did his.
For a few seconds, nobody said anything. Because suddenly there were no conversations, no music, no people, just us.
And I hated discovering that I still felt exactly the same.
"Hey."
His voice was soft.
"Hey."
Lando studied me for a few moments, as if checking something, as if making sure I was really there.
"You look good."
Damn it.
"Thanks."
"Much better than the last time."
My breath faltered, we both knew what the last time had been.
The café, the goodbye, the ending or what was supposed to be the ending.
"I'm glad it looks that way." My voice gave away nothing.
Still, a small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. But he didn't look happy, he looked tense.
And that confused me, because, again, Lando never showed that side around me.
"I've missed you."
My heart dropped without warning.
Those words weren't a romantic declaration nor a confession. But they sounded sincere.
I swallowed hard.
"Lando..."
"I'm not trying to argue."
He interrupted me before I could finish.
"Okay."
"Or convince you of anything."
I didn't believe him. Because we both knew he wasn't trying to convince me with words, he was doing it with his presence. With the subtle way he kept appearing, with the likes, the glances and everything he never said out loud.
"I just wanted you to know..."
I looked at him, feeling something strange in the pit of my stomach. Something that told me what I hadn't wanted to admit for days, Lando wasn't going to let me go.
Not because he was in love, certainly not because he wanted a relationship, but because I had become an important part of his life.
A constant safe place and now that he was losing it, he was fighting against it.
In his own way.
Without admitting it, without even fully understanding it himself.
But he was fighting, and that was exactly what made him so dangerous for me. Because part of me still wanted to stay, I still wanted to believe, I still wanted to run back to him.
When I finally managed to walk away from that conversation, I found Saima watching me from across the room with a worried expression and I couldn't hide the devastation on my face from her.
Leaving Lando behind had been difficult when he was indifferent. But it was going to be so much worse now that he had decided to stay close.
Now that he seemed incapable of accepting my absence.
Now that every time I took a step forward... he took one right behind me.
(...)
Everything started going to hell again. Naturally. Because my life didn't seem to speak any language other than chaos.
It was a party at a villa near the harbor, nothing particularly formal. Just friends enjoying music and alcohol, along with a handful of rich people pretending they weren't rich. Saima had dragged me there once again, and I'd agreed because, lately, I'd actually been... happy.
Lando had spent nearly two hours by my side, talking, joking, doing exactly what he'd been doing for the past months. Like nothing had change.
Then she arrived and it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
I recognized her immediately. The girl from Abu Dhabi, the same girl who had appeared in all those Instagram Stories, the one who had unknowingly spent months haunting me. She walked in with part of Lando's friend group, as if she belonged there.
The worst part was watching the way she greeted him—with so much familiarity, so much confidence. I tried to ignore it, I really did. I tried to be mature and remind myself that I had no claim over him.
But it was impossible.
A few minutes later, she ended up beside me and smiled.
"You're Y/N, right?"
My stomach tightened.
"Yeah."
"I've finally met you."
Something in her tone made me uncomfortable.
"Finally?"
"Lando talks about you a lot."
My heart stumbled for a fraction of a second.
Until she smiled again and then I understood.
That smile wasn't kind, it was victorious.
"Honestly, I've always been curious."
"About what?"
"About you."
She picked up a glass of champagne.
"For a long time, I thought the two of you were together."
The blood drained from my face.
"No."
"I know." Her smile widened. "I figured that out later."
Something inside me began to burn.
"Although I can understand why people get confused."
She continued as casually as if she were discussing the weather.
"You were always there. Birthdays, races, gatherings, vacations..."
She took a sip, longer this time.
"But, well... some people just weren't meant to be the first choice."
I don't remember what my brain did after that, I only remember the noise, the humiliation and the embarrassment.
I walked away before she could see me cry and went looking for Saima.
"I need alcohol."
"What happened?"
"Alcohol. Now."
An hour later, I was completely drunk.
And so was Saima.
Which was never a good combination.
Ever.
"I hate him."
"I hate him too."
"You don't even know who I'm talking about."
"Doesn't matter. I hate him anyway."
I laughed.
Then I cried.
Then I laughed again.
An absolute disaster.
That's when I noticed someone nearby. He hadn't taken his eyes off me since I'd sat down.
He was one of Lando's friends. We'd crossed paths a few times before, he was kind,handsome and most importantly... He wasn't Lando.
We talked and danced for a while, we kept drinking.
The guy was so sweet that the feeling of inadequacy I'd been carrying around slowly transformed into something else entirely. Desire.
When he kissed me, it happened fast, impulsive, incredibly stupid. A moment fueled by alcohol, hurt feelings, and a desperate need to feel wanted by someone. For a few seconds, I kissed him back. Because I wanted to forget, I wanted to stop feeling like I was the only one suffering. That's when I heard a voice behind us. A very familiar one.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
My blood froze. I knew that voice and I knew that tone.
When I pulled away from the guy, Lando was standing there. Watching us with his jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists.
The silence was immediate and painfully uncomfortable.
I wasn't sure how much he'd seen, maybe only the last few seconds. My head was spinning from the alcohol and the embarrassment.
Of all the people who could've found me like that, it had to be him. The guy who had broken my heart, the same guy who had told me he didn't want anything serious, the same guy who was now acting like he'd just caught his girlfriend kissing another man.
My companion took a step back.
Confused.
"Uh..."
Lando didn't even look at him, his eyes remained fixed on me.
I knew that look, but I'd never imagined it would one day be directed at me.
"What are you doing?" he repeated.
My disbelief was so overwhelming that I let out a laugh. A completely unhinged one.
"Excuse me?" The words came out slurred.
"You're drunk."
"Very observant."
"Y/N."
"No." I shook my head "Don't talk to me like that."
Something shifted in his expression, as if he wasn't used to being challenged.
"Come with me."
"No."
"We need to talk."
"No."
"Y/N."
"Oh, now you want to talk?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
The silence that followed was answer enough, we both knew this had nothing to do with talking. It was about something else, something neither of us was willing to name.
My companion finally decided to intervene.
"I think I should go."
Wise man.
Because at that moment, Lando looked capable of ripping his head off.
"Yeah. You should."
"Lando."
"I'm not talking to you."
God, he was doing it again.
That tone.
That ridiculous possessiveness that surfaced every time he felt like he was losing something.
The funniest part was that he didn't even seem aware of it.
The guy wisely left, leaving us alone.
"You had no right to do that." The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Lando blinked.
"Do what?"
"Interrupt."
"Interrupt?"
"Yes."
His jaw tightened.
"You were kissing one of my friends."
The response made me laugh again, because it was so absurd it was almost funny.
"And?"
He fell silent. Because he had no answer.
"And what, Lando?"
His gaze dropped to mine.
"Don't do this."
"Don't do what?"
"This."
"This?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
No.
The truth was that I didn't. I'd spent months trying to understand him and I'd never managed to.
"You don't want to be with me."
"..."
"But you don't want me with anyone else either."
Lando remained silent.
"That's not fair."
He didn't deny it. He simply looked away, as if he was fighting with himself, trying to find an explanation he didn't even understand.
I felt ridiculous. Part of me still wanted to hear the right words, I still wanted to hear:
Because I'm in love with you.
Because I made a mistake.
Because I want you.
But they never came.
"Let's go home."
"No."
"You're drunk."
"And you're being an asshole."
"Y/N."
