#lando norris x you

[papayadays]

my man - ln4

⋆˚✿˖° lando just won monaco, but it was supposed to your night with him ⋆˚✿˖° inspired by miss possessive for my so close to what event ⋆˚✿˖° wc: 2.1k+ | a/n: this was finished at 12 am for lando monaco win so sorry it took me forever (so happy for lando)

SASS CAFE WAS BUZZING WELL INTO MIDNIGHT. lando had just won monaco, and of course, it called for a big celebration with his friends. honestly, was it really a lando norris win without a rager? there were celebrities galore, such were lando’s connections, and you even saw kylian mbappe hanging around. rounds of shots had been passed around, with most partygoers buzzed within the first hour or two.

it was how you expected—bass thrumming, lights down low, people crowded together as they attempted to dance to the beat. and there in the middle of it was your boyfriend, the race winner. from lights out to lap 78, it had been a whirlwind, but it ended with you tearing up as you watched lando beam, triumphant, so it was all worth it. had you almost pulled out your hair due to nerves? no comment. had your heart pounded with glee and pride? most definitely.

but it all worked out in the end. lando deserved the stars, in your unbiased opinion, and you knew how much this meant to him. c’mon, it was the monaco grand prix. historic. iconic. magic. and lando, your lando, had won it. in a beautiful, perfect victory no less. how were you supposed to be normal about that? 

the whole time you were fidgeting with whatever was on hand, and a few curse words were muttered, but god, was it worth the anxiety. cisca and adam were also there, a highlight of your day as cisca gave you one of her unique bangles for good luck, and adam narrated everything in extreme detail. they were genuinely some of the sweetest people you’d ever met; it was clear where lando got it from.

you headed back towards the center of action, where lando and his mates were cheering and making a poor attempt to dance to the music. drinks in hand, you stopped in your tracks as you saw what was in front of you.

baby blue eyes wandered up and down your boyfriend’s figure, and a red lip caught by teeth made your blood boil. her outfit certainly didn’t help either; a skintight dress that landed high on her thigh with a slit. the girl leaned over, and you almost rolled your eyes. it was clear she was trying to get lando’s attention, and you didn’t like it. to be honest, it was like watching the fia make decisions: annoying, irrational, and pointless. now, you didn’t—couldn’t—move as you watched her blonde hair sweep over her shoulders, model physique moving closer to lando in that short orange dress of hers that you knew was for attention.

she was beautiful, anyone could see that she had the kind of natural beauty many women would envy. but you kept watching, frozen, as she squeezed his shoulder and giggled way too hard at whatever joke lando was making, shoulders shaking. and your boyfriend was too kind and outgoing to notice, bless his soul. he was oblivious, much to your surprise.

but the initial shock washed off, and a spark ignited inside you. you had already let the rest of the world have their moment with lando after his win. you let zak brown terrorize him. you stood off to the side and let the team have their share of champagne showers and helmet pats. you saw his parents squeeze him tightly, pride shining in their eyes. you went with him to interact with his fans and noticed him taking some time with the random famous partygoers. hell, you even watched on in disbelief as jenson button brazenly flirted with him, charm in full force as he teased lando about “monaco, baby”. everyone else had gotten their time with lando, and it was finally your turn now. or, it should have been.

it was akin to watching a wildlife documentary or something of the sort as the girl’s eyes flitted over your boyfriend yet again, a kind of ravenous desire in her eyes, like watching predator and prey. you knew what she saw—a famous and handsome f1 driver who had just taken a big victory here in monaco. yeah, you knew what she, and countless others,  wanted: to run around and go home with a winner, someone with the status and fame. she wanted a star. she wanted your boyfriend.

something twisted under your ribcage, not a sharp pang but a slow, torturous grind. this wasn’t the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. the tabloids had made it clear that you were different from the women lando had dated before, that you were cut from a different cloth. the “not a model and more of a normal person” cloth. and honestly? you didn’t expect lando to stay forever; you knew there would be an expiration date. his lifestyle was a magnet for girls like the one with your boyfriend right now, and let’s be real, athletes clearly dated models. part of you thought he saw you as a new challenge, a new kind of conquest that was nice before he went back to his old ways. and you supposed that you were fine with that, despite how it sounded. you liked lando, and it would be good while it lasted.

but tonight, he was yours. not hers. and she really needed to get her hands off your man before you were about to snap.

“lan, baby, here’s your drink,” you hummed, voice dripping with honey as you draped your arm around lando’s neck. you gave the girl a once-over, but if she noticed, she didn’t let on.

“thanks, love,” lando grinned, pecking your lips quickly but still giving you a taste of the champagne he had been drinking. you cast a side glance at the girl, smug as you ran your fingers through your boyfriend’s hair. lando waved his hand, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the sight of you as he introduced you to the girl. “this is my girlfriend, who i really appreciate got me drinks.” you snorted, playfully hitting his arm.

“nice to meet you,” the girl beamed, but you knew she couldn’t have been that happy to see you, as evident from the way the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. she reached over and patted your arm, nails skimming over your skin in a way that made you stiffen. quite frankly, you didn’t know why she was keeping up the pretense that she really seemed to like you. you hardly knew her, how was she acting like you two were about to become besties? “lando’s such a great guy, you must be very lucky.”

lucky. ha. if only she knew that was actually how you felt. as irritated as you were, you weren’t about to let her see that she had struck a nerve. “oh, i don’t know if it’s luck,” you chuckled, trying to ease the tightness in your jaw. you were already a few drinks in which made you much less cautious than how you usually acted, more reckless and unbothered. “you know fate has a way of bringing two people together.” you took a sip of your drink, trying your best to feign nonchalant indifference and not let her get what she wanted.

“and i’m glad it did,” lando chimed in, a soft, reverent gaze in his eyes.

 he tended to get sentimental when he got drunk, and today was no exception. you chuckled, cupping his cheek for a second as if to ground him. he was making things easier for you, making it easier to prove your point. your hands left lando, fixing your outfit with indifference as you sat down on the couch next to him, one of his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.

before you could do anything else, max and pietra walked over, with the latter smiling and rushing to hug the girl who had been hovering around lando. so apparently she was p’s friend. okay, well, so be it. your legs shifted closer to lando, and his hands went under your knees, pulling your legs over his, amusement sparkling in his eyes. with a knowing smirk, he leaned forward, voice low and teasing. “i know what you’re trying to do.” his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear.

“and?” you huffed, tilting your head as if to dare him to quit first. “you got a problem with that, lan?” to add to it, you splayed a hand across lando’s chest, playfully kissing his cheek and pushing him back as he tried to be a little shit and get up.

lando opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as max nudged him, bringing you two back out of your bubble. “oh, we were just talking about you,” the girl added, not bothering to add further elaboration until the awkwardness started to settle like a cold front. “i was just asking p why we didn’t see you at all during the race.” wow, now you knew what it was like for lando in the media pen and the horde of press that loved to stir random things up.

composing yourself, you smiled and laughed like a champ, twisting a ring on your finger to ground yourself. “i’m not one for the spotlight,” you shrugged, leaning into lando, who was animatedly chatting with max about something he saw in the paddock. for a heartbeat, your breath caught at the way the purple light caught on the angles of his face and his wide beam as his hands were gesturing, clearly in the middle of telling a story. you couldn’t help but smile, your boyfriend was happy, and that’s what made you happy as well. he was just…a star, the dazzling sun, and you loved him.

the girl wasn’t impressed, blue eyes narrowing at you as she fixed her hair. she could act indifferent. still, you were so sure that she’d lay a hand on your boyfriend again. “lando, are you staying in monaco for a bit?” she asked, voice saccharine, almost a croon. “maybe the race winner should do a victory lap sometime.” the implication in her tone was obvious; if not, the way she was looking at lando like she was asking him to do her a favor was clear.

you almost rolled your eyes to the back of your head at the girl’s giggle. why the hell was she all over your man? kylian mbappe was literally right there. anyone else except lando, in your humble, unbiased opinion. “i’d appreciate it if you kept your hands off my man.” your eyes met the girl’s, hoping your glare didn’t waver.

lando moved his hand to your knee, giving you a small squeeze as a shit-eating grin stretched across his face, leaning back with an air of superiority. knowing him, he probably thought it was entertaining watching you fight off other girls.

the girl opened her mouth to say something before turning back to lando. “you know where to find me,” she purred in lando’s ear, metaphorically swiping her claws at you with the barbed smile she gave. with that, she walked off with an air of arrogance, presumably to find pietra.

you scoffed, wrapping your arms around lando’s neck. his grin widened, enjoying your extra attention. he closed his eyes as your fingers ran through his brown curls, gentle and bold, a juxaposition. as lando trailed soft kisses to your jaw, you shot a glance at the girl over his shoulder, blowing a mocking kiss to her. she so wished she was you. but alas, she could only wish.

“y’know, you become so vicious when you’re jealous,” lando smirked, the sound low and teasing, nuzzling into your neck. his hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing your hips in a way that tempted you, looking like the cat who got the cream. “i love it. trying to stake your claim on me?”

it twisted something in you, some part of you that was happy at his pride over you being jealous. everything he did seemed to cater to your needs, honestly. “just didn’t like the way she was looking at you,” you mumbled, suddenly bashful as you ducked your head. “like she wanted the winner to herself when you’re mine.”

something flickered in lando’s eyes, some emotion you couldn’t place—it made you want to reach out and fall into the abyss of his eyes. he leaned forward, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. “yeah? yours?” he grinned, voice soft as his eyes sparkled. and really, how were you supposed to not love him?

“yeah, mine.”

[0scarp1astr1]

 ˖ 𐔌 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥࿐ . ۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Lando Norris was known for his partying ways, his loud and exciting ways, at least by the media. So, it began to make those close to him wonder what attracted him to a single mother such as you. ||

ᯓ★ Lando Norris x Fem! (Single Mom) Reader

ᯓ★ 2x Genre: Angst, Fluff

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: This one is longer than the others, so please be aware but hopefully this holds you all over. Much love.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

Being a mother wasn’t something you had planned—at least, not this soon. You were in your twenties, the so-called “prime years,” the time for reckless freedom, house parties that turned into sunrise conversations, or spontaneous trips with friends that felt like the world belonged only to you. Your nights were supposed to be lit with fairy lights strung across living room ceilings, wine glasses clinking, and the endless chatter about relationships, careers, and everything in between.

But instead, your twenties became a symphony of lullabies, muffled cartoons, and the quiet creak of a baby monitor in the middle of the night. They were no longer about heels and lipstick but about stepping over rogue LEGO pieces that threatened to take you out with one misstep, about mopping up juice spills and wiping sticky fingers and tired tears. You were reading the same bedtime story three times in a row because your son loved the way you did the voices, checking under the bed for imaginary monsters with the same seriousness you once saved for final exams.

It wasn’t easy. Especially not when people you thought would be there for you—those who once claimed they'd be aunties and uncles in all but blood—began to drift away. Some didn’t understand. Others didn’t try to. The baby shower promises and “I’ll always be here” texts faded like echoes, and in their absence, you carried the weight of motherhood alone. It stung in the quietest way.

But then came Sebastian.

Your beautiful baby boy with soft curls and eyes that held the galaxy. He changed everything. From the moment he was placed in your arms, the chaos didn’t matter. The sleepless nights, the fear, the uncertainty—they all became worth it the second he smiled. He was three now. A tiny tornado of joy and curiosity, who gave your life a sense of grounding and wonder you never knew you needed. Raising him wasn’t always easy, but somewhere in the mix of tantrums and toothy grins, your confidence as a mother began to bloom. You figured things out, step by shaky step, and you were proud of who you were becoming—for him.

Still, late at night, when he was tucked into bed and the silence stretched long between the walls, you wondered if love would ever find you again. The kind that made your chest ache with excitement, the kind that whispered comfort into the hollow places. You had loved before—young love, teenage love, the firsts that shaped you—but now? Now you weren’t the same girl anymore. You were a woman, a mother, and that felt like a world apart from who you used to be. Who would want to step into this life mid-chapter?

But little did you know, love wasn’t far. In fact, it lived just behind the screen you scrolled through at night.

Lando Norris. His name echoed across social media like a song on repeat. A man whose life seemed impossibly full—speeding through cities, smiling on podiums, partying in places you only dreamed of. He was freedom personified. A life in fast motion, captured in highlight reels and championship circuits. To the world, he was laughter and youth and charm, adored by millions, a modern-day rockstar in a race car.

He was everything your life was not.

And yet—somehow, fate was quietly working behind the scenes.

Because what neither of you realized just yet...was that love was about to collide with your life. Not with fireworks or headlines—but with small moments. A conversation. A look. A gesture. Something real, in a world that often felt anything but.

Despite his young age, Sebastian had already found a passion that made his eyes glow with wonder: Formula 1. It started subtly—he’d pad across the floor in his little socks, dragging his blanket behind him, only to stop and stare at the TV whenever fast cars zipped across the screen. The vibrant colors, the roaring engines, the animated commentary—it all lit up something inside him.

You didn’t expect it. After all, he was just three years old. His world should’ve been centered on coloring books and stuffed animals, not tire strategies and pit stops. But every time you flipped past a Formula 1 broadcast, he’d make a sound, a pointed squeal, or a clumsy run toward the screen. It was obvious: he was captivated.

So, naturally, you followed his excitement. You became the mom who ordered F1 merch online late at night, building a miniature racing wardrobe for your son. T-shirts in all colors. Hats far too big for his little head. Plushie cars he’d vroom around the living room. Whatever he showed the slightest interest in—you got it. And soon enough, the drivers became household names not just to the world, but to him.

Sebastian would burst into laughter whenever Max Verstappen gave his famously direct interviews, his young mind not grasping the words but fully recognizing the face. And Yuki—now part of the Red Bull team—became his source of infectious glee. Every time Yuki’s voice rang through a press conference or onboard radio, Sebastian would shriek with laughter, his eyes twinkling. He didn’t need to understand Japanese humor to adore Yuki’s presence.

Charles Leclerc? Sebastian pointed him out like an old friend. Lewis Hamilton? He’d watch him like he was listening to a storybook read aloud. And George Russell, ever graceful in his silver Mercedes, was often mimicked when Sebastian ran around the apartment in circles, pretending he was on a flying lap.

But the real surprise came with Kimi Antonelli—Mercedes' youngest and most buzzed-about addition. Whenever Kimi’s name popped up onscreen, Sebastian’s full body seemed to light up. “Kimi!” he’d shout, over and over, jumping as if the two were best friends. He didn’t care that there was a more famous “Kimi” from before—this one was his. Young, daring, full of raw potential. Sebastian’s toddler heart was loyal in a way adults often forgot how to be.

Yet, through all the teams and drivers he loved—Red Bull, Ferrari, Mercedes—it was always McLaren that stole the biggest piece of his heart. He adored the bold papaya orange livery, the sleek cars, and most of all, the drivers. Every time Lando Norris appeared on screen, Sebastian would clap like he was watching fireworks. And when Oscar Piastri came on, he’d spin in a happy circle, unable to contain his joy.

“Lando! Look, mama, it’s Lando!” he’d shout, tugging your arm with his tiny fingers, eyes wide in awe like he was seeing a superhero. If Lando waved to the camera, Sebastian would wave back, completely convinced it was meant for him.

You watched all of this unfold with warmth blooming in your chest. Parenthood hadn't been something you planned for your twenties—but moments like this made it feel like life had rewritten itself for the better. Amid the mess of snacks on the carpet, bedtime stories, and tiny shoes always misplaced—you found beauty. In Sebastian’s passion, in his smile, in the way he pointed to his heroes like they were friends—you found your peace.

And somehow, in between your world of routines and his world of racing, you both found something else too: hope. Joy. And a shared love for the chaos and color of Formula 1.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The gentle steam curled from your mug as you sat at the kitchen table, your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, grounding yourself in the stillness of the morning. Across from you, your mother sat with the familiar calm she always brought—an anchor in your often-chaotic days. The soft hum of the TV filled the space between your conversations, and the distant clatter of plastic toys played backup to the soundtrack of your life as a mom.

Every so often, you'd rise from your seat to peek into the living room where Sebastian was busy pushing his toy cars across the rug, his tiny feet kicking in excitement, curls bouncing with each animated laugh. He was three years old, full of energy, and already fascinated by the world of Formula 1—a love you'd discovered through the way he lit up at the sight of the cars, the drivers, the roar of the engines on screen.

You returned to the table, a tired but content smile forming on your lips.

Your mother took a slow sip of her tea before looking up at you gently. “So… has his father called? Checked in at all?”

Your chest sank a little, and you exhaled a sigh that felt like it had been stored up for weeks. “No. Not once,” you said quietly. “He’s never really made the effort. And honestly? I’m done waiting for him to care. Sebastian doesn’t even notice. It’s just been me and him for so long, we’ve got our own rhythm.”

Your mom nodded solemnly, her eyes reflecting both pride and sorrow. “I’m sorry, honey. You deserve more support than that. But you’re doing an amazing job. I mean it.”

You gave a soft smile, one that came with both gratitude and a hint of weariness. Your gaze wandered again to the living room. Sebastian was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, practically vibrating with excitement. The race had started, and you could hear his delighted squeals every time a car zoomed across the screen.

“He’s obsessed,” you chuckled. “Formula 1, of all things.”

“I noticed,” your mom said, a twinkle in her eye. “He talks about the cars like they’re superheroes.”

You smiled wider. “Yeah. He has a whole routine. Points at Charles and says, ‘Zoom!’ Every time he sees Kimi or George he claps like he’s at a concert. Don’t even get me started on how excited he gets over Lando and Oscar. It's... it’s kind of adorable.”

There was a pause, the soft kind that usually comes before something unexpected.

“Well,” your mom started, setting her mug down and reaching into her handbag slowly, “since he loves it so much… and since you could really use a little joy, I thought this might help.”

She slid a small envelope across the table toward you.

You blinked, confused, then slowly opened it.

Your heart skipped.

Inside were two glossy, official Formula 1 paddock passes—one adult, one child.

You looked up at her, stunned. “Mom… what is this?”

“It’s for the Grand Prix this weekend,” she said, her voice gentle. “I pulled a few strings. A friend from my old job still does hospitality for events like this. It’s not VIP, but it’s paddock access. You and Sebastian can go. See the cars, the drivers, the team garages… the whole thing. I thought he’d love it. And you, too.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you laughed, a bit breathless from the shock. “Are you serious? Mom… this is too much.”

“It’s not too much,” she said, smiling. “You give that boy the world every day with what little you have. I figured it was time the world gave something back. And who knows? Maybe this is the kind of moment he’ll remember forever.”

From the living room came the unmistakable shriek of joy—Sebastian jumping up and down, arms raised as a car zoomed across the screen. “Mama! It’s Lando!! Look! Orange car!!”

You turned, your heart softening at the sight.

You looked back at the passes, then to your mother, your eyes glossy. “Thank you,” you whispered. “He’s going to lose his little mind.”

She reached across and squeezed your hand. “That’s the plan.”

The two of you chatted between soft laughs and thoughtful silences—the kind that only exist in the presence of someone who has known you your whole life. It was one of those rare, warm moments of peace—something you didn’t get to feel often in your whirlwind life as a single mother.

The conversation drifted between topics: Sebastian’s latest fascination with “Zoom cars,” your job, the things you missed, and the things you learned to live without. It was soft. Safe. Your mother’s voice was a balm, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe that maybe everything really would be okay.

Meanwhile, halfway across the world, in a completely different atmosphere, Lando Norris groaned into his pillow.

The curtains of his penthouse suite were drawn tightly shut, but even the tiniest sliver of sunlight that slipped in felt like an attack. His head throbbed in waves, a dull pulsing at his temples that matched the beat of the club music still echoing in his brain. The drinks from the night before had tasted better going down than they did now, swirling in his stomach like regret. His mouth was dry, throat burning faintly from too much liquor and not enough water, and all he could remember was the wild chorus of bass drops, laughter, bodies dancing under neon lights, and a few blurry flashes of cameras aimed directly at him.

Another tabloid moment. Another night added to his growing online image—Lando Norris, the fun-loving party king of Formula 1.

He groaned again and shifted in bed, a pillow dragged over his face. "Never again," he muttered to himself.

“Right,” came a dry, amused voice from the doorway.

Lando peeked one eye open, lifting the pillow just enough to glare at Oscar Piastri, who stood just inside the room, arms crossed, and a disapproving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You look dead, mate,” Oscar said, eyeing the chaos of clothes strewn across the floor, the abandoned shoes by the door, and Lando himself—still in last night’s wrinkled t-shirt, half-draped in his sheets like a child mid-tantrum.

Lando gave a weak thumbs-up, his voice hoarse. “I feel sick.”

Oscar snorted. “Yeah, I wonder why. Maybe the six tequila shots? Or was it the bottle service you insisted on ordering at two in the morning?”

“I was celebrating,” Lando groaned.

“Celebrating what exactly? A hangover?”

Lando flopped onto his back, wincing. “Shut up. I'm mourning my youth.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You’re twenty-five.”

“Exactly,” Lando muttered. “Quarter-life crisis.”

Oscar shook his head, making his way over to pull open the curtains—Lando hissed dramatically as sunlight flooded the room. Oscar rolled his eyes and tossed a bottle of water at him. “You’re lucky your schedule’s clear for once. I should make you go for a run.”

“Run?!” Lando looked offended. “Oscar. I’m dying.”

“You’re hungover. Same thing every time. You act like the world’s ending, and then you’re back on a yacht tomorrow.”

Lando took a long sip of water, the coldness soothing his throat and dulling the nausea just enough. He looked out the window at the skyline—vibrant, alive, and completely removed from any form of normalcy. The contrast between his life and the real world had never been sharper than now.

And though he lived for the thrill, the freedom, the glamor... somewhere, buried under the hangover and the jokes, a part of him wondered what it would be like to wake up in a quiet house.

To the world, Lando Norris lived a dream dipped in neon lights and champagne. He was the poster boy of F1’s nightlife—flashing cameras, velvet ropes, smoke-filled lounges, the glittering pulse of clubs across Monaco, London, Ibiza. His name often trended beside headlines of afterparties and appearances, linked to whispers of flings, mystery women, and flirtatious smirks caught on video.

The “party boy” image clung to him like cologne—loud, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

At first, Lando had laughed it off. He gave the media their smiles, tossed fans a wink, and leaned into the persona. Why not? He was young, rich, successful. The parties were fun, the people lively, the noise almost enough to drown out the emptiness that sometimes followed when he returned home alone.

But the more the world assumed, the harder it became to shake the narrative. Social media only cemented it further—comments under photos speculating who he’d slept with, sarcastic tweets calling him the "Formula 1 Casanova," and fan threads dissecting his every interaction with a woman. At times, the world didn’t seem to believe he was capable of real love—only fleeting fun.

And that started to sting.

Behind the filters and club lights, Lando was still just a twenty-five-year-old guy who sometimes questioned where his life was going. Fame had given him everything, yet it also took so much. Privacy. Trust. Stability.

He'd see posts about Oscar and Lily—his teammate and his long-time girlfriend—and it would stir something unfamiliar in him. They had history. Quiet affection. A love that felt warm and grounding. The kind of relationship fans loved to root for. There was no gossip about Oscar’s loyalty, no speculation over his weekend choices. Instead, there were cute couple pictures, supportive tweets, and heartfelt comments.

The contrast couldn’t have been sharper.

Sometimes, in the silence after a night out, Lando would lie in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin, wondering if the path he was on led to something fulfilling—or if he’d just keep spinning in circles. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him craved something deeper. Someone to laugh with on quiet mornings. Someone who didn’t just love him for the spotlight, but in the silence too.

And yet, he wasn’t sure how to find her. Or if he even knew what he was looking for.

His “type,” as people so confidently assumed—tall, stunning models with glossy hair and flawless smiles—was starting to feel like a shallow box he’d been stuffed into. He thought back to past flings—women who were beautiful, yes, but left him feeling emptier than before. Conversations that rarely went past the surface. Nights that blurred into mornings with no plans for the day after.

Was that really love? Was that really what he wanted?

Or was he just playing a role he no longer fit?

The world saw him one way—carefree, reckless, living in luxury. But beneath the surface, Lando was beginning to feel a quiet shift. A question forming in the back of his mind: What if I want more?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

When you told Sebastian that he was going to see Formula 1 in person, it was as if the entire world stood still for him. His little face froze in pure, stunned disbelief—mouth parted, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted in that exaggerated toddler way that could only come from raw joy. Then, in a heartbeat, he was squealing, launching himself into your arms with such excitement that it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“Tank you, Mommy! Tank you!” he repeated over and over, voice high with joy, arms wrapped tight around your neck. His mispronounced “thank you” was so pure and sincere that tears threatened to gather in your eyes.

This was it—this was the kind of moment that made every hard day worth it. Every sleepless night, every quiet cry when no one saw you, every sacrifice. Just to give him this joy.

He ran off seconds later, unable to contain his excitement, and started listing the drivers he hoped to meet, barely forming the names in between giddy jumps and giggles. “I gonna see Maxy! And Yuki! And Chawles! And Georgie!” he chanted as he spun around the living room, arms wide like airplane wings. “And Kimi too! And Ockar! Lan’dooo!”

You sat back on the couch, smiling through the wave of emotions. His joy was contagious, a kind of magic that settled deep in your chest.

The days leading up to the paddock visit were filled with a chaos that only love could fuel. You buried yourself in planning, not because you had to, but because you wanted it to be perfect. This wasn’t just a day out—this was a gift, a dream come true for a little boy who’d fallen in love with fast cars and faster drivers without even fully understanding the sport.

You spent evenings scrolling through online shops, adding team merch to your cart, checking sizes twice, and triple-checking the weather forecast. You mapped out packing lists, planned snacks, checked your camera storage space, and googled things like “best ear protection for toddlers at F1 races.”

But the biggest debate of all? Outfits.

You carefully laid out options on your bed—tiny team shirts, pint-sized hats, mini race suits, and soft fleece hoodies. You imagined how he'd look in each one, how his face might light up when he saw someone wearing matching colors.

“Which team should we wear first, Sebastian?” you asked one afternoon, crouching beside him as he built a racetrack out of magnetic tiles and blocks. He paused mid-play, finger on his chin in deep thought.

After a moment, he turned to you with absolute certainty.

“I wear McLah-win. All days,” he said, nodding to confirm his own decision.

“All three days?” you teased.

He nodded more firmly this time, curls bouncing. “Lan’do and Ockar are da best.”

So that was settled.

Day one: his bright papaya hoodie and matching cap—simple, bold, unmistakably McLaren. You paired it with black joggers and white sneakers, letting him choose his favorite little backpack with the lightning bolt keychain.

Day two: his mini Oscar Piastri race suit. It was perfectly tailored for a toddler, down to the stitched belt and sponsor logos. You’d even sewn his name—Sebastian—onto the chest in orange thread. When he saw it, his jaw dropped like he was holding the holy grail. “It me!” he shouted, tracing the letters.

Day three: Lando’s race suit replica. Slightly too big, but in his eyes, it made him look like a real driver. He practiced imaginary starts and finishes, sprinting across the hallway, mimicking Lando’s winning gestures, making vroom-vroom noises until bedtime.

Every night that week, he fell asleep clutching one of his toy cars, his beloved McLaren cap tucked beside his pillow. Some nights, you found him sleep-talking about drivers, whispering garbled names and “I so fast” with a tiny smile.

And you? You watched it all with a full heart.

You weren’t just preparing for a trip—you were making memories. You were giving your son something to remember long after his toddler years had passed. The joy in his eyes, the bounce in his steps, the way he counted down the days like it was Christmas. This wasn’t just about F1. This was about sharing something magical with your little boy.

And in the quiet moments, after Sebastian had fallen asleep, you'd sit in the living room, sometimes staring at the orange hoodie or listening to the faint hum of past races playing from your laptop. You didn’t have every piece of life figured out—but you had this. You had him.

You thought about how far you’d come. A single mom, navigating motherhood without the kind of support others had, building your own traditions, your own life. It hadn’t always been easy, but in these moments, the love made it feel more than enough.

Now, paddock passes in hand, suitcases packed, tiny shoes lined up at the door, it was almost time.

Three days. Three days of noise, excitement, laughter, and a front-row view to something your son loved deeply.

Airports were a world of their own—blaring announcements, rolling suitcases, the blend of perfume and coffee in the air, and the shuffle of people rushing from gate to gate. Among it all, you stood just past the security checkpoint, your carry-on slightly slipping from your shoulder, one hand firmly wrapped around the handle of Sebastian’s tiny suitcase—blue with orange race car stickers he insisted on putting on himself—and the other guiding your excitable three-year-old who was practically vibrating with anticipation.

It was Sebastian’s very first flight, and while you had spent days preparing, no number of travel blogs or TikToks could have truly braced you for the full-body energy your son was currently radiating.

He hopped along the polished tiles in his McLaren hoodie, a stuffed car plushie in one hand, backpack bouncing behind him. “Mommy! We goin’ in da sky! Da sky, da sky, da—!”

“Sebastian,” you called gently but firmly, your tone threading calmness into control. You reached for his shoulder and he paused, looking up at you with that sunshine-smile—one so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He didn’t speak, just beamed at you like he was keeping a little secret with the clouds he was so eager to meet.

You crouched beside him for a moment, brushing a curl from his forehead. “I know you’re excited, baby, but we have to stay close, okay? No running. There’s too many people here today.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he whispered, slightly breathless, like the airport was a magical maze he was being told not to touch.

You stood again and reached into your tote bag. “Here,” you offered, pulling out the snack bag you’d packed that morning with military precision. “Pick a snack, sit tight.”

Sebastian peeked in, his small fingers rifling through pouches of gummies, crackers, and his ultimate comfort choice—Goldfish. His eyes lit up. “De fishes!”

You tore the bag open and handed it to him, watching the way he cradled it carefully in both hands, like it was treasure. He sat down cross-legged near the window of your gate, Goldfish in hand, gaze drifting to the planes outside.

You took a breath, letting the buzz of the airport fade into the background for a beat. The weight of the moment hit you gently—not heavy, but meaningful. This wasn’t just a trip. This was a first. His first time flying, his first Formula 1 race, his first steps into something that felt big and unforgettable. And you got to be the one by his side, showing him all of it.

You sat next to him, watching him crunch quietly, the reflection of the airplanes gliding along the tarmac gleaming in the wide glass ahead. The clouds above were beginning to part, sun dappling in streaks across the runways.

“Do you think we gonna go super fast like the cars?” he asked, cheeks puffed with snacks.

You laughed softly. “Not quite that fast. But we’ll be up in the clouds soon.”

“Like... where birds go?”

“Exactly where birds go.”

He turned to you, and in a whisper, said, “I hope Lando go there too.”

You chuckled again, heart full. “Maybe not today. But we’ll see him soon.”

It was then that boarding was announced, and the line began to form. You packed up the snack bag, helped Sebastian to his feet, and adjusted his hoodie once more. As you grabbed his hand and headed toward the gate, you felt it again—that quiet sense of rightness.

