summary: She’s given him her all, keeping his life on schedule without complaint, but now it’s her turn to shake things up. She's leaving him in just two weeks.
content warnings: max being not a great boss
word count: 2.5k
pairing: max verstappen x assistant!reader
SERIES: my dear assistant || may be confusing if read as a standalone one-shot!
a/n: ITS HEREEEE! nawr because i had so much fun writing this like im ACTUALLY so stupid super excited for this series
Max, I love you. I’m your biggest fan, please send me—
You sighed, dragging the email into the trash.
“Seriously, he needs to take his business email out of his Instagram bio,” you muttered under your breath.
Mornings always looked the same. Blue light glasses perched on your nose, emotional support blanket wrapped around your shoulders, laptop balanced on your knees. Max’s inbox was the most consistent thing in your life. You’d learned early on that it was faster to just keep it bookmarked—front and center—ready for whatever chaos awaited overnight.
Your fingers tapped next again and again, skimming the latest flood of messages that had piled up while you were asleep. Most of them weren’t worth your time, fan mail begging for signed driver cards, free merch, or worse, his phone number.
Filtering through that mess was easily your least favorite part of the job. Max was perfectly capable of checking his own emails, eventually. But every morning, before he even woke up, it was your job to make sure his inbox looked spotless.
Your phone alarm blared suddenly, cutting through the quiet. You glanced at the clock: 7 a.m. sharp.
Another sigh. You closed the laptop, tucked it under your arm, and pushed the blanket off your legs before heading to the door.
Your studio apartment in Monaco wasn’t exactly the dream. Max had requested—more like insisted—that you move closer six months into the job. And when Max requested something, there was rarely an option to say no.
Keys in hand, you slipped downstairs and slid into your car. You turned on the seat warmer, for the passenger side, of course, stopped by the convenience store for a Red Bull, and headed toward Max’s luxurious penthouse to pick him up for the gym.
Just like you did every day.
You pulled up to the curb and picked up your phone. The Here. text was practically muscle memory by now. Short, simple, and the same every morning. Max, your mom, and your best friend back home were the only pinned chats at the top of your messages.
You reached across the passenger seat to test the warmth of the cushion. Warm, but not too warm. You quickly shut off the heater, he always complained if it got left on too long. You switched your music over to light instrumentals, low enough to fade into the background while you drove him between commitments.
Everything you did ran like clockwork now, fine-tuned around his habits. You knew what he liked, what he couldn’t stand, and every tiny detail in between. It wasn’t efficiency so much as self-preservation—every well-timed adjustment kept you safe from one of his early-morning lectures.
It didn’t take long before he appeared at your car door, opening it with practiced ease and sliding into the passenger seat. You reached for the Red Bull waiting in the cupholder, popped it open with one hand, and passed it to him. He took it without looking, as usual.
“What’s planned for today after the gym?” he asked, taking a sip before setting it down, halfway on the console, halfway in the cupholder like he owned the car himself.
“You’ve got two video shoots—one for ORB, one for Ford—lunch with your dad, social shoots for ORB, dinner with investors, then you’re free for the night.”
“What about paddle?”
“What about paddle?” you echoed, glancing over at him.
“Lando and I made plans to play before lunch.”
“Max, did you tell anyone about these plans?”
“No, but you know I don’t like my schedule so tight.”
You exhaled through your nose, already bracing for the rest of the day. “Max, those things have been on the calendar for months. You can’t keep making plans during work hours.”
You eased the car to a stop in front of the gym.
He pointed to the clock on your dashboard before stepping out. “Looks like you have an hour to fix it. Don’t cancel on Lando or Dad.”
The door shut harder than necessary, and you winced.
You muttered a few quiet expletives, then let out a breathy laugh. “Unbelievable. I don’t even make his schedule.”
Pulling out your phone, you dialed the Red Bull comms manager.
“No, no, I understand. Thank you anyway, he’ll be there for sure.”
You hung up and leaned your head against the headrest, groaning at the clock. 15 minutes left to fix this.
“I was on such a good streak of him not yelling at me,” you said to yourself, scrolling through your contacts. There was one more person you could try.
You tapped on Lando Norris. You’d only gotten his number because you’d once needed help getting a very drunk Max into his apartment. Still, it was worth a shot.
To your surprise, he answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Lando? This is Max’s—”
“Right-hand man, yeah, I know,” he said with a laugh. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Just checking, are you supposed to be playing paddle with Max before lunch?”
“Yes? Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering if there’s any chance you could move it to later in the day? He’s got back-to-back shoots, and he didn’t mention it to anyone.”
“Just texted him. Will eight o’clock work, you think?”
You blinked. Honestly, speechless over how easy that was. “Uh, yeah. That’s perfect, actually. Thank you so much.”
“No problem. I know how he can be,” he said before hanging up.
By the time the clock hit 8, Max walked out of the gym, hair damp, phone in hand, same as he did every day.
“You got lucky,” he said, sliding into the seat. “Lando texted me and said he needed to move paddle.”
You only nodded, keeping your eyes on the road.
“Don’t let them schedule things that close together again,” he added.
You wanted to remind him that you didn’t handle his scheduling. You wanted to remind him how out of the many things you did quietly manage for him every single day, that was the one thing you did not have to worry about.
But you didn’t. You never did.
“I’ll make a note of that,” you said, instead, shifting the car into gear and pulling out toward his first commitment of the day.
Despite Max being a royal pain in your ass, he was never that to anyone else. Always polite, always charming, always perfectly composed. He smiled for the cameras, thanked every crew member, and acted like he hadn’t just handed you a scheduling disaster two hours ago.
The first shoot ran over, naturally. You stood just off set, answering texts and calls from PR and the comms team while keeping one eye on him. He looked like he was born for this. For all of the bright lights, cameras, the constant hum of attention. You, on the other hand, were apparently born for crisis control.
“His outfit for the Ford shoot hasn’t arrived yet, he told us to tell you. That you would fix it” the stylist whispered urgently, rushing over to you.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Of course he did.”
Five minutes later, you were sprinting across the parking lot, car keys in hand, off to pick up the missing garment yourself. When you returned, slightly winded, Max didn’t even blink before reaching for the clothes as if they’d been there all along.
Between shoots, you handed him a towel, a protein bar, a fresh Red Bull, all without a word. He didn’t thank you, but he took them like he always did.
By the time you both got back in the car, your phone was buzzing nonstop. PR wanted confirmation on his post-shoot interview slot, his dad’s assistant was trying to move lunch, and the Red Bull team wanted to push up his next event by fifteen minutes. You were juggling it all while merging into Monaco traffic.
“You know,” Max said casually from the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, “they should really hire someone to handle my scheduling.”
You turned your head just enough to glare at him before refocusing on the road. “Yeah. Imagine that.”
He didn’t even look up, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
After the investors' dinner, you barely had time to breathe before heading to the paddle courts. The sun was dipping just enough to turn the sky gold, the city still buzzing around you. Max adjusted his sunglasses, scrolling through his texts.
“Lando’s already there,” he said. “Don’t make me late.”
When you pulled into the lot, you spotted Lando immediately, leaning against the fence, grinning and giving you both an excited wave.
“Made it on time?” Lando called out as Max stepped out of the car, looking down at his watch. “That’s a first.”
You stayed in the car while the boys talked to each other, your phone in hand, already drafting an email about tomorrow’s rescheduled shoot, hoping to get around an ‘overloaded’ schedule early.
Max grabbed his paddle bag from your backseat and tossed you a look. “You’re staying, right?”
You raised an eyebrow without looking up from your phone. “In case you forget how to hold a paddle?”
He rolled his eyes. “In case I need something.”
You sighed and turned the car off. Because of course you were going to stay. You always did.
You followed the boys onto the courts, taking up space on the bench you always sat on when you stayed at the courts.
“I’m going to change,” Max said, disappearing into the changing rooms.
Lando’s eyes flicked to you. “You know, I don’t know how you manage him all day. Honestly. You’re like, superhero-level organized.”
You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “It’s mostly endurance and Red Bull,” you said dryly.
“No, seriously,” he said, stepping closer. “I’d pay double whatever he pays you to work for me. Two million a year?”