"Do you know what she said to me?"
His expression changed instantly.
"Who?"
"The blonde."
His face hardened.
"What did she say?"
"Nothing important."
"Y/N."
"She just confirmed something I already knew."
"What?"
I looked at him, for a moment, I forgot my pride.
My dignity.
"That I was never enough."
Pain appeared in his eyes instantly.
"Don't say that."
"Why?"
"Because it's not true." His voice came out sharp.
"Really? Then explain to me why I'm always the one left behind."
The silence returned. Lando still didn't know what to say, hidn't know how to fix it nor what he wanted from me. The only thing he knew was that he didn't want to lose me and for me, that wasn't enough anymore.
I didn't realize I was crying until I felt his thumb brush against my cheek, wiping away a tear. Such a gentle gesture that it only made me cry harder.
Those were exactly the kinds of things that had kept me trapped for months.
"Don't cry."
I closed my eyes.
Damn it.
For one second, I felt hope again.
When I opened my eyes, I noticed something behind him.
Saima and she wasn't alone, Oscar was there too, watching us from a distance. The way he was looking at Lando made it seem like he was watching a bomb seconds away from exploding. I had the feeling he understood exactly what was happening. Long before either of us did.
Because Lando still believed he was fighting for a friendship when in reality, he was starting to act like a man in love and he still wasn't ready to admit it.
"Don't cry," he repeated.
I still hated him for everything he'd made me feel over the past few months and yet, a single touch from him was enough to break through every defense I had left. That's why I stepped away, if I stayed there one second longer, I was going to fall again and I already knew how that story ended.
"I need to leave."
Lando's hand slowly dropped.
"Y/N..."
"No." I shook my head "Please."
For once in his life, he listened.
Saima drove me home. The entire ride, she didn't mention Lando once, which was concerning. Because when Saima stayed quiet, it meant she was saving up far too many things to say later.
"Want me to tell you what I think?" she asked when we reached my apartment.
"No."
"Perfect. Because I'm doing it anyway."
I groaned.
"He's jealous."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Y/N."
"Saima."
"Y/N."
"Saima." She threw a pillow directly at my face.
"I don't care," I lied. Because in reality I did. Far more than I wanted to admit.
"Of course you care."
"It doesn't mean anything."
"And who said it meant anything?"
I looked at her, confused.
"Jealousy doesn't mean love. Jealousy means fear."
She paused.
"And that man looks absolutely terrified."
I stared at Saima for a long moment, the words hanging in the air like smoke I couldn’t breathe out.
“He’s not terrified,” I muttered eventually, turning my face away. “He’s just… possessive, I guess.”
Saima made a sound somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.
“Sure,” she said. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t want to give that thought any more space than it already had.
(...)
The next day I went out to clear my head with some friends. Saima’s words had lodged themselves so deep inside me that they wouldn’t leave me alone for a single second.
That night I came back home very late and drunk. I tried to fall asleep immediately, but that was the last thing I could do—not because I was still thinking about everything, but because my phone wouldn’t stop lighting up on the nightstand like it had a pulse of its own.
I ignored it at first.
Then it rang. Again and again, until I finally sat up, grabbed it, and saw the caller ID.
LANDO.
My stomach tightened instantly.
I answered without thinking.
“Hello?”
Silence answered me. Then, after a few seconds, his voice—low, controlled… but strange, tense in a way I immediately recognized.
“Where are you?”
I frowned.
“At home. Why?”
Pause.
“You posted something.”
My mind tried to connect the dots.
“What?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
The truth was I had absolutely no idea.
I opened Instagram, and there it was—a stupid, harmless story. A group photo from dinner that night: Saima, me, and some friends at a terrace restaurant. Someone had tagged me laughing, a glass in my hand, my head slightly turned toward—one guy. A friend of a friend. Nothing more. He was laughing, leaning toward the group like everyone else.
It meant nothing. But I could already feel the storm forming on the other side of the line.
“Lando,” I exhaled. “It’s literally just a photo.”
His laugh was dry.
“‘Just a photo.’”
“Yes.”
“And why are you like that with him?”
I closed my eyes.
“We’re sitting at a table. I’m not ‘like that’ with anyone.”
Another pause. Heavier this time. His breathing sharper.
“You didn’t reply to my messages for three hours.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“It is when I see that.”
My chest tightened.
“Are you calling me because of an Instagram story?”
“I’m calling you because I’ve been trying to talk to you all night and you’re out there—” he stopped, like he was forcing himself to swallow whatever he was about to say. “Whatever.”
“No, it’s not whatever,” I said more firmly. “Say it.”
Silence again.
That was the problem with Lando. He always brushed against the truth… and pulled away right before crossing it.
“You’re not my boyfriend,” I reminded him.
“I know,” he said.
But his voice clearly didn’t.
“Then why are you acting like this?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was softer.
“Because I don’t like it.”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
There it was again. Lando, refusing to name anything, refusing to define anything… but acting as if I belonged to a place he never dared to claim.
I exhaled slowly.
“I’m going to sleep,” I said.
“Don’t hang up.”
I stayed still. The silence between us stretched.
“Good night, Lando.”
And I hung up.
I thought that would be the end of it.
Just another absurd episode he would drop and leave unresolved. But it wasn’t. Because that night wasn’t a full stop—it was a starting point, and Lando was treating it like he had suddenly woken up inside something he no longer understood.
Two days later, he called me again. I answered not because I wanted to, but because not answering was becoming harder than picking up.
“Can we meet?” he said without preamble.
I sat up slightly in bed.
“What for?”
Pause.
“I want to talk.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s not really your thing.”
“I know.”
He sounded honest. Not confident. Not comfortable. Just… lost. And that disarmed me more than I wanted to admit.
“Okay,” I said finally.
We met at a small, quiet café, tucked away from everything.
I arrived first, as always. And during the minutes I waited, I had plenty of time to regret it. Then he walked in, and the air shifted immediately.
Because it was Lando. And even though I’d tried to convince myself otherwise for weeks… he still affected me.
He sat down without fully smiling, without jokes, without that ease of his that usually filled the silences.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
He ran a hand over the back of his neck—something unusual for him. Nervous. That was new.
“About the other day…” he started.
I cut him off.
“Nothing happened.”
He looked at me.
“Yes, it did.”
I exhaled.
“Lando…”
“No,” he interrupted. “Let me talk.”
I stayed still. That was new too.
“I didn’t like it,” he said bluntly.
I rolled my eyes.
“You already said that on the phone.”
“No, it’s not that,” he added more quietly. “It’s not just that.”
A short, humorless laugh slipped out of him.
“I spent the whole night thinking about it.”
I went silent. Because that… wasn’t him.
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me,” he continued. “But when I saw you with him… I felt—”
He stopped, like the word wouldn’t come out.
He swallowed.
“I felt something I didn’t like.”
My chest tightened.
“Lando…”
“And before you say it,” he looked at me, “no, I’m not your boyfriend. I don’t have the right. I know that.”
He said it like it was a rule he was trying to obey… and failing at.
“Then I don’t understand why you’re here,” I said quietly.
“Because I don’t like the idea of losing you.”
The world didn’t stop.
But it almost did.
“That’s not the same as loving me,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. For the first time, he had no escape.
It was just him, sitting in front of me, unable to turn what he felt into something he could hold.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” he finally admitted.
It hurt to hear it, because it wasn’t a lack of feeling—it was a lack of direction.
