seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from Germany
seen from Colombia
seen from France
seen from Armenia
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
Lando always hugs only Oscar's waist, because with his other hand he pushes a third person away from his charming husband, whom everyone wants to steal, 100%
Oscar: *standing on the podium with other people*
Lando: Everyone is gone, this is my place next to the Оsс 😤
It is inspired by the "Hamilton is still our driver" thing. Just imagine, if each team went to get back their drivers, what would happen (the first team for Ham was McLaren, by the way, and like, Audi would come for Charles, Williams for Diva, Red bull for a half of the grid, and Alpine for Oscar)
Lando, standing in front of McLaren garage: you have only two options. first - you'll just disappear from here and forget my teammate's name for now and forever, forget about his existence at all. second - I'll make you. and be sure: you're definitely gonna see McLaren garage in the worst of your nightmares.
Charles, who was messing with Audi, Max, who was just watching the chaos, Lewis with Leo, who was standing near McLaren garage: interesting.
not my first language, and no hate for Pierre and Franco.
p.s. George would scream KIMI, asking for help, and Kimi would fight for Ollie, just because it's Ollie.
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 22: ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴀʟᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴀᴅᴠɪᴄᴇ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ
ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ-ᴏꜰ-ᴛʜᴇ-ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏɴɪᴛᴏʀɪɴɢ
ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴘᴀɪɴ (ʟɪɢᴀᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ/ᴄʀᴀᴍᴘɪɴɢ)
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ, ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ
ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏxʏᴛᴏᴄɪɴ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ (ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴜᴍᴏʀ)
ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏꜱɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ
ᴍɪʟᴅ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ (“ꜰᴜᴄᴋ”, “ꜱᴘᴜᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ”, ᴇᴛᴄ.)
ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ/ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ
It was just after two in the morning when (Y/n) stirred, a dull ache tugging low on her right side. At first, she thought it might’ve been a cramp, or the way she’d curled up against the pillows. But when she tried to roll onto her other side, the discomfort sharpened suddenly, enough to make her suck in a breath through her teeth.
She sat up slowly, careful not to wake Lando, and rubbed her belly instinctively. The babies weren’t kicking, nothing alarming there, but the tight, pulling sensation was new. She whispered a soft curse under her breath, pushing the covers off and carefully rising to her feet.
Her legs wobbled slightly as she made her way to the kitchen, squinting in the dim light. She poured herself a glass of water, hoping it was just dehydration or maybe one of those “normal” pregnancy growing pains the midwife had warned her about. The ache wasn’t sharp anymore, just lingering like a bruise under the skin.
But as she turned to go back to bed, footsteps padded down the hall.
Lando.
His curls were messy, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes, but his expression sharpened the moment he saw her holding her side.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low but alert.
“Yeah,” she said quickly, already regretting how fast it came out. “Just… had a weird cramp. It’s fine.”
He stopped in front of her, eyes narrowing. “See, the more you say ‘I’m fine,’ the more I start to panic.”
“I didn’t want to wake you—”
“You didn’t. Your side of the bed was cold and you weren’t in the bathroom. That’s not exactly relaxing.”
She gave him a look, but it softened quickly. “It’s probably just round ligament pain. I drank water. It’s easing up.”
“You’re almost in your third trimester, (Y/n). I’m not about to gamble on ‘probably.’”
She opened her mouth to argue, then sighed. “Okay. Let’s call the OB. Or go in.”
Lando was already grabbing his keys.
The hospital was quiet, all clean lines and soft fluorescent light. The air felt too sterile for 3 a.m., but it brought (Y/n) some comfort, like things would be fine just because everything around her looked calm.
She was already lying on the exam table when Dr. Simone Reyes walked in, her glasses perched halfway down her nose and a cup of steaming coffee in hand.
“Ms. (Y/l/n), Mr. Norris,” she greeted with a warm but sleepy smile. “Couldn’t wait until your scheduled check-up, huh?”
(Y/n) winced, both from embarrassment and from shifting her weight. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was urgent but it woke me up.”
Lando stood beside her, tense but quiet.
The doctor pulled on gloves and began the quick abdominal scan with a practiced hand. The soft, rapid thuds of two tiny heartbeats filled the room a moment later.
