“HOW WELL DO YOU KNOW YOUR BOYFRIEND?” — A QUADRANT SPECIAL
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Landos girlfriend reluctantly takes part in Quadrants new video “how well do you know your boyfriend” - with running commentary from Max Fewtrell
The Quadrant studio is buzzing in that familiar, chaotic way — lights half‑set up, someone’s left a half‑eaten packet of crisps on the main table, and Max Fewtrell is already narrating everything like he’s David Attenborough observing a rare species.
“Here we have,” Max says dramatically, pointing the camera at you as you walk in, “the long‑suffering girlfriend of Lando Norris. She has survived years of his nonsense. Truly, a national treasure.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Morning to you too, Max.”
Lando pops his head out from behind a lighting rig, curls messy, hoodie half‑zipped, grin bright enough to power the entire set. “Hi, love.”
He crosses the room in three long strides and wraps his arms around you, lifting you slightly off the ground. He smells like his usual mix of cologne and whatever shampoo he stole from you this week.
“You ready to lose?” he murmurs into your hair.
“You’re adorable,” you say, patting his cheek, “but you’re absolutely going to embarrass yourself today.”
Max gasps loudly. “Conflict. Drama. Romance. This is better than Netflix.”
---
🎬 THE SETUP
The Quadrant crew finally gets everything in place — two chairs, a small table with whiteboards and markers, and a camera pointed directly at you and Lando. Max insists on being the off‑screen host, which everyone agrees to mostly because it’s easier than arguing.
Lando pulls your chair closer to his, knees bumping yours. He’s already smiling at you like he’s forgotten the rest of the world exists.
“Stop looking at her like that,” Max groans. “We get it. You’re in love. Disgusting.”
Lando flips him off without breaking eye contact with you.
The camera starts rolling.
---
🎥 TAKE ONE
“Welcome back to Quadrant,” Max announces in his best presenter voice. “Today we have Lando Norris and his childhood sweetheart, the only person who’s known him longer than his hairdresser.”
Lando snorts. “That’s not true.”
“Is it not?” Max asks. “Because I’ve seen the photos. The bowl cut era was dark.”
You laugh, leaning into Lando’s shoulder. “I was there for that.”
“Trauma bonding,” Max says. “Beautiful.”
Lando squeezes your hand under the table. “Okay, first question,” he says, trying to take control. “Let’s go.”
Max clears his throat. “What is your partner’s go‑to comfort food?”
You immediately start writing. Lando stares at his blank board like it’s a complex physics equation.
“Don’t overthink it,” you tease.
“I’m not,” he lies.
Max leans over his shoulder. “He’s absolutely overthinking it.”
You finish your answer and hold your board close to your chest. Lando finally scribbles something down.
“Three, two, one — reveal!”
You flip your boards.
You: Pasta. Always pasta.
Lando: Her mum’s pasta.
Your heart does a little flip.
“Aww,” Max says. “That’s actually cute. Gross, but cute.”
Lando beams. “See? I know things.”
“You know one thing,” you correct.
He nudges your knee with his. “It’s the important thing.”
---
🎥 TAKE TWO — THE CHAOS BEGINS
Max reads the next question. “What is your partner’s biggest fear?”
Lando immediately writes something down, smirking.
You narrow your eyes. “If you write something stupid—”
“I would never,” he says, which is the biggest lie he’s ever told.
You write your answer carefully. Lando finishes his in two seconds and sits back, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Reveal!”
You flip your boards.
You: Losing the people I love.
Lando: Spiders. And Max’s cooking.
Max gasps. “My cooking is incredible.”
“Your cooking is a war crime,” Lando says.
You elbow him. “I meant emotionally.”
Lando’s expression softens instantly. He reaches over, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Yeah. I know. I just… didn’t want to make it heavy.”
You smile at him, and he smiles back, and Max groans loudly.
“Can you two stop having a moment? This is a YouTube video, not a wedding.”
---
🎥 TAKE THREE — THE CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART ROUND
Max grins like he’s been waiting for this. “Since you two have known each other since you were tiny, let’s test your memory. What was your first impression of each other?”
You laugh. “Oh no.”
Lando’s already writing, shaking his head.
You write yours slowly, remembering the moment — the awkward, shy, adorable little boy with messy hair and big dreams.
“Reveal!”
You flip your boards.
You: Thought he was cute but painfully shy.
Lando: Thought she was way too pretty to ever talk to me.
Your breath catches. “Lan…”
He shrugs, cheeks pink. “It’s true.”
Max clutches his chest. “I’m going to be sick.”
Lando ignores him completely. “I remember it so clearly. You were wearing that little blue jumper and you smiled at me and I swear I forgot how to speak.”
“You still forget how to speak,” Max mutters.
Lando throws a marker at him.
---
🎥 TAKE FOUR — THE SPICY ROUND
Max wiggles his eyebrows. “What is your partner’s most annoying habit?”
Lando immediately points at you. “She steals my hoodies.”
You raise your eyebrows. “You literally give them to me.”
“That’s not the point.”
You write your answer, biting back a smile.
“Reveal!”
You: He leaves wet towels everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
Lando: She steals my hoodies.
Max bursts out laughing. “Domestic life with Lando Norris. Riveting.”
Lando groans. “Okay, fine, I leave towels around. But you look cute in my hoodies.”
You grin. “So you admit it.”
“I admit nothing.”
---
🎥 TAKE FIVE — THE HEART MELTER
Max clears his throat dramatically. “Last question. What is the moment you knew you were in love?”
Lando freezes.
You freeze.
The room goes quiet.
You start writing slowly, heart thudding. Lando stares at his board for a long moment before writing something down with surprising seriousness.
“Reveal,” Max says softly.
You flip your boards.
You: When he held my hand at his first karting race because he was nervous.
Lando: When she held my hand at my first karting race because I was nervous.
You blink.
He blinks.
Max whispers, “Oh my god.”
Lando reaches for your hand across the table. “I didn’t think you remembered that.”
“Of course I remember,” you say, voice soft. “You were shaking.”
“You squeezed my hand,” he says. “And I thought… if she’s here, I’ll be okay.”
Your eyes sting a little.
Max fans himself dramatically. “This is too much. I’m going to combust.”
Lando leans over and kisses your cheek, lingering there for a moment. “I love you,” he murmurs, quiet enough that only you hear it.
You squeeze his hand. “I love you too.”
---
🎬 AFTER THE CAMERAS STOP
The moment the camera cuts, Max throws himself onto the table.
“You two are unbearable,” he groans. “I’m editing this and I’m adding clown music over every romantic moment.”
Lando flips him off again. “Do that and I’ll replace all your voiceovers with a kazoo.”
You laugh, standing up and stretching. Lando immediately wraps his arms around your waist from behind, chin on your shoulder.
“You were amazing,” he says softly.
“You were adorable.”
He kisses your cheek again. “We should do more videos together.”
Max groans. “Absolutely not.”
Lando ignores him. “Maybe a cooking challenge.”
“You’d lose,” you say.
He gasps. “Rude.”
“True,” Max adds.
Lando throws another marker at him.
---
🎥 THE FINAL MOMENT
As you’re packing up, Lando grabs your hand and pulls you back toward him.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Thanks for doing this with me.”
You smile. “Anytime.”
He leans in, kissing you properly this time — slow, warm, familiar. The kind of kiss that feels like home.
Max walks by, covering his eyes. “I’m blind. I’m actually blind.”
Lando breaks the kiss just long enough to shout, “Shut up, Max!”
Warnings: language, public embarrassment, lando norris being a dramatic idiot
Pairing: lando norris x fem!reader
Summary: In 2021, Lando exposed Max’s secret girlfriend on stream. Years later, Max gets the ultimate revenge when Lando accidentally lets his secret slip. Chaos, payback, and a very unimpressed girlfriend ensue.
Words: 3K
The 2021 stream is infamous.
Lando, barely legal and full of chaos, spills Max Fewtrell's biggest secret like it's nothing. "Max have a girlfriend." Just drops it. Live. To thousands of people.
Max's relationship was three months old. Private. Fragile. Something he actually cared about.
And Lando just told everyone.
Max didn't speak to him for a week. When he finally did, his voice was calm. Too calm.
"I'm not going to get mad," Max said.
"Good," Lando replied, already relaxing.
"I'm going to wait."
"...Wait for what?"
Max smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "For you to fall in love. And then I'm going to do exactly what you did to me."
Lando laughed. "Never happening. I don't do relationships."
Max just nodded. "We'll see."
Four years pass.
Lando does what Lando does: races cars, streams games, dodges commitment like it's a torpedo. He's convinced he's untouchable. Too smart for love. Too busy for feelings.
Then he meets you.
It's at a mutual friend's party. You're not famous. You don't care about his job beyond being happy for him. You make fun of his haircut within the first thirty seconds.
He's hooked immediately.
"You're different," he tells you on the second date.
"That's what they all say," you reply, stealing a fry off his plate.
"No, I mean it. I don't—I don't usually do this."
"Do what? Eat fries?"
"Feel things," he admits, then looks horrified at his own honesty.
You laugh. It's not mean. It's warm. Real. "That's terrifying for you, isn't it?"
"Yes," he says. "Absolutely terrifying."
You're together by the end of the month.
Lando had never been so happy and nervous at the same time. It had been so long since Lando had been so excited about a relationship.
The apartment is dark except for the glow of two monitors. It’s late—or early, depending on your relationship with sleep—and Lando is streaming. Just a chill one. No agenda. Definitely not because you’re in the next room, wrapped in his hoodie, reading a book on his bed.
He told you to stay quiet. “Just for a bit, baby. I’ll be done in an hour.”
You rolled your eyes but kissed his cheek anyway. You’ve been together for eight months. Private by necessity, but soft in ways that make his chest ache. No one knows. Not the fans. Not the press. Not even most of his friends.
Max Fewtrell knows.
Max has known since week two, when Lando showed up at his flat at midnight, drunk on something stronger than confidence, rambling about "this girl, Max, she’s different, I swear to god.”
Max listened. Max nodded. And then Max smiled—slow, terrible, beautiful—and said, “So. A girlfriend, then?”
Lando had gone pale. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
But Max kept the secret. For months. Lando almost started to trust him again.
Foolish, really.
Until Friday arrived and with it a streaming of Lando.
The stream is going fine. Lando is racing, cracking jokes, dodging questions about his love life with the practiced ease of a man who has lied to the entire internet for fun and profit.
But then he hears it.
A soft thud from the bedroom. Then your voice, sleepy and sweet: “Lan? Where’d you put my phone charger?”
Lando’s soul leaves his body.
His hands hover over his keyboard. His eyes go wide. The chat, sensing blood, accelerates into chaos.
WHO WAS THAT
LANDO???
GIRL?? IN THE BACKGROUND???
HELLO???
“No one,” Lando says, too fast. “That was—that was my—my Alexa. My Alexa sounds weird. British update.”
The chat is not buying it.
ALEXA SAID ‘LAN’
ALEXA DOES NOT HAVE A BEDROOM
LANDO NORRIS YOU ARE LYING
He’s about to fumble his way through another terrible excuse when his phone buzzes.
Max Fewtrell: is that her?
Max Fewtrell: is that the girlfriend?
Max Fewtrell: lando i swear to god if you don’t invite me to this stream right now.
Lando types back frantically: max don’t you dare
A second later, a notification pops up.
maxfewtrell has joined the stream.
“No,” Lando whispers. “No, no, no.”
Max’s face appears on screen. He looks like Christmas came early. His grin is so wide it’s almost obscene.
“Evening, chat,” Max says smoothly. “Lando. Mate. Sounded like you had a visitor.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Because chat says they heard a girl call you ‘Lan.’” Max leans back, arms crossed, the picture of smug patience. “Want to explain that?”
Lando is sweating. Actually sweating. “It was—my sister.”
“Your sister calls you ‘Lan’?”
“Sometimes.”
“At 1 AM?”
“She’s… an insomniac.”
Max hums. He pulls out his phone, scrolls for a second, then looks directly into the camera with the energy of a man about to commit a felony.
“You know,” Max says, loud and clear, “it’s funny. Because I could have sworn—and correct me if I’m wrong, chat—that Lando told me, in confidence, about eight months ago, that he’d met someone. That she was ‘really special.’ That he wanted to ‘keep her a secret because he didn’t want to mess it up.’”
Lando makes a sound like a dying animal. “Max.”
“And I remember thinking,” Max continues, unstoppable now, “how familiar that sounded. How much that reminded me of someone else I knew. Someone who had a secret girlfriend. Someone who got exposed on a live stream by a certain—what was his name again?—oh, right. Lando Norris.”
The chat has achieved light speed.
MAX IS SAVAGE
HE REMEMBERED
THE LORE
LANDO HAVE A GF?????
KARMA IS REAL
Lando drops his head into his hands. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Max grins. “You love me. Just like you love your secret girlfriend who is definitely in your bedroom right now. Hi, by the way! You deserve better than this idiot.”
From the other room, barely audible, you laugh.
And Lando—despite the disaster, despite the betrayal, despite the fact that his phone is now exploding with notifications from every driver, every journalist, and his own mother—smiles.
Just a little.
Worth it.
"Say it," Lando grumbles, crossing his arms even with a smoldering smile on his face. "Say the phrase you want to say"
Max leans into his microphone. He's enjoying this. Really, truly enjoying this.
"Lando have a girlfriend," Max announces, perfectly enunciated. "And he is whipped. And I have screenshots. And voice memos. And approximately fourteen hours of him talking about how pretty her laugh is."
"You're a monster," Lando whispers.
"I learned from the best."
You kept laughing while you were watching everything from your laptop
Later. After the stream ends. After Max logs off cackling. After the internet has fully lost its mind.
You walk into the living room, still in his hoodie, hair messy, holding your phone charger like a trophy. You look at Lando—slumped in his gaming chair, face buried in his hands, ears bright red—and raise an eyebrow.
“So,” you say. “Karma’s a bitch, huh?”
Lando looks up at you, utterly defeated. “He’s never going to let me live this down.”
“Nope.”
“The entire world knows now.”
“Yep.”
“My DMs are going to be hell.”
“Probably.”
He sighs. Then holds out his arms. “Worth it, though.”
You roll your eyes but walk over anyway, letting him pull you into his lap. He tucks his face into your neck, breathing you in, and you can feel him smile against your skin.
“I love you,” he mumbles. “Even if Max Fewtrell is the actual devil.”
“I love you too,” you say. “Even if you did kind of deserve that.”
From somewhere across the city, Max Fewtrell opens a bottle of champagne and tweets a single word:
@maxfewtrell: karma.
The internet explodes again.
Because Max isn't cruel. He's just patient.
And revenge, served cold, tastes best with a side of love.
Summary: Lando’s a little clingy tonight, which is how you end up sitting beside him off-camera while he streams CS with Max. It’s all going fine… until he notices the powdered sugar on your lips. One impulsive kiss later, the chat is in chaos, Max is traumatised, and Lando refuses to wipe the evidence away.
Warnings: fluff, established relationship, public but private couple, clingy!lando, streamer dynamics, brief kissing, chat chaos, max third-wheeling against his will, tooth-rotting sweetness
Word count: 1.2k ✨
A/N: so guys, as a lot of you said on my pole that you’d like to read more streamer!lando fics this is my first one. I got this idea because funnily enough I was eating powdered donuts myself while watching Lando stream with Max a few weeks ago (I had both streams open, and let me tell you it was hard to focus on both as I had one open on my phone and the other on my tablet and they were not in sync 😂) and I thought it was a super cute idea. I hope you enjoy, my requests are open for both Arthur and Lando fics. ☺️🩷
Tag list 🌸 Masterlist
Lando’s clingy.