Despite the chaos of travel, the work of planning, the worries of being enough as a mom—you were here. Together. On an adventure. And that was more than enough.

As you stepped into the jet bridge, your son looked up at you once again, eyes sparkling with wonder. “Mommy?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I gonna fly like Oscar.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The flight buzzed with a quiet hum, the occasional ding of seatbelt signs and the low chatter of passengers blending into a white noise symphony. Yet, in the middle of row 14, two seats near the window were alight with joy.

Sebastian was electric with energy, practically bouncing in his seat, his McLaren hoodie slightly oversized and his cheeks flushed from all the excitement. Every person who met his eyes—even if only in passing—was greeted with an enthusiastic, “Hi! I go see cars! I go see McLaren! I go see Lando!”

You smiled, half-apologetic to the flight attendants who offered polite, knowing chuckles. But none of them seemed to mind. In fact, they leaned into his excitement, letting him help “check” the snack basket, praising his race car backpack, and slipping him extra juice boxes like he was royalty on board.

“He’s adorable,” one attendant whispered to you as she passed, her smile soft. “Reminds me of my nephew.”

You thanked her quietly, watching as Sebastian munched on the little cookies she had offered him. He kicked his legs softly under the seat, recounting every topic under the sun: cartoons, new toys, dinosaurs, his favorite car toys, and somehow even Santa Claus—despite it being months away from Christmas.

You couldn't help but giggle when he whispered, “Santa gonna bring me new tires for my cars.”

“Really?” you played along.

“Yeah, da fast ones. So I can beat Max.”

His logic was flawless.

But all that energy had a price. After a flurry of words and crumbs, your little boy's lids grew heavier. He curled slightly into his seat, and you, ever the prepared mother, pulled out his checkered-flag throw blanket—one he insisted on packing himself. You tucked it around him, brushing a hand over his forehead.

The screen ahead played SpongeBob, flickering softly. His eyes were half-lidded, still trying to focus, but the gentle sway of the plane, the warmth of the blanket, and the comfort of being beside you finally coaxed him into rest.

His lashes fluttered, and then—sleep.

You leaned back into your seat, a peaceful exhale leaving your lips. Looking down at your sleeping son, his cheek resting softly against the seat, arms wrapped around his plushie, you couldn’t help but pull out your phone. One quick snap, the image so sweet and pure it made your chest tighten. You posted it to your story with a caption:

“First flight ever—and he’s already dreaming of podiums 🏁✨ #McLarenFuture #PiastriJunior?”

The replies would come fast. Friends gushing. A few mutuals tagging McLaren. A couple of comments about how cute he looked in the gear. You smiled, tucking the phone away and letting your head rest against the seat as well, your heart warm with pride.

Meanwhile, miles ahead and hours earlier, Lando was nestled in the calm before the chaos.

The drivers’ hospitality suite was abuzz with low conversation. It was one of those rare quiet moments before a race weekend—the lull before the storm of flashing cameras, screaming fans, microphones, and paddock chaos. Drivers lounged on couches, some eating, some gaming, others just catching up.

Lando leaned back in his chair, arms folded, nursing a bottle of water as Oscar settled beside him, hair still slightly tousled from the heat outside.

“You win in Australia and you’re gonna party?” Carlos asked, amused.

Lando smirked. “Hell yeah. Wouldn’t you?”

Charles chuckled. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Party responsibly,” Lewis added with a half-smile, giving a small nod toward Max who was currently laughing with Yuki across the room.

Max’s voice drifted over: “At least I don’t party in public every other weekend.”

Lando laughed along with the others, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The banter continued—Lewis talked about Roscoe’s latest spa visit, Max mentioned Kelly and the girls, Carlos shared plans of flying back home to unwind. Everyone had someone. Someone who waited at home. Someone who traveled with them. Someone they could call when the helmets came off.

Lando had always told himself he didn’t need that—not yet. He was 25, living the dream. He had the cars, the spotlight, the money, the fans. But lately, the silence after the adrenaline wore off… it felt a little heavier.

Sure, he had his parents. He loved them deeply, was grateful for their unwavering support. But still, it wasn’t the same. His Instagram tags were flooded with girls fans assumed he was dating, models or influencers caught near him at clubs, the media labeling him “F1’s golden bachelor.”

And yet here he was, scrolling through his phone, staring blankly at filtered stories and half-hearted DMs, wondering what it would feel like to have someone to call after a long day—not just someone to party with, but someone to talk to.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Finally, the sweet relief of the hotel room washed over you like a warm wave. The plush bedding, the crisp air conditioning, and the gentle hum of the city beyond the windows made it feel like a well-earned moment of peace. The journey had been long, and while you were used to doing things alone, the toll of traveling with a toddler wasn't light—especially one who vibrated with joy the entire way here.

But the moment your shoes hit the carpet and the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Sebastian was already off exploring the room, the smallest adventurer you’d ever met. His tiny feet padded softly over the hotel floor as he opened closet doors and peeked under the table like he was on a treasure hunt.

You smiled, watching him tumble through the pile of travel bags you’d placed near the bed. With delight, he unearthed the small toys you had carefully packed—ones he insisted on bringing because, “I want to show Lando my cars, Mommy!”

The bed looked like heaven, and you longed to collapse into it. Tomorrow would be the first of the three-day Paddock adventure. You'd need to be up early, need time to get Sebastian dressed, fed, and possibly wrangled into his mini McLaren gear without incident. You were sure you’d be chasing him around with a juice box in one hand and sunscreen in the other.

Still, it was worth it. Every bit of effort, every dollar spent, every long hour on your feet… all of it was worth the look on your son’s face. The world hadn’t always been kind to you—but Sebastian was your reason to fight harder, smile bigger, and hope again.

You watched him laugh at nothing in particular, giggling as his cars zipped across the polished hotel floor.

How could anyone not want to be part of this?

That thought crept in again, quietly but painfully. You never said it out loud, but sometimes—when you tucked him in at night or watched him dance around to a cartoon theme song—you wondered how anyone could look at this child and choose not to stay.

But that aching thought was abruptly interrupted by the buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand.

You frowned when you saw the name on the screen. That name. That past. That man.

The one who chose absence over fatherhood.

You stepped away toward the corner of the room, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure Sebastian was still happily distracted with his toys. He was. You answered.

“Hello?” you said quietly.

There was a pause—then that voice. Tired, lazy, like it hadn’t changed a bit. “Y/n… hey. It’s been a while.”

A scoff built in your throat. You clenched your jaw, already done with the conversation before it truly began.

“‘A while’?” you repeated, voice low and sharp. “It’s been more than a while. It’s been two missed birthdays. It’s been holidays with no call. It’s been me raising a child while you send the occasional drunk text at 2 a.m. about how we should get back together. Which, by the way, is sick. Because let’s be honest—you hated me. And I hated you.”

Your voice trembled—part anger, part exhaustion—but you kept it contained, steady. Because you couldn’t let Sebastian hear this. You wouldn't let his joy be tainted by a man who only called when he remembered he used to be a father.

There was silence on the other end of the line. No apology. No excuse. Just silence. The kind that confirmed what you already knew.

You ended the call without another word, letting your finger hover over the red button for only a second before pressing it.

Then you turned back toward the bed, your chest tight but your expression softening the moment you looked at Sebastian—who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, making car noises and whispering to himself about which driver he was going to talk to first.

And just like that, the ache in your chest shifted. Not gone—but lighter. Because you had him. And he had you.

You walked over and knelt beside him, pulling him close into a warm hug, letting him nuzzle against your shoulder. “I love you, baby,” you whispered.

He looked up at you with that same big smile and messy curls, his arms wrapping around your neck.

“I wuv you too, Mommy.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next morning felt like a whirlwind dressed as routine chaos — the kind that makes you question every decision leading up to it. It started far too early, in a hotel room that still smelled faintly like fresh linen and room service. The alarm blasted through the soft silence like a siren call from hell. You startled awake, jolting upright with a groggy huff and instinctively smacking the snooze button with more aggression than necessary. Sebastian, curled up under the covers beside you, let out a long, loud whine — the kind of exaggerated noise toddlers save for their biggest complaints — before burying his messy-haired head under the blanket.

You mumbled a curse under your breath — something just strong enough to release the frustration but quiet enough that your three-year-old wouldn't catch on. Or so you thought.

The first words he mumbled were, “Mommy… that noise hurt my ears.”

“I know, baby,” you said softly, brushing hair from his eyes. “Mine too.”

Breakfast came next, which turned into a full-on negotiation. You’d offered a simple, reasonable suggestion — cereal and sliced strawberries — something quick and clean, something you could manage while half-awake and still brushing your teeth. But Sebastian had other plans, declared with all the authority of a Michelin-star critic: “Waffles. Hotel ones. And fruit. And muffins. And orange juice. The big cup.”

You blinked. “All that?”

He nodded solemnly, lips pursed like this was a very serious matter.

You gave in, of course. You always did when he got that specific sparkle in his eyes — wide, hopeful, and full of such raw excitement that saying “no” felt like a crime. Soon, he had a plate overflowing with buttery waffles drizzled in syrup, a rainbow of cut fruit, two muffins (one chocolate chip, one blueberry), and a comically large glass of orange juice that he insisted on holding himself with both tiny hands. He looked far too proud of his breakfast, swinging his legs from the chair and beaming up at you between bites.

You had no idea how such a small person could eat like that. You didn’t even question it anymore.

Then came bath time — your battlefield. You’d hoped maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too hard today. But the second the tub started filling, he was bouncing with energy, throwing plastic toy cars into the water like a pre-race ritual.

Getting him in wasn’t hard. Getting him to stay still? Impossible.

Water splashed everywhere — the floor, the walls, your shirt. When it came time to wash his hair, the protest began. His face twisted into a dramatic pout the second your fingers touched the shampoo bottle.

“Nooo, it goes in my eyes!”

You kept your tone soft, soothing. “I’ll be careful, sweetheart. Eyes closed like a superhero, okay?”

He whined. Then sniffled. Then let you do it — reluctantly, with some side-eye — as you hummed the theme song to Paw Patrol just to distract him.

After what felt like a small war, he was finally clean, dressed, and smelling faintly of baby lotion and sunblock. You helped him into his outfit for the day — his prized papaya-colored McLaren hoodie, proudly zipped up to his chin, paired with a matching McLaren cap that looked just a little too big and kept sliding down his forehead. His joggers were black, and his tiny white sneakers were spotless… for now.

He looked like a mini superfan ready to storm the paddock with purpose.

You turned to yourself next, slipping into the dress you’d carefully chosen — a soft milkmaid-style dress that flowed like poetry around your calves. The fabric was weightless and cool against your skin, white with delicate blue florals scattered like petals caught in a spring breeze. The bodice was gently structured, the sweetheart neckline adding a touch of softness and femininity that made you feel — for the first time in a while — pretty. Really pretty.

The wide-brimmed straw hat you packed sat perfectly atop your head, giving you just enough shade to guard against the harsh Australian sun you knew would be relentless later. It felt right — the dress, the hat, the moment.

Sebastian slung on his small backpack with the same dramatic flair he used for everything. You grabbed the paddock passes — laminated, bright, and full of promise — and with one last deep breath, you stepped out of the hotel room and into the day.

The paddock was a different world entirely.

The moment you arrived, it swallowed you whole — the sounds, the motion, the life. Fans pressed against barriers, shouting names, waving signs, laughing and crying and reaching. The scent of rubber and heat hung in the air, the low growl of distant engines thundering beneath it all like a heartbeat.

Sebastian’s hand stayed firmly in yours, but his eyes were everywhere. Wide, lit with a pure joy that was impossible to replicate or fake. He looked around like he’d walked into the gates of a dream — and in a way, he had.

Meanwhile, not too far from the chaos, Lando Norris stood in the middle of it all — a sea of movement around him. He was used to this part: the cameras, the fans, the autographs, the media questions that danced on the edge of personal and professional. He gave polite smiles, half-jokes, the occasional wink that sent fans squealing. He did his part, and he did it well.

But then, something — someone — caught his eye.

A woman in a blue and white dress moving slowly through the crowd, careful and calm, with a little boy in McLaren gear walking beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lando’s heart stuttered.

Not because he knew you. He didn’t — not yet.

But in the way her dress moved with the breeze, in the way the little boy held her hand with absolute trust, in the way she looked down at her son with the kind of love that softened even the harshest corners of a place like this… something in Lando shifted.

He didn’t know why, but for the first time all morning, he wasn’t thinking about the race.

He was thinking about them.

Sebastian gasped—audibly and dramatically—the way only a toddler could. His small hands flew up with excitement as he pointed toward a nearby setup, where bright banners and colorful displays celebrated each team with proud fanfare. The McLaren signage, bold and unmistakable, had clearly captured his entire being.

You let out a soft chuckle, reaching down to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. “We’re gonna get ourselves a tour of the garages, okay?” you explained, crouching slightly to meet his excitement with calm. “We just have to wait for the tour guide.”

Sebastian nodded, eyes still gleaming as he rocked on his heels, the cap on his head slightly tilted from his animated movements. He didn’t say anything else, but his joy was bubbling over — it was in his posture, his wiggling fingers, and the bright way he scanned the paddock like it was an amusement park made just for him.

The buzz of chatter around you was constant — conversations blending into each other, fan voices raised in awe, the faint beat of music pulsing somewhere in the background. It was overwhelming, in that kind of magical way only big, exciting places could be.

And then… he appeared.

Lando Norris, threading his way through the crowd with casual familiarity, a soft “Excuse me,” here, a small nod there, eyes scanning ahead until they landed directly on the small boy in papaya orange. In mere moments, he was in front of Sebastian, lowering himself into a crouch, eyes kind and lit with recognition.

“Hey, little guy,” he greeted warmly, his voice soft in contrast to the buzz of the paddock. “Supporting McLaren today? You’re gonna be our mini driver, yeah?”

Sebastian went completely still.

Not just quiet — frozen. His jaw dropped slightly, arms limp at his sides, as if he had just spotted a dragon, a real one, casually crouched right in front of him. He blinked rapidly, eyes wide and unblinking, unsure whether to cry, run, or explode with happiness. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you — quiet, surprised, utterly endeared. Lando had that effect on fans, sure, but seeing it happen to your own child? Surreal. You fumbled into your small white purse, pulling out your phone and readying it as you approached gently.

“Sebastian?” you asked softly. “Are you gonna pose so I can take a photo of you two?”

Nothing.

He still stood there, stunned and starstruck.

Then — without warning — he let out a high-pitched scream of joy, the kind of shriek that made nearby heads turn, and yours nearly snap off your shoulders. You winced. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—!”

But Lando was already laughing, waving a hand with ease. “It’s okay,” he reassured, glancing up at you with a grin that softened you instantly. “He’s okay. Totally okay.”

His gaze lingered for just a second longer than expected — drawn to your face, your soft expression as you watched your son. Then to the way your dress moved ever so slightly with the breeze, the light catching the delicate floral pattern like a watercolor in motion. Your perfume drifted toward him, subtle and clean with something sweet woven in. It hit him harder than expected, that scent — or maybe it was everything about you, compacted into that single moment of wind and sunlight and childlike joy.

Sebastian flung his arms around Lando in a burst of affection, burying his face against the front of his McLaren zip-up. You watched with your heart in your throat as Lando returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Sebastian without hesitation, effortlessly soft in a way that came so naturally it stunned you.

“Okay!” you said through a smile, stepping back with your phone. “Let me get a cute photo of you two.”

Sebastian and Lando posed — or rather, Lando posed with Sebastian, crouching back down with one knee on the ground, chin resting gently on Sebastian’s small shoulder. Their cheeks touched, curly heads leaning into one another. Lando held up a single finger in a #1 pose, smiling like he meant it. It was perfect.

You snapped a few photos, and as you did, you couldn’t help but notice it — their hair. The curls. The way they framed both of their faces almost identically. You smiled to yourself. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence. After all, when Lando had kept his signature curly mullet look last season, Sebastian had seen a photo online and announced with unwavering confidence: “I want that hair.” He had pointed at Lando like it was gospel. And you? You’d booked the salon the next day.

As the hug ended, you stepped forward, slipping your phone back into your purse. “Thank you so much for taking a photo with him,” you said warmly, genuinely.

Lando stood, brushing the knees of his pants. “It’s no issue at all,” he replied, glancing down at Sebastian once more with fondness. “I think I’ve just met my teammate of the future.”

Sebastian beamed, still too shy to speak.

“You gonna drive for us one day?” Lando added, teasing, nudging the boy gently. “I’ll keep a seat warm for you.”

Your heart tugged at the sight — your son, so young and yet so full of love for a world like this. And Lando, surprisingly sweet and attentive, entirely present in a way that told you he wasn’t just putting on a show for the cameras or fans.

You smiled to yourself, glancing at the paddock around you, then back at them — Sebastian, the driver he idolized, and this unfolding moment you hadn’t expected.

"Come on, we have to let him go now," you said gently, wrapping your fingers around Sebastian’s small hand, trying to coax him away. The toddler let out a soft pout, his eyes still wide with admiration as he looked up at Lando like he was the sun itself. But even with his protest brewing, he gave in with a tiny sigh, slipping his hand into yours.

Lando chuckled, the kind that warmed the air around him. “He’s fine—he’s a cutie,” he replied, his voice light, fond even, as he glanced down at the boy once more.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be sweet with fans, especially kids. He’d always had a soft spot for the younger supporters—their joy was so pure, so unfiltered. But something about Sebastian tugged at a different thread inside him. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just Sebastian who had caught his attention.

His gaze lingered, just for a second longer than it should’ve. Not on the excited toddler now hugging his leg again, but on you.

The subtle curve of your smile as you looked at your son. The soft sweep of hair tucked behind your ear. That floral milkmaid dress—light, ethereal—danced a little in the breeze, brushing gently against your calves, the blue and white print making your skin glow beneath the sunlight. He caught the scent of your perfume again, something sweet but grounded, and it almost made him forget the paddock noise surrounding him.

But then reality nudged him.

He was Lando Norris. And with that name came the constant click of cameras, the headlines that twisted simple kindness into something scandalous, and the ongoing ache of knowing that privacy was a luxury he didn’t own. He couldn’t afford to let curiosity become anything more.

Still, he offered a smile. Genuine. “Thank you for letting us get a photo,” you said, your voice soft with gratitude, and maybe even a hint of admiration tucked behind it.

“It’s no issue at all,” he answered, his voice equally soft now, more personal somehow.

Just then, Sebastian broke free of your hold once more, bouncing with renewed energy. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg in one last goodbye hug. Your lips parted in mild surprise, but you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped.

You already knew what was coming.

“He’s going to ask for Oscar now,” you said knowingly, an amused look on your face as you tucked your phone back into your purse.

Lando laughed, bending slightly so he could meet Sebastian’s gaze again. “Oscar, huh? Can’t blame him. We’ll have to make sure he gets that photo too.”

Your heart swelled at the kindness in his tone. And even if the moment had to end, it left an impression—gentle, fleeting, and maybe more meaningful than either of you could admit.

“We can find Oscar—he’s somewhere around here,” Lando said, crouching slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye again. His voice had that calm, charming tone kids seemed to respond to instinctively, and sure enough, Sebastian’s tiny hand found his with total trust.

You smiled, your heart quietly aching in the best way as you watched the two of them. There was something surreal about it—your son hand-in-hand with a driver he’d looked up to for months, someone whose posters decorated his bedroom walls, whose name he babbled about nonstop. And yet here they were, side by side, like they’d known each other longer than a few minutes.

You followed behind, just a few paces, letting the moment play out in front of you like a movie. The scene looked too perfect: Sebastian looking up, talking animatedly about his toy car collection, while Lando nodded and listened as if each word was of utmost importance.

But even as warmth filled your chest, something inside you whispered not to get carried away. This was Lando Norris. He was always kind to fans, especially to kids. This wasn’t special. It couldn’t be. It was just part of his image, part of the charm that made millions adore him.

And yet… he didn’t let go of Sebastian’s hand.

As the three of you walked deeper into the paddock, the vibrant atmosphere buzzed louder. You could hear the faint hum of tires being rolled out, radios crackling with chatter, distant bursts of laughter from fans lining the barricades. The scent of asphalt, heat, and oil mixed with the soft floral trace of your perfume, which the breeze occasionally carried toward Lando—who didn’t seem to mind at all.

When you finally reached the McLaren garage, it was like walking into the heart of something electric. Engineers paced with purpose, monitors lit up with telemetry, car parts glinted under sharp fluorescent lights. And standing a few feet inside, Oscar Piastri turned just as Sebastian caught sight of him.

There was a beat—a tiny, loaded moment—and then Sebastian let out the kind of squeal only a three-year-old could make, bursting from Lando’s side and sprinting to Oscar like he was reuniting with a long-lost friend.

Oscar laughed, catching him in a half-squat hug, lifting him off the ground a few inches. “Woah! Look who’s here!” he said, clearly charmed.

You stopped just at the threshold of the garage, your feet hesitating for the first time. Cameras lingered near the entrance—journalists, team photographers, random flashes—and for a second, insecurity tried to creep in. You didn’t belong here. This was their world. You were just visiting.

You adjusted your grip on your purse, suddenly more aware of your dress, your posture, your hair. But then Lando turned. He wasn’t looking at the cameras. He wasn’t scanning the room. His gaze found you—just you.

And in that second, something in his expression softened.

“This is the garage—McLaren, for all you little fans,” he teased, gesturing toward the bright orange and blue world surrounding you both.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms playfully. “Little fans? Excuse you—I’m not little.”

He laughed, quick and genuine. “Apologies—to you and your little McLaren fan.” His eyes dropped for a brief second, catching your smile.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Better.”

It was an innocent exchange, lighthearted and quick—but it buzzed in the air between you both like a hidden signal, an unspoken something neither of you could fully name. Not yet.

Then came the gentle tug at your heart again—Sebastian. He was still chatting to Oscar, waving his tiny arms, recounting something that involved race cars and dragons, by the sound of it. Your fingers itched for your phone again. These were the moments he’d remember forever. So would you.

And then, just as you reached to adjust the strap of your bag, Sebastian did something that caught you off guard: he ran back, arms wide, and wrapped himself tightly around Lando’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was safe.

You felt something twist inside your chest—something warm and unexpected.

Lando looked down, blinking in surprise, then softened, his hand gently resting on Sebastian’s back. “He’s got a strong grip,” he joked, chuckling.

“He gets attached easily,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry if he’s clingy.”

Lando shook his head. “He’s not. He’s just… cool.” His voice dropped slightly, sincere and quiet. “You’ve got a good kid.”

You smiled—small, but real. “I know.”

Conversation between you and Lando had started off light, naturally flowing like you’d known him longer than a morning. You stood beside him in the garage while Sebastian trailed Oscar, clinging to every word and gesture the older driver made as he proudly led him on his own version of a pit lane tour. From where you stood, you could still hear Sebastian’s tiny giggles echoing through the hum of machinery and distant radio chatter.

Lando leaned against one of the workstations, arms folded, a casual smirk on his lips as you shared a story about how Sebastian once raced his Hot Wheels down the hallway so fast he crashed into the front door and blamed "aerodynamics."

Your laughter blended with his, light and genuine, for a moment making you forget where you were and who you were talking to. For once, it didn’t feel like you were speaking to a world-famous athlete. It felt... easy.

But then, just as you caught your breath mid-laugh, a voice chimed in—clear, curious, and edged with mischief.

“Who are you?”

Your head turned, and your smile faltered just slightly as Carlos Sainz approached. He was dressed in his Williams team gear, looking effortlessly put-together, a water bottle dangling from one hand and a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

You stood a little straighter. “I’m just a fan,” you said lightly, offering a small smile. “With a very enthusiastic mini fan.”

You gestured toward Sebastian, who was now seated on a tire stack as Oscar showed him the wheel gun. He was clearly in heaven.

Carlos raised a brow at your answer, his gaze flicking toward Lando, who remained unusually silent beside you. You caught the way Lando gave the subtlest shake of his head in Carlos's direction—a quiet warning, or perhaps a signal that this wasn’t what it looked like.

Carlos’s lips twitched with amusement. “I see…”

He turned his eyes back to you, sharp yet unreadable. “Any chance that little one over there’s gonna like me too?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully, hiding a smirk. “Maybe. He’s got quite the open taste. He’s been known to cheer for at least five teams depending on how cool their cars look.”

Carlos grinned. “Smart kid.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gave you both a mock salute and walked off, passing between you and Lando with the same confident stride he probably used walking to the grid.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you turned back to Lando, who looked amused but a little irritated too. “Next thing you know,” you joked, “they’ll be fighting over who gets his love.”

That broke Lando’s brief tension. He laughed, a soft, low chuckle that felt more personal than anything you’d heard from him before.

“He better stay loyal to McLaren,” Lando joked, glancing toward Sebastian again, his voice tinted with a sort of pride that didn’t quite make sense—unless it wasn’t just about the team anymore.

You smiled, feeling a subtle shift in the air. The kind that left you a little warmer, a little more aware. Of him. Of the way his gaze lingered when he looked at you. Of how close he was standing now, a casual closeness that felt just slightly charged.

Still, you reminded yourself to stay grounded.

Because at the end of the day, this was still the paddock.

This was still Lando Norris.

And this was probably still just part of the charm.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Practice ran smoother than expected, the sound of engines roaring past and tires screeching against the asphalt forming the soundtrack of the afternoon. From the elevated view inside the pit building, where guests and team members could observe from above, you stood with Sebastian tucked securely in your arms. The vantage point gave you a perfect view over the track, the bustling pit lane, and the vibrant, living pulse of the paddock beneath.

The air buzzed with excitement, even as the sun began to dip slightly in the sky. A warm Australian breeze slipped through the open balcony space, tousling your hair and carrying the lingering scent of gasoline, rubber, and fresh grass. Your heart was full—soaking in the atmosphere, the hum of conversation around you, the thrill from the crowd cheering just meters away, and most of all, the joy radiating from your little boy.

Sebastian was a firecracker in your arms—restless, wide-eyed, and utterly consumed by the action. “Go, Lando!” he shouted, his tiny fist pumped in the air. “Oscar! Look, mama, Oscar’s goin’ fast!”

You laughed gently, holding him a little tighter. “I see him, baby,” you said, amused by his commentary. “They’re both doing so good today, huh?”

He was completely immersed, like a sponge absorbing every detail. His enthusiasm didn’t waver, not even as the session neared its end. He clapped wildly when the McLaren cars zoomed past, shouted out names like they were old friends—“George! Kimi! Max! Charles!”—and even pointed with giddy excitement when Lewis appeared on the screen.

“Yuki! Look, mama, Yuki funny!” he giggled, slapping his hand against your arm.

You couldn’t help but smile. Seeing the world through his eyes—full of color and awe—made the chaos of travel, the fatigue from the long day, and even the stress you carried feel a little bit lighter.

But as the final laps came to a close and the cars began trickling back into their garages, the adrenaline began to fade. You felt it first in the way Sebastian slumped slightly against you, his arms slowly wrapping around your neck, his cheek brushing your shoulder. The spark of excitement still lingered in his little heart, but the rest of him—well, it was giving in.

He fought sleep like a warrior.

His lashes fluttered, his eyes red and heavy, but still he insisted, “No nap, mama.”

“I know, I know,” you said softly, brushing your hand over his curls. “Just a break, right? Just rest your eyes for a minute.”

But he wasn’t done yet. With a sudden jolt of energy, he shifted in your arms and pointed toward the paddock area just below. “Kimi, mama! Me see Kimi!”

His voice cracked from all the yelling he’d done, but the determination in his tone was still strong. He wiggled, trying to slide down from your hold.

“Kimi’s probably doing interviews right now,” you murmured, trying not to laugh at his stubbornness. “We’ll find him later, okay? Maybe he’ll even say hi if we’re lucky.”

He squinted into the distance as if willing the Mercedes driver to materialize on command. “Him wave me. Kimi wave me!” he insisted, rubbing his eyes and stamping his little foot down as if that would summon Kimi by pure toddler force alone.

You took a breath, your heart full to bursting. This was everything to him—the drivers weren’t just names or faces. They were superheroes. They were friends. And in his world, seeing one more of them—just one—before the day ended felt like the most important mission ever.

You leaned down and kissed his temple. “I believe you,” you whispered. “And I promise, we’ll try to find him. But you need to be strong for me, okay? Can you be strong, just for a little while longer?”

He nodded with all the gravity a three-year-old could muster, despite the way his thumb crept into his mouth and he tucked his head under your chin.

You shifted your weight, gently rocking him side to side, taking in the fading light on the horizon. The practice was done. The paddock buzz was quieter now, people trickling away, laughter floating from somewhere below, mechanics wheeling tires and boxes past in a practiced rhythm. The day had been long, but good. There was a softness in the air that hadn’t been there this morning. A calm.

And as you stood there, swaying slowly with your child in your arms, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. Right here, in this in-between moment, holding the person you loved most in a place he already adored.

Sebastian let out a soft sigh, curling closer into your chest. His voice, thick with exhaustion but still clinging to hope, came again in a sleepy murmur.

“Mama... Kimi come back?”

You kissed his cheek, tucking the blanket from your bag around his shoulders.

“We’ll see, baby. I promise. You rest now. I’ll keep watch.”

And with that, his tiny body finally relaxed, sleep pulling him into a peaceful slumber, the sounds of the paddock slowly fading into the background.

You didn’t want to wait much longer — the day had worn you down, and Sebastian had finally dozed off in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, lips parted in soft snores. But despite your fatigue, a small flame of hope flickered inside you. Maybe, just maybe, if you held on a little longer, Kimi would appear. You knew how much it meant to Sebastian.

The paddock had finally begun to settle. The blinding flashes of cameras, the swarming fans, the echoing voices of reporters — all of it had died down to a hum. And somewhere in that calm, Lando spotted you again. For once, he wasn’t surrounded by media demands or tugged in different directions by obligations. It was just him now. And his eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

He approached with that familiar casual stride, a chuckle slipping from his lips as he glanced at the boy cradled in your arms. “He’s out,” he said gently, almost amused, as if the excitement had finally caught up to the little one.

You smiled in return, the kind of tired but warm smile only a parent could offer. With care, you took off Sebastian’s slightly tilted McLaren cap, brushing his curls away from his damp forehead. “He’s been holding out just to see Kimi,” you murmured, almost apologetically.

Lando nodded with sincerity. “I’ll make sure Kimi stops by. He won’t miss this,” he promised. There was something earnest in his voice — not performative, not the usual ‘fan-service’ charm — but genuine, like he wanted to make it happen for Sebastian. For you.

You shrugged a bit, not wanting to impose. “If not, it’s okay. We’ll be back tomorrow. Got ourselves the full three-day access.” You hadn’t meant for it to be anything special when you said it, but it lit something quietly inside Lando. You were coming back — that meant more chances to see you. Maybe talk. Maybe… something more.

“In the span of just a few hours,” you added with a faint chuckle, “he managed to get photos with Charles, Lewis, Carlos, Alex — even Liam and Isack. Now all that’s left on his dream list is Kimi, George, Yuki, and Max.”