“They sound strong,” Lando whispered.
Dr. Reyes smiled. “Strong, active, stubborn, just like their parents, I imagine.”
She clicked through a few more measurements, then leaned back, satisfied. “Looks like classic round ligament pain, probably from how you were lying. As the uterus expands, especially with twins, it stretches the ligaments that support it. Pain can be sudden but usually short-lived. Hydration and careful movements help.”
(Y/n) nodded slowly, relief creeping in.
Lando looked less relieved. “Is there anything else she should be doing?”
Dr. Reyes turned to him with a smirk. “What do I always say, Mr. Norris?”
He blinked. “...Keep calm and keep her fed?”
She laughed. “Close. But no, seriously—rest, gentle walks, water, and the occasional foot massage.”
Then she raised a brow, amused. “And of course, if you're both comfortable, some light intimacy never hurts. After all, that's what got you here in the first place.”
(Y/n)’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry—what?”
Lando sputtered beside her. “Wait—are you—?”
Dr. Reyes just chuckled, scribbling something into the chart. “I’m just saying, oxytocin is great for circulation. I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. Trust me, half of my patients panic at night and then forget they have bodies made for this.”
(Y/n) covered her face with both hands. “You were joking, weren’t you?”
“Only slightly,” the doctor said, winking. “You’re fine. But call me if the pain worsens, or if you notice anything unusual, bleeding, decreased movement, dizziness. Otherwise, relax. They’re growing perfectly.”
Lando exhaled, visibly relaxing for the first time all night.
(Y/n) looked over at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just… I hate not being able to help.”
“You are helping. You didn’t panic. You brought me here. You let a doctor suggest… whatever that was.”
Dr. Reyes raised her coffee in a mock toast. “Cheers to parenthood. It only gets weirder from here.”
Back at the flat, the sky had started to lighten outside, the soft blue of dawn stretching across the horizon. (Y/n) climbed into bed slowly, every movement cautious now.
Lando sat beside her and gently pulled the covers over both of them.
She leaned against his shoulder. “Sorry for scaring you.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Promise me something?”
“What?”
“No more 'I'm fine' if you're not.”
She nodded, eyes already starting to close. “Okay.”
And as they lay there in the quiet, with the soft sounds of the city waking outside, Lando rested his hand over her belly, still waiting, still hoping for the day he’d finally feel them kick back.
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 23: ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀɪᴛɪꜱʜ ɢʀᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀɪx 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: It’s officially my ninth day here on Tumblr, Alarwynnites 🧡 and what a journey it’s been so far. I still can’t believe how deeply you’ve all embraced this story, every reblog, every tag reaction, every little message means more than you know.
This chapter is for the 2 a.m. worriers, the ones who carry love like a heartbeat, quiet but constant. 💭 No scandals. No podiums. Just dim lights, sleepy hospitals, and the kind of care that wraps around you without needing words. Lando and (Y/n) are learning that sometimes, being there is the loudest kind of love.
If you felt that ache of vulnerability, or smiled at Dr. Reyes' unexpected advice 😂, drop a 🍼 or 🌃 in the comments, because this chapter was soft for a reason.
Thank you for reading this far, for feeling it all with me. Don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, and follow for more late-night chaos and quiet comforts.
With love, me🧡
An alternate F1 world where vampires secretly rule the grid. Some humans work for the teams, unaware of the true nature of their employers... until you arrive.
Pairings: LN4 x Reader
Warnings: blood mentions, violence, possessive!lando, near-biting, jealousy, emotional
WC: 1.7k
Divider: @bleedingspiral
🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏɪꜱᴇ🫱🏼🫲🏼
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇꜱ + ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ + ꜰᴀᴛᴇ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ, ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ ʜᴀʀᴀꜱꜱᴍᴇɴᴛ
ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ (ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ)
ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʙᴏɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ
ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ
ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʜɪɢʜʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ, ᴀʀɢᴜᴀʙʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ-ᴇꜱᴛ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰ1 ᴡᴇᴇᴋᴇɴᴅꜱ
The sun rose slow and syrupy over the circuit, draping soft gold across the motorhomes and garage roofs, warming the paddock as though trying to melt the tension away before Free Practice 3. In the suite, the morning was quiet save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the distant chirp of birds outside their window. (Y/n) stirred first, blinking at the ceiling as she adjusted to the silence.