Not verbally, he’ll never say it outright on stream, but you can always tell.
It’s in the way his hand keeps reaching for yours between rounds.
The way he swivels his chair slightly toward you even while focused on his monitor.
The way he’d texted you “come sit w me pls” from three feet away before going live.
So now you’re there.
Curled into the chair beside his, just out of camera frame like always. Public relationship, but private moments, the balance you’d both agreed on early. The viewers knew you existed, knew you were together… they just didn’t see you often.
Tonight was one of those rare nights you hovered just off screen because he wanted you close.
And because you’d brought snacks.
A small open box of mini powdered donuts rested on your lap, and you were halfway through your third one while scrolling TikTok with the volume low in your earbuds.
On his monitor, Lando’s game of CS was… not going well.
“HOW—” he cut himself off, leaning back in his chair. “How is he there? That makes no sense.”
From his headset, Max Fewtrell’s voice crackled in instantly.
“You say that every time you die.”
“Because it’s always stupid,” Lando shot back, clicking his mouse aggressively.
You snorted quietly beside him.
His head turned immediately.
The annoyance on his face melted the second he looked at you, it always did, and his eyes dropped to the donut in your hand.
Then to your mouth.
You didn’t even realise what he was staring at until he smiled.
A slow, soft, fond smile that made your stomach flip.
“What?” you mouthed.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned sideways out of camera frame, quick, casual, one hand bracing lightly on your knee as he pressed a kiss to your lips.
Soft. Sweet. Brief.
You giggled instantly into it, surprised, powdered sugar dusting from your lips onto his.
He pulled back just as quickly, grinning like it was the most normal thing in the world, and turned back to his screen as if nothing happened.
You blinked.
Then laughed quietly to yourself, wiping your fingers on a napkin before picking up another donut.
On stream, Max’s voice cut through again.
“…Why did you just disappear off camera?”
Lando froze mid-buy menu.
“What?” he said, too casually.
“You leaned out like you were kidnapped.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” Max insisted. “Chat’s literally asking where you went.”
Lando frowned, glancing at his second monitor where the chat was flying.
LANDOOOO WHERE DID U GO
bro vanished 💀
did his wifi die or—
wait… WAIT…
WAS THAT A KISS???
NO WAY
NOOOO WAYYY
POWDER ON HIS LIPS HELLO????
LANDO U HAVE SUGAR ON UR MOUTH
He blinked.
“…What?”
You clapped a hand over your mouth to stop laughing.
He frowned deeper, instinctively opening his stream preview, and there it was.
A faint dusting of powdered sugar across his bottom lip.
He stared at himself for a solid two seconds.
Then his cheeks went pink.
Max’s voice came through again, smug.
“Oh my god you kissed her didn’t you.”
Lando coughed.
“No.”
“Lando.”
“No.”
“LANDO.”
“Shut up, Max.”
Chat was in absolute meltdown.
HE’S BLUSHINGGGG
sugar kiss confirmed 🍩
THATS SO CUTE WHAT
bro got powdered donut rizz
he didn’t even WIPE IT OFF
IM SCREAMING
girlfriend reveal by SUGAR TRACE
You nudged his arm lightly, whispering, “You’ve got—”
“I know,” he muttered.
But instead of wiping it away…
He glanced at the camera again.
Then deliberately ran his tongue across his bottom lip, licking the sugar off slowly.
Chat exploded.
HELLO???
SIR???
THAT WAS ILLEGAL
he LICKED IT OFF???
I would like to thank powdered donuts for their service
gf off cam winning in life rn
He shot you a look then, playful glare, eyes narrowed.
“Your fault,” he said quietly, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth.
You gasped dramatically. “My fault?”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Distracting me mid-game.”
“You kissed me!”
“You had sugar on your lips!”
You giggled again, covering your mouth as you tried to stay quiet for stream.
Max groaned loudly in his headset.
“Oh my god I’m still here, by the way.”
Lando physically jumped in his chair.
“Fucking hell.. I forgot you were there.”
“I wish I wasn’t,” Max replied instantly. “I just watched you flirt live on Twitch.”
“I did not flirt.”
“You licked sugar off your girlfriend’s mouth on stream.”
Lando buried his face briefly in his hand, laughing.
Chat was eating it up.
max third wheeling AGAIN
free my man fewtrell
he’s traumatised
“i forgot you were there” 💀💀
clingy lando confirmed
He shook his head, refocusing on the game as the next round started.
“Right. Serious now,” he muttered, leaning forward.
You smiled to yourself and picked up another mini donut.
A minute passed.
Then two.
He was locked in, brows furrowed, mouse flicking, completely focused.
Until you tapped his arm.
He glanced sideways briefly.
You held up a powdered donut.
His expression softened instantly.
Without a word, he leaned over and took a bite straight from your fingers, never taking his eyes off the screen.
Chat noticed immediately.
SHE’S FEEDING HIM????
IM SO SOFT
off cam gf reveal but make it domestic
gamer boyfriend being fed donuts I can’t
he didn’t even look away 😭
Max groaned again.
“You’re being fed now? Are you five?”
“Shut up,” Lando mumbled through the bite, trying not to smile.
You wiped a bit of stray sugar from the corner of his mouth with your thumb.
He froze for half a second at the touch, then leaned slightly into it before catching himself and clearing his throat.
Focus. Stream. Game.
But his hand found your knee under the desk anyway, squeezing once absentmindedly.
You went back to scrolling TikTok, one earbud still in, occasionally tilting your phone so he could glance when he died between rounds.
At one point he died early again and leaned over.
“What’re you watching?”
“Fan edits,” you whispered.
He perked up immediately. “Of me?”
“Obviously.”
“Show me.”
You tilted your phone toward him, a dramatic slow-mo edit of him walking through the paddock.
He watched, deeply serious.
“…That’s sick.”
You laughed quietly.
Chat saw him looking off screen again.
WHAT IS HE LOOKING AT
show us king
gf showing him edits STOP
this is the softest stream ever
Max sighed.
“Can you stop being in love for five minutes so we can win a round?”
“No,” Lando said simply.
You choked on a laugh.
He smirked slightly at your reaction but kept playing, posture relaxed now, calmer just because you were there.
Another donut appeared in front of him.
He took it automatically.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
A pause.
Then softer, quieter, meant just for you:
“Stay here, yeah?”
Your heart melted a little.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He smiled, small but real, eyes flicking to you for a second before turning back to the game.
Chat noticed the softness instantly.
THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER
I’m unwell
clingy gamer bf energy
he just wants her near 😭
powdered donuts bringing families together
The round ended in a win.
Lando cheered, grabbing your hand and squeezing it triumphantly.
You squeezed back just as tight.
Max groaned one last time.
“I carried that, by the way.”
“Sure you did,” Lando said.
Then quieter, leaning slightly toward you again:
“Donut?”
You smiled, lifting one to his lips.
He took a bite, powdered sugar dusting his mouth all over again.
This time he didn’t even bother checking the camera.
—-Genre: lando x reader fluff, streaming, cuddling (can you tell I like streaming fics? 😆)
—-Request: nope
—- Part1, Part 2
—- Masterlist
Summery: Lando loves cuddles….. max not so much
——-Max Fewtrell’s Twitch stream had been live for exactly eleven minutes before chat started losing its collective mind.
Not because Max was doing anything particularly interesting — he was sitting at his desk, headset on, controller in hand, half-focused on the game and half-ranting about something trivial. The lighting was warm, casual. The room looked lived-in.
And in the background, very clearly visible, was a bed.
A bed that currently had two people in it.
Chat noticed immediately.
chat:
WAIT
IS THAT A BED BEHIND YOU
HELLO???
MAX???
WHO IS THAT
IS THAT—
Max glanced at chat briefly, eyebrows knitting together. “What?” he asked, distracted. “What are you lot on about?”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, unintentionally giving chat an even better view.
There was no denying it now.
Lando Norris was sprawled on the bed behind him, shoes kicked off somewhere out of frame, still wearing his white undershirt from earlier — the crisp button-up and suit jacket presumably discarded the second they’d walked through the door. One arm was slung loosely around a woman tucked against his chest, her head resting just below his collarbone.
His long-time girlfriend.
The one fans only ever caught glimpses of. The one who never made announcements, never posed deliberately, never played into the spectacle — but also never hid.
Private, not secret.
She was half under the covers, wearing one of Max’s spare hoodies (or maybe Lando’s — chat would argue about that for weeks), knees tucked up, one hand fisted lightly in the fabric of Lando’s undershirt as if even sleep wasn’t enough to loosen her grip on him.
They were out cold.
chat:
NO WAY
IS THAT LANDO???
IS HE ASLEEP??
WITH HER???
HELLO?????
THIS IS NOT A DRILL
Max finally turned around.
He froze.
“Oh,” he said, blinking. “…Oh.”
He swiveled fully in his chair, looking at the bed, then back to the camera, then back again — like if he stared long enough the situation might disappear.
“They’re asleep,” he said slowly, unnecessarily. “Clearly.”
chat:
WE CAN SEE THAT
MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘OH’
HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN THERE
DID THEY COME BACK DRUNK
WHAT DID THEY DO TONIGHT
Max shrugged, already putting the controller down. “Dunno,” he said honestly. “They went out. Dinner. Or a party. Or… something. I stayed in.”
Which was true. Lando and his girlfriend had come back late, laughing softly as they kicked their shoes off, whispering to each other like teenagers sneaking into a house — except they hadn’t bothered sneaking at all. They’d just… melted into the bed together.
Max had barely registered it before Lando was already half asleep.
chat:
MAX YOU ARE THE WORST LIAR
YOU JUST HAVE LANDO NORRIS SLEEPING IN YOUR BACKGROUND??
THIS IS DOMESTIC AF
HIS ARM AROUND HER IM CRYING
Max sighed and turned back to his desk. “I genuinely don’t know anything,” he insisted. “I’m not involved. I’m just here to game.”
Chat did not believe him.
Minutes passed. The game continued. The camera stayed fixed.
And then Lando stirred.
It was subtle at first — a shift of his shoulder, a low exhale as he adjusted on the mattress. His fingers twitched where they rested against her back, the fabric of the hoodie bunching under his palm.
He murmured something incoherent, face pressing briefly into her hair.
She didn’t wake.
Instead, she responded on pure instinct.
She scooted closer, tucking herself even more firmly against his chest, one leg draping lazily over his thigh. Her arm slid across his stomach, fingers slipping under the hem of his undershirt like she’d done it a thousand times before.
Lando let out a quiet hum — half sigh, half content noise — and tightened his arm around her without ever opening his eyes.
Chat exploded.
chat:
I JUST WITNESSED A PRIVATE MOMENT I WAS NOT MEANT TO SEE
THE WAY HE PULLED HER CLOSER
THATS HIS WIFE YOUR HONOR
MAX TURN THE CAMERA OFF IM BLUSHING
THEY’RE SO NATURAL ABOUT IT
Max glanced over his shoulder again and visibly winced.
“Mate,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Lando. “You’re trending.”
As if summoned by the universe, Lando shifted again — this time his eyes fluttering open briefly. He blinked, unfocused, staring at the ceiling like he had no idea where he was.
His hand moved automatically, thumb brushing slow circles into her back.
She nuzzled closer, face pressing into his neck.
“Lan…” she murmured softly, voice thick with sleep.
“Mm?” he replied, barely audible.
“Still here?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
She did.
He didn’t.
Instead, Lando turned his head slightly and finally noticed the glow of Max’s setup. The camera. The stream.
His eyes widened just a fraction.
“Oh,” he breathed.
Max didn’t turn around.
Chat noticed everything.
chat:
HIS EYES OPENED
HE SAW THE CAMERA
LANDO BLINK TWICE IF YOU’RE OKAY
THIS IS BETTER THAN NETFLIX
Lando stared for a moment, clearly debating his options. Then he looked down at his girlfriend — peacefully asleep, entirely unaware she was currently the internet’s favorite person.
He smiled.
Soft. Fond. Almost stupidly affectionate.
He carefully shifted, pulling the blanket higher around her shoulders, then tucked his chin gently against the top of her head. One hand slid into her hair, fingers threading through it slowly.
Then — without a word — he closed his eyes again.
Chat lost it.
chat:
HE CHOSE HER OVER THE STREAM
AS HE SHOULD
MAX YOU’RE THIRD WHEELING YOUR OWN STREAM
THE UNDERSHIRT?? THE SUIT ENERGY??
THEY CAME BACK FROM A DATE AND PASSED OUT TOGETHER IM SICK
Max finally addressed it.
“I don’t know anything,” he repeated, stubborn. “I didn’t see them. I didn’t hear anything. I’m not answering questions.”
The donation alert went off.
“$10 — Tell Lando we love him and his girl.”
Max didn’t even hesitate. “I’m not waking them up.”
Another alert.
“$25 — This is the most domestic thing I’ve ever seen.”
Max sighed. “…Yeah. It is.”
The rest of the stream went on like that.
Max gaming. Chat spiraling. Lando half-awake just enough to tighten his grip every time she shifted, like his body refused to let her drift too far even in sleep.
At one point, she rolled slightly, and he followed immediately — pulling her back against him, legs tangling, forehead pressed into the crook of her neck.
Not performative. Not staged.
Just love, muscle memory, and the comfort of someone who had been his home for years.
And Max?
Max finished the stream an hour later without ever acknowledging it again.
Summary: lando and yn’s relationship through other people’s eyes
𝄞 ln x reader 𓇢𓆸
𝄞 fluff 𓇢𓆸
masterlist ☾☼
charles’ version
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
carlos
carlos had known lando since he was nineteen. being teammates with him made carlos realise that they had a lot of common interests, and their sense of humour matched, and in the blink of an eye, lando had become one of carlos' best friends. there wasn't a day that went by without carlos or lando talking to each other, and there wasn't a day that went by without the two learning something new about each other.
carlos prided himself on the fact that he could read lando pretty well. y/n was lando's age and had joined mclaren as part of their hospitality intern. she was not supposed to have much interaction with the drivers, especially considering that she was an intern. her main jobs on some days was to make coffee runs.
fortunately, the coffee runs were what brought lando and y/n closer.
"coffee for you, mr sainz, and coffee for you, mr norris," she had said when she put two cups down in front of them.
carlos had watched as lando was about to make a joke but seemed lost as he stared at the woman and then back at the cup, and back at the woman.
he decided to be a good friend in that moment and save the awestruck boy, "unfortunately, lando doesn't have coffee. he only likes milk. he's still a little boy,"
y/n had laughed, and carlos had watched again with a smirk as lando stared at her with the biggest smile on his face. "i'll be back with a glass of milk then,"
it had become a running joke between the three of them, and soon she had started accompanying them to races as well. in the two years that she had interned with mclaren, she had spoken to almost driver on the grid, and carlos had watched how y/n and lando had slowly become friends. though, friends would be a more appropriate word instead of saying 'lando followed her around and just stood behind her, lost in his daydreams while she spoke to the drivers'.
carlos had watched how lando was always including her in conversations where she stood near the wall, how he pushed her to give her opinion. he had watched how lando slowly helped her build her confidence as she began to become more sure of herself and her abilities.
carlos had also watched how she was always the first one to tell lando that he had done a good job. she sat with him whenever he reviewed all the places he went wrong and had to be better at. she helped him understand the right places for making jokes, and the kind of jokes. he had watched how y/n had slowly helped build lando's confidence.
carlos and lando had a similar humour, but he found very quickly that lando and y/n's humour were exactly the same. they had inside jokes and eyes that laughed every time they looked at each other. they had soft touches and fingers that always grasped the air in the end.
the night of one of the races, when people had left, and only a few were remaining, carlos had been looking for lando to tell him about the golfing range that they could try out during the two weekends they had free. he had walked around looking his friend, even calling out his name. eventually, he found him sitting on the curb of the track with y/n.
they had their masks off, and were sitting close to each other. considering that they were the only two people around, carlos had not reminded the two to wear their masks.
the two had been laughing and giggling and leaning, and carlos walked a little closer to listen to what they were talking about.
