Jul 5
Lando and landostand at the British GP 2026 💚
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Argentina
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
Lando and landostand at the British GP 2026 💚
So here comes my request.
A scenario where Lando is a father who brings his daughter to a race for the first time! And she is a soecial needs kid (idk what the correct termin is, but like the little girl in the video who have him the bracelet) and she gets all the love from her uncles. And maybe during media time some reporter makes a not nice comment abour her so Lando goes full dad mode and so do her uncles who have their little racer girls back! Thank you!
🧡“The Princess of Papaya”
F1 x Reader | Platonic | Found Family Chaos Featuring: Dad!Lando, Uncle Grid™, and protective chaos. Word Count: 950 Warnings: One rude reporter (brief), a protective grid, ADHD representation, soft dad/uncle vibes, found family fluff, humor
A/N: If anyone wants to be added into the taglist just let me know.
The thing about being Lando Norris’s daughter is this: you don’t just have one overprotective dad. You have, like, twenty.
And they all think you’re theirs.
You’re five, you’ve got ADHD that makes your brain run faster than the cars on track (your words, not theirs), and you’re the paddock princess. It doesn’t matter if you’re wandering off mid-sentence to go look at someone’s helmet design, or if you’re climbing up on Oscar’s shoulders just because you “wanna see how tall it feels.” The grid lets you. No questions asked.
Scene 1: The Bracelet
You were the one who started the tradition. The bracelets.
It began two years ago, when you nervously gave your dad a beaded bracelet before a race — mismatched, rainbow, with “DAD” spelled in bright block letters.
And he wore it. Publicly. To every race since.
Now? The entire grid wears your bracelets. Charles has three stacked up his arm. Carlos claimed his “broke” but everyone knows he keeps it in his travel bag. George posts Instagram stories zooming in on his and calling it “my good luck charm from Y/N 💙.” Max, grumpy old Max, actually wears his on his race suit sleeve.
They joke that you run a secret jewelry mafia. You just laugh and make them more.
Scene 2: Media Pen Mischief
Media pens are your favorite.
Not because you like the reporters (they ask boring questions and you usually wander off halfway through), but because it’s the only time you can stand in the middle of the chaos and cause problems.
You love problems.
Today, you’ve braided Oscar’s hair with little orange clips (“Because you’re my papaya twin”), drawn a mustache on George with a marker while he was distracted, and stolen Alex’s hat — which you are now wearing proudly, backwards.
The drivers don’t even blink anymore.
“Y/N,” Charles scolds gently as you lean over the barrier to braid his wristband into your bracelet. “Yes, Charles?” “You are distracting me.” “Good.”
The media are eating it up. Cameras flash. Everyone’s smiling.
Scene 3: The Comment
And then—
It happens.
A reporter, new to the circuit, leans into his mic when Lando finishes his interview. He’s trying too hard to be “edgy,” and it comes out all wrong.
“Lando, do you think bringing your daughter to races is a distraction? I mean, especially considering her… condition.”
The pen stops.
Like someone cut the sound.
Your dad freezes. His smile drops. For half a second, he just blinks at the reporter, processing.
And then he goes full Dad Norris™.
“Excuse me?” Lando’s voice is sharp. Sharper than you’ve ever heard it. “Did you really just call my daughter a distraction?”
The poor reporter stammers. “I just meant—well, given her, uh, ADHD—”
“Her ADHD is not a distraction,” Lando snaps. “It’s who she is. She’s brilliant, creative, hilarious, and she brings joy to this paddock. My results have nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the car and me. Don’t you dare put that on her.”
You tug on his sleeve, a little overwhelmed by the sudden intensity. But before you can say anything—
The uncles descend.
Scene 4: Uncle Defense Squad™
Max is the first one over. Which shocks everyone.
“She’s literally the least distracting person here,” Max says flatly, stepping in front of you like a guard dog. “Half the time she’s helping me with strategies no one else thinks of. You ever try discussing tire degradation with a twelve-year-old? No? She’s smarter than half of you lot asking questions.”
(You beam. Uncle Max never admits nice things out loud. You’ll be holding this one over his head forever.)
George cuts in next. “Also, we are the distractions. We’re the ones who mess about, pull pranks, waste time on Twitch. Y/N? She’s the only reason this paddock hasn’t fallen apart. She’s basically our emotional support team.”
“Emotional support princess,” Carlos corrects smoothly, draping an arm around your shoulder. “You insult her, you insult all of us.”
Charles nods fiercely. “Exactement. You think we wear her bracelets because we are forced? No. We wear them because they are power. They give good luck. They are… how do you say… sacred.”
Alex adds, “Honestly, she’s better media than all of us. Half the fans show up just to see what chaos she brings.”
And Oscar? Oscar just plucks the mic out of the reporter’s hand and goes, “Nope. Interview over. You don’t get to talk anymore.”