And I had already spent too long living inside that confusion.
“Then don’t do it with me,” I said softly.
His gaze tightened.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“But you don’t know how to choose me either.”
Lando only stayed silent and in that silence, I understood something with brutal clarity: he wasn’t playing games, but he also wasn’t ready.
I stood up first.
“I think this conversation is over.”
He didn’t stop me. As I walked out, I felt his eyes on my back the entire way. I didn’t turn around to check.
For the next week, he was unbearable.
Not loud, not aggressive—consistent.
He didn’t let it go.
Every conversation circled back to it in some subtle, irritating way. Every time I posted something, he reacted within minutes. Every time I didn’t reply, he doubled down the next day, like he was trying to prove I still existed in his system.
Until one afternoon, Saima arrived at my apartment holding two coffees and an expression I didn’t trust.
“What now?” I asked immediately.
She smiled too sweetly.
“I have news.”
“That’s never good.”
“You’re going on vacation.”
I blinked.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I literally have work.”
“No, you don’t. I checked.”
I stared at her.
“You checked?”
“Un-important details, don’t focus on that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Saima.”
She sighed dramatically.
“It’s a group trip. Everyone’s going. Max, Oscar, some friends. It’s a break from the season.” I shook my head immediately.
“I’m not going.”
She leaned against the counter.
“Lando is going.”
That did it, I hated how fast my body reacted to that information.
“I don’t care,” I said too quickly.
Saima raised an eyebrow.
“Sure.”
“I don’t.”
“Then say no properly.”
I opened my mouth and losed it again. Because the truth was inconvenient. I could say no but I already knew I wouldn’t.
Two days later, I was on a plane and the moment I stepped off it, I realized something was wrong. Everything was too suspiciously well-planned for someone like Saima. When we arrived at the villa, she handed me my bag with a grin.
“Where is everyone?” I asked slowly.
“Oh, they arrived earlier,” she said casually “And they’re already settled.” Something in her tone made my stomach drop.
“Saima.”
She smiled.
“Have fun.”
Then she walked away. I stood there for a full ten seconds before I turned the corner toward the back of the house— And stopped, because there was no “everyone.”
Just Max, who waved at me and Oscar, who looked deeply unbothered and Lando, standing by the pool, already looking at me like he’d been waiting. My throat tightened instantly. I turned around but it was too late. Saima was gone.
I exhaled slowly.
“This is insane,” I muttered to myself.
“Yeah,” Max called out. “It kind of is.”
Oscar added, without looking up from his drink: “Wasn’t my idea.”
Lando didn’t say anything, he just watched me, like he already knew I wasn’t leaving.
When night fell, everything went completely silent.
I stepped outside without really thinking, just looking for air—something to loosen the tightness that had been sitting in my chest since the café conversation. The night was warm, the pool glowing with a soft blue light that made everything feel even more unreal than it already was.
And then I saw Lando, completely alone, leaning against the edge of the pool, staring into the water like he was trying to untangle something inside his own head.
He didn’t see me at first. Or maybe he did… and was just waiting for me to show up.
“I knew you’d come out,” he said without looking at me.
I stopped a few steps away.
“I’m not in the mood for another weird conversation.”
He let out a short laugh, no humor in it.
“I know.”
The water moved gently between us. I could leave right then. I should’ve. But I didn’t.
“I don’t understand what you want from me, Lando,” I said finally.
He lifted his gaze. This time he looked at me directly, and there was no arrogance in it.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
So simple. So direct that my breathing stopped for a second.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s enough.”
He shook his head, frustrated with himself.
“I’m not saying it because it’s enough,” he replied. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
A heavy silence fell between us. There was no fake indifference in his voice. Only something raw and real.
Lando took a step closer.
“I spent months treating you like you were always going to be there,” he continued, quieter now. “And when you stopped being there… I realized how stupid I’ve been with you.”
My throat tightened.
“Lando…”
“No, let me finish,” his voice cracked just slightly, enough to hurt. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me. And that’s the worst part… because you still did. And I just took it for granted.”
He lowered his gaze for a second, like it was hard to continue.
“I never knew how to love you properly,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I hurt you,” he said. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
The words I’m sorry had never sounded like that coming from him—so heavy, so human.
“I don’t want you to be someone who stays halfway with me,” he continued. “I don’t want to be that kind of person for you. But I also don’t want to lose you.”
His eyes finally met mine.
“Because I love you,” he said again, firmer this time. “And it’s not because I need you close. It’s because when you’re not here… everything feels wrong.”
The world shrank. It was just him and me. Alone in the moment I had both waited for and feared.
“You’re too late…”
He closed his eyes for a second.
“I know.”
“You broke me,” I whispered.
“I know.” This time he didn’t justify it. Didn’t try to fix it with pretty words. “But if there’s still something left…” he said softly, “if there’s still even a part of you that doesn’t hate me… I want to try properly. This time for real.”
I looked at him, and I didn’t see the Lando who played with the world. I saw the Lando who was afraid of losing it.
“This can’t be like before,” I said.
“I don’t want it to be,” he answered immediately.
“No more confusion.”
“No more.”
“No more disappearing.”
“No more.”
“No more empty promises.”
He shook his head.
“I swear.”
Silence.
Softer now.
Less painful.
“Then…” I whispered, “you’ll have to prove it.”
Something shifted in his expression, like he finally understood this wasn’t the easy part.
“I will,” he said.
I stayed looking at him for another second, and I felt something I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time.
Hope.
“Okay,” I said at last.
He blinked.
“Okay?”
I swallowed.
“I’ll give you a chance.”
The air between us changed completely, like the world had stopped holding its breath.
Lando didn’t smile. He didn’t celebrate. He just stepped a little closer, as if afraid to break the moment.
“I won’t waste it,” he said quietly.
I nodded slightly.
“You better not.”
This time I didn’t walk away. Because, when I looked at him, I didn’t only see the damage. I saw the possibility of something different.
And I chose to stay long enough to find out if it was real.
❤︎ |8,9k| Summary: Lando and Y/n share a romantic morning, but afterwards Y/n feels terrible. A supposedly fun evening at a beach club turns emotional when Lando sees Y/n with another man.
The first thing Y/N was aware of was warmth. A deep, pervasive, all-encompassing warmth that felt like coming home. It was a heavy, comforting weight, a solid presence that anchored her to the mattress. The second thing she was aware of was the rhythmic, steady beat of a heart against her ear, a low, soothing thrum that vibrated through her entire body. And the third thing, the one that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated panic through her system, was the arm wrapped possessively around her waist, the hand splayed flat against her stomach, and the leg tangled with hers, pinning her in place.
Lando.
Her eyes flew open, but the room was still bathed in the soft, grey light of pre-dawn. She was completely and utterly enveloped by him. His body was a furnace against her back, his breath a warm, even puff against her neck, stirring the loose strands of her hair. She could feel the soft cotton of his t-shirt against her bare back, and the rough denim of his jeans, which he had clearly never bothered to take off, against her legs. She was still in her dress from last night, a wrinkled, creased mess.
And she loved it.
That was the terrifying part. For a fleeting, blissful moment, before her brain caught up with the disastrous reality of their situation, she had reveled in it. She had felt safe. Protected. Cherished. She had felt like she belonged right here, in his arms, where she had spent countless mornings before. The instinct to sink deeper into his embrace, to press herself closer, to drift back to sleep in the circle of his arms, was overwhelming.