She didn’t wake Lando.
Instead, she lay there a little while, listening to his breathing, the peaceful rhythm of it. His arm was slung loosely around her waist, and for the first time since arriving, she didn’t feel like fleeing. Not from the cameras. Not from the noise. Not even from herself.
After yesterday’s chaos, after her breakdown, the cruel words from the interviewer, and the way Lando had wrapped his entire presence around her just to keep her steady, she woke up softer. Still not brave. But less afraid.
That was enough.
Later that morning, she walked beside him into the paddock with her hand confidently in his. No hiding behind his shoulder this time. There was still media, always would be, but this time, their stares didn’t penetrate the way they had yesterday. Maybe it was because she knew he’d shield her. Or maybe it was because she was beginning to believe she had the right to exist beside him.
Her fingers traced the hem of his sleeve idly as they strolled toward the McLaren motorhome. Lando didn’t say much—he just held her hand tightly, smiling softly every time she looked up at him, as if reminding her that she was still here. Still with him.
As they stepped into the hospitality area, Ajax’s voice suddenly called out.
“Hey!”
(Y/n) turned fast, too fast, actually. Her eyes widened as she spotted her little brother standing by the coffee bar, still in his McLaren Racing Gear, grinning like a proud sibling. She hadn’t even known he’d arrived early.
She ran to him before she could think twice, nearly knocking the paper cup out of his hand as she threw her arms around him.
“Don’t cry,” Ajax warned, smiling into her hair.
Lando watched from a distance for a second before approaching. Ajax glanced up from where he was adjusting his gloves and offered a smirk.
“Lando.”
“Ajax.”
Their handshake was firm, easy, bordering on lazy. The kind shared by people who’d already done the hard part of getting to know each other. There was no tension anymore. Just a quiet camaraderie built over time, shared pit lanes, and the occasional sarcastic banter in the McLaren paddock.
They chatted only briefly, mostly about FP3 prep and Oscar’s questionable taste in pre-race music. Lando cracked a smile, and Ajax actually laughed, a short, real sound.
But when Lando got called back to the garage, Ajax tugged gently on his sister’s sleeve and pulled her a step aside.
“You look calmer,” he murmured. “Stay that way, yeah? He’s not just some idiot with fast hands anymore.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, cheeks tinting pink. “Anymore?”
He shrugged innocently. “Well, you used to say that.”
“Shut up.”
Ajax grinned. Then, with a fondness that only a younger brother could get away with, he ruffled her hair like he had when they were kids, messy and annoying and affectionate all at once.
“Go win something,” she muttered.
“Only if you do too.”
And with that, he headed off toward the Formula 2 paddock, leaving her blinking at the spot he’d stood and smiling despite herself.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Free Practice 3 was a whirl of data runs and long stints. (Y/n) stayed close to the garage but out of the way, tucked into the back corner where PR staff wouldn’t bother her and where she could still hear the engineers’ chatter.
She watched every sector, every turn.
Sometimes, she didn’t realize she was leaning forward until Lily gently nudged her shoulder.
By the time the session ended, Lando was already searching for her through the garage window. He peeled out of his gloves and helmet and made a beeline straight toward her. He didn’t even pause for the media team.
“There’s my good luck charm,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles against her jaw. He didn’t care who saw.
They returned to the motorhome soon after for a brief rest before Qualifying. She thought Lando would nap.
Instead, he dragged the armchair closer to where she was curled up on the couch, then promptly sat on the floor, leaning his back against her legs while scrolling through data on his phone.
“Comfortable?” she asked, voice amused.
“Not as much as I would be if I were up there with you,” he muttered without looking up.
She raised a brow. “Then why don’t you come up here?”
He didn’t need to be told twice. In the next breath, he climbed onto the narrow couch beside her—barely enough space for two—and somehow still managed to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her in like he owned the space.
She didn’t stop him.
Then, without warning, he took her wrist, the one with the soulmate mark just beneath the skin, and pressed his lips against it. Once. Then again. And then… he bit.