Scene 5: Aftermath
The clip goes viral, obviously. #GridDefendsY/N trends worldwide. Fans call you the Princess of F1. Edits pop up of the entire grid glaring down the camera like your personal bodyguards.
You don’t really get the fuss.
All you know is that when you curl up in the McLaren motorhome later, bracelet box on your lap, your dad kisses the top of your head and whispers, “Never, ever let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong here. This is your paddock too.”
And when the other drivers barge in — Max awkwardly holding out a pack of stroopwafels, Charles carrying a stuffed animal he panic-bought at the airport, George offering to braid your hair — you feel it.
Not just the love. Not just the protection.
The family.
Bonus: Your ADHD Brain at Work
Two days later, during strategy meetings, you blurt out:
“What if you did one stop instead of two, but pitted under a VSC to offset tire loss? Like chess but with wheels!”
The engineers pause. Blink. Then slowly nod.
And when the race actually plays out exactly like you predicted?
Well. Let’s just say the whole paddock decides ADHD might actually stand for “Always Doing High-level Data.”
End.
Taglist: :@moonlightphilosopher, @karinari1 @jessk23 @bunnisplayground @thisdoesntexsist-cherry @bookworm-weirdofor-life @skzlover24 @lottie810 @josephinel83 @hades-favourite-daughter @princess3055 @rosiel-leclerc04 @nikfigueiredo @anoukformula1 @queen-aria-things @pookynknowntranger @bia-n-t-d @hellsingalucard18 @omgsuperstarg @elvy16 @lagrandeourse @devilacot @obsessed-fan-alert
Any idea where the LandoStand is? Anyone?
drivers turning into stowe corner next year given how massive landostand is going to be
Market Value
In which Lando and Max are walking HR violations, Quadrant is pure chaos, and you’re the childhood acquaintance turned HR manager brought in to wrangle them. Armed with quick wit and a wide knowledge of business accoutrement, you see right through them and their antics. The only problem? They can't seem to get a read on you, until a night when everything goes sideways.
(a/n: About once in a blue moon I try to write something funny, so this is my yearly allowance. The first part of this is more haha funny up until the end and then that and the second part is more serious. Creative liberties were taken with certain aspects (ie. How involved Lando is with the business) but that’s why we have suspension of disbelief!)
Part 1 | Part 2
Lando and Max started Quadrant as a passion project.
Okay, they started it as an excuse to fuck around and make content, but really, they were passionate about it the more real it became.
They were smart enough to get a lawyer involved, a lawyer who they paid to help them iron out all of the necessary business details.
It’s only when they hire a second person, a communication staffer, that they realise something very important.
Neither of them knows how to work a payroll.
Which had led them straight to you.
Lando could remember when you had moved to their secondary school - he and Max were in year nine, freshly 13 years old. You were the American girl that came in during the middle of the term. You had a British father and an American mother, which led to a bizarre accent where you were somehow unable to say ‘water’ correctly, and yet pronounced ‘aluminium’ as though you’d lived in England your whole life.
Kids were relentless, teasing, vicious, circling you like you were prey to be torn apart and not a girl who had moved halfway across the world. Luckily for you, you pretty immediately got a reputation for being wicked smart. You dealt with absolutely no bullshit and were extremely straightforward in your mannerisms.
It was tough to bully someone who seemed unbothered about what everyone spoke about her. You built up a hard exterior shell, an impenetrable wall that served you well. Your friendships were somewhat transactional, but it worked for you. It was how you grew to operate, how you understood the world around you.
You and Max had always been on friendly terms, with several common friends between the two of you.
You and Lando were less so, not in a purposeful way, but rather a lack of proximity. He was focused on karting, perhaps even more than Max was at the time. The two of you just didn’t really interact at all, though there was no ill will.
That all changed in year eleven when Lando was deep in the trenches of studying for his GCSE’s and began to realise that he was far more behind than he had realised.
Which was where you came into things.
You were smart, razor sharp and quick witted. You offered tutoring to a select few students, ruthless in your commentary and effort to better your pupils.
You didn’t do it for the money. You did it because it genuinely brought you joy to help those around you.
Not that you ever let on to that fact. Your reputation was, at times, the only thing holding you together. You wore it like a shield. Never seem too weak. Never let them in on what you were thinking or feeling.
Lando had practically given up on even attempting to ask you for help, assuming that you’d take one look at him and deem him unworthy of your time. He had never been the best at school, and English language and literature, the very ones you offered tutoring for, were two of his weakest subjects.
Much to his surprise, you had said yes when he asked for your help. You met twice a week for months, navigating his karting competitions and busy schedule. You spent lunches together pouring over books and quiz questions. You met him at the library, the park, your home, his home.