Lando smiled at that. “He’s ambitious. I like it. And he’ll get them — I’ll make sure of it,” he said firmly. He wasn’t just saying it to be nice — he meant it. Maybe it was the way Sebastian lit up around them, or maybe it was how you looked at your son like he was your whole world. Either way, Lando found himself caring a little too much.

A lull in the conversation opened a new window — a chance to ask more. To know more. And he took it.

“So… earlier you were saying a bit about the little guy and yourself. Dad didn’t come along?” Lando’s voice softened, carefully treading that line between curiosity and respect.

You looked down at Sebastian’s sleeping face, brushing a hand gently along his back. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms,” you said, voice low. “We’re not together. Haven’t been in a while.” Your tone wasn’t bitter, just honest.

And then the words spilled — maybe because Lando was easy to talk to, or maybe because you were just so tired of keeping it all inside. You told him how your ex had missed both of Sebastian’s birthdays. How the only contact came in the form of late-night, drunken texts that always circled back to the same twisted narrative: “Let’s try again,” followed by declarations you’d long stopped believing in.

You didn’t notice, but Lando’s expression shifted — a quiet intensity in his gaze. It wasn’t pity, but something deeper. He hated it for you. Hated that someone had been foolish enough to walk away from a life with you and Sebastian. And worse, that someone had left you to handle it all on your own.

But then, that guilt crept up his spine — uninvited and sharp. He was Lando Norris. He didn’t do strings. His world was fast and fleeting. Privacy was a myth. Relationships were speculation fodder. And the idea of being involved with someone — someone who came as a package deal — was overwhelming. Terrifying, even.

Still… he couldn’t ignore how naturally it all felt just then. You, him, and Sebastian.

For a second, he wondered what it might be like if things were different.

And that scared him.

So, instead of speaking his thoughts, he simply nodded, offering the kind of half-smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you,” he said quietly.

And even though he didn’t say more, even though he buried whatever stirring he felt, the way he looked at you lingered longer than it should’ve.

Just as you were preparing to gently excuse yourself from Lando and finally head out with Sebastian asleep in your arms, a small wave of movement caught your attention. You looked up — and sighed in sheer relief.

Kimi had appeared at last.

He strolled in with a calm, almost unreadable expression, still in his race suit, hair slightly tousled from removing his helmet, and a bottle of water in hand. He hadn’t even fully stepped into the area before his eyes landed on you and Lando. He tilted his head slightly, brows pulling together in mild confusion as if trying to place the scene — a woman holding a sleeping child, standing with Lando Norris.

“I am so sorry to bother you,” you began gently, stepping forward just enough without jostling Sebastian. You didn’t want to startle him awake. “But you’re here and— I know I don’t have anything Mercedes for you to sign, but… signing his backpack would mean a lot.”

You offered a small, hopeful smile, holding out a black marker and the tiny, well-loved backpack that was slung over your shoulder. Its fabric was soft from use, and one of the zipper pulls had a keychain shaped like a Formula 1 car.

Lando gave a small, encouraging nod, his expression warm. “They’ll be back tomorrow,” he added, his voice casual but his tone protective. “Kid’s been waiting just to see you.”

At that, Kimi's face softened. Something about the sincerity in your voice, and perhaps the tone Lando had taken on — almost like it was his job to make sure this moment happened — made Kimi nod without hesitation.

He reached forward and gently took the backpack from you, uncapping the marker in one hand and holding the fabric taut in the other. “How old is he?” Kimi asked, his voice quiet but curious, eyes glancing at Sebastian’s sleeping face.

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, Lando beat you to it — his voice calm and full of a surprising kind of certainty.

“He’s three. His name is Sebastian.”

Your gaze flicked to Lando, eyes softening as a small lump formed in your throat. The way he said it — like he’d memorized it — made your chest feel tight. You hadn’t expected him to remember. Not when he’d been bombarded by faces and questions all day, caught in flashes of cameras and interviews. You assumed you and Sebastian would be forgotten as quickly as you appeared — just another moment in a long blur of fan interactions.

But he hadn’t forgotten.

He remembered your son’s name. His age. The way he fought sleep just to see Kimi. And it wasn’t just that he remembered — it was the way he cared. Lando said it like it mattered.

Kimi hummed thoughtfully as he signed his name across the backpack in neat, bold letters. Then, handing it back, he gave a small nod toward you. “He’s got good taste in drivers.”

You chuckled quietly, adjusting Sebastian in your arms. “He thinks all of you are superheroes,” you replied, voice hushed with affection. “Each time he sees a car or hears a name, it’s like the whole world lights up for him.”

Kimi offered a rare, faint smile before giving a polite nod and stepping away, blending back into the quiet shuffle of drivers finishing up their day. You watched him go, grateful — but it was the man standing beside you that still held your attention.

You turned your gaze to Lando. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his race suit, curls still a little damp with sweat from earlier, eyes on you like he hadn’t stopped watching you since Kimi arrived. There was something calm in his face now. Thoughtful. Open.

You exhaled slowly, shifting Sebastian’s weight against your shoulder. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Lando tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “For what?”

“For remembering,” you answered simply.

And for a moment, nothing else needed to be said.

There you stood — you, a tired mother clutching her dreaming son, and Lando Norris, not the F1 star, but the guy who remembered a little boy’s name and helped him chase down a dream. And as the last rays of sunlight poured in from behind the pit building, painting the garage windows in a honey-gold glow, you felt something warm settle in your chest.

Bidding Lando a bye, you carried Sebastian, his now signed backpack, and his McLaren hat to the car, with Lando on your mind and a busy day ahead tomorrow.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Day Two arrived with a quiet stillness, the kind that promised potential before the world fully woke up. You stirred before the soft alarm had a chance to sound, quickly silencing it so Sebastian could remain curled up, blissfully asleep in the warmth of the hotel bed. He was tangled in the covers, one arm flopped dramatically over the stuffed car he’d won yesterday, the other hand loosely holding a toy McLaren.

You stole a moment to just watch him—his chest rising in slow, peaceful breaths—and then slipped away for a shower. The water felt grounding, warm against your skin, helping you wash away the exhaustion of travel and the high emotions of yesterday. You reminded yourself that today was supposed to be simple: enjoy the second day, support Sebastian’s little dream, and keep things… uncomplicated.

But then, there was Lando.

You knew better than to entertain anything. Yet his laugh, the way he’d remembered Sebastian’s name, the ease in his voice when talking to you… it all lingered heavier than you expected.

Once dressed, you stood before the mirror. You’d chosen the outfit intentionally—something that felt bold, fun, and just the right amount of spirited McLaren energy. A vivid orange halter top hugged your figure with flattering ruching, tied delicately at the back of your neck in a neat bow. It matched Sebastian’s bright Oscar Piastri race suit with near-perfect coordination. Paired with light wash high-waisted jeans that sculpted your shape and ended in a relaxed straight leg, the look balanced sleek and casual effortlessly.

You slid on a pair of orange braided heels, the square toe giving it a modern edge, and completed the outfit with stacked bangles in shades of ivory and burnt orange. A McLaren cap sat nestled on the hotel dresser—Sebastian’s idea for you to wear it today. “So we match!” he’d squealed yesterday. And of course, you’d promised you would.

You turned to gently wake Sebastian, who stirred the moment you whispered his name. His tiny brows furrowed sleepily at first, but when you pulled out the miniature Oscar suit, he shot upright like a rocket. “Today is Ows-cah day!” he cheered, bouncing on the bed in his onesie.

You got him dressed with a bit of effort and a lot of giggles, and once his race suit was zipped, name stitched proudly over his chest in orange thread, he did a full spin in front of the mirror. “We look like twins!” he declared.

Meanwhile, Lando was stirring in a completely different world.

He sat upright in the plush, oversized bed of his penthouse suite, the muted morning light trickling in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. His room felt too pristine, too still. He rubbed a hand over his face, his curls messy, and let out a low breath. The first thing he did was grab his phone, swiping through headlines and Instagram notifications. Race prep, news alerts, tagged posts, and—

Rumors.

He knew they were coming. Media always got wind of the smallest things: a photo, a glance, a conversation held just a second too long. And yesterday had definitely given them fuel. A few posts had already surfaced—pictures of him crouched next to Sebastian, you laughing beside him, a blurred shot that captured the spark in your eye mid-conversation.

Oscar caught him just as he made his way into the hotel lobby. “Did you check the media?”

“Yeah,” Lando said flatly, already bracing.

Oscar raised a brow. “They’re spinning stuff already. You and that girl—”

“Her name is Y/n,” Lando snapped back, more sharply than he intended. “And I know. I’m just not dealing with it right now.”

Oscar held his hands up, not pushing it further. But the look in his eye said it all. There was something different in the way Lando spoke about you. He wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t even hiding it well.

And Lando knew it too.

Because while his eyes scrolled past the usual stream of bikini models and car edits, it wasn’t them he was thinking about this morning. It was the way you’d tucked Sebastian’s curls under his cap. The way your smile flickered with hesitation at first, but then warmed once Lando said your son’s name.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

But he was starting to.

And that… scared the hell out of him.

The paddock was alive, electrified with the kind of energy only sprint day could summon. The air buzzed with adrenaline, fan chants echoing between the walls of garages, reporters weaving through mechanics and engineers, and flags fluttering like excited hearts. Today was qualifying, high-stakes, no time to breathe—yet somehow, you found a pocket of peace.

Oscar stood beside you, grinning as Sebastian—dressed in his perfectly tailored mini Oscar Piastri race suit, complete with his name stitched proudly in orange thread—hugged his leg. You held up your phone to capture the moment, crouching just enough to get the perfect shot: the contrast of the little boy’s bright orange suit against the sharp navy of Oscar’s own, and the pure smile they shared.

A few fans and even paddock staff paused to admire the adorable sight, some snapping their own pictures, others simply smiling and whispering to one another. Sebastian basked in the attention like it was his own victory lap. The moment felt so light—so warm.

And the day only got better.

With the help of Lando, Oscar, and even a few kind PR team members, Sebastian managed to meet the last of his dream list—Yuki gave him a high five and posed with an exaggerated grin; Max knelt for a photo and ruffled his curls; George crouched beside him with a thumbs up; Kimi gave a rare soft smile while crouching to sign Sebastian’s cap, and Charles even pulled him into another hug for one more picture.

You couldn't stop smiling. Everything had fallen into place—Sebastian had met his heroes, and their kindness brought out a glow in him that made every early morning and long walk worth it.

Until it didn’t.

You had barely turned to look toward the walkway when the buzz of conversation around you shifted, energy twisting from joyful to alert. The media had spotted something—or someone—and they were closing in fast. You looked up, confused by the sudden interest. The camera flashes began before the questions did.

“Can I help?” you asked softly, arms instinctively wrapping tighter around Sebastian’s small form as he clung to your hip, sensing the change.

“I’m with Sky Sports,” the man said smoothly, flashing a press pass like a shield. “Just need you to confirm or deny some rumors—”

His gaze dropped from your face to Sebastian. That subtle implication in his eyes made your stomach turn. Was this about Lando? Your fingers curled protectively into Sebastian’s back.

“I’m just a guest. We’re fans, we’re not—” you began, but the man didn’t seem to hear. He stepped forward again, camera crew behind him, mics angled toward your face like accusations.

Before your heart could even pound harder, before you could form words to push back—he was there.

Lando.

He moved with sharpness, unhesitating, stepping between you and the cameras like a shield. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched tight as his hand subtly moved back, nudging you behind him.

“We’re here to talk about qualifying and the race, not harass the fans,” Lando said, voice low but laced with command, a warning hidden beneath the smile he didn’t wear.

The reporter hesitated, startled. “I—I apologize,” he stammered, backing off slightly as Lando’s gaze stayed fixed.

The air shifted again—awkward tension bleeding out slowly as the media retreated, their interest deflated by the firm dismissal. You didn’t even realize your hand had clenched Lando’s sleeve until he turned slightly, checking on you and Sebastian.

You nodded, still stunned. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely carrying over the renewed hum of paddock life.

Lando’s expression softened when his eyes met yours. “Anytime,” he said simply. Then his eyes dropped to Sebastian, who was now blinking up at him from your arms.

“You okay, buddy?” Lando asked, letting a small smile return.

Sebastian gave a tiny nod before curling into your shoulder, thumb in his mouth—exhausted again, the rush of attention too much.

You looked back at Lando, still a little shaken, still trying to process the way he stepped in like that. It wasn’t just fan service.

It felt like care. Like protection. Like something more than it was supposed to be.

And that terrified you—because for the first time since this whole thing started, you weren’t sure you wanted it to be less.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

For the rest of the event, the tension that had rattled your nerves earlier melted away, replaced by an unexpected calm that settled around you like a warm blanket. You and Sebastian stayed nestled in the rhythm of McLaren’s world—cheering, watching, laughing, and sharing quiet moments behind the velvet ropes of paddock life. Despite the constant whirl of noise, camera clicks, and mechanics shouting over engine whines, you felt at peace.

And it wasn’t just you. Sebastian was glowing with energy, his little race suit slightly rumpled now from running about, his curls springing up with every bounce of excitement. He cheered loudly when the McLaren team passed, and when Oscar or Lando appeared on the screens, he clapped as though they were superheroes instead of real men in fireproof suits.

You didn’t realize it until the day had almost ended—but you felt like you belonged there.

You didn’t feel like an outsider anymore, not just some guest with a pass, not just a mother of a young fan. Somehow, between the knowing smiles from engineers, the high-fives from Oscar, and even the nods from other teams, it felt like you were part of something. Like you fit.

Lando felt it too. Though he’d never admit it out loud, the thought had slipped in more than once during the day, threading through his mind between practice runs and interviews. Every time he spotted you in the distance, chatting with a team member or crouching to fix Sebastian’s laces, it hit him harder—this felt right. Too right. Too fast.

Too soon, he told himself. And yet, he kept looking anyway.

After qualifying—an intense battle that left him finishing a proud P2—Lando was spent. His body ached from the push, his skin glistened with sweat under his race suit, but his thoughts weren’t on lap times or team briefings.

They were on you.

He barely waited until he was out of the post-race huddle before nodding to a McLaren staffer. “Can you bring them to the garage?”

Within minutes, you were walking in—Sebastian clinging to your hand, wide-eyed at the inner sanctum of the McLaren team. Lando saw you and immediately crouched, his face lighting up despite his exhaustion.

“Sebastian! Hey buddy!” he called with a grin.

The three-year-old didn’t hesitate, sprinting the short distance into Lando’s open arms, giggling as he was scooped up in a warm, sweaty hug. You followed behind, letting out a soft chuckle as you watched them.

Lando laughed as he pulled back just slightly, eyebrows lifting when he caught sight of the small smudges dotting Sebastian’s cheeks and the suspicious trail of crumbs on his suit.

“What is on your face?” he asked with mock horror, trying to bite back another grin.

Sebastian flashed a proud, sugar-fueled smile. Before he could respond, you chimed in with a hum, arms folded loosely as you leaned slightly on one foot.

“Cookie crumbs,” you said, amused. “One of the drivers—pretty sure it was Fernando—had a secret cookie stash. He gave him two, and now he’s on a full sugar rush.”

Lando looked at Sebastian with a mix of disbelief and adoration. “You bribed Alonso? I’ve been trying to get a cookie from him all season,” he teased.

Sebastian giggled, holding up three fingers instead of two. “Three cookies,” he corrected proudly.

You and Lando burst out laughing, and for a beat, the world outside the garage didn't matter. It didn’t matter what had been said or what rumors had started to swirl. It didn’t matter how complicated things might get.

Lando had barely caught his breath from qualifying, the adrenaline still running faintly through his veins when the words slipped from his mouth like they’d been waiting all day for a place to land.

“Do you and Sebastian want to… go to the aquarium?” he asked casually—though his tone was careful, soft in a way that didn’t quite match the high-energy buzz of the McLaren garage around you.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Us?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain.

He nodded, brushing a loose curl from his damp forehead. “Yeah. I’ll head back to my hotel, clean up, and then I can swing by wherever you two are staying. We’ll head over together.”

Before you could process your reply, Sebastian practically burst with excitement, jumping in place. “YES! Fishies, Mama! Can we go see the sharks?!”

Lando chuckled, clearly entertained by the sheer enthusiasm bursting from the tiny human now bouncing beside him. Your eyes darted toward him again, cautious and conflicted.

Part of you wanted to go. God, you wanted to go.

But another part—the part that had learned how cruel the world could be when it noticed something good—whispered a thousand hesitations into your mind. The media. The cameras. The attention.

You looked away, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But the media…” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the chatter of the team still moving about the garage.

Lando tilted his head, as though hearing your fear and meeting it without judgment. He took a step closer, and his voice dropped lower, quieter.

“I’m human too,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. My team will push back as much as they can. I promise.”

His eyes were sincere—none of the typical charm or cheeky arrogance people expected from Lando Norris. Just truth. Just softness.

“So?” he added, a flicker of hope curling around the question.

You stood still for a moment, unsure what to do with the comfort that suddenly wrapped around you like a familiar coat. It was crazy, impulsive, dangerous even—but above all… it felt safe. Safe with Lando.

And real.

You glanced down at Sebastian, who was now hugging your leg, looking up at you with those wide, eager eyes.

“Sure,” you said at last, and the word felt like stepping into sunlight.

“We’ll go.”

Sebastian squealed in delight, nearly tripping over himself as he ran in a circle. “YAY!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make a few heads turn and laugh nearby.

Lando grinned, flashing you a look that made your heart skip just a beat too fast. “I’ll text you when I’m on the way,” he said, reaching down to ruffle Sebastian’s hair gently. “Sharks beware—this kid’s coming for them.”

You laughed—full, open—and suddenly, the weight that had been pressing on your chest all day lifted just a little.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The aquarium was quiet—softly lit by the glow of gently moving water and illuminated tanks, casting a subtle shimmer onto the smooth floors. It was a far cry from the earlier frenzy of the paddock. Peaceful. Settling. A rare pocket of calm where, for a moment, life could breathe without pressure.

You walked alongside Lando, with Sebastian happily toddling between the two of you, his small hands occasionally brushing yours or Lando’s as he pointed with wide eyes at stingrays and reef sharks gliding overhead through the tunnel of glass.

You wore a warm brown, body-hugging one-shoulder dress that fell down to your ankles like liquid silk. A soft, beige duster cardigan hung off your arms like a gentle frame, catching the light as it swayed with each step. A sleek black crossbody bag rested snugly at your hip, golden hardware catching the occasional shimmer from the glowing tanks. Simple, elegant—but comfortable enough to chase after a toddler if needed. You hadn’t planned to end up on a spontaneous evening out, but somehow, the moment welcomed you.

Sebastian was a walking ball of color and softness. He wore a playful vintage cartoon T-shirt, vibrant with reds and blues, tucked slightly into wide-legged beige corduroy pants that made his tiny legs look even tinier as he waddled forward. A chunky, lavender knit cardigan was draped over his shoulders—one sleeve constantly slipping down as he chased after his thoughts. His shoes, little white sneakers, already scuffed from adventure, squeaked lightly with each step.

Lando, walking beside you, looked comfortably cool in an oversized navy and white striped rugby shirt with “Quad” embroidered across the chest. The sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms, revealing a few friendship bracelets that danced slightly as he moved. His jeans were baggy, worn in the right ways, and his white sneakers were casual but clean. There was an effortlessness to him—a contrast to his usual track-ready look.

“So... is it true?” you asked, glancing up at him as the three of you strolled past a glowing blue jellyfish exhibit. “You’re a party boy?”

He looked down at you, one brow lifting in curiosity before he grinned. “Depends... how curious are you?” he teased.

You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting into.”

Lando chuckled, nodding slowly. “I am, yeah. Was. Still am sometimes. Comes with being twenty-five, I guess.”

You smiled softly. “Twenty-five and still going strong? God, I need your energy.”

He glanced over at you again, this time his gaze lingering a little longer. “It’s fun sometimes. But... it gets boring. All of it. It’s loud. Flashy. Temporary.”

You nodded in understanding. “Too much stimulation. No peace.”

That was all that needed to be said. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was comforting. A shared understanding that there was something quieter, something softer, in the simplicity of this moment.

You and Lando watched as Sebastian ran up to a floor-to-ceiling tank. His hands smacked against the glass, face lit up in awe as a school of colorful fish darted past. Lando instinctively crouched beside him, resting his arms on his knees.

“They look cool, huh?” he said softly.

Sebastian nodded furiously. “They’re swimming really fast!”

You slowly approached, ignoring the buzzing of your phone deep in your pocket. You didn’t need to check to know who it was—reality could wait. For now, you lowered yourself beside Lando, the soft fabric of your cardigan pooling on the ground. All three of you sat together, faces bathed in aquatic blue light. Lando smelled faintly of clean cologne and sun-drenched grass, while your perfume lingered lightly in the air between you.

No flashing lights. No rumors. No curated stories or whispered headlines.

Just you, Lando, and Sebastian—laughing gently over the shapes of fish and the stories Sebastian made up about them. For a second, it looked like a little family portrait frozen in time. You caught Lando’s gaze and looked away quickly, your cheeks warming. He didn’t say anything—but the way he looked at you, like you were already something more, said enough.

The rest of the evening moved like a lullaby—soft, smooth, and glowing with the quiet joy only shared moments could bring. Between the tanks and tunnels, you and Lando took turns capturing fleeting snapshots and short videos—Sebastian pointing excitedly, or giggling mid-run, or narrating his own marine documentary with impressive confidence for a three-year-old.

“Fish!” he shouted, his voice echoing gently in the cavernous tunnel as Lando lifted him up, effortlessly resting him on his hip so he could get a better look.

You stood close—closer than you realized—shoulder brushing his, warmth shared through fabric. Your head came to rest lightly on Lando’s shoulder, your laughter bubbling softly as you pointed at the glass.

“That would be a pufferfish,” you said, lips quirking as the spiny little creature floated past. “They get all bloated like a balloon, and their faces go—” You puffed out your cheeks dramatically and crossed your eyes.

Sebastian let out a full laugh, tilting backward slightly in Lando’s arms as he mirrored you with his tiny face puffed like a marshmallow. “You’re right, Mommy!”

Lando hummed in amusement. “She’s pretty smart, huh?” he said, casting you a sideways glance, playfully nudging you with his shoulder. “Should we give her some credit?”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Hmm… Can I drive da car?”

Lando crinkled his nose and gasped like the question was dangerous. “Oof… You might need a few more years of training, mate.”

Sebastian huffed in disappointment, only for Lando to lean in. “But after that? Formula 1. Full speed. Number one racer in the world.”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide. “Really?!”

You smiled, your heart tugging as you watched them—how naturally Lando folded into these moments with him, not a trace of forced charm. It wasn’t performative. It was just… who he was. You looked ahead and noticed something through a wide arched entrance.

“They have a gift shop,” you said casually, pointing.

Sebastian’s head whipped toward you like you’d just offered him the moon. “Can we go?! Please, please, pleaaaase?”

You giggled, eyes still on the small sign and bright display lights beyond the glass tunnel. “Eventually.”

Lando nudged Sebastian with a knowing grin. “We will. But first,” he paused and pointed to another glowing section, “I have to take you to see the turtles.”

You gasped, perhaps louder than necessary, clasping your hands together in exaggerated excitement. “Turtles?! Oh no, I love turtles!”

Sebastian mimicked you perfectly—hands clapped, mouth agape. “Let’s goooo!”

With that, Lando gently set him down and took his hand, the two of them walking ahead with energy, you trailing close beside. When they reached the next room, the ceiling curved above like a dome, casting light down onto the huge, gentle creatures that moved with ancient grace through their tank.

Sebastian was mesmerized, standing completely still for a moment before he started talking. Asking questions. Making up names. Pretending one of the turtles winked at him.

You leaned quietly against the railing next to Lando, your arms folding across your chest, watching your son point and babble beside the glass.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” you said under your breath, just loud enough for Lando to hear. “If someone had told me a year ago I’d be at an aquarium in Australia... with Lando Norris and my three-year-old son... I’d have laughed in their face.”

Lando smiled, just slightly. “I think I would’ve laughed too.”

You stood there for a long while, close enough that you could feel the space between you buzz—something soft and thrilling that hadn’t quite found its voice yet.

Eventually, Sebastian—never one to hide his needs—rubbed at his eyes and laid his head against Lando’s shoulder.

“Hungry,” he murmured.

You and Lando both glanced down, and then up at each other, exchanging the same silent question and answer.

“Gift shop, then dinner?” you asked softly.

Sebastian nodded sleepily, already perking up again at the idea of shopping. You smiled and brushed a hand over his curls.

The gift shop was bright and playful, a sudden burst of color after the ambient blues of the aquarium. Sebastian was back to full energy, dashing toward shelves of plush animals and glittery keychains. His eyes sparkled at everything—but then, they stopped.

“That!” he shouted, pointing with such conviction you and Lando both turned to follow his finger.

A massive, soft, gray shark plush towered over the others, nearly the size of Sebastian himself. It was outrageously big, comical even—but the awe in his voice made it impossible to resist.

“I want that!”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He reached up, grabbed the plush by its fin, and brought it down into Sebastian’s arms, where it nearly swallowed him whole. Sebastian gave a muffled “yes!” and hugged it like it was the best gift he’d ever received.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. “That thing is bigger than his carry-on.”

Lando laughed. “Yeah, well... he loves it. Besides,” he plucked a shark tooth necklace from a nearby display, handing it to you, “a souvenir for Mom too.”

You blinked. “Lando—”

“Don’t even,” he said gently, his voice calm and sure. “I want to.”

You didn’t argue. Maybe because you knew he meant it. Maybe because it felt nice to let someone else take care of things, just for a moment.

At the register, Sebastian was trying to hoist the shark up by himself, only for Lando to step in and help. You watched them—man and child, natural in step, smiles matching. And maybe, just maybe, your heart tugged in a way that scared you a little. Because it felt like something real.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

That evening, the three of you found your way into the quiet warmth of a refined little restaurant tucked beneath the pulse of the city—a place with dim lights that danced like soft candle flames against crystal glasses, white linen napkins folded like paper birds, and the gentle clink of silverware marking a chorus of elegant chatter. The ambiance was calm, inviting, the kind of place made for connection and quiet reflection.

You and Lando sat opposite one another, your chairs turned inward toward Sebastian, who had been nestled in the middle like the radiant center of your shared universe. A glass of chilled apple juice sat in front of him—his ‘grown-up’ drink—its amber tone glistening like gold under the glow of the table's candle. Earlier, he'd asked for "what Mommy and Lando are having," curious about the tall glasses of red wine swirling in both of your hands. Lando had leaned down, voice patient and warm, explaining that apple juice was the exact same thing, only better for superheroes like him. Sebastian had accepted that logic instantly, nodding proudly before lifting his glass and declaring a soft “cheers.”

Now, menu in hand, Sebastian squinted at the words like they were ancient texts.

“I want this,” he declared, pointing with conviction to a line near the middle of the kids’ section.

You leaned over and read the item aloud with a hum. “Chicken tenders… classic. And some fries to go with it?”

Sebastian nodded with all the confidence in the world. “Fancy dinner,” he grinned.

Lando chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. “Feeling fancy tonight, huh?”

Sebastian nodded proudly. “Yup. Like you.”

When the waitress approached, Lando took the initiative, smoothly placing your orders. “Two pasta dishes—one with extra parmesan, please—and the chicken tenders and fries for the little gentleman. Oh, and we’ll take a side of roasted vegetables too,” he added, giving you a quick, almost playful glance.

You arched a brow knowingly. “The vegetables? Bold move.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” he said, smirking.

As the waitress disappeared with a promise that dinner would be quick, Sebastian received a coloring page and a small packet of crayons. Instantly absorbed in his artwork, his little brows furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth.

It gave you and Lando a moment. A bubble of stillness inside the restaurant’s soft symphony. A moment to just talk, without the world demanding too much.

“So…” Lando began, voice quiet and cautious. “Have you heard from his—”

He gestured slightly, not needing to say more. You knew who he meant. The shadow. The absentee. The person who helped create Sebastian but somehow forgot what it meant to stay.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening slightly around your wine glass. “Only when he feels it’ll benefit him,” you said, the bitterness hidden behind a composed tone. “Usually to ask for something. Or to argue about things that don’t matter.”

Lando leaned back slightly, frowning. “I don’t see how he can just… pretend you two don’t exist. Like, how do you walk away from someone like Sebastian?”

You looked down, exhaling softly. You didn’t have an answer. You never really had.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t think Sebastian’s missing anything by not having him around. He’s happy. He’s loved. And if I’m being honest… I’m at peace with it too.”

Lando studied you, his gaze holding something more complex than sympathy. Admiration, maybe. Or something even deeper. There was a strength in you that tugged at something tender in him—how fiercely you loved, how steady you were despite the storm life had thrown your way. It made him think about things. About you.

About settling down.

Why now? Why you? He didn’t know yet. But he felt it. Gnawing and blooming all at once. He took a sip of wine to distract himself.

“Tell me more about you two,” he said, tone lighter now, the weight shifting off both your shoulders.

You smiled, turning your chair just slightly toward him.

“Well, Sebastian’s a big fan of Formula 1… obviously,” you started, throwing him a playful glance. “But aside from that, he’s obsessed with SpongeBob, Paw Patrol, and lately, Tom and Jerry. I think the slapstick makes him feel like he’s getting away with something.”

Lando grinned. “Classic. I loved Tom and Jerry as a kid too.”

“Same,” you said. “And as for me? I’m into dramas, comedies, a little romance. Occasionally cartoons—especially when someone insists I join movie night in a blanket fort.”

Lando smiled at the mental image.

“He’s a waffle lover,” you continued, “but he’ll also go through phases of fruit and muffins in the morning. Grilled cheese sandwiches are his go-to lunch—sometimes crustless, depending on his mood—and for dinner, if it’s not pasta or chicken tenders, you’re in for a battle.”

Lando laughed, leaning forward on his elbows. “Veggies?”

“Oh, those are the enemy,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “We’ve tried dinosaurs made out of broccoli. Spaceships shaped from carrots. I think I once made a full-on zoo with cucumbers and celery. He’s not impressed.”

Lando’s laugh was a little louder this time, catching the attention of a nearby couple.

“He loves bath time, though,” you added, “but hates getting his hair washed. Kicks and squeals every time. Orange is his favorite color—if the McLaren merch didn’t give it away. He says he wants to drive one day, and I believe him.”

Your voice softened as you looked down at Sebastian, still happily scribbling blue stars onto his coloring sheet.

“And I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen for him,” you said. “If that means working extra jobs, if that means staying up late or missing sleep or giving up things I love… I’ll do it. No question.”

Lando’s heart twisted a little in his chest. The kind of twist that comes when something clicks. When you realize you’re watching someone love unconditionally. Fiercely. Gently. And without an ounce of bitterness.

He reached out, lightly brushing the back of your hand with his fingers. It was a small gesture—one that said more than he had words for just yet.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” he said, voice quiet, sincere.