Softly. Just enough to make her squeak.
“Lando,” she hissed, yanking her arm back and glancing at it. A faint, kiss-shaped mark had bloomed beside the shimmer of her soulmate bond—warm, pink, and embarrassingly visible.
He just chuckled. “Couldn’t help it.”
She glared, mortified. “People will see that.”
“Good,” he said without hesitation. “Let them.”
A beat passed.
Then she poked him in the cheek, scolding. “You’re impossible.”
Right on cue, Oscar stepped into the lounge with an energy drink in hand. He took one look at the scene, the two of them tangled on the couch, Lando looking smug, (Y/n) trying not to combust, and raised a brow.
“Alright, Romeo. Let her breathe.”
Lando groaned into her shoulder, not moving. “She smells too good.”
(Y/n) buried her face in the throw pillow, half-laughing, half-horrified.
Oscar rolled his eyes and dropped the drink on the table. “Five minutes. Then I’m dragging you out by the ankles.”
He did.
Eventually.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
When it was time for Qualifying, the energy around the paddock shifted palpably. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garages. Engines rumbled like distant thunder. Reporters grew quieter. Mechanics leaned in closer to their radios.
Outside the garage, (Y/n) stopped Lando before he climbed into the car.
“Good luck,” she whispered, eyes steady.
He smiled at her, nervous but grateful.
And then she kissed him. Soft. A mere brush on the lips, brief and feather-light, but enough to make his heart lurch.
“Now go make me proud,” she added, stepping back.
He did.
Sector after sector, he climbed up the leaderboard. Q1 was smooth. Q2, tighter. By the time Q3 came, every second on track mattered like blood in the veins.
She stood beside the engineers, breath caught somewhere between her ribs.
When he crossed the final line, his delta blinking green, the timing screen lit up with P2 beside his name.
Not pole.
But strong.
Stable.
Enough.
She exhaled deeply, pride blooming in her chest. Not for the position, but because of how calm he looked when he returned. How he glanced toward her the moment he pulled into the garage.
Like she was the first person he wanted to see.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Dinner that night was quiet, cocooned in a hush that only soulmates understood. The city outside their suite glittered through tall windows, but neither of them looked beyond the glass. The world could wait.
A bottle of sparkling juice sat half-empty between them, catching the warm light of the chandelier above. Their plates had long since been scraped clean, the scent of rosemary and seared meat lingering faintly in the air like an afterthought. The room felt suspended, like time had slowed just for them.
Lando leaned back in his chair, head tipped against the cushioned wall, fatigue settling into his bones with quiet finality. Qualifying days always wrung him out more than race days ever could. It wasn’t just the physical demand, or the desert heat trapped inside his helmet—it was the weight of precision, of performance, of knowing one-tenth of a second could rewrite a weekend. It was chess at 300 kilometers per hour.
Yet even in his exhaustion, his eyes never stopped returning to her.
To the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. To the shape her lips made when she blew gently at her hot tea. To the softness that had begun to live in her eyes again, like she had stopped bracing for impact.
She caught him staring once, and offered a quiet smile.
Still, he reached for her, fingers skimming the table just to graze her hand as she reached for her glass. It was such a simple gesture, but it grounded him in ways he couldn’t explain. Just her skin. Just that little tether.
She yawned after dessert, drowsy from the meal, the comfort, the warmth of the evening.
“I think I’m heading to bed,” she murmured, her voice soft like dusk settling into the corners of the suite.
He nodded, offering a small smile. “Alright. I’ll join you in a bit.”
But he didn’t.
Not for another twenty minutes.
When he finally entered the bedroom, the world felt quieter. Dimmer. The only light came from the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the white sheets.
She was already curled beneath the blanket, her back to him, body curled toward the center of the bed. Her breathing had slowed into something tender and even, but he knew she wasn’t asleep. Not fully.
He padded over quietly, then slid beneath the covers, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. The sheets were warm from her presence. Familiar. Sacred.
And still, something inside him stirred.
All day, he’d felt it. That invisible thread. That pull. That ache to be close. To be. Through every lap, every glance, every silence filled with unspoken words.