You were relentless, critical, brilliant. You challenged Lando immensely. You weren’t one to give free passes - every improvement was something he earned. You didn’t cut corners, you encouraged him to raise to your standard of excellence.
You were kind where he didn’t expect it, taking the time to create examples that helped him understand more easily, researching ways to best teach him. You’d help him understand the English language by using karting references, compared literary references to different tyre compound material.
It went on for months, the longest tutoring stint that you had ever done with someone.
You both focused on the work, despite how desperately Lando tried to get you off track. He wanted to talk to you, get to know you. But you refuted his attempts, drawing his attention back to the work the two of you were doing.
He never could get a read on you. Unlike Lando, you did not wear your heart on your sleeve. A raised eyebrow might as well have been a love poem from you, given how withdrawn you could be. Nearly a whole year of time spent together and Lando only knew a handful of personal facts about you.
Not for lack of trying.
It wasn’t that you were unkind, not exactly. You were deeply empathetic, but leaned toward being more reserved of a person.
Lando remembered when he passed his GCSEs, and he’d hugged you as a thanks for all of your help. You’d stood there stiff as a board, almost as though you were surprised at the contact.
Furthering your own perplexion, Lando had seemed completely unphased by your bizarre response to a simple hug.
He was just as much of an enigma to you as you were to him. This boy who seemed like live sunshine, compassionate and sweet. His disposition was the antithesis of your own. He came the closest to anyone in your life who actually peeled back your layers.
He came dangerously close to knowing the real you, the one who was scared to strip herself bare to anyone lest they realise you were as inadequate as you felt.
After school ended, you and Lando went your separate ways. He and Max continued in karting, and you went off to uni. You thought the day that he hugged you would be the last time you’d ever see Lando Norris.
Nobody was more surprised than you when you opened your LinkedIn messages.
When Lando and Max realised that they needed help at Quadrant it was actually Max who remembered that you had studied Analytics with a specialization in Human Resources in university.
He and Lando had quickly fled to LinkedIn, and sure enough, there you were. They were surprised to find that you were working in London, and they had been quick to message you.
You looked between Max and Lando once, twice, three times.
“Norris. Fewtrell.”
Lando was smiling at you brightly while Max had a bit cooler of an expression on his face, but both seemed rather eager. You were tucked into a booth at a coffee shop in Chelsea, where the three of you had agreed to meet. The two of them looked a little too pleased with themselves as they exchanged a glance, before Max dug into his bag for a folder. He plucked a document from it, putting it down on the table.
He pushed the stapled stack of papers toward you, and you picked it up wordlessly.
They watched with baited breath as you read over the contract, your eyes skimming over the words on the first page, flipping, only to start reading at the top once again. Rinse and repeat.
The minutes passed painfully slowly, but you were nothing if not thorough. Lando and Max couldn’t help their fidgeting, but they remained perfectly silent.
When you finally placed the contract back down on the table, you looked up at them with a skeptical expression.
“You are both aware that you’re offering me over two times what my market value is, right?” You asked, your voice clipped and somewhat unconvinced.
Lando scrunched his nose, shaking his head slightly.
“You make it sound like you’re a prostitute,” he replied as your eyeline cut towards him with a murderous gaze, one eyebrow raised. Max froze next to his friend, unmoving and looking rather like a deer in the headlights.
“I didn’t mean–not like th–I would never!” Lando spluttered, almost as though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
After a tense second you rolled your eyes, letting out a loud sigh as you raised your hand to cut him off from digging himself into a deeper hole.
“Enough Norris, I get your point.”
You never called him Lando. Always Norris.
“I mean twice more than the market value of my current role. Not me as a person. And this job you two have offered is going to require a lot less work than what I’m doing right now. If I took this role I’d be overpaid so much it’s practically gross negligence,” you explained with a flat expression, and Lando peered over at Max with a sheepish expression.
The driver didn’t really care if you were overpaid, he just wanted you to come work with them. And admittedly, they hadn’t done a ton of prep work when coming up with a salary to put on the contract.
Sure, the two of you had only been in one another's orbit for about a year for exam prep, but he missed your banter and quiet compassion. Luckily, Max seemed to be reading his mind on that fateful day.
“Well, the contract is already drawn, and the offer stands. Do you want to come work at Quadrant?” Max announced as he looked at you expectantly. You considered the two men in front of you with thinly veiled disbelief.
You peered down at the contract once more, and then up at the two de facto golden retrievers who stared back at you. Lando had his head cocked to the side, and the hope in his eyes was too much for even you to deny.
You’d always had a soft spot for the boy with the watercolor eyes who made you feel as though perhaps you weren’t the monster you thought you were.
“I’ll give my two weeks notice to my manager tomorrow,” you decided after a beat, and Max and Lando cheered as though you’d just handed them the winning lottery ticket.