You looked at him, your eyes soft with both gratitude and caution. But in that moment, something unspoken passed between you.

Time moved differently at that table.

It melted between soft glances and shared laughter, weaving through your quiet conversations and the gentle jazz notes that glided in the background like a lullaby. It wasn't just the food or the ambiance. It was the feeling—a rare kind of comfort, like sitting at a table that had always been meant for the three of you.

Dinner had long become more than a meal. It was connection in the purest form.

Plates of steaming pasta were placed in front of you and Lando, the scents of garlic, basil, and cream-rich sauces curling upward in soft waves. Sebastian’s plate of golden, crispy chicken tenders and perfectly salted fries sat in front of him like a crown jewel. His little eyes sparkled with delight, his fork diving in immediately.

Lando, as cheeky as ever, held out a forkful of his pasta toward you. “Try it,” he said, wiggling the fork slightly with an encouraging smirk.

You leaned forward, taking the bite, eyes fluttering shut at the rich burst of flavor. “Mmm… that’s so good,” you hummed in satisfaction.

“Alright, your turn.” You scooped some of yours up and offered it to him.

Lando accepted, eyes on yours as he took the bite. He mirrored your hum, grinning as he swallowed. “Okay, yeah. That’s unreal. We should’ve split both from the beginning.”

Sebastian, never one to be left out, giggled and mimicked you both. “Try mine!” He held out a small piece of his chicken tender between his fingers.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lando said, dramatically leaning in for the bite, followed by you, both of you giving the little boy a grand thumbs up after tasting it.

“This is so good, I might have to order it myself next time,” Lando said, acting genuinely impressed, making Sebastian beam with pride.

With your glasses empty and plates dusted with crumbs and sauces, dessert arrived—a decadent sundae set in a glass bowl, the kind made for sharing. The vanilla was creamy and cold, the chocolate thick and rich, with warm caramel drizzled across the top like golden ribbon. Bits of brownie and nuts rested like treasure at the bottom.

Three spoons. One sundae. One perfect ending.

Sebastian was the first to dive in. “So good!” he declared through a mouthful of ice cream, chocolate smudging at the corner of his lip.

You leaned over and gently wiped it away with a napkin, smiling at him. “You’ve got a little sweet mustache, sir.”

Lando chuckled beside you. “I don’t blame him—it’s amazing,” he said, scooping some for himself, then dramatically dabbing the spoon along his bottom lip. “Oops.”

You arched a brow at him, grinning. “You too?” you teased, reaching over with your napkin, your fingers brushing gently against the stubble at the corner of his mouth as you wiped the chocolate from his skin.

The touch lingered just long enough to feel something.

Something unsaid, soft and magnetic.

Laughter filled the silence that followed, but in those moments between the bites of shared sundae and easy conversation, something had shifted. It wasn't just dinner anymore. It was the idea of something whole. Something healing. Something that felt like it might just last.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lando had offered to carry Sebastian, who had dozed off in the car almost immediately, his little hands still clutching his new, oversized grey shark plushie like it was a treasure chest. The plush, comically large in Lando’s other arm, bobbed gently with every step as they made their way through the lobby and toward the elevators.

You trailed just beside him, glancing at the way Lando carried your son—not with strain or awkwardness, but like he’d done it a thousand times before. One arm cradling the sleeping boy, the other balancing a plush shark nearly half his size. And somehow, it suited him. All of it did.

The elevator dinged softly as it opened, and the ride up was wordless, only the soft rise and fall of Sebastian’s breathing between you and Lando. When the doors parted again, it was just a short walk to the room. You fished out the keycard with one hand, the other gently brushing Sebastian’s back as Lando stood still, waiting.

Inside, the room welcomed you with that familiar dim hotel glow—soft lights above the bed casting a golden warmth over the tidy, lived-in space. The bed was unmade from earlier, pillows fluffed messily, blankets a bit rumpled, still marked by your shared laughter and rest from the afternoon.

“Here,” you whispered, stepping aside so Lando could carry him in.

Careful, like every movement held meaning, Lando walked over to the bed and gently laid Sebastian down, easing the shark plushie beside him so it tucked perfectly against the boy’s side. Sebastian stirred only slightly, lips parting with a sigh before his small hand instinctively reached for the shark, pulling it close in his sleep.

You knelt beside the bed, brushing back a few curls from his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

Lando stood back, watching in silence. He had never seen something so stilling. So complete.

After a moment, you rose, standing beside him in the quiet glow of the room. You both looked down at Sebastian, tucked in between hotel sheets and a plush shark almost as long as he was.

“He really knocked out,” Lando said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, as if anything louder might break the spell.

“He always does after a full day like this,” you murmured, wrapping your arms gently around yourself. “He gets so excited, burns through every ounce of energy, and then…” You smiled. “Out like a light.”

Lando chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping boy. “It’s kind of amazing. The way you just… have it all handled.”

You shrugged gently, your voice low and thoughtful. “I try. Some days feel easier than others. But when I see him like this… it’s worth everything.”

You looked up at Lando then, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, really looked—like he was seeing every piece of you that had gone unnoticed for too long. Not the mother, not the friend, but the woman. The one who loved deeply, gave endlessly, and somehow still had space for more.

His voice broke the silence gently. “Can I stay? Just for a bit.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And so you sat together at the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound filling the room. Sebastian’s breathing stayed steady. The shark plush sat like a sentry beside him. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe you weren’t carrying everything alone.

Both you and Lando held a conversation, quiet enough for just you two, getting to know him more, and you more.

And just like that, an hour struck back when Lando signaled he had to leave, he had to get up early for the grand prix tomorrow, something you and Sebastian would be able to witness thanks to your 3-day paddock club passes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun had barely kissed the track, and already the paddock buzzed with energy—media personnel weaving through, mechanics checking and re-checking, fans beginning to trickle in with banners, merch, and wide-eyed anticipation. But all eyes briefly shifted when you and Sebastian stepped through the paddock gates.

You, dressed in a sleek, body-hugging white ruched dress that shimmered in the sunlight like liquid porcelain, turned more heads than you intended. The dress, simple yet impossibly elegant, contrasted playfully with the bold orange McLaren cap atop your head and the matching McLaren racing jacket draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The crispness of the white Air Force 1s on your feet gave the look a relaxed finish—fashion meeting fandom in perfect balance.

At your side, Sebastian practically radiated pride, striding confidently in his mini Lando Norris race suit. The suit clung just right to his tiny frame, complete with patches, sponsor logos, and even the little McLaren emblem on the chest. His messy curls poked out from beneath a pint-sized matching orange cap, and his face lit up anytime someone complimented him or gave a high-five.

He gripped your hand excitedly, his other arm wrapped tightly around the jumbo grey shark plushie he refused to leave behind. "I want Lando to see me like this," he said proudly, giving a small tug to your hand as he looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

You looked down at him with a soft smile, brushing a curl off his forehead. “He’s going to love it, baby. You look like his number one fan.”

Sebastian beamed, his small boots clunking lightly as he walked. “That’s because I am!”

Your Christian Dior tote bag rested in the crook of your arm, holding all the little essentials a mother might need—snacks, wipes, sunscreen, and of course, a sharpie, just in case Sebastian wanted another autograph. The handmade beaded bracelets around your wrist—one reading "Norris", the other "Piastri"—were Sebastian's latest paddock project, and you wore them with pride.

The two of you made your way deeper into the paddock, receiving nods, warm smiles, and a few amused looks at the sight of your fashion-forward fit paired with your tiny race-suited shadow.

Cameras flashed subtly. Whispers of “That’s her—Lando’s…” didn’t faze you. If anything, they added a quiet confidence to your stride.

Sebastian looked up at you again, eyes wide with anticipation. “Do you think he’s here already?”

You smiled knowingly, tightening your grip on his hand. “I’ve got a feeling today’s going to be a really good one.”

The entrance to McLaren hospitality was buzzing with activity—team members moving briskly with radios clipped to their belts, PR assistants glancing over schedules, and cameras from F1TV floating by to capture glimpses of the drivers’ pre-race routines. You adjusted your cap slightly, offering a polite smile to someone who gave Sebastian a thumbs-up.

Before you could step inside, a familiar voice called out.

“Well, look who’s ready for race day,” Oscar Piastri said with a grin, walking toward you in full race kit, a McLaren water bottle in one hand and a relaxed ease in his walk. “That suit might be a little better than Lando’s, to be honest,” he added, squatting slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye level.

Sebastian beamed. “Thanks! I’m his biggest fan today. I brought Sharky too!” He held up the oversized plush with both arms, causing Oscar to laugh.

“Strong choice,” Oscar nodded approvingly. Then his eyes flicked to you. “And you—definitely win best-dressed in the paddock today. You sure you’re not the one about to race?”

You smiled, cheeks warming lightly. “If I were, I'd be aiming for champagne.”

Oscar smirked. “Spoken like a winner. Come in—Lando’s somewhere inside, probably eating his tenth pancake.”

You and Sebastian followed him into the hospitality suite, a wave of cool air greeting you as the bustle of the outside paddock melted into a more private space. The orange and black interiors were bright, clean, filled with quiet team chatter and the soft clinks of silverware from the breakfast spread.

And then—there he was.

Lando, standing near the buffet with his back partially turned, chatting with two engineers and a trainer. His hair still slightly tousled, arms crossed loosely over his chest, the relaxed smile on his face faltered slightly when he turned and spotted you.

You could see it—the brief flicker in his eyes, soft and surprised. And then, the warmest grin tugged at his lips.

“There he is!” Sebastian shouted, breaking into a run, nearly dragging Sharky behind him. Lando bent instantly, arms wide as Sebastian jumped into him, and Lando caught him with a practiced ease, spinning him in a playful half-circle before hugging him close.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky charm!” he said into Sebastian’s ear, before glancing up at you. His gaze held for a moment too long—just enough to make your heart squeeze.

“You guys came,” he said, softer now.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, matching his smile even though something about the whole thing tugged deep under your skin.

Lando set Sebastian down, his hand gently ruffling the boy’s curls. Then, as a few team members came up behind him, he motioned toward the two of you casually.

“Oh—uh, this is my friend Y/N,” he said, glancing at you before adding, “and this is Sebastian.”

Friend. Just a word. Harmless. Simple. But it sank somewhere heavy inside your chest. Not because he was wrong—but because, for a moment, you forgot that this wasn't something more. And maybe you’d let yourself believe otherwise.

Still, you smiled, your voice gentle. “Hi, nice to meet you all.”

The team greeted you both warmly—one even joking with Sebastian about being the team’s new mascot. Lando, meanwhile, had knelt down to adjust the strap on Sebastian’s mini race suit, talking to him about pit strategies like he was part of the crew.

You stayed quiet, watching them. You could’ve let it sting longer. But you knew the truth—there were no promises made, no titles given. Just shared moments, private smiles, and one night at an aquarium that left your heart hoping.

So instead, you brushed it off. Like you always did.

Because if today was about supporting Lando, then you’d do just that.

Even if he only called you a friend.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden flares across the asphalt as the pre-race grid walk commenced. The tension in the air was thick with adrenaline—crew members moving swiftly around the cars, broadcasters weaving through interviews, and fans leaning against the barriers for a glimpse of their favorites.

You held Sebastian’s hand tightly, navigating the chaos beside one of the most recognizable orange cars on the grid. The roar of engines testing systems vibrated under your shoes, and the smell of hot tires and fuel clung to the air. It was a world unlike any other—and Sebastian's eyes were wide with wonder.

“There he is,” you murmured, pointing as Lando stood next to his car, helmet off for now, laughing with a mechanic as a camera hovered nearby.

Sebastian tugged at your hand. “Can I go say good luck?” His voice was almost shy, though you could tell he was trying to be brave.

You gave a small nod. “Go on, buddy. Just stay where I can see you.”

The moment Sebastian let go of your hand, he marched with purpose through the buzzing grid. His little race suit was slightly rumpled from the excitement of the day, the McLaren logo and "4" on his back catching Lando's eye just before he turned fully.

Lando’s expression instantly softened when he saw him.

“Hey, mate,” he said, crouching down as Sebastian reached him. “You look like you're about to start this race with me.”

Sebastian grinned wide. “I just wanted to tell you good luck.”

Lando’s eyes flicked up briefly to find you watching nearby. You gave him a gentle smile, mouthing go get ‘em.

Back down to Sebastian, Lando said, “Thank you, buddy. Means a lot. I’ve got you cheering for me, so I think we’ve already got the edge.”

Sebastian held up his palm for a high five, and Lando met it without hesitation, then pulled him in for a quick hug. “This one’s for you,” he whispered, gently tapping his forehead to Sebastian’s helmeted head.

As Lando stood back up, he nodded toward you, walking over with a slow exhale. You could tell his mind was starting to flip into race mode—but still, there was a softness in his eyes as they met yours.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, voice low beneath the noise around you. “Both of you.”

“We’re always rooting for you,” you replied, meaning it more than you could say.

He hesitated for a second—like he wanted to say something more—but instead just smiled and backed away as one of the engineers handed him his helmet. He slid it on, the reflective visor clicking into place like a final shield.

Sebastian gave a little wave as Lando turned toward his car, stepping into the cockpit like it was second nature.

You placed a hand over your chest, watching him settle into the machine, surrounded by people—but somehow, still feeling like the only one on the grid.

“Alright,” you whispered to yourself, hand finding Sebastian’s shoulder as the grid began to clear. “Let’s watch him fly.”

The lights would go out soon.

And whatever the outcome, you knew this moment—this quiet, private piece of his very public world—would stay with you forever.

The atmosphere in the grandstands was electric. Fans in every direction waved orange flags, their cheers rising in a crescendo as the lights above the grid turned red one by one. The engines screamed in perfect harmony—then silence.

Lights out.

Twenty cars exploded off the line, tires gripping the asphalt as smoke trailed behind them. You and Sebastian sat just above the pit wall in a McLaren viewing box, hearts pounding as you watched Lando’s car surge forward, fighting for position into Turn 1.

“He’s in second!” Sebastian shouted, clutching your arm as Lando tucked behind the leading Red Bull car, timing his move.

Lap after lap, the field spread, then compacted again like a slingshot. Strategy came into play. Rain clouds loomed for a moment before disappearing. Pit stops became a test of perfect precision. McLaren nailed it—Lando out in clean air on Lap 32, tires fresh and focused.

Radio: “Alright Lando, we’re racing for the win here. Let’s push.”

And push he did.

Lap 41: He was closing the gap—half a second behind P1, DRS enabled. You leaned forward, barely blinking as the tension crackled through your bones.

“He’s gonna do it, Mommy!” Sebastian whispered, wide-eyed.

Lap 45: On the main straight, Lando darted left, then right—then made a daring lunge down the inside at Turn 4. Rubber screeched. His rival tried to hold on, but Lando was relentless, using every inch of the track, claiming the corner with the precision of someone who wanted this more than anything.

He was through.

The grandstand erupted. McLaren crew members leapt to their feet. You stood too, hands over your mouth in disbelief as Lando flew ahead.

Lap 48. Lap 52. Lap 56.

Every second stretched like eternity. But Lando held his line, controlled the pace, fought the wind, the pressure, the world.

Final lap.

You and Sebastian were on your feet, cheering, voices hoarse with anticipation. The McLaren pit wall was already half-standing in wait. Lando rounded the final corner, and with the checkered flag waving wildly in the air—

He crossed the line.

P1. Lando Norris wins the Grand Prix.

Tears flooded your eyes without warning, the emotions crashing over you like waves. Sebastian jumped up and down, shouting, “HE DID IT! HE DID IT!”

“YES, HE DID!” you laughed through your tears, sweeping him into your arms.

Radio: “Lando, you are a Grand Prix winner! P1, mate. You did it!”

His voice cracked through the radio, raw and overwhelmed: “Oh my god, finally. Finally. Thank you, team. That one was for all of you... and for someone watching up there too.”

You knew that "someone" was closer than he realized.

In the cool-down lap, he swerved left and right, waving at fans, helmet still on—but you could feel his smile. He stopped on the grid, climbed onto his car, raised his fists into the air, and the world lost its mind.

Trophies, champagne, confetti—those moments came next.

But nothing compared to the instant he saw you and Sebastian outside the garage afterward.

Helmet off, eyes scanning through the haze of celebration, his gaze landed on you both—and that’s when it hit him.

The roar of the crowd had softened into the background now—cheering still echoed in waves, but inside the back corner of the McLaren motorhome, it felt like the world had slowed down for just a moment.

Lando had just showered and changed into a clean team polo, though his curls were still damp and tousled. His skin carried the subtle pink flush from the heat, and his eyes—god, his eyes—looked exhausted but alive. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he got out of the car.

You sat on the couch with Sebastian, who had finally calmed from all the excitement, his small head resting against your side as his fingers absentmindedly played with the lanyard still hanging from his neck. He looked up as Lando stepped in.

“Hi, Champ.” you smiled, soft and genuine.

Lando looked at you, his expression faltering for just a moment—relief, disbelief, emotion. His voice dropped, quieter now than all the shouting and applause from earlier.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, dropping down onto the seat beside you, careful not to crush Sebastian’s legs.

“You earned every bit of it,” you said. “It was yours from the start.”

Sebastian sat up, crawling into Lando’s lap, wrapping his arms around him. “You were so fast! Like zoooom,” he said, making a whooshing sound. Lando laughed, burying his face in Sebastian’s shoulder for a second.

“Thanks, buddy. I told you I’d win today if I saw your suit.”

Sebastian beamed, proud as ever. “I’m your lucky charm!”

“Yes, you are.”

The moment was warm, cozy. The three of you felt like a little island in the middle of all the chaos. But that peace only lasted a beat before Carlos barged in through the door without knocking, grinning from ear to ear, still sweaty and in his Ferrari kit.

“Landoooo!” Carlos called, pointing a finger at him. “You said—if you ever won—you’d party.”

Lando groaned playfully. “Carlos—”

“No excuses!” Carlos waved off the protest. “We’re going out tonight. Whole paddock’s buzzing. It’s your moment, hermano. You're not skipping this.”

You looked over at Lando, who glanced back at you as if waiting for your response.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “Go celebrate. You deserve it.”

“But I wanted to spend time with you two,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to you and Sebastian again. “I don’t really care about—”

“Lando,” you interrupted softly, brushing your hand against his. “You can have this moment. We’ll still be here tomorrow. Go dance, drink, scream if you want to. You only get your first win once.”

He hesitated, then squeezed your hand.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Promise. We’ll be in bed, watching SpongeBob reruns or something. Go.”

Carlos threw an arm around Lando and smacked the back of his head. “Come on, before she changes her mind!”

Lando finally cracked a grin, standing up with Sebastian still in his arms. He looked at you once more—an unspoken thank-you in his eyes—before gently setting Sebastian down on the couch.

“I’ll text you when I get in,” he said.

“I’ll be asleep,” you teased, “but I’ll read it in the morning.”

As Lando and Carlos disappeared down the hallway, laughter echoing behind them, you leaned back on the couch, Sebastian curling up at your side again.

And though Lando had gone to celebrate with the world, it still felt like his heart had never really left that room.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Somewhere in Australia, while the soft hum of the hotel’s AC wrapped you and Sebastian in a cocoon of sleep, a different world pulsed to life just down the city blocks.

The club was dimly lit but alive—bass thrumming through the floorboards, the strobe lights slicing the shadows like flashes of lightning. Music thundered. Laughter echoed. Bodies moved in rhythm with careless joy. It was the kind of chaos that made the air feel electric, where sweat mixed with spilled liquor and every fleeting moment felt like something worth chasing.

And there he was—Lando.

Shirt half-buttoned, the edges loose and dancing with the rhythm of the club’s fan. His curls were damp at the edges, the scent of his cologne clinging stubbornly to his skin, mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey and champagne that hung in the air. His cheeks were flushed pink from both alcohol and adrenaline, and his smile—crooked and disoriented—never quite left his lips.

The celebration was real. Electric. He had finally done it—P1. The first win. The first taste of it. And everyone wanted a piece of him.

Carlos was lost somewhere in the blur of bodies, likely dancing on some table and encouraging shots with people Lando couldn’t name. McLaren team members toasted, DJs hyped him up. Strangers—women—slid into his space like gravity pulled them toward him.

He leaned slightly against a girl, laughter bursting from his chest, and she reached up, fingers brushing his jaw as if she belonged there. Cameras snapped in a flurry—flashes of light capturing a moment out of context but full of implication. Lando didn’t even register the blinking of notifications piling up in his back pocket. His phone was the last thing on his mind.

He was smiling. Drunk. Buzzing. Floating.

And in that moment—between the glass in his hand, the warmth of touch that wasn’t yours, and the loud encouragement of friends and strangers alike—he didn’t see the cracks beginning to form.

Because back in a quiet hotel room, wrapped in cotton sheets and the soft light of the night lamp, Sebastian slept soundly beside you, one hand still holding onto the tail of the jumbo shark plush, the other curled into your side.

And you? You were asleep. Or trying to be. Somewhere in your subconscious, maybe something felt... off. A small shift. A ripple. Like a thread tugging just slightly, signaling something had come undone while you weren't looking.

But Lando didn’t know. Not yet. Not as laughter swallowed him. Not as hands rested where they shouldn't. Not as the night captured a version of him that he might not even remember in the morning.

And certainly not as the world watched, waiting to see how this celebration would cost him something he hadn't yet realized was priceless.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The sun was high in the sky when you stirred awake, Sebastian’s soft breaths nestled against your side, the morning light seeping in through the cracks of the curtains. It was peaceful—at least, it should have been.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, wiping the sleep from your eyes, not prepared for the barrage of notifications that had flooded in overnight. Headlines. Photos. Mentions.

A single image opened first—Lando, flushed and smiling in a dim-lit club, his shirt undone, a girl’s hand resting on his chest like she belonged there.

Your chest tightened, breath catching just slightly. You scrolled slowly. More photos. More angles. One of her whispering into his ear. His smile wide, his body comfortably close. He didn’t look forced. He looked... happy. Drunk, yes, but happy.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

You stared for a long while, heart sinking, and yet—you said nothing. No text. No confrontation. No storming call demanding answers. What would be the point? You weren’t his. He had introduced you and Sebastian as his friends, hadn’t he? Not even close to what you thought you might have been.

So instead, you placed the phone down, slid out of bed, and began to pack.

Lando hadn’t texted that morning. Nor that afternoon. You made the decision to leave it at that.

At the airport, Sebastian clutched his stuffed shark, happily babbling about the turtles and fish, unaware of anything heavier lingering in the air. You smiled at him, fixed his little McLaren hoodie, and carried on as if the last few days hadn’t cracked something quietly inside you.

Lando met you at the gate, out of breath and sheepish, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie. “Hey,” he panted, “I was hoping I could say goodbye before you left.”

You smiled faintly. “Of course.”

He crouched to give Sebastian a hug, the little boy clinging to him like always. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he said softly.

“Okay,” Sebastian beamed.

Then Lando looked up at you. “We’ll stay in touch?”

You nodded, keeping your voice calm and pleasant. “Definitely.”

But definitely started to feel more like barely.

Weeks passed. Conversations that once felt effortless turned into polite check-ins. Lando would text, and you would take hours—sometimes days—to reply. You became harder to reach, more brief, no longer offering the warmth he had grown used to.

He noticed.

And eventually, Oscar noticed too.

They were in the paddock weeks later, preparing for another Grand Prix when Oscar finally confronted him during a quiet moment in the garage.

“Do you even know what you did?” he asked, arms crossed.

Lando blinked, startled. “What are you talking about?”

Oscar scoffed. “You don’t get it, do you? She saw the photos, mate. The club. The girl. That night you celebrated like a legend. She never said a word about it, but that’s why she pulled back.”

Lando’s stomach dropped.

Oscar continued, “She cared about you. I mean, really cared. She didn’t have to come to your race. She brought her son. Wore your colors. Stood in your world. And you—”

“I didn’t know,” Lando muttered, jaw tightening.

“Yeah,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “That’s the problem.”

Months slipped by like sand through fingertips.

Your messages came less frequently. Then they stopped altogether. But your Instagram didn’t. Every few weeks, Lando would find himself opening the app, searching for your name. There you were, always glowing.

One photo showed you and Sebastian at a pumpkin patch, his little arms wrapped around that same grey shark. Another had you walking on the beach with him, your smile soft but distant.

In one, you were dressed up for a night out. No tag. No mention of who took the photo. That one he stared at for too long.

The digital distance cut sharper than any silence ever could.

And now, the only way Lando kept up with the life he once dipped his toes into—was through a screen.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Three Months Later Off-season Break, Quiet Day in Monaco

Lando was sprawled across the sofa in his apartment, TV playing something he wasn’t watching, phone in his hand as his thumb hovered over Instagram. It had become a routine now — checking your page, looking for any glimpse of your life, of Sebastian, of the family he let slip through his fingers.

And then he saw it.

A hand. A delicate ring sitting neatly on a manicured finger. Resting against a familiar sweater he swore he’d seen on you.

The caption? A simple heart emoji.

And the comments —

“Engaged?! Omg congrats!! 💍” “Wishing you all the love and happiness!” “You deserve this 🥹💖”

His stomach dropped.

He blinked. Read it again. Scrolled. His hands began to shake slightly as he locked his phone, but it didn’t stop the pounding in his chest.

He didn’t even realize Carlos and Oscar had entered the apartment until Carlos tossed a water bottle at him.

“Earth to Norris,” Carlos called out. “What’s with the face? You look like someone just stole your car.”

Lando didn’t answer.

Oscar flopped into a chair and frowned. “Lando?”

He finally sat up, holding his phone like it was evidence in a crime. “I think she’s engaged.”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“She posted a picture. A hand. A ring. I don’t know if it’s hers but everyone’s congratulating her and—” he stood abruptly, pacing. “I knew I lost her. I just didn’t know it was already this far gone.”

Oscar leaned forward. “You haven’t talked to her in weeks, mate.”

“I didn’t know what to say!” Lando’s voice cracked. “I messed up. I let her walk away. And I’ve been watching her raise Sebastian like the strongest woman I’ve ever met while I sit here doing nothing.”

Carlos exchanged a glance with Oscar before stepping in front of Lando, voice firm. “So do something. Fly out there. Talk to her.”

Lando shook his head. “What if she doesn’t even want to see me?”

Oscar stood, crossing his arms. “Then at least you’ll know. But right now? You’re acting like a coward. You love her. Anyone with eyes could see it.”

Carlos nodded. “And that kid adored you. So either go tell her how you feel or spend the rest of the season wondering what might’ve been.”

Lando stood frozen for a moment — heart in his throat, chest tight — before he turned and grabbed his keys.

“Book me a flight,” he said, voice low. “Tonight.”

The next day Your doorstep – early evening

You weren’t expecting company, especially not when the sun had barely begun to dip behind the trees. So when the knock came, sudden and sharp, you wrapped a cardigan around yourself and padded over.

You opened the door slowly.

Lando stood there. Hoodie half-zipped, sneakers slightly dusty, hair messy like he’d run straight from the airport.

You froze.

He looked like hell. Beautiful, aching hell.

“Hi,” he breathed out. “I—I saw the ring post. I thought you were engaged. I thought you were gone.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “Wait, what?”

He shook his head. “The picture. I thought it was your hand. I didn’t read the caption, didn’t check anything, I just... I panicked. I flew here without even thinking. I had to see you. Had to know.”

You let out a breath, eyes wide. “Lando, that’s my best friend. She got engaged. I was posting for her.”

Lando blinked like he was waking up. His shoulders dropped as he let out a strangled laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood aside. “Come in.”

He walked in slowly, glancing around as though memorizing everything. Like the home you built with Sebastian was a life he’d only dreamed about.

He turned back to you and the laughter died.

“I thought I lost you,” he said again, voice cracking. “I’ve already been losing you. You’ve been slipping away since Australia, and I knew it. And I let it happen.”

You stayed quiet, waiting.

“I know I never said the right things. Or showed up in the right way. I messed up — at the club, and every day after when I said nothing.” He looked down. “But it was never because I didn’t care. I was scared. Scared that what I wanted was too much. That you’d realize you didn’t need me.”

“Lando—”

He stepped closer.

“I need you,” he whispered. “I love you. I love Sebastian. And it’s not some temporary, easy feeling. It’s deep, and messy, and real. I’ve felt like a ghost since I left. I check your Instagram just to feel something. Every time Sebastian smiles in a post I think, that used to be mine too.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was trembling now, the weight of months of silence collapsing in on him.

“I want to be there. Not for show. For real. I want to be the one Sebastian tells his secrets to, the one who packs school lunches, the one who kisses you goodnight, and doesn’t run when things get hard.”

You stared at him — eyes glassy, chest tight.

“You left,” you whispered. “You let me think I didn’t matter.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And if I have to prove otherwise for the rest of my life, I will.”

A small yawn echoed from down the hall.

“Mommy?” came the sleepy voice.

You turned just in time to see Sebastian peek out, hair messy, eyes wide. “Is Lando here?”

Lando crouched down gently. “Hey, buddy.”

Sebastian grinned. “You’re back.”

You looked between the two of them — the connection, the hope in Sebastian’s voice, and the pleading in Lando’s eyes.

And finally, your resolve cracked. You walked to him, wrapped your arms around him, and let yourself feel everything you’d pushed down.

“I’m scared too,” you whispered.

He pulled you closer. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sebastian was five now — bright-eyed, sharp with his words, and carrying more energy in his little frame than the entire grid on race day. The flat you now called home was tucked into a hillside in Monaco, where the sea kissed the edges of marble balconies and every window glowed with golden sunset light. Fancy, yes — sleek and curated — but warm with laughter, scattered toys, and the fingerprints of a real life being lived inside.

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and lemon, the sauce simmering gently as you stirred with one hand, the other resting absentmindedly over the curve of your belly. The moonlight filtered in through the glass doors, casting silver across the tiled floor. Music drifted low and slow in the background — something jazzy and nostalgic.

Peace. You had found it, and better yet, you had chosen it.

The door opened with a click and a rush of laughter. Sebastian’s giggles filled the flat as he kicked off his shoes, running to his room with the thud of socks against hardwood. Lando followed, gear bag slung over his shoulder, curls tousled from the wind.

You turned, smile playing at your lips. “How’d he do?”

Lando leaned in, stealing a brief kiss before answering. “He’s good. Like, really good. We might be raising the next world champion.”

You chuckled. “He gets it from you.”

Lando’s gaze softened. His hand moved instinctively to your bump, resting over the swell of new life. “And how’s this one doing?”

“She finally stopped her karate routine,” you joked, glancing down. “I think the smell of dinner soothed her.”

“A girl after my own heart,” he said with a grin.

Dinner was cozy, full of overlapping conversation — Sebastian animatedly recounting how he overtook someone on the final lap, and Lando grinning proudly at every word. Between bites, he’d chime in about his own upcoming races and how Sebastian’s form was already better than his at that age. You caught your gaze wandering now and then to the photo in the corner — your wedding day — frozen in time with the sound of the waves and laughter behind you, your veil tangled in the wind as Lando looked at you like he was seeing color for the first time.