You physically coughed at the number out of pure surprise. Two million a year. That was way more than double what Max paid you. That was more than enough to finally get at least a one-bedroom apartment and not a studio. Your first instinct was to say yes, right here, right now. But before the words could escape, the changing room door swung open.
“Ready?!” Max called from inside.
You blinked. He always seemed to have perfect timing. You laughed quietly, shaking your head. Of course he had to come out right now.
Max strutted onto the court, towel over his shoulders, still scrolling on his phone. Lando picked up a paddle, grinning at him. “Ready to lose?”
“You’re on,” Max shot back, smirking.
By the time the match ended, Max had disappeared to the bathroom once again to change. Lando turned to you, leaning on the fence. “So, you’re thinking about my offer, right? I was being serious.”
You hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yes, I will take your offer.”
“Wait—think about it for a few days,” Lando said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve already made up my mind,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll give Max two weeks. Enough time to find someone else, train them, make sure he doesn’t completely implode on them.”
Lando laughed, shaking his head. “That’s actually impressive. Most people would just bolt. You’re solid.”
“I’m loyal,” you said lightly. “And apparently crazy.”
He grinned. “Fair enough. Well, still think it over anyway. You never know.”
You shook your head. “Nope. I’ve thought it through. Two weeks, then the new job starts.”
And just like that, the decision was made, but you knew the next two weeks promised to be very interesting.
When Max reemerged, you instinctively packed up his gear while him and Lando continued to talk and tease each other. By the time you both slid back into the car, the sky had deepened into a dark navy, and streetlights stretched across the Monaco streets. Max leaned back in the seat, stretching his arms, and within minutes, his head lolled slightly to the side. He had always had a habit of dozing off if you were driving at night.
You drove in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space, enjoying the rare moments of calm after a day of chaos. Your phone buzzed on your lap. Your mom. You hadn’t spoken to her in a few days. Max’s packed schedule had left barely a moment for your own life.
You hesitated, glancing at the sleeping figure beside you. Then, carefully, you answered. “Hi, Mom,” you whispered, keeping your voice low.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay? How’s everything?” Her voice was warm and familiar.
You smiled faintly, pressing the phone closer. “I’m fine, just, busy,” you said quietly, glancing at Max, who stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes. “I just wanted to talk for a minute.”
“Of course, I just—”
Before you could finish, Max’s head lifted, blinking sleepily, irritation creeping into his voice. “You couldn’t wait until I’m back home?”
You muttered an apology to your mom before quickly hitting the end call button. Something inside you snapped. The two years of constant juggling and reworking his schedules, waiting on him hand and foot, managing his quirks, keeping every moving part in line, it all suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.
“I’m leaving, Max! I’m actually leaving this job!” you said, louder than you intended, voice carrying in the quiet car.
Max froze, eyes wide with shock. “What do you mean? You can’t do that?” he said slowly, his voice catching in disbelief.
“Yes, I can,” you said, forcing calm into your voice, but letting a hint of frustration bleed through. “Look, I’m giving you two weeks. Two weeks to help you find someone else, train them, and hopefully make sure you don’t completely scare them off.”
He went quiet. You could feel the tension in the car surge. It was so thick you swore you could physically feel it. For a moment, it was just the hum of the engine and your own heartbeat.
You tried to gauge his reaction, and for the first time all day, or maybe for as long as you had known him, you couldn’t. There was no playful smirk, no teasing remark, no nostrils flaring, no raised eyebrow, no eye roll. Just quiet.
“I—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head, sighing further into the seat.
You softened slightly, leaning back in your seat, too. “Max, I’ve thought about this for a long time. I like keeping things running smoothly for you, I like knowing everything is under control, but I need to look out for myself, too. And yes, the timing isn’t perfect, but I’m going to try my best to make this transition easier for you.”
He finally exhaled, running a hand over his face, and the silence stretched again. The weight of your words hung between you.
You finally pulled up in front of his penthouse, engine idling. Max didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at you. He opened his door and stepped out, shoulders stiff. You watched him go inside without another word.
You sat there for a second, staring at the blinking streetlight outside of his apartment that he always commented on. Two weeks. That’s all he had before the world you’d kept running for him would start to shift, before he’d have to face just how indispensable you really were.
You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. Two weeks. Enough time to help him adjust, but not enough to undo the decision you had already made.
summary: you knew there were cracks in your relationship with george before you got pregnant, but tried your best to stick it out for your little girl. it doesn’t take long after she’s born to realize there’s no saving what once was. you’re fully ready to take on life as a single mom, but then an unexpected friendship with your ex’s rival blossoms into more, and it’s through max that you realize love and family is so much more than what you thought it was.
pairings: george russell x reader, eventual max verstappen x reader
warnings: angst • time skips • eventual fluff • not george russell friendly • don’t like, don’t read!
fc: greta onieogou
status: ongoing
taglist: no
vicious speaks: hello, my loves! i was working on other fics when the idea for this series popped into my head and simply wouldn’t leave 🙃 i’m having a lot of fun with this verse and i really hope you guys enjoy reading it!! 🩵
Summary: Lando Norris was thirteen when she used to help him with his homework. Y/N was just three years older, but back then it felt like a lifetime. She was untouchable, his parents’ favorite, the girl who always left before he could find the courage to say more than “thanks.”
What he never told anyone, not even her, was that he had the softest, childlike crush on her. The kind that never really went away.
When she came back into his life, he’s 25. She's 28. They are both adults. The age gap doesn’t seem so impossible anymore, but nothing is simple. Especially not when his older brother is suddenly in the picture too.
Genre : angst and fluff
World count : 8,4k
Series Masterlist
Author note : First part of this new series, hope you will like it :) This one is for forgetting the result of the Las Vegas race and the disqualifying of both papaya cars...
Age 13 & 16 :
Lando was sulking at his kitchen table, his arms were folded over his chest, chin tucked into his hoodie, eyes fixed on the math workbook in front of him like it had personally offended him. The numbers swam. The pencil felt heavy. His trophy from the weekend still sat on the sideboard behind him, gleaming in the late afternoon light.
He’d rather be with that than with fractions.
Lando had won the world championship in karting and still couldn’t sit still for ten seconds.
He bounced his leg under the kitchen table hard enough to make the pencil vibrate. The workbook in front of him lay open on a page of fractions he’d already decided he hated, numbers blurring together into one long, smug line.
“Lando, stop kicking,” Cisca, his mom, said from the stove, not even turning around. “You’re shaking the whole table.”
“I’m not,” he muttered automatically, even as he dragged his heel back under his chair.
“You are,” she replied. “And we’ve been over this page three times.”
“I don’t get it,” he snapped, quieter than he wanted. “It’s stupid.”
She sighed, tired in a way he recognised lately. “The fractions aren’t stupid. You’re tired. You’ve had a long week. We’ll wait for Y/N and then try again, okay?”
His chest pulled tight.
He pretended to flick dust from the corner of his worksheet. “She’s really coming?”
“Yes, she’s really coming.” Now she did turn around, wiping her hands on a towel. “She finished her own classes and said she’d be here by four.”
“It’s already four,” he pointed out.
“It’s three fifty-eight.”
“Same thing.”
She gave him a look that said don’t start and he dropped his eyes back to the page.
In his head, he tried to remember the last time he’d seen Y/N properly.
She used to live a few houses down. Used to babysit his younger sisters sometimes. Once or twice, she’d been the one to walk him home when he was younger and scraped his knee or had to leave the park early. He remembered her voice more than anything, teasing but not mean, soft when he cried, never talking to him like he was five.
Then everything had gotten busier.
Karting, flights, races, tutoring that didn’t stick, online classes he ignored. His parents had started snapping at each other more, his sisters get older, Oliver gone most of the time. The house felt full and crowded and somehow still like no one had time to sit at the table with him and make the numbers make sense.
So they’d called her.
The doorbell rang and Lando’s leg stopped bouncing on its own.
“I’ll get it,” Cisca said, smoothing her hair as she left the kitchen.
He heard the door open. Voices in the hallway.
“Hi, Mrs Norris.”
Her voice was the same. Older, maybe, but the same.
“Y/N! Come in, darling. Shoes off, you know the rules.”
There was a small laugh. “Wouldn’t dare break them.”
Lando stared so hard at his workbook his eyes hurt.
He heard footsteps, then she appeared in the doorway.