But then the memories of last night crashed over her. The kitchen. The dinner. His hand on her thigh. The desperate, wine-fueled decision to pull him into her room. The act of kneeling before him, the taste of him, the sound of his pleasure. The way he had looked at her with such awe afterwards. The way he had held her, so gently, so tenderly, as she fell asleep in his arms.
It was wrong. All of it was so, so wrong. They weren't together anymore. They were divorced. This wasn't a romantic reconciliation; it was a catastrophic lapse in judgment. A moment of weakness that she was already paying for with a sick, churning feeling in her gut. She had given him hope. She had given herself hope. And hope was a dangerous, dangerous thing. It was the very thing she had been trying so hard to extinguish.
She had to get out. Now. Before he woke up and saw the panic and regret written all over her face. She tried to gently extricate herself from his grasp, to wiggle her way out of his iron-like grip, but his arm only tightened, pulling her closer against him with a soft, sleepy grunt. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, his stubble scraping against her sensitive skin, and a shiver, a traitorous, involuntary shiver of pleasure, shot down her spine.
And then he woke up.
It wasn't a sudden jolt into consciousness, but a slow, languid stirring. She felt it in the way his breathing changed, in the way his muscles flexed against her. His hand, which had been resting innocently on her stomach, began to move. It was a slow, deliberate slide, his fingers tracing circles on the thin fabric of her dress, a touch that was both a question and a claim.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble that was thick with sleep and desire. He didn't open his eyes. Instead, he buried his face deeper into her neck, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin just below her ear. It was a soft, open-mouthed kiss, a wet, warm caress that made her toes curl. He inhaled deeply, as if he were trying to breathe her in, to memorize her scent. "God, I've missed waking up with you."
Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, panicked rhythm. She should push him away. She should sit up and put an end to this right now. But his lips were trailing a path of fire down her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, and a low, involuntary moan escaped her lips. Her body, her treacherous, traitorous body, was responding to him with an eagerness that shamed her. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, a familiar, insistent ache that she had tried so hard to ignore.
Lando heard her moan, and it was all the encouragement he needed. His hand, which had been tracing lazy circles on her stomach, began to wander. It was a slow, sensual journey, his fingers sliding down, down, down, over the curve of her hip, down her thigh, and then back up, this time on the inside, a path he knew so well. The duvet was a thick, heavy blanket over them, a private, secret world that hid his movements from the morning light.
He was teasing her, tormenting her, his touch a feather-light caress that was driving her insane. She could feel the goosebumps rising on her skin, her breath hitching in her throat with every pass of his fingers. He was staking a claim, reminding her of the pleasure he could give her, of the connection they still shared.
And then his fingers grazed the top of her panties. It was a fleeting touch, barely there, but it was like an electric shock. It was the point of no return. It was the line she couldn't let him cross.
"Stop," she said, her voice a sharp, panicked whisper. It was louder than she intended, a desperate, ragged sound that cut through the hazy intimacy of the morning.
His hand stilled instantly. She could feel his surprise, his hesitation. He lifted his head, his eyes blinking open in the dim light. They were still hazy with sleep, but they were sharp, focused on her, a deep, piercing green that seemed to see right through her.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a low, confused murmur.
"This," she said, her voice shaking as she tried to wiggle away from him again. "This is wrong, Lando. We can't... we shouldn't..."
He let out a soft, frustrated sigh, a sound that was a mix of disappointment and resignation. He slowly, reluctantly, removed his hand from her panties, the loss of his touch immediately making her feel cold and empty. But he didn't let her go. Instead, he shifted, turning her in his arms so that they were face to face. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, tucking her head under his chin. It wasn't a sexual embrace, but a comforting, cuddling one. A gesture that was somehow more intimate, more dangerous than what he had been doing before.
"Just... stay," he whispered, his voice a low, pleading rumble against her hair. "Just for a minute. Let me hold you."
Y/N froze, her body rigid with indecision. Every rational part of her brain was screaming at her to push him away, to get out of the bed, to run as far and as fast as she could. But his arms were so strong, so warm, and his embrace felt so safe, so right. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She was tired of fighting, tired of resisting, tired of pretending that she didn't miss this. So, against her better judgment, she gave in. She relaxed against him, her body melting into his, her head resting on his chest. She let him hold her, let him comfort her, let herself pretend, just for a little while, that everything was okay.
It was the wrong move. It was the worst possible move she could have made.
Lando felt her surrender, felt the way her body softened against his, and a slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. He had her. He knew he had her. He tightened his embrace for a moment, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of her head, and then he shifted again. In one smooth, fluid motion, he rolled her over, his body moving with hers, until she was lying on her back, and he was hovering over her, his body weight braced on his arms on either side of her head.
She gasped, her eyes flying open in surprise. He was caging her in, his body a powerful, dominant presence that blocked out the rest of the world. The duvet was still tangled around them, a cocoon of intimacy, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, could see the raw, unadulterated desire burning in his eyes.
"Lando, what are you doing?" she breathed, her voice a shaky, panicked whisper.
"Something I should have done a long time ago," he murmured, his voice a low, husky purr. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against her neck, a soft, teasing touch that made her shiver. He kissed her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, and then he moved to her cheek, his lips trailing a path of fire towards her mouth. "Something I've been dreaming since the last time."
And then his lips were on hers. It wasn't a demanding, aggressive kiss, but a soft, searching one. A question. A plea. He was giving her another chance to say no, another chance to push him away. But she couldn't. She was lost. Lost in the feel of his lips on hers, lost in the taste of him, lost in the overwhelming, undeniable love that she had tried so hard to suppress. Her body betrayed her, her lips parting under his, a soft, helpless sigh escaping her throat. She kissed him back. It was a hesitant, tentative response at first, but then he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, a wave of longing so intense it was almost painful washing over her. The kiss exploded into a frantic, desperate tangle of tongues and teeth, a kiss that was two years in the making, a kiss that was full of regret, and longing, and a love so potent it took her breath away.
As they kissed, his hand began to move again. It was a slow, deliberate descent, his fingers trailing a path of fire down her stomach, over the thin fabric of her dress. She knew where he was going, and this time, she didn't stop him. She couldn't. Her body was a live wire of sensation, a buzzing, humming instrument that he was playing with a master's touch. She arched into his touch, a silent, desperate plea for more.
He felt her response, felt the way her body moved against his, and a low, guttural groan rumbled in his chest. He broke the kiss, his lips hovering just above hers, his eyes dark and intense, searching hers. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice a hoarse, ragged whisper. "Tell me you want this."
She couldn't speak. She could only nod, her eyes wide and dazed with desire. She bucked her hips up towards his hand, a shameless, desperate movement that was all the answer he needed.
He slid his fingers under the hem of her dress, his touch a brand against her skin. He moved higher, his fingers tracing the lacy edge of her panties, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he slid his fingers inside. The first touch of his fingers against her core was a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure. She was already so wet, so ready for him, and the knowledge sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him.
He began to explore her, his fingers moving with a slow, practiced ease that was both infuriating and incredibly arousing. He found her clit, a small, sensitive bundle of nerves, and he began to circle it, his touch a light, teasing pressure that had her writhing beneath him. She was gasping, her head thrown back, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her body a taut, quivering bowstring of need.
"Please, Lando," she begged, her voice a choked, desperate sob. "Please..."
