Summary: After getting his first maiden win in the 2024 Miami Grand Prix, Lando shares a tender moment with his girlfriend that melts the hearts of his fans.
Warning(s) : Mild Language, too much fluff? ( there's no thing as too much fluff) , use of Y/n
"You can count on me like one..two..three, I'll be there"
The roar of the crowd was deafening, but to Lando, it felt almost surreal. He stood on the top step of the podium, the familiar champagne spray showering him as the world’s lights flashed around him. But as much as he tried to take it all in, a part of him was desperately searching for something—someone.
He had dreamed of this day for so long—the first victory in his Formula 1 career. The years of hard work, the constant doubts, and the relentless grind had all led to this very moment. But as he stood there, clutching the trophy, there was only one thing he truly wanted to find in the crowd. Where are you?
His eyes scanned the sea of people below, his chest tight with anxiety. He hadn’t seen you yet. Where is she?
For years, you had been his constant. You were there through every setback, every failure, and every doubt. You had been with him in every low, cheering him on even when others didn’t believe in him. And now, in this moment, this victory didn’t feel complete without you. The trophy in his hands, the weight of the moment, it all felt surreal, and the feeling of emptiness lingered.
Despite the cheers around him, he couldn’t focus. Where the hell is she?
Lando was quickly ushered off the podium and into the interview pen, but his thoughts were still racing. The questions flowed from reporters, but his mind was elsewhere—searching for you. He answered automatically, smiling, nodding, but there was a disconnect. He wasn’t fully there.
Then, just as he was wrapping up the interview, a soft voice broke through the haze of noise, something so familiar, so warm, that it snapped him back into the moment.
“Surprised, are we?”
Lando’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt warm arms snake around his waist from behind. He froze. You. You’re here.
He turned his head, searching for you, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing there, just behind him, with tears in your eyes. He didn’t even need to think. He reached for you immediately, pulling you close, burying his face in your neck, letting your warmth ground him. The tension in his chest melted away.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He could barely believe it. He had done it. He had finally won, and you were here, in his arms, sharing this moment with him.
You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in tighter. “I’ve been right here, Lan,” you murmured into his ear. You held him as tightly as you could, as though the world would slip away if you let go. You had been with him through every part of this journey, and now that moment was finally here. You weren’t going anywhere.
Lando tilted his head slightly, still overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the moment. His voice cracked as he spoke. “It’s… it’s really happening, isn’t it? I really did it.” The tears welled up in his eyes again, a mix of relief and pure joy flooding through him.
You smiled softly, wiping a tear from his cheek. “You did it. I always knew you could.” But even your words couldn’t stop the tears that flowed freely now.
You pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, your eyes gaining a michevious glint, your smile wide but full of so much love. “So… how’s it feel, Lando Nowins?”
Lando’s smile was a mix of disbelief and awe. His voice wavered as he spoke, still trying to process the enormity of it all. “It’s… Lando One Win, actually,” he said, voice cracking.
You couldn’t help it. Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you hugged him so tightly that he stumbled back a bit. You held him like he might disappear, your own tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered against him, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Lan.”
He held you just as tightly, his own tears falling freely now. This was everything he had dreamed of, everything he had worked for, and yet, the only thing that made it real was you. His victory felt like nothing compared to the way he felt when he had you in his arms.
The cameras snapped away, capturing the raw emotion of the moment.
They caught the kiss that followed, the one that felt like Lando had been holding his breath for years, and now finally, he could exhale. He kissed you with everything—the joy, the relief, the love. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was an expression of everything he had ever needed, everything he had fought for.
The cameras zoomed in on the moment, but neither of you cared. It was just the two of you, and for once, the world could wait.
When you pulled away, Lando’s eyes were full of emotion, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never would have made it without you. Thank you so much”
You smiled, wiping away your own tears. “No Lan, you can, this is all the result of your hard work, your resilience, you never gave up lando, and look now, you're a race winner baby, you did it and I'm so fucking proud of you"
And in that moment, Lando realized just how much this win meant to him—not just because of the trophy, not because of the race, but because of the person who had been there all along. You were the reason this win was so sweet.
__________________________________
The sunlight crept through the curtains, harsh against your still-sore body. You groaned and rubbed your temples, the remnants of last night’s celebration and the club still heavy in your head. You shifted under the covers, feeling every ache in your body, a reminder of the passion and joy you’d shared in the hours after the race.
Beside you, Lando stirred, his arm draped lazily across your waist. You glanced at him—still asleep, but with a soft, content smile on his face. He had finally done it. And he had shared it with you.
You grabbed your phone, unlocking it with a swipe. The moment your feed opened, the flood of notifications hit you—comments, messages, posts from fans. Your heart fluttered as you saw what people were saying about the two of you. They saw it. They saw everything.
_____________________________________
@landosgirl: “This moment is everything. Lando’s first win and that kiss with Y/N… 💕 I’m crying!! #CoupleGoals”
@mclarensfirthewin: “THE WIN WAS GREAT, BUT THE KISS? 😭 No one deserves happiness more than these two.”
@f1dreams: “Lando and Y/N are literally the definition of love. #TrueSupporters ❤️”
@victorykissnorris: “That kiss was EVERYTHING. Lando’s first win and Y/N being his rock, as always. 🔥 #LandooneWin”
@teambabynorris: “It’s not just the victory. It’s the way they support each other. I love them your honour 🥺💖”
@f1fan24: “Lando on top and Y/N being the best partner he could ask for. I love these two. #Couple goals😍”
@vcanbwrldchampionlando: "Lando saying"it's Lando One Wins actually" made me fucking SOB, And that KISS that followed😩😩"
@lando'sonewin: "I hope they never break up or I will stop believing in love😭😭😭💞"
@Teamlandoy/n: "Can Lando Norris, One time race winner fight? Because Y/N is putting all other wags to shame. That KISS😩😩"
@Hopelessmclerenlover: "I want someone to look at me like Lando looks at Y/N, God I see what you do for others 😭"
______________________________________
Lando groggily woke up, stretching and looking over at you, a mischievous grin crossing his face as he saw the notifications on your phone.
“Morning, champ,” you teased, but the teasing smile didn’t last long. You were still overwhelmed by everything, still trying to process how perfect the moment had been.
He leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple. “So,” he began, pulling you closer, “What do we do now? Got more celebrating to do?”
You snorted, rolling your eyes but then smiling. “You’re insatiable,” you murmured, still feeling the gentle ache of the night before.
Lando chuckled, the mischievous twinkle returning to his eyes. “I’m sure you’re not that sore,” he teased, pulling you back toward the bed. “I’ve got more celebrating to do, love.”
You laughed softly, a warmth spreading through your chest as he pulled you into his arms. “You just won your first race. What’s next?” you asked, but you didn’t need an answer. You already knew. It was you, him, and whatever came next. Together.
As he held you, your heart swelled with love for the man in your arms, the one who had fought so hard for this moment. His dream was now a reality, and you had been there through it all. He smiled down at you, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Next?” Lando asked, his voice playful yet soft. “How about we make sure this moment lasts a lifetime?” You giggled, rolling your eyes, but inside, you knew that this victory was just the beginning. There was so much more ahead for the two of you.
Afterwards, you snuggled into his chest, enjoying the stillness of the morning as you realized this moment—this victory—was just the start of everything the two of you had built together. It wasn’t just a race, a trophy, or a kiss. It was a promise. A promise to keep dreaming, fighting, and loving.
Lando squeezed you a little tighter. “We’ll take on the world, together. I’ll always need you by my side, Y/N. Forever.”
_____________________________________
Thank you for reading!
If you liked it, please leave a like, comment and reblog!
Hi!!! First of all, I love love loooove your stories.
I don't know if you're open to writing for Lando. Just wanted to maybe suggest this: we all know he's spiraling at the moment, maybe someone who he meets and steadies him? I know he has that typical athlete fboy image. But maybe someone who he changes for and really helps him mentally as well. Seeing that change from an outside perspective from people in F1 or fans would be pretty cool.
Just a thought that popped up!
Thanks! Will be anxiously waiting for your next uploads!
Summary... He wasn’t looking for anything when he found you — just a diner, a coffee, a moment to breathe — but somehow you became everything. This is the story of how he fell, how you stayed, and how together you built something louder than the noise trying to tear you apart.
A/N: I hope this story does justice to your request! I wrote it like a book, so it has chapters within the story. Also, the story was so long that I had to split it into two parts because Tumblr would not allow me to post it. I had such a blast writing it, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it. As always, thank you so much for being here, for supporting these little worlds we create, and for sharing your love with the characters too.
Happy reading, and have a beautiful day today!! 🖤✨
If you enjoyed the story and feel like supporting my writing, you can donate a strawberry matcha through my Ko-fi! 🍓🍵
(No pressure at all — your kindness is already everything.)
Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:
Chapter 1: Quiet Places
The hotel room was suffocating.
Walls too close, lights too harsh, the buzzing in his head louder than anything outside.
Lando sat on the edge of the bed, hoodie half-pulled over his head, staring at the carpet like it might offer answers. His phone buzzed once. Then again. Group chats. Team messages. Notifications about another headline he didn’t want to read.
Partying again.
Lando Norris spotted leaving club at 3 AM.
Is McLaren’s golden boy losing focus?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t entirely true. It didn’t matter how lonely the nights felt after race weekends that didn’t go the way they were supposed to. It didn’t matter that sometimes the noise in his head got so loud, he just needed somewhere — anywhere — to drown it out.
Tonight, even the noise couldn’t fix it.
His chest felt tight. His breathing shallow.
I need air.
Without thinking, Lando grabbed his room key, shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled his hoodie tighter around him, and slipped out into the night.
—
The city hummed in a way hotels never could.