“Welcome to the team sunshine!” Lando lauded, and you shook your head at the nickname, already reaching for your bag to hand the two of them your card.
You had a feeling that this was going to be an…interesting employment opportunity.
Max looked over at Lando, swallowing thickly.
Across from the two of them sat you and Mavis, their lawyer. The two of you had instantly hit it off, and Lando was pretty sure he’d never seen you smile in the year you’d tutored him as much as you had in the last fifteen minutes.
“And then they said, can you draw that up by this afternoon? A whole contract in two hours!” Mavis exclaimed, and you clapped your hands together as you let out a laugh.
“Where do they think this stuff is pulled from, thin air?!” You wheezed, and Lando blinked back at Max after he stared at the two of you for a beat.
“I don’t think we should have gotten Mavis a buddy,” the latter whisper shouted, and you shot him a withering look. Mavis rolled her eyes affectionately as she folded her hands on top of the table. You loved her energy already, and turned to watch how she approached the two boys.
“Listen you two. I know why you created this business, and I get what you’re trying to do. Sort of,” you snarked out a laugh that you passed off as a cough when Lando glared at you.
“But regardless of that,” Mavis continued. “This is a business, and we need to act like it. That means doing things through the proper channels, the correct way. You have to run stuff by the two of us, and give us an appropriate amount of time to execute tasks.”
“That also means that you have to abide by the proper workplace interactions. No being weird toward employees or saying questionable things. Absolutely no flirting. Do you understand?” You added on, voice serious.
Max and Lando both responded enthusiastically at the same time, happy to be team players.
“Yes!”
“Understood!”
You looked over at Mavis skeptically, and she was clearly trying to keep her own laughter in.
“I don’t think they understand,” you whisper shouted with a mirthful tone, and the lawyer broke down into laughter.
“Hey!”
“NORRIS!”
Lando shot up instinctively from his spot on the side of the track. He was here shooting content with some of the Quadrant guys, and cars occasionally would whiz past as they filmed for whatever promotional videos the team was doing this week.
He watched as you stalked down the side of the road in your slacks and blouse, kitten heels pounding the pavement. Your expression was near murderous, clipboard in one hand and your cell phone in another.
“Oh dude, what the fuck did you mess up?” Max grimaced when he caught sight of you, and Lando looked at him helplessly.
“It’s like watching a shark about to eat its prey,” he heard one of the guys whisper, and he decided to walk over to you as opposed to letting you come all the way here. If you were going to yell at him, he didn’t need everyone to overhear it.
“Good morning sunshine!” He called out easily, allowing any nerves to slip away in favor of a laid back, easy going attitude.
“Good morning? Really?” You huffed, unlocking your phone and shoving it in his face. “You sent me a text at 2:21 this morning that said nothing except, and I quote - you up?”
You set your phone down on your clipboard and simply stared at the driver. Lando just stared back at you, unmoving and overall rather unperturbed by your angry expression. If anything, he looked rather pleased with himself.
“Yes? I needed to talk to you about an HR question I had,” he clarified simply, as though you had just asked him about the weather. You gaped back at him, and Lando was pretty sure if your expression grew any more homicidal, steam would begin to pour out of your ears.
“You sent me a text at 2 in the morning…using the words that are commonly associated with a late night hook up…to ask about an HR QUESTION?!”
“Yes! You really are so intelligent, I’m so glad we pay you all that money,” Lando chirped brightly, and you scowled as you reached for the pen you kept in the pocket of your slacks.
You were still reaching for your pen when a car sped past the two of you where you stood on the edge of the track. You hadn’t really been paying attention to the road, and you flinched violently at the sound and wind that the car generated. Lando was quick to step in between you and the rest of the road, resting a hand gently on your shoulder to steady you.
You looked up at him for a moment, your expression unburdened by its usual scowl or exasperation. Lando softened, reminded of the young girl who held herself together with a trenchant tongue in a school full of bullies. For a split second your ragged, raw edges fell away, and in its place was a quiet, unguarded sort of warmth.
Someone down the road let out a loud cheer, and just as quick as it had come, you shifted back to your usual expression. You pulled the pen up as though it were a weapon of defence, unclicking it as you began to write on a post-it note.
“You are a walking HR complaint,” you harangued, and he shrugged, looking around comically.
“Where are all these complaints you’re talking about?” He quipped, and was almost instantly hit straight in the forehead as you slammed a post-it note to his forehead. He reeled back, barely recovering before you were speaking again.
“Here is the first one,” you explained with a clipped expression, and he could hear the scratch of your pen against paper before he could even really comprehend what had happened.
“And the second,” you announced as you slapped a second post-it directly on his chest.
“If you aren’t careful, there will be a third. And I’ll plan to aim lower for that one,” you finished, and your voice dripped with a saccharinely sweet kind of sarcasm.
