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content - established relationship, seizures, fluff
notes - something a little different but i wanted to give this condition some representation
wc - 1,300
When you first started dating, epilepsy was one of the things you were most nervous to tell him about.
You'd had it your whole life. As far back as you could remember, medications, hospital appointments, neurologists, and seizure plans had been woven into you everyday routine. To you, it was normal, sometimes inconvenient, but normal.
To other people, though, it wasn't.
So when things with Alfie started becoming serious, you'd spent days worrying about how he'd react.
Instead, he'd listened carefully, asked questions, and learned everything he could.
Now, eleven months later, it had become a routine neither of you wanted but both knew how to handle.
Right now, the two of you were curled up on the sofa in his bedroom, a blanket was tangled around your legs, the room illuminated only by the war glow of a lamp in the corner and the flickering light of the television.
Some action film played in the background, though neither of you had paid much attention to it for the last twenty minutes. The takeaway menu currently held far more importance.
"You're not getting pineapple on the pizza," Alfie declared, scrolling through options on his phone.
"I absolutely am."
"You are a menace to society."
You laughed, opening your mouth to argue back, when a familiar feeling washed over you.
Your laughter died in your throat.
A cold sensation spread through your stomach, spreading like icy water through your veins.
A faint buzzing crept into your ears, like static building under your skin, and your fingers twitched involuntarily against the blanket.
The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly.
The television, which had faded into background noise moments earlier, became overwhelmingly loud. The flickering light from the screen seemed brighter than before.
A familiar sense of dread curled around your chest.
Not now.
You swallowed hard and sat up slightly, your hand tightening around the blanket tangled across your lap.
Alfie noticed immediately. One second he was grinning, the next, all traces of amusement vanished.
"Hey."
Your vision blurred, like you were looking at everything through fogged glass.
"Alf..." you managed. The sentence never finished.
He was already moving, phone forgotten on the sofa.
"It's okay," he said calmly. "I've got you."
The calmness in his voice grounded you for a brief moment.
You wanted to answer, wanted to tell him you knew, but the words wouldn't come. Your thoughts scattered before you could catch them.
You saw him pause the film, push the coffee table further aware, moving anything dangerous out of the way, and grab the cushion from beside him.
Everything felt slow and distant as your thoughts became muddled.
Then the seizure hit.
Your body stiffened. The world disappeared.
Alfie carefully guided you onto your side as the seizure progresses, making sure your head rested safely against the cushion
He checked the time on his phone. Started timing.
Just like he'd been taught. Just like he'd done before.
The room suddenly felt far too quiet without your laughter.
Rain tapped steadily against the glass. The soft patter felt impossibly gentle compared to the violent rhythm of your muscles.
The television sat frozen on a paused frame.
Alfie remained beside you the entire time, one hand near your shoulder, not restraining, just steady and grounding.
Watching.
Waiting.
Making sure you were safe.
His heart still clenched every time it happened. He wasn't sure that part would ever go away.
No matter how many seizures he'd witnessed, seeing you lose awareness always sent a stab of helplessness through his chest.
But he'd learned something important over the past year.
You needed calm. Not panic.
"It's okay," he murmured quietly, even though he knew you couldn't hear him, his head gently smoothing over your hair.
The seizure continued.
Then gradually, slowly, it began to ease, the movement becoming less intense.
Your body relaxed and eventually it stopped.
When the seizure ended, exhaustion hit you like a wave.
You opened your eyes to a blurry ceiling and an even blurrier boyfriend.
"Hey," he said softly.
Your head felt impossibly heavy, like someone had filled it with wet cotton. Your tongue felt thick, like it didn't quite belong in your mouth, and your arms felt a second too slow to respond to you thoughts.
Every muscle in your body ached.
The room felt too warm and too cold at the same time, your body struggling to decide which sensation to hold onto.
Confusion settled over you.
"What happened?"
His lips twitched.
"You lost the pineapple debate."
You groaned. "Oh no."
"Absolutely tragic, I know."
A weak laugh escaped you, immediately making him smile.
There you are, exhausted and disoriented, but back.
Alfie handed you the bottle of water he'd already prepared and unscrewed the cap for you.
"Easy," he said as you tried to sit up.
A hand settled against your back, steadying you.
You took a few careful sips, the cold water helped clear some of the fog.
A dull throb pulsed behind your eyes, not painful, just insistent - the familiar echo of your brain rebooting.
"Tired?" he asked.
You nodded. "So tired."
"Yeah, that's usually how this goes." His thumb rubbed small circles against your shoulder,
There was no awkwardness.
No pity.
No treating you like you were fragile.
Just the comfortable rhythm you'd built together over months of hospital appointments, medication reminders, and recovery naps.
After nearly a year together, he'd learned exactly what you needed afterwards.
You shifted closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. He was warm, comfortingly familiar. The blanket rustled softly as you settled, your muscles still heavy and uncooperative, but his presence made the weight feel easier to carry.
Your fingers curled loosely into the fabric of his hoodie, the cotton soft and familiar beneath your hand. His warmth seeped into your skin, chasing away the last of the cold that always lingered after a seizure.
"Thanks." you mumbled.
Alfie kissed the top of your head.
"Stop thanking me," he murmured against your hairline.
"Still," you whispered, because gratitude sat stubbornly in your chest even when your brain felt foggy.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Rain continued to tap against the window in a steady rhythm like the world outside was trying to soothe you too. The paused film sat forgotten on the television, casting a faint glow across the room.
The room felt peaceful again. Safe.
Alfie would never admit it out loud, but every seizure still scared him. Not because he didn't know what to do - he did. He knew the routine by heart. He knew how to recognise the warning signs. He knew to move any hazards, to time the seizure, to stay calm, and to wait patiently for you to come back.
But knowing what to do didn't stop the fear completely. Watching someone you loved lose awareness, even for a few minutes, never stopped feeling frightening.
Alfie rested his cheek lightly against your hair, his arm curled around you.
Making sure you were okay.
Making sure your breathing stayed steady.
Making sure you knew he wasn't going anywhere.
You felt the subtle rise and fall of his breathing, and he felt yours, his attention flicking to the rhythm of it the way it always did after a seizure.
Eventually he reached for his phone again, careful not to jostle you.
"So..." he said, voice low.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.
"What?"
"I'm ordering pizza."
A smile tugged at your lips. "And?"
"And because you've had a rubbish evening..."
He sighed dramatically, nudging you knee gently with his own, the kind of soft, wordless reassurance he'd mastered over the past year.
"...you can have the pineapple."
You grinned into his shoulder. "That's true love."
"Don't push it." he muttered, but you could hear the smile in his voice.
You let your eyes drift closed again, the warmth of him seeping into your bones. With your head resting against his shoulder, pizza on the way, and rain tapping softly against the window, the world slowly settled back into place.
I was wondering if you could write about reader having a bad medical emergency and how Alfie would react to it and how he would be while she was in the hospital
I think he would be so worried and overprotective with her
And him talking about it afterwards on the fellas and describing what happened ❤️❤️
hospitalized ── alfie buttle⋆⭒˚.⋆
pairing: ab x fem! reader
warnings/contents: mentions of sepsis, mentions of hospitals/being sick etc.
a/n: i chose sepsis because lowkey like one of the only things i could think of that i knew so i do hope this fits ur whole vibe
Pm me to be on taglist <3
requests are open and i'm happy to write whatever, hope you enjoy xx
It’s been days since you cut your leg.
Nothing dramatic. Just a stupid nick on your calf from brushing past a broken tile at home. You cleaned it, slapped a plaster on it, forgot about it. By the time Alfie noticed it a few days later, it was already scabbed over.
Now, you feel… off.
You’re curled up on the sofa, blanket pulled up to your chin even though the room isn’t even remotely cold. Your teeth chatter uncontrollably, your skin burning one minute and freezing the next. Your head throbs, heavy and foggy, like you’re underwater.
Alfie glances over from his phone. “gyal why’re you wrapped up like that?” he asks, amused. “nah you're actually bare cute, let me join”
You manage a weak laugh. “I feel grim.”
“Probably just run down,” he says lightly. “You’ve been doing too much f'me where as ive done fuckin nish this week. Come on, I’ll make you a cuppa.”
You try to sit up, but the room tilts violently. You grab the arm of the sofa, nausea rolling through you.
“Alf?” you mumble. “I feel really weird.”
He looks back at you properly this time. The joking smile fades when he sees your face, pale, eyes glassy, sweat beading along your hairline.
“You alright?” he asks, tone shifting.
“I think so,” you say, but the sentence comes out wrong, slurred at the edges. You frown, confused by your own voice. “I’m just… cold. No, hot. I don’t know. My heart’s doing something odd.”
He lets out a soft laugh, still trying to keep it light. “You’ve got the flu or something. You’re being dramatic, a fuckin papercut could take out bro”
But then you lose your train of thought entirely. You stare at him, brow furrowing.
“What was I saying?” you ask quietly.
That makes him pause.
“…You said you felt weird,” he replies.
“Oh.” You nod, then shake your head, immediately overwhelmed. “Did I? Sorry. I can’t… my head feels fuzzy.”
When the shivering starts, proper, violent tremors that rattle through your whole body, his smile disappears.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s… that’s not normal.”
He kneels in front of you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re boiling.”