A low, steady thrum of life: streetlights blinking through misty air, taxis splashing through puddles, people moving in and out of places he didn’t know. It was cold — not winter cold, but enough to bite at his fingers.
He walked without a destination. Past neon-lit bars, past groups laughing too loud, past windows that showed lives he didn’t belong to. His sneakers splashed through a puddle, and he didn’t even care.
Just keep walking.
Maybe if he kept walking, the buzzing in his brain would go quiet.
It didn’t.
Not until he saw it.
A diner. Tiny. Wedged between two dark shops, almost hidden except for a flickering OPEN sign that fought to stay alive against the night.
Above the door, in faded, curling blue paint, a small sign read:
The Bluebird Diner.
There was even a little bluebird painted near the handle — tiny and easy to miss, but somehow it caught his eye.
Inside, the air smelled like coffee and pancakes.
Warm.
Safe.
Real.
He tugged his hoodie lower over his forehead and pushed the door open, the bell above it giving a sad little jingle.
He slid into the booth furthest from the windows, shoulders hunched, head low. Just a guy looking to be left alone. He pulled out his phone out of habit, but the screen glare felt too bright. He turned it face-down on the table.
That’s when he noticed her.
Sitting alone at the counter, a few stools down, a girl — about his age maybe — stirring her coffee absentmindedly with a spoon. A book sat open in front of her, its pages stained and loved. She didn’t look up when the door jingled. Didn’t stare. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t even seem to care.
For once, someone wasn’t looking at him like him.
It was... strange.
And weirdly grounding.
He stared at the laminated menu without reading a word, mind drifting somewhere fuzzier, quieter.
Until—
"You look like you lost a fight with a thunderstorm."
The voice came from the counter. Light. Almost teasing.
Lando blinked, looking up slowly.
The girl — the stranger — was smiling at him, just a little. Not mocking. Just... seeing.
He coughed awkwardly, dragging a hand over his jaw. "Something like that," he muttered.
She nodded like she understood. Like she wasn’t going to ask for details.
"You want coffee?" she offered, tilting her mug slightly like a peace treaty. "It's terrible, but it’s hot."
A laugh — real, cracked around the edges — escaped him before he could stop it.
The first laugh in what felt like forever.
He shook his head, smiling under his hoodie. "Sure. Why not."
The girl slid off her stool with a soft scrape of leather boots against tile. She crossed the diner in slow, unhurried steps, refilling her coffee mug behind the counter before grabbing a second chipped white cup for him.
No one else was there.
No waitress in sight.
Just the jukebox playing something old and sad, the rain starting to splatter softly against the windows, and her — a small anchor in a world that felt like it was spinning too fast.
She set the cup down in front of him without ceremony.
"No judgment," she said lightly, curling into the opposite booth seat without being invited. "Just company."
Lando blinked at her again, unsure whether to laugh, thank her, or pull his hoodie lower.
Instead, he mumbled, "You always hand out coffee to sad strangers?"
She grinned into her mug. "Only the ones who look like they need it more than me."
A silence stretched between them — but not uncomfortable.
A soft kind of silence.
The kind that lets you breathe without pretending.
"I’m L—"
He caught himself.
Old habit.
She arched a brow, playful. "Let me guess. Lucas? Logan? Liam?"
He huffed a laugh, ducking his head. "Something like that."
She didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just sipped her coffee like it didn’t matter.
"You don’t have to tell me," she shrugged. "You can be whoever you want here. Pretty sure that's the whole point of a place like this."
He stared at her for a beat longer than he meant to.
Whoever you want to be.
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave him that option.
The neon sign buzzed faintly behind her, casting a golden halo around her hair. She looked real. Solid. Untouched by the headlines and chaos he lived in.
"You from around here?" he asked finally, voice scratchy.
She shook her head, setting her cup down. "Passing through. Like you, I guess."
He wondered if she was running from something too.
Outside, a car whooshed by, sending spray across the pavement. The rain came harder now, drumming against the windows like a heartbeat.
The girl glanced at him again — really looked this time — and her smile softened into something quieter. More knowing.
"You don't have to tell me what's wrong," she said. "But if you want to — I’m a good listener. World's worst advice giver, though."
He barked a short, broken laugh.
"Good," he said, cracking a ghost of a smile. "I'm not looking for advice."
She leaned back in the booth, tucking one knee up against the vinyl seat.
"Then we’re a perfect match," she said, toasting him with her mug.
Lando watched her for a long moment. The way she didn’t push. The way she didn’t want anything from him. The way she offered nothing more complicated than a crappy cup of coffee and a seat across from her.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed that.
He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into his cold fingers. His hoodie still shadowed his face, but for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he didn't feel the need to hide.
Not from her.
Not here.
At The Bluebird Diner.
Somewhere between the broken race weekends and the headlines he couldn't outrun, Lando Norris started to breathe again.
And it started with a stranger who never asked for his name.
———
Chapter 2: Rain Between Us
The coffee was terrible.
Burnt, watery, exactly what you’d expect from a diner fighting to survive the 2 a.m. quiet.
But somehow, with her sitting across from him, it tasted like the best thing he'd had in weeks.
He took a sip, grimaced, and set the cup down.
She laughed under her breath, hiding it behind her own mug.
"Told you," she said, voice warm with amusement.
"You weren't kidding," Lando muttered, tapping a finger against the chipped rim.
The jukebox crooned something old and broken-hearted, a perfect soundtrack for the flickering neon, the rain outside, the shared silence stretching between them.
"So," she said after a moment, stirring her coffee like she wasn't even drinking it, "Mysterious Almost-Lucas. You just wandering, or are you running?"
The question was soft. Not a trap.
He could lie if he wanted.
Hell, he could get up and leave and she wouldn’t chase him.
Still — he found himself shrugging, the truth spilling out without much thought.
"Little bit of both," he said, voice rough.
She nodded like she understood. Like she'd been there too.
"Sometimes you have to get a little lost," she mused, tracing the edge of her mug with a fingertip, "before you figure out where you're supposed to be."
Lando watched her. The way she spoke without pretending she had all the answers. The way she sat like she belonged to no one and nowhere, perfectly at peace with it.
"You some kind of fortune cookie in disguise?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
She grinned, playful. "Nah. I just read too much."
She tapped the battered paperback lying abandoned beside her coffee.
He squinted at the title, smirking when he caught it: The Art of Getting Lost.
"Seriously?" he asked, incredulous.
She just shrugged, her smile easy and unapologetic.
"Like I said," she teased, "perfect match."
Time blurred inside the diner.
Minutes folding into each other until the rain outside turned from a light patter to a steady downpour.
Neither of them moved to leave.
It wasn’t until a particularly loud crack of thunder rattled the windows that she glanced at the clock and sighed.
"I should probably get going," she said, sliding off the booth seat reluctantly. "Before I turn into a pumpkin or whatever tragic fairytale ending is waiting for me out there."
Lando found himself standing too, his legs stiff from sitting so long.
The diner felt too big all of a sudden.
Too empty without her in it.
"Where you headed?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She shrugged, slipping on a worn denim jacket. "Couple blocks over. Motel with questionable sheets and even worse cable."
A part of him — the reckless part — wanted to offer to walk her there.
The smarter part knew how dangerous that could sound.
She must've seen the hesitation flicker across his face, because she tilted her head, grinning.
"You can walk me to the corner if you want," she said lightly. "I promise not to scream stranger danger."
He laughed — a real, full laugh this time — and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.
"Deal."
—
The rain was cold, soaking into the edges of his sneakers almost immediately, but he didn’t care.
They walked close but not touching, their shoulders almost brushing every few steps.
She didn’t pull out her phone. Didn’t rush.
Just let the night wrap around them like a secret.
"This your thing?" he asked after a beat, pulling his hood tighter. "Late-night diners? Making sad strangers feel less sad?"
She smiled up at him, rain catching in her eyelashes.
"Maybe," she said. "But only the ones who look like they might forget how to come back to themselves."
He looked at her — really looked — and felt something unfamiliar twist low in his chest.
Hope.
It scared him a little.
At the corner, under the orange glow of a flickering streetlight, she stopped and turned to him.
"This is me," she said, nodding toward the dim outline of a motel a few blocks down.
He nodded, unsure what to say.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then, impulsively, she dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pen — the kind hotels leave on bedside tables — and grabbed his hand.
Before he could react, she scribbled something across his wrist.
A number. A name.
Y/N.
She capped the pen with a snap and smiled, a little mischievous.
"In case you get lost again," she said. "You know where to find me."
And then — before he could say anything — she winked, turned, and disappeared into the rain.
Leaving Lando standing there, heart thudding in his ribs, staring down at the ink bleeding slowly into his skin.
Somewhere between the cold rain and the bitter coffee, he realized:
Maybe getting lost wasn’t always a bad thing.
Not if it brought you to someone like her.
Not if it brought you to the Bluebird Diner.
———
Chapter 3: A Rainy Day
The hotel room smelled like cold coffee and regret.
The kind of night that clung to your skin even after you showered, the kind that weighed heavy behind your ribs.
Lando sat at the small desk by the window, hoodie still damp from the rain, staring at the smudged ink on the inside of his wrist.
Y/N.
A string of numbers trailing after it.
The rain dripped down the glass in slow, tired patterns.
The city blinked below, indifferent to the people trying to survive it.
He grabbed a notepad — the kind every hotel left on the nightstand — and carefully, almost reverently, copied the number down.
His pen hovered for a second.
Save it in your phone, his mind whispered.
Text her.
Call her.
Do something.
But his heart was a mess.
He wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
Instead, he tore the paper free, folded it in half, and slipped it into the back of his phone case — tucked safe behind the transparent plastic like a secret.
A promise he wasn’t brave enough to cash in yet.