The first thing he noticed was that she looked… taller. It confused him for a second. Her school blazer hung open over her shirt, her tie was already loosened like she’d yanked it down the second she left the building. Her bag strap dug into her shoulder, heavy with books. Her hair was pulled back, but pieces had escaped to frame her face. There was blue ink smudged along the side of her hand.
She smiled when she saw him, easy and bright.
“Hey Lando,” she said.
His cheeks burned. “Hi.”
Cisca clapped her hands lightly. “Thank you for coming, really. He’s been… a handful.”
“I’m not,” Lando muttered.
“You are,” she and his mum said at the same time, and to his horror, Y/N grinned.
“It’s fine,” she replied. “I’ve survived worse. Year elevens are feral.”
She walked over and dropped her bag on the chair beside him, not across from him like a teacher would. Already different.
“Okay,” she said, sliding into the seat and pulling his workbook closer. “What are we looking at?”
“Fractions,” his mum said dramatically, like she was announcing a villain. “He hates them.”
“Hate is a strong word,” Y/N said.
“I hate them,” Lando confirmed.
She snorted. “Alright then. Challenge accepted.”
Cisca placed a plate of biscuits on the table. “I’ll leave you to it. Lando, be nice. Y/N, if he gives you trouble, you have my permission to throw a biscuit at him.”
“Got it,” Y/N said, saluting.
When his mum left, the kitchen went quieter. Lando stared at the underlines in his workbook, feeling suddenly very aware of his own breathing.
“So,” Y/N said, leaning on her elbows. “How much do you actually understand here, and how much are you pretending not to?”
He blinked. “I’m not pretending.”
“Okay,” she said easily. “Then show me where it stops making sense. I’m not gonna tell your mum if it’s everything.”
No one had said that to him before. Every other adult had a tone: disappointed, impatient, too bright. Y/N just sounded like… someone older talking to someone slightly younger. Not a small child. Not a problem.
He pointed at the middle of the page, heat creeping up his neck. “Here. When they start doing… that thing. With… the lines. And the numbers change.”
“The thing with the lines. Very technical,” she said, mouth twitching. “Alright. So you get this part?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“What do you get about it?”
He hesitated. “You, like… make the bottom numbers match?”
“There we go,” she said. “See? Not hopeless.”
He blinked again.
She pulled his workbook toward her and tore a sheet of paper from her own notebook, rewriting the first problem in bigger, clearer numbers.
“These books suck,” she said. “Everything’s tiny. No one’s brain wants to look at that after a race weekend.”
“Everyone says I’m just lazy,” he muttered.
“Well, everyone’s wrong,” she said simply. “You’re tired. And you’ve got a lot going on. So we make it easier to look at first, yeah?”
He nodded before he could stop himself.
They went through the question slowly. She didn’t rush him. Every time he answered, she let him finish instead of finishing the sentence for him. When he got something wrong, she didn’t sigh or tell him to “focus”; she just circled it and said, “Okay, cool, now tell me what you were thinking here.”
Sometimes she swore under her breath at the layout of the book. It made him snort, then pretend he hadn’t.
He caught himself watching the way she chewed the inside of her cheek when she was concentrating. The way her handwriting slanted slightly up at the end of words. The pen twirling between her fingers when she waited for him to answer.
It wasn’t like the boys at karting talked about girls. They talked about engines, about corners, about who’d crashed in the dumbest way that weekend. Girls were just… there. Sisters, cousins, people in the background.
Y/N didn’t feel like that.
By the time Cisca peeked back in, they were both hunched over the workbook, Y/N drawing little kart track diagrams in the margins to explain common denominators.
“So this is your lap,” she was saying. “And this is the other guy’s lap. You wanna be on the same bit of track to compare times, yeah? So you line them up. That’s all you’re doing with the fractions.”
“Ohhh,” Lando muttered, the penny finally dropping. “Why didn’t they just say that?”
Cisca’s eyes widened a little. “You’re still working? I thought he’d have given up by now.”
Y/N leaned back, stretching her arms above her head. “He’s killing it. We’re making peace with the fractions.”
Cisca smiled, a little surprised. “Well… that’s more than we got out of you yesterday.”
Lando shrugged, suddenly shy under both their gazes. “It’s… not that bad.”
“High praise,” Y/N said, grinning.
They wrapped up not long after. Y/N closed his workbook with a little thump and pushed it toward him. “You did good, Norris.”
He picked at the edge of the cover. “It’s just maths.”
“It’s also focus,” she said. “You were here the whole time. That’s harder.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. His chest felt weird again. Tight but not in a bad way.
Y/N slung her bag over her shoulder. “Alright, I’ve gotta go finish my own homework before my mum hunts me down. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” he repeated.
She looked at Cisca. “Same time okay with you?”
“Yes, please,” Cisca said immediately. “If you’re sure you don’t mind. We can pay a bit more if...”
“It’s fine,” Y/N cut in. “I like it. He’s… fun.”
Lando’s ears burned.
She turned back to him. “You okay with another round tomorrow? Or have I traumatised you too much already?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s… it’s fine. You can… come back. If you want.”
“I will then,” she said simply. “See you, champ.”
He watched her leave. Listened to the door click shut. The house seemed quieter, but not as heavy as usual. The numbers on the page didn’t look like a foreign language anymore, just a language he hadn’t fully learned yet.
Cisca started stacking plates in the sink. “So? What did you think?”
He pretended to shrug, heart beating a little faster. “She’s… okay.”
“Just okay?” his mum asked, amused.
He hesitated. “She… doesn’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”
Something in her face softened. “You’re not stupid.”
“I know,” he said quickly, because he did know… mostly. “She just… she’s different. She’s… cool.”
Cisca dried her hands. “Well, if it works, it works. We’ll see how long we can keep this going. She has her own exams, you know.”
Lando nodded, trying not to look as disappointed as he felt at the idea of that ending.
He looked at the workbook again. At the neat numbers, the stupid track drawings in the margins.
“Can we do maths again tomorrow?” he asked suddenly.
His mum paused. “Maths?”
“Yeah.” He tried to sound casual. “If she’s coming anyway, we should do more. Before I forget.”
Cisca actually laughed. “Who are you and what have you done with my son?”
He rolled his eyes and reached for his pencil, but inside, something uncurled slightly.
He was still too young to care about girls the way Oliver did. He didn’t have posters of anyone on his wall except drivers and cars. But he knew he liked the way Y/N talked to him. The way she made his brain feel less wrong. The way the afternoon didn’t drag when she was there.
He didn’t have a word for it yet.
He just knew that for the first time, he was actually looking forward to a maths lesson.
Age 15 & 18 :
Sunday night smelled like takeout and rain.
The race was still in his bones, engine noise echoing in his ears, phantom vibration buzzing under his skin, but the house was quiet in that post-weekend way. His suit was dumped somewhere in his room, his bag half-unpacked. His trophy for P2 sat on the sideboard next to the old karting ones, a newer, sleeker shape.
Lando sat at the dining table in a hoodie and joggers, knees bouncing, staring at the laptop screen that refused to make sense.
Physics worksheet. Email from his online tutor. A list of assignments he was technically meant to finish before next Friday, which was hilarious considering he’d be on a plane by Wednesday and hadn’t even unpacked from this trip yet.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” his mum warned from the kitchen. “She’s coming straight from school as it is.”
“I’m not sleeping,” he muttered.
“You look like you’re sleeping.”
“I’m reading,” he said, squinting harder at the screen. The words still blurred.
He wasn’t sure this counted as reading.
He heard the front door open. Voices. The familiar shuffle of shoes.
“Hi, Mrs Norris. Sorry, bus was a nightmare.”
His chest did that stupid little pull it always did now.
“In the dining room,” Cisca called.
Y/N appeared in the doorway a second later, hair damp from the drizzle outside, blazer unbuttoned, tie hanging loose around her neck. Her school bag looked even heavier than usual, a tube for drawings slung over her shoulder, sketchbook tucked under one arm.
“Wow,” she said, dropping her bag on a chair. “Look at Mr F3, pretending he does homework.”
He tried not to smile. Failed. “I do do homework.”
“Sure you do,” she said, shrugging off her blazer. “Between flights and podiums and photoshoots.”