"what'cha gonna do for the next two weeks?" lando had asked. it was quiet, and they were quieter, but carlos could still hear them.
"actually, i've been so excited to tell you about it! so, you know how i joined mclaren as an intern, and well, i'm still at a beginner level because i told you that i didn't want to do this forever?" she had seemed excited.
lando had only nodded, still staring at her. it made carlos wonder if lando was actually listening to what was being said.
"so, i've been doing some research, because i finally figured out what i'm going to do with my life. my parents only let me do this because i was interested in formula one, and i wanted a break after high school. though, admittedly, the break was supposed to be just a gap year, ended up being two-three years, but that's fine-"
y/n was cut off, because lando had finally gotten the courage and kissed her. carlos' mouth fell open. lando had confided in him about his crush on y/n, but carlos knew long before that. hell, carlos had known from the very first moment possible.
she had kissed him back, and carlos turned around with a smile on his face as he gave them some privacy.
just as he was leaving, he heard y/n's voice sounding heartbroken, and stopped short.
"lan, i'm going back to university. that's what i wanted to tell you."
"what?"
"i was talking to the drivers the other day about their childhood and what they faced, what you went through. max with his dad, lewis with the bullying, all of that. i realised then that i wanted to study child psychology. i want to be a child psychologist."
"oh. so, when are you leaving?"
"i gave my resignation letter this morning. i found a good university in london too. i applied a while back, and i got in."
"you got in."
"i got in, lan!" she was trying to be excited, carlos knew.
"that's amazing, y/n, congratulations,"
carlos turned around to peek, just a little bit, and saw the two embracing. he watched as lando tried to hide his tears, and y/n, who couldn't stop smiling. he watched as lando found his eyes, and carlos didn't know what to do in that moment.
"it doesn't have to change anything. i mean, i know i won't be there for race weekends and at the mtc and stuff, but i'm here for you." y/n said.
the two pulled back. y/n frowned at the tears on lando's face, and gently wiped them off. carlos feared what was going to happen to their friendship now.
"and, i mean, if the kiss wasn't a fluke, i'd like it again. and maybe every time i see you next?" y/n said, smiling, hoping, and carlos sighed in relief. yeah, the kids were going to be okay.
he could hear lando laughing as he walked back inside. lando was going to marry y/n, carlos could bet his life on it.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
daniel
when daniel had joined mclaren, there was one thing that he saw and was sure of right from the first day: no one could handle lando norris like y/n y/l/n.
he had spoken to her, and was good acquaintances with her. he knew that she had been working with mclaren for a year. lando and y/n seemed to be better friends than lando and carlos were, and that was a tough duo to break.
daniel felt awkward with lando at first. the two had barely anything in common, and combine it with their ten year age gap, it felt almost impossible to bond with the boy over something. both of them felt awkward at first, and both of them knew it.
y/n was perceptive, though, daniel had to agree. she had forced lando and daniel into a room and gave them an hour. that did wonders for the new teammates, because by the end of it, they had become so much more comfortable with each other and just couldn't stop laughing.
that was when daniel started noticing more about lando and y/n's friendship. the way that she was always the first one there to congratulate him, and the last person he saw before he left the garage for a race. the way that he always looked for her, even when he was working.
at first, daniel couldn't understand the impact that a young 20 year old woman could have on a young 20 year old man. their lives were just starting, yet somehow, with them, it felt like their lives had reached the stage of contentment with each other.
when lando first launched quadrant, daniel had watched how y/n had surprised him with wearing the merch and proudly showing it off. he had watched and smiled at how lando had gotten so excited, he had picked her up as he cheered, "you're wearing quadrant! you're wearing my merch!"
she was there for all of the races at first, in the mclaren uniform. daniel had watched how she would talk to him before every race. daniel didn't know what they were talking about, but it always had a laugh and it always ended up with a hug. he honestly thought that y/n was a witch, with the way she could calm down the hyperactive boy. no one that daniel had seen had that effect on lando the way y/n did.
and then, after a point, y/n stopped coming to races. and, daniel wondered if lando and her had had a falling out. he didn't know if he should approach his teammate about it, because it could be a sensitive topic.
two races gone by, and y/n hadn't come. lando had looked upset during those weekends, and he always disappeared right before the race and right after. after one particular race, daniel decided to suck it up and ask.
"why doesn't y/n come anymore?" he blurted out. it wasn't the way he wanted to go about it.
lando smiled softly, and daniel wasn't sure what that smile meant, "she quit. she went back to studying. goes to a university in london."
daniel didn't know that.
"are you guys still in touch?" daniel tried to be as casual as possible, but he wasn't sure if he was doing a good job.
lando's smile got bigger, and daniel took it as a good sign, "yeah, we're in touch. we talk before and after races, and pretty much any time that we're free,"
"that's good to hear," the conversation had ended there.
daniel now knew what his teammate did before and after races when he disappeared.
the silverstone race was when he had finally seen y/n again. lando hadn't seen her yet, and y/n had looked jittery. spotting her, daniel approached her.
"hey, i haven't seen you in so long!" daniel exclaimed.
the two hugged briefly, "oh my god, it's so good to see you! i've just been so busy with uni. finally a race that i could attend,"
"missed us, did you?" daniel teased.
"so so so much," y/n said, and the two laughed.
daniel watched from over y/n's head as lando, who had initially been talking to one of his mechanics pause and turn around, as if he had heard her laugh. daniel continued his conversation with y/n, while also watching lando's reaction. he was looking around, a frown on his face. if daniel had to compare lando's reaction to something, it would be to a dog who could suddenly sniff his favourite treat from somewhere.
just as y/n was about to say something, daniel watched lando finally spotting her in her ln4 merch, before practically screaming, "y/n!"
y/n turned, her eyes lighting up, and lando ran from the other side, dodging people. daniel took a few steps back, wanting to give the two friends some space.
lando's arms had immediately wrapped around her waist, and he picked her up. his face was buried in her neck, and all he said was her name. okay, friends definitely did not hug like that.
pulling back from the hug, lando kissed her. daniel's mouth fell open in shock. y/n had kissed him back, before she pulled away, laughing. lando put her down on the floor again, and pressed kisses all over her face, whispering in between, "you're here, you're here, you're actually here, i'm so happy right now,"
noticing a cameraman approaching, daniel softly said, "cameras, guys,"
taking a deep breath, lando took a step back, folding his arms, "thanks, dan,"
"no problem. now, wanna tell me what's going on here?" his teasing tone only made the two grin bigger.
"we started dating my last night in mclaren," y/n said softly.
"i bet lando cried. finally kissed a girl, didn't you?"
"i did actually cry," lando said, and the three laughed.
kyle, lando's mechanic called out, and daniel bid goodbyes to lando and y/n. he turned heading back, looking back just once to see lando's arm across y/n's shoulders, and y/n's arm circling his waist as they walked to where kyle was.
daniel hadn't seen lando look that happy since y/n had stopped coming for races. something about him had changed. he looked more confident and pleased. he looked as if he could hold the world on his shoulders if he wanted to.
his confidence was seen on the track as well. despite losing two places, lando was happier than most, and daniel knew that just the presence of y/n could have that effect on him.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
max f
max remembered the day lando had called him, excited to tell him about a girl he had met and how carlos, she, and lando had joked around, and how beautiful her laugh was.
he remembered the blush on lando's cheeks and how excited he was. he denied liking her at that time, but no one ever called their best friend to talk about a woman for forty five minutes just to later claim that he didn't have a crush on her.
max had been apprehensive of the woman at first. lando was new to formula one, and he was bound to get famous. from what lando had told max, she was an intern, the same age as them. lando was a trusting fellow, and max felt the need to look out for his friend.
the first time lando had introduced y/n and max to each other, the two were just friends. though, the first meeting proved that max had no reason to be worried. y/n was quick with her witty responses like lando always was. she put up a good fight every time. their banter was entertaining, and y/n knew just how to keep lando on his toes.
they understood each other quite well too. max remembered when after a particularly bad race, the two were on a facetime call, where lando was explaining all that he could have done better, and max giving his inputs. their conversation had been interrupted when a knock on lando's hotel room was heard.
"might be carlos," lando had mumbled, before leaving max on his bed, staring at the ceiling. max could still hear everything, though.
"carlos, i don't feel like-" he heard lando's voice cut off.
"surprise!" a woman's voice, y/n's, was heard.
"what are you doing here?" lando had asked.
"well, i read somewhere that cookies and brownies fixed everything. but, i couldn't find enough ingredients for one particular thing, so i made brookies!" her voice was louder, and max assumed that she had entered the room.
suddenly he saw her face pop up on the phone, "hi max!"
"hey, y/n!" max waved at her.
"you baked me something?"
"uh huh. your flight isn't till nine, and i thought that i could help you pack since you're terrible at it, and max, you and me could listen to music and dance around and eat brookies!"
they had done exactly that, y/n and lando trying their best to include max in all their conversations as well. they jumped around, laughed, and ate brookies throughout. max yelled at lando to save some for him, but lando had pretended to not hear, and then y/n had promised to make more for him. lando was smiling again, and even though max knew that he still felt bitter about the race, it had distracted him.
it was silent for a few seconds, only the music playing, when max checked what was going on. he stopped himself from saying anything when he saw lando and y/n locked in a hug. his face was buried in her neck, and her fingers were in his hair. max didn't know what either of them were saying, but lando had a tight grip on her, his knuckles turning white, and y/n just held him.
max knew their relationship would change soon.
and it had.
after the two had gotten together, lando began coming to london more often, even if it was to spend time with y/n. he invited y/n everywhere, whether they went for quadrant shoots, or meeting new people for new business partnerships.
she would come with her textbooks and her laptop, insisting on studying while they did their thing. for the most part, she did study. during the plane ride to wherever they were going, lando and y/n would sit side by side, sharing wired earphones, listening to music while y/n studied. lando would usually stare at her, or play with her hair. during shoots, y/n would be just as enthusiastic as lando, always pushing him for new ideas.
she trusted him insanely too. any time he would drive at a speed that even scared him, max had seen the way y/n would be carefree, throwing her arms in the air and enjoying the wind.
y/n would even help out with designing lando's helmets. the two had a connection that max didn't understand that well. they brought out the best in each other and knew just how to handle the worst too.
max had seen lando more worried about whether y/n had eaten during exam season than he generally was about himself. max had seen lando care for something other than racing and quadrant. it was new and refreshing, and max knew it was a forever kind of deal.
it always was a forever kind of deal with lando and y/n.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
alex and george
alex and george had sort-of grown up with lando. they had raced each other in f2, and had become quick friends. lando used to look upto alex and george, and the boys knew about it.
they had known lando well when he was a young boy, had seen the way he drove, the way he acted, the way he was in general. they had seen his cocky attitude, and as much of a show he put up in front of the media, they knew that he looked upto almost driver that were on the grid as he tried to make a place for himself in between them.
they had seen how low his confidence was, despite being outgoing and getting along with almost everyone he met. he had been their topic of conversation many times, with the two trying to figure out how they could be there for their friend.
it had helped that lando had found a true friend in carlos, and then daniel. it had changed lando, a positive change that both, alex and george were incredibly happy to see. he still blamed himself after races, but carlos, a veteran, reassuring lando had had a greater effect than george and alex. the two men understood why. they had the same amount of experience in formula one as lando, so trying to convince him that he had done a good job wasn't as effective.
lando had really changed, though, after he met y/n. y/n was outgoing, like lando, and she could talk a mile a minute. she seemed to really give max competition when it came to yapping. but, the best thing that she ever did was make lando smile more often. george and alex were grateful for that.
y/n had a way of correcting lando or telling him new information without making him feel dumb. george and alex knew how insecure lando was for never finishing his schooling, unlike oscar. it was a shock to alex and george when lando told them random facts throughout the day. it was a good kind of shock, but a shock nonetheless. they knew almost immediately that it was the work of y/n.
lando had always been humble. online, he was arrogant. but, he knew what he needed to work on, he knew everything he could about his, and he always wanted to know more. george and alex had often teased him about leaving the last on saturdays after the qualifying session.
but, y/n had stayed with him, had encouraged him, and had showed him that even if he failed, he was still good enough. y/n showed him that even if he lost ten positions, he was still good enough as a driver, and as a racer. he deserved to be in f1, something that a lot of people, including george and alex agreed on.
over the years, lando had gotten good at saying what was expected of him. it was often things that he would go and directly tell people to their faces, but always play it off with the media. lando never forgot to remind alex and george how much he respected them, even if they told them in private. they knew that that was lando's way of making sure that they knew he was being sincere.
the world didn't understand it as much, and the media loved to twist all of their words. so, y/n helped him understand. and, y/n helped him grow. and, even though lando was always a good person, y/n made him better everyday.
alex and george often spoke about the difference five years, six years had made in lando. and they could agree that lando was still the same person, but just a little more grown up and a little more focused. it was his own doing, with some help from y/n.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
max v
padel with lando was one of his favourite things to do. lando was competitive, and he made jokes, and he was arrogant and deprecating, and somehow all of it just fit well.
they had a weekend free before the next race, and what better way could there have been than to participate in another sport with the same person who was the contender for the world driver's championship?
they had played for hours, and after the two had completely exhausted themselves, lando invited max over to his apartment for lunch. agreeing, max texted kelly about his lunch plans with lando, and the two drove to lando's apartment their individual cars.
parking, the two went up the elevator, laughing and giggling and gossiping on their way over. just as lando was about to unlock his front door, he paused and turned to max.
"my girlfriend is a little mad at me right now. i kinda paid off part of her university tuition and i didn't tell her, and now she found out, and i'm basically-"
"-fucked. you're basically fucked."
lando opened his mouth to retaliate, but agreed with max. he was fucked.
unlocking the door, lando called out, "babe, we're home!"
y/n appeared from the hallway, "hi, max! how was padel?"
max watched as lando moved towards her with his arms open, almost like a routine of when he comes back home, but y/n dodged his hands and stepped away. lando looked like a puppy who had gotten kicked, and as much as max wanted to laugh at the expression, he did feel a little bad for his friend.
"hey! um, padel was good. i beat lando, 5 games out of 8," he said.
y/n laughed, "that's wonderful. i'll get your lunch set up, so why don't you relax?"
she still hadn't said a word to lando, and as she turned to head towards the kitchen, he watched as lando followed her like a dog on a leash.
max settled on the couch, and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. he tried not to listen, to not eavesdrop on his friend's very private conversation. but they were loud, so technically, it wasn't his fault.
"baby, i'm sorry, i was trying to help!" lando's urgent voice could be heard. he was speaking softly, but in the quiet house, it was still loud enough for max to hear.