Your stomach twists suddenly. You barely register the movement before you’re gagging, Alfie hauling the bin towards you just in time. He holds your hair back, rubbing your back as you retch.
“I don’t like this,” you whisper, confused and frightened. “I don’t feel like myself.”
“That’s it,” he says, all joking gone now. “We’re not messing about.”
As he helps you back to the sofa, the blanket slips, exposing your leg. The cut catches his eye immediately.
The skin around it is red and swollen, the redness creeping outward in angry lines. It looks wrong. Infected.
“Oi,” he says quietly, dread creeping into his voice. “When did that happen?”
You squint down at your leg like you’re seeing it for the first time. “I… I don’t know. Did I do that today?”
His stomach drops.
“Ages ago,” you add after a beat, uncertain. “I think. It doesn’t hurt much.”
“It’s not nothing,” he says, heart racing now. “Why didn’t you tell me it looked like that?”
You shrug weakly, eyes unfocused. “Didn’t think it mattered. Do we need to go out tonight?”
The question hits him like a punch.
Alfie’s phone is in his hand before you finish speaking.
By the time the paramedics arrive, you’re drifting in and out, struggling to keep your eyes open. Alfie explains everything at once, the fever, the vomiting, the shaking, the confusion, the cut.
One of the paramedics kneels in front of you. “Do you know where you are?”
You blink at them. “…Your house?”
Alfie’s chest tightens.
In the ambulance, everything blurs. Oxygen. Needles. Voices speaking too fast. You keep losing time. You ask the same question twice. You forget Alfie’s already answered.
Alfie holds your hand the entire way, thumb rubbing frantic circles into your skin. “You’re alright,” he keeps saying, even though his eyes are wet. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me, yeah?”
At the hospital, they don’t waste time. Blood tests. IV antibiotics. Fluids pushed quickly into your veins.
A doctor pulls Alfie aside.
“She’s septic,” they say plainly. “The infection from the cut has entered her bloodstream. The confusion you noticed is part of that. She’s very unwell, but she’s here early enough that we expect her to respond to treatment.”
Alfie feels sick.
“Fuck. She could’ve died,” he says, barely able to get the words out.
“Yes,” the doctor replies gently. “If she’d stayed home.”
Alfie sits beside your bed all night, watching your chest rise and fall, flinching every time you stir, every time the monitor changes pitch. He answers nurses before you can, terrified you’ll get muddled again.
When you finally wake properly, clearer this time, your body heavy and sore, Alfie’s head snaps up immediately.
“Hey girl” he whispers. “don’t move.”
You blink at him. “Why are you… here?”
The color drains from his face for half a second.
“…Because you’re in hospital,” he says gently.
“Oh.” You look around slowly, memory clicking back into place. “Right. Sorry. I’m a bit thick.”
He laughs weakly, eyes shining. “You’re allowed. You scared me half to death.”
“You were crying,” you say softly.
“I wasn’t,” he lies automatically.
He was.
“You had sepsis,” he says quietly. “From that stupid little cut. You were really confused for a bit. I hated it.”
You squeeze his hand. “I don’t remember that.”
“I know,” he says. “it was proper fucked I've actually never been so worried”
From then on, he’s unbearable.
He checks your temperature obsessively. Won’t let you shower alone. Walks half a step behind you when they let you move around the ward. He questions every nurse, every medication.
“Alfie,” you tease weakly. “You’re hovering.”
“Good,” he replies. “Get used to it.”
The next week he goes on the fellas and you become a topic of interest.
Alfie: oh boys I have a story, I’m not even joking… last week I proper nearly lost it
Chip: Oooohh, sounds like we're gonna make banging monetization off of this
Alfie: Right, so… my missus, yeah? She’s at the London gaff, just walking around, and she brushes past a broken tile. Fuckin stupid? Cuts her leg on it. Just a little nick on her calf. She cleans it, slaps a plaster on it, forgets about it. And for normal people thats not an issue, right? Wrong.
Cal: Mate, a plaster fixes everything. How bad could it be?
Alfie: That’s what I thought. But then, a few days later, I walk in, and she’s wrapped up like she’s been in a blizzard. Blanket to her chin, teeth chattering n shit, sweating one minute, freezing the next. Bro, I’m thinking… nah, this ain’t normal.
Chip: Woah… that actually sounds proper scary you know, because how d'you know its just the flu?
Alfie: Exactly. And I’m trying to stay chill? I’m like, “Aw, I’ll make you a cuppa, you’ll be sound.” But then she starts talking weird, slurring words, forgetting stuff she just said. My jaw dropped
Cal: Jesus, AB. She wasn’t just being dramatic, wait I actually thought you were joking?
Alfie: Nahhh, this was next level. Then the shivering kicks in… proper violent, whole body. She’s sick, right in the bin. And then I clock her leg… the cut.the skin’s red, swollen, angry lines creeping out. My chest just dropped to the floor, swear down.
Chip: Fuckin hell, bro that actually minging, i cant do with anything infected
Alfie: I hate it, disgusting. I’m grabbing my phone, calling an ambulance, all in a panic. She’s drifting in and out, asking the same question like, bare confused, and I’m holding her hand, rubbing her thumb, telling her she’s fine… inside I was fuckin panicking bro
Cal: I’d melt too, bro. Proper stress.
Alfie: And in the ambulance, she keeps forgetting I already answered, driftin’ in and out, I’m like “stay with me, stay with me,” bro, I’ve never been that shook. Then hospital, doctor pulls me aside: “She’s septic. Very unwell, but caught early.” she could’ve died.
Chip: Bro, that’s heavy.
Alfie: Heavy doesn’t even cover it, bro. I've actually been worried now for no reason, I actually dropped to my knees for gyal. Bro, seeing her like that… never again. I don’t care if it’s a tiny cut, I’m not letting her be alone.
notes: i haven’t specified which theme park this is, but i (loosely) based it around alton towers. also i don’t really like this fic so please be nice to me, thanks xx
wc: 2,917
GOING TO THEME parks with Arabella was something you’d always been wary of. The biggest worry was that you would spend so much money on entrance fees, just for her to absolutely hate the first ride and be adamant about not doing any others.
She was in a little mood because you hadn’t allowed her to wear her strappy sandals (which you knew would’ve caused her a million problems while walking all day) and had forced her into a pair of T-bar shoes with little strawberries on the front.
Sharing a knowing look with Alfie, you turned around to look at her.
She had her chin tucked to her chest and her hands were tugging at the hem of her shirt.
“Bella?” You spoke softly.
She whined, shaking her head.
You sighed, “What if we get ice cream while we’re there. Is that better?”
Her head poked up a little, and she nodded meekly, making you smile.
“And you’re gonna go on loads of rides with daddy?”
Another nod.
“Because he's too scared to go on the big rides.”
That earned a little giggle, and you reached out, stroking under her chin, “Head up, baby. You can wear your sandals another day.”
“Okay.” She hummed, finally lifting her head.
When Alfie pulled into the car park, he already began huffing and puffing at slow walkers and large families just being stood in the way. You wanted to laugh, and you would have had Arabella not been in the backseat. You were trying to teach her patience and kindness, so to have her dad cussing out other children and adults felt slightly counter productive.
“Alfie.” You scolded gently while he muttered under his breath.
“Sorry.” He replied, swiftly pulling into a space on the grass nearest to the entrance.
Upon getting out of the car, the pair of you went back and forth on deciding whether or not to bring a pushchair before deciding that it was probably for the best. Worst case scenario was that you ended up just lugging it around so you didn’t have to carry a backpack around all day, and you could just use the pushchair for storage instead.
It was absolutely beating it down with heat, and Arabella was extremely upset when Alfie began lathering her arms, legs and face in suncream.
“No!” She whined, trying to fight back against her dads hands.
You rolled your eyes, crouching behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist to hold her in place.
Her face scrunched up unhappily as his palms ran over it, rubbing the cream into her skin.
“Daddy, stop!” She exclaimed.
“No, you stop.” You said to her, “Stop causing a scene, just put it on. It’s to protect you.”
She just huffed, slumping back as he began rubbing it into her legs.
“There.” He grunted as he stood.
You were on pushchair duty since you knew the likelihood of her clinging to you when she got mardy was slim to none. She had a thing about using Alfie as a climbing frame when she was overly tired, which made no sense at all because she was only exerting more energy by doing so.
“Ice cream now, mummy?” She asked, looking up at you with her hand encompassed by Alfie’s.
“No, not now, baby. After lunch, okay?”
“After lunch.” She nodded.
Once you were in the park and surrounded by loud noises and bright colours, Arabella was bouncing on the balls of her feet, the urge to run around and go off on her own strong and compelling. Alfie wouldn’t let her, of course. His grip on her hand was tight but not crushing.
There was a mascot standing at the entrance of the children’s area, waving enthusiastically at all of the kids.
You couldn’t imagine being in a hot suit like that in this weather. You were in a pair of shorts and a tank top, but you were already sweating.
“You want a picture, Bells?” Alfie asked, and she nodded.
You pulled out your phone as she waltzed up to the mascot, having a brief exchange of words before turning to you.
“Smile!” You grinned, hoping she would replicate as you snapped the photo.
The both of you thanked the man behind the mascot before walking into the children’s area. It was a combination of themes, ranging from children’s books to tv shows and movies.