He didn't tease her for long. He slid two fingers inside her, his long, thick digits stretching her, filling her in a way that was both familiar and overwhelmingly new. She clenched tightly around him, a reflexive, involuntary spasm that made him groan. He began to pump his fingers, his movements slow and deep, a steady, relentless rhythm that was pushing her closer and closer to the edge.
"God, you're so tight," he gritted out, his voice a strained, desperate whisper. "So fucking perfect. You feel so good, Y/N. So good."
He curled his fingers, finding that magical spot inside her that made her see stars, and he began to stroke it, his thumb still working her clit. It was a dual assault, a devastating, mind-blowing combination of sensations that was unraveling her, piece by piece. She could feel the tension coiling in her, a tight, hot knot of pleasure that was growing with every thrust of his fingers.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low, authoritative growl. "I want to see you when you cum. Open your eyes, Y/N. Look at me."
She forced her eyes open, her gaze locking with his. His eyes were burning, a dark, predatory fire that was both terrifying and thrilling. He was watching her, his expression a mask of intense concentration and raw, unadulterated desire. He was completely and utterly focused on her, on her pleasure, on the moment.
And that was it. That was all it took. The sight of him, so lost in her, so consumed by her, sent her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed over her, a powerful, shuddering wave that ripped through her body, leaving her gasping and trembling in its wake. She cried out his name, her voice a hoarse, desperate sob, her body arching off the bed as the pleasure pulsed through her, long and hard and intense.
He didn't stop. He continued to stroke her, to pump his fingers inside her, drawing out her pleasure, milking her orgasm until she was completely spent, a limp, boneless, quivering mess beneath him.
When she finally came back to herself, he was still hovering over her, his eyes dark and intense. He slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips, and he licked them clean, a slow, deliberate, incredibly erotic gesture that made her blush.
"You taste so good," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble. "Just like I remembered."
He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, a musky, intimate flavor that was both strange and familiar. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.
Her hands began to wander, her fingers tracing the hard, defined muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his back. She could feel the tension coiled in him, the desperate, barely leashed need. She slid her hands down, down, down, until she reached the waistband of his boxers. She hooked her fingers under the fabric, a silent, questioning touch.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound that was pure, unadulterated pleasure. He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing ragged and uneven. "Y/N... are you sure?"
She didn't answer with words. She answered with actions. She pushed his boxers down, her hands caressing his ass, pulling him closer, her body a silent, desperate plea.
He needed no further encouragement. He stood up, quickly shedding his remaining clothes, and then he was back on the bed, his body hovering over hers. He reached for the hem of her dress, his fingers hooking under the fabric, and he pulled it over her head in one swift, fluid motion. He unhooked her bra, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste, and then that was gone too, leaving her completely naked beneath him.
He just looked at her for a moment, his eyes dark and intense, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on his face. He reached out, his hand tracing the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast, the line of her jaw. It was a reverent, worshipful touch that made her heart ache.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, his voice a hoarse, ragged whisper. "So fucking beautiful."
He leaned down, his lips capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. He settled between her thighs, his body a heavy, comforting weight, and she could feel him, hot and hard and thick, pressing against her. He was teasing her, torturing her, letting his length slide against her slick, wet folds, but not entering her. It was a delicious, maddening torment that was driving her insane.
"Please, Lando," she begged, her voice a choked, desperate sob. "Please... I need you."
He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her. He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers, a silent, final question.
She answered by wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him down, urging him to fill her.
He entered her then, a slow, deep, deliberate thrust that stole her breath. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her, in a way that was both familiar and overwhelmingly new. It was a homecoming. A completion. A feeling of rightness that was so profound it was almost painful.
They both moaned, a loud, simultaneous sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He stilled for a moment, letting her adjust to him, letting them both savor the feeling of being joined again, of being whole again.
And then he began to move. It was a slow, deep, rhythmic pace, a languid, sensual dance that was designed to drive her wild. He was watching her, his eyes dark and intense, his expression a mask of raw, unadulterated desire. He was making love to her, not just fucking her, and the knowledge sent a fresh wave of emotion, hot and overwhelming, washing over her.
She met him thrust for thrust, her hips rising to meet his, her body moving in perfect sync with his. It was a rhythm they knew by heart, a dance they had perfected over years of loving each other. The air was thick with the sounds of their pleasure, the soft slap of skin against skin, their ragged, uneven breaths, their low, guttural moans.
He reached down, his hand finding her clit, his fingers beginning to circle it in time with his thrusts. It was a devastating, mind-blowing combination of sensations, a dual assault that had her spiraling towards the edge again.
"I'm close," she gasped, her voice a choked, desperate sob. "Lando... I'm so close..."
"Me too," he gritted out, his voice a strained, desperate whisper. "Cum with me, Y/N. His words were a lit match to gasoline. The command, the raw need in his voice, sent a seismic shockwave through her body. It was all the permission she needed. The last thread of her control snapped, and the world dissolved into a blinding, kaleidoscopic explosion of pleasure. Her orgasm wasn't just a wave this time; it was a tsunami. It ripped through her with the force of a hurricane, tearing a scream from her throat that was his name and a prayer and a curse all at once. Her inner walls clenched around him, a series of powerful, rhythmic spasms that milked him, pulling him deeper, demanding everything he had.
He followed her over the edge with a guttural, primal roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. His hips slammed into hers one last time, a powerful, desperate thrust that buried him to the hilt. She felt him pulse inside her, a hot, thick flood of his release that filled her completely, a tangible, scorching proof of his possession. It was a claiming, a branding, a final, irrefutable declaration that she was his, and he was hers.
For a long, breathless moment, they were frozen, locked together in the eye of the storm, their bodies trembling and slick with sweat, their hearts hammering against each other's chests in a frantic, desperate rhythm. Then, the storm passed, leaving behind a profound, echoing silence.
Lando collapsed, his full weight settling on her, but she didn't mind. She welcomed it, craved it. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tight, as if she could absorb him into her very skin. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, his hot, ragged breaths fanning her damp skin. She could feel his heart thundering against her ribs, a wild, frantic drumbeat that gradually began to slow, to sync with her own.
He was still inside her, a thick, comforting presence that she was loath to let go of. She could feel the slow, lazy trickle of their combined release, a warm, intimate reminder of what they had just done, of the line they had irrevocably crossed.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at her. His face was a beautiful mess of raw emotion. His eyes, still dark with passion, were now soft, hazy, and filled with a vulnerability she hadn't seen in years. A stray curl of his dark hair was plastered to his sweat-slicked forehead, and his lips were swollen and red from her kisses. He looked wrecked. He looked beautiful. He looked like hers.
He reached up, his thumb gently stroking her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't even realized was there. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice a hoarse, broken thing. "My Y/N."
He stayed there for a long time, his weight a familiar, grounding pressure that she hadn't realized how much she'd missed. His face was still buried in the curve of her neck, his breaths now coming in slow, even puffs against her skin. The frantic hammering of his heart against her ribs had gradually subsided, replaced by a deep, steady rhythm that was almost hypnotic. She lay beneath him, her limbs still tangled with his, her body a boneless, sated mess. The duvet was a warm, heavy cocoon around them, trapping their scent and their heat, creating a private little world that was just for them.