"helping means washing the dishes or getting me supplies for my exams! helping does not mean paying off my tuition!" y/n's hushed whisper came next. she was angry.
"but, why can't i just pay for the tuition? i've got the money, you and i are going to end up married anyways! what's mine is yours!" max had to admit, this was probably the first time he had heard lando so sure on marrying someone.
"exactly! you've got the money. not me. lando, i need to be able to survive on my own, and my tuition is my problem. not yours."
"you are surviving on your own! just 'cause i'm here doesn't mean that you can't lean on me for stuff!"
max heard y/n let out a groan of frustration, "i'm not as rich as you are, lando. i'm not a celebrity or a model, i don't have the money. i'm studying to be a child psychologist. this is my future, and my college, including my tuition fees, is my responsibility."
"yeah, well, you are my future. so, you're my responsibility, and that includes your college and your tuition fees and literally everything else in the world." max smiled. maybe lando would not have to sleep on the couch tonight.
it was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound came from the sizzling of the pan.
"darling, i'm sorry i paid your tuition fees without asking or telling you first. you were stressed out about it the other day, and you were telling me how you would have to take extra shifts at the diner, and i just thought that if i have the money for it, why can't i just get rid of that stress of yours? i really just wanted to help, nothing else." lando's voice was soft, and max strained his ears to listen.
"i feel like i'm taking advantage of you," y/n whispered softly. why were they talking so quietly? max couldn't hear a thing properly.
"advantage of me? love, no. you deserve so much more than what i can offer you. i hate that i have to be away for so long because of my job, but you've never complained and you've always supported me. sometimes i'm scared that i'm not showing you just how much i love you,"
"that's why you paid off my tuition. 'cause you wanted to prove that you love me, but you couldn't figure out how to open your mouth and say it to me,"
lando laughed. that was a good sign. it was silent again. maybe they were hugging? max wished he had a visual as well. and some popcorn.
"forgive me?" lando asked softly.
"only if you have ramen with me tonight, and watch tangled with me again,"
he expected lando to groan. he had listened to lando rant about how the movie was ingrained in his brain and how the songs were stuck in his head constantly because of his girlfriend's obsession with the movie.
"deal. i love you," lando said.
"i love you more,"
"not possible,"
"watch me,"
max smiled. lando was not sleeping on the couch tonight, that's for sure.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
oscar
there was time before the first practice race was supposed to start. oscar sat on his side of the garage, but was quickly getting bored. the mechanics and the race engineers were talking and discussing, and oscar really tried to listen to them and participate in the conversation, but all he wanted to do was go out and drive.
sighing, oscar decided to find lando. if there was anyone who could distract him, it was lando. moving over to his garage, oscar looked for lando, and found him standing with his race engineer, will. the two were in deep conversation about something. lando's shoulders were tense, and his fingers were digging into his arms as he had them crossed across his chest.
oscar sighed. he probably shouldn't disturb him, then. it looked like they were talking about something important, and it's not like oscar had anything specific in mind when he came to find lando. he just wanted a distraction and laugh about something, anything.
just as he turned to go back to his side of the garage again, oscar saw y/n. he smiled, and was about to walk over to her so that he could at least strike a conversation with her.
oscar and y/n were good friends. they had a lot of similar interests and often spoke or hung out outside of lando. lily and y/n also got along really well, and that was just another pro in his list.
just as he was about to go talk to y/n, he stopped short, as he watched her open her bag and rummage through it. the paddock pass was hanging from her neck, and the orange cap she wore almost made her invisible to the media.
finally pulling out, what he assumed was a fan, he watched as y/n weaved her way through the crowd and stood behind lando, who was still in a deep conversation with will.
oscar worried for a second. he knew lando well, and he knew y/n well. he knew that lando hated to be disturbed when he was working or when he was focused on something, especially if it was related to improving his performance. he also knew that while y/n always meant well, sometimes, she couldn't figure out the right timings for things. while oscar knew that lando would not yell at her or anything, he still worried that lando would accidentally say something in the heat of the moment that he would regret later, but it would inevitably hurt y/n. she was sensitive and she felt too much for everyone. he didn't want y/n to be hurt.
he stayed still, though. he wasn't sure if it was his place to interfere. it wasn't his relationship, and he was friends with both of them. so, he stayed where he was, and he watched.
he watched as y/n stood behind lando. he watched as will noticed her, smiling just slightly, before turning his attention back to lando. he watched as lando didn't seem to notice that.
he moved a little closer, just so he could make out a little bit of what they were saying.
he watched as y/n started fanning lando, a mischievous grin on her face. he watched as lando's shoulders sagged in relief from the cool air, and then watched him tense up. he watched as lando turned around, wanting to find out where the cool air was coming from, and was met with y/n and her fan.
the couple were laughing now, and lando hooked an arm around her waist and trapped her against him. oscar could see both of y/n's arms against lando's chest as she leaned back to look at him, her hand still clutching the fan.
he watched as the two spoke, far too softly for oscar to hear them. but he saw the smiles on their faces, and the love in their eyes. the fans called him oscar "heart eyes" piastri whenever he looked at lando. if the fans saw lando and y/n right now, "heart eyes" would be an understatement.
he watched as lando pressed a kiss to her lips, and he watched as y/n tucked herself against his chest. he watched as lando and will got back to their conversation. lando's hands were running up and down her back, and oscar watched as lando's shoulders relaxed, and how he wasn't grinding his teeth anymore, and how all the tension that he seemed to keep in his body almost all the time melted away.
in that moment, oscar realised that the things he knew about his teammate/friend and his friend, they knew it better. they knew each other better, and they were stronger like that.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
i may have messed up the timeline a bit somewhere in the start. but, this is one of my favourites that i've ever written! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)
i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305
lando norris x !childhood bff/driver reader x max fewtrell (smau + written)
you don’t remember a time when it wasn’t the three of you — you, lando, and max. the terrible trio. the karting kids who swore you’d take over the world one day. you did. sort of.
now, you’re standing in the paddock, your race suit half-zipped, watching your childhood best friends laugh together like nothing ever changed — except everything did. you don’t know that both of them have been in love with you for years. in love with each other for years. and they don’t know that you’ve always loved them back.
and maybe that’s the tragedy of it all — you three have always been so close, yet never close enough to tell the truth.
fc : lea elui
(day 13 of chef’s tea party series!) (happy halloween guys 🎃👻✨) (reader is a ferrari driver! charles is her teammate. lewis is back w mercedes and kimi is reserve. all your faves r still on the grid, do not fear!) (changed up my usual spacing on this one- knew it was going to be a long one!)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️
yourusername
silverstone📍
liked by lando, maxfewtrell, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 3,470,000 others.
yourusername : my home race was so kind to me <3 (and so was the weather and ferrari strategy calls (surprisingly))
tagged : yourbf, lando and maxfewtrell
—
view 89,000 other comments.
lando : 1-2 for norris and yln🤏🏻 exactly where we should be! so proud bub
liked by yourusername and maxfewtrell
↳ yourusername : maybe next time you could share pole position🤷🏻♀️
liked by lando and maxfewtrell
↳ yourusername : kidding! but thank you for the flowers lan🤍 love you bunches
liked by lando and maxfewtrell
↳ username005 : the flowers were from LANDO and not her boyfriend? pls someone just kill me. they belong together
liked by lando
↳ username005 : i saw that
charles_leclerc: i would like to thank the strategy team personally 🫡
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername: small miracles every weekend charlie boy
liked by charles_leclerc
↳ charles_leclerc: do not jinx it.
liked by yourusername
lewishamilton: yellow looks good on you ☀️ proud of you as always.
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername: thank you lew 🖤
maxfewtrell : both of my best friends on the podium for our home race :,) could never be more proud of you both
liked by yourusername and lando
↳ yourusername : don’t make me cry again max😭 love you forever
liked by maxfewtrell and lando
alex_albon: pretty sure i saw lando trying to sell a hoodie he designed five years ago 💀
liked by lando and yourusername
↳ lando: and you bought it.
liked by yourusername and alex_albon
↳ alex_albon: …yeah but that’s not the point.
liked by yourusername and lando
↳ yourusername : he is a business man. what can i say?
liked by lando and alex_albon
alexandrasaintmleux : queen of ferrari and my heart 🤭💛💐
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : we are the reigning queens of ferrari and charles is our butler
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc
↳ charles_leclerc : …yeah that sounds right
username107 : god her and lando’s matching cars. these two are in LOVE. always have been.
username009 : everyone ignoring that bf pic (me too)
↳ username007 : he didn’t even clap for her. when the camera panned to him in the garage he was stone cold.
↳ username002 : meanwhile max was in literally tears and lando carried her on his shoulder even though HE WON THE RACE. he made it about her
↳ username005 : and lando’s family going crazy over her. cisca had them both in her arms at once
↳ username010 : we need that man GONE.
liked by lando and maxfewtrell
ciscawaumannorris : so proud of you darling 🥹💛 you’ve come so far
liked by yourusername and lando
↳ yourusername : love you so much😭 wouldn’t be here today without your support !
Silverstone hums beneath your feet — the low thrum of engines, the chatter of mechanics, the distant roar of a crowd that’s already chanting your name. Your home race. The one you dreamed about since you were barely tall enough to reach the pedals in a kart. The one you’d imagined sharing with the same two boys who used to push your kart when the chain slipped — Lando and Max.
Now, you’re here. Ferrari red stitched across your chest, yellow details glinting under a rare stretch of English sun. And beside you… Ethan.
He’s got his arm around your waist, firm and possessive, like he’s afraid the crowd might pull you away. Cameras flash, fans scream, and you can’t help the small smile that rises when you spot posters with your name, your face, little cutouts of your helmet design. You slow down, untangling yourself gently from Ethan’s hold.
“Just a minute,” you tell him softly, and before he can argue, you’ve stepped over to the barrier.
You sign hats and photos, scribble your number across flags. Someone holds out a homemade sign that reads OUR GIRL, OUR DRIVER, and you feel your throat tighten. You’ve always loved this part — the humanity of it. The reminder that little girls with messy ponytails still dream of being here one day.
“Can we take a photo?” a girl asks, voice trembling with excitement. You nod instantly, crouching down beside her, smiling wide.
And that’s when you feel it — fingers curling around your wrist.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Ethan’s voice is calm, but there’s a steel edge beneath it. He pulls you gently — too gently to make a scene, too tight to be kind. “You’ll be late.”
You turn to apologize to the fans, but he’s already steering you down the paddock. What you don’t see — what you never see — is the way two figures across the way have frozen mid-conversation.
Lando’s half in his McLaren polo, curls messy, sunglasses perched on his head. Max stands beside him, arms folded loosely, watching the same scene unfold with a look that flickers between disbelief and anger.
Lando’s jaw tenses. “He really just—”
“Yeah,” Max cuts in quietly, eyes narrowing. “He did.”
They don’t say anything else for a moment, just stand there watching you disappear around the corner, your smile gone. Lando swallows hard.
“She doesn’t even look like herself around him,” he mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
Max exhales, long and slow. “No. She doesn’t.”
Later that afternoon, the paddock buzzes louder — engines warming, radios crackling. You’ve just finished briefing with Ferrari and sneak your way over to the McLaren garage like you always do before quali. It’s tradition.
You catch them both off guard — Lando sitting on a counter, helmet in his lap, Max leaning against the wall beside him.
“There she is!” Lando grins, hopping down instantly. “I was just saying how you’d show up five minutes late and pretend it was traffic.”
You roll your eyes, smiling for the first time all day. “I was in traffic. You’ve seen the crowd.”
“Excuses,” he teases, poking your arm. “Admit it — you can’t start your weekend without your lucky charm.”
You raise a brow. “Interesting. I always remember being yours."
He laughs — that same boyish, unguarded sound you’ve known since he was five and missing two front teeth. Max shakes his head at both of you, fighting a smile.
“Unbelievable,” he says, voice dry. “Still arguing over who’s luckier. Some things really don’t change.”
You look at him then, really look — his smile is soft, familiar. It makes something warm bloom in your chest.
For a fleeting moment, it’s like you’re nine again — standing on a muddy kart track, helmets too big, hands clasped tight in the middle.
“We’ll all make it, yeah?” Lando had said, his grin missing a tooth but still bright as the sky.
You’d nodded solemnly, little fingers hooked with theirs.
“No matter what. We stick together.”
“And no one gets between us,” Max had added, his small voice fierce, protective even then.
You’d believed it. All three of you had. But the years got longer, the spaces between weekends grew wider, and somewhere along the way, you forgot what it felt like to be untouched by everything else — by pressure, by fame, by people like Ethan.
“Hey,” Lando says now, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off your face, the gesture so familiar it makes your heart ache. “You okay?”
You nod quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Good luck out there,” Max says softly, and when you meet his eyes, there’s something unreadable there. “You always were the fastest of us three.”
You grin, a little shyly. “Still am.”
He laughs, and for a moment, everything feels right again.
Then you hear it.
“YN!”
Ethan’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and impatient. He’s walking toward you, expression tight, eyes already scanning the boys beside you.
“There you are,” he says, slipping his hand around your wrist — not gently this time. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to talk before quali.”
You start to reply, but he’s already pulling you away, his grip firm. Your breath catches — just a flicker of discomfort — and that’s when Max’s expression hardens completely. He sees it. The way Ethan’s fingers press into your skin. The way your smile falters.
Lando’s watching too — he doesn’t say anything, but his knuckles whiten as his fists curl at his sides. He wants to shout, wants to step forward, but he doesn’t. You’re looking down, murmuring something to calm Ethan, and that alone stops him.
As you disappear around the corner again, silence settles between the two boys.
Max runs a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “He treats her like she’s a thing he owns.”
Lando’s jaw twitches. “Yeah.” His voice is low, dangerous. “And one day, he’s going to forget that we’ve known her since she couldn’t even reach the pedals.”
They both stare toward the Ferrari garage — where you’ve gone, where their childhood promise feels like it’s slipping through their fingers. Because once upon a time, at nine years old, they swore no one would ever come between the three of you. And now, standing under the humming lights of Silverstone, they realize someone already has.
You’re sprawled across the couch in Lando’s hotel suite, your legs tossed over Max’s lap, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your stomach. The night is easy — laughter echoing off the walls, camera batteries charging on the coffee table, the faint buzz of London lights beyond the balcony doors.
They’d roped you into filming a Quadrant video earlier that week — something chaotic and harmless about go-kart challenges and who could make the worst milkshake combination. It ended with Max gagging, Lando crying from laughter, and you promising to never trust either of them again. Now, you’re filming the outro — or trying to.
“Okay,” you say, holding the camera steady as Lando leans in beside you, eyes bright. “What did we learn this week?”
“That Max can’t cook,” Lando says immediately.
Max glares at him. “That’s rich coming from someone who burns toast.”
“I was experimenting!”
“With fire, apparently.”
You giggle, snorting into your sleeve, which only makes them worse. Lando’s laughing too hard to finish his sentence; Max grabs a throw pillow and chucks it at him. It hits the lamp instead.
“Boys,” you warn, trying to sound stern but failing completely. “If you break something, I’m telling the hotel it was Charles.”
Max grins. “Perfect. Everyone believes it.”
The camera’s still recording as Lando tugs you closer, slinging his arm over your shoulder. The three of you fit together like muscle memory — laughter and warmth and a kind of comfort that feels like home.
For a moment, you forget everything outside that room. The noise, the pressure, the expectations. For a moment, it’s just the three of you again — kids on a couch, hearts untouched.