He reached for her wrist, where the mark lived, that sign of destiny neither of them had chosen but had learned to trust.
He kissed it. Soft and reverent.
And this time, she turned.
Her eyes blinked open slowly, and she looked at him—not startled, not hesitant, but searching. A gaze full of questions she hadn’t yet found words for.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
And somehow, he had the answers anyway. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. But in that moment, the room held its breath, like the universe itself had stilled, watching two soul-bound beings finally see each other.
Then, with nothing more than a heartbeat between them, he leaned forward and kissed her.
It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t fiery. It was steady. Intentional. Laced with meaning that went deeper than desire—carved from silence, from ache, from all the words they never said but always felt. It was the kind of kiss that said: I’m not here for tonight. I’m here for always. And she responded in kind. Tentative at first, almost shy, her lips brushing his like a question that had haunted her for months.
Then her hands reached for his shirt. Fingers curling into the fabric—not in desperation, but in decision. A pull that said stay.
And he did. He let her lead. Let her pace set the rhythm. He didn’t chase her body, he followed her trust.
When skin finally met skin, it was reverent. Not rushed. Not wild. Just real. There were no clothes ripped away in the heat of passion—only slow movements, careful hands, and deep breaths. Each layer was lifted with intention. Each kiss pressed like a seal across newly discovered ground.
He shook a little when he cupped her face, the pad of his thumb brushing her cheekbone like he was trying to memorize her. His voice, barely a whisper, broke the silence. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. And that was all he needed.
He touched her like something sacred. Mapped her skin like scripture. Every freckle, every scar, every subtle tremor of breath, he memorized it with lips and fingertips. His kisses followed the trails his hands traced, up her shoulder, across the hollow of her ribs, down the curve of her waist.
She trembled. Not from fear. But from being seen. From being held in a way that wasn’t about possession, but about presence.
When he moved inside her, slow and careful, her breath stuttered, then caught. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted in a gasp. And he froze instantly.
“You okay?” he whispered, his forehead against hers, voice breaking like glass.
She nodded. One hand pressed against the back of his neck. “Yes.”
There was a trace of blood. They both saw it. Neither looked away. Neither needed to say a word.
Because what followed was not lust, it was love, redefined.
He moved like he was trying to stitch something back together. Like every thrust was a quiet vow. You’re not alone. You’re not ruined. You are loved.
She whimpered softly, face pressed into the crook of his neck, her nails gripping his back like she was holding onto something she thought she’d never have again. His name left her lips in a broken breath, not as a plea, but a prayer. A benediction. A surrender.
Their bodies moved in rhythm. A quiet symphony of gasps, moans, the soft thud of hips meeting hips. Blankets rustled. The bed groaned. But none of it broke the spell. Time didn’t rush them. It allowed them to linger.
When it was over, it didn’t feel like something had ended. It felt like something had begun.
He didn’t pull away. Didn’t leave her. He just stayed.
Still inside her. Still holding her. One arm cradled her head, the other stroked slow, grounding circles along her spine.
She didn’t speak. Not because there was nothing to say— But because the silence was already full. Full of knowing. Full of truth. Full of everything they finally shared.
And when he kissed her again—temple, cheek, shoulder—he whispered words she hadn’t known she needed. “You’re safe.”
And for the first time in her life, she believed him.
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t apologize for how much space her heart took up.
Instead, she moved closer. Tucked her face beneath his chin. Wrapped her arm around his waist. Tangled her legs with his like she wanted to disappear into the very soul of him.
And he let her. Held her tighter.
Not because he was afraid she’d run. But because, for once, she wasn’t.
His eyes closed, and he listened to her breathing settle into his. And in that quiet, something inside him finally stilled.
He wasn’t afraid. Not of the mark. Not of the future. Not of the way they’d found each other in the mess of a broken season and a cracked-open heart.
Because love had chosen them long before they knew it. But tonight— She had chosen him back.
Again. And again. And again.
To be continued...🧡
🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13: ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀʀ🫱🏼🫲🏼
📝 Note from the Author: My dear Alarwynnites, Third and final post today, I promise this is the last one before I force myself to sleep and stop romanticizing the soulmate angst like it’s my full-time job.