Lando heard the clip of your heels as you walked away more than he actually saw you go. He reached up to grab at both of the post-it notes, and he ripped them away from his body. The first one said ‘get it’ and the second one wrote ‘together.’
Well, it wasn’t like you were exactly known for your subtlety.
“Thanks for the notes sunshine!” He called after you brightly, and you flipped him the bird as you walked away from him.
“Fuck off Norris!” You yelled back promptly.
“That doesn’t seem workplace appropriate!” He chided loudly, and he wasn’t sure if he heard you let out a huff in response, or if that was in his imagination. Regardless, he was quite pleased with his quick thinking.
He turned back to his friends, a smile splitting across his face.
“I feel like that went extremely well - what do you guys think?”
You were staring down the barrel of some expense reports. Given the company’s size, you often found yourself wearing multiple hats, though you had grown to focus more on the HR side of the business as the number of employees grew.
You were seated at Max’s dining room table as day bled into night, focused intently on your work. Sometimes the team would simply gather at someone’s home - Mavis or Max or Lando. Fewtrell was the lucky man today, and though other people had cleared up earlier, you still worked away. You simply needed to get this done today before you could call it quits.
You barely noticed Lando until he was sliding a plate in front of you and sitting down across from you at the table. He and Max had been streaming last you’d checked, but you honestly had no clue what the time was anymore.
You looked up to see that on the plate was a ham and cheese sandwich. The same one you’d always packed back when the two of you were at school together. You remembered a time where the two of you would split each other’s lunches as you poured over old English literature.
You’d steal his crisps, he’d eat half of your sandwich. It had been an unspoken rule between the two of you, for whatever reason.
Your heart constricted at the thought that Lando remembered something so miniscule about you all these years later. The realist that resided in your brain insisted that it was simply a coincidence, a lucky guess. Perhaps it was all Max had in the fridge.
The 2025 F1 season was starting soon, and Lando was due to leave for Australia in just a few days. Even if you would never admit it, you missed him when he wasn’t around. You knew that he had a championship to focus on, hell he had an actual job to focus on, but it didn’t mean you missed his presence around the Quadrant bunch more.
“Thank you Norris,” you acknowledged evenly without looking up at him, and you reached for the sandwich as you typed a few numbers into your laptop.
“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Lando stated as he leaned forward, his elbows on the table. You paused for half a second before you seemed to catch yourself, typing a few more numbers into the screen.
“You’re cute when you’re being appropriate at the workplace,” you retorted swiftly, and you didn’t need to look at Lando to know that he was grinning at you like a cheshire cat. You cringed internally at your choice of words, but you refused to let on to that fact.
“So you think I’m cute?” Lando inquired, and you finally did spare the man a glance over the top of your laptop.
“Is that really what you got from my comment?” You countered, a perfectly manicured eyebrow raised sharply. Lando met your gaze with an intent one of his own, unbothered by your withering expression.
“So, tell me. Do you always wake up and choose violence?” He asked with an overly dramatic voice, and you pretended to think for a comically long moment.
“That depends, really. Do you always wake up and choose stupidity?” You leveled Lando with a smug expression, and he cracked as soon as the words were out of your mouth.
You grinned unabashedly as he broke down into laughter, his joy radiating easily. It felt like it was infecting you, and you didn’t even bother with pretending like it irritated you.
“Touché,” he replied after a moment, his smile far softer than you deserved.
The table was no longer just you, Max, Lando, and Mavis anymore. There were several other people at these all staff meetings, and sometimes Lando wasn’t even present for them anymore.
But he was here today, and you were leading the meeting to discuss the next quarter of business operations.
You had been presenting for the last few minutes, talking about your proposal to shift from solely F1 focus to other aspects of motorsport. Your theory was that you guys could utilize the connections the company had gained to expand the business into different avenues.
“Ultimately, we’re staring down the barrel of needing to diversify in order to further the growth of the business,” you finished, looking around at your various coworkers as you completed your proposal.
“Oh god,” you heard someone whisper from your left, and you looked over to see Lando looking like a deer in the headlights. “She’s using the big words,” he whispered to Max, who shook his head.
You didn’t even bother in trying to stop the eye roll that comment produced. You turned fully toward Lando, unimpressed.
“You,” you pointed at the man, “no longer the star,” you explained as though you were speaking to a five year old, and you pointed back toward your slide deck. “More people equals more business,” you articulated slowly, gesturing in a circle to represent all these new proposed people you hypothetically had mentioned.
Lando instantly pouted, shaking his head.
“Well that’s no fun, I love being the star,” he grumbled, crossing his arms like a petulant child.
“You’re a walking cack attack,” Max announced in your general direction, and you shot him a glare as the other employees merely watched. The newer ones had wide eyes and mildly horrified expressions, but the seasoned members of the business were used to this level of psychological warfare.