He looked away quickly so she wouldn’t see the way his ears went hot when she said it like that. Mr F3. Like it meant something.
“Hi,” he said, because his brain suddenly couldn’t come up with anything else.
“Hi,” she echoed, smiling, and that stupid little pull in his chest got worse.
She rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, revealing ink-smudged wrists and a thin bracelet he’d never seen before. He caught himself staring at it, wondering who’d given it to her, and snapped his gaze back to the laptop.
“So,” she said, dropping into the chair beside him, not across from him. Always beside. “What’s on the menu? Physics? English? Existential dread?”
“Physics,” he muttered. “And… the last one.”
She snorted. “Relatable.”
His mum drifted in with a mug of tea and a plate of leftover noodles. “Here,” she said, setting them down. “Food. Tea. Y/N, you’re an angel. If he were in normal school, I think they’d have expelled him by now.”
“I’m very charming,” Lando protested, even as he dug his fork into the noodles.
She laughed, and the sound nudged something warm under his ribs.
It was… weird.
Now she was eighteen, in her last year of highschool, buried in university applications and portfolios. He was fifteen, in F3, his life a blur of flights and simulators and interviews and tutors he never saw twice.
They still ended up here, though. Sunday nights in his dining room, bleary from travel and school, trying to cram a week’s worth of schoolwork into a couple of hours before the next race swallowed him again.
She leaned in, shoulder brushing his as she pointed at the diagram on the screen. “So. You’ve got your angle, your initial velocity. What do you do first?”
He tried to focus on the problem. Really, he did. Not on how close she was. Not on the faint smell of her shampoo, something citrusy and clean. Not on the way her hair had slipped from its ponytail and a strand was resting against his arm.
“Um,” he said intelligently. “You… split it? Into… up and sideways?”
“Components, yeah,” she said. “See? Your brain is intact.”
He worked through the question, mumbling the steps. She didn’t interrupt. Just waited. When he messed up, she didn’t sigh, just nudged him back.
“Check your units,” she said at one point, tapping the screen.
“What?” he asked, blinking.
“You switched from metres per second to kilometres per hour halfway through,” she said.
He groaned. “Stupid.”
“Not stupid,” she corrected, voice firm. “Just tired. You’ve been going since, what, six this morning?”
“Five,” he corrected. “Call time.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’ve been staring at my personal statement for so long I’m starting to hate the word ‘architecture.’ We’re allowed to mess up units.”
He snorted. “You’d still get it right.”
“You’re annoying,” she said, poking his arm. “How many times do I have to tell you, you’re not dumb. You just learn fast, and school likes slow.”
He ducked his head, fighting a smile he didn’t want her to see. It felt… too vulnerable.
Something had shifted in the last year.
He’d noticed it first when she’d come over one evening in a dress instead of her usual hoodie and jeans, some school thing she was going to later. His brain had short-circuited so hard he’d forgotten the difference between sine and cosine for a full ten minutes.
Then he’d started noticing everything. The way she tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves when she was nervous. The soft crease that appeared between her brows when she talked about her future like she didn’t quite believe she’d get there. The way her laugh sounded different when it was for him versus when it was for his sisters or his mum.
He’d catch himself staring, eyes lingering a little too long on the curve of her smile, the slope of her neck, the ink stains on her fingers. His gaze clung, heavy, and he’d have to yank it back.
He hated it. And he loved it. And he hated that he loved it.
Because she still treated him like a kid.
“Your hair’s getting long,” she said idly now, mid-question, reaching over to ruffle his curls without warning.
He jolted. “Oi.”
“What?” she asked, amused. “It suits you. You look less like a baby bird.”
“I was never a baby bird.”
“You kind of were,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Big eyes. Messy hair. Constantly falling over.”
“I fall over in a race car,” he said. “It’s different.”
“Sure, sure.” She ruffled again, gentler. “You’re cute, deal with it.”
He swatted her hand away, but his heart was pounding embarrassingly hard.
Cute.
He didn’t want to be cute.
He wanted… he didn’t even know. Something that didn’t make her voice tilt like she was talking about a puppy.
He dragged his attention back to the laptop. “So if it lands after three seconds, then the height is…”
They worked through another set. Time blurred. The clock crept past ten, then ten thirty. The house got quieter. His sisters disappeared upstairs, his mum’s footsteps faded, even Oliver’s music turned down.
He forced his eyes back to the notebook, but her laugh slid under his skin, warm and familiar.
Halfway through the session, her phone buzzed, she ignored it at first, but it kept going.
“Someone’s desperate,” Lando said, trying to sound like he didn’t care.
She huffed and checked it. The corner of her mouth twitched.
“Who is it?” he asked, casual. Too casual.
“Just… Tom,” she said.
“Tom who?” he pressed.
“Boy from school,” she replied. “We’re, uh, going to prom together. Maybe. I don’t know.”
Something sharp and stupid flared in his chest.
“Oh.” He tried to make his voice flat. “Cool.”
“He’s not that cool,” she said quickly. “He just… keeps asking what colour my dress is gonna be so he can match his tie. Which is… sweet? Maybe? I don’t know. Feels weird.”
Lando picked at a crumb on the table. “You’re going with him, though?”
She shrugged, cheeks pink. “I guess. It’s just prom. Not that deep.”
It felt deep. He didn’t know why. He’d never been to a prom. He didn’t even go to normal school anymore. But the idea of her dressed up, dancing with some guy called Tom who got to be there just because he sat in the same classroom as her every day...He shoved that thought away.
“You’d look nice,” he muttered.
She looked up. “What?”
“In… whatever dress,” he said, ears burning. “You’d look nice.”
Her face softened. “That’s sweet, Lando.”
He pretended to be fascinated by his pencil.
“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat. “Enough about my weird almost-prom. Back to you. Racing going okay?”
He shrugged, grateful for the subject change. “Yeah. I mean. I won last weekend.”
“I saw,” she said. “Your mum sent me the livestream link. You were amazing.”
He tried not to glow under the praise. “I had a good kart.”
“You had good lines,” she corrected. “You always see where to go before everyone else does.”
They ended up on the floor in the living room, sitcom reruns playing in the background while she scribbled building facades in the margin of her notebook and he half-watched, half-listened as she talked about cities she wanted to visit.
“Barcelona,” she said dreamily. “The architecture there… Gaudí… it’s like the whole place is a sketchbook that came to life.”
“You should go,” he said.
“Maybe one day,” she replied. “If I get into the uni I want.”
“You will,” he said, too certain.
She raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”
“You just… will,” he said, shrugging. “You always see the whole picture. Not just what something is. What it could be.”
She stared at him for a second, something unreadable in her eyes.
Then she smiled, soft. “Thanks.”
He pretended it didn’t make his heart sprint faster than it did on the longest straights.
That night, when she left, he walked her to the door without being asked.
“You’ll… come next week?” he asked, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
“If you still wants me,” she teased.
“I do,” he blurted, then immediately looked away. “I mean. For… homework. And stuff.”
She bit back a grin. “I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”
He watched her walk down the path, backpack bouncing against her hip, phone lighting up in her hand.
He tried not to think about Tom. And prom. And ties matching dresses.
He didn’t have a name for the twisting feeling in his chest yet.
He only knew that when she was here, everything made more sense.
And when she was gone, it didn’t.
Age 18 & 21 :
By eighteen, Lando had everything he’d ever said he wanted.
Almost.
The email from McLaren was still open on his laptop, the orange logo staring back at him like it knew how badly his hands were shaking.
We’re delighted to confirm your position as reserve driver…
He didn’t read the rest again. He’d already memorised it. The words blurred now, not from speed but from the thousandth reread.
Reserve driver.
McLaren.
He was in.
“Lando!” his mum called from downstairs. “Have you told your grandparents yet?”
“In a minute!” he shouted back, though his voice cracked halfway through.
His phone buzzed non-stop: team notifications, mentions, texts from drivers, emojis from friends, a voice note from Max that just sounded like screaming. He ignored most of it, thumb hovering over one chat that had been dead for months.
Y/N.
Their last messages were buried under everyone else’s. A reaction to a race result. A “Proud of you, kid” she’d sent after he’d won a race. A picture she’d sent once of a building model she’d made, asking, Does this look stupid or kind of cool? and he’d replied Very cool. Obviously.