Chapter 12: “The Skin Between the Noise” has finally arrived, and wow… the things that happened between data runs and couch cuddles… WHEW. This chapter really said, “let’s start soft, add a little sibling fluff, sprinkle some pre-race nerves, and then throw you into a blender of soulmate intimacy and emotional vulnerability.”
Ajax is back and being a menace in the best way, Oscar gets in a one-liner roast, Lando continues to behave like a man raised by fanfiction, and (Y/n) finally starts stepping into her power. Also, someone bite-marked a soulmate bond and honestly? We support it.
To those of you who are still reading my work, still tapping that little heart, still reblogging even in silence, I cannot thank you enough. And if you’re silently lurking, reading without a comment or reaction? You’re still loved here. Truly.
Just don’t forget, if you do have thoughts, screams, sobs, or theories, I’d love to see them. Comments are my fuel. Reblogs help spread the chaos. And likes? Always appreciated.
Thank you for being here. For choosing to read this. For joining me in the messy, magical in-between of soulmarks and slow mornings.
Stay soft. Stay noisy. Stay soulstruck.
With love, me 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 27: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴅᴅᴏᴄᴋ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴏɴɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ
ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ɪɴ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛʀɪᴍᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ (ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴡɪɴꜱ)
ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ (ᴋɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ, ᴛɪʀᴇᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʟᴇɢ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ)
ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ (ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴠɪꜱɪʙɪʟɪᴛʏ, ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ)
ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ (ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴋɪᴄᴋꜱ, ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ ɢᴇꜱᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ)
ᴘᴀᴘᴀʀᴀᴢᴢɪ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ ᴏɴ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀɪᴛʏ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ
Three weeks passed since Silverstone, but the impact still lingered like tire marks on the track.
Everywhere they went, someone was watching.
Whether it was the polite stares in hotel lobbies or the whispered gasps in airports, (Y/n) had grown used to the spotlight. It wasn’t just her anymore. It was the bump. The twins. The fact that she no longer trailed behind Lando unnoticed but stood right beside him, seen, acknowledged, and protected.
Austria arrived with a crisp alpine breeze and a sky so clear it almost felt curated. Red Bull Ring buzzed with energy. The hills around Spielberg were already alive with fans, flags, and fluttering papaya-orange shirts. But what surprised her most was how quickly the paddock had adjusted to her presence.
(Y/n) stepped out of the car, hand gently bracing her lower belly. Her bump was no longer a question. It was a statement.
Lando offered his arm instinctively, helping her down. “Take it slow.”
She gave him a soft smile. “I’m pregnant, not glass.”
“Pregnant with twins,” he reminded her.
Her reply was a smirk, but she didn’t argue.
Zak Brown met them at the McLaren motorhome entrance, his tone warmer than usual. “Room’s ready for you upstairs, couch, quiet corner, anything you need. And the chef knows your preferences this time.”
“Even the papaya juice?” she teased.
Zak chuckled. “Lando made sure it was non-negotiable.”
Inside, the team greeted her like one of their own. There was no awkwardness anymore, just warm familiarity. A few mechanics even offered her fist bumps, and one handed her a tiny McLaren onesie they’d customized during the break. (Y/n) laughed, touched beyond words.
Later that day, after the media rounds, Lando returned to the motorhome and found her curled up on the corner couch, sipping water, legs elevated as ordered.
“You okay?” he asked, brushing his knuckles against her knee.
She looked up at him, a soft glow behind tired eyes. “The babies are kicking a lot today. Think they’re ready for lights out and five red lights.”
“Already got the racer genes,” he grinned.
She rolled her eyes but reached for his hand, guiding it to the center of her bump.
A solid nudge. Then another.
He stilled, lips parting. “That was...”
“Both of them,” she whispered.
He knelt beside her and pressed a kiss to her stomach, right where he felt the movement. “Hey, easy in there, yeah? We’ve got time.”
Outside, a few camera flashes popped from the far end of the paddock, long lenses trying to catch a glimpse of the woman who had somehow softened the grid’s most unpredictable driver. But inside, all was still.
She was his calm. And now, their twins were part of the noise too.
And Austria was just beginning.