“And you two are a lawsuit waiting to happen. Fork found in kitchen. Now, back to wh–” You were cut off as you attempted to steer them back to focus.
“I’m too handsome for anyone to sue us,” Lando cut in swiftly, clearly affronted.
"I'm gonna play sexy back!" Max cheered, and both you and Lando shut him down instantaneously.
"My point still stands," Lando challenged, and he tilted his chin up towards you.
You stared back at the man for a moment, and he swore that he saw your eye twitch. You released a deep breath, seeming to centre yourself as you closed your eyes for a moment.
The thing was, you actually didn’t mind this. You were sure there were plenty of women who would have been bothered with their interruptions and crude jokes. But you honestly loved it. You loved that you could speak freely, and that the whole thing felt more like a conversation than a stuffy office.
Lando and Max knew when to take you seriously, and you knew that in the end they would always listen to your ideas. They might joke, but if you asked them to take you seriously, they would.
And most importantly, you were the only person in the business they treated this way. You all knew there were lines that weren’t to be crossed, and what you had just worked.
Plus, it was so much fun to fuck with them.
They made it just…too easy.
You allowed your eyes to rove over Lando, pulling the most judgemental look you could muster to paint across your expression.
When you finished your assessment of the driver, you frowned and cocked your head to the side, tutting softly.
“I think we both know that’s not true Norris,” you said finally, your tone simply oozingly patronizing, and everyone in the meeting froze. There was a solid ten seconds where nobody said a thing, where they hardly breathed. And then suddenly Mavis cracked, and the entire meeting room was dissolving into fits of laughter. Even you cracked a smile, chancing a glance toward Lando to make sure it wasn’t too far.
But he was the one laughing the hardest, the tension completely broken by your quip.
The driver looked back toward your final slide on the presentation, nodding his head slowly.
“This seems like a brilliant idea, and just what we’ve needed all along. You’ve outdone yourself, as usual,” he said softly, dead serious. You softened, appreciating his ability to be genuine when necessary.
“Worth every cent we paid for you!” Max cheered, and both you and Lando blanched, the latter nearly choking on the water he was sipping.
“Now I really sound like a prostitute,” you muttered as you sunk back into your chair, allowing your head to fall into your hands.
You’d taken not two steps into the paddock at Silverstone on Saturday when you heard someone barking out your name.
You froze, turning towards the sound to see Max Fewtrell charging toward you with Pietra and Mavis right on his tail.
“What are you wearing? What the bloody hell is this?” Max exclaimed, gesturing to all of you. You looked down at your black blouse and slacks, scowling as you looked back up at the man in front of you.
“I’m wearing clothes?” You supplied, but Max simply scoffed, looking as though you’d personally victimized his family with your outfit choice.
“You look like you’re going to a business meeting that doubles as a funeral service!” You looked around the paddock with sweeping eyes, gesturing at the people around you.
“I’m representing the business!”
“Do you really think anyone here cares who you are?” Max replied evenly, and you huffed in protest at his statement.
“Okay, ouch!”
Max had the decency to look at least a little guilty at his statement, but he kept going. Whether it was to dig himself out of, or further into, the hole he was in, you weren’t sure.
“Not like that. I mean, nobody is gossiping because the HR manager of Quadrant is wearing jeans!” He pointed out, but you clung to your (admittedly weak) argument.
“It’s unprofessional!” You tried, but Max wasn’t so easily swayed.
“It’s the weekend!” He refuted, and you let out a low sigh as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You took a deep breath before speaking again.
“Look, I did dress down a bit,” you explained finally, pointing to the trainers you were wearing in lieu of loafers or heels. There was a singular stripe of orange down the length of the shoe, contrasting the rest of the black material. “They have the Mclaren colour and everything!”
“I can’t even look at you. Go to Landostand and get a blob shirt. That is an order from your superior,” Max said with finality as he pointed toward the fluorescent green stands. You instantly opened your mouth to argue, but you could hardly get a word in edge wise.
“But–”
“Nope!” He cut you off before you could even think about protesting. “Go. Now.”
You turned around and stalked off toward the stands as you huffed with annoyance.
You got in line at the pop up stand, letting your eyes rove over the different merch options as you stood in the queue. You decided pretty quickly on doing the fluorescent green blob jersey, because you figured if you were going to wear Lando’s merch, you might as well go all in.
The queue took forever for you to get up to the top, and you passed the time by sending emails on your phone. You were still typing away furiously when the cashier of the store cleared their throat, and you finally looked up as you realised you were next in line.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
“Well, fancy seeing you here,” Lando drawled, leaning his elbows against the counters as he rested his head in his hands.
“What fresh hell is this? Decided to be useful for once?” You shot back, and there’s enough bite to it that you heard someone from behind you gasp.