“What do you want to do first, Bells?” Alfie asked, nudging her hand.
She raised a finger, pointing to a big statue of Peppa Pig that signalled where the rides based on her theme were.
“Okay, Peppa it is.”
Thankfully, the queues weren’t too long.
Obviously one of you had to go on with her, and since Alfie had adamantly decided that he wasn’t going to be joining you on any of the big rides, he was currently squashed into a tiny cart, his long arm slung over the back of it so that he would actually fit, and going around a track at an extremely slow pace, but just fast enough that it would be thrilling for anyone under the age of eight.
You laughed as you filmed them going around. Alfie looked less than pleased, as he knew there was someone there that knew him, and if there wasn’t, you posting the video would get a million clips and reposts that would just destroy his internet image.
But he figured it was worth it if his daughter was happy, and she was.
She was beaming, big and bright, and obliged with her dad when he encouraged her to put her hands up on the tiniest drop.
Arabella giggled loudly, absolutely elated as the ride came to an end and she could hop off to find her way back to you.
“Mummy! Mummy!” She exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet, “That was so fun!”
“Yeah? You and daddy looked like you were having lots of fun.” It was said in teasing jest as you smirked at your boyfriend.
He only scowled and nudged your side, “That video goes nowhere.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shrugged innocently.
“Reader.”
“Love you!” You grinned, kissing his lips before looking to your daughter, “Where next, baby?”
After a few more waiting queues and rides, you decided on going somewhere for lunch.
There was a little chicken restaurant just outside of the children’s area, so you sat down in the outside seating with Arabella while Alfie ordered the food.
“Can you have some water please?” You requested, holding out the bottle to her.
She nodded, taking it in her hands and tilting her head back.
When Alfie returned with food, you were all at the stage of being ravenous, but you had to warn Arabella not to eat too fast.
Alfie broke up her chicken nuggets into little bitesize pieces, feeding them to her periodically while snacking on his own.
There was a big box of curly fries between the three of you.
“AB.” He hummed to get her attention after she’d zoned out.
Instead of blinking back into reality, she just opened her mouth, letting her dad feed her.
You frowned worriedly at that, “Bella, you okay?”
She simply nodded.
You brought the back of your hand to her cheeks, feeling around her face and neck to discover that she was entirely too warm.
“She hot?” Alfie asked, and you nodded.
Taking the water bottle back, you poured some of the cold liquid into your hands, cupping them to make a good puddle before dropping it gently over her dark brown curls.
You ran your palms over her head, making sure the water was lathering in properly.
He took the initiative to retrieve the fan from your bag and began fanning her face.
She whined slightly at the feeling, trying to back away, but you kept her in place by pouring more water over her in short amounts.
Eventually, the redness in her face toned down and she became a bit more lively.
“You feel okay, chick?” You asked again, just to reassure yourself that she was okay.
Again, she nodded, “Water please, mummy.”
You chuckled, “Alright.” and handed it to her.
She took gentle sips and resumed eating, finishing your meal just before it hit 2.
After lunch, you took a walk away from the children’s area and towards all the big rides.
By this point, Arabella had climbed up Alfie’s chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, latching onto him. That was an immediate sign of exhaustion to you. Taking advantage of her lack of enthusiasm to go on any more rides, you decided to take the afternoon for yourself, queuing in line for the more extreme attractions.
On one of them, the line wound back round to the entrance, so you were able to talk to Alfie over the fence before waiting for your turn.
“You’re actually nuts, girl.” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You’re just a pussy.” You retorted playfully.
Once you were loaded onto the ride and strapped in, Alfie nudged at Arabella.
“Look, can you see mummy?” He cooed, pointing to you.
She untucked herself from his neck and looked, nodding slowly.
“How mental is she for doing this?”
“A lot.”
“Yeah,” He chuckled, “A lot mental.”
When you came off the ride, your hair was an absolute mess, and you should’ve tied it up before going on, but you hadn’t, and now your parting was wonky and your strands were all tangled.
“Fuckin’ell!” You laughed, flipping your hair back so that it fell into place.
Alfie laughed at the state of you, wheeling the pushchair round to meet you.
“Mummy.” Arabella giggled at you.
“That was quite nice actually.”
“Nice?!” Alfie exclaimed.
“Yeah, good bit of breeze to cool me down.”
“You’re fuckin’ mental.” He scoffed.
“Naughty word, daddy!” Arabella exclaimed.
He closed his eyes and groaned before pulling out his phone and adding another line to the notes app.
They had come up with a system where every time he says a swear word in front of her, he owes her a pound. She can either save them all up and get a toy, or spend it immediately. Miraculously (because neither of you were very good role models when it came to sensibly saving money) she chose to save them all up.
You estimated that she’d managed to scrape around about £30 from her dad by now.
Before getting in line for your second ride, you lathered some more suncream onto Arabella’s skin and then left them both with a kiss on the nose and lips respectively.
Since you were in the queue by yourself, you ended up talking to a stranger just about your day and how things had been.
He was relatively friendly, never prying too much and remaining respectful, and by coincidence, you ended up seated next to each other on the ride.
The words you both screamed out of fear and a rush of adrenaline seemed to compliment and coincide with each other.
Afterwards, you walked up to Alfie with a large grin on your face.
“That was great!” You laughed heartily, peering down at Arabella in her pushchair, “Is she sleeping?”
“Mhm.” Alfie hummed, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders and tugging you in close.
You let out a startled noise at the action, frowning in confusion as he pressed a firm kiss to the side of your head while glaring out across the park.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, trying to find where he was looking.
“That guy.”
“Who?”
“The one you were sitting with.”
“… I’m confused.”
“He was flirting with you.”
You scoffed before exclaiming, “Alfie!”
“What?!”
“He wasn’t flirting with me, he was just talking.” You rolled your eyes.
“I know what men flirting looks like, darlin’, and he was flirting.” Alfie was adamant.
“Okay, fine, he was. I agree with you. Happy now?” You huffed.
You didn’t actually agree, but if saying you did would get Alfie to stop working himself up for no reason, then you would.
He pressed another kiss to your temple before letting you go from under his arm.
Your knees clicked as you crouched in front of Arabella, tickling under her chin to slowly wake her up without startling her.
A little, dramatic huff came from her as she wriggled around in her seat.
“Bella.” You cooed, “Should we go and get ice cream?”
With her eyes still closed, obviously trying to hide under the guise that she was ‘asleep’, she nodded.
Alfie bought the three of you ice cream, with yours having sherbet on top, while his and Arabella’s were plain.
He was feeding her ice cream with a little plastic spoon while you held a napkin in your hand at the ready for when she inevitably got it all over her mouth. As she ate, Arabella made pleased humming noises, causing you both to chuckle.
It was something that you’d picked up on her doing when she was particularly enjoying a meal, and you found it rather endearing.
You and Alfie shared a couple quick, chaste kisses over the table before cleaning everything up.
“Any more rides you want to go on?” Alfie asked her.
She nodded, “Peppa again.”
“Okay, Peppa one more time then.” He agreed.
This time, Arabella demanded that you ride with her.
She’d been on it once with her dad, and now it was your turn. The seat was burning hot against the skin of the back of your thighs, making you yelp and stand suddenly.
Arabella cackled in amusement at your reaction, and as you slowly lowered yourself back down, you began tickling her sides.
“No, mummy!” She screamed, “No, too hot!”
“What’s too hot?” You asked, stopping and smoothing a hand over her back.
“Air.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” You kissed the top of your head.
“Arms up.” The ride operator walked by, checking the bar was down properly.
Before it took off, you pointed to where Alfie was standing with his phone out and posed for a photo.
Whilst you were doing your round of the rollercoaster, a couple of fans had come up to Alfie asking for some pictures, which he took and spoke to them briefly before reuniting with you at the ride exit.
“Was so fun!” Arabella giggled elatedly, wrapping her tiny hand into the fabric of her dads grey shorts.
“Yeah? I’m glad you had fun, Bells.” He smiled, placing a hand on the back of her head, “We’ve gotta go home now, though. Okay?”
“No.” She gasped, her bottom lip starting to wobble, “No, more ride.”
“We can’t.” Alfie sighed, reaching her height to talk to her on a level, “The park closes soon. We have to go.”
“Wanna stay.”
“I know you do, baby.” He clicked his tongue, “We can come back another day, okay?”
The moment she broke down into tears, she hid her face in her dads neck, clutching his shirt for dear life.
“Oh, Bells.” He huffed, picking her up into his arms and holding her tightly.
“Bella.” You pouted, rubbing her back.
“Mummy.” She cried, “Wanna stay.”
“I know, chick.” You brought your hand to her cheek, wiping away the tears as they fell, “But like daddy said, we can come back another time, yeah?”
Alfie was sweating as she continued to wail into his skin while you walked out of the park. You felt a little bad for him because it was obvious that the body heat coming from her crying her eyes out was getting to him, on top of the sun that was shining down on the back of his neck, turning it a shade of light red.
“Should I take her?” You offered.
Alfie shook his head, “Nah, you’re alright, girl.”
“Alf, you’re sweating through your shirt.” You glanced down at the sweat patches in the underarms of his shirt.
