🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 14: Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡꜱ🫱🏼🫲🏼
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇꜱ + ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ + ꜰᴀᴛᴇ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ
ᴍɪʟᴅ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ
ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ' ʟɪꜰᴇ
ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴄᴄᴜʀᴀᴛᴇ. ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴇꜱᴛ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ.
The airplane dipped through the clouds, smooth and silent, cradled by a velvet sky streaked with the last breath of sunset. (Y/n) leaned against Lando’s shoulder, their fingers loosely tangled as she watched the horizon melt into deep oranges and soft lavender.
The race weekend had only ended the day before, but the adrenaline had already begun to fade. In its place was something gentler. Quieter. A kind of stillness she always craved after the noise of the paddock, their shared routine of decompressing on his couch in Woking, wrapped in hoodies and silence, a bowl of crisps between them.
That’s where she thought they were going. Back to his flat in Woking. She had even dug out her favorite hoodie from the suitcase mid-flight, the one that always smelled faintly of him and engine oil, anticipating the comforting rhythm of their usual post-race quiet.
But the descent felt too slow. Too long. And the light outside— It wasn’t the cold, muted grey of Surrey skies.
It was gold. Mediterranean. Familiar in a way that startled her.
She sat up, blinking, brows furrowing as she looked out the window again. Red-tiled roofs glinted below. The sea shimmered.
And when the wheels finally kissed the tarmac and she heard the tower chatter in fluid French, she turned to him in confusion.
“Lando… where are we?”
He didn’t answer right away.
He just smiled and reached for her hand again, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in that way he always did when grounding her.
“We’re back in Monaco,” he said quietly. “It’s been a while.”
Her lips parted, breath catching. “Monaco?”
“It’s been almost three months since you were last here,” he said, already rising to pull her suitcase from the overhead bin. “I thought… maybe we could come back. Stay a little longer this time.”
She stared at him, stunned. “I thought we were going to Woking.”
“I know,” he admitted with a soft chuckle. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Then, as he turned to face her again, he softened, his eyes gentler now, his voice lower, more honest.
“This place, it’s where I go when I need to breathe. And I want you to have that, too. Not just a visit. Not just a weekend.”
A pause.
“And maybe,” he added, more cautiously now, “maybe we could just stay. Here. For a while. You and me. No deadlines. No grid.”
He took her hand again. Firmer this time.
“I think we both need that.”
Still dazed, she followed him through the quiet of the private terminal. The marble floors gleamed beneath their feet. Gilded chandeliers cast golden reflections on the glass walls. Beyond them, the bay was scattered with yachts swaying gently under the twilight sky.
She recognized the terminal. The view. The scent of sea salt on the wind. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but it felt different now.
Not a visit.
A return.
He led her outside, where a sleek black McLaren waited at the curb. Of course. The door opened with a quiet hiss and she slipped in, her fingers tracing the soft leather interior as if to anchor herself to the moment.
They drove in silence, the streets of Monte Carlo winding around them like silk ribbons. Old stone buildings glowed in the moonlight, their terraces overrun with vines and pale-pink bougainvillea. The cafés were dim and elegant, a few still open, couples leaning close over wine and flickering candles.
She hadn’t realized how much she missed it until now. The smell of the city. The rhythm of the hills. The way the night air tasted different here—saltier, slower, like time exhaled more deeply.
“It’s not London,” Lando murmured beside her, reading the look on her face. “But I hope you’ll like it again.”
She didn’t answer right away.
Then, softly, almost breathlessly, “It’s beautiful.”
And it was. More than that, it felt like somewhere she might finally stay.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
His flat in Monaco wasn’t a palace. Not by the standards of some of the drivers she’d seen online. But it was open and sun-warmed, wrapped in floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a full, glittering view of the Mediterranean and the amber spill of the city lights beyond.
And this time, it didn’t feel foreign.
It felt remembered.
“Make yourself at home again,” Lando murmured, setting her bag down just inside the doorway. His voice was soft, like he didn’t want to break the quiet that had followed them from the car.
But she didn’t move.
Not right away.
(Y/n) stood in the middle of the living room, breathing in the familiar scent of his place—salt air, detergent, a hint of pine from the diffuser he always left on the sideboard. Her eyes drifted to the skyline outside, the curved horizon she had once thought she’d only see once. Twice, maybe. Not like this.
Not as someone expected to return.
Not as someone welcomed back.
She turned slowly. Her heart still hadn’t caught up to the reality.
She had brought the hoodie. The one she wore when they curled up on the couch in Woking. She had expected cereal from their local Tesco, the hum of a quiet English suburb, maybe Netflix while he dozed with his head on her shoulder. But here she was. With the Monaco air blowing softly through the balcony door and the glass catching the last blush of evening sun.
He had brought her back.
She looked toward him.
“You really didn’t want to go back to Woking?”
He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter, smiling gently. “No. Not yet.”
A pause.
“I missed having you here.”
Her lips parted slightly. There was weight in that sentence. Not just affection, but intention. Memory. Months of it.
Her feet finally moved. She walked farther into the flat, letting the quiet embrace her as her eyes passed over everything she hadn’t seen in weeks, and all the little things that hadn’t changed at all.
