🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11: ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ, ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏɪꜱᴇ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ🫱🏼🫲🏼
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇꜱ + ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ + ꜰᴀᴛᴇ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ʜᴀʀᴀꜱꜱᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴠᴇ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴɪɴɢ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ
ᴠᴇʀʙᴀʟ ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ/ᴏꜰꜰꜱᴄʀᴇᴇɴ ʜᴀᴛᴇ
ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜʀᴛ/ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ
The morning they left for the next Grand Prix, the sky over Woking was iron gray, clouds curled like question marks above the rooftops. The kind of sky that made everything feel a little too sharp, too exposed, too vulnerable. (Y/n) stood at the foot of the bed in Lando’s flat, arms folded across her chest, eyes trained on her suitcase as if it might give her permission to stay.
She hadn’t traveled with him before. Not like this. Not in front of the world.
Lando walked up behind her, placed a hand gently on her back, and whispered, “It’ll be alright.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Just turned slightly, enough to glance at him. Her eyes flickered with something he had come to understand, fear. Not of him. But of what came with him. The lights, the cameras, the headlines waiting to dissect her like a curiosity. She was a woman who had lived in silence for years, and now the noise was coming for her.
Still, she packed.
Still, she followed him to the car.
At the airport, the world didn’t wait. As they stepped through the private terminal entrance, lenses shifted like predators sensing movement. Some of the photographers had been tipped off early. There were no barriers yet—just the low murmur of gossip, clicks of shutters, and the murmured rush of names being exchanged between reporters.
Lando noticed how (Y/n)’s hand stiffened in his. Her fingers went colder, tighter. He could feel the tremble even before she tried to hide behind him, her shoulder tucking just slightly behind his arm, her gaze cast down to the floor as if it might offer shelter.
He slowed down deliberately, tightened his grip.
She wasn’t used to this, not the flashbulbs or the sudden fever of curiosity. She wasn’t just (Y/n) anymore, not to them. Now she was Lando Norris’ soulmate. A label heavy enough to tilt entire headlines. And he knew better than anyone that the weight of that expectation could crush even the strongest spine if not held carefully.
He leaned close to her ear as they walked. “Let them look. They don’t matter. I’ve got you.”
And for a moment, she believed him.
The private jet hummed quietly in the air, a cocoon of silence in contrast to the noise outside. She finally allowed herself to relax a little, curling her knees under herself on the leather seat, eyes trained on the clouds. Lando sat beside her with a hand resting on her thigh, rubbing gentle circles—constant, grounding, wordless. He didn’t speak much during the flight. Just watched her breathe and let the silence do the healing.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
The venue buzzed the moment they landed.
Their suite was already prepared, of course, PR had handled everything in advance. This time, though, there was no double accommodation. No awkward futon in the corner. Just one large, low bed in the middle of the room, its sheets a smooth ivory.
(Y/n) stood at the door for a full ten seconds before stepping inside. Her bag in her hand, a question in her eyes.
Lando gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry. We can build a pillow wall if you want.”
She gave him a look—half grin, half death-glare.
“I’m just saying,” he teased lightly.
They both knew they weren’t ready for something more intimate. Not yet. But sleeping beside each other was no longer a terrifying concept. It was just… new. And new was a mountain she had learned to climb with care.
Soon enough, Lando started changing into his team gear, pulling on the familiar papaya colors that somehow made him sharper. She knew this version of him well—the public-facing, focused, professional side that clicked into place the moment he was back in the paddock. But she also knew the soft-hearted man who snuck strawberry yogurts into their fridge and insisted on reading the fine print on medicine boxes for her when she had headaches.
“I need to head down,” he said as he adjusted his cap. “Come with me?”
She nodded.
“Comfortable?”
“Comfortable enough.”
The paddock didn’t wait either.
It never did.
When they arrived, it swarmed with activity. Mechanics, engineers, VIPs, reporters, camera crews. The sensory overload of color, movement, and noise could crack open someone unprepared. And (Y/n), despite everything she had faced, still wasn’t used to the spotlight.
It wasn’t even the attention that scared her.
It was the expectation.
The questioning looks. The whispers. The way some people looked at her not as a person but as a plot twist.
Cameras started rolling the moment Lando stepped out of the car, and they didn’t stop even when it became clear he wasn’t alone. Microphones extended like claws. Some reporters called his name; others focused on her, their voices too loud and their questions too bold.
“Lando! Who is she—can you confirm?”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Is this your girlfriend or your soulmate?”
“(Y/n), do you plan on staying with Lando throughout the season?”
She hadn’t expected them to know her name.
Her fingers slipped from his for half a second, but he caught her wrist instantly, held it firm, then let their hands re-link.
He could see it on her face.
She was trying.
God, she was trying.
So he leaned toward her and comforted her.
She gave him a small nod. Barely. But then she squeezed his hand.
He felt that.
He needed that.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
The moment they stepped into the McLaren hospitality area, safety returned like a tide. Familiar faces. Familiar colors. The whirr of espresso machines. The scent of tires warming. And there, like a welcome beacon, was Lily.
“Hey, you made it,” she said brightly, pulling (Y/n) into a hug before she could even say a word.