After the dishes, which Lando insisted on doing — “Can’t have both of my girls stressed,” he’d said with a wink — the house quieted. Sebastian had curled up in bed with his shark plush and a bedtime story. And now, the two of you were lying in your bed, blankets tangled at your feet, your heads close, voices low. This was the part you loved most — not the trips or photoshoots or champagne showers, but the calm. The pillow talk. The shared world no one else got to see.

You’d once been a single mom fighting your way through life with tired eyes and a hopeful heart, never sure what the next day would bring. But here you were — Mrs. Norris now. With a son who bore that name proudly, and a daughter soon to join the world who would never have to question her father’s love.

The phone buzzed once. Lando rolled to check it.

“Old mate wants to go out tonight. Some club in town,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to you — your belly, your soft smile, your fingers gently tracing patterns across the duvet.

He paused. And then the decision came without thought.

“I’ll be home with the wife and kids,” he said aloud, tapping his screen off. “But you boys have fun.”

He tossed the phone on the bedside table and rolled closer to you, one hand sliding to rest over your belly, the other entwining with yours. He kissed your knuckles and sighed like someone who had run every race just to arrive here, in this exact moment.

“I really did change everything, huh?” he asked softly.

You nodded, resting your forehead against his.

“No,” you whispered. “We did.”

And outside, Monaco slept under a velvet sky, but inside that home, love stayed awake — breathing, growing, anchoring everything that mattered.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

TAG LIST: @fangirlmusicbiashoe @rexit-mo @jewelszn @rebelatbay @hellsingalucard18 @hc-dutch @pleasantphantomhologram @msliz @bunnisplayground @nicooolsstuff @f1norris04 @freyathehuntress @IiIaissa @thetorturedblogger @kodzuvk @degeathesaviour @kayleighlovesf1 @mcmuppet @nightrose-18 @mayax2o07 @wherethezoes-at @esw1012 @swiftlyboring

[p1girlfriend]

LANDO NORRIS X READER – CHAOTIC COUPLE HEADCANON

– You two are so loud. Like, it doesn’t matter where you are — someone is always telling you to quiet down or stop play-fighting.

– You’ve definitely been kicked out of at least one grocery store. Why? He tried to race you with a shopping cart. You ended up in the frozen food aisle screaming “DRS OPEN” as he pushed you like a maniac.

– Lando records everything. He has folders in his phone titled things like “her being insane 🤪” and “me being bullied 2024 edition.”

– You roast him CONSTANTLY. Like: “Who’s the best driver on the grid?” “Uhh, definitely not the guy who hit the bollard in Baku.” And he just gapes at you like you personally shattered his ego.

– Your inside jokes make no sense to anyone else. Just pure chaos. He’ll text you a picture of a duck and you’ll answer “not again, Lando, we talked about the explosion.” Like… what???

– Pillow fights. But violent. Like someone ends up on the floor gasping for air and you both call it “bonding.”

– But also? So baby. You wear his hoodies all the time. And he acts like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

– Lando: “You look ridiculous.” You: wearing his hat backwards, hoodie falling off your shoulder “You’re obsessed with me.” Lando: “Unfortunately.”

– He gets jealous in the pettiest ways. Like if someone flirts with you he’ll start over-performing. Kissing your cheek too loud. Carrying you on his back. Making you sit in his lap at dinner.

– You’ve definitely done horny shit in questionable places because neither of you have self-control. Like the McLaren motorhome bathroom? A storage room at a party? The simulator seat? Chaos.

– Arguments don’t last more than 10 minutes because you either both forget why you’re mad or one of you makes a stupid voice and the other loses it.

– You both scream at F1 races like armchair experts. “WHAT WAS THAT MOVE?” “I’m literally in the car—” “I KNOW AND IT WAS TRASH.”

– He calls you everything but your name. Baby. Gremlin. Trouble. Miss Ma’am. “The love of my life but also the reason I’m unwell.”

– And you? You call him “McLando” when you’re teasing. He pretends to hate it. He does not hate it.

– And when it’s quiet — when you’re curled into his side after a long day of mutual chaos — he’ll kiss your forehead and whisper, “You’re my favorite kind of madness.”

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Out of frame 1/4

Summary : Y/N and Lando Norris have been together for three years. Their relationship is real, steady, and full of quiet love but always behind the scenes. While fans know they’re a couple, Lando has never posted about her, avoids public displays of affection, and never mentions her in interviews. At first, Y/N understood. She believed it was about privacy, about protecting what they had. But over time, being constantly left out of frame has started to hurt.

Genre : angst, SMAU

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Faceclaim : @suanbeiii

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

@landonorris

Solid weekend for the team. Proud of the progress, still hungry for more.

@_user1 he really posted a whole carousel and not ONE pic of his gf who was literally trackside all weekend 😭

@_user2 not even a mention to Y/N… 🫠

@_user3 he posts more Oscar than his actual girlfriend 💀 priorities???

@_user4 if you didn’t already know they were together you’d 100% assume he’s single. this is just weird now.

@_user5 i get wanting privacy but this feels like pretending she’s not part of his life at all 🙃

@_user6 she looked so pretty this weekend too and nothing?? not even a tag? a repost?? okay then.

@_user7 lando i love you but if you post oscar one more time before your actual girlfriend... 😩

@_user8 she shows up to support him every time and he won’t even acknowledge her... she deserves someone proud to be with her tbh.

@_user9 THAT OVERCUT WAS SO SMOOTH. give this man a trophie 😤👏

@_user10 can we talk about how good he looked in that third pic omg 😮‍💨

@_user11 LANDO MASTERCLASS LET’S GOOOOO 🔥🔥🔥

@_user12 he’s so serious here omg bring back chaotic lando for a second pls

@your_username 📍Melbourne

Driver number 4 is kinda cute 💌

@_user1 the caption??? Y’ALL ARE SO LOWKEY BUT SO CUTE I’M CRYING 😭

@_user2 girl you’re soft-launching your boyfriend of 3 YEARS 😭😭

@_user3 that polaroid of lando casually thrown in there… I SEE YOU 👀

@_user4 ok but why is this post more romantic than anything he’s ever posted 🥲

@_user5 her at the track >>>>>

@_user6 driver number 4 better WAKE UP and post you too, queen.

@_user7 the way she supports him so quietly and consistently... deserves more recognition fr

@_user8 prettiest girl at the paddock 💘

@_user9 nah cause this aesthetic is everything

@_user10 “driver number 4 is kinda cute” is the most girlfriend thing i’ve ever read lmao

@landonorris

Recharge day after the race 🌊

@_user1 sir who is taking these pics 👀

@_user2 ok but you could’ve at least tagged your girlfriend if she’s behind the camera 🙃

@_user4 jumping into the ocean like he’s diving away from accountability

@_user5 you look happy but why does this give ‘i’m gonna ignore my gf again’ energy 😩

@_user6 lando pls post your gf for once we’re begging 😭

@_user7 this whole post is ✨aesthetic✨ and also suspiciously solo

@_user8 i know y/n is there i can FEEL it through the screen

@_user9 how are you real. like actually. it’s offensive at this point 😍🔥

@_user10 lando + blue water = serotonin

@your_username

Lost at sea but in love with it and maybe a little bit with him too @landonorris 💙

@_user1 oh she’s SERVING

@_user2 lando… baby… if you don’t want her I WILL 😌

@_user3 you’re literally the prettiest woman on this app i don’t understand how he keeps you hidden like a secret

@_user4 nah bc if i looked like this and he never posted me i’d simply disappear

@_user5 can lando even fight?? because you’re way too stunning for this level of invisibility 💅🏼

@_user6 he posts boats. she posts him. let that sink in.

@_user7 if she ever becomes single i’m standing outside her house with flowers

@_user8 the towel pic is giving summer movie ending energy 🥺

@_user9 not to be dramatic but he should be GRATEFUL to be in this post

Texts messages

Lando Got back to the hotel. You home safe?

Y/N Yeah. Landed an hour ago. Just got in

Lando You okay? You’ve been quiet since you left Did I do something?

Y/N Not really. I’m just tired

Lando Y/N. Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re fine but I can feel it’s not

Y/N Well Maybe there’s something

Lando Talk to me

Y/N I don’t want to argue with you, Lando. Not over text

Lando Then let’s not argue. Just tell me what’s on your mind. Please

Y/N Okay It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid But I saw the comments under your post

Lando The boat post?

Y/N Yes And the one from Melbourne to Every single one saying “where’s your gf” or “why doesn’t he post her” or “does she even exist”…

Lando Y/N You know that stuff isn’t real It’s Instagram. Fans talk

Y/N Yeah, but I am real And I was there. I’m always there But if I wasn’t posting you, no one would even know we’re together

Lando What are you trying to say?

Y/N I’m saying it’s starting to feel like maybe I’m the only one proud to be with you That maybe… you don’t want me to be visible. That I’m not someone you want to show off

Lando That’s not fair You know I’m private. I always have been. I don’t need to prove anything to strangers online

Y/N This isn’t about strangers It’s about me.

Lando We are public. People know we’re together. It’s not like I’m hiding you

Y/N Then why does it feel like you are?

Lando Y/N…

Y/N You say you don’t want to share too much online. Okay. But you don’t even talk about me in interviews. You don’t look at me in the paddock. You walk ten steps ahead. You don’t touch me in public. You don’t even smile at me if cameras are around

Lando You’re exaggerating.

Y/N Am I?

Lando So what, you want me to start posting couple selfies and PDA every weekend just to make people shut up?

Y/N No. I want you to want to Not for them. For me

Lando You know I love you. Why does it matter how many people see it?

Y/N Because maybe I want to feel like you’re proud of me Of us

Lando I am proud of us. I just don’t show it the same way you do

Y/N Then maybe we want different things

Lando ...what did you just say?

Y/N Maybe I want more More than quiet acknowledgments and careful distance

Lando You’re making it sound like I don’t care about you

Y/N Oscar is private too But he still posts about Lily. He talks about her in interviews, he includes her He makes her feel seen without compromising anything

Lando Are you serious right now?

Lando You’re really bringing up Oscar in the middle of this?

Y/N It’s not about him. It’s about how he finds a way to love her loudly without putting her in the spotlight she didn’t ask for

Lando Unbelievable.

Lando So what, now I’m not just a bad boyfriend, I’m worse than Oscar too?

Y/N That’s not what I’m saying, Lando...

Lando No, that’s exactly what you’re saying You want a boyfriend like Oscar? Go be with Oscar.

Y/N Wow. That’s what you got from this?

Lando You’re throwing comparisons in my face and expecting me to stay calm?

Y/N I’m trying to make you understand! I want to feel valued, Lando. I want to feel like I’m part of your life, not just your locked-away secret. Is that so unreasonable?

Lando So because I don’t perform our relationship for strangers online, I don’t value you? Do you hear how that sounds?

Y/N You’re twisting my words

Lando You’re making this about other people. About Instagram

Y/N No, I’m making this about how you treat me About how I feel invisible when I’m next to you and the world’s watching

Lando I didn’t realize dating me came with a rulebook on public affection

Y/N It doesn’t But I thought being with me came with basic emotional effort

Lando I’m always there for you. I love you. I give you everything I can But it’s never enough, is it?

Y/N Not when you act like this

Lando Fine. Enjoy Monaco. I’ll see you whenever

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie, @bunnisplayground, @nina481, @reallifemermaidprincess, @cars-and-frogs, @delululeclerc, @txmhxllqnd, @lydia-demarek, @destinyg237, @rhaenyrasversion, @sarascabiosa, @readz4u, @tvdtw4ever, @mynameisangeloflife, @teti-menchon0604, @suns3treading, @op814kitty, @prettyboyroseberg, @willowsnook, @ariesandwolves, @clarksgf, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @pinklemonade34, @fat-meh, @tiaajosephin, @landosbabe4, @easy4, @jule239, @mercrussell, @skylandori, @ryuucollapse, @nickie-amore, @fairyjinn, @seonaw, @mattslovelygf, @strawberrylov-er, @linnygirl09, @dilflover44, @bell1a, @f1fantasys, @sillyfreakfanparty, @janonymus0, @taetae-armyyyyy, @charlesgirl16, @angstynasty

[innorris]

More Than Just Old Friends / LN

The Quiet Before the Storm

Summary: Lando starts realizing his feelings for a longtime friend during a race weekend. A quiet moment between them hints at something more than friendship.

The paddock buzzed with the usual chaos of a race weekend—mechanics shouting over the whir of drills, media personnel chasing quotes, and fans lined up behind barricades hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers. But Lando Norris had tuned it all out. His gaze was fixed on someone else.

She was standing near the McLaren garage, talking to Carlos Sainz. Her presence wasn’t new—she had been around for years—but lately, something about the way she smiled or pushed her hair behind her ear made him see her differently.

Lando leaned against a metal railing, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. An excuse to talk to her? A moment alone? He didn’t know.

“Are you going to stare at her all day or actually say something?” Dani Rics voice cut through his thoughts as he approached with his usual playful swagger.

Lando scoffed, pretending to look away. “I’m not staring.”

Daniel laughed. “Mate, you’re basically in a rom-com montage. All that’s missing is the music.”

“Shut up,” Lando muttered, but a smile crept onto his face anyway.

Daniel nudged him with his elbow. “You’ve known her forever. What’s stopping you?”

That was the thing. He had known her forever. Their friendship dated back to karting days—when helmets were too big for their heads and the only thing that mattered was who got to the finish line first. She was a constant. Someone who understood the madness of motorsport without ever needing it to define her.

Lando didn’t want to risk ruining that.

He was pulled from his thoughts when she turned and caught his eye. She smiled and waved.

God, that smile.

He waved back, pretending to be casual.

Later, after media obligations were done and the sun began to dip behind the garages, she found him sitting alone at the edge of the pit lane, legs hanging over the concrete ledge.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft,” she said, plopping down beside him.

He grinned. “Just enjoying the quiet before qualifying.”

She looked at him for a moment. “You always do this. Go quiet the night before a big race. What’s in that overthinking brain of yours this time?”

Lando shrugged. “Just… stuff.”

“‘Stuff,’” she repeated, amused. “That’s very specific.”

He turned to look at her, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “You know me. Man of mystery.”

She rolled her eyes. “More like man of sarcasm.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. The air between them wasn’t awkward—but there was a weight to it. Something unspoken. Something waiting to break through the surface.

Finally, she nudged him gently with her shoulder. “You remember that race in Valencia when you waved at me from the track and then nearly spun out?”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

She laughed. “You were so embarrassed.”

“I thought I was being smooth.”

“You were being an idiot.”

He grinned. “Maybe I was trying to impress you.”

She paused at that. Her smile faded just slightly, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Were you?”

Lando looked at her, seriously this time. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Her breath hitched ever so slightly—but then she smiled again, brushing it off with a smirk. “Well, if that was your best move, I’m not impressed.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Good thing I’ve got better ones now.”

She stood up, stretching, clearly ending the conversation—but not without throwing him a glance over her shoulder. “We’ll see about that, Norris.”

He watched her walk away, a smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe… just maybe, he wasn’t imagining it after all.

[cressidagrey]

You are in Love

Summary: Emilie Abadie still didn’t care about Formula 1. But she may care about a specific McLaren Driver. 

Warnings and Notes: 

I promised and here it is. Second Spin off featuring Emilie and Lando.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Emilie hadn’t planned on arriving early. But the flight had landed ahead of schedule, her suitcase had actually appeared on the carousel like a miracle, and the driver had taken a shortcut that shaved twenty minutes off the usual paddock run. 

For once in Emilie Abadie’s chaotic little life, the universe was in fact cooperating.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Belle - just a location tag. No words. No fuss.

Classic Belle: elegant emotional manipulation dressed up as casual precision.

Emilie adjusted her sunglasses on her head and smoothed a hand over her linen jumpsuit as she walked. 

Singapore’s heat hit like a wall, heavy and immediate, but her nerves were louder. It had only been eight days… (Emilie knew that, she counted them)  but something about Lando in this particular city made her feel…things.

Lando liked night races. He liked dumplings and market stalls and neon lights reflecting off the marina. He always said the chaos of Singapore matched the chaos in his head, which she found oddly poetic for someone who once got stuck inside a beanbag chair and called it “the most humbling moment of my adult life.”

As she reached the edge of the McLaren hospitality, Emilie hesitated… just for a second.

She could see the terrace through the slats of the fencing. People scattered at tables, laughter in the air, that unique pre-race buzz humming through everything. And there - not far - was him.

Lando.

Animated. Talking too fast. Probably retelling his quali lap with hand gestures and self-deprecating flair. His curls were damp with sweat and he’d shoved his cap on backwards, like always. He was smiling.

But not with his eyes.

She knew that smile. It was the one he wore when he was trying really hard to pretend. The one that didn’t crinkle the corners or soften his face. Just teeth and noise and practiced charm.

It made her chest ache.

Her gaze flicked across the terrace, and found Belle sitting in the corner beside Max, looking deeply smug. She didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. Just gave the world’s tiniest nod. A signal.

Go.

Emilie moved.

She didn’t think. She just walked. Past the tables, past the sunlit terrace, cutting through engineers and junior drivers like they were static. It was instinct. Like orbiting back to gravity.

She caught the moment Lando noticed. Saw the flicker of confusion, the sudden stillness, like he was watching something impossible.

He turned. And froze.

His eyes went wide. His whole body locked like a system crash.

“Holy—” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

Her arms were around his neck before he could even breathe out the next syllable. He smelled like sweat and sunscreen and the detergent from his race suit. He was so warm and so very real, and Emilie felt the week of missed calls and longing texts collapse in on itself.

Lando’s arms wrapped around her like muscle memory. One hand curled at the back of her head. His chin tucked instinctively against her temple.

“Hey, idiot,” she whispered, half-laughing, half-choked. “You didn’t think I was missing night race dumplings, did you?”

Lando made a sound halfway between a choked laugh and a whimper, and Emilie felt the last thread of her exhaustion unravel in his arms. 

God, she’d missed him. His warmth, his scent, his chaotic aura and stupid jokes. The way he somehow made her feel like everything, everything, was a little more bearable, even when the world was loud.

She pulled back just enough to look at him.

He looked overwhelmed. Damp curls clinging to his forehead. Wide eyes. That open, helpless expression she’d seen sometimes on his face when he watched her. Like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. 

Around them, the terrace kept buzzing. She heard Oscar’s voice, low and amused. A quiet laugh from somewhere to the left. Probably Belle, watching with all the satisfaction of a woman who knows she’s done something good and thinks she’s subtle about it.

“I thought you were in Denmark until Sunday,” he said, voice hoarse.

“I was. Then Belle weaponized her unborn child and guilt-tripped me into flying to Singapore”

Lando blinked. “That tracks.”

And then his arms were around her again, and Emilie let herself melt into it. Around them, the world kept turning…Oscar made a dry comment that made someone laugh, a camera clicked somewhere in the distance, Belle gave her a little wave from across the terrace, smug as hell—but none of it mattered.

Emilie didn’t care.

She closed her eyes and held on tighter, like if she let go now, she might not get another chance.

And maybe later she’d tease him about sulking. About dramatic sighs and sad-boy playlists and whatever nonsense he pulled while she was gone.

But not right now.

Right now, it was enough to be back. In his arms. In this stupid, sweaty, beautiful corner of the world where everything always felt like too much…and exactly right.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Lando Norris

Lando: hey just wanted to say thank you

Belle: for what?

Lando: for telling Emilie to come for making that happen i know you did. don’t pretend you didn’t

Belle: 😇

Lando: you’re terrifying and also the best

Belle:I prefer “emotionally strategic genius,” but I’ll accept “the best”

Lando: seriously though i haven’t felt like myself in a while not properly but when she showed up… everything clicked again

Belle:Good That’s what she does, doesn’t she?

Lando:Yeah she’s like coming up for air

***

The air-conditioning hummed low in the background, but the humidity still clung to Lando’s skin like a second layer. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, barefoot, damp curls falling into his eyes, fidgeting with the corner of a room service napkin like it had wronged him.

Emilie stood near the window, her linen jumpsuit swapped out for one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts she’d dug out from her overnight bag. Her hair was damp from the shower. Her face was bare. She looked at home.

And he was terrified.

Not because she was here…but because he knew, somehow, this was the moment. The line they hadn’t crossed. Not really. Not with words.

He didn’t look up when he spoke. “I missed you.”

It came out quieter than he meant it to. But true.

Emilie turned from the window. Her expression softened. “I missed you too.”

He let out a breath, short and sharp. “I thought I was fine, you know? Like…I’m a grown man. You went to work. Not Mars.”

Emilie crossed the room and sat beside him. “And yet?”

“And yet I was pathetic,” he muttered, glancing sideways. “Oscar caught me listening to your voice messages.”

She blinked. “You listened—”

“I was down bad, Emilie. Like, tragic. I think I even made a sad playlist.”

She gave a quiet, delighted laugh. “Oh, baby.”

Lando smiled, but it faded quickly. His fingers stilled on the napkin. “You’re the first thing that’s felt... steady. In a while.”

Her smile faltered. He wasn’t joking anymore.

“I know I’m all over the place,” he continued. “On track. Off track. I make dumb jokes and act like everything’s fine even when it isn’t. But when I’m with you… I don’t have to do that. You don’t need me to be anything except… me. And I don’t think I realised how rare that was until you weren’t here.”

Silence stretched between them, warm and heavy and full of everything he hadn’t said before.

Emilie didn’t interrupt. She just reached out and took his hand, threading their fingers together.

“I don’t want to be casual about this anymore,” he said, eyes still fixed on their joined hands. “Whatever we’ve been doing… halfway, undefined, letting everyone think we’re just friends… I don’t want that. I want it to be real. Official. Known. I want you.”

Emilie was very quiet.

Lando finally looked up. “If that’s not what you want, that’s okay. Just… don’t lie to spare me.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then exhaled. “You’re an idiot.”

He blinked. “That feels mean in context.”

“You’re an idiot,” she repeated, softer this time, “because you think you’ve been the only one scared.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I didn’t want to say anything first,” she admitted. “Because I thought… if I say it, and you don’t feel the same way, if I ruin the best thing I’ve had in years because I wanted more… then what? But the truth is, I’ve felt like this for a while.”

Lando’s throat worked around a swallow. “How long?”

“Long enough that not saying it has started to feel dishonest.”

He laughed…quiet, awestruck. “So say it.”

She smiled, something a little shaky in it. But true. “I’m in love with you.”

Lando stilled.

Then he surged forward, hand curling around the back of her neck, mouth pressing into hers like he’d been holding it in for months.

When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, breath uneven. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “Properly. Now.”

Emilie smiled into his skin. “I always was.”

And just like that, everything slotted into place.

***

It was the kind of heat that didn’t just settle on your skin—it sank in. Thick, sweet, almost alive. Singapore didn’t do quiet. Not even at night. Not even after the fireworks died and the engines went still. There was always something humming—underfoot, in the air, inside her chest.

Emilie stood just past the barriers near Parc Fermé, surrounded by chaos, but strangely untouched by it. She had come down with the mechanics, badge clipped to her collarbone, her fingers curled tight around its edge like it was the only thing grounding her.

She hadn’t even thought about what she was doing. She’d just… moved. Like instinct. Like orbit.

And then she saw him.

Lando.

Helmet off. 

Still trembling, still breathless. He’d driven like a man possessed—like someone burning for something, someone. And when the checkered flag dropped, Emilie swore she felt it in her teeth. 

That kind of win doesn’t whisper. It shouts.

But what really unraveled her wasn’t the win.

It was the way he looked at her when he found her in the crowd.

It wasn’t just relief. It wasn’t just joy. It was recognition. Like his entire body had been straining toward something and now - finally - he could stop.

There was no hesitation.

One stride. Then two.

And then he was there, in front of her, hands coming up to cup her face like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like the only thing holding him together was the fact that she was here.

And then he kissed her.

Not a PR kiss. Not a cautious “maybe if we angle this right it won’t go viral” kiss.

No - this was reckless and real and right there in front of every camera lens in a ten-mile radius. His mouth against hers, desperate and tender and breathless. She tasted champagne and adrenaline and something wild, something golden. His hands trembled as they curled around her waist. Her nails curled into his shoulders.

The crowd exploded. Applause. Cheers. Someone whistled like they were at a wedding. Someone else yelled “GET IN THERE, NORRIS!” like it was the finale of a romcom they’d all been waiting for.

But Emilie didn’t hear it. Not really.

All she heard was the sound he made when he pulled back just slightly, forehead pressed to hers, nose brushing hers. That broken little laugh. That sound of disbelief and joy and love all tangled together.

“I won,” he whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back.

And then he picked her up like she weighed nothing and spun her. Just once. Just because he could. Because the world was spinning anyway.

She could hear Oscar saying something behind them (probably deadpan and hilarious) and someone on the McLaren crew absolutely howling. But none of it stuck.

Because all she could think was: this is it.

Not just the win. Not just the kiss. But the moment. The shift.

There was no going back after this.

No hiding. No halfway.

This was his world, and he’d pulled her into it like she belonged there.

And for once, Emilie didn’t flinch under the weight of being seen.

She leaned into it.

Into him.

And as he kissed her again—softer this time, slower—she knew something else too:

This wasn’t the end of anything.

It was the beginning.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Lando: Mate.

Max: oh look who won a race and became the main character big night for you, rom-com boy

Lando: shut up

Max: no actually I won’t you kissed her in Parc Fermé with your HAIR doing that curly mop drama do you want a movie deal or should i start pitching it for you?

Lando: i blacked out okay

Max: you kissed her like she was oxygen and you’d been drowning sky sports is already calling it “the kiss that broke the internet” crofty said he felt emotions

Lando: he WHAT

Max: don’t worry i’m making a montage music options so far include: – “Can’t Help Falling in Love” (classic) – “Unwritten” (chaotic) – or just a slow-mo replay with crowd screams behind it

Lando: i will block you

Max: you kissed her and spun her around are you trying to get nominated for a Teen Choice Award?? do we need to get you a surfboard trophy?

Lando: it wasn’t planned i just… saw her and it was like. yeah. her. the win was hers too

Max: 🥹 okay fine that’s actually adorable still gonna roast you though

Lando: i’d be offended if you didn’t

Max: also oscar said you made a noise like a sick baby deer when she hugged you

Lando: i’m ending this conversation now

Max: love you too, parc fermé prince 💋

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Belle Verstappen

Emilie: so we’re official

Belle: you’re kidding

Belle: i thought you already were?? you’ve been attached at the soul for like two months

Emilie: we hadn’t said it you know? not out loud but now it’s real. like… capital-R real

Belle: i’m so happy for you and also going to start charging you rent for how often you live in denial

Emilie: you’re not wrong but he said it, belle he said he wants this us. publicly. completely.

Belle: you deserve it, Em all of it

Emilie: i didn’t think it’d ever feel like this like being wanted could feel safe

Belle: that’s what love’s supposed to be not fireworks not tension just… a soft place to land

you’re allowed to be happy and soft and loved

Emilie: i didn’t think i’d ever get all three

Belle: you got them in a boy with curls and questionable fashion sense

Emilie: god help me

Belle: yes. you can trust him. he loves you with his whole dumb, golden retriever heart

Emilie: okay thank you (for seeing it before i did)

Belle: always. now go be disgustingly in love

[norcigs]

LANDO NORRIS PRAISE . . .

“youre doing so good baby, take me so well, like you were made for me”

“can you keep your legs open for me, pretty girl? shh shh i know it feels too good. make me proud, yeah?”

“fucking hell— youre so wet bunny, basically sucking my cock with that tight little cunt”

“treat me so good and then let me fuck you like a slut i dont deserve you sweet girl”

“thats my girl, there she is. keep going baby, use that fucking mouth”

“youre such a good listener. follow my instructions so well. such a good girl”

“just stay still bunny, let me use this pussy— its driving me fucking crazy”

“look how easily my cock slips inside of you.. your pussy knows who it belongs to”

“you look so good.. starstruck and sucking my cock like its your lifeline. pretty girl for daddy, hm?”

“every time i bottom out in this fucking cunt, i think about making u my wife, and fucking you forever”

“you like that, baby? you just wanna spread your legs and make me feel better? fuck, doll, youre too good to me”

“let it go slut, cum on my cock like the whore i know you are, you deserve this, you earned this”

[sunrizef1]

manchild!

Pairing: Lando Norris x Ex!Reader, Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warnings: Cheating

Authors Note: idk

Requested: No

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ynln

liked by lando taylorswift and 12,011,124 others

ynln turns out love can’t fix emotional immaturity

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selenagomez been there 💌 so proud of you girl 🫶

danielricciardo can’t wait for the diss track

user1 lol

user2 get his ass

oliviarodrigo amen 🙏

user3 girl why did lando like 😭

user4 where does my girl keep finding these absolute children to date???

user5 louder for the people in the back 🗣️

taylorswift 🤍

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lando not everything has to be public

this comment has been deleted

maxverstappen1 I tried to warn you

user6 yall see Lando’s comment???

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lewishamilton liked your story ♥️

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alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story!

alexandrasaintmleux

His loss 😍

ynln

Ily 💋

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ynln f**k my life! ‘Manchild’ - out now 💋

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user7 VOCALSSSSSS

user8 wait! I love 😭😭😭

user9 my country queen

user10 this is Miss Americana

taylorswift summer of Yn!

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charles_leclerc im gonna stay out of this one… 🫣

user11 imagine being lando and fumbling this diva

user12 AMENNNNNN

user13 it’s giving chappel

lewishamilton 👏

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oscarpiastri 🎶🎵

lando really?

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popgoss has Yn finally found a driver more her speed? The “manchild” singer was spotted getting quite cozy with seven-time world champion, Lewis Hamilton, in London today!

load comments…

user14 she really went from manchild to a real man

user15 I’ve always preferred Ferrari

user16 oh thank god, she looks so good in red

user17 wait… I ship

user18 a MAN

user19 Lando’s somewhere crashing out

user20 the better driver won

user21 stream manchild!!!

user22 her getting with Lewis has to be so devastating for Lando

user23 like seeing your crush get with your cooler older brother lol 😭

user24 lando who????

user25 she WANTED him to see this lmfao

user26 Lando’s gonna start thirst-trapping again I can’t

user27 Lando getting cooked on every platform rn

user28 they are genuinely so hot together

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ynln I like my men competent

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user29 are those LEWIS’S TATTOOS????

user30 I spy father!!!!

user31 love her fully pretending this is a soft launch when we all know who that is

user32 LEWIS!

user33 I’m willing to bet Lewis took that third picture

user34 I hear Lando screaming in the distance

taylorswift happy for you!