For a few precious moments, she allowed herself to exist in that world. She allowed herself to memorize the feel of his body on hers, the weight of him, the scent of his skin—a unique mix of his expensive cologne, sweat, and something that was just inherently, intoxicatingly Lando. She allowed herself to feel the profound, soul-deep rightness of the moment, the feeling of coming home after being lost at sea for two long years.
But then, like a cold wave washing over the shore, reality came crashing back. It started as a small, insidious thought in the back of her mind, a tiny crack in the perfect facade of their reunion. This is wrong. The thought was quickly followed by another, and another, until they were a tidal wave of panic and regret, drowning out the lingering echoes of her pleasure. You're divorced. You're not supposed to be here. You just made everything a million times worse.
The warmth of his body, which had felt so comforting just moments before, now felt suffocating. The weight of him, which had been a grounding anchor, now felt like a heavy chain, pinning her to a mistake she couldn't undo. The lingering scent of him, which had been so intoxicating, now served as a potent, painful reminder of what she had just given up, what she had just allowed herself to want again.
A sick, churning feeling started in her stomach, a cold knot of dread that was rapidly spreading through her veins. She had to get out. She had to get away from him, from this bed, from this room, before she completely lost herself in the illusion that they could ever go back to the way things were. Before she looked at him and saw the hope in his eyes, because she knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that she couldn't give him what he wanted. She couldn't give them what they wanted. Not again.
She started to squirm beneath him, a subtle, desperate attempt to free herself from his embrace. "Lando," she whispered, her voice a shaky, uncertain thing. "Lando, I... I need to get up."
He stirred, lifting his head slowly, as if emerging from a deep, pleasant dream. His eyes were heavy-lidded and hazy, a beautiful, mossy green that was soft with post-coital bliss. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, a smile that was so full of love and contentment that it felt like a physical blow to her heart. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "Morning," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble. "Or, you know... afternoon. Whatever. It's a good day."
He shifted, moving to roll off her, but he was slow and languid, his movements fluid with satisfaction. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her, his eyes roaming over her face, her hair, her body, which was still partially covered by the wrinkled duvet. He looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, like he couldn't quite believe she was real, and it was agony. It was pure, unadulterated agony.
"I'll be right back," he said, his voice still soft and husky. He leaned in and kissed her again, a quick, possessive peck on the lips. "Don't move."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and she couldn't help but watch him. She watched the muscles in his back flex as he stood, the way his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, the powerful, confident lines of his body. He was beautiful. He was a work of art, and for a fleeting, traitorous moment, she felt a surge of pure, possessive pride. He was hers. Or, he had been.
He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, and she heard the sound of the shower turning on. This was her chance. This was her moment to escape. She could throw on some clothes, grab her bag, and be out of the villa before he even realized she was gone. She could put an end to this madness right now. She sat up, the duvet pooling around her waist, her body aching in the most delicious ways. But then she hesitated. Where would she go? How would she get home? And more importantly, could she really do that to him? Could she really just disappear after what they had just shared? It felt cruel. It felt cowardly. And she was so, so tired of being a coward.
So she stayed. She sat there, in the middle of the bed, in the ruins of their reunion, and she waited. She listened to the sound of the water, the sound of him moving around in the bathroom. She tried to brace herself for what came next. The conversation. The fallout. The inevitable, painful conclusion.
A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips, his dark hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck. He had a warm, wet washcloth in his hand. He walked towards the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes fixed on her. There was no awkwardness in his gaze, no uncertainty. There was only a deep, unwavering tenderness that made her heart ache.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. "Lie back," he murmured, his voice a soft, gentle command.
She hesitated for a second, her body rigid with tension, but then she obeyed, lying back against the pillows. He gently parted her thighs, his touch so careful, so reverent, it brought tears to her eyes. He gently cleaned her, the warm, wet cloth a soothing, intimate caress that was both incredibly comforting and deeply unsettling. It was an act of such tenderness, such care, that it felt more intimate than the sex itself. It was the kind of thing he used to do, back when they were young and in love and believed that nothing could ever tear them apart.
When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and leaned down, his lips hovering just above hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath, could see the love and the hope shining in his eyes. He was going to kiss her. He was going to try to seal their reunion with a kiss, to erase the past two years and start over, right here, right now. And she couldn't let him. She just couldn't.
At the last second, she turned her head.
His lips landed on her cheek instead of her mouth. It was a soft, warm, misplaced kiss, and she felt him freeze. He pulled back, his brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching hers. "Y/N?" he asked, his voice laced with a dawning, painful understanding.
And that was it. That was the moment the dam broke. The tears she had been fighting back, the panic and the regret and the overwhelming, soul-crushing love, all came rushing to the surface. A choked sob escaped her throat, and then another, until she was crying, really crying, great, heaving, body-wracking sobs that she couldn't control.
"What have we done?" she cried, her voice a broken, desperate wail. She covered her face with her hands, unable to look at him, unable to bear the sight of the hurt she knew she was causing. "Oh, God, Lando, what have we done? This is a mess. It's such a fucking mess."
"Hey, hey, hey," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He tried to pull her into his arms, to comfort her, but she pushed him away, shaking her head. "No, don't. Don't touch me." She was being cruel, she knew she was being cruel, but she couldn't help it. His touch was a balm and a poison all at once, and she couldn't think straight when he was touching her.
"Y/N, look at me," he said, his voice gentle but firm. He grabbed her hands, pulling them away from her face, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were filled with concern, but there was a steely resolve there too, a determination that she recognized all too well. "It's not a mess. It's not a mess at all. It's the opposite of a mess. It's... it's right. This is right."
"How can you say that?" she sobbed, her vision blurred by tears. "We're divorced, Lando. We're not supposed to be doing this. We're not supposed to be... kissing and... and sleeping together. It's wrong."
"No," he said, his voice a low, intense growl. "What's wrong is that we spent two years apart. What's wrong is that we let fear and other people's opinions tear us apart. This," he said, gesturing between them, to the tangled sheets and their naked bodies, "this is the most right thing that has happened to me in two years. Don't you feel it? Don't you feel how right this is?"
"I don't know!" she cried, her voice cracking with desperation. "I don't know what I feel! All I know is that I'm panicking, and my heart is breaking, and we can't just pretend like the last two years didn't happen!"
"I'm not pretending they didn't happen," he said, his voice softening, his eyes pleading with her. "I'm just saying they were a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake that we're finally fixing. I love you, Y/N. I never stopped loving you. Not for a single day. And I know you still love me. I see it in your eyes. I felt it last night, I felt it just now. Don't try to deny it."
She wanted to deny it. She wanted to scream at him that he was wrong, that she had moved on, that she didn't feel anything for him anymore. But she couldn't. Because he was right. She did still love him. She loved him so much it hurt. It was the very reason she was so terrified.
"That doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice a hollow, empty sound. "Love isn't always enough."
"It is for us," he insisted, his voice growing more intense, more passionate. He shifted closer, his body crowding hers, his hands cupping her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It was enough before, and it's enough now. We haven't moved on, Y/N. We can't. How could we? We're it for each other. You're it for me. There's never been anyone else. There will never be anyone else. Just give me a chance. Give us a chance. Let me prove to you that this time, it'll be different. This time, we can make it work."
His words were a siren's call, a tempting, dangerous song that promised her everything she had ever wanted. A part of her, the part that was still hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him, wanted to believe him. She wanted to throw caution to the wind, to leap into his arms and let him catch her, to let him fix everything.