You’re wiping tears of laughter from your eyes when your phone buzzes against the table. The screen lights up. Ethan ❤️
Your chest tightens immediately. You hesitate for a fraction of a second before picking it up. “Hey,” you answer softly, trying to keep your voice even.
“Where are you?” His tone is sharp, impatient. “I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.”
You blink. “Waiting? For what—?”
“For dinner, YN. With my parents. Did you forget?”
The boys exchange a glance instantly, the air around you shifting. Max’s smile fades; Lando straightens up a little.
“I—no, I didn’t forget,” you lie quickly, standing from the couch, walking toward the corner of the room for privacy. “I just—got caught up filming. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
“‘Caught up filming,’” he repeats, voice dripping with irritation. “With them, I’m assuming?”
You close your eyes. “Ethan—”
“I told you this dinner was important,” he cuts in. “You can’t just—disappear with those two every time you feel like it.”
Behind you, Lando and Max are silent, but you know they can hear every word. Lando’s gaze is fixed on the floor; Max’s jaw is tight, knuckles pale where his hands grip the edge of the couch.
“I’m on my way,” you say quietly, forcing the words out before he can keep going. “I’ll see you soon.”
You end the call before he can answer. Silence fills the room. The hum of the air conditioner, the faint clicking of the still-recording camera. You tuck your phone into your pocket, smile wavering.
“He’s… he’s just stressed,” you murmur, as if trying to convince yourself.
Lando’s voice is careful. “You don’t have to go, you know.”
You look up at him — his eyes soft, concerned.
“Yeah,” Max adds, his tone quieter, lower. “If you don’t want to. We can handle the excuse. Say you felt sick. They’ll understand.”
You shake your head, smiling faintly even though your stomach feels heavy. “You guys are sweet. But it’s fine. It’s just dinner.”
Lando stands up, stepping closer. “It’s never just dinner when he talks to you like that.”
You freeze. For a second, you think he might say more — that he might finally cross the line from friendship into something more, something you’ve both avoided for years. But he stops himself, teeth sinking into his lip as if holding it back.
Max stands, too, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells just to make someone happy, YN.”
The way he says your name makes your chest ache.
“I’ll be okay,” you whisper. “I always am.”
You move to hug them both — Max first, his arms wrapping around you tight and safe, then Lando, who presses a kiss to the top of your head before he can stop himself.
“Text us when you’re done,” he says quietly.
You nod and slip out the door, forcing yourself not to look back. Dinner is unbearable. Ethan’s parents are kind enough, polite smiles and polite questions, but he’s on edge the entire time. His hand stays glued to your knee beneath the table, more like a reminder than affection. When they finally leave the restaurant, the tension snaps.
“What was that?” he demands as soon as you step outside. “You show up late, barely say a word, and I have to explain to my parents why my girlfriend was too busy playing YouTuber with her friends to show up on time.”
You flinch. “That’s not fair. You know I was filming—”
“With them.” He spits the word like poison. “It’s always them, YN. Always Lando, always Max. Don’t you see how that looks?”
“How what looks?”
“That you can’t go five minutes without one of them hanging all over you!”
Your eyes widen, hurt flashing through you. “They’re my friends. My best friends. They’ve been there since—”
“Since before me, yeah, I know,” he snaps. “And you think that makes it okay? You think I don’t see the way they look at you? The way you look at them?”
You step back, breath trembling. “Ethan—”
“They’re using you,” he continues, voice sharp and rising. “They don’t respect you. They just want—”
“Enough,” you say quietly, cutting him off.
He blinks, startled by the firmness in your tone.
“You don’t get to talk about them like that,” you say, your voice breaking even as your spine straightens. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what we’ve been through together.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah. Maybe that’s the problem.”
You look away, blinking fast against the sting in your eyes. Somewhere deep down, you can still hear Lando’s voice from earlier — you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.
But you did. Because that’s what you do: you choose the path that hurts you quietly, the one that keeps everyone else from getting angry. Ethan mutters something under his breath, opening the car door. You follow without a word, staring out the window as street lights blur by.
All you can think about is how safe you felt just an hour ago — sitting on Lando’s couch, laughing with Max until your stomach hurt, their voices soft and steady in a world that’s grown too loud. You remember being nine years old again — three hands joined in the dirt, whispering promises you thought would never break. But now, as Ethan drives in silence beside you, you realize they are already broken.
Race day at Silverstone always had a pulse of its own — you could feel it before you even reached the paddock. It wasn’t just the sound of engines or the distant cheers; it was that collective heartbeat of home. Silverstone was your track — the one where you grew up chasing Lando around hospitality, where Max taught you how to sneak snacks from the drivers’ lounge, where all three of you first said, “One day, we’ll all be here together.”
You just never imagined it would feel like this.
Ethan’s hand sits heavy on the small of your back as you walk through the crowd. His parents trail close behind, polite smiles plastered on their faces as photographers snap pictures. You keep your own smile steady, your body perfectly aligned beside his — you’ve learned how to make it look effortless, even when his grip tightens every time someone calls your name.
“YN! Can we get a photo?”
“YN, over here! You’re our favorite Ferrari driver!”
You pause instinctively, waving, signing a cap, taking a quick selfie with a little girl in a Lando Norris hoodie — and Ethan’s jaw tightens.
“Babe,” he says sharply, “we don’t have time for this. Come on, your team’s waiting.”
“She’s fine,” the little girl’s dad says, smiling, but Ethan doesn’t even glance his way. He just reaches out and tugs you by the wrist — not hard enough to draw attention, but enough that you stumble slightly and the light leaves your smile.
You glance back once as you’re pulled away — and you see them.
Lando and Max, standing just by the McLaren motorhome, watching silently.
Lando’s hands are shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, his face unreadable but his shoulders stiff. Max’s eyes narrow slightly — that cold, controlled anger that only ever surfaces when he sees something wrong and knows he can’t intervene. They say nothing. But both of them see everything.
A few hours later, Ethan gets caught up showing his parents around the paddock — eager to impress them with his connections, his girlfriend the Ferrari driver. You finally breathe freely for the first time all day and slip away under the excuse of checking in with your PR team. Instead, you head straight Lando and Max near the Landostand.
When they spot you, the reaction is immediate. Lando’s grin breaks wide open, Max’s eyes soften.
“Look who’s escaped captivity,” Lando teases. “We were about to send out a search party.”
“More like a rescue mission,” Max mutters under his breath, earning himself a glare from Lando and a poorly-hidden smile from you.
You lean on the counter, pretending to inspect one of Lando’s new orange bucket hats. “You two seem to be doing well for yourselves,” you say, tone light. “Entrepreneurs, huh?”
“Trying to pay for your inevitable therapy bills after dating him,” Lando fires back with a smirk.
“Lando,” Max warns under his breath, but the moment the crowd realizes who you are — chaos. Fans scream your name, phones shoot up, flashes pop. People are cheering, shouting, waving Ferrari and McLaren merch side by side.
You take photos, sign things, even help Lando sell a few shirts, holding them up dramatically while Max shouts, “Limited edition — buy it because she touched it!”
It’s chaos, laughter, nostalgia — the three of you slipping effortlessly back into what used to be. The videos flood social media within minutes.
Ethan sees. And Ethan is furious.
An hour later, Lando and Max make their way down to the Ferrari garage. They’re still laughing about a fan who tried to get them to arm wrestle when the laughter dies as soon as they see you — tense, arms crossed, voice quiet but trembling.
Ethan is standing close, too close, his expression sharp.
“I told you to stop undermining me in front of people,” he hisses. “You think it’s cute? Making me look like some jealous idiot?”
“I wasn’t— Ethan, I was literally helping—”
“Helping Lando,” he cuts in. “Always Lando. Or Max. Never me.”
“Because they’re my friends!” you finally snap, the exhaustion in your voice making both Lando and Max’s stomachs twist.
Ethan notices them at last, straightens up immediately, his demeanor flipping into something performative. “Oh — hey, guys. Sorry, just a little pre-race nerves.”
He pats your arm like nothing happened. You flinch just slightly.
Lando notices.
Max’s jaw flexes. “We came to wish her luck,” he says coolly.
Ethan gives a polite nod and, without another word, turns and disappears down the paddock, muttering something about needing to meet his parents.
You let out a shaky breath the moment he’s gone.
“You okay?” Lando asks, stepping closer.
You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Max gives you a look — the kind that says we both know that’s a lie — but he doesn’t push. Instead, he rests a hand briefly on your shoulder. “You’ll crush it today,” he says simply.
You look between them — two boys who’ve been constants your whole life — and despite everything, you smile softly. “You better be ready to eat my dust,” you say, and Lando laughs, the tension finally breaking.
“Not a chance, sunshine,” he grins.
The race is chaos. The crowd deafening. The final laps a blur of speed and adrenaline. And then it happens. Lando crosses the line first.
You, half a second behind. Charles right after.
P1. P2. P3.
The British fans erupt. Before you can even climb out of your car, Lando is sprinting across the pit lane. He scoops you up effortlessly, spinning you around and shouting something incoherent over the noise. Max is right there too, phone in hand, eyes glassy and voice cracking when he yells, “I told you both you’d do it!”
Lando’s mum, Cisca, is crying openly, hugging both of you at once, while Adam claps Max on the back. For a moment — just a moment — it’s perfect. A blur of love and history and belonging.
But then your eyes catch Ethan’s in the crowd. He’s standing still. Expression cold, arms crossed.
You pull back from Lando and approach him. Cameras are flashing, the whole world watching. He gives you the faintest, stiff smile and pulls you into a quick, meaningless hug for the press.
“Congrats,” he murmurs flatly, his tone making your stomach sink.
After the podium, Lando and Max corner you by the paddock entrance, both grinning, still buzzing.
“Come out with us,” Lando urges. “We’re going for drinks — just the three of us. Like old times.”
You hesitate. “Ethan wanted to—”
“Ethan can survive one night without you,” Max interrupts.
You open your mouth, but Ethan appears again, hand on your shoulder. “We’ve got dinner plans with my siblings,” he says, tone smooth but possessive. “You promised, remember?”
You glance between them — the boys’ hopeful faces, Ethan’s expectant one — and your heart twists painfully. “I’ll see you later,” you say quietly. “I promise.”
When you return to the hotel that night, the post-race high has faded into something quieter — exhaustion and a faint ache in your chest. The room smells faintly of roses.
Light yellow and pink — your favorites. A soft note tucked beneath the bouquet:
P2 looks good on you, sunshine.— L.
You smile, small and fragile but real. It’s such a Lando thing to do — always remembering the little things, always knowing when to say something without words.
You’re still arranging the flowers in a glass vase when the door opens.
Ethan steps inside, still in his suit from dinner. His expression isn’t one of pride or love — it’s tight, simmering. “Where’d those come from?”
You hesitate. “…Lando. He always sends flowers after a podium—”
“Of course he does.” His voice is sharp now. “You think that’s normal? You think that’s appropriate?”
“Ethan, please don’t do this,” you say softly, trying to diffuse it. “It’s just a gesture. He’s my friend.”
He scoffs. “Your friend? You mean the one who can’t take his eyes off you? The one who clearly wants you?”
“Stop.”
He takes a step closer. “You make me look like an idiot in front of everyone.”
“Ethan—”
The vase hits the wall before you can stop him. Glass shatters, water splashes across your legs, petals scattered across the floor like confetti from some cruel celebration.
You flinch instinctively, heart pounding. For a long second, the only sound is the water dripping onto the tile.
Ethan exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t—”
But you’re already kneeling down, silently gathering the broken glass. The small slice across your finger blooms red almost immediately, and you hiss softly, pressing it to your palm.
“YN—”
“Just—go,” you whisper. “Please.”
For once, he listens. He mutters something under his breath, grabs his jacket, and storms out, the door slamming behind him.
In the hallway, Lando and Max are just stepping off the lift, still in their club attire, laughter fading when they see him. Ethan’s face is flushed, his fists clenched, his eyes avoiding theirs.
Lando’s jaw tightens immediately. “What the hell happened to you?”
“None of your business,” Ethan snaps, brushing past.
Max doesn’t even respond — he just looks at Lando, eyes narrowing, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Something’s wrong.
They don’t even knock when they reach your door. Max uses the spare card you gave them both in case you lost yours.
And when the door opens — it’s quiet. Too quiet. You’re kneeling by the bed, surrounded by water and broken glass, your hands trembling as you try to pick up the pieces. Tears streak your cheeks, a thin line of blood running down your finger.
“YN,” Max breathes, already kneeling beside you. He gently catches your wrist before you can reach for another shard. “Hey, hey—don’t. You’ll cut yourself worse.”
“I just… I didn’t want to leave it like this,” you whisper, voice breaking.
Lando crouches on your other side, his hands careful as he starts gathering the pieces into a towel. “You don’t need to clean anything. We’ve got it, okay?” His voice is soft, steady — the same tone he used when you fell off your bike at age seven and tried to insist you weren’t hurt.
The moment his hand brushes yours, something inside you cracks. The sob you’ve been holding back finally escapes — quiet and painful and raw.
Max pulls you gently into his chest without hesitation. You grip his shirt, shoulders shaking, and Lando sits close beside you, his hand rubbing slow circles over your back.
“You’re safe now,” Max murmurs.
Lando’s voice is low, firm, and full of something fierce. “We've got you. He can't hurt you."
You nod weakly, closing your eyes as they hold you — the two people who’ve known you longest, the two you've loved forever but have been too shy to say. And look at the mess that landed you in.
Morning light creeps through the thin hotel curtains, cutting soft gold across the carpet and the half-empty glass of water on the nightstand. The room is quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the steady rhythm of your breathing. You’re curled up in bed, finally asleep — deep, peaceful, undisturbed.
Across the room, Max and Lando are slumped on the small couch, both still in yesterday’s clothes. At some point in the night, you’d stopped crying. Max had wiped away the last tear, Lando had covered you with the blanket, and the three of you had sat there for hours in silence until exhaustion pulled them under too.
It’s early — not even seven — when Lando’s phone buzzes. He groans quietly, rubbing his eyes, and then glances at your nightstand. Your phone is lighting up too. Again and again and again. Hundreds of notifications.
He frowns. “Max,” he whispers. “Look.”
Max stirs beside him, his voice still heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“Her phone’s blowing up.”
Max sits up, blinking the sleep away. When he sees the sheer number of alerts — social media notifications, message previews, news pings — his stomach tightens.
“She’s still asleep,” Lando says quietly. “You check it. You’ve got her passcode.”
Max hesitates for a moment — it feels invasive — but the worry in Lando’s face wins out. He picks up your phone and unlocks it. The screen fills instantly with headlines and tagged photos.
F1 WAG DRAMA AT SILVERSTONE? Ethan Hayes Spotted Leaving Club with Mystery Blonde!
Ethan Hayes Caught Kissing Another Woman Hours After Girlfriend’s Podium Finish
There are dozens of pictures — Ethan outside a bar, his hand around someone else’s waist, his mouth pressed to hers. The timestamps are all from last night, while you were crying on the floor. Lando goes pale.
“Tell me that’s not real.”
Max doesn’t answer. He just scrolls slowly, jaw tightening. “It’s real. Every outlet’s picked it up. Fans are tagging us in everything — they’re begging us to check on her.”
Lando stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll kill him. I swear to god, Max, I’ll—”
“Lando.”
“He threw a vase at her last night, Max! And now this? While she was crying over him?!”
“I know,” Max says quietly. “But right now she needs us, not a headline about you punching him.”