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danielricciardo 👀

user35 lewisssssssss

user36 who’s the most competent driver on the grid? 👀… exactly. Lewis.

user37 upgraded

selenagomez 💌

lewishamilton 🙋🏽‍♂️

ynln 💋

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Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie

[theonottsbxtch]

NO BABYSITTER NEEDED | LN4

an: i have this delusion that i could 100% change his bad habits because i work as a personal assistant and have experience in childcare. so enjoy this. also if you struggle with mental health, always know im here to talk <3

summary: lando norris, f1 golden boy who hasn’t slept properly in months and lives off protein bars gets assigned a carer by max who reminds him to eat, sleep, and maybe feel something other than anger or guilt. she brings flowers into his sterile flat and hides his gym clothes so he’ll actually rest and he lets her. and somewhere between her gummy vitamins and his races, he realises he doesn’t just need her, he wants her too.

wc: 10k

“ABSOLUTLEY NOT.”

Lando stood in the middle of his sparsely furnished flat, arms folded, jaw tight. The overhead light flickered once, as if in protest too. Max, seated on the battered grey sofa with a cup of tea he’d made himself, simply raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve not eaten today, have you?”

“I had a protein bar.”

“That doesn’t count, mate.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to the side. He knew Max was right. The protein bar had been from the stash he kept in his gym bag, a dry, tasteless thing that barely passed as food. Still, admitting that would mean giving ground, and he wasn’t in the mood.

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “I’m not eighty-five.”

Max sighed, setting down his tea with the sort of calm that only long-suffering best mates could master. “She’s not a babysitter. She’s… a carer. Technically.”

“Oh, brilliant. Even worse.”

The silence that settled wasn’t comfortable. Outside, the steady hum of Monaco traffic drifted through the slightly ajar window. Somewhere below, someone shouted about bin day. Lando raked a hand through his curly brown hair and paced towards the kitchen. Max didn’t need to follow him to know what he’d find.

The fridge opened with a creak. Lando grimaced. A carton of milk two weeks out of date. Half a wilted bag of spinach. One lonely caprisun.

“See?” Max called from the living room. “You need someone to help.”

Lando shut the fridge, harder than he needed to. “I’m not broken.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you’re not exactly in one piece either.”

That one landed. He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. His eyes were tired, darker than usual, with the tell-tale puffiness that came from pushing through sleepless nights. After a bad race, it was always the same: the silence, the self-punishment, the long hours in the gym until his arms shook, or the empty buzz of late-night gaming until sunrise blurred into morning.

Lando wasn’t cruel, not to others. But he was brutal to himself.

Max stepped into the kitchen, soft-footed. He opened the cupboard, plucked a cereal bar, and tossed it to Lando. “Just give her a week. One week. If it’s hell, I’ll back off. You can go back to forgetting to eat and dying slowly. Deal?”

Lando caught the bar, didn’t unwrap it. He stared at it like it might explode. After a long moment, he gave a non-committal grunt.

“Fine,” he said at last, eyes flicking up. “But just a week.”

The doorbell rang at exactly ten o'clock.

Lando was on the sofa, one leg slung over the other, arms crossed, face unreadable. He hadn't shaved that morning. Or the one before, probably. Max, already halfway to the door, shot him a look.

“Try to smile, yeah?” he muttered.

Lando didn't answer. Max opened the door.

“Hiya,” came a warm, bright voice. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure which buzzer it was. I guessed.”

“You guessed right.” Max smiled, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold with a kind of lightness Lando noticed but didn’t comment on. Trainers, jeans, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She didn’t look like a carer, whatever that meant. But then again, what did he expect? A clipboard and scrubs?

Her eyes flicked to him on the sofa and lit up with a friendly smile.

“You must be Lando.”

“I must be,” he said, dryly.

Max shot him a warning look. She didn’t seem fazed, though. Just walked in like it wasn’t a battlefield.

“I’m here for the trial week,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a small notebook. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take over your life. Just nudge it in a slightly healthier direction.”

Lando snorted. “Great. Can’t wait to be nudged.”

Max coughed to hide a laugh.

She sat on the armchair across from him, perching rather than settling, like she didn’t want to assume too much. Lando appreciated that. A bit.

“So,” she said, flipping open the notebook. “What’s your usual routine, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Train. Race. Gym. Repeat.”

“And food?”

He shrugged. “When I remember.”

“Sleep?”

Another shrug. “When I can.”

She smiled, scribbling something down. “Right. Noted.”

Lando tilted his head. “You’re very… upbeat.”

“Would you rather I was miserable?”

“No, just…” He waved a vague hand. “You’re in a flat with a stranger who clearly doesn’t want you here. I’d be a bit put off.”

“Well,” she said, closing the notebook, “I’m not easily put off. And you don’t scare me.”

That surprised a breath of laughter out of him, more exhale than anything, but it was the closest he’d come to smiling in days. Max looked between them, pleased.

“She’s good,” he said to Lando. “Give her a day. You’ll be grateful by tonight.”

Lando leaned his head back on the sofa, eyes half-closing. “We’ll see.”

She stood up. “I’ll pop to the shop, then. I’m sure the fridge is crying for help.”

Max dug into his pocket, handed her twenty euros. “Get whatever you think he won’t argue about eating.”

“Right,” she grinned. “Crisps and biscuits, got it.”

She left with a wink. Lando opened one eye, watching her go. Max gave him a look that was both smug and fond.

“You like her.”

Lando didn’t reply.

But he didn’t protest, either.

He didn’t last long after Max left.

He didn’t announce it, didn’t say goodbye, just grabbed his keys, mumbled something about “needing air” and left her alone in the flat. It wasn’t meant to be rude, not really. He just didn’t know what to do with her being there, so full of smiles and softness and trying. It made his skin itch in a way he couldn’t explain.

So, he went to the gym. Again. Even though his arms still ached from last night. Even though he’d barely slept. He didn’t care. Pushing himself until the edges blurred was easier than sitting in silence with a stranger who was supposed to fix what he wouldn’t admit was broken.

He stayed out longer than he planned. Took the long way home. Wandered a bit, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the fading light. He even stopped off at the corner shop and bought a bottle of water he didn’t want, just to delay the inevitable.

But eventually, the sun started dipping below the Monegasque skyline, and he had no more excuses.

When he opened the door, he paused.

The flat looked different.

Not massively, not like she’d moved furniture or painted walls, but nicer. The blinds had been tugged all the way open, letting the warm orange light of evening spill in. The windows had been cracked open too, letting out the stuffy, lived-in gym-sweat air he’d become nose-blind to. On the kitchen counter sat a small bunch of flowers in an old pint glass, cheap daffodils, probably from the shop down the road, bright yellow and unapologetically cheerful.

And she was cooking.

He blinked.

She hadn’t heard him come in. She had music playing quietly from her phone and she was humming under her breath as she stirred something on the hob. She’d tied her hair up, sleeves rolled, apron on that definitely wasn’t his.

He hovered at the doorway like a ghost.

“I won’t eat fish,” he said, voice flat.

She jumped slightly, then turned to him with a grin, unbothered. “Good thing I’m not making fish then.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I know,” she added, casually flipping something in the pan. “And you don’t like raw tomatoes. Or coconut. Or mushrooms unless they’re chopped so small you can’t see them. I did my homework.”

He folded his arms, suspicious despite himself. “Homework?”

“Max told me what he could, and the rest I found in old interviews. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

He had no idea what to do with that. “Right.”

She nodded towards the side counter. “There are some vitamins over there if you fancy. They’re the gummy ones, so they’re fun to eat.”

Lando turned his head slightly. Sure enough, there was a bottle of multivitamin gummies sitting next to a clean glass of water. He squinted at it like it might bite.

“You think that’s going to fix me?”

“Nope,” she said, flipping off the hob and plating something. “But you’ll taste strawberry and get a vitamin boost, and that’s two good things. Two’s better than none.”

He watched her carry the plate to the table, proper food, he realised. Real stuff. A bit of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, some sort of green that didn’t look like it came from a packet. She’d even set out cutlery.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, but his voice had less edge than before.

“No, but your fridge did. Loudly.” She smiled. “Sit down, Lando.”

It was the first time she’d said his name. It startled him, how easily it came out of her mouth, no weight, no judgement, just lightness.

He didn’t move right away. But the flat smelled warm for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. It smelled like food, and flowers, and something gentle he couldn’t place.

Eventually, he sat.

And he took the bloody vitamin.

He started eating without saying much, though to be fair, the food shut him up quickly. It was annoyingly good. Not fancy, not trying too hard, just cooked well. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the first bite, and now his fork barely paused between mouthfuls.

While he ate, she moved around the kitchen, wiping down surfaces that were already pretty clean, rinsing the chopping board, putting away the little packet of daffodils that had come with the flowers. She was humming again, soft and almost tuneless, like it was more for her than anything else.

He watched her from the corner of his eye.

After a few minutes, he frowned.

“What about you?” he said, voice low. “Are you not going to eat?”

She looked up from where she was drying a mug. “I eat after work.”

He stopped chewing. “That’s weird.”

She laughed, not offended. “Not really. I’m used to it. I don’t like eating in other people’s homes unless I’m invited to.”

“Well… I’m inviting you now.”

Her eyes softened a little. “Thanks. But I’m alright, honestly.”

He stabbed a bit of potato. “Can you at least sit? You’re making me feel like I’m in a restaurant.”

That seemed to surprise her. She blinked, then nodded, pulling out the chair opposite him.

“You’re on edge,” she said gently, not like she was accusing him, just stating it.

He didn’t deny it.

She leaned back in the chair, folding her hands on the table, not trying to fill the silence with too much. Just being there. He hated how much of a relief that was.

After a beat, she tilted her head. “So… do you actually enjoy racing? Or is it just something you’re brilliant at?”

He looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.

“No one’s ever asked it like that before.”

She smiled. “Well, everyone knows you’re brilliant at it. But enjoying it that’s something else.”

He chewed, swallowed, shrugged. “I used to. When I was a kid. I’d sit in front of the telly with my dad and pretend I could hear the engines. I used to think the drivers were invincible.”

Her smile didn’t fade, but it did soften into something more thoughtful. “And now?”

“Now I know they’re not,” he said simply. “Now I know I’m not.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t rush to fix it or tell him he was, in fact, invincible. Just let it sit there.

He liked that more than he expected.

“You know,” she said after a quiet moment, “I watched last year's Brazil race before I came. The one where it rained.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “That bloody race.”

He didn't think of it fondly, until she spoke again.

“You made that turn like it was nothing. Everyone else looked like they were wrestling their cars, and you just… glided.”

He looked at her properly for the first time that evening. “You watched it for research?”

She nodded. “Had to see what I was dealing with.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re very strange.”

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”

He picked up the glass of water next to his empty plate, holding it in both hands. He didn’t know how to name the feeling in his chest, tight and loose at once. Like something had shifted half a centimetre to the right.

He didn’t say thank you.

But he didn’t ask her to leave, either.

The flat had gone quiet again and before he knew it, he’d finished his food and she’d taken the plate.

Lando sat there a while after she’d gone to tidy up again, not quite ready to move. His limbs were warm and heavy with food, his stomach full for the first time in, God, he couldn’t remember. The corner of his eye still caught the flash of yellow from the daffodils. Even the clutter on the coffee table had been gently rearranged, like someone had lived here instead of just existed in it.

He stood eventually, dragging a hand through his hair.

He didn’t say goodnight. But as he passed her, kneeling to organise something ridiculous like the cereal cupboard, he gave her a small nod.

“Night,” she said softly, like she knew he wouldn’t say it first.

By the time he got to his room, he felt it creeping in, the kind of sleep that didn’t come with punishment. Not exhaustion, not collapse. Just rest.

He changed half-heartedly, dropped into bed without bothering to pull the duvet straight.

And for the first time in what felt like months, he didn’t lie there for hours staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t toss or turn or drag himself back up to check his phone, or throw on joggers and go for another run he didn’t need.

He just closed his eyes.

And slept.

Deep. Still. Undisturbed.

He was that comfortable with his sleep he hadn’t even heard her leave.

The trial week came and went, and with that came his little scheduled meeting with Max.

“So,” Max said, leaning back in the café chair, hands wrapped around his coffee. “How’s life with Mary Poppins?”

Lando rolled his eyes, sipping slowly from a mug of hot chocolate that was somehow still hot.

“She doesn’t float in with a brolly, if that’s what you mean.”

“But she’s working, isn’t she?”

Lando didn’t answer straight away. He watched a dog trot past outside the window, nose down, tail wagging. The streets of Monte Carlo were busy with the usual Sunday bustle, people with tote bags full of veg, couples bickering gently over directions, someone playing guitar near the kerb.

He shrugged. “It’s less shit.”

Max smirked. “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard you give anyone.”

Lando looked down into his tea. “She’s just easy to be around. Doesn’t treat me like I’m a problem. Or fragile. She just makes dinner and talks about stupid things and leaves vitamins on the counter like it’s no big deal.”

“And you like that?”

“I don’t not like it.”

Max grinned. “So you’re keeping her?”

Lando huffed. “She’s not a goldfish.”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer at first, and Max let him have the space. There was something behind Lando’s eyes, quieter than before, but still guarded. Except now, the edges weren’t quite so sharp. He looked a little less hollowed out. A little more present.

Lando stirred the drink absently, then said, “I think she’s staying another week.”

Max didn’t say I told you so, but he smiled like he’d already said it a hundred times.

Over the next week, a rhythm began to form.

It wasn’t a schedule, exactly, Lando hated those, but there were now patterns. Gentle ones. He’d wake up to the faint clatter of pans and the smell of food. She never made him breakfast outright, but there was always a plate of something on the side, covered with a tea towel, like it had just happened to be left there.

He’d find his gym gear washed and folded in the same place on the sofa each morning. Not spoken about, just done. Vitamins still by the sink. Her music always low. The flowers in the pint glass had been swapped out for fresh tulips.

He didn’t say thank you. But he noticed.

And he started sleeping better.

Not every night, but more than before. Enough that the dark under his eyes wasn’t as heavy. Enough that the fridge had actual food in it now, and it wasn’t all hers.

By Monday night, she was packing up her bag to go home like usual when he spoke up.

“I leave for Barcelona tomorrow.”

She looked up, bright as ever. “Yup, I know. Made you an airport snack.”

She reached into the fridge and pulled out a tupperware container, sliding it across the counter towards him. The lid was already labelled in biro, ‘Do not open until bored at terminal gate’.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I fly private, right? They’ve got catering.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And what are the odds you didn’t reply to the email asking about your dietary preferences?”

He paused.

She grinned.

“Thought so. It’s just a wrap and some fruit. No tomatoes, no weird mayo, no drama.”

He huffed, but he didn’t push it. He picked it up and tucked it under one arm.

“Oh, and,” she added, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “I put a few things on your bed. Clothes you might consider packing. You don’t have to. Just thought I’d save you standing in your pants tomorrow morning wondering what the weather in Barcelona will be, and yes I know you like to dress warm.”

He let out a proper laugh, low and unexpected.

“You’ve done two of my most hated tasks in one night,” he said, eyes warm for a moment. “That’s impressive.”

She shrugged, light as always. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He stood in the doorway, still holding the tupperware, gaze lingering on her longer than he meant to. She didn’t make anything of it, just smiled and went back to packing her bag.

Race weekends were always a blur.

Even after years of doing it, Lando never really adjusted. The heat, the noise, the cameras, the pressure. Spain in May was dry and heavy, the kind of heat that sat on your shoulders and made your helmet feel three sizes too small. Qualifying had been a disaster, traffic, a lock-up, something just off with the rear grip. He was starting further back than he liked. Further back than the car deserved.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the cool-down lap.

His engineer had been cautious over the radio, Max had texted a brief ‘rough one. you’ll fix it.’ and that was about it. Lando stayed in his suit too long, helmet off but gloves still on, sitting at the back of the garage with his jaw clenched and a bottle of water sweating in his hand.

Later, after media duties and a cold shower and a half-hearted poke at some pasta, he was lying on the hotel bed, one leg still on the floor, staring at the ceiling when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it out of habit.

It was a photo.

She was in a little French bar somewhere, low lights, strings of flags, telly mounted high on the wall with the F1 coverage paused mid-graphic. He recognised his own face in the corner, frozen mid-interview. She was holding up a pint of something cloudy, face half in frame, smiling like she’d just bumped into an old mate. A bowl of crisps sat in front of her.

The caption followed a second later:

That quali looked tough. Make sure to have enough electrolytes or a banana. 

Lando stared at it for longer than he meant to. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She hadn’t asked how he was.

Hadn’t said you’ll get them tomorrow or you’re still the best or any of the usual platitudes.

Just, looked tough, take care of yourself.

Simple. Uncomplicated.

He let out a small breath of something that might have been a laugh. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second, then tapped out a reply.

They only gave us oranges.

A few seconds passed.

That’s alright. Oranges are just citrusy bananas in disguise.

He shook his head, grinning now, properly.

There was still noise in his chest, frustration, the echo of tyres locking up, but it didn’t feel quite so loud anymore.

And for the first time after a bad Saturday, Lando didn’t feel like running from it.

The flight back to Monaco was uneventful. He slept for half of it, sprawled inelegantly in the reclined seat, his cap pulled low and earphones in with no music playing. His body was tired in that hollow, post-race way, blood still buzzing faintly, muscles tight, but his brain was quieter than usual.

P2 wasn’t bad. Not a win, but solid points. Still, it ate at him.

He arrived home just after midnight. The flat was dark, blinds drawn, the sea outside nothing but soft black noise.

Lando dumped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. It should have felt like relief, home, bed, no media duties, but it didn’t. It felt still.

He flicked on the light in the kitchen, expecting nothing.

Instead, there it was on the counter.

A piece of white printer paper, creased slightly down the middle, folded like a school certificate. Hand-drawn, with glitter gel pen of all things.

P2 – WELL DONE, CHAMPION 

Underneath, in all-caps block letters, it read:

REDEEM THIS FOR 1 (ONE) FAVOURITE CHOCOLATE BAR, TO BE EATEN IMMEDIATELY.

And there it was. His favourite. Not the obvious one either, the one he used to buy from the corner shop when he was fifteen and couldn’t afford imported Swiss stuff with his pocket money. He hadn’t had one in years.

He picked it up, staring at it like it might disappear.

Beside the certificate was a folded note, written in her loopy handwriting:

I figured you’d want some space after the weekend, so I’m giving you the night off from me.

BUT. Your favourite meal is in the fridge. I expect to see the container empty when I’m back at 7am. I will be checking the bins. I’ve taken the power cable for your PC and hidden your gym clothes, so don’t bother looking. Please sleep. Properly. You’ve earned it x

He read it twice, then once more for good measure.

There was no teasing smile in the room, no hum of music or smell of herbs in the air, but her presence was there, in every corner. Quietly looking after him without needing him to admit he needed it.

He opened the fridge. The meal was there, labelled, still warm enough to be reheated. He didn’t even question how she knew it was his favourite. He just took it out, turned on the oven, and sat at the counter with the chocolate bar already half-eaten.

The flat was silent.

Normally he hated the silence. It stretched and scratched at him until he had to fill it. TV, weights, anything. But tonight it was different.

Tonight, the silence felt... safe. Like something was waiting just out of frame.

And though he’d never say it aloud, not even to himself—

He missed her. Slightly.

Just enough that 7am didn’t feel all that far away.

The first light slipped through the half-open blinds, soft and pale against the dark wood floor.

Lando was already up.

He didn’t mean to be. He’d woken sometime in the small hours, restless, but then the smell of coffee brewing pulled him from the blur of sleep. He found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the warmth of the oven still humming softly nearby.

The meal was gone. The container clean.

He smiled a little to himself, small victory, at least.

The kettle clicked off, and she appeared in the doorway, hair tied back loosely, eyes bright but gentle.

“Morning,” she said quietly, like she was trying not to wake the flat.

He met her gaze, caught in the calm.

“Morning.”

She reached for the coffee pot and topped up his mug, then poured one for herself.

They stood there for a beat, just the two of them and the quiet hum of the morning.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

Lando shrugged, but there was something different in his tone. “More than I usually do.”

“That’s good.”

He nodded, watching her move around the kitchen with that effortless ease, putting the chocolate wrapper in the bin, tidying the dishes.

He felt it again. That small, stubborn flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before: contentment.

She looked over her shoulder, catching his eye.

“Race weekend’s done,” she said softly. “You’re home now.”

He gave her a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes just yet, but was close.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

She blew on her coffee, then glanced over at him with a curious tilt of her head. 

“So what do you usually do on days like this? After a race?”

Lando paused, mug halfway to his lips.

“Usually?” he said. “Try not to think.”

She gave a small nod, like she understood exactly what he meant. 

“Right,” she said lightly. “So why don’t we go to the beach?”

He blinked. “The beach?”

“Yeah. You know, sand, sea, a bit of fresh air. It’s 27 degrees, the water will be decent. You’ve done all the not thinking bit, now you can do the part where you feel like a person again.”

Lando looked at her like she’d just suggested skydiving. In the rain. Naked.

She met his stare head-on, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.

“I’m not saying we have to go swimming,” she added. “Just sit. Maybe with a drink. Or ice cream. I’ll bring snacks if that helps.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You’re relentless.”

“I prefer the term optimistic.”

He glanced out the window. The sun was already climbing, a shimmer of gold across the buildings. Monaco in May didn’t waste time. It was exactly the kind of day he’d usually spend in a dark gym or glued to his screen with a headset on.

And yet.

“Okay,” he said at last, surprising even himself. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Her smile lit up, bright and immediate. “Brilliant.” He turned to head for his room. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

“I’ll meet you back here in thirty,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Just need to pop home, get a few bits.” He nodded. “Alright.”

And then she was gone, the flat felt quieter without her, but not in the lonely way. More like a held breath, waiting.

Lando glanced around, bemused at himself.

The beach. On a Monday.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “What am I doing?” 

But he was already reaching for his sunglasses.

When she came back, the sun was even higher in the sky and so was something in Lando’s chest. He’d opened all the windows while she was gone, and the breeze drifting through the flat was warm and salt-tinged.

He heard the door go and turned, halfway through stuffing a towel into a backpack.

She stepped into the kitchen in a light summer dress, sunglasses perched on her head, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was nothing dramatic, just something simple and floral, but it suited her. She looked soft, golden in the sunlight, like she belonged exactly in that moment.

Lando’s brain hiccuped. He didn’t say anything but he looked, really looked, and quietly thought to himself. 

God, she’s pretty.

She caught his gaze, raised a brow. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothing.” 

He slung the bag over his shoulder and nodded towards the door. “We’ve got to go somewhere that’s not Monaco, though.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “People’ll see. Paparazzi, fans, someone’ll clock it. Me. Us”

Her smile curled. “Us?”

“I just mean—” he started, but she was already grinning wider.

“I know what you meant, so where then?” “We’ll have to drive into France,” he said, completely serious.

She laughed.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “Just the way you said it like it was just us popping down to the shops.” He gave her a look, lips twitching. “It sort of is.”

She shrugged, following him down into the garage. “Alright then, France it is.”

The garage was cool and dim after the heat of the morning. Rows of sleek cars sat like sleeping beasts under soft overhead lights. She slowed as they walked, eyes wide.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured. “Is this all you?” He chuckled, unlocking one of the quieter looking models. “Some are mine. Some are team perks. Some are just there.”

She ran a hand along the bonnet, clearly impressed. “Not bad for a day at the beach.” They set off, the coast unfurling beside them like a painting. The drive was easy, winding roads and open skies, her hair dancing in the breeze as music played low from the speakers. She sang along quietly to bits she knew. He didn’t join in, but he listened.

And he smiled.

The beach was quieter than expected, a little cove tucked away from the road, shaded by cliffs and speckled with driftwood. They laid their things on the warm sand, and she kicked off her sandals with a sigh.

Lando was laying out the towles when she pulled her dress over her head in one swift motion, revealing a bikini underneath.

He didn’t stare, or at least he told himself he didn’t.

But he did definitely notice.

Something in his stomach dipped for a second, caught between admiration and the very sudden awareness of who he was and who she was.

She stretched like she’d been waiting all day to do it, hair tied up now, skin kissed golden by the sun.

Lando barely had time to take off his own shirt before she looked over her shoulder, grinning wickedly.

“Race you!”

And before he could respond, she was already sprinting towards the sea, feet kicking up soft clouds of sand.

He blinked, startled, then swore under his breath, grinning.

“You little—”

He chased after her, heart thudding, not from the sun. Something lighter than adrenaline, freer than pressure. The breeze bit at his skin, the salt stung his eyes, and the sound of her laugh carried over the waves. 

And for the first time in a long time, he felt light.

The sea was warmer than he expected, cool at first touch, then refreshing against his sun-warmed skin.

She was already thigh deep when he caught up, turning to glance over her shoulder with a grin that said you’re too slow. 

Lando launched at her.

She yelped, laughing as he caught her around the waist and they both stumbled deeper into the water, waves breaking around them.

“Alright! Alright! Truce!” she shouted, breathless.

But he didn’t let go, just held her steady against the current for a second too long. She looked up at him, cheeks pink from the sun and smiling so wide it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Then, without warning, she dunked him.

His head went under with a surprised splash and he surfaced with a splutter, hair slicked to his forehead and eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning through the water dripping from his lashes.

They splashed and shoved and laughed like children, the kind of silly, harmless chaos that left his chest aching, but not in the bad way.

Eventually, soaked and smiling, they drifted into a quiet stretch of the cove, water up to their waists, the sun casting long golden streaks across the surface. 

They talked a bit, nothing too heavy. Favourite ice creams. Embarrassing childhood stories. He learnt she hated the sound of polystyrene, and she learnt he once fell asleep in a bin lorry by mistake during a school trip (real story from me lol). 

Time stretched in that slow, delicious way that only seemed to happen when he was with her. 

The rest of the day passed in sun-drowsy contentment. 

They dried off on the towels, eating snacks and reading bits from a tatty magazine she’d brought on how to impress your manager. She dozed for a while with her arm flopped across her eyes. He sat beside her, knees pulled up, watching the tide roll in and out, trying not to overthink how much peace he felt in that exact moment. 

Later, on the drive back, they stopped for ice cream from a stand near the harbour. She ordered something fruity. He got mint choc chip, mostly so she’d stop teasing him for being too grown up and choosing something like coffee.

By the time they were halfway home, the sun had dipped below the hills and she was fast asleep in the passenger seat, head turned gently towards him, mouth parted slightly.

Lando glanced at her, then back at the road. His grip on the wheel softened. 

When they got back to the flat, he didn’t wake her.

Instead, he slipped out of the driver’s seat, came round, and unbuckled her gently. She stirred slightly as he lifted her into his arms, warm and still faintly smelling of suncream.

Her head dropped to his shoulder. He didn't say a word, he didn't even breathe.  

The lift ride up was quiet. His flat even quieter. 

He nudged the door open, padded through the hall, and carried her straight into his bedroom. The sheets were still crisp from the morning, untouched.

He laid her down carefully, brushed a bit of hair from her face. She sighed softly, turning into the pillow like she belonged there.

Lando lingered for a moment.

Then he backed out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He crashed on the sofa, limbs heavy but heart oddly light. His damp curly hair pressed against the cushion, and for once, the silence didn’t bother him.

He could still hear her laugh echoing in the waves. 

The following morning she woke with a start.

It took her a second to realise where she was, the unfamiliar softness of the duvet, the crisp linen, the faint scent of him on the pillow. Definitely not her flat. And definitely his bed.

“Shit.”

She sat up quickly, heart thudding, scanning the room for her jacket or bag or anything that proved that she hopefully hasn’t slept with him.

The flat was quiet except for the faint sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Not exactly a disaster, but not quite peace either.

She pulled a random hoodie over her head, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and padded out into the main room, bracing herself.

He was in the kitchen. Barefoot, curls a mess, concentration furrowed into his brow as he flipped a pancake that looked… questionably thick.

The pan hissed. The pancake landed mostly where it should’ve.

She crossed her arms, trying not to laugh. “Are you… cooking?”

Lando turned, startled. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment, more from the warmth of the kitchen and the fact he hadn’t expected her to be awake.

“Sort of,” he muttered, glancing down at the half-stack on the plate. “They’re edible. Just about.”

She looked at him, messy-haired, in an old hoodie, trying to figure out if the one in the pan was burnt or just dark golden.

She couldn't help it. She smiled.

“I’m meant to be the one looking after you,” she said, shaking her head.

He rolled his eyes but there was no bite to it. “You fell asleep. I wasn’t going to wake you just to supervise me making average pancakes.”

“Below average.”

“They’re fine,” he defended, lifting one with the spatula. It folded in half on itself. “Okay, they’re character-building.”

She stepped closer, nudging him with her shoulder. “Look at that. First meal you’ve cooked yourself in how long?”

Lando scoffed, but the back of his neck went pink. “Dunno. Ages.”

She tilted her head, eyes soft with something he couldn’t name. “Domesticity looks good on you.”

He froze for a second but he felt the words settle somewhere in his chest.

Domesticity.

Her, here. His hoodie. Pancakes. Morning light.

He looked at her, really looked, and for once didn’t feel the urge to run from the quiet.

Instead, he flipped the final pancake with a slightly smug smirk. “Told you I didn’t need a carer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “One half-decent breakfast doesn’t mean you’re cured, sweetheart.”

He smiled despite himself. Sweetheart.

And just like that, he knew the rest of his day was going to be warm.

She grabbed a plate and scooped a pancake onto it, then passed it over with a cheeky grin.

“Here, try not to burn it.”

Lando took it, biting into the warm, slightly uneven stack. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty good. The kind of good that made you forget about the mess of your last few days.

He looked up at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad for a carer’s breakfast, huh?”

She laughed, sitting down at the small kitchen table. “I might have to upgrade you to sous chef.”

He shook his head, but the smile stayed. “You sure you want to get stuck with a bloke who can barely boil water without a minor disaster?”

She reached across the table, nudging his hand lightly.

“I think I can manage.”

There was a pause, comfortable and easy. The sunlight caught her eyes, making them shine in a way that made Lando’s chest tighten just a little.

“So…” she said softly, “how are you, really?”

Lando swallowed, the question catching him off guard. Usually, he brushed it off or changed the subject.

But today, he let it hang in the air.

“I’m… better than I was,” he admitted, voice low. “Being with you, well, it’s different. Less noise upstairs.”

She smiled gently, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.

“That’s good,” she said quietly. “You deserve that.”

He met her gaze, a flicker of something like hope stirring beneath the usual mess.

Maybe this was the start of something, not just a routine or a distraction, but something real.

He didn’t know what it was yet.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to find out.

A few days passed in the way only good days do, quietly, comfortably, and all at once.

They fell back into their routine with ease. She was there every morning, bright and soft and organised, keeping him on track without ever making it feel like a chore. Meals appeared when he forgot he was hungry. She swapped out the expired yoghurt in the fridge without saying a word. She scribbled reminders onto post-it notes and stuck them in ridiculous places. On his phone, the bathroom mirror, his steering wheel.

And somehow, despite everything, he was sleeping again for more than 4 hours.

The flat no longer felt too quiet.

He met Max at their usual café down in the port the morning before he flew out to Austria.

Lando slumped into the chair opposite him, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.

Max gave him a look. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You dress like a celebrity in hiding but show up to the same café every time.”

Lando smirked, pulling down his glasses. “Creature of habit.”