Her favorite oat milk, already stocked in the fridge.
The small blanket she used that first weekend, still folded on the couch.
The slippers she left behind, now sitting beside his at the door like they belonged there.
She moved through the space slowly, rediscovering it. Touching edges. Noticing corners.
On the coffee table, one of the ceramic bowls they had bought from the street market still held the stones and sea glass they’d picked up on their walk near the harbor.
And next to his sim racing trophies, a small photo frame.
She paused.
A Polaroid. Sun-drenched and a little blurry. Her and Lando. She didn’t remember when it was taken, but the way her head tipped toward his in it, like gravity itself leaned them together, made something ache softly in her chest.
She stepped into the bedroom.
Opened the wardrobe without thinking.
And blinked.
A neat row of her clothes greeted her, pressed and hanging on slim black hangers. Some of her dresses. Two of his hoodies that had long since become hers. Her tote bag. A small zippered pouch of skincare tucked neatly in the corner of the vanity.
He’d made space for her.
He’d kept space for her.
She turned toward the doorway and found him there, watching silently. Hands in his pockets. Eyes steady.
“You kept everything,” she said, voice soft. Her fingers touched the edge of a familiar shirt, his, but once worn by her after a rainstorm. “Even when I’m in Woking.”
“I didn’t want it to feel like you’d never been here,” he said. “Even when you weren’t.”
The drawer on her side of the bed still held the book she left behind last time. Page folded. Bookmark still where she left it. She smiled as she sat down, thumb brushing over the worn edge of the spine.
This wasn’t just a visit.
This wasn’t a layover.
It was something else.
“This feels different,” she whispered.
Lando walked over, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, their knees just barely touching. His voice was quiet but certain.
“It is,” he said. “Because I don’t want you to just visit anymore.”
Her eyes met his.
“I want this to be yours too,” he continued, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “If you want it.”
The light outside was dimming. The sea shimmered beneath it. And the flat, his flat, no longer felt like just his.
She didn’t need to speak her answer.
She leaned in and kissed him, slow, certain, sure.
Yes.
Yes to the space.
Yes to the rhythm of it all.
Yes to him.
And when she finally rose to unpack her suitcase, it wasn’t as a guest passing through.
It was as someone who’d found her way back.
Home.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
This time, though… she didn’t leave after a weekend.
She unpacked.
Hung her clothes in his closet.
Folded her sweaters beside his.
Replaced the hotel shampoo in the bathroom with her own favorite. Left her hairbrush by the sink. A book on the nightstand. A scarf draped across the back of his desk chair.
Lando noticed each change, and didn’t move a single one.
He liked them.
Liked seeing her shadow in the places that used to feel too quiet.
Monaco settled into her bones slowly.
It was a different rhythm than London—quieter, but somehow brighter. The kind of place that made mornings feel endless and afternoons feel earned. She walked its streets with a scarf around her neck, the French language flowing from her lips with ease each time she ordered pastries from the boulangerie down the block or greeted neighbors in their marble-tiled lobby.
It surprised Lando, the first time he heard her speak French fluently.
He had blinked and then grinned, proud and amused.
“Remind me never to try haggling in front of you again.”
And she’d just giggled.
On some mornings, she would wander down to the marina while he worked, sitting on the edge of the stone steps to watch the water shift like glass. Other days, she’d light a candle and read by the window until the sky turned lavender and the boats returned to dock, their sails furled like tired arms.
He was busy during the weekdays. CEO of a company that was growing bigger than it looked on the outside.
Quadrant.
She had heard of it before, of course. But it wasn’t until now, living with him in the heart of his life, that she saw what it truly meant. The studios, the creative teams, the relentless pace of content creation and brand management. Lando, who people often underestimated for his humor, was precise and driven in ways the public rarely saw.
He would come home late sometimes, his voice hoarse from meetings or shoots, hair disheveled from taking his headset off too quickly. But no matter the hour, no matter how tired, he always made sure she knew he was back.
Sometimes he would whisper a soft “I’m here,” before kissing her forehead and collapsing beside her.
Other nights, he’d wrap his arms around her waist in the kitchen, nuzzling her shoulder while she reheated leftovers.
They never missed a goodnight.
He gave her a drawer, then half the wardrobe.
And still, when she started leaving her perfume on the bathroom shelf and stocking her favorite brand of oat milk in the fridge, he smiled like she was planting flags in every corner of his world.
Because she wasn’t just staying for a visit.
She was settling in.
And deep down, they both knew—
This was beginning to feel like home.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
One morning, he asked her to come with him.
“No hints,” he said, sipping his orange juice while she tried to decode the twinkle in his eyes. “Just trust me.”
She followed him through Monaco’s sloped streets until they reached a quieter district—more residential, less commercial.
At first, she thought it might be another Quadrant branch.
But then they passed a sign.
A university.
She stopped walking.
“Wait…” she said, turning to him. “What are we doing here?”
He just smiled and took her hand again.
“Come on.”