Lando stops pacing, chest heaving. He looks over at you, still asleep, hair messy, lips parted softly. There’s a band-aid on your finger now — the cut from last night. His anger twists into something else. Protectiveness.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But when she’s ready, I’m not holding back.”
They order breakfast — your favorite. Croissants with strawberry jam, a fruit bowl, black coffee for Max, oat milk latte for you, orange juice for Lando. It’s all they can think to do — something normal, something kind. Then they wait. The knock comes twenty minutes later.
Lando perks up, relief flickering. “That was quick. Must be room service.”
But when he opens the door, it isn’t.
Ethan stands there — rumpled, red-eyed, and already angry. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Lando’s face goes blank. “What did you just say?”
“I asked why you’re in my girlfriend’s room.”
Max’s head snaps up from the couch, his entire body going still.
“Your what?” Lando spits, stepping out into the hallway before his voice can wake you. “You don’t get to call her that anymore.”
Ethan sneers. “Oh, so what, you’re her bodyguards now? Because you care so much?”
Lando’s voice drops low. “You don’t want to finish that sentence.”
Inside, you stir slightly at the sound. Max is instantly by your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair from your face.
“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Just stay here, yeah?”
You blink awake slowly, still hazy. “Max? What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says gently, thumb tracing soothing circles along your temple. “We just ordered breakfast. Lando’s talking to someone outside.”
You sit up slowly, confusion knitting your brow. “Someone?”
Before he can answer, Lando walks back in — tense, jaw tight. He closes the door behind him and leans against it, exhaling sharply.
“Who was that?” you ask softly.
Lando’s voice is quieter now, almost breaking. “Ethan.”
Your stomach drops. “What did he want?”
Max exchanges a look with Lando — that same silent conversation they’ve been having since you were all ten years old.
Lando moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand finding yours. “YN, there’s something we need to tell you.”
He hesitates. His voice cracks. “We saw the news this morning.”
“What news?”
Max hands you your phone. You unlock it, scroll once, twice — and freeze. The photos blur, your chest tightening as the captions sink in.
He’s with another girl. Smiling. Kissing her. The whole world knows.
“Oh,” you whisper. Your throat burns. “Oh my god.”
“YN—” Lando starts, but you can’t even look at them. The tears come hard, fast, unstoppable.
Everyone knew before you. Everyone saw before you.
“I look so stupid,” you choke out. “He was with her while I was— while I was—”
Max cuts in softly. “Don’t. Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You shake your head, hands trembling. Lando’s already pulling you into his arms, your cheek pressed against his chest. Max wraps his arm around your back, resting his chin on top of your head. They stay like that until your sobs turn into quiet hiccups, until your breathing evens out.
When room service finally knocks, Max handles it silently, tipping the attendant and setting the tray down by the couch. The scent of coffee and butter fills the air.
“C’mere,” Lando murmurs. He pulls you gently into his lap, one arm around your waist, the other brushing a stray tear from your cheek.
“You have to eat something,” Max says softly, holding out a croissant. You shake your head weakly, and he just smiles a little. “C’mon. You’ll feel better.”
You take a tiny bite, mostly to make him stop worrying, and he grins faintly. “See? Not so bad.”
You end up nestled between them on the couch, Max feeding you small bites between sips of coffee, Lando’s hand rubbing slow circles on your thigh. It feels fragile — like glass balancing on the edge of breaking — but for a moment, it’s enough.
And for just a second, you remember another morning, years ago —
The three of you at age ten, sitting on a swing set in Lando’s backyard. You’d scraped your knee falling off your bike. Max had handed you a melting popsicle. Lando had promised, mouth full of sugar, “We’ll always take care of you. No matter what.”
You’d laughed back then, called him dramatic. Now, sitting here with your head against his shoulder and Max’s hand brushing the back of yours — you realize he meant it. And they never stopped.
It had been weeks since Silverstone — weeks since the noise, the chaos, and the headlines that painted your heartbreak across every feed. Weeks since the hotel hallway, the broken glass, and the flowers that once smelled like comfort but now only reminded you of how easily love can bruise. Now it was race weekend again, and you were finally breathing.
Lando and Max had taken it upon themselves to guard your peace like it was something sacred. They’d practically built a little world around you — movie nights, post-run coffees, late-night drives with music turned up too loud. They were your constants. Your reminders that life could still be good.
And maybe, in some quiet corner of your chest, they were also your undoing.
The morning sun spilled through the glass of the building, soft and golden, filtering through the faint hum of paddock noise. You were sitting cross-legged on the couch in Lando’s driver’s room, wearing a hoodie that definitely wasn’t yours (and he didn’t bother to take back), eating half of his breakfast burrito while scrolling through notes for press.
He was sprawled on the opposite end, hair still damp from his shower, scrolling on his phone until he wasn’t — because you’d said something under your breath and he looked up, smiling without even realizing it.
“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, not looking up.
“What thing?”
“That thing where you stare like you’re memorizing my face.”
He grinned, slow. “Maybe I am.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart tripped over itself anyway.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. There was only the soft hum of air conditioning and the faint clatter of media crews setting up outside. He leaned his elbow on the back of the couch, chin resting on his hand as he watched you scroll, watched the small lines of concentration gather between your brows.
He’d missed this version of you — the easy laughter, the way your energy filled the room instead of shrinking into corners. The you that had been buried under the weight of someone else’s expectations.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You hummed.
“You’re really okay, yeah?”
You looked up, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. His gaze was steady — warm, protective, unflinching. The kind of look that held things unsaid.
You smiled, small. “I’m getting there.”
He nodded once, like that answer meant more than you realized. And then there was silence again. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty — it was charged. A quiet hum in the air that neither of you wanted to acknowledge because you both knew what it was.
Your knee brushed his. Just lightly. A flicker. And suddenly, you both stilled — eyes meeting, breath catching. It lasted seconds, but it felt like falling.
Then, like clockwork, someone called from the hall — media time. You blinked first, exhaling shakily and forcing a laugh. “Guess it’s time to go pretend everything’s fine.”
Lando swallowed hard, looking away as he stood. “You don’t have to pretend.”
You grabbed your cap, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Then you better not, either.”
Later that afternoon, after press duties and endless cameras, you found yourself back in the McLaren hospitality lounge with Max — who was currently scolding you for not eating enough.
“Max,” you sighed, pushing the plate back toward him. “You sound like my mum.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll listen,” he teased, but his tone softened when you shot him a look. “Hey, I’m serious, YN. You’ve been running on fumes for weeks. Just… take care of yourself, yeah?”
“I am taking care of myself,” you said, quieter now.
He looked at you for a long moment, then smiled — that small, boyish grin that had been a part of your life since you were fifteen. He reached across the table, fingers brushing yours when he pushed the plate back toward you.
It was the smallest touch, barely there, but it froze you in place. You looked up, met his eyes, and it was there again. That spark. That unbearable ache of what-ifs and maybes that you’d been pretending not to see.
You’d both felt it before — fleeting, messy moments through the years that always ended the same way. Laughter to hide the tension, silence to bury it.
You pulled your hand back gently, clearing your throat. “You know this isn’t fair,” you whispered.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know.”
The moment passed. It always did. And still, it left you with that hollow ache — not of longing, but of knowing that some people were meant to hold you up, not hold you close.
That night, you sat on the hotel balcony alone, phone buzzing with messages from both Max and Lando asking if you were okay, if you needed company.
You typed I’m fine, then deleted it.
Typed come over, then deleted that too.
Instead, you set the phone face down and looked out at the glowing paddock below — the hum of a world that kept spinning, no matter who got hurt in the process.
And somewhere deep down, you felt the first quiet flicker of peace. Because you weren’t healing for anyone else this time. You were healing for you.
Belgium dawned soft and pale — the kind of early morning that carries the faint chill of mist and the promise of something new. The hotel room was quiet. No frantic laughter echoing through the adjoining walls. No boys knocking on your door with breakfast they insisted you eat. Just… silence.
You moved through it with a strange sort of calm. There was no rush, no noise, no voice tugging you into motion. For the first time in months, you weren’t adjusting your heartbeat to match anyone else’s pace.
You slipped on a flowy white sundress, simple and soft against your skin. The kind of thing you hadn’t worn since before Ethan — something easy, something you. You let your hair dry naturally, no fuss, no overthinking, just that quiet kind of peace that sits beneath your ribs when you stop trying to perform for the world.
The paddock car arrived downstairs, and you went alone. No Lando teasing you for making them late. No Max blasting music in the car. It was just you and the hum of the tires on the asphalt, winding your way to Spa.
When you stepped out at the circuit, the crowd erupted — flags, posters, a sea of red and yellow and your number scrawled across every other sign. It almost knocked the air out of you, the sound of your name echoing like a chant.
You smiled — for real this time. Not the polite, picture-perfect kind. The genuine one that reached your eyes and made the security guard beside you grin, too. You stopped for everyone who called your name, took every photo, signed every cap.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like anyone’s possession. You were just you.
Somewhere down the paddock walkway, Lando and Max arrived together — mid-conversation, laughing, before they froze mid-step.
Lando nudged Max, whispering, “Wait. Is that—?”
Max nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s her.”
It was jarring — seeing you there, without them, radiant and whole. Your hair glinting in the sunlight, that dress catching the breeze. You looked… untouchable. Like the girl they’d grown up with but hadn’t seen in a long, long time.
“She didn’t tell us she was coming this early,” Max said, frowning slightly.
“Yeah,” Lando murmured, eyes still on you. “Or that she’d actually—”
He trailed off, swallowing the word smile.
By the time you made it down to the garages, your drivers’ energy was electric. Ferrari had nailed qualifying the day before, and you were set to start on pole.
You stopped by McLaren before the driver’s parade — your ritual, one that had never been missed. Lando was standing by the rear wing of his car, Max perched on the pit wall beside him, both of them looking up when you appeared.
“Morning,” you said softly, tucking your pass into your lanyard.
Lando’s face softened immediately. “You okay?”
You nodded, smiling faintly. “Just wanted to say good luck before the chaos.”
“You always do,” Max said, hopping down to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “But you’re quiet today. Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” you said, and maybe you meant it. Maybe you didn’t.
Lando tilted his head, studying you for a beat longer before letting it go. “Okay. Just don’t go disappearing again.”
You rolled your eyes, the smallest hint of your old sass slipping through. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Still, they exchanged a look behind your back — one that said we’ll keep an eye on her. When the lights went out, everything else ceased to exist. Spa has always been unpredictable — a monster of a track that demands everything. But today, it bowed to you.
From the first corner, you were gone. Your Ferrari looked untouchable. Smooth, ruthless, perfectly dialed in. The radio crackled with praise from the pit wall as you widened the gap — five seconds, then twelve, then twenty.
Lando was P2, doing everything to close in but grinning inside his helmet because, truthfully, he didn’t want to. He just wanted to watch you fly.
Even Max, standing on the pit wall with his headset, muttered under his breath, “Holy shit, she’s flying.”
Every lap was a statement. Every corner, a reclamation. Every heartbeat, proof that you didn’t need anyone’s permission to be great.
When the checkered flag waved, you crossed the line thirty-two seconds ahead of Lando. The roar from the crowd shook the fences.
“P1, YN. That’s a domination,” your engineer shouted. “You’ve done it again!”
You laughed breathlessly over the radio. “I missed this.”
Post race was chaos — laughter, adrenaline, sweat still clinging to you. Lando dropped his water bottle when he saw you, launching himself across the room to scoop you up, spinning you in circles until you squealed.
“Put me down!” you laughed, shoving him lightly.
“Not a chance, champ!”
Max burst through the door seconds later, jumping on both of you in a ridiculous group hug that knocked the wind out of you.
“You’re insane!” he yelled, though his voice cracked like he was proud enough to cry. “Thirty-two seconds?! Are you trying to humiliate him?”
“Always,” you teased, glancing at Lando, who just laughed harder.
Cisca and Adam were there too, pulling you into an embrace that made your chest tighten. You weren’t their kid, but you might as well have been. For a few precious minutes, everything was exactly how it should be — simple, happy, home.
Later, when the crowds thinned and the cameras dimmed, you were packing up your things when the boys appeared at the doorway, identical mischievous grins on their faces.
“What are you two up to?” you asked suspiciously.
Lando crossed his arms. “So. We have a surprise.”
“Oh god.”
Max laughed. “Don’t make that face. You’ll like this one.”
Lando stepped forward, pulling a folded paper from his pocket and waving it like a ticket. “We were thinking… since summer break’s coming up and you’ve been, you know, actually alive again—”
“—barely,” Max added with a grin.
“—we thought we’d get away,” Lando finished. “Just us three. Somewhere warm, no cameras, no schedules. Just… us.”
You blinked, eyes darting between them. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly,” Max said. “We already booked it.”
You stared for a second, then laughed — the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt and your chest feel lighter. “You idiots,” you said, voice cracking a little.
“Your idiots,” Lando corrected gently.
And you didn’t even try to deny it.
You stepped forward, pulling them both into a hug — tight, messy, all tangled arms and heartbeats. For once, it didn’t hurt to feel this much. Maybe this was what healing looked like — not silence, not pretending. Just this. Just them.
The air smelled like salt and sunlight when you arrived. The coastline stretched out beneath the villa like something painted — sun-bleached cliffs, lemon trees, sea glittering beyond the stone wall. It was beautiful in the sort of way that almost hurt to look at.
The three of you had travelled light: one suitcase each, a bag of cameras and Polaroid film, and Lando’s insistence on bringing his ridiculous inflatable flamingo.
Max carried your luggage inside while Lando ran ahead to open all the balcony doors, letting the ocean breeze spill through the house. You stood in the entryway for a moment, bare feet on cool tile, sunglasses perched on your head, just breathing. It was quiet, and for the first time in months, the quiet didn’t scare you.
“YN,” Lando called from the terrace. “You need to see this view!”
You followed the sound of his voice out into the sunlight, and there it was — the sea, endless and gold. Lando was leaning on the railing, hair blowing messily, and when he turned and saw you, his grin went soft. Max stepped up behind you, sliding his sunglasses onto his head. “Told you it’d be worth the trip.”
You smiled. “You two might actually have good taste.”
By the afternoon, the villa felt lived in: towels draped over chairs, sunscreen and water bottles scattered everywhere, the smell of espresso clinging to the kitchen. You’d changed into a bikini top and linen shorts, sprawled across a lounger while Lando tried to teach Max how to properly blow up the flamingo without passing out.
“Why do we need this thing again?” Max groaned.
“Because it’s tradition,” Lando said, muffled around the air pump.
“It’s stupid.”
You looked over your sunglasses. “It’s hilarious,” you said, barely hiding a smile. “I’m documenting this for future blackmail.”
“Traitor,” Max muttered, but his grin betrayed him.
When the flamingo finally took shape, Lando threw himself onto it triumphantly and drifted across the pool. You dipped your feet in the water, watching him float, watching the sunlight dance across his face. He caught your eye and splashed water at you until you shrieked and jumped in after him, laughter echoing off the walls.
Max watched from the edge — laughing too, but quieter, fond. He’d seen this version of you before, years ago, before everything complicated the simplicity of being young and fearless. Seeing you happy again twisted something in his chest.
Dinner that night was a mess of pasta and wine and sunset. You sat at the long outdoor table, hair still damp from the shower, legs pulled up in your chair. Max had taken over cooking, Lando was claiming credit for the playlist, and the evening melted into the easy rhythm of old jokes and too much laughter.