Nothing recent.
He locked his phone and shut the laptop, heart pounding. He should go downstairs. Celebrate. Be the son his parents had pushed and sacrificed for, the success story everyone kept saying he was.
Instead he sat on the edge of his bed for a second, breathing.
Reserve driver. Probably F1 next year. Full-time racing driver. No more online school, no more tutors, no more “balancing.”
No more excuses.
No more homework.
No more Y/N.
The thought dropped into his chest like a stone.
They’d already drifted. It hadn’t been sudden; it was worse than that. Slow. Gradual. She’d moved to London for uni, just like she’d said she would. First year had been chaos for her: new city, studio projects, late nights. His racing calendar had swallowed him whole with F3, then more testing, more travel, more everything.
Sunday lessons had become Sunday calls. Then Sunday texts. Then just… sometimes. When they both remembered. When one of them wasn’t exhausted or in another time zone.
He’d told himself it was normal. People grow up. Lives split off, like branching lines on a track map.
Still, every now and then in hotel rooms at midnight, in long flights staring at nothing, he’d think of her. Of the way she’d scribbled formulas next to little racetrack doodles. Of her laugh echoing off his kitchen walls. Of her hand in his hair, messing it up like he was something small and breakable.
He still heard her voice in his head sometimes. You’re not dumb. School just likes slow.
She was twenty-one. At uni. In London. Designing impossible buildings and going out with friends and doing all the grown-up city things he only saw on Instagram.
It was stupid, to miss something that never really existed. But it still hurt.
His eighteenth birthday crept up on him in a blur of simulator sessions and press things and people asking if he felt different yet.
He didn’t.
He felt… tired. Busy. Like his whole life was about to turn up a notch and no one had given him the manual.
“Big eighteen,” Oliver said, clapping him on the back one night. “We doing anything? Or are you going to celebrate with a protein shake and an early night?”
“Funny,” Lando said. “I was thinking house party.”
Oliver blinked. “Here?”
“Yeah. Mum and Dad said they’d go to some friends’ place,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Like, give us the house for the night. As long as we don’t burn it down.”
Oliver’s grin turned feral. “My little brother, throwing a proper party. I’m so proud.”
“Don’t be weird about it.”
“I’m going to be very weird about it.”
Somewhere in the middle of planning: group chats exploding, someone making a playlist, people talking about turning the living room into a dance floor and the garden into a smoking area, someone mentioned alcohol.
“Obviously we’ll have drinks,” one of his mates said. “You’re eighteen, mate. Legal now. It’s basically mandatory.”
He pretended not to hesitate.
They got beer. Some cheap vodka. Someone’s older brother promised to bring something stronger. Girls from his old school were added to the invite list, people who’d never really talked to him before he started showing up on TV, now suddenly sliding into his DMs with, Heard you’re doing F1 stuff, that’s sick.
It made his stomach twist, but he didn’t stop it.
Being a racing driver helped with girls, apparently. Even if the confidence part of his brain hadn’t quite caught up.
Late one night, while Oliver argued with someone about playlists over the phone, Lando lay on his bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the search bar.
He typed her name.
It popped up after three letters.
Her profile picture was different now. Not the one he remembered from before. This one was at night, fairy lights blurred in the background, her in a black dress, shoulder bare, eyes crinkled mid-laugh, mouth open like someone had just said the funniest thing.
Still, his thumb hovered over the message button for a long time.
He could not message her. That was an option. Let the memory sit where it was: old notebooks, pizza cut into squares, Sunday nights that had faded into something hazy and warm.
Or he could.
He opened the chat before he could talk himself out of it.
Hey Y/N :)
Long time no see like properly. Hope London hasn’t eaten you alive.
It’s my 18th next Saturday & I’m doing a thing at my parents’ place – just some friends & stuff. Would be cool if you came by, if you’re around.
Also I, uh, became reserve driver for McLaren so… yeah. That’s a thing.
Hope you’re good
He hit send before he could change his mind.
Immediately, he wanted to throw his phone out the window.
He set it face down on his chest and tried to think about literally anything else. Tyre compounds. Setup changes. Snake. The ceiling.
The buzz came sooner than he expected.
He snatched the phone up so fast he nearly dropped it.
Y/N: Landoooo no way 🧡 that’s amazing, congrats!! Proud of you doesn’t even cover it
His lungs started working again.
Another bubble appeared.
Y/N: 18 already wtf, you were like 13 yesterday. Time is fake
He rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself.
Y/N: I’m probably going to be in London that weekend, deadlines are murdering me slowly BUT if I can escape for a bit I’ll swing by, okay? No promises, I suck.
If I don’t make it, happy early birthday you menace 🎂 and congrats again on McLaren. You’re smashing it.
He read the message three times. Four.
Probably busy. No promises.
He typed back:
All good, I get it. Uni stuff sounds brutal. Would be cool to see you though :)
He hovered over send, then tapped it. This time, no reply came back straight away.
The next day, his chat with her had slid down the list again, buried under planning and memes and someone sending a screenshot of a truly horrifying amount of alcohol.
The night of his birthday party, the house looked almost unrecognisable.
Furniture pushed back. Fairy lights strung along curtain rails. A Bluetooth speaker that definitely wasn’t theirs thumping bass through the walls. The kitchen counters lined with bottles and mixers, red cups stacked next to the sink.
“Remember,” his mum said, giving him The Look before leaving. “No broken bones. No broken furniture. No calls from the neighbours.”
“We trust you,” his dad added. “Sort of.”
“Thanks,” Lando said dryly.
“Happy birthday, baby,” Cisca said, pulling him into a quick hug. “We’re proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“And if you’re sick, aim for the toilet,” she whispered.
“Mum.”
Then they were gone, the car pulling out of the driveway, leaving him standing in his own house that suddenly didn’t feel like his.
“THIS IS GONNA BE SICK,” one of his mates yelled, barging past him with a bag of ice.
It started slow. A few people trickled in, mates from karting, neighbours, Oliver’s friends. Someone started the playlist. Someone else started pouring. The house filled with voices and music and the sweet-sour smell of fruity alcohol.
Some he recognised from old school days, others from friends-of-friends.
“Happy birthday, Norris,” one of the girls that he barely knows said, fingers curling around his wrist for a second. “Heard you’re big time now.”
He laughed it off, ducking his head. “Something like that.”
He tried to be present. To enjoy it. To be the version of himself everyone expected, fun, cocky, the kid living his dream.
But every time the front door opened, his head snapped toward it.
It was never her.
He told himself she wouldn’t come before midnight. She’d have stuff to finish. Uni deadlines. Night buses. London things.
He checked his phone secretly in the kitchen every half hour. No new messages from her.
At some point, someone shoved a drink into his hand and pushed him toward the living room.
“You gotta do a speech!” a mate shouted.
“I really don’t,” Lando said.
He ended up on the coffee table anyway, Oliver hyping him up in the background, everyone cheering when he muttered something about being grateful and not remembering any of this tomorrow.
He laughed. Played along. Took stupid photos. Let people sling arms around his shoulders and yell happy birthday in his ear.
There was a girl who stuck close, a blonde from his old school. She laughed at his jokes and asked him about racing and touched his arm a lot. Eventually they ended up in the hallway, half-shouting over the music.
“It’s so cool what you do,” she said, eyes bright. “You’re like, actually famous now.”
“Not really,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“Come on,” she said, stepping closer. “McLaren? That’s huge.”
He smiled, but it felt thin. “Yeah. It’s… good.”
She tilted her head. “You okay? You seem… I don’t know. Distracted.”
He glanced toward the door without meaning to.
“Just tired,” he lied. “Long week.”
“If you want to, like, sneak off for a bit,” she said, lowering her voice. “We can… you know. Get somewher more quiet.”
He blinked at her.
She was pretty. Nice. His age. Interested.
A few years ago, he’d have combusted on the spot at the idea. Maybe he still would, another day.
But right now, his brain just… stalled.
He pulled a smile. “Maybe later. Need to make sure no one burns the place down first.”
She laughed, flicking his arm. “You’re such kid.”
She drifted back toward the crowd, and he let her go.