She followed, reluctant but curious, through the gates and into the courtyard. Students milled about, some sitting on the grass, others perched on benches with textbooks in their laps. The air smelled like sun-warmed stone and pine needles.
He led her into the admissions building.
She didn’t understand—until they reached the front desk, where a kindly woman greeted them by name.
“I… I don’t understand,” (Y/n) said, blinking at the paperwork on the counter. Her name was typed at the top of a course schedule.
“Mechanical engineering,” the lady explained with a smile. “You’ll be starting the first semester in two weeks.”
(Y/n) turned to Lando, stunned.
“Lando… this… this is a university.”
“I know.”
“And I can’t afford this—”
“It’s already paid.”
She froze.
“By who?”
The lady smiled again.
“Anonymous donor.”
(Y/n)’s eyes snapped back to Lando, whose grin betrayed nothing but mischief and love.
“You did this,” she whispered, eyes suddenly glassy.
He shrugged, almost bashful now. “You said you wanted to be a performance engineer. I figured… why wait?”
For a second, she didn’t move.
Then, without warning, she launched herself into his arms, hugging him so tightly he stumbled backward.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”
He just buried his nose in her hair, his arms around her back.
“You’re going to be brilliant,” he murmured.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
They moved into his Monaco flat full time after that.
The days fell into a kind of rhythm. She would wake early for classes, often already dressed and halfway through her notes by the time Lando rolled out of bed with his hair sticking up like static. He would make breakfast on slow days, eggs always slightly overcooked, toast always too crispy, but with orange slices cut into hearts on the side.
She would come home from university with ink-stained fingers and a laptop full of calculations, while he returned with footage reels and board meeting notes tucked under his arm.
They met each other in the middle of exhaustion.
They kissed each other through yawns.
They spent Sunday mornings curled on the couch, limbs tangled, Netflix playing in the background while neither of them really paid attention.
One evening, as the golden hour bathed their living room in honeyed light, (Y/n) sat on the floor with her textbooks spread out like a fan around her. Lando sat behind her, his fingers gently untangling the knots in her hair while reading over the titles aloud.
“Thermodynamics?” he read with a wince. “Sounds hot.”
She groaned and tossed a pen at him without turning around.
“Did you really just say that?”
He chuckled, ducking as the pen bounced harmlessly off the couch.
She reached for her coffee again, but this time, Lando’s hand gently covered hers.
“Take a break,” he whispered.
She looked over her shoulder. “I have an exam next week.”
“And you’ll pass,” he said, tugging her until she leaned back against him. “But right now? You’re here. I’m here. Let’s be here together.”
So she closed the laptop.
And they sat like that, wrapped in quiet and the soft hum of the city below.
No rush. No noise.
Just the warmth of something real blooming between them like dusk settling across a harbor.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Some nights, she still felt overwhelmed.
She would sit on the balcony, legs tucked beneath her, watching the sea foam roll in under moonlight, wondering if she really belonged in a world so golden.
Lando would find her there, every time.
He never asked questions.
He just wrapped a blanket over her shoulders and sat beside her, their silence saying everything words could not.
One night, she turned to him, her voice barely audible above the sound of waves.
“Do you ever wonder… if all of this is too good to last?”
He looked at her, the weight of her question folding softly across his expression.
“No,” he said. “Because I’ve waited too long for this. For you. And I’m not letting go.”
She blinked, tears catching on her lashes.
So he kissed her.
Soft and slow.
And she kissed him back.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
They didn’t need grandeur.
Their life wasn’t about parties or headlines or the next big thing.
It was about post-lecture ramen bowls on the couch. About notes scribbled on napkins and Lando’s relentless need to doodle cars on her homework. It was about him leaving sticky notes on the fridge reminding her to eat, and her folding his hoodies so they smelled like lavender again.
It was about real.
And maybe that was the rarest kind of magic of all.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
One late evening, long after the city had gone to sleep, they lay curled on the couch, limbs tangled, the TV humming softly with the glow of an old animated film they both had seen too many times. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. His fingers traced idle patterns on her back.
“Are you happy?” he whispered, voice drowsy.
She tilted her face up to look at him.
“Right now? With you?” She smiled.
“I’m home.”
To be continued...🧡
🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ – ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ: ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ɢᴀᴍᴇ🫱🏼🫲🏼
📝 Note from the Author: My dear Alarwynnites, Here we are with the second post of the day, you absolute gremlins deserve it for sticking around through all the soft chaos and soul-deep stares.
This chapter? Let’s just say Lando pulled a little Monaco Uno Reverse Card and (Y/n) is just out here trying to breathe without combusting. I swear this man said “surprise vacation” and meant “surprise, I’m making you unpack your whole life into my closet.” Bold of him, really.
To everyone who’s still reading my overly emotional, incredibly wordy, aggressively soft stories, I love you. Truly. Your reblogs, your likes, your little comments that sometimes just say “help,” they keep me going.
💬 Don’t forget to reblog, like, or comment if you enjoyed it. And if you didn’t, if you just ghost-read it quietly at 2AM with your blanket pulled over your head? Still, thank you. From the bottom of my soulstruck heart. 💛
With love, me 🧡