"For a rainy day," he muttered to himself, voice rough.
He set his phone down screen-side up, hiding the paper from view, and collapsed back onto the bed.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, for the first time in a long time, Lando Norris let himself hope there might be more than headlines waiting for him.
Someday.
—
Two Weeks Later
The world didn’t stop spinning just because he wanted it to.
It kept roaring forward — race after race, city after city, good days and bad days bleeding into each other until he barely remembered where he was half the time.
The wins were loud.
The losses were louder.
And somewhere in between — when the engines went silent and the hotel rooms got too big — he thought of her.
The girl at the Bluebird Diner.
The one who handed him terrible coffee and a better kind of silence.
The one who smiled at him like he was a person, not a headline.
Sometimes he caught himself scanning crowds, stupidly, looking for a flash of her denim jacket or the soft curve of her smile.
Sometimes he dreamed of rainy streets and cracked vinyl booths.
He hadn’t pulled the paper out.
Not yet.
He kept telling himself he was too busy.
Too tired.
Too much of a mess.
But late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come and the weight of everything pressed heavy against his chest, he found himself reaching for his phone, fingers hesitating over the case.
One night — after a brutal race weekend where nothing had gone right — he gave in.
He peeled the phone case back slowly, like uncovering something sacred.
The paper was still there.
Crumpled a little.
Still holding her number like a lifeline.
His heart thudded against his ribs as he stared at it.
Now or never.
He opened a blank message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Paused.
Deleted it.
Started again.
Lando:
Hey. Not sure if you remember me.
Coffee at 2AM.
Bluebird Diner.
Bad jokes, worse coffee.
I’ve been carrying your number around like a fool.
Mind if I cash it in?
He hit send before he could lose his nerve.
Set the phone face-down on the bed like it was going to explode.
Paced the room.
Ran a hand through his hair.
Cursed under his breath.
It buzzed five minutes later.
He stared at it, heart in his throat.
Y/N:
Hard to forget someone who made bad coffee taste better.
Where to?
He smiled.
Really smiled.
The kind that cracked him open a little and let the light seep in.
Maybe getting lost wasn’t the end of the world after all.
Maybe it was just the start of something better.
———
Chapter 4: After Hours
He didn’t know what he expected.
Maybe that she wouldn’t show.
Maybe that he would chicken out and turn back at the door.
Instead, he found himself standing in front of a narrow storefront tucked between a closed tailor shop and a boarded-up art studio.
The only light came from a cracked neon sign above the door: Ink & Ivy.
Inside, warm golden light spilled over books stacked in messy piles, fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling.
It smelled like old paper and rain-soaked wood.
And there she was.
Curled up on a worn armchair in the corner, thumbing through a battered novel, a soft, unreadable smile tugging at her mouth.
Y/N.
Something in his chest unclenched just seeing her.
She looked up when the door chimed, smile widening when she saw him.
"You made it," she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Lando shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. "Had to," he said, voice rough from nerves. "Owed you a coffee, remember?"
She grinned and stood, sliding a bookmark into the pages before tucking the novel under her arm.
"You're in luck," she said. "They make a mean hot chocolate here. Coffee's still crap, though."
He laughed, following her deeper into the shop, past shelves that leaned under the weight of forgotten stories.
There was a tiny counter at the back — barely big enough for a cash register and an old espresso machine.
No other customers.
Just the two of them and the endless hum of rainy-night quiet.
Y/N ordered two hot chocolates without asking what he wanted.
He didn’t mind.
It felt... good.
Being led for once instead of leading.
They settled at a small table by the window, mugs steaming between them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
It wasn’t awkward.
It wasn’t heavy.
It was just... them.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"So," she said, stirring her drink, "did you find yourself yet?"
He smiled, a little crooked. "Working on it."
She nodded like she approved.
"I think that's the trick," she said thoughtfully, tracing the rim of her mug with a fingertip. "You don't just wake up one day and have all the answers. You kind of... stumble into them. Trip over them. Sometimes they show up in crappy coffee at 2AM."
He laughed, shaking his head. "You and your fortune cookie wisdom."
She tilted her head, pretending to think.
"Maybe I'm just psychic," she teased. "Or maybe I'm really good at pretending everything's fine."
He looked at her — really looked — and felt something tighten low in his chest.
There were shadows under her words.
A mirror of his own.
It made him want to know every story she kept hidden behind that easy smile.
"You don't have to pretend with me," he said before he could think better of it.
Her eyes softened, the kind of look that made you feel seen without saying anything.
"Neither do you," she whispered.
The rain outside blurred the city into watercolor smears of light and shadow.
Inside, the world shrank down to just two people and a thousand unsaid things hanging between them.
He should’ve been scared of it.
Of what it meant.
Of what it could mean.
But sitting there — with a chipped mug warming his hands and her quiet presence filling all the empty spaces inside him — Lando thought maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be afraid.
Not tonight.
Not with her.
———
Chapter 5: Paper Moons
They stayed in the bookstore until the owner flipped the sign to "Closed" and politely pretended not to notice them still tucked into the corner.
Lando couldn't remember the last time he lost track of time without the roar of an engine or a schedule ticking in the back of his mind.
She made it too easy.
They talked about everything and nothing:
Their favorite childhood cartoons.
The worst books they were forced to read in school.
How pineapple absolutely does belong on pizza (her opinion) and how it absolutely does not (his).
At one point, while thumbing through a stack of battered travel guides, she glanced up at him, mischievous.
"So what is it you do, exactly?" she asked, tilting her head. "Professional traveler? Pizza connoisseur? World’s slowest book club president?"
Lando laughed, shoving a hand through his messy hair.
"Something like that," he said, half-truthful.
She narrowed her eyes, playful. "Mysterious again, I see."
"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," he said, half under his breath.
She grinned. "Try me. My bet's still on undercover barista."
He laughed again — a real one, deep and rough and unfiltered.
God, when was the last time he laughed like this without feeling like he had to perform it?
"I drive," he said finally, shrugging like it wasn’t a whole world. "A lot."
She arched a brow. "Like... truck driver? Racecar driver? Food deliveries?"
He barked another laugh, shaking his head.
"One of those," he said.
She studied him for a beat — not with suspicion, but with something lighter.
Curiosity.
Amusement.
Then she shrugged like it didn’t really matter.
"Well, I hope you're a better driver than you are a coffee drinker," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she passed by to the next shelf.
He smiled to himself, warmth blooming quietly in his chest.
She didn’t press.
She didn’t treat him like a puzzle to solve.
She just... accepted the pieces he offered and kept walking.
It felt like breathing again after years of holding his breath.
—
Later, they sat cross-legged in the aisle between "Travel" and "Mystery," flipping through a book of weird world records.
"Did you know," she said, tapping a finger against the page, "someone once stacked 500 doughnuts into a tower and balanced it on their forehead?"
Lando snorted. "New life goal."
She laughed, tossing a crumpled receipt at him.
It bounced off his hoodie and landed in his lap.
He picked it up, pretended to examine it.
"Is this your phone number?" he teased.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "No. It’s the bill for your terrible jokes."
He grinned — wide and boyish and unguarded.
For a moment, he let himself forget the cameras, the headlines, the pressure.
For a moment, he was just a boy in a bookstore, sitting next to a girl who didn’t need anything from him except what he was willing to give.
And for the first time in a long time — he wanted to give it.
———
Chapter 6: In Between Places
They never made official plans.
No "meet me at 8" texts.
No set routines.
They just… drifted back into each other’s lives, night after night, like gravity pulling them in without asking permission.
—
One night:
They ended up back at the Bluebird Diner, squeezed into a booth so worn it sagged in the middle.
A plate of soggy fries between them.
A crumpled napkin-turned-scorecard as they argued over the dumbest trivia questions pulled from a beat-up game box the diner kept behind the counter.
"Name three countries that start with 'Z'!" Y/N demanded, pointing a fry at him like a sword.
"Zimbabwe, Zambia—" Lando started confidently, then paused, face scrunching.
Y/N leaned in, grinning wide. "Clock's ticking, racer boy."
He slapped the table dramatically. "There’s not a third one! That’s cheating!"
"Zanzibar," she said smugly, popping a fry into her mouth.
"That’s not a country!" he protested, laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his drink.
She shrugged innocently. "Maybe if you traveled more, you'd know."
He choked on a laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Unbelievable. First you bully my coffee skills, now my geography."
She grinned and kicked him lightly under the table.
"And you love it."
He couldn’t even deny it.
—
Another night:
They sat side-by-side on the hood of his car, parked on the edge of the city where the skyline blurred into open sky.
A half-eaten bag of gummy bears between them.
A terrible playlist of early 2000s pop songs humming from the car speakers.
Y/N leaned back on her hands, head tilted toward the stars.
"Sometimes," she said softly, voice nearly lost in the night air, "I feel like I’m just... floating through life. Like I missed the turn somewhere but I’m too scared to go back."
Lando turned his head, watching her instead of the stars.
"I get that," he said, voice low. "I feel like that a lot too."
She glanced at him, surprised.
He just shrugged, plucking a gummy bear from the bag and tossing it in the air before catching it in his mouth.
"You're not the only lost cause around here," he said, grinning crookedly.
She smiled — a real one, fragile around the edges.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the floating.
—
Sometimes:
They didn’t talk at all.
They just wandered through late-night bookstores, or old record shops that stayed open too late for no reason, or abandoned playgrounds where the swings creaked in the wind.
Sometimes Y/N would tell him about the cities she wanted to see but never had the money to visit.
Sometimes Lando would tell her stories about places he’d been — twisting them into ridiculous adventures just to make her laugh.
He left out the race tracks.
The fame.
The noise.
It wasn’t lying.
Not really.
It was protecting something he wasn’t ready to lose.