Max took a sip of his coffee, eyeing him properly now. “You look better.”

Lando blinked. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not half-dead,” Max said bluntly. “You’ve got colour in your face. You’ve shaved. I don’t see a Monster can fused to your hand.”

Lando huffed a laugh. “Thanks, mate. Proper confidence boost, that.”

Max grinned. “So she’s working, then.”

Lando paused. Thought about the pancakes. The post-its. The quiet sound of her humming in the kitchen. The way she made the flat feel like something more than just a place he slept in between breakdowns.

“She is,” he said, nodding. “More than I thought, actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Told you. She’s got that stubborn kind of sunshine thing going on.”

Lando looked out at the boats bobbing gently on the water. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like she’s fixing me. It’s just… I want to keep up. For once.”

Max leaned back in his chair, smiling like he already knew.

“You’ve got someone in your corner now,” he said. “And you like it.”

Lando didn’t answer straight away.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Austria should’ve felt like business as usual.

The team was buzzing, the garage busy, the hotel sleek and sterile in that forgettable sort of way. He’d done this so many times he could go through the motions with his eyes shut, briefings, media, gym, sleep. Repeat.

But something was different this time.

His room was too quiet. His meals, though catered, tasted like cardboard. He’d forgotten to bring his vitamins, and the note she’d once stuck to the inside of his wash bag, remember to be a person, not just a machine, was no longer there.

He missed her. Not just her reminders and routines, but her. The way she’d talk at him while he made coffee, narrating her morning like it was the most important story on earth. The way she hummed while folding laundry. The way she looked at him, not like he was a driver, or a mess, but just… him.

The ache surprised him.

By Saturday night, he was holed up in his hotel room, lights dimmed, race prep done. But instead of watching footage or scrolling, he stared at his phone.

Then, almost on a whim, he opened their chat.

Would you ever come to a race?

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then came back.

That’s quite a question. Is this your subtle way of inviting me to Austria?

He smiled. Tapped back.

Austria’s a bit mad. But Silverstone’s next. Thought you might like it. Home race and all that.

The typing bubble came and went again. Then,

We can talk about it when you’re home.

And there it was, that word.

Home.

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to.

It did something to him. Knocked something loose. Not because she’d said it. But because she meant it. Like his flat wasn’t just a stopgap anymore. Like him being away wasn’t permanent.

They’d talk when he was home.

He stared at her last message a moment longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I’d like you to be there when I get back Sunday night. If you’re free, I mean.

He regretted sending it immediately. Read it back twice. It looked desperate. Or worse, uncertain.

But a reply came a few minutes later.

I’ll be there.

That was it. Simple. Certain.

He smiled. Couldn’t help it.

And for the first time on a race weekend, he couldn’t wait for it to be over, not for the result, but because it meant he’d get to see her again.

Sunday night came fast.

The flight was smooth, the car from the airport quick, but Lando felt that weird tug of nerves all over again as the lift doors slid open to his flat. His bag thumped against his leg. The hallway smelt faintly of fresh linen and vanilla.

She was there.

He could feel it even before he saw her.

When he stepped inside, the lights were low, and something warm flickered in the corner of the living room, a couple of candles, set along the windowsill. The blinds were open, showing off the Monaco skyline in soft golden hues.

She looked up from the sofa, dressed in cosy joggers and a big jumper, her hair tied up, a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap.

“There you are,” she said, smiling like he hadn’t just spent three days thinking about her.

Lando stepped in, shrugging off his jacket, suddenly very aware of the domesticity he'd walked into. A blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. Two mugs sat on the coffee table, one clearly his, already filled with hot chocolate.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of mood you’d be in,” she said, shifting slightly to make room, “so I picked three films. Comfort, distraction, or dramatic sobbing, dealer’s choice.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked around at the quiet little world she’d built for him in his absence.

His shoulders dropped.

“This is nice,” he said, finally. “Really nice.”

She grinned. “Well, I figured if I’m going to keep pretending to be your carer, I might as well offer full post-race recovery packages.”

He laughed, genuinely, the kind that shook a bit of the tension from his chest.

She patted the seat next to her. “Come on then. Sit down before your hot chocolate gets cold.”

And he did, just like that. Kicked off his shoes, slouched onto the sofa, and let his body fold into the warmth of it all. Her shoulder brushed his as she pressed play, and he didn’t move away.

He hadn’t realised how much he needed this.

Not just the quiet, but her quiet.

And as the film played and her head gently tipped onto his arm, Lando let himself enjoy it, just for a while.

Home.

It really did feel like that now.

The following morning he woke with a crick in his neck and the faint scent of her still clinging to the blanket draped over his chest.

The telly had switched itself off at some point in the night. His hot chocolate was long cold. And she was gone, left sometime after the credits had rolled, quietly, without waking him.

But the flat didn’t feel empty.

It felt like she’d just stepped out.

He pulled the blanket closer, burying his face in it for a second longer than necessary. Lavender and laundry powder. Familiar. Her.

Later that morning, she came by as usual, letting herself in with a chirpy “Morning!” and two coffees in hand.

He was already up for once, hair still rumpled from sleep, hoodie creased.

“Sleep on the sofa?” she asked, amused.

“Mm.” He took the coffee gratefully. “Didn’t make it very far after you left. Blanket was too warm.”

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t tease.

They settled at the kitchen table, a shared croissant between them, her notebook open to a new page.

“So,” she said, flicking the cap off her pen, “Silverstone. Talk to me.”

Lando took a slow sip of his coffee. “I meant what I said. I want you there.”

She glanced up, smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “I know. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You never do,” he said, honest and quick, before he even realised it.

That earned him a small look, soft, appreciative.

“So,” he continued, shifting slightly in his seat, “you’ve got two options. I can get you a pass for the paddock, proper team kit, blend in, pretend you belong.”

She raised a brow, amused. “Pretend?”

He smirked. “You’re bossy enough, you’d fit right in.”

She grinned. “Flattering.”

“Or,” he went on, “you can watch from the grandstands. Might be a bit calmer, but I’ll know you’re there either way.”

She looked at him properly now, pen stilled in her fingers. “And you want me there even if it’s chaos?”

He shrugged, suddenly a bit shy. “I don’t know. Just when you’re around, it feels like less of a mess.”

That quiet settled in again. Not awkward. Just true.

She nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. “Alright. I’ll come. You’ll have to get me a kit that doesn’t drown me, though. I’m not showing up looking like I borrowed it off a rugby player.”

Lando laughed. “Deal.”

And as she tucked her notebook away and moved to put the kettle on, he watched her like he was seeing the start of something he hadn’t quite had the words for yet.

But he knew this much.

He didn’t just want her there.

He needed her there.

They flew out on the Thursday morning.

Private jet, naturally, something Lando barely registered anymore, part of the machine that came with the job. But watching her take it all in was another story entirely.

“Wait,” she whispered as they pulled up onto the tarmac. “This is yours?”

He shrugged, smirking. “Well, not mine mine. But yeah. Team flight.”

She stared up at the sleek plane like it had dropped out of a film set. “Right. Okay. No big deal. Totally normal. Not freaking out.”

Lando chuckled as he grabbed her bag from the boot. “You’re allowed to be impressed, y’know. You don’t have to be cool all the time.”

“I am cool,” she insisted, following him up the steps with wide eyes. “Just also wildly unprepared for this level of luxury.”

Inside, she settled into one of the leather seats like she was afraid she’d break it, eyes darting around at the polished surfaces and perfectly folded blankets.

He sat opposite her, grinning like a fool.

“You alright there?”

She looked at him over the rim of her paper cup. “Lando, they offered me a mimosa and I said no because I panicked. I’m not alright.”

He burst out laughing, tipping his head back. “You’ll get used to it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

By the time they reached Silverstone, her nerves had settled into excitement.

The team garage was already buzzing, and when she stepped out in the McLaren kit he’d had waiting for her, a proper fit, not some oversized leftover, Lando had to look away for a moment just to get himself together.

She fit in effortlessly.

Wearing the colours, she didn’t look like someone tagging along. She looked like she belonged.

And it was oddly comforting, more than he’d expected.

She was laughing with one of the engineers before he’d even finished debrief. Swapping notes with his physio. Keeping a watchful eye on the water bottle in his hand like it was her full-time job.

And for once, when he walked through the paddock, he didn’t feel like he was floating above it all.

He felt anchored.

Between sessions, she found him sat outside the motorhome, cap pulled low, headphones around his neck.

She passed him a banana and a look. “Don’t roll your eyes. You skipped breakfast.”

Lando took it, peeling it slowly. “You just like bossing me around.”

“Absolutely,” she said brightly. “Now eat it, number four.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You calling me by my driver number now?”

She grinned. “Only if it motivates you.”

And as she sat beside him, cross-legged and chatting like they were just two mates at a park somewhere, Lando realised this didn’t feel like chaos.

It felt… right.

Later that day, the two of them found themselves in the motorhome again, half-drawn blinds, casting warm strips of light across the small lounge space. Lando had pulled off his boots and fireproofs, now in team joggers and a loose t-shirt, legs stretched across the sofa while she sat on the carpet in front of him, back resting against the edge of the seat, her hair still slightly windswept from being trackside.

His hand dangled loosely near her shoulder. Not touching. But close.

She was humming, some random tune from the playlist she’d put on while he cooled down, and carefully peeling the corner of a protein bar wrapper for him.

“Do you know you hum constantly?” he said, watching her with that quiet, lopsided sort of amusement.

She glanced up. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Like, properly. All the time.”

“Well, maybe you’re just always around now.”

He smiled, then laughed softly when she tossed the protein bar at him without looking.

They fell into that easy silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. She reached up to tug a hairband from her wrist, redoing her ponytail absentmindedly. His gaze lingered.

“You alright?” she asked, craning her neck slightly to look at him.

He nodded. “Yeah. You just make all this feel

less mental.”

That earned her softest smile, the kind she didn’t even have to think about. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.

Then the door creaked open and Oscar stepped in with a knock-knock gesture and a raised brow. “Sorry, didn’t realise this was occupied.”

Lando blinked, quickly sitting up, hand retreating behind his head like he hadn’t been close to her at all. She turned slightly, offering Oscar a warm, unapologetic smile.

“Hi,” she said, chipper as ever. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lando’s carer.”

Oscar grinned, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”

Lando shrugged, slumping back into the sofa like it was no big deal. “Yeah. She cares so I don’t have to.”

Oscar snorted. “Nice work if you can get it.”

She laughed, then added, “To be fair, he’s more work than a pensioner with a sugar addiction, so I earn every bit of it.”

Oscar shot Lando a mock-sympathetic look. “She’s got you nailed, mate.”

Lando just shook his head, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles as Oscar backed out of the room with a wink and a wave.

Once the door shut again, she turned and looked up at him from the floor.

“Too much?” she teased.

He leaned forward, still smiling. “Not at all.”

And for the rest of the hour, with her back pressed to his knee and the quiet buzzing of the paddock beyond the walls, everything felt settled.

Like maybe this was becoming the new normal.

Race day came with its usual noise and nerves. The low thrum of engines in the distance, the hiss of tyres on tarmac, the sting of adrenaline thick in the air.

Silverstone buzzed with the kind of energy only a home race could bring.

And Lando had never driven better.

Every lap was clean, calculated, ruthless. No mistakes. No self-doubt. Just grit and instinct and a car that, for once, felt like an extension of himself.

When he crossed the finish line in P1, the roar from the grandstands felt deafening. Team radio crackled with cheers, engineers shouting down his ear, someone nearly in tears.

He barely heard it.

All he could think, where is she?

Pulling into parc fermé, he yanked off his helmet and looked around like a man on a mission.

“Where is she?” he asked one of the mechanics, already half out of the car.

The guy blinked. “Who?”

“Uh” He gestured vaguely. “My uh carer, she’s in the team kit, she was in the garage earlier. Has anyone seen her?”

Shrugs. Shaking heads. No one knew.

His jaw tensed, nerves he hadn’t felt all race prickling in now like static. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. All of this meant less if she wasn’t here to see it.

Still, he went through the motions: hugs with the crew, the sweaty TV pen interviews, the slow walk down the corridor lined with monitors and back-slaps. The moment was his, but it felt a bit empty.

Then he stepped onto the podium.

The crowd was thunderous. British flags everywhere, people chanting his name, flashes going off like strobes.

And there, down below, tucked between a few McLaren pit crew, cap pulled low and grinning up at him like he’d just done the impossible, there she was.

Her face lit up when he spotted her, and the tension in his chest just dropped.

He grinned, grabbed the champagne bottle, and with precision honed from years of celebration, arced the spray right in her direction.

She squealed, laughing, trying to duck behind someone’s shoulder but getting caught in it anyway.

He laughed too, and when the moment calmed, he looked down again and caught her eyes.

She mouthed something at him, something small, like ‘well done’, and he mouthed back.

Go back to the motorhome.

She gave a little salute, still smiling, and disappeared into the crowd.

And suddenly, the day felt complete.

The moment the press duties were done, Lando didn’t waste a second.

Still damp from champagne, hair sticking to his forehead, race suit tied at the waist, he all but jogged back through the paddock. Past cameras, past well-wishers, barely nodding as people tried to offer congratulations.

He needed to see her.

The motorhome was quiet when he pushed open the door, the rest of the team still caught up in the chaos outside. But she was there, sat on the sofa, McLaren cap now off, holding a bottle of water and staring out the window like she was waiting for him too.

“Hey—” she started, but didn’t finish.

Because he was already across the room, already scooping her up into a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of both of them. She gave a soft little laugh of surprise, arms winding round his neck as he held her like he’d just won her.

Which, in a way, he had.

“You were incredible,” she said against his shoulder.

“I didn’t care about the win,” he murmured, voice muffled in her hair. “Not until I saw you.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, eyebrows drawing in. “Lando…”

“No, I mean it,” he said, heart racing now for entirely different reasons. “When I crossed the line, I should’ve felt everything. But I couldn’t think about anything except the fact that you weren’t there. Not at first. It felt, empty.”

Her expression softened, smile faltering at the edges.

“That’s the adrenaline talking,” she said gently, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “You’re on a high, people say all sorts when their heart’s going.”

“No,” he said firmly, eyes locked on hers. “I know it’s not.”

She stilled.

Lando took a breath. “My heart’s been on fire before, after wins, crashes, everything in between. But it’s never felt as empty as it does when you’re not near me. I didn’t know it at first, I didn’t have the words for it, but I do now.”

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed.

“I don’t just want you here when I’m falling apart,” he said quietly. “I want you here when I’m winning. When I’m okay. When I’m tired. When I’m not.”

Silence fell like a held breath.

And then she smiled, soft, shaken, and real. The kind that said she’d been waiting to hear those words without even realising it.

“I was always going to stay,” she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”

They stood like that for a moment, bodies close, breath mingling, the silence between them full of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

She tilted her chin ever so slightly, and his nose brushed against hers. Neither of them moved beyond that, like they were afraid to disturb something fragile.

Then she whispered, “You smell like champagne.”

He gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You smell like bananas and home.”

She smiled at that, small and warm and a little bit shy.

And then, like gravity had finally caught up with them, he leant in.

Their lips met softly, tentative at first, the kind of kiss you give when you’ve been thinking about it for far too long and you want to get it right. It wasn’t hurried, or heavy, or anything like what the world outside might’ve expected from a Formula One driver fresh off a win.

It was slow. Careful. His way of saying he didn’t want this to be over too soon.

Her hands curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, and he held her like she might disappear if he let go. When they parted, barely an inch between them, neither moved away.

She blinked up at him, dazed in the gentlest way.

“That wasn’t adrenaline,” she said quietly, as if to confirm it for herself.

“No,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That was me. Just me.”

Her nose scrunched in that familiar way, eyes glinting with something fond. “Good.”

He smiled again, this time slower, fuller. And in the soft hush of the motorhome, with the noise of Silverstone still echoing somewhere in the background, Lando finally felt what peace might look like.

It looked a lot like her.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132

[p1astr81]

Hear me out: Either Lando or Oscar with virgin!reader where he convinces her that just the tip won’t make her lose her virginity… but he gets greedy and decides just the tip is not enough

😀😀😀 that’s nice sweetie…

uhm anyway warnings: smut, dubcon, manipulation, unprotected piv, naive!reader, rough sex (lando), aftercare (lando)

please do not continue reading if any of these warnings make you uncomfortable.

Lando

“Are you ready for me baby? Sure you can take it?” His voice was rough while he ran a hand up and down your side.

“Mhm,” you whined, nodding. “Just the tip, right?” Your eyes were already dazed as you looked up at him.

“Sure.” He grunted, already pushing into you. “Fuck, fuck you’re so tight. Even after you’ve cum on my fingers.” He heaved, eyes finding the ceiling.

“Land-oh, oh god,” you couldn’t comprehend how full you felt already. Just the tip and it was so much more than his fingers.

He tried to find his restraint, but you felt too good—squeezed him too good. He eased more of himself in, surpassing ‘just the tip.’ “Take all of me, show me you love me.”

The stretch stung, but your hisses were drowned by his guttural moan. “Lanny are you sure it’s-“

“Fuck if you love me, you’ll let me have this.” He cut you off.

You’re squirming under him, unable to understand this wasn’t even his entire dick, because he promised just the tip. He’d honor that, right? So while you’re thinking your virginity is still in tact, Lando’s tip is hitting your cervix. He slipped fully inside you with a moan alike to the ones in all those pornos he made you watch. And you’re so, so full that your back is arching off the bed, conveniently pushing your perky tits into Lando’s face.

“Oh, o-okay” you hesitantly agreed without knowing he’d already forced you to take all of him.

And he laughed cruelly.

You looked down at that to see yourself taking every inch, the sight drawing a whimper out of you. He rolled his hips, and you couldn’t help the moan that rolled off your tongue.tears brimmed your eyes at the stretch. “It’s too much!”

His chest was heaving. He pulled out of you almost completely before slamming back into you in one thrust. It tore a scream from your chest. “You feel amazing, loving me so good,” he rasped.

He gave you no time to adjust, fucking into you rough. He slammed against your cervix. Every snap of his hips drawing a new ah, ah, ah from your lips. Music to his ears. Every move was done in disregard of your pleasure, only seeking his own release.

“fuck, I’m gonna cum, gonna cum so deep in you that you’ll be dripping for days.” he grunted, not even trying to slow down. He ignored how you pointed out he wasn’t wearing a condom. “Yes, oh, fuck!” He came with a shout of your name, spilling into you just like he said he would. He continued to roll his hips so your tight walls could suck him dry.

It was only after he pulled out and lay next to you that he noticed your soaking cheeks and puffy eyes. That seemed to clear his foggy brain of the pleasure and wake him up.

He sat up, hesitant to touch you “did I- fuck, did I hurt you?”

You choked, hiccuped. “I- you- yes,” you sobbed into his chest. “It was too much.”

Oscar

“Is it going to hurt?” You asked under him, eyes big. His throbbing cock was already lined up with your sobbing hole.

“No, it’ll feel good. Just the tip.” He repeated his earlier words.

“Okay. Go ahead.” You nodded, biting your lip in anticipation.

He eased the tip in, closing his eyes in bliss at how you sucked him in. He tried to give you just the tip. He really did.

“Fuck, baby I need it so bad. You’ll let be put it in all the way? Be a good girl for me and take all of me?”

Your eyes widened, already feeling the stretch. “I-but I’m waiting-“

“I know, but it’ll feel so good.” He argued. “For me and for you.” He grunted, easing into you farther. You moaned as he stretched you out. He knew how to get you to agree. It was an easy promise to make. “Then I’ll marry you and it won’t matter anyway.”

Those words went to your head, and you nodded almost immediately. “Okay, okay. Please”

He slid into you all the way, whimpers falling from your lips at every centimeter of him. Your eyes were screwed shut, your breathing already labored. “Hurts.” You squeaked out.

“I know,” he cooed, rolling his hips to test the waters.

You whined, squirming under his hold. “Oscar I can’t-“ you shook your head.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’ll feel good in a little.” The rolling of his hips fell into a slow rhythm. It took everything in him to resist the urge to slam into you.

Your whines faded into low moans, eyes blinking open to look up at him. “Please, I’m so full!” You cried, clawing at his flexed arms with your fresh set of nails.

He hissed at the sensation. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you now?” He rasped, kissing the swell of your breasts.

You were still conflicted. That wasn’t ideal for him. He pulled all the way out just to thrust back into you. Not slow, not fast, but the perfect medium to make your head explode.

“Yes! Yes I need it! Oh, please Os,” he chuckled under his breath. How quickly you went from being so against having him inside of you to begging him for it.

He fucked you slow just to see you squirm under him, just to hear your desperate cries for more. He’d gave an experimental rough thrust just to see how you’d react. He took mental note of how your body jolted and how you screamed and arched your back. He’d leave the rough stuff for another day.

“I’m so close. You gonna cum with me? Let me spill inside this perfect cunt?” He grunted, his forehead touching yours. “You’re so tight around me, like you were made for me.” He closed his eyes, tilting his head to the ceiling. “Cant believe you kept this from me for so long.”

His filthy words gave you a burst of pleasure. So did the extra stimulation of his fingers pressing against your clit. He could feel the way you squeezed him, heard how your words got more stupid by the second as your brain was drunk on the feeling of him so deep inside you. All you could do was nod at his nasty questions, and mumble something he thought was awfully close to the words, “need it.”

You let him cum inside you, his thrusts growing rougher and more erratic as he tried to ride out his orgasm. You came soon after, no worries about getting pregnant because he told you virgins couldn’t get pregnant.

[papayainsectorone]

Classified Bassline.

summary: what starts as playful jealousy simmers into something hotter, dirtier, and undeniably possessive. a little tension. a little show.

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, post-race party setting, club bathroom sex, tension-filled banter, explicit sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, suggestive humor

word count: 2.4k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

a thought: gotta love a neon green lando moment walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

The bass thrums through your chest like a second heartbeat, and sweat clings to your skin as bodies sway all around you in a blur of sound and light. The post-race party has taken over the rooftop club, low lighting, flickering strobes, the scent of alcohol and perfume thick in the air. You’re leaning against the bar, one heel popped behind the other, your glass sweating in your hand and the pleasant fuzz of too many drinks warming your bloodstream.

From across the room, you catch Lando’s outline near the DJ booth, half-shrouded in shadows and strobes. He’s bobbing his head to the beat, fingers tapping the table beside the turntables like he might jump in and take over. Classic Lando. Half cool, half chaos. But you know him well enough to spot the way his gaze sometimes flickers over. Not at the music. At you.

Before you can raise your glass in a tease, a sharp pinch lands at your waist.

You jump slightly, heart jolting before you catch sight of Charles smug grin in place, eyes gleaming under the pulse of neon. He’s standing closer than necessary, the bass rattling through the floor, making everything feel just a bit unsteady.

He says something — you can’t hear it.

“What?” you call over the music, leaning in.

Charles smiles wider, then steps in so close you feel his breath against your ear. His voice is a low purr just audible beneath the thrum of the beat. “Didn’t expect you to be drinking alone.”

You turn your head slightly, your cheek brushing his. “I’m not alone. Just...selective.”

He chuckles, deep and slow and now it’s you who feels it down your spine. “Selective, hmm? Dodging the desperate masses?”

“Or the ones who think wandering hands are charming,” you shoot back, playful but pointed.

Charles lifts both hands in mock innocence, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in again, shoulder brushing yours, the music loud enough to make every word feel like a secret.

“I behave better after a few drinks,” he murmurs, close enough that it sends goosebumps skittering down your neck.

“You’ve had more than a few.”

He shrugs with a grin. “It’s a party. This is me behaving.”

You laugh unguarded now, a little buzzed, a little curious. And when he leans in once more, lips grazing your ear to say something else, you don’t pull back.

“You know what’s funny?” Charles leans in again, his lips brushing your ear under the pulse of the music. “I’m pretty sure I heard Lando fucking someone in his driver’s room on Friday.”

You freeze.

It’s just for a second, but your drink stalls halfway to your mouth, and your heart does a neat, vicious somersault in your chest. You glance sharply at Charles, throat suddenly dry.

His grin widens, wicked. He saw that.

“Thin walls,” he adds, dragging out the words like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sounded... enthusiastic.”

You manage a laugh — too high, too quick. “Honestly, sounds like something he’d do.”

Charles tilts his head, watching you with open amusement. “You sound... amused.”

“I mean, who doesn’t love a bit of efficiency?” you shrug, lips twitching into a smirk, fighting to stay in control. Your cheeks are burning, your ears ringing and it’s not from the music.

He hums low in his throat. “So, is he with someone now? Or still leaving the party solo?”

Your fingers tighten around your glass. From across the room, you feel it — the unmistakable prickle of being watched. You don’t have to look to know Lando’s there, somewhere in the shadows, seeing you with Charles, seeing you pretend you weren’t the one moaning into his neck while the rest of the paddock went about their day.

You lift your chin and meet Charles’ eyes, steady now. “Hard to say,” you reply, swirling the melting ice at the bottom of your drink. “Lando’s full of surprises.”

He holds your gaze a moment longer, as if testing the weight of your words, then grins like the devil and clinks his glass against yours.

You smile back.

But your skin still prickles with heat, with nerves, with the unmistakable feeling of a line that’s already been crossed.

Just then, movement catches your eye — Lando, cutting through the crowd with a drink in hand, his expression unreadable but his focus razor-sharp. His pace is easy, casual, like he’s just wandering over for a chat but his eyes are locked on Charles. And you.

You straighten instinctively, barely catching the flicker of tension in your shoulders before smoothing it away. Lando reaches the bar, slides in beside you, and tosses an arm along the back of your stool — casual, practiced, like he’s done it a hundred times. Like it means nothing.

But the warmth of him is immediate, pressing against your spine.

Charles spots him, and of course decides to make everything worse.

“Hey!” he shouts over the thumping bass, grinning wickedly. “We were just talking about you. Specifically that girl you had in your room Friday.”

Your stomach flips so hard again you nearly miss your mouth with your drink.

Lando slows his step, eyes narrowing just slightly, and you catch the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Yeah?” he says smoothly, planting himself beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “It was actually a pretty great afternoon.”

You bite your lip, sipping hard from your glass to hide the grin threatening to give you away.

Charles arches a brow. “Oh? Who was it?”

Lando clicks his tongue, then winks. “Classified,” he says. “You don’t have clearance, mate.”

Charles groans, throwing his hands up. “Come on. Spill. I’ll trade you gossip.”

“I don’t gossip,” Lando says flatly, then immediately adds, “Okay, I do. But not about this.”

You feel the air shift something unspoken exchanged in the glance Lando throws your way. You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not without cracking wide open in front of Charles.

Charles watches the moment, lips twitching like he knows he’s poking at something volatile.

“Fine, fine. Keep your secrets,” he concedes, reaching for his drink. “You’re both so boring, honestly.”

He scans the dancefloor with exaggerated drama, then perks up, attention snaring on someone across the room. “But I see someone else who might be more cooperative.”

He winks at you, gives Lando a cheeky salute, and disappears into the crowd, swallowed by flashing lights and bodies.

The second he’s gone, silence blooms between you and Lando thick, electric, absolutely charged.

You don’t move, but you feel him shift closer, lips brushing your ear, voice low and impossible to ignore.

“Think he knows?”

Your breath catches.

“Not yet,” you murmur, keeping your gaze fixed forward. “But you’re not exactly subtle.”

Lando’s chuckle is warm against your neck. “Neither were you.”

And god, you wish you could argue.

Then Lando pulls back, his grin returning. “C’mon. Dance with me before Charles comes back and tries to charm you into a Ferrari contract.”

You grab his hand, letting him tug you into the crowd. “He couldn’t afford me.”

“Exactly,” Lando says, spinning you into him. “He´s already over budget.”

The music pulses through your bones, the bass thudding like a second heartbeat as you and Lando spill onto the dancefloor. It starts simple, a shared rhythm, bodies moving side by side, eyes catching in flashes of strobes. His hand brushes your lower back once, then again, lingering just a second too long.

You spin away, laughing, letting the crowd swallow you for a moment but not too far. He stays in your periphery, now dancing with some girl in red, hands at her waist, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her back. You roll your eyes, turning into the arms of someone else. Tall. Handsy. Too eager. You don’t care.

You move with him anyway, grinding just enough to send a clear message — not to the guy, but to Lando.

When you glance over your shoulder, Lando’s already looking. Smirking. He tilts his head like he’s amused, like he’s winning something, even though you’re not sure what the game even is.

Eventually, the heat pushes you both back to the bar. He’s already there when you arrive, sweaty curls pushed off his forehead, eyes dark and glinting as he sips something sharp.

You slide up beside him, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Going to take her to the bathroom?” you tease, nodding toward the red dress girl still swaying near the speakers.

He snorts. “You gonna take him?” he shoots back with a grin.

You don’t answer and you don’t smile either. Your cheeks betray you first, flushing warm under the lights. You turn slightly, trying to hide it behind your drink.

Lando notices instantly.

His eyes widen, grin turning gleeful. “No fucking way,” he gasps. “Little Miss I-Fucked-Someone-in-a-Bush-at-a-Family-Picnic didn’t do it in a club bathroom yet?”

You shoot him a sharp look, biting back your smile. “Not everyone’s a whore like you, Lando.”

He throws his head back laughing, the sound rich and unbothered until he leans in, breath ghosting your cheek, the smile still wide but something hungrier underneath.

“I’m gonna show you,” he murmurs, grabbing his drink, draining the last of it and stepping away with a wink.

Toward the bathroom.

Leaving you standing there, pulse racing, torn between your pride and the undeniable pull in your gut.

You stare after him, lips parted, brain short-circuiting somewhere between don’t be obvious and fuck it. His figure disappears through the crowd, headed toward the back hallway, no hesitation in his step, like he already knows you’ll come.

You hesitate for all of three seconds.

Then you toss back the rest of your drink too, feel it burn down your throat, and follow. The music presses in from all sides, the thump of bass like a countdown in your ears. You slip through clusters of dancers, weaving between bodies, your skin tingling like it knows what’s waiting.

The hallway behind the club feels darker. Cooler. But your blood is warm.

You catch up to him just before the bathroom door swings shut behind him. He glances back and there it is. That fucking smile. The one that says I knew you would.

“Changed your mind?” he asks, one brow lifting.

You roll your eyes, but your breath hitches. “Just making sure you wash your hands, Norris.”

He laughs but it’s low, rough at the edges. “Come make sure then.”

The door shuts behind you with a click that sounds final in the small, dim space.

He’s still smiling. But it’s different now a little slower, a little more loaded. He doesn’t move. Just watches you. Waits.

Your pulse roars louder than the bass outside.

And then you move first, stepping into his space, closing the charged distance like gravity’s doing the work for you. Your hand lifts, deliberately slow, until your palm presses against the front of his jeans.

The hiss he lets out is sharp, quiet, like it’s been punched out of him. His eyes snap to yours, dark and burning.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Your smirk curves slow and satisfied. “Don’t play me like this, Norris,” you murmur, your fingers flexing just slightly. “You want this just as much.”