But the other part of her, the part that had been hurt and disillusioned, the part that had filed for divorce and signed the papers, knew better. She knew that the reasons they had broken up were still there, lurking beneath the surface. The pressure, the distance, the lifestyle, the fear. None of that had changed. And she knew, with a sickening certainty, that if she let him back in, she would just be setting herself up for the same heartbreak all over again.
"I can't, Lando," she said, her voice firm, but trembling with the effort it took to say the words. "I just... I can't."
A wave of profound sadness washed over his face, his shoulders slumping, the fire in his eyes dimming to a flicker of pain. "Why not?" he whispered, his voice a broken, ragged sound. "Just give me one good reason why not."
"Because I divorced you," she said, the words feeling like shards of glass in her throat. "Because I made a choice, and I have to stick with it. Because this... this is just sex. It's just nostalgia. It's not real."
"It is real!" he shot back, his voice rising with frustration. "It's the realest thing I've ever felt! You're lying to yourself, Y/N! You're scared, and you're using our divorce as an excuse to hide from what you really feel!"
"Maybe I am!" she yelled, her own anger and frustration boiling over. "Maybe I am scared! Is that so wrong? You have no idea what it was like! No idea what it's been like! So just... just leave me alone."
She pushed him away, scrambling out of the bed, grabbing the first thing she could find—a discarded t-shirt from the floor—and pulling it over her head. She didn't look at him. She couldn't. She just ran, fleeing the room as if the hounds of hell were at her heels, leaving him there, naked and alone in the wreckage of their second chance.
She spent the rest of the day in a state of numb, agonizing avoidance. She took a long, scalding shower, trying to wash his scent from her skin, trying to scrub away the memory of his touch, but it was no use. He was imprinted on her, in her pores, in her bones. She got dressed in a simple sundress and sunglasses, her armor for the day, and went downstairs.
The villa was already buzzing with activity. Pietra and Max were in the kitchen, making coffee, and a few of the other drivers were lounging by the pool. She forced a bright, brittle smile, her heart a leaden weight in her chest.
"Morning!" Pietra chirped, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or should I say, afternoon? Late night?"
Y/N's cheeks burned, but she just shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Something like that."
Lando appeared a few minutes later, his hair still damp from the shower, dressed in a pair of board shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt. He looked tired, his eyes shadowed with a pain that made her stomach clench. But when he looked at her, his expression hardened, a mask of cool indifference falling over his features. He was giving her what she wanted. He was backing off.
But he didn't make it easy. Every time she turned around, he was there. He'd "accidentally" brush against her in the kitchen. He'd sit in the chair next to hers by the pool, his leg just touching hers. He'd look at her from across the room, his eyes a silent, pleading question. He was playing a game, a dangerous, seductive game of push and pull. He was respecting her wishes on the surface, but underneath, he was relentlessly, patiently chipping away at her walls, reminding her of what they had, of what they could be.
She tried to ignore him. She tried to engage in conversations with the others, to laugh at their jokes, to focus on anything but the magnetic pull of the man who was watching her every move. But she was hyper-aware of him. She could feel his gaze on her like a physical touch. She could hear his laugh, and it would send a shiver down her spine. She could smell his cologne when he walked past, and it would make her dizzy with memories.
It was torture. It was exquisite, agonizing torture. And she knew, with a sickening certainty, that he was winning. He was slowly, methodically breaking down her resolve, and she was letting him.
That evening, the group decided to go out to a beach bar. It was a lively, vibrant place, with tiki torches flickering in the sand, music pulsing from the speakers, and a beautiful, starry sky overhead. Y/N tried to get into the festive mood, but she was on edge, her nerves frayed, her senses on high alert.
Lando was drinking. A lot. He was knocking back beers and shots with the other guys, his laughter growing louder, his movements becoming more reckless. She could see the pain in his eyes, the raw, unadulterated heartbreak that he was trying to drown in alcohol. Every time he looked at her, his expression would darken, a cloud of misery passing over his features before he'd plaster on a fake smile and take another drink.
"Slow down, mate," she heard Max say, clapping a hand on Lando's shoulder. "You're going to regret this tomorrow."
Lando just shrugged him off, knocking back another shot. "I'm fine," he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. "Just having fun."
But he wasn't having fun. He was hurting. And she was the cause of it.
She tried to distract herself, to focus on the conversation, on the music, on anything but the sight of him slowly self-destructing across the bar. That's when Pietra's friend, a charming, handsome guy named Leo, approached her.
"Hey, Y/N," he said, his smile warm and friendly. "Good to see you again."
"Hey, Leo," she replied, genuinely happy to see a friendly, uncomplicated face. "How are you?"
They fell into an easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing. He was funny and smart, and he made her laugh, a real, genuine laugh that she hadn't felt in a long time. For a little while, she was able to forget about Lando, to forget about the mess she had made of her life. She was just a girl at a beach bar, talking to a nice guy.
But then she felt it. That familiar, prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She knew, without even having to look, that he was watching her. She glanced over, and her heart sank. Lando was staring at them, his eyes a stormy, turbulent sea of jealousy and pain. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white where he was gripping his drink. He looked utterly, completely devastated.
And then, to her horror, she saw his shoulders start to shake. He brought a hand up to his face, and she knew, with a certainty that made her feel sick, that he was crying. He was actually crying, right there in the middle of the crowded bar.
The guys around him noticed immediately. "Whoa, mate, are you okay?" Carlos asked, his voice filled with concern.
"I think we should get you home," Max said, his voice firm with worry. "You've had enough."
Lando just shook his head, his words a slurred, drunken mumble. "No. 'M fine. Just... leave me alone."
They tried to reason with him, to coax him away from the bar, but he was stubborn, a wounded, cornered animal lashing out at anyone who came near. Finally, they seemed to give up, letting him slump in a beach chair a little ways off from the main crowd, a solitary, tragic figure silhouetted against the crashing waves. They kept a watchful eye on him, but for a moment, they were distracted by a round of shots, a collective groan as someone told a particularly bad joke. It was only a moment. But it was long enough.
When they looked for him again, he was gone.
The switch in Y/N's reality was as abrupt as it was jarring. One moment, she was laughing at something Leo had said, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stuffy bar, the sound of the waves a soothing backdrop to their easy conversation. The next, a shadow fell over them, and she felt it—that familiar, electric charge in the air that was uniquely, undeniably Lando.
She turned, and her breath caught in her throat. He was a disaster. A beautiful, heartbreaking disaster. His cheeks were flushed a feverish red, his eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and they were swimming in a sheen of unshed tears that made them look impossibly wide and vulnerable. He was swaying slightly on his feet, his whole body radiating a potent, painful cocktail of alcohol and agony.
Leo, ever the gentleman, immediately sensed the tension. "I'll, uh, I'll give you two a minute," he said, excusing himself with a polite nod and a concerned glance in her direction before melting back into the crowd.
And then they were alone. Just the two of them, with the sound of the music and the sea as their audience.
Lando looked at her, his expression a raw, open wound of pain. He opened his mouth, his lips trembling, as if to say something, but no words came out. He just stood there, looking at her, his heartbreak so palpable she could almost taste it.
Finally, he spoke, his voice a thick, slurred, accusatory whisper. "Is this what you wanted?"
Y/N flinched, stung by the venom in his tone. "What? Lando, what are you talking about?"