Had this been a first date, you probably would’ve been a little grossed out, but it wasn’t, and Alfie had seen you at utter rock bottom, as you had with him too.
“Wanna suck it clean?”
“Alfie!” You exclaimed, slapping his bicep.
He cackled smugly, proud of himself for his quick, suggestive retort.
“So … is that a no?”
“I can’t believe you asked me that in front of our daughter.” You threw him a dirty look, marching forwards faster than him so you were in front.
It was funny because that exertion caused you to hunch over the pushchair that was in front of you and heave heavy breaths.
Alfie laughed before landing a smack to your ass.
“Don’t!” You scoffed at his audacity.
“Daddy, no mean.” Arabella muttered, taking her wrist and wiping at her cheeks.
“I’m not being mean!” He gasped dramatically.
“Shh.” She hushed him, putting her hand to his lips.
You threw your head back with hearty, contagious cackles.
“Oh, you can get right in the car, little missy.” He hooked his hands under her armpits and held her out as far as he could like she smelt bad.
Arabella writhed in her arms, giggling loudly, as her dad strapped her into the backseat.
He closed the door and rounded to the boot, helping you pack up the pushchair and load it in before slamming it shut.
“Successful day?” He wound his arms around your waist, letting his large paws rest on your bum.
You hummed in response, kissing his lips and patting his chest, “Successful day.”
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2025 : you're currently sick, but lando was hoping to stream; however, the boyfriend part of him can't leave you alone in your bedroom, so he comes up with an idea to have you join him in his stream. even if you're off camera.
lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ word count : 2.2k ୨୧ warnings : language, being sick (cold/flu), mentions of sex (but nothing happens), lando carries you at one point ୨୧ mdni ୨୧ requested: yes!
part of the lando's heart series.
lando was suppose to stream today. he had it all lined up for weeks now, planning to stream with max and connor. and you originally planned to stay in the living room, watching the great british baking show on netflix which is what you usually watched when lando streamed.
key word: originally.
because somehow over the last day you got sick. and it wasn't pretty. coughing, runny nose, body sore. lando was basically your nurse on demand. getting you medicine, checking your temperature, making you soup (making is a term used lightly). you looked and felt absolutely pitiful.
lando felt terrible because he hated seeing you in pain.
he was in the process of messaging max to cancel his plans as he sat next to you in bed. you, in a state of constant in and out of consciousness, eyes heavy as you just barely registered what was on his phone screen.
"hey," your voice is rough from the congestion, and it gains lando's attention immediately. your hand comes and smacks itself on top of lando's phone and weakly knocking it out of his hands and into his lap.
your boyfriend lets out a laugh at you before his hand comes up to brush the stray and bed-headed hairs out of your face. "i know what you're about to do..." you trail with a weak sigh, exhausted just from talking. "don't cancel your stream cause of me," you mumble with a pout as you move to rest your head against his arm.
"but baby, you don't feel good. i need to make sure you're alright," he says, looking down at you with soft eyes. you've closed your eyes, breath soft and a little nasally from your stuffy nose. and lando honestly think you fell asleep again.
but then you reopen your eyes with a huff, eyebrows furrowed, "please don't cancel it because of me. i'll be fine, i'll probably just be asleep anyways."
lando is about to say something to counter your words before he thinks of something. remembering that there's a way for him to possibly stream and keep an eye on you.
"what if you stay on your little sofa, off camera, while i stream?" he offers and you crane your neck to look up at him – eyes glassy and face looking flushed. "that way i'm right there if you need me," he adds.
you don't answer, instead laying your head back against his arm. "okay..." you manage out.
which is how you ended up laying on your small lounge sofa that sits in the corner of lando's office and next to his desk. you're lucky the little mauve pink sofa even managed to fit, but you knew with lando involved he was going to make it fit. he wanted you to have your own spot in every part of the apartment, even the places that you were perfectly fine not having a single thing in – aka his office.
you remember him insisting on it as he moved the little sofa into the office and basically rearranged the entire room. just for you. "i want you to be able to have a place to sit when i stream. you know... in case you want to sit with me and keep me company. you had never felt so special before and right after you both finished rearranging the office, you pushed him down onto your small sofa and rode him.
"you okay, pretty girl?" lando's voice is light in concern as he looks at you from his gaming chair. headset on as he's getting ready to turn his mic and camera on to start.
you nod your head, giving him a thumbs up as you try to not think about all the times he's fucked you on this sofa. you let out a sigh as you reached for your airpods, sticking one in as you fiddled with your ipad, opening netflix before putting on... yeah, you guessed it: the great british baking show.
you should really learn how to bake, you think as the show's opening music fills your right ear. you adjust yourself, upper body sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa as you pull the hood of lando's hoodie up. the scent of his cologne just faintly filling your clogged senses and it brings you a sense of comfort.
"if you need anything let me, okay?" he adds after having watched you get comfortable.
"okay," you breathe out softly right before lando is turning his camera on and immediately talking to max, connor, and chat.
"now quick disclaimer," lando begins as his eyes flicker over to you, who is already slowly dozing off. "but y/n is with us today– no, chat she is not coming on camera so don't even ask," he deadpans when he already sees the messages flooding in at the news of you being there.
he leans back in his chair, arms folding behind his head as he continues, "she's not feeling well right now, so she's just going to lay down and relax." he watches as messages of 'get well soon's flooded the chat. then one message catches his attention:
lando is part time f1 driver and full time boyfriend
he reads it out loud and can't help but laugh at it, "yeah... you're not wrong," he says as his eyes drift over to you once more. your eyes are closed, mouth parted just a little and he tries to bite back the smile that overtakes him.
the stream then proceeds as usual, him bantering back and forth with max over something stupid one of them did. him spending too much time trying to get his inventory organized. he's, for the most part, fully focused on his game; however, viewers can't ignore how his eyes flicker to somewhere off camera whenever you move. eyes focused on you to make sure you don't suddenly need anything.
at one point, you had dozed off long enough for a few episodes of your show to autoplay which prompted netflix to ask 'are you still watching?' and of course you don't realize this until the ipad's screen goes black. you don't know how long you were out, stretching a little bit as you let out a weak groan before you're trying to unlock your ipad.
but the damn thing just won't unlock and your eyes are too tired to let you put in the correct passcode. you let out a small whine of annoyance before you're calling out, "landooooo," softly as you drag his name out.
lando looks over to you, your voice just faintly being picked up by his mic and chat immediately screaming about how cute you sound.
STOP THAT WAS SO CUTE 😭😭😭
nooooooo she really is sick, poor thing
omg the way she calls for lando was kind of cute
"what's wrong, baby?" he asks sliding closer to you, just out of frame as you weakly hand him your ipad.
"unlock it please," you say, and lando lets out a small chuckle before he's taking the ipad and doing what you ask. and since he's such an amazing boyfriend – his words, not yours – he goes ahead and hits continue for the next episode to play.
"need anything else?" he asks, voice soft as his hand rubs your calf over the blanket, giving it a comforting squeeze.
"no, thank you," you say, before blowing him a kiss and he grins at you before catching it and pressing his hand to his lips.
he then slides back into view and continues the stream. "is y/n okay?" max asks once lando gets settled again.
"yeah, she's good, just needed help unlocking her ipad," he lets out with a small laugh as they start the next round in their game.
you snuggle back into the cushions, feeling a slight hot flash come over you and you reach for your water bottle that was nearby before pressing the cold metal against your cheek. the coldness helps the hot flash settle as you unconsciously cuddle with it as you watch the bakers compete during bread week.
about thirty minutes later and you're knocked out against. the mixture of the show combined with lando's voice is what lulls you to sleep. when he glances over, he can't help but smile at how cute you look despite knowing you don't feel good. lando just thinks you constantly look cute, he can't help it.
when you wake up suddenly, you are awoken with a coughing fit. you hold your water bottle tightly to your chest as you sit up, coughing into your arm. your sudden coughing cuts lando off from what he was saying as he turns to look at you, the camera catching his look of concern that overtakes him.
BRO THATS A NASTY COUGH
is she okay????
oh god she's sick sick 😭😭😭
after a few seconds, you finally stop and you take the moment to get a drink of your water before falling back into the cushion of the sofa.
"you still alive?" he asks, trying to keep the mood light despite being a little worried.
"barely," you say, tone tired and just slightly amused.
he let's out a laugh under his breath, "yeah?" you let out a hum, shifting just enough to get comfortable again. "you need anything?" he repeats his question from earlier and you shake your head.
"no..." you trail off not because you wanted to say more, but because of just how tired you sounded – despite having been sleeping for most of the day.
lando looks at you for a second longer before nodding and once again going back to his game. max making a comment about lando sucking at the game which just made the f1 driver roll his eyes and say something back in response.
"i'm gonna end it soon, so i can get y/n to bed properly. she's due to take her medicine again anyways," lando says, by this point he's been almost streaming for three hours and you were once again beginning to doze off.
take care of your girl lando
hope she gets better soon!!
tell her we love her pls 🙏
however, instead of watching your baking show, you were instead watching him. heart beating a little faster whenever he laughed or smiled at something max or connor said that you couldn't hear.
"chat says they love you and hope you get better soon," he says, eyes meeting yours and smile on his lips as he gets ready to end the stream.
"love you, chat!" you shout loud enough for his mic to catch and lando laughs at how strained your voice sounds.