He laughs, if you can call it that. It’s breathless, stunned, a little reverent. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

You lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear, echoing his own earlier tone. “Prove it.”

And that’s all it takes.

His hands are on you in an instant heat and urgency, mouth crashing into yours like restraint was never even in the cards. He backs you up against the sink, hips pressing close, breath hot, fingers tugging at your clothes like they offend him.

The bass outside keeps thumping, distant and forgotten.

In here, there’s only the heat of him, the way you both know exactly how to pull each other apart and how much you’ve wanted to.

Lando kisses like he’s dared to reckless and grinning, a little sloppy from the alcohol, but it just makes it worse, makes it better. Your teeth clash once, twice, both of you laughing into it, breath hot and fast. His hands are wild, tugging your hips into his, fingers curling under your top like he’s forgotten what patience even is.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters, voice rasped, drunk on you. His mouth is hot on your neck, biting down hard enough to make you whimper and buck against him.

“And you’re all talk,” you shoot back, already working at his belt, fumbling, rushed. “Thought you were gonna show me something?”

“Oh, I will,” he growls, shoving your skirt up as he walks you backwards into the counter. “I fucking will.”

Clothes aren’t removed just shoved, tugged, pushed out of the way like obstacles. He lifts you onto the sink and it squeaks beneath you. Your head tips back when he thrusts in fast and sudden, breath leaving you in a stuttering gasp.

You both freeze for half a second, dizzy, drunk, overwhelmed, then it’s frantic. Messy. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to brand you there. Your hands are in his hair, pulling, clawing, keeping him close.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters against your shoulder, pace rough and fast, and you swear he’s barely holding himself together.

“You’re loud,” you tease breathlessly, biting down on your own moan. “Someone’s gonna hear.”

His eyes flash as he grins. “Good. Let ‘em.”

You almost laugh but then he hits that spot again and you break, nails dragging down his back.

He doesn’t slow. “You gonna come for me right here?” he pants, forehead to yours now, sweat-slick and shaking.

Your only answer is a gasp, a shudder, your body clenching hard around him. That’s all it takes.

Lando swears, low and filthy, then comes with his face buried in your neck, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he might fall without you.

For a few seconds, all you hear is panting and the low thump of bass outside the door.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, still dazed, lips brushing his temple.

He grins, pulling back slightly to kiss you again — soft this time, drunk and satisfied.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “but also fucking amazing.”

tag list:

@lifesass @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Out of frame 2/4

Summary : Y/N and Lando Norris have been together for three years. Their relationship is real, steady, and full of quiet love but always behind the scenes. While fans know they’re a couple, Lando has never posted about her, avoids public displays of affection, and never mentions her in interviews. At first, Y/N understood. She believed it was about privacy, about protecting what they had. But over time, being constantly left out of frame has started to hurt.

Genre : angst, SMAU

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Faceclaim : @suanbeiii

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

@landonorris 📍Tokyo, Japan

Incredible night. Thank you to everyone who came out to support us. Big things coming 🫡

@_user1 he really posted all his friends but not his gf again... yikes

@_user2 is Y/N not in Japan with him? 😭

@_user3 nah this is getting embarrassing at this point. she literally always supports him and he can’t even tag her once??

@_user4 QUADRANT IN JAPAN LET’S GOOOO🔥

@_user5 the helmet is SICK omg 🔥

@_user6 weird how he never has a problem posting the boys 👀

@_user8 so hyped for this drop!! love seeing quadrant going global 💥

@_user10 where’s the queen?? y’all okay??

@_user11 y/n deserves a man who posts her like she posts him. period.

@your_username 📍Monaco

Girls can buy themself flowers too 💐

@_user1 wait. no japan trip for y/n this time?

@_user2 something’s off. they never miss a race weekend together 😶

@_user3 how is she real 😭😭 Lando you better be sending her flowers too!!

@_user4 the softest prettiest queen 🩷 Lando won the lottery and acts like he forgot

@_user5 Lando… be fr. how do you not post HER???

@_user6 she looks like a dream. if my gf looked like this I’d post her every 5 minutes lol

@_user7 you’re literally the prettiest person I’ve ever seen I can’t even hate you I’m obsessed 🥲

@_user8 i don’t care what’s going on but if he lets her go… we need to talk, Lando 😭

@_user9 okay but where do I sign up to be your girlfriend if Lando’s slacking??

@_user10 I hope he knows what he has. because the rest of us DO.

Texts messages

Lando You didn’t like the flowers I sent you?

Lando Seriously, Y/N? That post? What is that supposed to mean?

Y/N It means exactly what it says.

Lando So you ignore my apology and post something that makes it look like I did something wrong ?

Y/N You sent flowers. That’s not an apology, Lando. It’s a gesture. A pretty one, but not what I needed.

Lando You always want more. It’s never enough with you.

Y/N Because you don’t listen. I told you how I felt and you acted like I was being dramatic. I didn’t ask for a parade. Just for you to acknowledge me

Lando So you skip the race, don’t say a word for days, and make me look like an idiot online?

Y/N I said I had work.

Lando No. You said “don’t worry about it.” That’s code for “figure it out or I’m gone,” right?

Y/N You want to talk about code? Because not posting me, not bringing me up, not defending me when people speculate, THAT’s a message too.

Lando I thought keeping us private protected you

Y/N It doesn’t feel like protection, it makes me feel like a secret

Lando This again…

Y/N Yes. Again. Because you keep brushing it off like I’m asking you to tattoo my name on your forehead

Lando You want public affection. Fine. But maybe you could’ve talked to me instead of putting it on Instagram?

Y/N I tried to talk. You shut down. You always do.

Lando Because every time I mess up, you make me feel like I’m never enough

Y/N And every time I open up, you make me feel like I'm too much

Lando Right. Okay. Here we go.

Y/N Yeah. Here we go. Again. You don’t want to make the effort? That’s fine. Your loss.

Lando You know that’s not fair

Y/N Neither is loving someone who makes you feel invisible

Lando I have a race to focus on.

Y/N Enjoy it, Lando.

Lando Sure.

@F1LiveMoments 🎥Live interview moment of Lando at the Japan GP

Interviewer: “We didn’t see your girlfriend this weekend, is she not in Japan with you?” Lando Norris: laughs “Which girlfriend?”

@_user1 nah “which girlfriend” is CRAZY??? like are you trying to be single or stupid 😭

@_user2 he really said that on live TV… with a mic… and a camera… okay.

@_user3 and this is the man she’s been flying around the world to support in silence 💀

@_user4 he better deactivate, apologize and send 400 roses

@_user6 this girl has been nothing but quiet and supportive and he humiliates her like that? I’d be GONE.

@_user7 you can’t be “private” and also crack jokes like that… pick a struggle 😐

@_user8 and then men will say “why is she upset with me” like sir… you said WHICH GIRLFRIEND

@_user9 his media training just packed its bags and left the building

@_user10 @your_username deserves BETTER. we’re all saying it.

@_user12 this man’s idea of romance is “which girlfriend” I can’t breathe 😭😭😭

@your_username 📍Monaco

Sunday ritual 🧡

@_user1 she still supports him after that interview?? I’d be EMBARRASSED

@_user2 baby you didn’t see the clip, right?? pls say you didn’t

@_user3 I have to respect the loyalty but girl… the way he said “which girlfriend” like it was nothing 🤡

@_user4 wait… WHY is she still watching him like this?? I’m actually speechless

@_user5 this is such a sweet post but… after that live interview 😬

@_user6 girl did you see the interview from yesterday 💀

@your_username which interview?

@_user9 oh no oh no oh no 😭😭😭 she doesn’t KNOW

@_user10 this one comment just ended their relationship for real

@_user12 NAH IM SCARED. SOMEONE TAKE HER PHONE AWAY

@_user13 Lando better call her RIGHT NOW because this is about to go so bad

Texts messages :

Y/N “Which girlfriend?” Are you fucking serious right now?

Y/N Was that funny to you? Was humiliating me on live TV was what you needed?

Y/N You really went out there and said that like we’re nothing. Like I never existed.

Lando Y/N... Don’t do this.

Y/N Don’t do what, Lando? Get mad that my boyfriend made a joke like he doesn’t even know me?

Lando You didn’t want to come to Japan. You literally said you needed space What was I supposed to do?

Y/N NOT JOKE THAT YOU HAVE MULTIPLE GIRLFRIENDS ON LIVE TV MAYBE? Just a thought.

Lando It was sarcasm. The interviewer caught me off guard

Y/N No, what caught you off guard was the reality of being called out for once

Lando I didn’t mean it like that

Y/N You never do. That’s the problem.

Y/N Everything’s a joke or a deflection or a fucking PR-safe answer You don't even realize how much it hurt. You made me feel invisible

Lando You ghosted me for a week. You turned down my calls, ignored my flowers, and posted some cryptic caption like I never tried

Y/N Because sending flowers isn’t trying, Lando. It’s damage control

Y/N I was begging for real effort, for presence, for proof that I matter to you

Y/N And you know what you gave me? A joke about having multiple girlfriends ??

Lando It was a stupid moment. I panicked

Y/N God, do you even hear yourself?

Y/N You panicked and defaulted to disrespect. That says more than anything

Lando Okay well maybe if you were actually there we could have talked like normal people.

Y/N Don’t flip this on me.

Y/N I didn’t come because I was hurt, Lando. I needed space to breathe, not to be mocked globally

Y/N You know how hard it’s been? I kept telling myself you just needed time, that you were scared. Or shy. Or private

Y/N But maybe you were just comfortable keeping me secret, comfortable not choosing me when it’s inconvenient

Lando That’s not true.

Y/N Then prove it

Lando I’m trying to...

Y/N Trying would’ve been not letting those words leave your mouth.

Lando I messed up, okay? I didn’t think. I was tired and pissed...

Y/N No. You chose the words.

Y/N Enjoy the rest of Japan. Don’t worry about me.

Lando Y/N…

Y/N No. Fuck you, Norris.

Taglist (closed) : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie, @bunnisplayground, @nina481, @reallifemermaidprincess, @cars-and-frogs, @delululeclerc, @txmhxllqnd, @lydia-demarek, @destinyg237, @rhaenyrasversion, @sarascabiosa, @readz4u, @tvdtw4ever, @mynameisangeloflife, @teti-menchon0604, @suns3treading, @op814kitty, @prettyboyroseberg, @willowsnook, @ariesandwolves, @clarksgf, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @pinklemonade34, @fat-meh, @tiaajosephin, @landosbabe4, @easy4, @jule239, @mercrussell, @skylandori, @ryuucollapse, @nickie-amore, @fairyjinn, @seonaw, @mattslovelygf, @strawberrylov-er, @linnygirl09, @dilflover44, @bell1a, @f1fantasys, @sillyfreakfanparty, @janonymus0, @taetae-armyyyyy, @charlesgirl16, @angstynasty, @jules-bea2308, @afternoonarchive, @itsbieberxholland, @rexit-mo, @chlmtfilms, @vampgege, @mochimommy2002, @budgetcupid, @lemon-stvrrr, @bell1a, @taebearyoongs, @hazzasmunchkin, @sainz0fthetimes, @didaaa4, @madelyn2000, @il0vereadingstuff, @march32nd, @chlmtfilms, @literallysza, @cheapdocmartens, @wolfstarsimpxx, @pretzelcat4-blog, @larya810, @6-noir, @urfavftoomie, @ficr3ccs, @strawberrylov-er, @wosof1, @behindmygreyeyes, @justheretoreadthxxs, @pinklemonade34, @ninass-world, @landosbabe4, @leclercdream, @raynetargaryan2,

[fangirlfuel]

Lando Norris Recommendation's

Materialist

▪︎ ˖ 𐔌 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥࿐ . ۫ by @0scarp1astr1

Desc: || Lando Norris was known for his partying ways, his loud and exciting ways, at least by the media. So, it began to make those close to him wonder what attracted him to a single mother such as you. ||

▪︎BABY LAUGHTER by @maritinelli

Summary: The babies are in a laughing phase and anything Y/n and Lando do makes them laugh non-stop.

▪︎run for the hills by @norrisidous

▪︎till death do us part 🥀 by @formulaonecrumbs

summary: lando grieving the death of the love of his life

▪︎Death By A Thousand Cuts by @youreverydayfangirl

summary: y/n y/ln has always been in love with lando, or in which lando brushed y/n off until its too late

L You Are In Love

summary: y/n y/ln has finally moved on from lando norris, or in which lando tries everything he can do to get his girl back

▪︎redeemed by @paddockletters

Summary: lando and you had always been inseparable—until his high-profile breakup changed everything. when lando and his girlfriend called it quits in a messy, public split, the internet turned against you, blaming you for ruining the relationship

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[f1samcro]

Princess Power's

Masterlist

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Rumours first started when Lando blew a kiss to someone on the Monaco top step. Then again when McLaren posted a video of him staring at something or rather someone, with the corner’s of his lips curled up, eyes unbelievably soft and warm, looking like he was in love. And just when everything died down again, Lando was photographed leaving a daycare, a little girl, in a princess dress, clutching onto his hand, and a princess themed backpack slung over his shoulder. But what grabbed everybody's attention was the fact the little girl looked nothing like him. She was pale, freckled little cheeks, bright red hair pulled into two curly pigtails with little pom-poms attached. The only resemblance was her wide, bright green eyes. And even that was stretching it. And when he was asked about it during the next press-conference?

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. We’re here for racing. Not to entertain people taking photos of children without permission. It was a gross violation of privacy and that’s all I’m saying about it.”

Max chimes in beside him, “Are there any other questions about this weekend or are we done here?”

Ultimately it was George who gave confirmation. It wasn’t like he meant to. Hell, even he didn’t know how people got where they did with it. But he was walking through the paddock one day with a bright pink ribbon tied around his wrist, and when F1 TV cut to the Mercedes garage during the race, they saw a pink bunny sitting on Carmen’s lap. And when he was asked what helped him win that weekend, he smiled and said he’d had some help. “One of my mate’s daughter’s, actually. Insisted I needed some ‘princess power’ to win this weekend. Cheeky little thing was right.”

And the people went wild, combing through all of George’s friends' social media pages. Until someone got on Twitter, with a photo from Lando’s account, with a bright pink ribbon visible in the corner. And that was it. Lando Norris had a daughter. She knew the grid. And she’d given George princess powers.

When Lando got home after that weekend he was greeted by a flurry of pink. Pink poster paper on the floor, pink glitter, pink paint, princess stickers. And sitting in the middle of it was the little girl, in a princess dress with a tiara perched precariously on her head. Her eyes were sparkling with glittery eyeshadow, lips stained with a bright pink lipstick, cheeks covered in too much blush. Next to her sat you, in one of your nicer dresses, tiara also on your head, makeup done much more messily than the little girls. The second the door shuts, a loud squeal erupts from the mess, and the little girl is standing up and running towards Lando, “Lala!”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “Olivia, it’s daddy. Or dad. Not Lala.”

“Mila and ‘Thea call him Lala!”

“Because he’s not their daddy, uncle Ollie is.”

Lando lets out a soft ‘oomph’ as his daughter lands. He reaches down to pick her up, brushing his nose against her’s, “Hello, Princess Livie. Have you behaved?”

She nods, “Best princess of all the lands!”

“Oh, really?!”

He had that look on his face, the one he always did around her, the one that made him look 15 years younger, like he was Livie’s age again. Pure, unfiltered, childish, joy. You stand up slowly, dodging the mess of pink, “We were making a flag.”

Lando hums, leaning down to kiss you quickly. Livie screeched, “My Lala!”

“You can have your Lala when you go back to calling him daddy, like you’re supposed to.”

Lando looks around the apartment, “I can go give Livie a bath. Let you get some of this under control.”

“I’m showering after.”

“I know. I’ll clean her up. Give her lunch if she hasn’t had any and then put her down for a nap.”

You nod, “Deal.”

By the time Lando had gotten Livie down for a nap, you’d put lunch in the oven for him and put on the show you were watching. He sat down on the couch next to you, lifting his arm up so you could curl up underneath him. “Everybody knows about Livie’s princess powers.”

You hum, eyes trained on the screen, resting your head on his chest. “I still want to keep her out of the media.”

He runs his hand over your hair, “I know, love. We’ll keep her out of it.”

Eventually, the media circled back to it, asking questions again. They’d figured out Lando had a daughter. But now they were asking why they looked nothing alike.

He shrugged simply, “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

But they’d kept asking. And after weeks of getting the same answer, they were finally given something different. 

“My partner and I talked about what’d I’d say when you asked again. So, uh, we got together when my partner was like two or three months pregnant. The guy wasn’t in the picture. But I had decided pretty early in that I would be. So I went to doctor’s appointments, helped pick out baby names, made a nursery in my apartment. First one to hold our daughter after her mother. So yeah, that’s why she doesn’t look like me. Spitting image of her grandma, really. But she’s my kid. And that’s all we’ve decided we’re comfortable with sharing.”

[vivwritesfics]

Sports Romance

Lando's girl loves reading. She loves those sports romance books. But she wants an F1 book she can relate to as a WAG. So, she writes one herself.

Warnings: 18+ smut, p in v

a/n: I HAVE NOT READ THIS BOOK BY HANNAH LILY BUT I BET IT'S AWESOME! IT LOOKS SIIIIIICK AND THAT'S WHY I'M USING IT HERE

Every sports romance book she'd read since the beginning of her relationship with Lando Norris had been fine, but inaccurate. They'd been a bit of fun, something to read on her travels.

But they were so fucking inaccurate.

She was the girlfriend of a driver. Nobody understood that better than her (well, except the other WAGS. She loved the other WAGS).

Every time she posted a book on her Instagram, it had a glowing review. It had to have a glowing review, especially when she had such a big audience.

She read the comments, too. People who were enjoying the books she recommended always brought her joy. She had pictures of herself, reading with Lando. Pictures friends had taken of her with her head in his lap, reading while he gamed.

They always did good on her Instagram. On his Instagram, too. But Lando always posted the pictures that came after hers, the one where he stopped gaming, pushed her book out of her way and kissed her.

But the sports romance books. Too many times she had stopped Lando to read out a part of the book and ask, "Does this sound right?"

And Lando, because he was obsessed with his girlfriend, asked her to read it out again. Just to hear her voice. He wasn't a man that enjoyed reading, but he would have listened to audiobooks if she voiced them.

"Nearly," he would answer, his arms around her, chin on her shoulder as he tried to read.

The WAG groupchat got to read parts of it as well, got to give their opinions on what she was reading.

It wasn't bad, the books. It was just inaccurate.

"I'm gonna try and write one."

"Huh?" Lando looked up from his phone.

"One of those sports romance books. I'm gonna try and write one for F1."

He watched as she stood up and walked over to her little desk in the corner of the room. Where she had had written her dissertation and finished her degree. Now, it just held empty notebooks.

She grabbed one, grabbed a pen.

And she wrote.

Just writing. No planning, no creating characters, just writing.

It was pretty easy to write a love story when it was basically your life. Some parts of it was exaggerated, the enemies to lovers style meeting especially. But the Formula One parts, the they were accurate, checked over by Lando (as long as she read them out to him).

For months, she worked on a first draft. It wasn't easy, with days, sometimes weeks of her getting nothing done. But she worked hard, didn't let the writers block get her down.

Lando was her biggest supporter. Reading what she sent him, sending back his feedback (which was always just a million heart emojis).

When her first draft was done, Lando insisted on celebrating. Dinner and drinks which normally ended with her on her cheeks, his hands on her hips as he fucked her, pushing his cock through her folds. His grip was usually tight enough to bruise, a mark she would wear with pride.

She read the first draft out to him, for his reaction of the entire story and to catch any silly mistakes. Any time Lando asked 'huh?', she made a note, worked around it.

And then, she sent it to her friend. Someone she trusted, someone she knew would tell her if it was shit, would tell her what she loved and hated. Someone who would circle her mistakes, tell her what she needed to fix before sending it to the publisher.

The second draft took a year. A year of trying to edit before giving up. A year of spending a week doing an entire chapter, a month doing the next. A year of getting loads done in a short space of time, only to do nothing for the next few weeks. Those weeks of nothing were so demotivating, but Lando was her rock, kept her going.

After the second draft, she contacted a publisher. And then another publisher. And then another publisher.

Eventually, one took interest in her story.

It wasn't perfect, but the publisher took a chance on her. She made the necessary changes and sent it back.

She kept the rest of the process under wraps. Nobody was allowed to see the cover, not until the book was announced. Nobody was allowed to know anything, not until the book was announced. Not even Lando.

No matter how much he begged and pleaded with those puppy dog eyes, she wouldn't let him know. Just like everybody else, he had to wait.

Five minutes before her post announcing her book on Instagram, she revealed the cover to him.

"That's me."

It was him. Dark hair, green eyes (she had to pick between green and blue while keeping the main male character looking like her boyfriend. It wasn't easy), and orange race overalls, it was obviously him.

"That's me," he said again and strode towards her. "That's really me."

"That's you, baby," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck as he picked her up. "Had to make my F1 romance about you, didn't I?" She said, like it was obvious.

He took another look at the cover. "But the girl doesn't look like you," he said, as if it was a personal insult towards him.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Didn't want to make it too obvious that I was in love with you," she said, but her laugh gave her joke away. "Didn't want to write some self insert shit," she mumbled and wrapped her arms around him again.

Lando kissed her. It was the kind of kiss that left her breathless and dizzying. The kind of kiss that had him sitting down and her climbing into his lap. The kind of kiss that had him chanting I love you, while she bounced on his cock.

When the book came out, the reception was phenomenal. Her own social media audience bought her books, as well as Lando's fans. Girls that wanted to know what it was like to date him, girls that spent their evenings on tumblr, that now had a view of a life they so desperately wanted.

They left her favourite reviews, most of them finishing the book within the day they bought it.

Maybe this was her calling, being an author. Writing books that had her boyfriend as the main character. No, she couldn't think of anything better.

[norcigs]

GOOD CARE

synop: dryhumping with lando or lando is so well loved he decides its your turn to be cared for

warnings: smut smut, little plot, use of bunny and baby, no use of yn, sleepyish sex, dumbification if u squint really hard

📀: 2.2K words

it’d be late, and he had been gone too long for your tired eyes. you drifted off to sleep while waiting for him to get home. he wasn't usually this late and he hasn't really been answering your texts. you figured he had a very busy day, so you made him his favorite meal and left a plate of it already in the microwave.

when lando got back to his apartment his feet felt heavy as he dragged up the stairs and inside the front door. the only things that got him through the 7+ hours he spent in the sim chair were the sweet texts his girl would send him, that he wasnt even allowed to respond to, and the packed lunch she made him that had his strawberries cut into heart shapes.

taking his shoes off, it was quiet, but the warm light still glowing in the kitchen made him feel safe. he followed it to the stove where it was coming from. on the microwave door was a pink sticky note that said

dinner inside!

so proud of you baby <3

his lips formed a pout as he pulled the sticky note off and started the microwave. he brought the note up to his heart and held it there like it might stick forever. opening the microwave door just before the timer went off, as to not wake you, the smell of warm food and the buzz he had in his chest thinking about his girl made him relax and slip into a more comfortable state. he finished eating quickly, a combination of how hungry he was, how good the food was, and how much he just wanted to get in bed with you.

he folded the sticky note and put it in his wallet before leaving it and other things on the table by the front door. he was suddenly very happy he had showered at headquarters as he slipped in both your bedroom. you were laying on his side of the bed, knees curled to your chest. your chest expanding so slowly as you took breaths, nostrils flaring so subtly as you exhaled. your hair fell soft, framing your face. only alit by the moonlight that seeped in through the curtains. lando thought you looked like something spoken into being, not born– weightless, and too beautiful to touch.

he sat to his knees to be eye level with you and really look at you. his hands rested on his thighs as he soaked in the way you looked, the way you lived. his girl. as his eyes brushed over each of your features, he thought about spending the rest of his life with you. your eyes, that looked at him with such love, your mouth, that always knew exactly what to say. your hands– so soft, so tender, how you took such good care of him. his sweet girl, who left him love notes and kept him fed. his girl that made him heart shaped strawberries just for the chance that it might make him smile. you were his. his girlfriend, but eventually his wife.

he rolled back to his feet, almost hot with how his heart was pounding at the thoughts of you. he moved to the closet and shed his work clothes for something better fit for his plans. a soft white t-shirt you always thought made his arms look good, and light blue boxers. he walked back over to you softly, bending over to take in your form once more before disturbing it. he slid a hand underneath you and started lifting you up, so he could sit beneath you. you stirred at the movement but were still relaxed and easy for lando to hold.

he sat under you before lowering his hold on your upper body to be laying flush against his. a leg on each side of your frame as he rested your head on his chest. you woke slowly, your eyes blinking slow and heavy, smacking your mouth a few times, and bunching fists of his shirt as you stretched.

“hi baby” you muttered with a sleepy slur, before you had even opened your eyes all the way. throwing one of your legs up over his so you were laying even more on top of him. his hands scratched faintly over your lower back and you groaned a little before finally opening your eyes to see him. he looked radiant. warm tan skin, light smile, soft curls, and that look in his eye that made you think about taking his last name.

“im sorry i woke you bunny” he said, eyes never leaving yours. really you hadn't even realized he was what woke you up, you were already cozied up to him by the time your eyes had fully opened. the nickname sent a little jolt through you, not enough to shake the sleep, but enough to make you more alert. he really only used that name when he was in a very certain mood. nonetheless, it had you crawling up his body so your head was lying more on his shoulder and you were straddling his waist.

lando’s arms wrapped completely around you, holding you tight against him, his head also burying into your shoulder. your arms wrapped around his neck as you arched into him enough to pull your head back and kiss him. his hands pushed your arching back even more into him and settled on your sides.

“i missed you” you told him as you separated from each other just enough to speak. your lips wet and eyes still a little hazy, he smiled kissing you again.

“i missed you bunny” he said against your lips. your hips rocked down onto him at the sound of the nickname again. it was like instinct, apparently too sleepy to control it, or too reactive to him. it was quick and you pretended like it didn’t happen, and hoped he didn’t even notice. he did.

“you take such good care of me baby” he whispered with your faces still just inches apart. the hands on your waist slowly moved down and under your nightgown. fingers dragging past the silk lacy panties before settling back on your waist, just skin to skin this time. it shouldn't have driven you so crazy; it could easily just be an innocent moment of intimacy. but now your heartbeat was picking up pace and you felt far from tired.

“gonna make you my sweet little wife one day” he finished as his grip on you tightened. your hips rocking down again, the small sigh escaping you making it harder to ignore. you were now very aware of the slick spot pooling on your silk panties and that lando was just wearing boxers. your skin felt hot as you tried to control your own hips and mouth.

“did you like your dinner?” you asked him, trying to distract him and keep it all together.

“mhm, should have been home sooner to thank you properly” he answers you, before his head dipped back down to your neck leaving kisses, lips brushing sweet spots that had your eyes closing and mouth falling open.

“lan…” you tried warning him. you were smart enough to know your acting wasn't good enough to convince him you weren't getting desperate. he seemed too tired for sex and honestly you were to, so his teasing felt unfair. but each time his big hands squeezed around your waist and your hips rocked you back down against him felt so good.

“let me just take care of you now baby,” he told you, kissing your jaw and pushing your hips down a little. “can i just make you feel good, bunny?” he asked and your head was already spinning. eyes fluttering closed just briefly as lando watched you with such intensity the world around you melted away.

you nodded your head, already too gone to even speak really. he readjusted so his back was more against the headboard, giving him more control of everything. he lifted your hips to sit you down perfectly on his cock, which was already hard and pulsing against your clit. your folds separated a little every time he pushed you down on the ridge of his cock, your clit dragging atop his whole length.

“my pretty girl” he praised as he took complete control of your hips. sliding you up and down his cock so you didn't need to do any of the work. he wanted to take care of you. you laying on his chest taking the surges of pleasure he is giving you is one of his favorite ways to do that. your panties were soaked and starting to wet lando’s boxers. the thin fabric of your underwear making it feel almost invisible. he could feel the bump of your clit everytime it dragged over where his tip hit his shaft. he could feel you spreading just a little wider and the end of every stroke when you would grind down on him harder. greedy, he smiled.

“that's it baby, just turn that little brain off and let me make you feel good,” and you were listening. stress, worry, it all melted out of you as lando rubbed your cunt against him. he started raising his hips and bucking against you. more force and friction targeted at your clit. your hips started helping his hands to move you faster. you were spinning, all decision making gone; you trusted lando plenty enough to let him make the decisions right now.

it was almost embarrassing how good it felt, all thoughts gone, just pleasure bouncing around your head and rippling through you from your clit. it was so slick, you were sliding against him with such ease now, cunt pulsing around his tip at the start of every stroke. lando’s big hands wrapped around your waist, conducting you. this is what he wanted. he wanted to come home to his sweet girlfriend and just make her come undone for him. because she deserved it. you started whining thinking about it, as he wore himself out just to make you feel good, just because he loved you so much.

“you blow me away, how you wake up and show me what a sweet girl you are all day, and then let me turn you into a slut who falls apart on her favorite cock every night,” he teased, sucking your neck as he felt you tightening up in his hands and around his dick. he moved one hand up to your neck and squeezed the outside, your hips keeping the pace he set for you. your hands shot to his wrist near your throat as you used it for leverage to rub against him with. your clit was dragging across the bump of his tip, and his girth was spreading you just that little bit more now. your mouth fell open as your head tipped back, eyes crossing just barely before you closed them.

“that's my girl, i got you, break for me” he begged as his grip on your waist was so tight you could feel his nails against your skin. your body clenched, starting from your wet cunt and spreading to every one of your muscles.

“i got you” he chanted as the wave crashed over you. it hit you hard, mind going blank of everything but the pleasure and his voice. i got you. your head snapped forward and landed on his shoulder as you hunched over and worked your hips as hard and fast as you could against his. i got you. moaning too loudly and without any control you bucked against him instinctually, body knowing far more than your mind right now. i got you. shaking and pulsing with pleasure and exhaustion, he moved himself against you to work you through the end of your high. i got you. your moans turned into caught sobs in the back of your throat as your head spun and your hips still jerked against him more sporadically, body relaxing to melted butter as you finished.

“shh, shh, i know baby, i got you” he cooed as you collapsed on to him. your head resting on his chest and burying into his neck. your chest flush against him, as he soothed you with soft head pats and back scratches. he whispered i love you again and again until you started to come back to reality. pulling your head up lazily, you kissed him, it was more just holding your lips together, but he swore he could taste how much you loved him.

“good girl” he said as your body slumped into his, drained and dazed after everything. he covered you both with a blanket as he kept trailing his fingers up and down your back. you were too tired to speak, just whimpering and letting lando take care of you.

“you go back to sleep now bunny, i'll clean you up while you rest” he promised, kissing your cheek as you nodded your approval. your eyelids were so heavy, and lannie’s heartbeat in your ear was pulling you deeper under. the little squeeze you gave his arm before nodding off told him everything he needed to know about how much you loved and trusted him.