“Remember when YN decided she could skateboard down that giant hill?” Lando said, smirking.
“I made it halfway,” you protested.
“You made it halfway before you crashed into my mum’s car,” Max said.
You gasped. “You said you’d never bring that up!”
They both burst out laughing, and for a moment the years fell away — it was the three of you at ten years old again, barefoot, sunburnt, invincible.
After dinner, you ended up on the couch with Lando beside you and Max stretched on the floor, talking about everything and nothing. The villa hummed with quiet music and the cicadas outside.
Lando reached up, absently brushing a curl from your face when you leaned over to grab a blanket. His hand lingered a second too long. You both felt it — that small spark that had been buried under years of friendship. You met his eyes, something unspoken flickering between you, until Max’s voice broke the moment.
“Hey,” he said softly, looking up from the floor. “Don’t fall asleep on us yet.”
You blinked, sitting back quickly, cheeks warm. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Lando gave a low laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. The air felt thicker now, full of things no one wanted to say.
Later, when you were finally asleep, Lando stood by the open balcony door, watching moonlight ripple on the water. Max joined him quietly, holding two glasses of water.
“She’s glowing again,” Lando said after a while, voice low.
Max nodded. “Yeah. She’s… herself.”
They stood there in silence, the waves breaking softly below.
Neither of them said what they were thinking — how it terrified them to feel this way again, how every smile from you pulled them closer to something they shouldn’t want.
Lando exhaled. “You think she ever—”
“Feels the same?” Max finished for him. They both looked back toward the couch where you slept, curled up beneath a blanket, peaceful.
“Yeah,” Lando whispered.
Max gave a small, sad smile. “Maybe she does. But that doesn’t mean we should.”
Lando nodded, but his gaze lingered anyway. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The next morning, you woke early and padded out to the terrace. The sun had just climbed above the sea, painting everything in gold. You rolled out your yoga mat — one you’d brought from home — and stretched, eyes closed, breathing in the ocean air.
Inside, Max and Lando stirred awake almost simultaneously, both drawn by the quiet sound of your laughter from your friend on the other line of the phone.
Lando leaned against the doorway, watching you move. Max joined him, mug of coffee in hand.
“She’s back,” Lando murmured.
“Yeah,” Max said softly. “She is.”
And maybe that was the hardest part — seeing you healed, happy, radiant again. Because loving you had never stopped being easy. Letting you go was going to be the impossible part.
The next morning unfolds slow and golden, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of the coastal villa. You wake first — barefoot, hair tied up loosely, wearing one of Lando’s oversized t-shirts you’d stolen from his suitcase. The salty air drifts through the open doors, carrying the gentle crash of waves and the faint call of gulls. For the first time in a long time, you feel… light. Free.
You step out onto the terrace. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, glinting under the sun, and for a moment it feels like everything — the heartbreak, the noise, the weight — has finally quieted.
Lando appears a few minutes later, curls messy, half-asleep but smiling softly at the sight of you. “Morning,” he says, voice still gravelly. Then Max joins you, already more awake than either of you, holding three coffees like a hero.
“Alright,” Max says, handing you one. “Beach day. No arguments.”
You grin, tipping your head playfully. “You say that like I wasn’t already planning to destroy you both in beach volleyball.”
“Confident,” Lando hums, stepping closer, his eyes flickering briefly down to your lips before darting away. “You forget I’m the one who taught you to serve.”
“And I’m the one who won last time,” Max fires back, smirking.
You roll your eyes, laughing, the sound light and bright.
By midday, the three of you are down on the beach, sun warm against your skin, volleyball net set up unevenly in the sand. You’re wearing a bright bikini under a linen shirt, the hem fluttering around your thighs, and Lando keeps pretending he’s not staring. Max pretends not to notice him pretending. You and Lando team up against Max, which he immediately declares unfair.
“You’re basically the same brain,” Max protests.
“That’s just your excuse for losing,” you tease.
It’s chaos. It’s perfect. The three of you dive, yell, and laugh until you’re breathless. Max’s “competitive streak” turns into him tickling you for cheating, which turns into Lando accidentally tripping over the both of you. Sand everywhere. Screaming laughter echoing over the waves.
Eventually, you collapse in the sand, chest heaving, hair sticking to your forehead. Max drops beside you, head falling lazily against your shoulder. Lando flops down on your other side, brushing your arm — it’s nothing and everything all at once.
“God,” you sigh, staring at the endless sky, “I missed this.”
The words hang in the air, delicate and unguarded. Both boys fall silent. They know exactly what you mean — not the beach, not the game. The real you. The version of you that laughs like this. The one who doesn’t flinch when someone reaches for her hand. The one they both love more than they should.
Max nudges your ankle softly. “It’s good to have you back, sunshine.”
You turn to look at him, and your smile — warm and unfiltered — knocks the air right out of his chest. Lando notices it too, glancing away quickly, pretending to watch the waves.
That night, you all get ready to go out. The villa hums with easy noise — Lando’s music playing from a speaker, Max calling dibs on the shower, you teasing them both for taking too long. You wear a sleek, short dress that glitters faintly under the light, and when you step out, both of them just… stare.
“You look—”
“—insane,” Max finishes for Lando.
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re both dramatic.”
But their eyes linger a little too long.
At the club, everything feels hazy and warm. The music pulses, the drinks flow, and for the first time in ages, you let yourself be in the moment — laughing, dancing, glowing again. The three of you find yourselves on the dance floor together, bodies close, lights flickering over your faces.
Lando’s hand is on your waist. Max’s fingers brush yours when you reach for him. You turn your head — and suddenly you’re inches from Max. He looks at you like he’s been holding his breath for months.
You almost kiss him. You want to. The air is thick, and everything inside you is begging to give in—but you freeze.
Reality slams back. Ethan. The heartbreak. The cameras. The fallout. You pull away abruptly, shaking your head, your throat tightening. Before either of them can say a word, you turn and bolt.
“YN!”
They call after you, panic rising in their voices, but you don’t stop until you reach the beach — the one in front of your villa, now dark and quiet. The ocean looks endless, reflecting the club lights in distant glimmers.
You’re sitting in the sand when they finally find you. Max stops a few feet away, breathless. Lando kneels beside you.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears streaking your cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have— I’ve just— I’ve always felt something for both of you and I don’t know what to do with it and—”
Before you can finish, Lando leans forward and kisses you.
It’s soft. Desperate. Real.
You freeze for half a second before melting into it, your hand clutching his shirt. When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. “Stop apologizing,” he murmurs.
Max drops to the sand on your other side, voice low but steady. “You think we haven’t felt it too?”
You look between them, eyes glassy, chest trembling. “But it’s wrong. It’s confusing, it’s—”
“—it’s us,” Lando interrupts. “And maybe that’s enough.”
The three of you sit there under the moonlight, waves crashing quietly against the shore. The air feels charged, fragile, alive. You rest your head on Lando’s shoulder, Max’s hand finding yours in the sand. None of you know what comes next. But none of that matters in the moment.
You were maybe eight, the boys a year older, sitting in the Norris’ backyard in that rickety little treehouse Lando’s dad built for him and Oliver.
You remember the way Max sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with a little toy car while Lando peeked through the window slats at the sky turning gold.
“YN?” Max said suddenly, in that tiny, nervous voice only kids have when they’re about to say something big.
You looked up from your coloring book, crayon in your mouth. “Yeah?”
He looked at Lando, who immediately looked away and blushed bright pink.
“We, um,” Max stammered. “We both like you.”
You blinked. “Like… like-like?”
Lando nodded quickly, hair sticking to his forehead. “Yeah. We both said we were gonna tell you today. So now we did.”
You stared at them — two little boys sitting there, awkward and red-faced and earnest — and then you grinned so wide it made your cheeks hurt. You dropped your crayon, reached out your hands, and grabbed theirs.
“Well that’s perfect,” you said, matter-of-factly. “Because we’re all going to get married one day.”
Both boys froze.
Lando’s eyes went huge. “All of us?”
“Mhm,” you hummed proudly. “You two are my best friends. And I’m not picking. So we’ll just all get married. Easy.”
Max looked at Lando, who looked at you, and then they both burst into giggles — the kind that made your stomach hurt.
Lando finally said through his laughter, “Okay then. It’s a deal.”
“Deal,” you echoed, pinky-swearing with both of them at once.
And that night, under the soft hum of summer crickets, the three of you fell asleep shoulder-to-shoulder in that little treehouse — the world still small, the future still kind.
The sun slips in gently through the sheer white curtains — soft, golden, unhurried. You wake slowly, tangled in the warmth of two bodies beside you, the air in the villa still carrying the faint smell of salt and night.
Your cheek is pressed to Lando’s chest, his arm heavy and protective around your waist. Behind you, Max breathes evenly, his arm draped lazily across both of you, fingers brushing Lando’s shoulder in his sleep. The three of you fit like puzzle pieces that have spent years trying to find their way back together.
You don’t move for a while — just listen to the sound of the waves outside, the soft rhythm of Lando’s heartbeat under your ear. Every so often, he stirs, murmuring something sleepy and unintelligible, his hand tightening at your hip.
Then Max shifts behind you, nose brushing the back of your neck. “You awake?”
“I wouldn't say fully,” you whisper, smiling to yourself.
He hums, thumb drawing lazy circles against your arm. “Good. Stay like this, then.”
Lando chuckles quietly, voice muffled. “Of course you’d say that. You’re practically drooling on her.”
Max groans, throwing a halfhearted slap over your shoulder that hits Lando’s chest instead. “Jealous, mate?”
Lando only grins, looking down at you. “Maybe.”
You laugh softly, the sound so natural between the three of you again. You shift slightly, propping yourself up so you can see both of them. Their hair’s a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep, and they both look so content — so free.
And suddenly it hits you all over again. Last night. The beach. The confession. The kiss. The words you’d buried for years finally said aloud.
You swallow, glancing between them. “So… that wasn’t a dream, right?”
Max opens one eye, smiling. “No dream, sunshine.”
Lando stretches out beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Unless we all had the same one.”
You look between them, heart racing. “I meant what I said. On the beach. I’ve loved you both for as long as I can remember.”
There’s a pause — that soft, sacred kind of silence where the world holds its breath.
Lando sits up, reaching for your hand, fingers intertwining with yours. “You don’t have to pick,” he says quietly. “Not with us. We’ve never wanted you to choose.”
Max nods, sitting up on your other side. “We’ve loved you together before. We can love you together again.”
Your throat tightens. You look between them — the two constants in every version of your life. Every memory. Every victory. Every heartbreak.
“I really did mean it,” you say softly, smiling through the lump in your throat. “When we were kids. That I’d marry you both one day.”
Max laughs, that low, familiar sound that always makes your chest ache. “I remember. You were so bossy about it.”
“You both agreed!” you protest, smacking his arm lightly.
Lando grins. “Because you told us we’d all get matching rings and a big cake. How were we supposed to say no?”
You laugh so hard you nearly fall back into the pillows, and they both follow you down, laughter mixing with yours until it turns to something quieter — tender.
Lando leans in first, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Max follows, his lips brushing your shoulder. You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of them both settles around you.
It’s easy, the way you all move together — soft touches, quiet smiles, fingers lacing and unlacing as though testing this new rhythm.
Lando’s hand finds your cheek, his thumb tracing along your jaw. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, voice low but sure. “Whatever this is — however it looks.”
Max nods, resting his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve already spent years together. Might as well make it forever, yeah?”
You giggle, leaning back against him, reaching for Lando’s hand. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love with you,” Lando corrects, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.
You turn your head slightly — just enough that the kiss deepens for a moment before you pull back, cheeks flushed, heart light.
Max grins at the two of you and then leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “She really did mean it,” he murmurs to Lando. “About the three of us.”
Lando hums in quiet agreement. “Guess we better start saving for that cake.”
You roll your eyes, laughing, but they both kiss your cheeks at the same time, and for a fleeting second — tangled in sunlight and laughter and the familiar smell of sea salt — you feel that same certainty you did at eight years old in that little treehouse.
The house feels alive in a way you haven’t felt in years. It’s all laughter and sunshine and the faint smell of something baking in the kitchen. Lando’s family home has always felt like a second home to you, Cisca’s soft warmth, Adam’s quiet humor, the sound of the garden fountain trickling somewhere beyond the open windows. But this time, it feels different. This time, it feels complete.
You’ve been here for a few days now, hiding away from the world in your tiny trio-shaped bubble. After months of figuring yourselves out—of whispered “I love yous,” of balancing three careers, of learning how to fit together again—you finally found your rhythm. It’s not perfect. It’s not traditional. But it’s yours.
And you’ve never been happier.
You’re sitting at the dining room table with Cisca, sipping tea and helping her sort through some old photos. She’s been showing you pictures of the three of you—tiny, sunburned faces, scraped knees, toothy grins. There’s one of you sitting between Lando and Max in that same little treehouse out back, both of them kissing your cheeks while you giggle into the camera.
“Oh, I remember this day,” Cisca says, her voice soft and nostalgic. “You three were inseparable. Lando cried when you had to go home.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “He still does.”
Cisca chuckles knowingly. “He always loved you, you know. Both of them did. It was impossible not to.”
You blush a little, but she reaches out and squeezes your hand gently. “I’m glad you’ve all found your way back to each other.”
Before you can answer, Adam’s voice carries from the garden. “Cisca! Come see the roses!”
She smiles and excuses herself, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You stand, stretching a little, and pad barefoot toward the sound of quiet voices coming from around the corner.
And then you stop.
In the kitchen, sunlight pours through the big window, catching the dust motes in the air. Lando stands at the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing quietly as Max tries—and fails—to crack eggs without breaking the yolks. There’s flour on the counter, flour in Lando’s hair, flour on Max’s cheek.
“Mate,” Lando snorts, brushing at Max’s face with a dish towel. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly charming,” Max counters, grinning. “Admit it—you love me.”
Lando rolls his eyes but leans forward anyway, kissing him lightly, sweetly, without hesitation. “Yeah. I do.”
You can’t help the soft smile that spreads across your face as you lean against the doorframe, just watching. The way they move together, laugh together—it’s everything. They haven’t noticed you yet, and you let yourself soak in the moment a little longer.
Your heart feels full to the brim.
Finally, you step forward, clearing your throat dramatically. “If you two are done making out, I’d love some pancakes.”
They both spin around, startled and red-faced, and you burst into laughter.
“YN!” Lando groans, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been standing there?”
“Long enough to know Max still can’t cook,” you tease, walking over and swiping a bit of batter from the bowl to taste.
Max narrows his eyes. “Careful, sunshine. I might withhold your pancakes.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He grins, shaking his head. “You’re lucky we love you.”
“I know,” you say softly, and when they both look at you, you feel that familiar little spark—the same one you felt on the beach, the same one you’ve carried since you were kids.
Later that evening, after dinner and too many stories from Adam about Lando's younger days, the three of you wander out into the garden. The air smells like lavender and sea salt, the horizon brushed in gold as the sun dips low. And there it is—the treehouse.
It’s smaller than you remember, the wood worn and sun-faded, but it’s still there. Still sturdy. Still yours.
You look between the boys and grin. “Think it’ll hold us?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lando says, already climbing the ladder.
You follow, Max close behind, the three of you laughing like children as you squeeze inside. It’s cramped, limbs tangled and knees bumping, but none of you care.
“Wow,” Max says softly, looking around. “It’s exactly the same.”
There’s a moment of silence—the good kind, the kind filled with memory. The treehouse creaks faintly beneath you, the air warm and still.