And just like before, they slipped into easy conversation, the kind that filled in gaps and made everything else dissolve into background noise.
Lando exhaled when he saw it. He nodded to Oscar, who was already waiting in the briefing room, then ducked into engineering discussions with his race engineers. Even through the walls, though, his ears stayed half-tuned to the room beyond.
When the meeting wrapped, he walked over to where Lily still stood beside the hospitality bar.
“Where’s (Y/n)?” he asked.
Lily looked up, smiled. “Bathroom.”
Lando nodded, about to leave, when she added something with a grin, “You know, she’s brilliant. We talked for like twenty minutes about brake heat and tire pressure fluctuation.”
He blinked.
“She’s really passionate,” Lily added. “Said she wanted to be a Performance Engineer, actually.”
Lando’s heart thudded.
It was the first time he’d heard her say that out loud.
Performance Engineer.
It made sense. The late nights watching telemetry videos. The way she sat with him during his simulator sessions, barely blinking. The notebooks she carried with small calculations scribbled into the corners. And suddenly, he was already thinking about what universities offered the best programs. What courses she could audit first. What internships McLaren might offer if—
But the thought died the moment he saw her.
She was coming back from the hallway, but her steps were wrong. Hesitant. Uneven. Her eyes shimmered with too much light, not the kind that came from joy, but from something threatening to collapse inside her.
She looked lost.
He was already walking.
“Hey, hey,” he whispered, arms already pulling her close.
She didn’t say anything.
Just buried herself in his chest like she had been waiting for that one moment all day.
Then, finally, the whisper came.
“They said… I don’t belong here.”
His body went still.
“They said I’m not supposed to be with you. That I’m not good enough. Just some… small-town nothing. That I’m embarrassing.” Her voice cracked, eyes downcast. “And I believed them,” she whispered. “Back then, in Austria… I ran. Because it felt easier than staying. Easier than risking all of you seeing what they said I was.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t think you’d want someone like me, once the dust settled. Once you remembered who you were and who I wasn’t.”
His jaw locked. She didn’t even finish the rest.
Tears began to leak against his shirt, and he could feel them—hot, frantic, ashamed.
He didn’t need more details.
He knew enough.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, rubbing her back.
But inside, something darker surged.
Later, he called PR.
He didn’t ask.
He demanded.
Names. Outlets. Credentials. Time stamps.
It didn’t take long.
By the time Free Practice 1 ended, he knew who it was.
And as the garage quieted and the teams shifted into prep for FP2, he found the man alone near the media zone, smug and still reviewing his notes.
Lando didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
He walked up to him, steady, deliberate.
“You say one more word about her,” he said, low and sharp, “and I’ll make sure every paddock knows you don’t belong here. I’ll make sure every driver refuses to give you interviews. You’ll be invisible. Understand me?”
The man blanched. Tried to mutter something.
“I said do you understand?” Lando repeated, inches from his face.
He nodded. Pale. Quiet.
Lando didn’t look back.
He walked away.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
By the time he returned to the suite, the night had sunk in. The curtains had been drawn partially open, letting the moonlight spill across the bed like silver thread.
She was curled on the left side, limbs tucked, one hand still near her face as if she’d fallen asleep crying.
He didn’t turn on the light.
Didn’t say anything.
He just sat beside her, slow and careful, then slid beneath the covers and pulled her gently toward him.
She stirred faintly, eyes fluttering.
“Lando?” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
She didn’t ask what happened.
But she curled into him tighter, tucked her head beneath his chin.
He held her until her breathing evened out.
She didn’t run.
And he wasn’t letting go.
Not now.
Not ever.
To be continued...🧡
🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏɪꜱᴇ🫱🏼🫲🏼
📝 Note from the Author: My dear Alarwynnites, Second post for today because, apparently, my brain doesn’t believe in rest and the muse is running on espresso shots and zero chill. I told myself I’d maybe take a break… and then Chapter 11 of SOULSTRUCK practically wrote itself at 2AM with sad music in the background and my heart screaming, “Let them hold hands more aggressively!”
Let’s just say: the press? Needs a timeout. A suspension. Possibly a public apology and mandatory soul-searching. Like… who gave them microphones and permission to speak that boldly? The audacity! The sheer volume!!!
Anyway, this chapter is a swirl of soft intimacy, harsh reality, and Lando in full-on protective-boyfriend mode like he was literally born to wrap his arms around someone and whisper, “I’ve got you.” Honestly, if this man had decked that reporter, I wouldn’t have stopped him. But he didn’t, and for that, we clap. Growth. Restraint. Media-trained rage.
Also, can we form an emotional support circle for (Y/n)? Blankets, snacks, forehead kisses, give her all of it. She walked into that paddock with shaking hands and still held her head up. She’s trying so hard, and honestly? She deserves an award. Or at least a nap.
This chapter made me tear up in places I didn’t expect. It reminded me that strength doesn’t always look like standing tall, it sometimes looks like holding on to someone even when everything inside you says to run.
Thank you for reading. For being here. For waiting patiently between updates and still choosing to feel every word with me.
With love, me 🧡