Not yet.
—
One night:
Sitting on a swingset at some forgotten park, boots dragging lazy lines in the sand, Y/N turned to him with a thoughtful look.
"You know," she said, nudging his shoulder with hers, "you’re not half as mysterious as you think you are."
He raised a brow, grinning. "Yeah?"
She nodded sagely. "You’re just a guy who’s a little lost, a little tired, and way too competitive about trivia games."
He laughed, the sound bubbling out of him before he could stop it.
"Maybe," he said, kicking at the sand.
"And you’re just a girl who’s smarter than she lets on and drinks way too much terrible coffee."
She gasped mock-offended. "I tolerate terrible coffee. There’s a difference."
He shook his head, smiling at her like she hung the stars.
And maybe, just maybe, she did.
Little by little, the walls between them cracked.
Little by little, they learned each other’s rhythms.
Little by little, two lost souls stopped floating alone.
And neither of them even realized it was happening —
not until it was too late to turn back.
———
Chapter 7: Cracks in the Armor
The night had fallen into one of their easy silences.
Sitting on the swings again, bundled in too-thin jackets, hot drinks warming their hands, they watched the city breathe around them.
Somewhere far away, a siren wailed.
Closer, the breeze whispered through the trees, tugging at Y/N’s hair.
"You ever think about just... leaving?" she asked, her voice soft and faraway. "Packing up and disappearing somewhere no one knows you?"
Lando stared at the dark sky.
"All the time," he said quietly.
She glanced at him, catching the rawness in his voice.
"You could," she said gently. "If you wanted to."
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"It’s harder than it sounds," he admitted. "When the world... expects things from you."
She nodded slowly, sipping her drink.
"You don’t owe the world anything," she said simply.
The words hit harder than he expected.
Like maybe — just maybe — she meant them.
He fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, debating.
Then — impulsively, stupidly — he said:
"I travel for work. A lot. Different countries every week sometimes. Cameras, interviews... noise."
He didn’t look at her when he said it.
Couldn’t.
The air shifted between them.
Not colder.
Not tenser.
Just... aware.
Y/N set her drink down carefully in the sand between them.
"You a rockstar or something?" she teased lightly, trying to keep the moment easy.
Lando huffed a laugh. "Not exactly."
She bumped his shoulder with hers, playful.
"Secret agent?"
He smiled a little, finally looking at her.
"Something like that."
Y/N studied him for a beat, the city lights flickering in her eyes.
She could have asked.
She could have pushed.
Instead, she just shrugged, easy and sure.
"Whatever it is," she said, picking her drink back up, "you’re still the guy who sucks at trivia and drinks hot chocolate like it’s a competitive sport."
He stared at her, something hot and unfamiliar swelling in his chest.
"You’re not curious?" he asked, surprised.
"Oh, I’m curious," she said, grinning. "But... I figure if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me."
Simple.
No pressure.
No performance.
Just a choice — left in his hands.
For the first time in a long, long time, Lando felt like he wasn’t being cornered into being someone.
He could just be.
And maybe —
Maybe that was the whole point of her.
A lighthouse when the rest of the world just wanted to watch him drown.
—
Later, as they walked back toward the car, Y/N kicked a rock along the sidewalk, hands stuffed deep into her pockets.
"You know," she said casually, not looking at him, "you’re kinda like a bluebird."
He blinked, thrown.
"A what?"
She shrugged, smiling faintly.
"You show up when people need hope the most.
You just... don’t know it yet."
Lando stopped walking.
Just stared at her.
The Bluebird Diner.
The paper tucked behind his phone case.
The way she made him feel like he was finding pieces of himself he thought he lost.
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
"You’re wrong," he said, voice rough.
She arched a brow. "Oh?"
He smiled — wide, real, and a little sad.
"I think you’re the bluebird."
She blushed, looking away, pretending to be annoyed.
"Great. Now I sound like a Disney character."
He laughed again, bumping her shoulder lightly.
But deep down —
he knew he meant it.
Even if she didn’t understand yet, even if he couldn’t say it properly
She was his bluebird.
And he was already terrified of losing her.
———
Chapter 8: The Fast Lane
It started with a text.
Lando:
You busy tomorrow?
Y/N:
Define "busy."
Lando:
I know a place.
Not far.
Not fancy.
Bring sneakers.
Y/N:
...You’re not going to murder me, right?
Lando:
50/50.
She sent back a laughing emoji, and he smiled at his screen for a solid minute before remembering he was supposed to be cool about this.
He wasn’t.
Not even a little.
—
The next afternoon was gray and crisp — a rare stretch of calm between rainstorms — when he picked her up.
No fancy cars.
No entourage.
Just a beat-up old black SUV he borrowed from a friend because it didn’t scream his name at every intersection.
Y/N climbed in, wrinkling her nose playfully at the state of the floorboards.
"Should I be concerned about tetanus?" she teased, buckling in.
Lando grinned, heart kicking against his ribs.
"Only if you plan on licking the gearshift," he shot back.
She laughed — easy, bright — and he felt the knot in his chest loosen.
This was why he wanted her here.
Because with her, everything felt... lighter.
They pulled up to a private karting track just outside the city.
Quiet.
Empty except for a few staff members and a handful of guys milling around near the pit lane, helmets tucked under their arms.
Lando killed the engine and rubbed his palms against his jeans.
"Okay," he said, turning to her. "Don't freak out."
She raised a brow. "Should I be freaking out?"
He shrugged, trying to play it off. "I might have a bit of a reputation around here."
Y/N smirked. "Lemme guess. World's Slowest Kart Driver."
He barked a laugh, nerves unraveling a little.
"Something like that," he said, climbing out.
She followed, looking around curiously.
The place was small — nothing glitzy — but even she could tell it wasn’t some random rental track.
It was built for serious drivers.
The kind who lived and breathed competition.
A tall guy with a messy head of curls jogged over, clapping Lando on the back.
"Mate, finally!" he said, grinning. "And you brought a friend."
His eyes flicked to Y/N, friendly but curious.
"Max, this is Y/N," Lando said casually. "Y/N, Max."
She smiled easily, sticking out a hand. "Nice to meet you."
Max shot Lando a quick look — the kind that said we’re going to talk about this later — but just shook her hand and winked.
"Good luck surviving him on the track," Max said to her with mock seriousness.
Y/N snorted. "Oh, please. I can handle him."
Lando raised a brow. "Big talk for someone who’s never seen me drive."
She just grinned, all innocent. "Big ego for someone who needed a second coffee to beat me at trivia."
Max laughed outright, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulder.
"I like her," he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
Lando flushed — actual, real color flooding his cheeks — and shrugged him off, muttering, "Piss off," under his breath.
Y/N watched the exchange, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.
She didn’t say anything.
But she saw it — the way Lando relaxed around these people.
The way he lit up.
The way they lit up seeing him like this.
They geared up quickly — helmets, gloves, coveralls.
Y/N struggled with the zipper on her suit, muttering curses under her breath, and Lando doubled over laughing.
"Shut up!" she yelled, trying to wrangle the stubborn metal tab.
He was still chuckling when he came over and helped her, fingers brushing her wrist.
A tiny touch.
A stupid, electric jolt straight to his ribs.
He pretended not to notice.
She pretended not to blush.
Neither of them said a word about it.
On the track, she was... terrible.
Absolutely, gloriously terrible.
She stalled twice, took corners like a drunken giraffe, and very nearly spun herself into the grass on lap three.
But when she pulled into the pit lane, yanking her helmet off with a huge grin, Lando swore he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful.
"I almost died!" she announced proudly.
"You almost killed me," he corrected, laughing.
She shrugged, unbothered.
"Minor details."
He looked at her — flushed cheeks, wild hair, laughing eyes — and thought:
This.
This is what it’s supposed to feel like.
Later, sitting on the pit wall swinging their legs like kids, they shared a bottle of lukewarm water and watched the sky turn pink with sunset.
Max and the others were off somewhere, giving them space without saying they were giving them space.
"You’re... good at this," Y/N said, nodding toward the track.
Lando shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter.
"Been doing it a while."
She sipped the water, thinking.
"Not just good," she said thoughtfully. "You look... happy out there."
He stared at her, thrown.
Because she didn’t say "famous."
She didn’t say "fast."
She said happy.
And he realized — with a pang so fierce it nearly knocked the air out of him — that he was.
When she was around, he was.
———
Chapter 9: Cracks in the Bubble
The second time Y/N got into a kart, she looked determined.
Deadly serious.
"Okay," she said, yanking her helmet down with a snap. "No more driving like a drunk baby giraffe."
Lando bit back a laugh.
"You sure?" he teased, hopping into his own kart with practiced ease. "I was kinda looking forward to seeing if you could set a world record for most spins in one lap."
She flipped him off cheerfully, gunning her little kart forward with a wild screech of tires.
He laughed so hard he almost forgot to start his own.
—
The next thirty minutes were chaos.
Y/N barreling into corners like she had a personal vendetta against gravity.
Lando weaving around her, slowing down to tease her, tapping her bumper lightly with his kart whenever he passed just to mess with her.
She screamed fake outrage every time.
At one point, she tried to block him from overtaking by swinging wildly across the track like a Mario Kart character.
He narrowly avoided crashing into her, throwing his hands up dramatically.
"THAT'S ILLEGAL!" he yelled over the roar of the engines.
She laughed so hard she nearly spun out — again.
—
Eventually, red flags waved them back into the pit lane.
Y/N pulled off her helmet, hair a wild mess, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and laughter.
Lando pulled up next to her, helmet under his arm, grinning like an idiot.
"Improvement," he said, nodding seriously.
She beamed.
"Didn't die this time!"
Max wandered over, towel slung around his neck, smirking.