Time blurred. Midnight ticked past. People sang an uncoordinated version of “Happy Birthday.” Someone smeared cake on his face. Someone else filmed it. He played beer pong and lost disastrously. He drank more than he meant to and less than everyone expected.
Every time the door opened, he still looked.
Every time, his chest fell a little more.
By two in the morning, some people had gone, taxis called, lifts arranged. Others were half-asleep on couches or in corners, music turned down to appease the neighbours. Oliver was arguing gently with someone about not throwing up in the kitchen sink.
Lando slipped out the back door into the garden.
The cold hit him immediately, sharp against his overheated skin. He sucked in a breath and sat down on the back step, hoodie pulled over his head.
The faint thump of music carried through the walls. Someone laughed. A door banged. The world felt fuzzy at the edges.
He unlocked his phone.
No new messages from her.
She was probably out somewhere in London. Or asleep, exhausted from work. Or curled up on some couch with friends, or with her boyfriend, because of course she had one by now, some tall art guy who knew about buildings and wine and didn’t have to fly to different countries every week.
He was just… him.
Still the kid she’d once walked home with a scraped knee. The one who’d cried over maths and followed her around the house. The one she’d ruffled and called cute.
Eighteen was technically an adult on paper. But for her?
He doubted it meant much.
He tipped his head back against the door, closing his eyes.
He’d done it. The thing they’d talked about in half-finished sentences over worksheets and pizza squares. McLaren. Reserve driver. F1 within reach.
He should’ve been thinking about that. About the cars and the tracks and the fact that his life was about to become something even crazier than it already was.
Instead, all he could think about was a girl three years older who hadn’t been in his kitchen in years, who’d maybe thought about coming tonight and then… didn’t.
The back door creaked behind him.
“You hiding out here?” Oliver’s voice asked.
Lando cracked an eye open. “Just… getting air.”
Oliver dropped down onto the step beside him with a soft grunt. “Good party.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?” his brother asked after a beat.
“Fine.”
“You sure? You’ve got your moody face on.”
“This is just my face,” Lando muttered.
Oliver snorted. “Right.”
They sat in silence for a minute, breath fogging in the cold.
“You did it, you know,” Oliver said eventually.
“Yeah,” Lando said quietly.
“You don’t sound very excited.”
“I am,” he insisted. It was true. Somewhere under everything, the excitement hummed, constant and bright. “Just… tired.”
Oliver hummed.
Lando didn’t mention her. Or the way his brain kept replaying old scenes like someone stuck on a highlight reel.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew how this looked.
A boy on the edge of the thing he’d always wanted. Clinging to a crush on someone who’d already run ahead into a different life.
He hadn’t seen her in person in… what, a year?
He’d thought, stupidly, that tonight might reset something. That her walking into his house again, him eighteen now, might shift the way she saw him, even a little.
It hadn’t happened.
He locked his phone and shoved it into his pocket.
“Come back in when you’re done brooding,” Oliver said, standing. “Before you freeze to death and Mum blames me.”
Lando huffed. “I’m not brooding.”
“You’re absolutely brooding.” Oliver ruffled his hair on the way back inside. “Happy birthday, idiot.”
The door clicked shut.
Lando sat there a moment longer, the cold seeping through his jeans, stars faint behind the thin layer of clouds.
Then he pulled in a breath, pushed the thoughts down where he kept old race results and half-forgotten lap times, and stood.
Inside, the music picked up again.
He squared his shoulders, plastered on the easy grin he’d been practising for cameras, and went back into the party.
He had his dream lined up in front of him.
That would have to be enough.
25 & 28 :
Lando had always imagined what it’d be like to see Y/N again.
Not in a dreamy, still-a-kid kind of way, but in that vague, persistent daydream he got sometimes when he couldn’t sleep. The Y/N he remembered was warm, familiar. Always a little ahead of him. Always looking back to make sure he kept up.
But he hadn’t expected this.
Y/N was standing in the hallway, chatting with his mum like no time had passed, like she wasn’t the exact ghost he kept trying to outgrow.
Her hair was longer now, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her smile, still bright, still her, came easier somehow. Like she didn’t second-guess it as much anymore. The confidence in her posture, in her laugh, it was new. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed before.
“Lando,” his mum called, “look who showed up.”
Y/N turned.
He froze.
“…Hi,” she said, a little too quiet.
“Hey,” he replied, voice lower now. Scratchier. A little hoarse.
She blinked. He had a beard now.
Not a full one, just enough to notice. His jaw was sharper. His curls longer. He looked older, yes. But also more tired, somehow. Like he’d lived a whole life she hadn’t seen.
“Really?” she asked, half-teasing. “I feel like I look exactly the same.”
“Nah,” he said. “You’re… brighter or something.”
She glanced at his mum, who had tactfully stepped away, then back at him. “So. F1 driver now, huh?”
He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah.”
“Kind of a big deal.”
He met her gaze for a second before looking away. “Yeah it is.”
She studied him. The rings under his eyes. The slight edge to his voice. The way he stood like he was never quite still. Like he didn’t know how to be anymore.
She nodded, eyes flicking to the watch on his wrist, the way his phone buzzed constantly in his back pocket. “You’re not the kid who used to cry whenever you didn’t figure out your math exercises anymore.”
“Thank God,” he muttered.
She laughed softly. “You really did hate those exercises.”
He grinned, and for a second, just a second, he looked like the boy she remembered. The one who sat on the floor with her eating pizza and asking if she’d still come around when he got older.
He gestured toward the kitchen. “Want tea? Or something stronger?”
“Tea’s fine.”
He didn’t protest.
In the kitchen, he moved with practiced ease. Everything about him was smoother now, like he knew people were always watching. Like he’d gotten used to being looked at.
She leaned against the counter. “Your mum says you’ve been home less and less.”
“Racing schedule’s brutal,” he said, not looking at her.
“And the afterparties?”
He gave her a look. “What, you keeping tabs?”
She shrugged. “Just heard things.”
“Figures.”
She sipped her tea, watching him. “This… this isn’t how I pictured you’d turn out.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How did you picture it?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. Quieter. More… focused. Not clubbing at 4am.”
He smirked again, but this one didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess I’m not who you expect huh?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
“You’ve really made it tough,” she said softly. “You did it.”
He nodded once, lips pressed into a line.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” she added. “Even if you’re a little messier than I imagined.”
That made him laugh. A real one this time.
“You’re still designing buildings?” he asked, shifting the subject like he needed to breathe again.
She smiled. “Yeah. I'm working for a firm in London now. It’s good and it pays well.”
“Knew you’d be good at that.”
She glanced at him. “How?”
“You always saw the whole picture. Not just what something was, but what it could be.”
Her breath caught, just a little.
He looked away again, almost shy. “Anyway. Just thought I’d say it.”
She nodded, eyes gentle. “Thanks.”
She didn’t say more, and neither did he.
But when he walked her to her car an hour later, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders curled slightly inward, he looked at her like maybe, just maybe, he’d finally caught up enough to be seen.
Days later his mum mentioned Y/N’s name, casually, saying she will come by for dinner tonight.
“She said yes?” Lando asked, trying not to sound like he cared too much.
Cisca smiled over the stove. “Of course. She always loved us.”
Oliver, his older brother, seated lazily at the bar with a glass of wine. “Who are we talking about?”
Lando stiffened.
“Remember the girl who used to babysit Lando?” Flo chimed in, flipping through her phone.
“She didn’t babysit me, she helps me with homework.” Lando muttered.
“Yes, she did,” Cisca Jr. said bluntly. “You used to cry when she left.”
“Traitor,” Lando shot back.
Oliver leaned forward, more interested now. “Wait...her? She’s coming for dinner?”
His mum nodded. “She’s back in town for a bit. Thought it’d be nice.”
Oliver smirked. “Isn’t she, like, my age?”
“She is,” Cisca said, far too casually. “Three years older than Lando. Just like you.”
By the time the doorbell rang, he didn’t move at first, just listened.
He heard her laugh as she came in. Hugged Flo like a little sister she hadn’t seen in ages. Kissed Cisca on the cheek, hugged Adam with a warmth that reminding him of old time, where she used to pass all evenings taking care of him and when he used to pretend, he didn’t look up to her.
“Hey,” she said, soft and sure when she turns to him.
He looked up and everything in his chest knotted a little tighter.