"alright, bye guys," lando says before officially ending the stream and also saying bye to max and connor for the night. "the guys hope you get better soon," he adds and you give him a finger heart as another coughing fit comes on.
your boyfriend is quick to turn his stuff off before he gets up from his chair and comes closer to you. he gently takes your ipad and water bottle from your lap and puts them on his desk before he wraps his arms around you and picks you up.
you immediately rest your head against his chest as he carries you out of his office and down the hall to your shared bedroom. "my poor princess, let's get you to bed," he says, kissing your forehead before he's laying you down. "do you want something to eat?"
the thought of eating honestly didn't sound all that pleasant at the moment, so you just shake your head as you settle into bed. pulling the covers up to your chin as lando's hand comes up to feel your forehead.
"still a little warm, want a wet cloth?"
"yes, please," you say and he nods before leaving the room. a minute, maybe three passes before he comes back with a cloth, your water bottle, and medicine.
"take this and then you can go to sleep," he says and you easily take the medicine before putting your water bottle back on your bedside table.
"are you going to lay down with me?" you ask softly, glassy eyes looking up at him as he sits at the edge of the bed. he puts the wet cloth on your forehead, the coldness sending a pleasant chill over your body.
"give me an hour and i'll come to bed, okay?" you nod your head before lando is leaning over and kissing the crown of your head. he takes your airpod out, that you completely forgot you had in, and sets it on your bedside before he's getting up and walking out of the room once more.
you don't know what he does, but by the time lando is coming to bed, you've already dozed back off – laying on your side, cloth still halfway clinging to your forehead. and lando tries hard not to laugh, not wanting to wake you up. when he does climb into bed, arms wrapping around you, lando feels your whole body relax in his embrace.
"i love you, princess, i hope you feel better soon," he mumbles quietly as he closes his eyes and lets sleep overtake him like it finally has for you.
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could you write a short description (bc i know you’re busy) of ABs girl having a severe migraine and he comforts her
(totally not fighting for my life rn bc i’ve got a baddd migraine) 😭💗
hi nonnie! ofc i can, i hope you feel better soon xx
you were curled up in bed, duvet over your head and sniffling. the pain of crying was only making your migraine worse, but you couldn’t help it.
your display of emotion was a build up of hurt and frustration, because you’d taken paracetamol an hour ago and it hadn’t done anything.
the curtains were drawn shut and all the lights were shut off. not a peep could be heard from anywhere in the apartment apart from your weak cries, until alfie came bursting through the door.
“oi, sexy girl! i’m back!” he shouted up to you, “why you been airing my messages? got man bare stressed during the pod.”
you cried harder, his voice ringing through your ears and slamming against the inside of your head.
he dropped a bag on the floor before scaling the stairs two at a time. he rounded the corner into the bedroom, jumping onto the mattress.
“why you all curled up? looking mad cute, y’know.” he chuckled, digging his fingers into your sides.
“stop!” you cried, your raised voice doubling the pain, making you whine.
“hey, what’s wrong?” his voice softened immediately, “y’need to let some light in.”
“no, don’t.” you croaked, “please don’t. and be quiet.”
“what’s goin’ on, angel?” he peeled the duvet off slightly, making you wince at the bright light.
“this migraine is killing me.” you sobbed.
“okay, okay.” he sighed, kicking his shoes off and slipping into bed beside you, “c’mere, don’t cry, it’ll only make it worse.”
you curled into his chest, hiding your face from the world and clutching onto his hoodie.
“it’s okay.” he whispered, stroking your head and kissing the top of it repeatedly. “you had medicine?”
you nodded, “it’s done nothing.”
he sighed and held you closer, taking note of the water on your bedside table and seeing that you’d done everything possible to make yourself feel better.
“you been sick?”
“no, but i’ve got that feeling in my throat.”
he nodded in understanding, “y’want me to carry you to the bathroom?”
“no, every time i move too much it gets worse.” you sniffled, “please just hold me.”
“of course, darlin’. don’t have to ask.” he slid down further into the bed, shifting you so your head rested on his bicep and your face was in his chest, but his cooling hand was down your shirt, splayed across your back and tracing your spine in a soothing rhythm.
“wanna order something in for dinner?”
“later.” you croaked.
“okay.” he kissed the top of your head again. “if i massage the side of your head will it make it better?”
“i tried. it didn’t really work.”
he nodded, instead, tangling his fingers in your hair and caressing the back of your head, his thumb lightly massaging at your scalp.
soon enough, he felt your breathing even out, your chest rising and falling with heavy, deep breaths.
summary: you've been dating Chris for a while but he has yet to find out about your daughter | Chris x fem!reader
notes: Happy Friday have a treat! I got bored of my dissertation so I wrote a lil something! so fluffy and cute omg i love writing him with kids! based on this request!
content: single mum!reader, withholding information, fluff
You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret for this long.
When you and Chris first started seeing each other, it had been casual enough that it hadn’t seemed like something you needed to explain right away. A few drinks after work had turned into spending whole days together, wandering around London or sitting in quiet cafes talking about everything and nothing.
Somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling casual.
Chris had a way of doing that without really trying. He was warm and attentive in a way that made it very easy to get used to him being around. He remembered the little things you mentioned in passing. He texted you good morning nearly every day. He showed up early for dates and always walked you to the station at the end of the night.
And that was the problem.
Because the more serious things started to feel, the harder it became to tell him the one thing you hadn’t mentioned.
Your daughter.
It wasn’t that you were ashamed of her. Quite the opposite. She was the most important person in your life, the centre of your entire world.
But relationships were fragile things, especially when children were involved. You had learned that the hard way once already.
The father had disappeared almost as soon as the pregnancy started to feel real. Now the only evidence he’d ever been part of your life was the check that arrived in the post every month.
You refused to let someone else walk into your daughter’s life unless you were absolutely certain they planned on staying.
So instead of telling Chris right away, you had told yourself you would wait a little longer.
Just until you were sure.
The problem was that Chris had started noticing things.
He noticed that you never stayed late enough for things to become overnight plans. No matter how much you seemed to be enjoying yourself, you always glanced at the time around ten and apologised before heading home.
He noticed that every time he suggested coming over to your place, you somehow redirected the plan somewhere else.
You had excuses, of course. Work in the morning. Early plans. Flatmates.
Chris didn’t push you about it, but you could see the curiosity and disappointment behind his eyes sometimes.
He just didn’t know what question he should be asking.
* * *
The evening everything unravelled started badly.
Your babysitter had cancelled barely an hour before your dinner reservation, apologising profusely over the phone while you stood in the kitchen trying to juggle making dinner and taking your daughter’s temperature with a thermometer.
She had been fussy all afternoon, clingy and tired in that way children get when they’re not feeling well.
When the thermometer beeped again, the number on the screen made your stomach drop slightly.
A mild fever.
“Okay,” you murmured gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll get you sorted.”
Your phone buzzed on the counter.
Chris.
You stared at the screen a moment before answering.
“Hey,” you said, already sounding more tired than you meant to.
“Hey,” he replied warmly. “I’m about to head out. Still meeting at the restaurant?”
You close your eyes briefly.
“I’m really sorry, Chris. I think I have to cancel tonight.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Oh. Everything okay?”
You glanced down at your daughter curled against your side, cheeks flushed slightly pink.
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just… stuff came up.”
Chris didn’t sound too convinced.
“You sound stressed.”
“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your voice wavered a little. “I promise. I just need to deal with a few things tonight.”
He hesitated.
“Well… call me if you need anything, alright?”
“I will.”
You hung up quickly before he could ask more questions.
About thirty minutes later, there was a knock on your door.
You frowned from the kitchen, turning the stove off quickly. You weren’t expecting anyone.
“Coming, you called.
But before you could walk down the hallway a small pair of feet padded ahead of you.
“Mummy, I get it!”
“Wait-”
The door swung open before you could stop her.
Chris was standing on the doorstep, hand raised mid-knock.
He blinked.
Your daughter blinked back at him, clutching her stuffed rabbit. For a moment, neither of them spoke, then Chris crouched slightly so he wasn’t towering over her.
“Well hi there,” he said gently, with a smile.
You arrived at the door just in time to see your daughter tilt her head curiously.
“Hi,” she replied.
Chris glanced up at you, surprise clear in his expression, but not a hint of anger.
“Well,” he said quietly. “This explains a lot.”
Your face flushed instantly.
“Chris- I-”
He shook his head gently. “Can I come in?”
* * *
Your daughter had taken an immediate liking to him.
Within two minutes, she had dragged him into the living room and was showing him every single toy she owned while you hovered nervously in the kitchen doorway.
Chris sat cross-legged on the floor, listening with the same patience he used when you told long stories about your workday.
“-and this one is Mr Bunny,” she was explaining seriously.
“A very important rabbit,” Chris agreed.
You watched the scene with your heart in your throat.
Eventually, he stood and walked into the kitchen, where you were waiting. You immediately started apologising.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t know how to bring it up, and I didn’t want you to feel like I was hiding something, but I also didn’t want to introduce someone into her life unless I was sure they were going to stick around and-”
“Hey.”
Chris stepped closer, resting his hands gently on your arms.
“You don’t have to apologise.”
Your eyes flicked up to his, uncertain.