"You guys looked like the world's worst synchronized kart dancers," he said, mock-stern.
Y/N bowed dramatically. "Thank you, thank you. We try."
Max elbowed Lando lightly. "Mate," he said in a low voice, smirking. "You're smiling so much it’s scaring the staff."
Lando rolled his eyes but couldn't wipe the grin off his face if he tried.
Max clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off, laughing.
Y/N watched the exchange, something soft flickering in her eyes.
But she didn’t say anything.
She just tossed Lando his helmet and said, "Rematch?"
And he thought — not for the first time —
I’m so screwed.
—
After they cleaned up and changed back into their normal clothes, Lando suggested grabbing a bite at the tiny café across the street.
Nothing fancy.
Greasy fries.
Plastic tables.
Exactly what he needed.
They sat by the window, sharing a basket of fries, teasing each other about their "racing skills" when it happened.
A teenager — probably fifteen, maybe sixteen — walked past the window, did a double-take, and froze.
Eyes wide.
Mouth opening slightly.
Lando stiffened automatically, years of instinct kicking in.
He glanced at Y/N — ready for the shift.
The awkwardness.
The questions.
The change.
Instead, Y/N just smiled warmly at the kid, nudging the basket of fries closer to Lando like nothing was happening.
Giving him space.
Letting him decide.
The kid edged closer, nervous.
"Um... excuse me?" he said, voice cracking slightly. "Are you... are you Lando Norris?"
Lando smiled — small, tired, but real.
"Yeah, mate," he said, easy. "What's up?"
The kid fumbled a phone out of his pocket.
"Could I, uh... get a photo? If that's okay?"
"Of course," Lando said, standing up and clapping the kid lightly on the shoulder. "No problem."
They snapped a quick picture.
The kid practically vibrated with excitement, thanking him about ten times before hurrying off down the street.
Lando sat back down slowly.
Y/N popped a fry into her mouth, still acting like nothing had happened.
"You’re famous," she said casually, like she was observing the weather.
He stared at her, thrown.
"You're... not freaking out?"
She shrugged, smiling faintly. "Should I?"
He blinked, scrambling for words.
"I mean — most people — it’s just..."
He trailed off, frustrated with himself.
Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him with quiet amusement.
"I figured you did something cool," she said. "Didn't figure you for a kart salesman."
He barked a surprised laugh.
She grinned, kicking his shin lightly under the table.
"Relax, Speed Racer," she said. "I’m still gonna beat your ass at trivia next week."
He stared at her — open, vulnerable — and realized in that exact moment:
She’s different.
She’s safe.
She didn't want a piece of the spotlight.
She didn't want anything from him except the pieces he willingly gave her.
And for someone who had spent years being looked at like a prize to win or a headline to write
it was terrifying.
And it was everything.
—
Later, walking back to the car, Y/N bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.
"For what it's worth," she said, glancing up at him under the streetlights, "I think you're pretty cool. Fame or no fame."
Lando swallowed hard.
"You too," he said, voice thick.
Maybe more than pretty cool.
Maybe the coolest thing that had ever happened to him.
———
Chapter 10: The Things We Carry
It started because he was curious.
They were sprawled across her tiny living room floor one night, surrounded by half-eaten pizza, empty soda cans, and the remnants of a half-serious movie marathon.
At some point, between arguing about whether animated movies counted as “real cinema” (they absolutely did, according to Y/N) and who had the worst taste in music (definitely Lando, according to Y/N), she pulled out a battered old sketchbook.
He caught the flash of it out of the corner of his eye —
the frayed edges, the bent corners, the cover smeared with fingerprints.
"What’s that?" he asked, nodding toward it.
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then shrugged, casual, like it didn’t matter.
"Sketchbook," she said, flipping it open and showing him a page without ceremony.
Pencil sketches filled the paper — messy but alive, full of motion and feeling.
Faces. Cities. Dreamscapes.
Lando blinked, stunned.
"You did all this?" he asked, voice softer than he meant it to be.
She smiled, a little self-conscious. "Yeah."
He flipped through a few more pages, handling the book like it was made of glass.
"You’re insane," he said, awe creeping into his voice. "This is... this is amazing."
She shrugged again, brushing it off, but he could see the faint blush creeping up her neck.
"You wanna try?" she asked suddenly, tossing him a blank page and a pencil.
He stared at it like it was a bomb.
"Me? Draw?"
She grinned wickedly.
"Come on, Speed Racer. How hard can it be?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Famous last words."
—
It was a disaster.
An absolute, hilarious disaster.
Lando’s hand cramped within minutes.
His "dog" looked like a melting sock puppet.
His "car" resembled a very angry toaster.
Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell over, clutching her stomach as she tried — and failed — to offer helpful critique.
"Okay, okay," she wheezed between giggles. "Maybe stick to driving."
He threw a crumpled piece of paper at her, pretending to be offended.
But inside —
he felt lighter than he had in months.
Because she didn’t care that he was terrible.
Because here, in this tiny messy apartment, surrounded by pizza boxes and bad art, he wasn’t Lando Norris the racer.
He was just Lando.
And she was just Y/N.
Two people slowly stitching themselves back together in each other’s company.
—
Later that week, back at the McLaren simulator center, Oscar cornered him.
"Mate," Oscar said, arms crossed, smirking. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're like... different."
Lando raised a brow. "Different how?"
Oscar waved a hand vaguely. "You're not snapping at the engineers every ten minutes. You’re smiling for no reason. You’re even letting Zac beat you at table tennis. It’s creepy."
Lando rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at his mouth.
"Maybe I’m just... happier," he said, almost daring Oscar to make fun of him.
Oscar stared at him for a beat longer than necessary.
Then he smiled — real and wide — and clapped Lando on the shoulder.
"'Bout time," he said simply.
And Lando felt it, deep in his bones —
the way change sneaks in when you’re not looking.
—
The whispers started then.
Tiny things.
Jon joking during a debrief about Lando "finally being a human again."
A mechanic muttering under his breath, "Whatever he’s doing lately, it’s working."
No one said her name.
No one knew.
But Lando did.
Every smile.
Every lighter step.
Every deep breath that didn't feel like it might choke him —
It all traced back to her.
To the girl who handed him a terrible cup of diner coffee.
To the girl who laughed at his terrible drawings and beat him at trivia.
To the girl who never once asked him to be anyone but himself.
The things he carried used to be heavy.
Expectations. Guilt. Fear.
Now he was starting to carry something else.
Hope.
Home.
Her.
And for once, he wasn’t afraid of the weight.
———
Chapter 11: The Space Between Us
It should have been just another night.
Pizza.
A stupid romcom playing on her tiny TV.
Them fighting over who got the last slice (he let her win, obviously).
Nothing special.
Nothing earth-shattering.
Except, everything about her was starting to feel like home.
—
Y/N was sitting cross-legged on the couch, sketching lazily on a cheap canvas balanced on her knees. Not serious, just doodles, jokes, lines that curled and stretched into something messy and alive.
Lando sprawled beside her, feet kicked up on the coffee table, tossing a gummy bear up in the air and trying (badly) to catch it in his mouth.
He missed.
Again.
She snorted, not even looking up.
"World-class athlete, huh?"
"Don’t mock me," he muttered, launching another gummy with more dramatic flair.
It bounced off his nose.
She laughed so hard she had to put the canvas down.
He grinned, basking in it — the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges, the easy way she existed around him without expecting anything.
God, he thought, chest tight, how am I supposed to tell her?
Because he had to.
He couldn't keep her in the dark anymore.
Not when she mattered this much.
Not when he was falling for her so fast it left him breathless.
—
His phone buzzed.
He ignored it at first, tossing another gummy bear and — miracle of miracles — actually catching it.
"Finally!" she cheered mockingly, raising her arms like a referee signaling a goal.
He bowed deeply from the couch, grinning like an idiot.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
She frowned, reaching over and tapping the screen.
He moved too late.
A string of notifications flashed across it —
Zak Brown: "Need you to review media schedule for Monaco ASAP."
Jon: "Sky Sports wants the updated PR package, don't forget..."
McLaren PR: "Final approval needed for your feature story."
Her hand froze mid-tap.
Their eyes met.
For a long second, neither of them said anything.
The movie kept playing — a background hum — but the room had shifted.
The bubble they lived in cracked just a little.
Not broken.
Not shattered.
Just… cracked.
Enough to let the truth start to bleed through.
"You..." she started, voice slow, careful. "You're... not just a karting guy, are you?"
Lando swallowed hard.
"No," he said softly.
He sat up, hands knotting in his lap.
"I should've told you sooner," he said, voice rough around the edges. "I didn't want to lie, I just... I liked being 'just me' with you for a while."
She set the canvas aside, facing him fully now.
Waiting.
Not judging.
Not running.
Waiting.
He blew out a breath.
"I'm a Formula 1 driver," he said finally. "For McLaren."
Silence.
Only the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the movie’s muffled dialogue filling the space between them.
Y/N blinked once.
Twice.
Then, to his complete shock — she smiled.
Small. Soft. A little sad, but sure.
"Yeah," she said, nodding. "That... makes sense."
He stared at her, heart hammering so hard he thought it might crack his ribs.
"You’re not..."
He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Not freaking out.
Not treating him differently.
Not shrinking away.
She shook her head slowly.
"You’re still you," she said simply.
"Still the guy who sucks at drawing and cheats at trivia and eats more gummy bears than anyone should legally consume."
He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh and maybe something else. Something wrecked and grateful and so in love he didn’t know what to do with it.
"You’re not mad?" he asked, voice breaking slightly.
She smiled wider, bumping his knee with hers.
"I’m only mad you didn't trust me sooner."
The words hit him like a gut punch.
Because she was right.
And because she still wasn’t walking away.