She was radiant. Not in some overdone, movie-style way. Just… her. Smiling, eyes kind, coat slightly windswept from the evening air. Still the same in all the ways that mattered.
He barely got out a “Hey” before Oliver was already moving.
“Look who finally made it,” Oliver said, stepping in like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Y/N smiled at him. “Oliver! God, it’s been...what, years?”
He leaned in for a hug. “Far too long.”
Lando watched, silent and tense, as Oliver’s hand slid to the small of her back, just a little too low. Guiding her inside like she didn’t already know where the dining room was. Took her coat without asking. Took the bottle of wine she brought. Even pulled out her chair like she needed help sitting down.
It made Lando want to scream.
Dinner was torture.
It started fine. Y/N caught up with his sisters, laughed at Flo’s latest dating disaster, asked about Cisca Jr.’s internship. Adam beamed as he served the roast, proud of himself like always.
But the shift came, subtle and slow, when his mum started her little... hints.
“So, remind me,” Cisca said sweetly, “you’re still in London, yes?”
Y/N nodded. “Yeah. Been there two years now. Working with a firm in Shoreditch.”
“Funny,” she replied, slicing into her roast. “That’s not far from where Oliver lives.”
Oliver looked up, pretending it was the first time he’d heard about it. “It’s really not.”
Y/N glanced over. “Oh, really?”
Lando stared at his plate, jaw clenched tight.
“And you’re single now?” Cisca continued, far too pleased with herself.
Y/N smiled politely. “I am.”
“Well, what a coincidence,” Cisca said, like this was a sitcom. “So is Oliver.”
Y/N laughed. “Cisca…”
“I’m just saying,” she added lightly. “You’re both in the same city. Same age. Seems like fate, doesn’t it?”
Lando wanted to disappear.
And Oliver, of course, leaned right in. Asked Y/N about her firm, her office, her commute. Gave her his favorite spots in Shoreditch. Complimented her dress like it was normal.
And she laughed.
She laughed.
And what burned worse than Oliver’s smug charm or the way his hand brushed her arm every time he joked, was the way Y/N looked at him.
Like Oliver mattered.
Lando sat through all of it. Barely spoke. Pushed his food around, forced polite smiles, watched her through the glow of candlelight and felt something ancient and aching claw up his throat.
Because Oliver didn’t know her.
He didn’t know that she hated horror movies but still watched them if someone else wanted to. That she pulled at loose threads on the couch when she was nervous. That she always cut her pizza into squares instead of triangles because she said it felt “less chaotic.”
Oliver didn’t know any of that.
But it didn’t seem to matter.
Because she was smiling. Engaged. Open. And it was so easy for Oliver to slide into the space Lando had never let himself touch.
When dinner ended and everyone filtered into the living room for dessert and tea, Oliver gestured to the seat beside him.
And she took it.
Lando sat across the room, hands gripping the armrest, jaw tight.
He didn’t say much after that, just watched. Watched Oliver lean closer when Y/N spoke. Watched her lean back. Watched everything unfold in slow motion.
And when she finally stood to leave, hugging everyone again, thanking Adam for the food and Cisca for the invite, Lando stood last.
Half-hoping.
Maybe she’d look at him too, not like a little boy anymore but as maybe more.
But her smile was kind. Familiar. Polite.
Not the kind he wanted.
“Bye, Lando,” she said gently. “Good seeing you again.”
He nodded. Couldn’t quite get the words out.
As the door shut behind her, Oliver strolled into the kitchen, humming under his breath. “She’s really nice. Smart. Pretty. Even more than I remembered.”
Lando felt the words land like punches.
Cisca clutched her chest like she’d won a lottery ticket. “Oh, I love her. I always have. I told you, didn’t I, Adam? I always said she was like a daughter already.”
Adam just smiled, nodding at his wife words.
“She was such a part of this house,” Cisca went on, hands waving with joy. “Can you imagine if she ended up with Oliver? It would be perfect. Like fate. Like the universe fixed it all for us.”
“She’ll be around more too,” Cisca continue, suddenly turning to him. “Isn’t that nice, Lando? You always liked her, didn’t you? Used to follow her around like a little shadow when you were small. So cute.”
Lando said nothing.
Oliver laughed, eyes glinting. “Now she could be your sister-in-law. Funny, yeah?”
It wasn’t.
It wasn’t funny at all.
Lando forced a smile, one he’d mastered for press conferences and fake interviews, one that never reached his eyes.
His chest was tight. Hot. He could hear the sound of your laugh in his head, the way she had laughed at Oliver’s jokes that night. The way she leaned toward him. Let him touch her arm. Looked at him like he belonged in her world.
He hated it, he hated every second.
He pushed back his chair slowly. “I need air.”
“Lando,” his mum said, halfway rising. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just… tired.”
He stepped outside onto the porch, the night colder than expected. The air sharp against his face. He gripped the railing, breathing like he’d just come out of a spin on track.
From inside, he could still hear them. Laughter. His mum telling Oliver how it would be so lovely if she came for Christmas. How natural the two looked together.
His stomach twisted.
He always knew she was out of reach. He’d accepted that. Told himself he was just a kid, just a footnote in her life. But hearing his brother, Oliver, say her name like that, hearing his mum call it fate…
It made everything inside him crack open.
Because he didn’t want her to be a memory.
He didn’t want her to be someone else’s.
He stayed out there a while, jaw tight, heart louder than the wind.
Wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.
tw : just fluff, reader is a single-mum, age gap, insecurity
fc : rosie huntington whiteley
a/n : thank you to @josephqunnies for requesting it and i hope you like it !!! lots of love xoxo! so the reader is a friend of kelly and other wags, she is private person and portrayed a corporate girlie
A friends-to-lovers classic, that follows the blurred lines between you and Lando . From heavy whispers from the next room through walls that are way too thin to heavy moans into eachothers ears without any space left between them.
🧡 a´s favs · 🏳️ popular (1K+)
Part 1: Nothing Personal
Part 2: Morning Problems
Part 3: Pregame Paddock Entertainment 🏳️
Part 4: Classified Bassline.
Part 5: Look At You. 🏳️🧡
bonus chapter: Keep Your Hands To Yourself
Part 6: Almost Fooled. 🏳️
Part 7: Thin Walls. 🏳️
Part 8: Is It Casual Now? 🧡🏳️
Part 9: Just the Two Of Us 🧡🏳️
Part 10: No More Words
Part 11: When The World Holds Its Breath
Part 12: Empty Spaces
Part 13: The Gap
Part 14: Monaco Baby
Part 15: Weight Of What Is Left
Part 16: Tell Me Where It Hurts
Part 17: All The Stuff That Still Needs Fixing
FINISHED
PS: do we like the divider? i made it myself and i kinda love it tbh — let me be proud for a sec 😌🧡
🎧ྀི : summary: reader has a shitty friendgroup. But it does lure in a driver.
🎧ྀི : genre: some angst, comfort & fluff
🎧ྀི : pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader
📍Messenger
📍 Instagram
Liked by friend2, yourusername and others
friend1: lock the guys. Girls are out 🙂↕️🤭
View all 347 comments…
friend2: yessss hotties as always 🙂↕️🤝🏼
friend1: you’d know babes
friend3: i swear we only have hot people on our roster. Love youuuu
friend1: stopppppp 😭😭❤️
yourusername: pretties ❤️ it was lots of fun!
liked by friend1
user1: omg im so jealous of this girl
user2: stay unproblematic
user3: is she rich or..?
user4: i think they all are someway??? Like few of their dads and own companies?
User5: Their dads are co-founders of that one big security company!
user6: god has favorites 😭
📍 Instagram
liked by yourusername, friend1 and others
friend2: drinks = drank, outfits = slayed, food = ate
view all 598 comments…
Yourusername: i have the prettiest friends 🥹
Liked by friend2
user1: omg blonde moment
user2: blonde trio I love it, where do you get it done?
friend1: that’s a secret 🤭
friend3: kisses!
friend2: and hugs!
friend1: i swear im jealous of your tan give it here
friend2: teehee no 😇
Instagram 📍
liked by yourusername, friend1 and others
friend3: challenge: how many outfit changes girlies need?
view all 934 comments…
friend1: it was only three okay!!
friend1: literal angel on earth
friend3: no, you 🫵🏼
friend2: giving unproblematic princess vibes ✨
friend3: alwayssss 💋
yourusername: mhm pretty as always 🙂↕️
Liked by friend3
yourusername: next time tell me we’re doing an outfit change tho😭
User1: oh are these the friend group who are everywhere on tiktok?