"This," he said, his voice cracking, his gesture a wild, uncoordinated sweep towards the spot where Leo had just been standing. "Is this your plan? To make me cry again? To destroy every last bit of hope I have left? To rip my heart out of my chest one more time, just for fun?"
"Leo?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "Lando, he's just Pietra's friend. We were just talking."
"Don't lie to me," he snarled, his eyes flashing with a drunken, dangerous fire. "I saw you. I saw the way you were laughing with him. The way you were smiling at him. And then he said it. He said, 'It's good to see you again.' I heard him. So I know, Y/N. I know you slept with him."
Y/N stared at him, her mouth agape, her mind reeling from the sheer, staggering absurdity of his accusation. "Slept with him? Lando, are you insane? I've never even been alone with him before tonight! I just met him a couple of times at Pietra's parties!"
"Then why would he say that?" he demanded, his voice rising, a desperate, pleading edge cutting through the drunken aggression. "Why would he say it was good to see you again if you didn't... if you didn't..." He couldn't finish the sentence, the words catching in his throat, choked off by a wave of fresh pain.
"Because it's a normal thing to say when you haven't seen someone in a while!" she cried, her frustration and exasperation boiling over. "Oh my God, Lando, you're being ridiculous! You're drunk and you're not making any sense!"
But he wasn't listening. He was lost in his own twisted, jealous narrative, a world where every man was a rival and every friendly interaction was a betrayal. He took a step closer, his body invading her personal space, his eyes boring into hers, a raw, desperate challenge.
"Does he touch you like I do?" he asked, his voice a low, husky growl that was both threatening and intensely intimate. "Does he even know how? Does he make you cum, Y/N? Does he make you scream his name the way you screamed mine last night? Does he fuck you as good as I do?"
The crude, explicit words, thrown at her in the middle of a crowded beach bar, were like a slap in the face. She was so shocked, so utterly flabbergasted, that for a moment, she could only stare at him, her mouth open in silent outrage.
"We haven't done anything together!" she finally managed to sputter, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "He's Pietra's friend, and that's all! How could you even think that? How could you say something like that to me?"
"I saw you!" he repeated, his voice a broken, desperate sob. "I saw you laughing, and you looked so happy, and... and I just thought... I just thought you'd moved on. That you'd found someone else. Someone better."
His words, so raw and vulnerable, so completely transparent in their insecurity, disarmed her completely. The anger that had been simmering inside her evaporated, replaced by a wave of profound, heart-wrenching pity. She looked at him, really looked at him, at the tears that were now freely streaming down his flushed cheeks, at the tremble in his lips, at the utter devastation in his eyes, and she felt her heart break all over again.
He was just a boy. A beautiful, broken, drunken boy who was so desperately in love with her that he couldn't see straight. He wasn't being malicious; he was being destroyed by his own fear and jealousy.
"Oh, Lando," she whispered, her voice soft with a sorrow that was so deep it was a physical ache. "You're so silly. You're such a silly, silly boy."
She reached out, her hand gently cupping his cheek, her thumb wiping away a tear. He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed, a soft, broken sigh escaping his lips. He was completely, utterly undone.
"I can't do this," she said, more to herself than to him. "I can't leave you here like this."
She took his hand, his fingers cold and clammy, and led him away from the bar, away from the music and the people, towards the path that led back to the villa. He followed without a word, a docile, broken creature, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
The walk back was silent, save for the sound of their footsteps on the sand and the gentle lapping of the waves. The moon cast a long, lonely shadow of them, two figures intertwined in a dance of pain and regret.
When they got back to the villa, the house was dark and quiet. She led him up the stairs and into his room, her heart aching with every step. He collapsed onto his bed, face down, his body limp with exhaustion and alcohol.
She stood there for a moment, looking down at him, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over her. Pity, sadness, frustration, and a love so deep and so powerful it scared her to her very core.
She gently pulled off his shoes and covered him with a duvet, her touch a soft, fleeting caress. "Goodnight, Lando," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He stirred, his eyes cracking open, a flicker of the old, desperate hope returning to their depths. "Stay," he murmured, his voice a slurred, sleepy plea. "Please, Y/N... stay with me."
She hesitated, her resolve wavering. The temptation was overwhelming. To crawl into bed with him, to hold him, to comfort him, to let herself fall back into the familiar, comforting embrace of the man she loved. It would be so easy. And it would be so, so wrong.
"I can't," she whispered, her voice firm but gentle. "I'm sorry."
She turned and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her, leaving him to his drunken, lonely dreams.
She went into her own room, the silence a deafening roar in her ears. She leaned against the door, her body trembling, the events of the last twenty-four hours crashing down on her all at once. The sex, the fight, the tears, the drunken confession, the heartbreak. It was too much. It was all too much.
She knew, with a clarity that was both terrifying and liberating, that she couldn't stay here. She couldn't spend another day in this villa, in this close proximity to Lando. Being here, sleeping with him, touching him, it was like a drug. It was awakening all the feelings she had tried so hard to bury, all the love and the longing and the hope. And she knew, with a sickening certainty, that if she stayed, she would give in. She would give him another chance. She would let him back into her heart, and she would let him break it all over again.
Because she had divorced him for a reason. A good reason. A reason that had nothing to do with the love she still felt for him, and everything to do with the life they could never have together.
She walked over to the closet and pulled out her suitcase. She placed it on the bed, her movements methodical, detached. It was as if she were watching herself from a distance, a stranger performing a familiar, heartbreaking ritual. She opened the drawers, pulling out her clothes, her toiletries, her books, and placing them neatly inside the case. Each item was a memory, a piece of a life she was trying to pack away. The sundress she had worn on their first date. The book he had bought her. The lotion he loved the smell of. With each item she packed, she felt a piece of her soul break away.
She was running away. Again. She knew it. She was a coward, just as she had been two years ago. But this time, it was different. This time, she wasn't just running from him. She was running from herself. She was running from the part of her that still loved him so desperately, so completely, that it was willing to ignore all the reasons they had failed. She was running from the part of her that was willing to sacrifice her own happiness, her own peace of mind, for just one more night in his arms.
She couldn't let that part of her win. She wouldn't. Because she knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that loving Lando was a beautiful, exquisite, and ultimately self-destructive act. It was a fire that burned too bright, a love that consumed everything in its path, leaving nothing but ash and regret in its wake.
She had been burned once. She would not let herself be burned again.
She closed the suitcase with a soft, final click. It was done. Her decision was made. She would leave in the morning, before anyone else was awake. She would go home, and she would try, once again, to build a life without him. A life that was quieter, simpler, and infinitely less painful.
She lay down on the bed, still fully dressed, and stared at the ceiling. The villa was silent, but her mind was a raging storm. She could hear his voice, feel his touch, see his face. She could feel the ghost of him all around her, a constant, aching reminder of what she was losing, and what she was saving herself from.
And in the quiet darkness of her room, she finally allowed herself to cry. She cried for the love she had lost, for the future they would never have, for the man she still loved with every fiber of her being. She cried for the girl she used to be, and for the woman she was trying to become. She cried until she had no tears left, until she was empty, hollowed out, a shell of the person she used to be.
And then, in the quiet aftermath of her storm, she made a promise to herself. A promise that she would keep, no matter how much it hurt. She would not go back. She would not look back. She would move forward, one painful step at a time, and she would build a new life. A life without Lando Norris.