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 28: ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀᴠᴇ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: Sixth and final post for today, I know, I’ve spoiled you all. But this Austria chapter just felt too warm, too soft not to share before logging off. (Y/n) being embraced by the team? A custom McLaren onesie?? And the twins kicking during race week? That’s legacy in motion 🧡
Lando kneeling at her bump like it’s the most sacred thing in the world? Yeah, I cried writing that. Don’t look at me.
Thank you for being here through every post today. We’re just getting started with this arc, and I already can’t wait to show you what comes next. For now… Rest well, stay soft, and keep loving loudly.
With love, me 🧡
Cheetah Lando and his teammate Oscar
I thought I needed these two for my mental health and peace of mind.
Lando the cheetah uses Oscar's couch as his bed for the first time
After a tense race day on the track, Lando was preparing for the press conference. The race had been emotionally and physically challenging for him, and he feared that his control over his second identity might weaken. Sometimes, when he experienced intense overload, his body would start to change, and he would transform into a graceful and fast cheetah.
(Thank goodness his control prevented this from happening during the race.)
The press conference was more crowded than usual, and Lando understood that it was because he and Oscar were in a tight battle for the championship this year, with only a minimal gap between them. They were both in great spirits after a successful race, but Lando felt his emotions intensifying. He sensed the tension within him coiling into a tight knot, and the only solution seemed to be to transform, but he thought he could handle it.
The questions were coming in thick and fast, and just when Lando thought the crisis had passed, he felt his body starting to change. He quickly glanced at Oscar, who seemed not to have noticed what was happening yet. Suddenly, in the midst of the press conference, Lando transformed into a cheetah. His fur became golden with black spots, and his eyes sparkled like two bright emeralds. His long legs got stuck in his racing suit, causing him to awkwardly tangle in it and stretch out on the couch.
The journalists froze in surprise at first, but Oscar, unfazed, simply smiled. He had encountered Lando's sudden transformations before, so he was more or less accustomed to them. The cheetah, feeling a bit awkward under the attention, crawled further along the couch and moved closer to Oscar, eventually lying down next to him and resting his head on Oscar's lap. He looked at his teammate with affection, and Oscar, chuckling, began to scratch him behind the ear, which made Lando softly purr, though it was more of a low rumble. Although Oscar considered himself a dog person, he definitely knew how to connect with any cat, even one as unique as Lando.
"Well, it seems our race winner is a bit tired of the questions and has chosen an infallible way to avoid answering them," Oscar said with a light laugh, trying to ease the tension. Max, sitting in the third seat, joked that it was cheating, but Lando didn’t care as long as Oscar continued to scratch behind his ear, and he could feel the tension leaving his body, loosening the tight knot.
The journalists, regaining their composure, began taking pictures of the scene before them, but Oscar, ignoring them, continued to interact with Lando as if nothing unusual had happened. This wouldn’t be their problem; Oscar and Lando were confident that the McLaren PR team would use this situation to once again show that their drivers were close, even when competing for the championship.
The press conference continued when one of the journalists, clearly not wanting to miss the opportunity for a sensational headline, asked Oscar a question that made the younger driver tense up:
"Oscar, don’t you think you’re just living in Lando’s shadow? Don’t you think that being the second driver is your maximum potential for the future, considering you now have a long-term contract with the team?"
A tense silence fell over the room. Oscar, a bit flustered, tried to find words that wouldn’t land him in community service or incur a fine, but before he could respond, Lando, still in his cheetah form, abruptly lifted his head from the boy's lap and hissed. His hiss was low and menacing, like a warning that no one dared to touch his Oscar or speak such nonsense to him.
The journalists froze, and Oscar, feeling protected, smiled a bit sheepishly. Lando, now sitting on the couch, moved even closer to Oscar and nuzzled his face into his shoulder, offering support and protection.
Oscar, feeling the warmth and softness of the cheetah, gently stroked his head, and Lando sensed the tension in Oscar’s body gradually dissipating. He looked at Lando and quietly said, "It’s okay, buddy. I’ll handle it."