Lando reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. Max does the same on your other side. You rest your head against Lando’s shoulder, Max’s chin coming to rest atop your hair.
“Do you remember what we said here?” you whisper.
They both hum softly.
“That we were all going to get married someday,” Lando says, voice barely above a murmur.
You smile, tears pricking at your eyes. “I meant it.”
“We know,” Max says gently, squeezing your hand. “And so did we.”
You look up at them—two faces that have been the backdrop of your whole life, two hearts that have always held pieces of yours.
Lando leans down and kisses your forehead, slow and soft. Max follows, pressing one to your cheek.
The three of you sit there for hours, talking about everything and nothing—the races ahead, the ridiculous things you did as kids, the way the world feels less scary when you’re together. The stars come out one by one, and the night hums quietly around you.
At some point, Lando wraps his arm around your shoulders, Max shifts closer, and you close your eyes.
“Feels like home,” you murmur sleepily.
“It is home,” Lando whispers.
And somewhere between laughter and whispered promises, the three of you drift off—tangled up, hearts steady, the world below you quiet and small.
Just like it was back then. Just like it will always be. Three hands still intertwined under the same soft sky. Still together. Still home. Always.
Plot: 2.7k - Lando Norris x anemic!reader, very fluffy
Synopsis: Couples Golf with Max, Pietra and his anemic gf! What could go wrong?
Warnings: Use of feminine pronouns; physical intimacy (sfw); reader faints, talk of anemia and medication
Note: I don't know a lot about Anemia or golf... so I hope I did okay lmao!
Max angled the camera at himself, grinning as the first couple of messages rolled into the chat. “Couples golf, ladies and gents. Couple against couple. Place your bets. But if you want my professional opinion… I wouldn’t back Norris.”
Lando shoved him. “Shut it, Fewtrell. Me and my girl have this in the bag.”
pietra + max all the way
‘my professional opinion’ - sure boo.. in your dreams maybe
golf clowns incoming
Lando adjusted his glove, a quick grin twitching at his mouth.
“Just so you know, uhm she’s not feeling amazing today. She’s anaemic, so the heat’s a lot. She’s just here for fun, not for carrying me.”
“Not that you win things anyway,” Max muttered.
“Oi!”
Pietra appeared first, joining the boys in front of the camera routinely as she waved one set of cart keys in the air triumphantly. You meanwhile made a beeline to the cart, setting down a bag with way too many things you didn’t need. Lando was adamant that you packed too much… and he was right. Not that you’d ever tell him that.
The three of them crossed the lot toward the carts. Max swung the handheld camera back and forth, lingering on Pietra posing dramatically before whipping it toward you as you sank straight into the passenger seat of the nearer cart, hoodie already zipped up.
“And here’s the star of the show, securing her throne,” Max announced. “Explain yourself.”
“Just making sure the cart doesn’t roll away,” you deadpanned without looking up.
Lmao that would actually be me
she’s the brains of the operation
look at Lando’s heart eyes… we haven’t even started
“Love, don’t hide,” Lando called, waving you over. His grin was so bright you couldn’t even complain. With a groan, you pushed yourself back up, padding across the grass to join them.
“Hi, guys.” Your wave was small, your voice quiet, but it only made chat spam harder to say hello.
“Look at them losing it over crumbs of you,” Max yelled. “I should book you for my streams if you bring views like that.”
“Already regretting this,” you muttered, but your boyfriend caught the little smile tugging at your lips.
Lando pulled his phone from his pocket, already swiping through the stream controls. Each cart had a GoPro mounted to the front, feeding directly into the live broadcast, and Max had claimed the handheld camera so he could terrorize everyone up close. Pietra leaned over his shoulder, muttering something about “of course Norris being the one with the fancy setup.”
“It’s called professionalism,” Lando shot back without looking up, adjusting one of the feeds until the chat box overlaid neatly in the corner of his screen. “We’ve got every angle covered. No excuses today. We gotta turn this into a YouTube video somehow, so we need the footage.”
“You just like watching replays of yourself,” Max cut in.
Max grinned at the camera, twirling the club confidently. “Alright, team Max & Pietra, taking the lead! Watch and learn, folks. This is how pros do it.”
Pietra leaned over his shoulder, muttering, “Don’t embarrass me, Fewtrell,” as chat immediately exploded:
legend in the making
don’t choke, max
Pietra deserves a trophy for patience alone
Max strutted to the tee, and the ball soared… before it immediately sliced off into the rough.
“Fantastic,” Pietra groaned, zooming in on the ball buried in grass, “Didn’t expect us to have to go into the wild on the first hole.”
Max just rolled his eyes at his girlfriend’s teasing before taking a step back letting your team go, trying to defend his hit to chat.
“You’ll start us off, love.” Lando held the club out to you.
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.”
You rolled your eyes but stepped onto the green. “I don’t even know how to-”
“Good thing I do.” He came up behind you, arms along yours, adjusting your grip, feet kicking your stance a bit wider. As he wrapped his hands over yours, he flinched slightly at how cold they were.
“Christ darling, your hands are freezing.” he murmured, concern flickering across his face. “Here, take my gloves.” He slipped them onto your hands; they were a little too big, but the warmth helped a bit.
He adjusted the fingers gently, careful not to tug too hard. You bruised so easily that even a scrape from the edge of a drawer could leave a mark, and he was always absurdly cautious about it.
They felt nice, especially after he’d just taken them off and they still held his body heat.
His breath brushed your ear. “Here. Relax into me. I got you..”
Not Landos hands being literally twice the size of hers
he’s literally wrapped around her
married behavior
Without consulting Max, Pietra zoomed in right on your overlapped hands, knowing damn well that’s what chat wants, before going back to the normal setting. You groaned. “You’re evil.”
Lando just kissed your cheek. “Perfect.”
You swung. The ball barely rolled five meters.
“Beautiful effort,” Lando cheered, grinning so wide his dimples could practically jump out at you. “That’s my love. Look at you trying! Absolutely perfect to me.”
Max, deadpans to the camera: “History has been made. Mr. Competitive just stood there smiling while she flunked.”
whipped
no notes
lmaooo not max moping cus he would’ve been yelled at
“Okay, round two,” Lando said, stepping back. “This time, fully you. I promise, you got this.”
By now, Max and Pietra had already carted off to their own ball, laughing at Max’s earlier disaster and had taken their turn, this time getting them quite close to the hole. The green was quiet except for your own heartbeat and the soft rustle of the grass.
You steadied your stance and adjusted like Lando had shown to you before, took a breath, and swung. The ball soared, landing perfectly near the hole and Max’s ball, almost like it was magnetized.
Max froze in the distance, jaw dropping. “No. No way.”
Lando’s grin split his face. He rushed forward, peppering your cheeks and nose with kisses. “My champion… my absolute star… you did it! I’m so proud of you!”
You laughed, trying to swat him away, but he held you close. “Look at you… nailed it! My love, my legend!”
Finally, he stepped back, still grinning like he’d won the Masters himself. “Ready for the next hole? Because I have a feeling we’re unstoppable now.”
The sun was high, pressing down through your hoodie, and a wave of dizziness made the grass sway slightly beneath your feet. Lando noticed immediately, crouching beside you, trying to steady you as well as he could.
“Whoa, steady there… you good, love?” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” you said, gripping the club tighter, though your legs felt wobbly you insisted, but Lando decided that you would sit down in the cart for a minute or two, Pietra joining you.
“Does she take iron,” Max reads a chat question, “She does,” Lando said into the mic, grinning. “But she refuses them. Quote: ‘They taste like licking a rusty spoon.’”
“Because they do,” you called from the cart, laughing as you tried to defend yourself.
lmaooo rusty spoon meds
get her gummies, Lando
The boys finally got out of the carts to get them started on the next hole; Lando and Max were in full-blown mock-war mode:
“I swear, if you swing like that one more time, the ball’s going straight into the pond,” Lando said, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh please,” Max shot back, waving his club dramatically. “At least I don’t need my girlfriend to hold my hand and breathe for me like a toddler.”
“Oi! You’re lucky she’s not here to comment on your tragic slice too,” Lando retorted, smirking.
Max groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m surrounded by geniuses who don’t understand how hard it is to…”
“Miss every shot?” Lando finished, chuckling.
Meanwhile, you and Pietra were curled up in your cart, scrolling the chat and leaning back comfortably.
“Honestly,” Pietra said, scrolling, “I heard about this new café that just opened downtown. We have to try it next week. Their pastries are apparently life-changing.”
“Ooh, yes,” you agreed, sipping your water. “And they have those oat lattes you like. Let’s go before it becomes one of those ‘everyone knows about it’ spots.”
Max vs Lando sibling energy
they’re actually terrifying together
Not them just chatting while the boys nearly kill eachother lmao
You and Pietra were still scrolling the chat and giggling at the café suggestions when you noticed Lando and Max coming a little closer, leaning on the cart with that cheeky grin that you loved so much.
“Hey, love,” he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Think you can manage one more swing for me? Gotta ruin Max’s golf confidence even more please.”
You glanced at the ball, then at him, and let out a small laugh. “I guess… if you insist.”
Pietra nudged you with a grin. “Go on, then. Show them how it’s done.”
“Oi you’re supposed to be on my team! Traitor!" Max still chuckled at his girlfriend's antics, no matter how backstabbed he pretended to be.
You steadied yourself in the cart, taking a deep breath as Lando’s hand brushed yours for reassurance. The world tilted slightly from the dizziness, but his presence anchored you.
From the corner of your eye, Lando leaned over to check your stance, murmuring, “Still okay, love?”
“Yep. Just… a little woozy.”
“Always my girl,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Even dizzy, you’re a legend.”
You steadied yourself, took a breath, and swung. The ball flew a solid distance, just short of the hole but steady. Lando clapped, grinning so wide his dimples could cut glass.
Max groaned dramatically from the next cart. “Seriously? Even dizzy she’s outperforming me?!”
On hole seven, you hopped down from the cart to grab a tee, but the ground tilted beneath your feet and your legs gave way. Before you even registered what was happening, your cheek hit the grass, and then Lando’s shadow was blotting out the sun above you.
“Whoa, hey!” his voice was steady, low, as he crouched in front of you, steadying your head in his hands. His eyes swept over you, focused and sharp. “You with me?”
Your lashes fluttered, dizziness still buzzing in your ears. “I-I’m fine… just stood up too fast.”
“You fainted,” he said flatly, though his touch stayed impossibly gentle, thumb brushing lightly over your wrist. “Scared me half to death.”
“Good content, though. Yeah?” you tried, a weak attempt at teasing.
He smoothed your sleeve down, checking that you hadn’t bumped anything. Bruises loved you too much for his liking; you could end up patterned just from bumping the cart’s side.
“Not funny,” he muttered, scooping an arm behind your shoulders and guiding you back to the cart carefully. He dug through the cooler box, pressed a baggie with ice chips into your palm, and tugged your hoodie closer around you like a blanket. “Stay here. That’s your job now.”
“Jesus, every time…” Max muttered into the mic just a few steps away from them, waving one hand like he didn’t know what to do with it. “Freaks me out!”
“I swear,” Pietra said, leaning closer to the camera, her tone softer, “it’s terrifying watching her just… go down like that. We should be happy, though, that Lando doesn’t freak out anymore.”
Max immediately perked up, seizing the chance to turn the tension into entertainment. “Oh, no, no, don’t let him fool you, chat! The first time it happened?” He whirled toward the lens, eyes huge and dramatic. “He practically lost his mind. I’m talking yelling for water, waving down strangers, sprinting like a headless chicken..”
“Max.” Lando’s voice was warning, clipped, though he didn’t even look up as he coaxed another ice chip into your hand.
“I’m not exaggerating!” Max insisted, chopping his hands through the air for emphasis. “He almost called an ambulance before she even opened her eyes. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Pietra shoved his shoulder with a laugh. “You’re evil.”
max pls she just fainted 💀
we saw you flinch when she went down… don’t lie to yrslf
Lando finally sighed, his thumb brushing your cheek again as his expression softened. “Alright, laugh it up. At least I know what I’m doing now.”
You gave him the faintest smile, crunching an ice chip obnoxiously in his direction. “My hero.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward.
While Lando turned back to explain to the camera what had just happened, Max sidled closer to the cart, his voice pitched lower so only you and Pietra caught it on her handheld camera. “You sure you’re good?”
His hand hovered awkwardly over the water bottle on your lap, not quite brave enough to grab it but wanting to do something so he settled for taking Pietras cast aside cardigan and lay it over your lap like a blanket.
“I’m fine,” you murmured. “Promise.”
“Alright…” Max rocked back on his heels, then grumbled, “Still hate it, though.”
You gave him a tiny smile, and for once, he didn’t tease you back.
By the time the sun dipped lower, painting the course in gold, you were slouched in the passenger seat of the cart, hoodie pulled tight, head resting against the backrest. The last green stretched ahead, and Max was already half out of his seat, fist-pumping like he’d won.
“That’s it! That’s the game, chat,” he shouted into the mic, triumphant. “Victory for Max & Pietra!”
“You haven’t even sunk it yet,” Pietra laughed, dragging him back down by his sleeve.
“Minor detail.”
On the green, Lando crouched low, lining up with laser focus. One smooth swing, and the ball rolled neatly across the grass, stopping just inches shy of the hole. He groaned dramatically, tossing his head back.
“You’re kidding me.”
But his grin came back instantly, dimples deepening as he pointed to the spot. “Piece of cake. We’ve got this,” still speaking in plural as you rested a few meters away.
“Pfft, amateurs,” Max declared, striding up to his own ball like he was about to prove something. Pietra raised her brows, muttering, “Here we go…”
Max swung hard. Too hard. The ball shot straight past the hole, bounced off the edge of the green, and skittered onto the rough.
Pietra slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle laughter. “Max!”
😭😭😭 NOOOO MAX
he choked harder than Lando
pietra blink twice if you need rescuing
“Wind picked up!” Max shouted defensively, gesturing at absolutely still trees. “That was sabotage!”
“Yeah, alright, mate,” Lando snorted, already turning back to your cart. He leaned down, nudging your knee gently. “Love. Wake up.”
You stirred, blinking at him groggily. “Mm?”
“One tap. Finish it for us.”
Max groaned from the green. “No way. No way you’re letting her…”
“Yes way,” Lando cut in cheerfully, tugging you carefully to your feet.
Still half-asleep and woozy from sitting up, you shuffled forward. He slipped the club into your hands, steadying them with his own. “Just a nudge. That’s all you need.”
You tapped the ball forward. It rolled straight in.
Lando erupted, whooping like you’d just won Augusta. He lifted you half off your feet, peppering your cheeks and nose with kisses. “Champion! Absolute legend! Best golfer here!”
Max clutched his head like the world had ended. “Unbearable. She literally just tapped it.”
“Perfect tap,” Lando insisted proudly, grinning against your temple. “The perfect tap. Game over. We win.”
“You don’t win anything!” Max wailed.
“Yes we do,” Lando countered smoothly, his arm snug around your waist. “Look at her. She’s glowing. That’s the only trophy I need.”
You groaned, hiding your face in his chest as chat spiraled over the amount of boyfriend-Lando they were being fed. Pietra shook her head, still laughing as Max launched into another angry rant about how the wind had ruined his game.
The game might’ve been technically undecided with the last hole point equalizer, but with the sun setting, laughter echoing, and Lando’s warmth pressed close to yours, it already felt like victory.