She was still here.
Still choosing him.
Lando scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together.
"I’m sorry," he said thickly. "I was scared."
Y/N’s voice softened.
"I get scared too, you know."
He looked up sharply.
She shrugged, eyes shining with something he couldn’t name yet.
"Scared that if I let someone close," she said quietly, "they'll leave when they see the mess."
He exhaled shakily.
"I’m not leaving," he said without thinking.
The words slipped out — raw, unvarnished, real.
And she looked at him like maybe — just maybe — she believed him.
—
They didn’t say much after that.
They didn’t need to.
They just sat there knees brushing, hearts pounding, the space between them growing smaller with every shared breath.
And somewhere in that cracked, messy, beautiful night, Lando realized something he couldn't take back:
He wasn’t just falling.
He had already fallen.
———
Chapter 12: Somewhere Only We Know
The days after Lando told her the truth felt... different.
Not bad.
Not awkward.
Just more.
More glances held a little too long.
More touches that lingered longer than necessary.
More silences that said everything without saying a word.
—
One night, they ended up at the same diner where it all began — the Bluebird Diner — tucked into their old booth, pretending not to notice how their knees brushed under the table.
Y/N doodled absentmindedly on a napkin, humming along to the jukebox in the background.
Lando watched her —
the way her hair fell across her face, the soft curve of her smile —
and felt something so sharp and tender in his chest it almost hurt.
He wanted to bottle this moment.
Save it for when the world inevitably tried to tear it apart.
Because it would.
He knew it would.
Nothing this good ever stayed untouched.
—
Outside, the night buzzed with the low hum of neon signs and distant traffic.
They lingered by his car, neither wanting to leave first.
"You know," she said, voice light but eyes serious, "you don’t have to keep pretending the world isn’t watching."
He stiffened.
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged, kicking a pebble across the parking lot.
"I mean... I see it.
The looks. The whispers.
The people snapping pictures when they think you’re not paying attention."
He looked away, throat tight.
"I hate it," he muttered. "I hate that it touches you, too."
She stepped closer, bumping her shoulder against his.
"Hey," she said softly. "You don't have to protect me from your world.
I'm not afraid of it."
He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the surge of emotion that rose up.
"I'm afraid of losing this," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
"This — us — whatever we are... it feels like the only real thing I have left sometimes."
She reached out, fingers brushing his hand.
"You’re not losing me," she said simply.
And he believed her.
God help him, he believed her.
—
But reality had other plans.
The next morning, the headlines started.
Not full-blown scandal.
Just... whispers.
Grainy photos snapped by some kid outside the diner.
A blurry shot of Lando holding the door open for Y/N.
Another one of them laughing by the car, heads tilted close together.
The captions were worse.
"New girl?
Mystery companion?
Has Lando Norris finally been tamed?"
Lando stared at his phone screen, a sick feeling curling low in his stomach.
It wasn't her fault.
It was never her fault.
But he knew what came next.
The curiosity.
The questions.
The pressure.
He couldn't — wouldn't — drag her into that world unless she chose it.
And he hated that choice was even necessary.
—
That night, he picked her up without saying where they were going.
Just,
"Pack a bag. Something comfortable. Trust me."
She didn’t question it.
Just grabbed a backpack, threw on a hoodie, and climbed into the passenger seat with a smile that cracked him open a little more.
—
They drove for hours —
past city lights, past towns that flickered and faded,
into the wild, open darkness of nowhere.
Finally, he pulled off a side road, tires crunching over gravel, and parked near a cluster of old cabins nestled against a quiet lake.
No paparazzi.
No fans.
No noise.
Just them.
The real world —
the hungry, clawing, endless real world —
left behind like a bad dream.
Y/N climbed out, stretching her arms over her head, staring up at the blanket of stars above them.
"This is..." she breathed, spinning slowly in the gravel. "This is magic."
He watched her, heart in his throat.
"It's ours," he said quietly.
"Just ours."
She smiled at him — wide, unguarded, beautiful.
And in that moment, Lando swore he’d do anything to protect this.
Her.
Them.
No matter what came next.
Even if the whole world tried to tear it down —
he was ready to fight for it.
For her.
———
Chapter 13: Everything All at Once
The swing creaked under them as they rocked lazily back and forth.
The mug of hot chocolate sat forgotten between them, the stars blinking overhead, the lake whispering against the shore.
Y/N tugged the blanket higher around her shoulders, nudging his side with her elbow.
"You’re quiet," she said softly.
Lando leaned back against the swing’s chains, staring up at the sky.
"Just thinking."
"That’s dangerous," she teased, a smile pulling at her mouth.
He snorted, bumping her back lightly. "Harsh."
She shrugged, grinning. "You set yourself up for it."
He smiled — real, wide, the kind that made her chest ache — and let the silence stretch for a beat before speaking again.
"You ever think about how small we are?" he asked quietly. "Like... look at all that," he gestured up at the sky, "and we’re just... here."
Y/N tilted her head, looking up. "Yeah. I think about it all the time."
"You scared of it?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.
She shook her head.
"Nah. It's kinda beautiful, isn't it?
Being small.
Means you can still choose where you want to go."
Lando looked at her — really looked at her — and felt something shift low in his chest.
God, how did he get so lucky?
How did he find her when he didn’t even know what he was looking for?
—
He noticed her shiver, just barely, and before he even thought about it, he reached out and tugged the blanket tighter around her.
Their hands brushed.
Paused.
Stayed.
She looked up at him, eyes wide, vulnerable.
He swallowed hard, his heart thudding so loud he was sure she could hear it.
"I don't want to lose this," he said suddenly, voice rough and broken around the edges.
Y/N’s fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring herself to him without even realizing it.
"You’re not going to," she whispered back.
"You’re stuck with me now."
He let out a shaky laugh — part relief, part terror — and leaned in before he could talk himself out of it.
The kiss was soft at first.
Gentle.
Almost hesitant.
Like asking a question neither of them had the words for yet.
But she answered —
God, she answered —
pressing closer, threading her fingers through his hair, breathing him in like he was air and she had been drowning.
The swing creaked under them, the blanket slipped off their shoulders, but neither of them cared.
They were too busy trying to memorize the shape of each other.
—
When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Lando closed his eyes and whispered against her skin.
"I think I was falling before I even knew it."
Y/N smiled — small and stunned and beautiful — and whispered back,
"Me too."
He kissed her again because there was no other way to survive it.
Because love had been blooming quietly between them for weeks —
in stolen glances, stupid trivia games, late-night coffee, and messy drawings.
Silverstone had always been special to Lando.
But this time, the meaning ran deeper.
It wasn’t just the home crowd or the national anthem echoing over the starting grid.
It was seeing (Y/n) step out of the paddock suite that morning, visibly pregnant, hand tucked beneath her small bump that had finally become undeniably noticeable, especially under the late morning sun.
She wore a tailored ivory midi dress that hugged her second-trimester silhouette, the soft structure flattering her new curves without hiding a thing. A papaya satin belt sat just above her bump, a quiet nod to McLaren. Her coat in muted slate blue fluttered behind her in the breeze, and her nude block heels clicked with confident calm as she made her way across the paddock.
And even from a distance, the photographers noticed.
Long lenses peeked over barriers. Snaps came rapid, some capturing her brushing a hand over her stomach, others catching the moment Lando leaned in to whisper something only she could hear.
It was clear now.
There wasn’t just smoke.
There was proof.
She didn’t flinch. Not once.
Because after everything, she was done hiding.
The McLaren team already knew. They greeted her with respect, gentle gestures, and genuine affection. The team principal personally saw to it that she had a shaded suite, a padded chair, and water on hand throughout the day. A few mechanics made subtle jokes about keeping curious photographers away with pit tools.
"You alright?" one of the staff asked, smoothing down (Y/n)'s sleeve.
(Y/n) nodded. "Yeah. Just… trying to take it all in."
The engines roared.
Lando's car zipped into position.
The race began.
Every lap, she held her breath. She clutched the edge of the armrest, flinched every time a tire locked or a car clipped a kerb. It was thrilling and terrifying, and somehow still beautiful.
And around Lap 36, one of the babies kicked again. Firm, determined.
By the final laps, Lando was leading. Fastest on track. Controlled. Relentless.
The crowd held their breath as he crossed the line.
P1.
At home.
In front of the people who raised him, and the woman carrying his future.
The cheers were deafening.
McLaren’s pit wall erupted.
Confetti rained down.
(Y/n) pressed a hand over her heart, the other over her bump. She couldn’t hold back the tears, relief, joy, and pride all mingled in her chest.
On the Podium
From below, (Y/n) watched as Lando stepped up to the top step, helmet off, curls damp with sweat. He lifted the trophy high as the British flag was raised and the anthem played.
And then, his eyes searched the crowd.
Found her.
He didn’t care about the cameras when he brought two fingers to his lips and blew a kiss downward, right at her. Then, with one hand flat over his chest, he pointed to her bump.
The crowd might’ve thought it was for the win.
(Y/n) knew it was for them, the three of them.
Moments later, when the ceremony ended, and the podium started to clear, Lando rushed past security just for a second. The cameras snapped wildly as he reached her.
“You did it,” she whispered, stunned by the glow on his face.
He pulled her into the softest hug he could manage with the bump in between. “No, we did.”
She laughed tearfully, overwhelmed. “Don’t make me cry again.”
“You already are,” he said, thumbing away a tear and kissing her cheek. “They’re going to talk about this photo for years, you know.”
“Let them.”
Evening – Podium Dinner
The quiet garden room at the team’s private hotel was lit with soft bulbs and laughter. Champagne flutes clinked, voices buzzed low with pride, and the mood was relaxed.