“Careful there doll, or rumours are going to spread that we don’t like one another,” he whispered, and you tipped your head back jokingly.
“Oh thank god, finally people will get it!” Lando laughed at your words, hitting his hand lightly against the counter. You found yourself smiling in response. A real, proper smile. It was just so easy with Lando, so easy to have fun and be light like this, so much that you almost forgot yourself.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, and you eyed the merch behind him.
“Max sent me over, told me that I looked like I was heading to a funeral,” you grimaced as you looked down at your own outfit. Lando allowed his eyes to rove over you for a moment, not possessive but soft, kind.
“I think you look lovely,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest. You ignored the way that the tips of your ears turned pink and butterflies erupted in your stomach. He cleared his throat, turning back to the merch wall. Other attendants were beginning to help check other people out with Lando being so focused on you, but you found that for once you didn’t mind holding other people up.
Not when he looked at you like this. Like you were important and so worthy of his time. Like it was easy to be here with you.
“What would you like?” He inquired, and you pointed towards the jersey you’d been eyeing. He smiled, clearly pleased with your selection, and asked your size before he rifled through drawers to procure the very item.
You reached for your purse to pay, but Lando simply pushed the shirt towards you, shaking his head. One of the other cashiers eyebrows pinched together, moving to stop him.
“Lando–” he began, but the driver cut him off.
“She’s on my tab,” he explained swiftly, and the guy left it at that, turning back to focus on another customer. You tried and failed to keep the shock off your face, but Lando simply smiled at you.
“Thank you,” you said after a long bear, and he nodded his head once in acknowledgment.
“Can’t wait to see it on,” he replied, shooting you one last smile before you stepped out of line, gripping the shirt as though it were a lifeline.
“Oh my god?”
You turned around, grip tightening on your clutch purse you’d brought with you. It was Sunday, race day, and you’d just gotten here about fifteen minutes ago.
You lost the business attire completely, from head to toe. You wore the shirt you’d gotten yesterday, slightly oversized and tucked into a pair of light wash, straight leg jeans that hugged your hips and waist. You wore a pair of kitten heels, and kept your hair down once for a change. You’d added gold jewelry, a few necklaces, hoop earrings, and a slim wrist watch. A black leather jacket was laid in the crook of your arm for when it inevitably got cold.
Mavis was staring at you with her jaw practically on the floor. You shrank under her gaze, brushing a hand nervously over your outfit. It was something you readily wore outside of work, but you weren’t sure that any of your coworkers had ever seen you dress like this.
“What? Do I look okay?” You asked, voice uncharacteristically nervous.
“You look gorgeous!” She exclaimed, and you slumped with relief. The lawyer dragged you over to Max, who brightened at the sight of you.
“You look like a normal human!” He announced in lieu of a greeting, and Pietra smacked him in the chest indignantly.
“Good morning to you as well Max,” you deadpanned, but it didn’t hold the usual bite that characterized your interactions.
You were too excited and nervous for the race, and for good reason. With the rain this year, Silverstone ended up being quite the tale, but you were thrilled to see Lando win his home race. You smiled without shame, and nobody was there to question your enthusiasm in the way they usually did.
You and Max had gone to find Lando after the race to congratulate him, winding around the hallways of the Mclaren garage to find him. You let Max push through to see his friend first when you finally found him, and it was when he was pulling back from his best friend that the driver noticed your presence.
His whole face lit up at the sight of you, and before you could even question it, he had pulled you into a hug.
Your mind instantly slammed back to when you were both seventeen and he had just passed his GCSE exams. You’d been so surprised by the fact that he hugged you to really even hug him back.
But you were ready this time, and you allowed him to wrap you in his arms. He was sweaty and sticky with champagne, but you relished in the contact regardless.
“You did it!” You cheered as you pulled back, squeezing his side playfully. He let out a soft laugh at the action, smiling impossibly harder.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured just for you to hear, and if you weren’t quite so captivated by his eyes, you would have been able to procure words to respond. But instead you just stared at him intently, as though you hoped that your unguarded expression was enough to express your own gratitude to him.
He’s swept away soon after that, but he pulled you and Max along with him. You were sandwiched between the two of them, and both you and Max were trying to step back to allow Lando to head towards the barrier to wave to some fans as you made your way back to the garage.
Cameras swarmed you from all sides, and shit really hit the fan when you saw a man in a pink hat fall back from the barrier, running right into Lando’s face.
The driver's body slammed back into your own, sending you straight for the ground as you got the wind knocked out of you. Your vision swam as you twisted your body inward, realizing swiftly that there were a shit ton of feet surrounding you as you hit the ground. You heard a strangled voice above you just as you landed on the concrete.
“Forget me - help her!”