“I just didn’t want you to feel like I lied to you.”
“You didn’t,” he said softly. “You were protecting your kid.”
Your eyes started to water.
“It’s just… we’ve had people leave us before,” you admitted quietly. “I couldn’t do that to her again.”
Chris glanced into the living room where your daughter was now colouring quietly at the coffee table. When he looked back at you, his expression had softened even further.
“She seems like a pretty great kid.”
Your voice caught slightly.
“She is.”
He smiled faintly.
“You know… I’ve actually always wanted to be a dad someday.”
You blinked in response. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged lightly. “So honestly… this isn’t a dealbreaker.”
Your heart pounded nervously. “It isn’t?”
Chris reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“If anything.” He said quietly, “It’s kind of a bonus.”
You stared at him.
“You mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
His hand slid down to lace his fingers with yours.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he continued. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t even know what you’re signing up for.”
Chris glanced back toward the living room where your daughter was humming softly to herself and he smiled again.
“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
Before you could respond, a small voice piped up from the other room.
“Mummy, can Chris help me colour?”
Chris chuckled softly.
“Sounds like I’ve already been recruited.”
He squeezed your hand once more before walking back into the living room.
When you followed, you found him sitting beside your daughter on the floor, carefully colouring inside the lines while she explained the rules of her drawing game.
For the first time since you’d started dating him, the knot of fear in your chest finally began to loosen.
Because maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t just found someone who wanted to be with you.
Maybe you’d found someone who wanted to be part of both of your lives.
Set in the Bestie Au but can be read as a stand alone Ideas for this AU? Drop them in my Asks and we'll see
Pairing — Lando Norris x afab!Reader
Summary — Having called in sick to fly out and be at the Qatar GP was bound to have consequences. Consequences that at some point Lando had to know about...
Genre — fluff, best friends to lovers in the future au
Wordcount — 1.5k
Warnings — 2 idiots being idiots, language, losing a job, tell me if i missed sumn else
“So what if, purely hypothetically,” you began, voice carefully casual, “let’s say I couldn’t pay my part of the rent this month?”
You didn’t look at him when you said it.
Instead, you sat cross-legged on his bed, leaning against the headboard and studying your fingernails like they’d suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.
The freshly crowned Champion, thus far busy unpacking his stuff from his ski trip with Max and a couple of others, halted his movements and raised an eyebrow at the question.
“I’d say okay,” he said carefully. “But I’d ask why. Hypothetically, I mean.”
You nodded once, lips pursed.
“Just that? Simply accepting it? You sure?”
He leaned back against the dresser now, arms folding loosely over his chest as he eyed you.
“Like I said. I’d want to know why. And maybe I’d want to know if everything’s alright.”
“And that’s it?” you pressed, still not looking at him.
“That’s it.” He nodded. “Though since this is all purely hypothetical, talking about this seems a little unnecessary, right?”
Humming in agreement, you started tracing the pattern of his blanket.
“Of course…”
He didn’t move at first, just watchd you and how you kept fidgeting like a nervous schoolgirl.
“Hypothetically,” he added softer after a second, “if my best friend couldn’t pay rent, I’d assume something pretty serious is going on, since I know she’d rather chew off her leg than tell me unless she absolutely had to.”
He let the silence stretch for a second.
Your fingers stilled against the blanket.
He pushed off the dresser then, crossing the room slowly before sitting at the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee brushed yours.
“I wouldn’t be mad,” he continued. “Or annoyed. Or anything that might cross her pretty little head.” His voice dipped slightly. “I’d just want to know why she didn’t come to me sooner.”
You swallowed, still staring at the fabric between your hands.
“Because if it’s money,” he went on gently, “that’s fixable. If it’s something else… that’s fixable too.”
After a beat of silence he continued.
“So tell me, how hypothetical are we talking here?”
You let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh, except it wobbled at the edges.
You finally lifted your eyes at that, just for a second, and he caught the shine in them before you could look away again.
“Hypothetical enough that it’s not about forgetting to transfer it,” you murmured. “More like… circumstances.”
His jaw ticked, but he kept his tone steady. “Okay. Hypothetical circumstances I can work with.”
“It wouldn’t be permanent,” you rushed to add. “Just this month. Maybe next. I’d figure it out.”
He huffed, clearly not amused and more serious than you had seen him in a long time. “You don’t have to ‘figure it out.’”
“…You don’t have to ‘figure it out’ alone,” he corrected quietly.
The room felt smaller suddenly.
He shifted closer, elbow resting on his knee as he angled himself so he could actually see your face. “Okay. Hypotheticals aside.” His voice softened, losing that teasing edge completely. “What’s going on?”
You didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, your shoulders lifted in the faintest shrug, like maybe if you made yourself small enough the question would pass right through you.
“I got fired…” you mumbled.
His expression changed instantly. He wasn’t angry or disappointed, at least not that you could see. Just laser-sharp focus fixed on you.
“Fired?” he repeated, slower this time, like he was testing the word.
“Yup.”
Lando waited for you to continue. When it became clear that you weren’t going to, he nudged you with his knee.
“You going to tell me why, or do I have to guess?”
“I may have… called in sick and been seen outside doing stuff a sick person definitely wouldn’t do…”
The silence stretching over his bedroom was nearly suffocating, and glancing up to see how he’d react, you could see the exact moment it clicked for him.
How you had flown out to Qatar after Vegas right away and stayed right up until Abu Dhabi, and how there had been cameras, television, and phones everywhere you went when he knew you had to be at work.
Until now, weeks later, he hadn’t even thought about how you could be there, but now clarity settled in.
“Wait,” he said, staring. “Are you telling me that you fucking skipped work to be in Qatar, for me, and lost your job over it?”
“Did you already forget why exactly I flew to Qatar? The double DSQ in Vegas, you remember that? Lan, you are always, always more important to me than any job I could have!” you huffed, insulted. “And I’d do it again! Even if I’d do it a little less rushed and more planned out.”
His mouth opened, then closed again, because for once the words didn’t come easily to him.
“Fuck…” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Isn’t that why you keep me around? To keep your life from getting too boring?”
“Oh, of course. Because regularly going 300 km/h and not totaling the car is known to get boring after a while. Sureee…”
Lando laughed softly, the teasing sarcasm audible in his words.
His answer pulled a wet, choked laugh from your lips, and while you tried to hide it from him, your best friend was very aware of the glistening that had taken over your eyes.
“No need to cry, love. I’m there for you just like you are always there for me. That’s how we’ve always done things, right?”
He reached up without thinking, his face falling as his thumb brushed just beneath your eye before a tear could slip free.
His thumb lingered there for a second longer than necessary, warm and steady against your skin.
“I mean it,” he murmured, voice dropping into that quiet register he only used when things actually mattered. “You don’t get to decide on your own what’s worth sacrificing for me.”
You blinked at him, lashes still damp. “I wasn’t sacrificing anything, and you know that I hated that job.”
His lips twitched, but it wasn’t amusement this time; it was something that felt almost helpless.
“That’s not the point.” He shifted fully toward you now, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face instead of just brushing away tears. “The point is that I don’t want you to have to shoulder something, or anything really, that fucking evidently was at least partially on me.”
You almost thought your heart gave out at the warm, prickly feeling his hand on your cheek caused. Stumbling and skipping around like Bambi trying to take its first steps, and you had to focus not to let it show on your face.
“I love that you were there.” he said quietly. “Thos races are always the best out of the whole calendar.”
Your breath caught.
“But I need you to choose yourself too sometimes." he added, softer now, forehead nearly touching yours. “You matter outside of me. Your passions, your brain, your independence, even that fucking mouth of yours. I love that about you.”
The word slipped out so naturally you weren’t even sure he noticed it or that it could be taken very out of context.
“And if you fall,” he continued gently, his knee nudging yours again, grounding you, “I’ve got you. Not because you owe me. Just because you’re mine to take care of too.”
For a second, neither of you moved.
Another word that hung there between you two in the air. Truth that shouldn’t have been there.
You swallowed. “Yours?” you echoed faintly, not pulling away, not leaning in either.
He didn’t flinch from it. If anything, his hand settled more firmly at your cheek, thumb brushing a slow line along your jaw. “Yeah,” he said, almost shy for once. “Mine. My idiot best friend who wouldn’t even be paying rent at all if she hadn’t been so stubborn about it in the first place, mind you.”
That bit had you snorting.
He smiled when you did, relief softening the tension like he’d been holding his breath.
“Listen,” he said quieter now, thumb still tracing absentminded patterns against your skin, “rent is not something I’m going to let you stress over. Not this month. Not next month. Not ever, if I can help it.” He finished gently. “We’ll figure out the job part together, yeah? But right now I just need you not spiraling about numbers in your bank account.”
Your throat tightened again, though this time it wasn’t from panic.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered, the words small and honest like you only let yourself be when it came to Lando.
His expression softened immediately. “You could never be one,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. “You’ve been in every paddock hallway when I needed someone steady. You’ve sat through the bad races and the even worse headlines. Fuck, if anything I’m the burden in this rel— friendship!”
You nodded quickly and smiled weakly.
“Okay,” you breathed, barely audible.