(Y/n) had changed into something equally elegant: a deep emerald-green velvet wrap dress, ankle-length, its fabric rich and soft against her skin. The v-neckline framed her collarbone, and her bum, now prominent, rounded the dress’s silhouette like a gentle hill. She had swapped her heels for jeweled flats, her hair still in its graceful low bun.
Lando’s mother greeted her first, pulling her into a soft hug.
“You’re glowing,” she whispered with a teary smile. “And you look like you stepped out of a royal photo shoot.”
“She is royalty now,” Lando’s older sister Flo teased nearby. “You didn’t see the way Andrea Kimi Antonelli bowed earlier.”
(Y/n) laughed, but the teasing didn’t stop there.
Midway through dessert, the F1 rookies filtered in—Andrea Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, Isack Hadjar, Jack Doohan, Gabriel Bortoleto—like a group of honor students crashing prom.
“Ma’am,” Ollie said jokingly, bowing exaggeratedly as he passed her chair. “Permission to breathe the same air as Lando’s lady?”
Isack elbowed him. “Don’t get us banned from the paddock, man.”
Jack Doohan raised his glass toward her. “We’re terrified, in case it wasn’t obvious.”
Andrea just nodded solemnly. “She carries twin champions. We respect it.”
“You’re all ridiculous,” (Y/n) said, cheeks hurting from smiling.
“They’re not wrong,” Lando murmured at her side, lacing their fingers beneath the table.
As the dinner wound down, Lando slipped outside with her to a quiet corner of the garden terrace, where the stars flickered faintly above the trees and fairy lights strung overhead shimmered gold.
“Did today feel too much?” he asked gently, rubbing his thumb over her hand.
She leaned against his shoulder. “No. It felt… grounding.”
“You were brilliant,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “They’ve never seen someone walk in and own the place like that.”
She looked down at her belly, gently stroking the velvet fabric. “They’re gonna grow up in this world, huh?”
“Loved. Protected. And maybe a little spoiled.”
She laughed.
Behind them, one last camera flash caught their silhouettes through the garden gate. Another blurry tabloid photo would hit the internet by morning. But for now, it was just them, Lando, (Y/n), and the steady beat of twin heartbeats between them.
To be continued... 🧡
🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 25: ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ 🧡
📝 Note from the Author:
Third post for today, and I have zero regrets. 😭💛
I had to get this chapter out, Silverstone magic, podiums, twin kicks, champagne, velvet dresses, and a garden terrace kiss?? I’m crying, you’re crying, we’re all crying.
This chapter was everything. Lando winning P1 at home, and pointing to (Y/n) and their bump on the podium??? That photo will go down in F1 history. The family support, the rookies being utter menaces, the quiet moment under the stars... I melted writing it all.
If this chapter made you feel like you were there, hand on your heart, please drop a 🏁 or 🧡 or 🤰🏽 down below. Let's talk about that papaya ribbon detail. Let’s talk about the garden terrace goodbye. Let's cry together.
Thank you for following, reading, screaming in the tags, and holding my hand through this fic.
You're part of the story too.
More soon.
With love, me (still recovering from Andrea Kimi bowing 😭)🧡
Wish you a Merry Christmas & a Happy New year | LN4
Lando Norris X childhood bestfriend!Reader
Summary: You and Lando haven't seen each other in forever. Spending the holidays together might relight some hidden feelings, from both sides.
Warning(s): Mild Language, fluff.
"Darling we found love, right where we are"
The snow fell in soft flurries outside your childhood home, the world blanketed in white as the fireplace crackled warmly in the living room. Your parents were busy in the kitchen, preparing an elaborate Christmas dinner, while the sounds of laughter and Christmas music echoed in the background. This year, Christmas was different—not just because it was the first time you’d been back home in years, but because the Norris family was spending it with yours.
You and Lando had been inseparable as kids. From building pillow forts to racing bikes down the narrow streets of your neighborhood, you’d shared every moment of your childhood. But life happened. He’d grown into a rising star in Formula 1, traveling the world, while you’d chased your own dreams in a completely different direction. Though you occasionally texted, life had put an unintentional distance between you.
So, when your mom casually mentioned that the Norris family would be staying with you for Christmas, your heart did a little flip. You hadn’t seen Lando in years. What would he be like now?
___________________________
So fucking hot, was probably not the answer you were looking for.
You were pulling cookies out of the oven when the doorbell rang, and your mom called out, “They’re here!”
Brushing flour off your hands, you followed her to the front door, your heart thudding in anticipation.
When the door opened, there he was. Lando, standing in the cold with snowflakes dusting his dark curls, looked almost the same and yet completely different. His boyish grin was the same, but his frame had filled out, his confidence radiating in the way he carried himself. You coudn't help yourself as your eyes trailed over his arms and neck, his hands, and all the way back to his eyes. You were entranced.
Wow.
“Hey,” he said, his voice warm as his eyes met yours.
“Hey,” you replied, suddenly shy.
And then, just like old times, he pulled you into a hug. For a moment, the years melted away. And you were back to crushing on your best friend.
________________________
The first couple of days were a whirlwind of holiday activities. Your families decorated the Christmas tree together, shared stories over hot chocolate, and went sledding in the park. Lando fit seamlessly into the chaos, his laugh as infectious as ever.
But it was the quiet moments that caught you off guard—the way his eyes lingered on you during a joke, or the way he’d casually bump your shoulder, like he couldn’t help but be close to you. You reciprocated of course, when he lays his head down on your lap, your hands would automatically move to his hair and he would make a content noise, making your smile softly.
You pretended you didn't notice the teasing looks from his siblings.
__________________________
One evening, a few days before Christmas, the two of you found yourselves outside, trudging through the snow in your backyard. The night was still, the world around you glowing under the moonlight.
“I can’t believe it’s been so long,” Lando said, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “Feels like yesterday we were racing our bikes down that hill and nearly breaking our necks.”
You laughed, the memory warming you despite the chill. “I still can’t believe we thought that was a good idea.”
Lando glanced at you, a soft smile on his lips. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”
Your breath caught at his honesty, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve missed you too,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
He looked at you like he wanted to say more, but instead, he reached down, scooped up a handful of snow, and lobbed it at you.
You gasped as the snow hit your jacket. “Oh, you’re so dead, Norris!”
And just like that, you were chasing each other through the snow, laughing so hard your sides hurt. When you finally collapsed in a heap, the two of you were breathless, lying side by side and staring up at the stars.
You felt your breath hitch as his pinky finger connected with yours.
“Promise me we won’t let so much time pass again,” Lando said quietly.
You turned your head to look at him, your heart swelling. “I promise.”
________________________________
Christmas morning was a blur of gifts, laughter, and the smell of cinnamon rolls. Lando surprised you with a beautifully crafted charm bracelet, each charm representing a memory from your childhood.
“You remembered all of this?” you asked, touched as you ran your fingers over the tiny silver charms—a bike, a book, a star.
“Of course,” he said, his voice soft. “How could I forget?”
Lando suddenly had his whole lap occupied by you, jumping over the gifts to hug him. And if he made sure that you both were pressed to each other's side for the rest of the presents. Neither of you were willing to move away, and no one else was willing to point it out.
_____________________________
As the days passed, the connection between you deepened. It was in the way Lando always seemed to find a reason to sit next to you, the way his laughter lit up the room when you teased him, and the way his eyes softened whenever they met yours.
By New Year’s Eve, the house was buzzing with energy. Your families had decided to host a small party, and you found yourself dressed in your best, the excitement of a new year crackling in the air.
Lando found you in the kitchen, where you were trying to escape the noise for a moment.
“Hey,” he said, leaning against the counter with that easy grin of his.
“Hey,” you replied, your heart skipping a beat.
He studied you for a moment, his expression turning serious. “I’ve been thinking…”
"Did it hurt?" You coudnt help but teasing as he lets out a squawk. You snorted and he grinned at you. "As I was saying.." he raised his eyebrow at you, prompting you to raise your hands in surrender, giving him the go ahead motion.
"I was thinking about.." he looked at you, so very intently, and you felt your breath hitch again. His eyes held yours, and you were lost in the tenderness and something, something else, in them.
“About what?” you asked, your pulse quickening.
“About how lucky I am to have you in my life,” he said, stepping closer. “And about how much I regret letting so much time pass without telling you how I really feel.”
You blinked, your heart was beating too fast, too loud, did he hear it too? “Lando…”
“I know this is probably the worst timing,” he continued, his voice earnest. “But I can’t go into the new year without telling you. I’m in love with you. I think I always have been.”
For a moment, you could only stare at him, your heart pounding. Then, without thinking, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“I love you too,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. “I think I’ve been waiting for you to say that my whole life.”
His eyes lit up, and he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was soft, warm, and filled with everything unspoken between you.
God yes, fucking finally
___________________________
The two of you returned to the party hand in hand, the world seeming brighter than it had just hours ago. When the countdown began, Lando pulled you close, his arms around your waist as everyone shouted,
“Three, two, one—Happy New Year!”
He kissed you again, right there in front of everyone, and for the first time, you didn’t care who saw.
As fireworks lit up the sky, you knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.
It was a Christmas—and a New Year—you would never forget.
______________________________________
Thank you for reading!
This is going to be my last one this year. I'll be back to posting like I used to after the new years. This is a happy New year in advance kind of gift.
If you liked it, please reblog and give a like and a comment.
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. 💛
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.
Days passed like the gentle turning of pages in a well-loved book, soft, familiar, and tinged with something bittersweet. Forks remained shrouded in its ever-present mist, a gauzy veil that clung to the trees and streets like a memory refusing to fade. The scent of pine and petrichor lingered in the air, soaked into every breath, every heartbeat, as though the very earth was steeped in longing. Rain tapped rhythmically on the rooftops, a constant, soothing percussion. It slid down windows in languid streams, painting watercolor trails that distorted the world outside, as if time itself had softened, willing—perhaps even eager—to accommodate the fragile beginnings of something not quite new, yet not quite old.