Suddenly hands were gripping you, and both Max and Lando’s bodyguard hauled you up and propped you back on your feet. You swayed for a second as you found your footing, but you were fine other than getting the wind knocked out of you
“Are you okay?” Lando’s voice was soft in your ears, and you found him right in front of you. With a cut nose that was bleeding profusely. Still, he looked at you as though you were his only concern, his eyebrows pulled together with concern.
“Lando! You’re bleeding,” you exclaimed as you reached forward to examine the cut. He brought his own hand up to press against it, staving the bleeding and wincing all at once.
“You definitely need to get that checked out,” Max grimaced from behind you, and you nodded profusely. Lando told you both that he would find you later as he was led away towards the medic tent.
It’s an unspoken understanding that nose injury aside, the group of you are going out tonight.
And that meant that you needed to change clothes.
You should have known that going out would be a bad idea.
You wanted to have fun, you wanted to celebrate Lando winning. But you weren’t exactly the most fun person to club with, and the fact that you knew it only made you more nervous.
On top of that, you felt out of sorts emotionally. This whole weekend had seen you and Lando come closer together than you’d been since you were seventeen years old, and you really were not sure what to do about that.
It left you feeling more exposed than you cared to admit. You’d grown more and more anxious as you’d gotten ready to go out, your thoughts swirling around in your mind dangerously.
But still you came out with everyone, determined not to concern everyone by staying at home. You kept yourself tucked away for most of the night. Every time Mavis or Pietra tried to come and get you, you simply shook your head and stayed in the booth you were all at.
It only got worse when Lando arrived. You expected that he would be drinking up a storm, caught up in whatever celebrations were going on around him. You thought you could slip away quickly, feigning a headache.
But for whatever reason, he seemed completely sober. And completely intent on celebrating with you, specifically.
He kept coming to try and pull you into the fray, but you’d immediately pulled away whenever he attempted. The look on your face was one of pure hesitance, and he could tell. You clung to the emotional barrier you had created between you and him, between you and everyone really.
You claimed that it was professionalism, but you knew deep down it was more than that. You were scared to be close to the people around you. Scared that if they saw who you truly were, how insecure and unsure you were, that they would confirm the fears you’d held all along.
And you weren’t sure if you’d survive that.
Especially if it came from Lando.
And somehow, he seemed to see right through you. You refused to give in so easily, though, and worked hard to keep him at arms length.
So you pushed them all away, and slipped away towards the bar. You looked back as you walked to see that there was some blonde girl chatting with Lando on the far side of the club. She was gorgeous, leggy with bleach blonde highlights and perfectly styled hair.
It felt to you that she was everything you were not. And while you tried to tell yourself that this was good, that it was good that Lando was happy, there was a bitter taste in your mouth.
You sat down on one of the barstools heavily. Your satin black dress clung to your body, and you flagged the bartender down as a man sat down next to you.
“Tough night?” He asked as you looked over at him. He was cute enough, probably a little older than you, with a kind, sympathetic expression on his face.
You chanced a glance over at Lando, at the way the blonde’s head was thrown back in laughter. You swallowed thickly, and when you turned back to the bar, your drink was sitting in front of you, the bartender swept to your right.
“Yeah, something like that,” you admitted, slamming your drink back in one go. You grimaced at the taste, but refused to let yourself be annoyed by it.
“Sometimes those nights just happen, but I know it sucks,” he sympathized, and you turned towards him more fully. He was cute enough, and anything was better than staring at Lando and that girl.
“Right? Can’t say it’s anyone's fault but my own though,” you admitted, and he simply shrugged in response.
“What’s your name?” He asked, and you were quick to answer, striking up an easy conversation. You were so focused on the man in front of you that you completely missed the way Lando kept turning to look at you. At how he was hardly paying any attention to the people around him, instead focused on watching you.
But you hadn’t looked back over at him. You were all the way over at the bar, across the room from every single one of the people you were here with.
It had only been what felt like a few minutes of chatting with this man when a feeling of dread settled itself tightly in your gut.
You knew something was wrong. You said goodbye to the man sitting in front of you, but when you went to stand and return to your coworkers, your legs felt like jelly. You might as well have been on a boat with how unsteady you were, your tongue suddenly too big for your mouth as you tried to protest.
You took a singular step forward, your knee buckling and threatening to send you tumbling towards the ground.
That was, until a rough hand pressed into the small of your back, shoving you forward. Without even really being able to think of it consciously, you stumbled forward. You tried to open your mouth, to croak out that you needed help, but it felt as though cotton had been shoved in your mouth.
The last thing you remembered was being roughly shoved, but then a pair of arms wrapping around you gently, pulling you to the right. You weren’t sure who it was, but all you knew was that it was the scent of someone you recognized.
You didn’t have time to figure out who it was before you were falling to the ground, everything going black, unable to distinguish the muffled sounds being made above you.
Landostand from above… obsessed with this.