He smiled brightly at that and nudged your knee. “Okay,” he echoed.
summary: lando visits his girlfiend's classroom as the formula 1 world champion and her students lose their minds
folkie radio: oh look she remembered she has a blog and finally posted ??? im so sorry life is just super busy as always but trying to get back to writing. love you and i hope you like this!
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
You adjust Lando's hoodie collar for the third time, trying not to laugh at how nervous he looks standing in the hallway outside your classroom.
The World Champion trophy glints under the school lights in his hands. It looks wildly out of place next to finger-painted rainbows and construction paper butterflies taped to the walls.
“Babe,” you murmur, smoothing the fabric over his chest, “you just won the biggest championship in the world. Why do you look like you’re about to throw up?”
“Because,” he says seriously, shifting the trophy from one arm to the other, “last time I came here, one of your students asked me where I go potty during races. I don’t know how to emotionally prepare for that again.”
You snort. “They’ve been counting down the days since I told them you were coming back.”
“That makes it worse,” he groans. “What if they think I’m boring now? What if they only care about the trophy?”
You slide your arms around his waist, resting your forehead against his chest. “They drew you pictures for two weeks straight. Lucas brings his McLaren toy car every single day ‘just in case you visit.’ Sophie told me she wants to marry you or become you. I’m not sure which.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” he mutters, but he’s smiling.
You take his hand, feeling how warm and slightly sweaty his palm is. “Ready, World Champion?”
“As I’ll ever be, Miss Teacher.”
You open the classroom door.
Twenty tiny faces are already pressed against the glass.
“MISS YN!!!”
“IT’S HIM!!!”
“THE RACE MAN IS BACK!!!”
The door barely opens before they’re swarming him.
“MR. LANDO!” Lucas shouts, holding up his toy car. “LOOK, I MATCHED YOU!”
Lando crouches immediately, eyes lighting up. “That is a very fast-looking car.”
“It’s papaya,” Lucas says proudly.
“Correct,” Lando nods. “Elite color choice.”
Sophie raises her hand so violently she almost tips over. “Mr. Lando… is that the winning cup?”
Lando lifts the trophy carefully. “This is the winning cup.”
“Is it heavy?” Emily asks.
“Yes,” he says solemnly. “It’s full of… winning and feelings.”
You clap your hands. “Okay friends, let’s sit in a circle so everyone can see.”
Lando sits in your tiny reading chair, knees awkwardly bent, trophy resting in his lap. You sit beside him, close enough that your knee touches his.
Sophie tilts her head. “Are you famous forever now?”
“I think so,” he says. “Unless I mess up really badly.”
Mateo squints at the trophy. “Did you fight other cars?”
“No fighting,” Lando answers. “Just very fast driving.”
Diego gasps. “So you’re the boss of cars now.”
Lando looks at you. “Am I the boss of cars?”
You grin. “Only on Sundays.”
You let the kids bring him their gifts.
One by one, they stand in front of him like he’s royalty.
“This is you winning again,” Jake explains, holding up a drawing with fireworks and a crooked podium.
“This is a medal for your house,” Sophie says, looping a glitter necklace over his head.
“And this is you and Miss YN,” Madison adds, showing a picture of you both holding hands next to the trophy.
Lando presses a hand to his chest. “These are better than the real trophy.”
You whisper, “Don’t let Formula One hear you say that.”
Mateo raises his hand. “Mr. Lando… do you kiss Miss YN when you win?”
You nearly drop your coffee.
Lando’s ears turn pink. “Sometimes.”
The class explodes.
“EWWWW!”
“THEY KISS!”
“That’s LOVE!”
Lando leans toward you and murmurs, “See? Traumatizing.”
“You’re the one who admitted it,” you whisper back.
During snack time, he helps pass out crackers.
Sophie watches you like a hawk. “Mr. Lando, do you miss Miss YN when you race?”
He doesn’t joke this time. “Yeah. All the time.”
You feel your chest tighten.
Emily whispers to you, “He likes you a lot.”
“I know,” you whisper back.
Later, during questions—
“Is your car faster than my dad’s truck?”
“Yes.”
“Can girls drive race cars?”
“Of course they can.”
“Do you sleep with the trophy?”
“No, but I sleep with her,” he says, pointing at you.
The room goes silent.
Then—
“MISS YN!!!”
“THEY SLEEP TOGETHER???”
You bury your face in your hands. “Lando!”
He laughs. “Emotionally. I meant emotionally.”
At the end of the day, the kids line up for hugs.
Each one squeezes him tightly.
“Don’t forget us,” Lucas says.
“I won’t,” Lando promises. “I’ll keep your drawings forever.”
As you walk him to the hallway, arms full of glitter-covered cards, you tease, “Should I be jealous?”
“Of Sophie?” he asks. “She’s got competition.”
He slips an arm around your shoulders. “You know… winning the championship was amazing. But this?”
He gestures back at your classroom.
“This feels bigger.”
You smile up at him. “World Champion and preschool hero.”
Just then, Sophie comes running down the hall. “MR. LANDO!”
She hands him one last drawing. You and him holding hands with a giant heart over your heads and the trophy smiling beside you.
“My mom says when you love someone, you should tell them,” she says proudly. “I love you. But you love Miss YN, so that’s okay.”
Lando kneels down. “That’s very kind of you, Sophie.”
When she runs off, you both burst out laughing.
“Five-year-olds are better at feelings than adults,” you say.
He kisses your temple. “Maybe we should listen to them more.”
You walk away hand in hand, trophy tucked under his arm, drawings spilling everywhere, your two worlds tangled together in crayon and gold.
And for the rest of the year, Room 3 will believe the World Champion belongs to Miss YN.
Just like you do.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by maxverstappen1, yourinstagram and 1,049,597 others
lando best meet & greet of my career 🧡🏆
went back to YN’s classroom today and got absolutely humbled by a group of 5-year-olds who think the trophy is “full of winning” and that my car is only cool because it’s orange.
thank you room 3 for the drawings, the hugs, and for asking me the most important questions of my life (yes, including where I go to the bathroom during races).
world Champion… but preschool approved ✔️
view all comments
username1 THIS IS TOO CUTE
yourinstagram so proud of you and also they will never shut up about this 😭🧡
username2 THIS IS THE SOFTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN
username3 room 3 just became the most iconic classroom in history
username4 soft lando 😭😭😭
username5 the way lando adores those kids
username6 future drivers being inspired rn 🥹
mclaren We approve this career day visit 👏🧡
username7 world champion but still scared of kindergarteners
username8 this healed something in me I didn’t know was broken
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4 times Lando Norris got jealous (and pretended he wasn’t) + 1 time he finally told you why.
pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.
warnings. rom-com, friendship, humor, 7,7k words. friends to lovers, idiots in love, mutual pining. playful jealousy, profanity, alcohol use, quadrant group <3, title from Tame Impala’s the less i know the better + header from here.
LANDO LIKED TO SAY HE’D KNOWN YOU FOREVER. But if he was honest, he couldn’t actually remember the first time you met. It was probably sometime in 2022, when his life was all fast cars, loud music, and too many parties. That whole year was a blur—faces came and went, nights bled into mornings—but you stuck. You didn’t disappear like the others. One weekend turned into two, and then suddenly, you were always there. Like you’d always been.
You fit into his world so easily. His friends loved you. The whole group just clicked, and people started calling you the “cool kids” of the paddock. There were wild nights in Monaco, race weekends that felt like holidays, private jets, expensive dinners, and too many inside jokes to count. It was fast and loud and a little ridiculous, but you belonged in it. Not because of Lando—just because you did.
And Lando? He knew where he stood. You were friends. Nothing more. That was the unspoken rule. Everything between you was fun and easy—constant teasing, flipping each other off across the room, stealing bites of food just to start a fight. It was familiar. Safe. And maybe that’s why he never let it go further.
Because sometimes, late at night or when you laughed a little too close, he’d wonder. What if? What if he reached for your hand and you didn’t pull away? What if he kissed you and you kissed him back? But those thoughts always ended the same way—with the fear of losing you. And that was worse than anything.
So he stayed where he was. Right next to you. Laughing, arguing, pretending it was enough. Pretending the line between friendship and something more didn’t blur every time you smiled at him like that.
Yeah. Decisions, decisions.
────────────
Lando felt it for the first time on a random night that was supposed to be productive. The plan was simple: meet at his apartment, finally figure out where to go for the next group holiday—even though you’d all just gotten back from Italy two weeks ago. But, as usual, things didn’t go to plan.
Keegan and Lando were yelling at each other in front of the TV, locked in a chaotic Mario Kart match that had turned into full-blown war. You and Ria were by the kitchen island, filming TikToks between handfuls of chips, laughing so hard you had to pause the recording every few seconds. And Max—always the responsible one—was actually trying to do what you came for. He sat at the dining table, MacBook open, surrounded by Lando’s usual mess: empty cans, a hoodie tossed over a chair, a controller half-buried under a cushion.
“Guys, can we please CONCENTRATE for ONE second?” Max called out, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Lando groaned but tossed his controller aside, Keegan following suit. They shuffled over to the table, dragging their feet like kids being told to do homework. You slid into the seat next to Max, leaning in to peek at his screen, while Ria settled beside you.