Lando hissed again, but this time the sound quickly shifted to a soft purr, full of support and trust. He knew he would always be there to protect his teammate, and that their bond was stronger than any harsh words. So if Oscar said everything would be alright, then it would be. But that didn’t mean he was completely at ease. So for the rest of the press conference, he sprawled out next to Oscar, resting his head against his soft thigh.
After the press conference, when everyone had dispersed, Lando returned to his human form, and he and Oscar stepped outside, laughing and discussing the race. Lando’s large hand rested on Oscar’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, silently conveying that whatever the journalists said, it didn’t mean it was true.
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 28: ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀᴠᴇ 🧡
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ’ꜱ ᴇx (ᴍᴀɢᴜɪ) ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ
ɪɴᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴇɪʟᴇᴅ ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ (ᴇx-ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ)
ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴄʀᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ
ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ
ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀʀɪꜱᴏɴ, ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ, ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ʀᴇꜱɪʟɪᴇɴᴄᴇ
ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ
ꜱᴜʙᴛᴇxᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀʏ-ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ
The second day in Austria brought a heavier kind of heat. Not the sweltering kind that made people sweat, but the kind that settled beneath the skin when something felt off.
(Y/n) sensed it almost immediately.
It was in the way the paddock buzzed with a certain hush. The way a few photographers angled their shots too carefully. And then, the way Lando tensed for just a second as he scrolled through his phone that morning.
“What is it?” she asked, adjusting the scarf draped over her shoulder, her bump already prominent in the pale silk fabric of her fitted dress.
He hesitated, then gave her a slow glance. “She’s here.”
“Who?”
“Magui.”
(Y/n) blinked. That name hadn’t come up in weeks, maybe even months. But she remembered the few late-night Google spirals. The old interviews. The photos. The fandom theories.
She didn’t flinch. “Alright. Should I be worried?”
Lando looked her square in the eyes. “No. I promise.”
But still, the tension followed them.
Mid-morning, she decided to step out for air while Lando handled simulator runs and engineering meetings. She stood just outside the McLaren hospitality area, sipping lemon water, trying not to feel too self-conscious about the way her belly seemed to lead every step she took now.
Then she saw her.
Magui was effortlessly styled in white linen pants and a sleeveless cropped blouse, oversized sunglasses perched on her head. A small pass hung around her neck, guest of another team, maybe, or someone generous. She walked like she belonged.
And she walked right up to (Y/n).
“Hi,” Magui said, her accent soft but her smile tight.
“Hi,” (Y/n) replied, calmly. One hand unconsciously rested over her belly.
“I’ve heard… things,” Magui continued, eyes flicking down. “Congratulations. Twins, right?”
(Y/n) nodded. “Yes.”
There was silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was a loaded pause, the kind that required careful breath.
Magui tilted her head, smile still in place. “You must be very special to him.”
“I didn’t ask to be,” (Y/n) replied, her voice steady. “But I am.”
Something in Magui’s gaze flickered, just slightly. Maybe envy. Maybe acceptance. Maybe both.
“Well,” she said, stepping back, “he always did care too much. Maybe now, he finally got it right.”
(Y/n) didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
The moment passed, and Magui walked away, melting back into the background noise of the paddock.
Later that afternoon, Lando returned to the motorhome and found her seated by the tinted window, looking out at the track.
“She talked to you,” he said, not even asking.
“She did.”
He sank onto the armrest beside her. “I didn’t know she’d be here.”
“I know.”
He reached for her hand. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Surprisingly, yes.”
They stayed like that, quietly leaning into each other while the track roared to life outside.
But (Y/n) knew now, this wasn’t just about growing into the role of Lando’s partner, or carrying his twins. It was about navigating every ghost that still hovered around him, gracefully, without losing herself.
The race was tomorrow. But she was already playing hers. To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 29: ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏɪꜱᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author: Tenth day on Tumblr, and we're diving deeper into the layers now.
Magui's unexpected return? Yep, I planted that tension for a reason. This story was never just about soft moments and shared lemon water. It's also about what it means to hold your ground, to stay gracious even when the past walks up to your face in linen pants and a guest pass.
(Y/n) handled it the only way she knows how: quietly, calmly, with power.
Thank you for journeying through all of this with me. Tomorrow, the race begins. But tonight, sit with that tension. Let it simmer.
With love, me 🧡