Lando stayed.
He remained in Forks with a kind of quiet desperation, a stillness rooted in a hope too deep, too sacred, to name aloud. Each morning, he rose with the sun that barely managed to pierce the canopy of grey. And each night, he lingered, tethered not to obligation or certainty, but to the heavy silence that held her name in every corner. He didn’t press. He never had. He simply stayed, on the fringes of her reconstructed life, waiting, aching, enduring.
(Y/n) had settled into the rhythm of the town with a quiet grace. It was a slow rhythm, unhurried, measured like a metronome set to a heartbeat. She frequented the local market, exchanged soft smiles with vendors who no longer asked questions. She wandered the forest trails with a thermos of tea cradled in her hands, her footsteps muffled by pine needles and wet earth. She sat by the lake, her laptop balanced on her knees, fingers dancing across keys as she sank into the kind of prose only she could conjure. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, a second shadow began to follow her, a presence that never imposed, never demanded, but offered quiet companionship in its purest form.
At first, her patience frayed.
“Why are you always here?”
“Because I miss you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
But the sharpness in her voice dulled over time. The edges softened. Her heart—still delicate, still learning how to hold weight again—didn’t splinter when he was near. It didn’t retreat. It pulsed instead, tentative and cautious, but open, curious. No longer afraid.
They began sharing moments again. Not grand declarations or sweeping gestures, but small, tender things. Things that lingered. A shared umbrella beneath a drizzle that never seemed to end. A warm mug of coffee left on the porch without a word, the steam curling like a quiet offering. The subtle way she let his fingers brush hers when passing a bowl of berries across the breakfast table, not pulling away.
One evening, she stepped outside to find him seated on the porch steps, his eyes fixed on the sky. The clouds had parted just enough for the stars to emerge, shy and blinking through the haze. The air was cool, and the silence between them felt thick and velvet-soft, draped gently over the house and the trees and the space between their hearts.
“You know,” he murmured, voice almost lost to the night, “I forgot how to be alone until you left. And then I remembered all too well.”
She didn’t respond. No words were needed. Instead, she sat beside him, their shoulders brushing, a quiet contact that said everything. She let herself lean into the warmth he offered, shared it like it meant something again, like it had always meant something.
But the world they had left behind was not done with them.
Calls began to pour in, like echoes from a life that refused to be forgotten. At first, it was just a few, polite check-ins masked as concern. Then they multiplied, growing louder, more insistent, like waves crashing relentlessly against a shore.
Zak.
Oscar.
Andrea.
His mother. His father.
George. Max. Even Alex and Carlos.
“You need to come back, mate.”
“The team needs you.”
“You can’t just disappear like this.”
But Lando wouldn’t move. Not an inch. He silenced their urgency with stillness, ignoring their pleas with a determination that made his silence feel deafening. Sometimes he turned his phone off entirely, needing the quiet more than he could admit. And when he did answer, his voice was distant, steady, final.
“Not yet.”
They didn’t understand. How could they?
But (Y/n) did.
She noticed the way his body tensed each time the screen lit up with a name from the past. The way his eyes would cloud over, fixed on some distant point beyond the trees, as if weighing an invisible scale he couldn’t bear to tip. The calls left him gutted in small, invisible ways, like they were slicing pieces off of him, slowly, persistently. And yet, he stayed. Every time. He chose her, again and again, even though she never once asked him to.
And that terrified her.
Because she knew exactly what he was giving up. What he was holding back. The sacrifices weren’t dramatic, they were quiet, steady, and absolute. And they were all for her.
It was devotion, raw and unflinching.
And it felt like holding a flame in her bare hands.
That was when Zak decided to come.
No more calls. No more texts. No more unanswered messages eaten by silence. He was done waiting for Lando to come to his senses.
One rainy morning, the door to Lando’s rented cabin in Forks thundered with a kind of urgency that didn’t belong to the sleepy town. The knock wasn’t tentative or polite, it was a demand. Lando, bleary-eyed, hair sticking up in a dozen unruly directions, shuffled toward the door barefoot. His hoodie hung off one shoulder, a testament to sleepless nights and mornings that blurred into one another.
He opened the door and blinked.
There, standing on the porch like a storm given shape, was Zak Brown, soaked to the bone, rain dripping from the collar of his jacket, irritation carved into every line of his face.
“Jesus,” Lando muttered, rubbing his eyes.
“Get your bloody shoes on,” Zak snapped, voice sharp and cutting through the grey like thunder.
Lando didn’t budge. His jaw tightened, eyes darkening as he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.
“I’m not going back. Not without her.”
Zak’s lips flattened. “Then I’ll go speak to her.”
But (Y/n) wasn’t anywhere near the cabin.
Undeterred, Zak did what he did best, he strategized. He wiped the rain from his brow and made his way into the center of town, standing out with his clipped accent and impatient stride. He asked questions with the quiet insistence of a man used to getting answers. He stopped by the café where she bought her chamomile tea, speaking to the barista who knew her order by heart. He visited the corner shop where the grocer stocked her favorite honey, the kind imported from some small farm three towns over.
Eventually, they pointed him in the direction of her cottage, nestled beyond the edge of town, where the trees grew thick and the path narrowed into something almost forgotten.
He found her at home.
She answered the door in a sweater far too big for her frame, sleeves swallowing her hands, the fabric soft and worn. Her face was calm, composed, but there was a flicker of guardedness in her eyes, a quiet steel.
Zak didn’t waste time.
He laid it all out: the team’s schedule, the races piling up, the calls unanswered, the sponsors growing restless. But beyond the logistics, beyond the professional concerns, he said something else, something that didn’t come from a team principal, but from someone who had known Lando long enough to see past the surface.
“He doesn’t say it aloud,” Zak said quietly, “but I see it in his eyes. He’s afraid he’ll lose you again.”
(Y/n) didn’t cry. Not anymore. Those tears had dried up in the months it took to rebuild herself. She didn’t need drama. She didn’t need promises. She just stood still for a long moment, heart pressed against the inside of her ribs like a fist.
Then she gently closed the door.
She didn’t speak, didn’t explain. She simply turned, pulled on her boots, and stepped outside. The rain had softened into a mist, and the trees parted like they had been waiting for her.
She walked through the woods, silent and steady, until she reached Lando’s cabin.
And then, without hesitation, she knocked.
He opened the door and froze.
Her voice was quiet.
“Pack your things.”
His throat tightened, the words scraping out like they were made of splinters. “I can’t. Not without you.”
The silence that followed nearly broke him. It rang too loud, too empty.
Then his legs gave out beneath him, as if everything inside had collapsed at once. He dropped to his knees in front of her, not out of drama, not out of desperation, but because there was nowhere else left to go.
His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, clinging like a man anchoring himself to the last piece of solid ground. His forehead came to rest against her belly, warm and trembling, the rhythm of her breathing beneath his skin like a fragile answer.
He didn’t cry, not audibly. But his shoulders rose and fell with a silent tremor, and his grip only tightened, as though letting go would mean losing her all over again.
It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t a plea.
It was a prayer. Wordless. Raw. Reverent.
Because in that moment, she wasn’t just someone he loved.
She was home.
“Please,” he whispered, “I can’t leave you here again. I won’t survive it.”
Her hands moved of their own accord, threading gently through his curls, grounding him.
“I’ll go with you, okay?” she whispered, her voice soft with tired affection, like a lullaby meant only for him. Her fingers brushed gently through his hair, grounding him. “So pack your bags now. Please?”
He froze against her, the weight of her words sinking in slower than his heartbeat. When he finally looked up, his eyes were glassy, cheeks streaked with tears he hadn’t even noticed falling. His lips parted, stunned. “You will?”
She nodded, a small, certain smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yes.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, as if the world had jolted back into motion, he stood, still breathless from the collapse of everything he’d been holding in. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a lingering one, reverent and grateful.
And then he moved. Faster than he had in months.
Not because he was afraid of losing her again—
But because for the first time in a long while,
He believed he didn’t have to run alone.
An hour later, their bags were packed. She had her laptop, the stories that had saved her, and he had the photograph that had haunted him. Zak, (Y/n), and Lando boarded the private jet just before the rain fell again. Forks disappeared beneath them like a dream slowly fading in the sunlight.
She sat beside him on the plane, watching clouds drift past.
“Do you think it’ll ever be the same?” he asked softly.
(Y/n) tilted her head.
“No,” she said. “But maybe it can be something better.” And for the first time in a long while, hope didn’t feel so far away.
📝 Note from the Author:
Second post of the day! Which, let’s be honest, probably explains why I’m running on vibes and iced coffee at this point. 🫠
But seriously… this chapter? This chapter?? I wasn’t prepared. You weren’t prepared. Even Lando wasn’t prepared, and he lived it.
Let me paint the mood: Forks has officially become the romantic version of emotional purgatory, Lando’s out here giving up the entire F1 calendar like it’s a casual hobby, and (Y/n) is dodging conversations with more precision than Max Verstappen in a Red Bull. Meanwhile, Zak Brown’s new side quest is called “Fetch My Emotionally Unstable Driver Out of the Woods Before We Miss Qualifying.”
The man literally knocked on her door like a soaked raccoon in a business suit.
And don’t even get me started on that scene where Lando folds like a dying Victorian poet. That wasn’t a breakup, it was a spiritual collapse. We went from, “I’m not going without her,” to “full-body kneel into emotional exorcism” in under sixty seconds. 🫡
Anyway. Hope you’re hydrated. Hope your feelings survived.
If not, I’ll meet you on the floor, right next to Lando.
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.
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.