User2: yeah atleast in the France area! They do grwm’s and stuff together.
user3: so they’re a trio?
user2: no there’s @ yourusername aka the token brunette of the gang 🫶🏻
liked by yourusername
user3: why isnt she in their pics 😢??
📍 Instagram
liked by friend1, friend2 and others
Yourusername: summer vibes ☀️
view all 103 comments…
User1: unpopular take: @ yourusername is my favorite from the Quartet ™️🙂↕️
User2: the way she posted them all but they didnt have her anywhere???
User3: could be they just didnt take lot of pictures
User4: where are the blondes in the comments??! C’mon she’s so pretty wth 😭
User5: omg where’s the outfit from??
Yourusername: I’ve thrifted them but I can try and see if I find any lapels! 🫶🏻
Yourusername: The dress is H&M but the straps are apparently self-made :)
liked by user5
User6: greeks made statues of you
📍Messenger
📍Messenger
📍Instagram
liked by user1, friend2 and others
Yourusername: cooking classes 🙂↕️🫶🏻
view all 83 comments…
User1: is that a man 👀
User2: so THIS is why she wasnt on the day vlog the quartet posted on tiktok
User3: omg she’s on a date I’m calling it!!!
User4: prettyyy the brown hair really suits you
User5: and no friends commenting?
User6: what did you make?
Yourusername: vodka pasta. Tried to atleast we didnt like it so we ordered in 😭😂
User6: lmao I feel you, i tried it after one of the hadid sisters made it and I couldnt finish after one bite 😭
Liked by yourusername
📍Instagram
liked by friend1, yourusername and others
Friend2: hoes before bros 🫶🏻
view all 587 comments…
friend1: we are so prettyyyy
friend2: prettiest trio
friend1: yup
friend3: im so jealous of everyone who gets to see that face everyday
Friend2: come over so you can
friend1: im coming with!!!
liked by friend2
yourusername: me three 🫶🏻
User1: everyday i wake up—
User2: are any of them single 👀
User3: ”hoes before bros” right after @ yourusername posts something with a guy (for once might I add)
User4: ikr they seem a little… iffy
User5: AND "prettiest trio"???
Yourusername: Hopefully you guys had fun! Sorry I couldnt make it 😢
User6: And she’s… ignored?
📍 Messenger
📍Messenger
📍Instagram story
Yourusername: knight in a shining armor of a t-shirtand a fancy car <3
Friend1: you didnt come?
Friend2: who is it? The same guy?
Friend3: cool ig
📍Instagram story
OscarPiastri: monaco cruise 🤝🏼
lando: oooooh this is why i was ditched ☹️
OscarPiastri: we’re coming over you absolute child
OscarPiastri: just be cool okay her friendgroup sucks
lando: based on her texts I saw she’s an angel and I’ll try not to throw hands at some petty bitches
OscarPiastri: you read my texts?
lando: …no…
📍 Messenger
📍 Messenger
📍Instagram
liked by user1, user3 and others
TMZ: F1 driver Oscar Piastri was seen getting cosy with someone at the Monaco centre few days ago! The Mclaren driver and current leader of the Formula One driver's championships was reportedly spending time with an unknown face buying flowers. Sources says the couple looked rather cosy together holding hands and laughing at their own whispered jokes. Could this be the start of a new lovestory? Let's see if a new WAG hits the streets on the upcoming race weekend in Monaco 👀
view all 1076 comments...
user1: nooo tmz got our low-profile pookie
user2: omg new wag ?? maybe?? who is sheee?
user3: maybe a sibling? he has those?
user4: babes it's not his sisters, they're in Australia and one does not hold their sisters like that
user5: omg does anyone know those girls from tiktok? the one whose dad's own like the security company
User6: go look at @ yourusername's post month ago!! she was cooking with someone
User7: AND one time she got a instagram story, something about a fancy car and a guy
User6: HOLY SHIT YEAH i got a ss of it!
User8: okay so the sweet angel of the group of regina george's bagged an f1 driver? I'm not a petty bitch but karmaaaa
User9: criminals are lucky these fangirls are just that and not detectives
friend1: we'd know if it was our girlieee, everyone calm down lol
liked by friend 2 and friend 3
📍Messenger
📍Instagram
liked by OscarPiastri, lando and others
Yourusername: how does dating work, first time doing this, kinda nervous 😭❤️
view all 2089 comments…
User1: shut up shut up EVERYONE SHUT UP
User2: I'm new to her someone give me a summary pls
User3: okay so her dad is co-founder of the biggest security company worldwide, she is (was???) friends with the other founders daughters and they did tiktoks under "qvartet tm" but for a long time it kinda looked like she was fourth wheeling everything :((
User4: I CAN PROUDLY SAY I ALWAYS ROOTED FOR HER NONEXTENTIAL LOVE LIFE
Yourusername: i dunno if I should say thanks 😭
User4: no no im so happy you found someone really <3
User5: not just someone she bagged a baddie!
User6: the brunette of the qvartet has grown uppp i cant i remember them always joking she’d never date
User7: tbh it was always the others saying that, i never really liked it :/
Friend1: Congrats girl!!! You look glowing!
Friend2: Let’s go get drinks for this <3 pretty girl
Friend3: couple goals omg
User8: okay not them CRAWLING to her after being the shittiest friends ever
User9: yeah this is like the first time they’ve ever commented on her photos
User10: let's not bring the mood down people and let's just say she looks amazing in loveeeee
liked by yourusername
OscarPiastri: I dunno I think I need some more material of the smile of yours. For scientific purposes.
Yourusername: come over then <3
User11: sir piastri i am sorry i did not realize you have rizz
lando: he thought about that for like 10 minutes
lando: but you guys look great
yourusername: ty :)
HattiePiastri: here are some thoughts and prayers. You'll need them :)
summary: Lando has been dating his best friend for a while now, and he slowly starts dropping hints
an: AHHH FIRST SMAU 💌 let's see how this goes <3 i hope it makes sense
MAIN MASTERLIST
liked by lando, charlesleclerc, carlosainz55 and 123,873 others
username1: girl. the 3rd slide. the hoodie. EXPLAIN??
lando: track 3 is inaccurate x
yourusername: shut up nerd
lando: 😘
username2: lando?? what are YOU doing here sir
username3: guys is that his hoodie? 😭
username4: we’re not insane that’s literally his wrist in slide 2
username5: nah cause she’s soft launching this man HARD
lando : real Gs move in silence like y/n when she steals all my hoodies
comments:
yourusername: they look better on me
lando: unfortunately true
username1: IS THIS THE HARD LAUNCH??
username2: the hoodie… the DESIGNS…
carlossainz55: about time bro
danielricciardo: I KNEW IT I’M GONNA KICK UR ASS
georgerussell63: history has been made
username3: real ones knew since the sketchpad post 😭🫶
username4: i love celebrity fanfic irl
summary: when yn has the misfortune of running into lando on her summer vacation, she devotes her new-found interest in f1 to hating him. meanwhile, lando has other plans for the pair.
warnings: some swearing, the last of the angst, qatar 25 mcl trauma
previous part | next part | series masterlist
yninstagram
tagged yourbff
liked by lando, yourcousin and 741 others
yninstagram autumn days i’ll love u forever
view replies…
yourbff i’ll love you forever
liv.insta ok love this dump
lando ❤️
yninstagram added to their story!
mclarenf1
Lusail International Circuit
mclarenf1 More points in the bag for Lando and Oscar ✅
view replies...
user1 death, taxes, and mclaren fucking up the strategy
user2 WHAT WAS THAT
user3 Man I feel so bad for Oscar
yn.priv.instagram mclaren pitwall you will pay for this.
yninstagram
tagged liv.insta, becca.insta and yourbff
liked by yourbff and 592 others
yninstagram hardly ever home
view replies…
yourbff who needs to go home when you have a hotel booked one week and an airbnb the next?
yninstagram i’m tired of this grandpa
yourbff well that's too damn bad!!