The way you leaned your elbow on the table—just a little too close to Max—shouldn’t have meant anything. The way you laughed at something he said, brushing crumbs from your fingers onto a napkin like it was second nature, shouldn’t have mattered. Lando knew that. He knew you and Max were basically family, more like siblings than anything else. There was no reason for him to feel… well, anything.
And yet, he did.
“So?” Lando asked, dragging his voice into something light, something teasing. “What did you come up with while I was busy nearly destroying Keegan?” He flopped into the chair across from you, still a little breathless from the game, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his tone—something he didn’t bother to hide all that well.
Max didn’t even glance up from his screen. “Corfu, Sicily, or Ibiza,” he said, like he was listing snack options.
Lando scoffed. “We just got back from Italy, mate.”
You smirked, already reaching for another chip. Truly, rich kids’ problems.
“That’s your biggest issue?” you said, laughing as you tossed your head back slightly, the sound bright and easy. “That we’re too well-traveled?”
And just like that, something in Lando shifted. A small, unwelcome twist in his chest. It wasn’t sharp, not exactly. More like a slow, warm ache that settled somewhere behind his ribs. Irritating. Persistent. The kind of feeling he couldn’t quite name, but couldn’t ignore either.
He looked at you, then at the way your shoulder brushed Max’s, and then quickly looked away.
“I’d go for Ibiza,” Ria said, leaning back in her chair like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Lando should’ve looked at her. Should’ve nodded, made a joke, moved on. But his eyes had other plans. Like always, they found you without asking for permission. He caught himself just before it turned into a full-on stare, but not before that familiar flicker of something settled in his chest.
“Yes! Every holiday on Ibiza is a good holiday,” you said, grinning like it was a fact, like there was no room for debate. That smile—bright, easy, yours—hit him in a way it shouldn’t have. A quiet pinch behind his ribs. Warm. Annoying. Impossible to ignore.
Then Keegan jumped in, grinning like a kid about to cause trouble. “Remember when Lando got so drunk he passed out on the beach?”
The room burst into laughter, the kind that only came from years of shared stories and inside jokes. It wrapped around them like a blanket, soft and familiar. You laughed the loudest, head tilted back, eyes crinkling at the corners. Lando could still picture that night perfectly—the way the sand clung to his clothes, the stars overhead, the sound of your laugh as you tried to nudge him awake without falling over yourself.
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” he said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile. He leaned back in his chair, trying to focus on Max, on the MacBook screen, on literally anything else.
“So… when’s the flight?” Lando asked, cutting through the noise of half-finished TikToks and the lingering tension of his Mario Kart loss. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, trying to steer the conversation toward something that felt a little more solid. A little more real.
Max looked up from his laptop, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. “Tomorrow. 9 p.m.”
You froze for a second, chip halfway to your mouth. “Oh! I—uh, I already have plans tomorrow night.”
Lando’s eyes flicked to you, sharp and immediate. Plans? His stomach tightened, just a little. What kind of plans could be more important than a holiday with all of them? With him?
“Plans?” Max asked, brows raised. “What kind of plans?”
You hesitated. Lando caught it instantly—the way your fingers curled around the edge of the chip bag, the way your eyes darted to him and then away again. “I… I have a date,” you said, voice light, like you were trying to make it sound casual. “Just dinner. Nothing serious.”
Lando blinked. Once. Twice. He felt something pinch in his chest, sharp and sudden. A date. With someone else. He told himself it didn’t matter, that it was fine, that it was none of his business. But the words sat heavy in his stomach, bitter and unwelcome.
“Postpone the dinner to… five,” Lando said, trying to sound offhand, like it was no big deal. But the words came out too fast, too sharp, like they’d skipped the filter between his brain and his mouth. Shit. Did that sound controlling? Or worse—jealous? He wasn’t angry. Not really. Just… irritated. In that quiet, uncomfortable way that made it obvious he cared more than he should.
You blinked, caught off guard, head tilting slightly as you tried to read him. “…Fine?” you said, slow and uncertain, like you weren’t sure if he was joking or if you’d just stepped into something you didn’t understand yet.
Lando leaned back quickly, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fine? No, I mean—yeah, fine. I’ll pick you up after. No big deal.” He cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how warm his face felt, how tight his chest had gotten the second you agreed.
And there it was again—that stupid, familiar twist low in his stomach. The one that always showed up when you talked about someone else. The one that whispered things he wasn’t ready to say out loud. He told himself it didn’t matter, that it was just a dinner, just a friend. But the truth was, he hated the idea of anyone else getting even a piece of your attention.
Even if it was just for one night.
Later, while the others sprawled across the couch and let a movie fill the room with flickering light and background noise, you and Lando ended up in the kitchen. Technically, you were making dinner. Realistically, you were doing most of the work while Lando hovered nearby—opening random cupboards, stealing slices of cheese, pretending to help but mostly getting in the way.
“Y/n?” he said, voice lower than usual as he stepped a little closer.
“Mhm?” you murmured, eyes still on the cutting board as you sliced cucumber into even rounds.
He hesitated for a beat, then asked, “Tell me more about that friend of yours.”
You paused, knife stilling for just a second. “Which one?”
“The one you’re going to dinner with,” Lando said, and even he could hear the edge in his voice. Too tight. Too bitter. He winced inwardly. That didn’t sound casual at all.
He glanced toward the living room, where the others were laughing at something on screen. He didn’t want them to hear this. He didn’t even know why—it wasn’t like he had anything to hide. Except maybe the way his stomach had twisted the moment you said the word date.
“Oh. Lucas,” you said, finally looking up at him. “We met a few weeks ago. He’s nice. Funny. Works in design or marketing or something—I forget. He asked me to dinner and I figured, why not?”
You shrugged, like it was nothing. But then you kept going. Talking about where you met, what he said, how he made you laugh. It wasn’t much, really. But it was more than Lando wanted to hear.
He nodded along, jaw clenched just enough to ache. Every word felt like a pebble dropped into a still pond, rippling out in ways he didn’t like. You had a suspicious amount to say about this Lucas guy. And Lando hated that he noticed. Hated even more that he cared.
“He’s funny—” you began, voice light, casual.
“Funnier than me?” Lando cut in, too quickly.
The words slipped out before he could stop them—sharp, unfiltered, laced with something he didn’t mean to show. Regret hit him the second they left his mouth.
You blinked, surprised, then slowly turned to face him fully. “Lando Norris,” you said, drawing out his name like a question, like a tease. A smile tugged at your lips. “Are you jealous?”
He pulled a face, dramatic and over-the-top. “Ew. No. Gross.” He waved a hand like he was swatting the idea out of the air. “Why would I be jealous?”
But it was a terrible lie, and he knew it. His ears were burning, and suddenly the kitchen counter became the most fascinating thing in the world. He stared at it like it held all the answers, refusing to meet your eyes. Because if he did, he knew you’d see it—the truth he was trying so hard to hide.
────────────
Ibiza, obviously.
The second time was a few days into the trip, after everyone had finally settled into the rhythm of sun-drenched mornings and slow, golden afternoons. The villa felt like home now—half-empty sunscreen bottles scattered across countertops, towels drying on balcony railings, the faint scent of salt and coconut lingering in the air. Time had started to blur in the best way. No alarms, no plans. Just swimsuits, playlists, and the occasional debate over where to eat next.
The beach club down the hill had become a second home without anyone really deciding it. It was always there—just a short walk from the Hilton, always buzzing with music and laughter, the kind of place where the staff started remembering your drink order by day two. Most nights ended there, feet in the sand, drinks in hand, conversations looping lazily into the early hours.
That night, Lando was stretched out on one of the oversized sunbeds with Ria, Max, and Keegan, the four of them tangled in a pile of limbs and half-finished cocktails. Someone’s playlist hummed low through a speaker, mixing with the soft crash of waves and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. The air had cooled, but the breeze was gentle, brushing over sun-warmed skin.
Lando was only half-tuned into the conversation, his head tilted back, eyes drifting across the beach in that unfocused way that came with too many late nights and just enough rum. But then something tugged at him—quiet, instinctive.
You weren’t there.
He sat up a little, frowning. He hadn’t seen you in a while. Not since dinner, maybe? It was hard to tell. Time was slippery here, but still—this felt like too long. Long enough to notice. Long enough for something to feel off.
His gaze swept the beach again, sharper now, scanning the bar, the shoreline, the path back to the villa.
“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light, like it was just a passing thought. But it came out too quickly, too pointed.
“She went inside with some guy,” Ria said with a shrug, her tone light, like it was nothing. And maybe to her, it was. If anyone knew you, it was Ria—she would’ve said something if she thought there was a reason to worry.
But Lando’s stomach dipped anyway.
Some guy.
“That’s… that’s kind of dangerous, isn’t it?” he said, trying to keep his voice breezy, to lace it with that usual joking edge he used when he didn’t want anyone to look too closely. When he didn’t want to admit what he was really feeling.
Ria turned to glance at him, brows raised. “What’s dangerous about her meeting someone?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
Lando opened his mouth, then shut it again. He didn’t have a good answer. Not one he could say out loud. He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes flicking toward the glowing entrance of the beach bar.
“I don’t know,” he muttered after a beat. “Just… something could happen.”
This time, his voice was quieter. No jokes. No smirk. Just the truth, sitting heavy in his chest. Worry, plain and simple. The kind that came from somewhere deeper than friendship—though he still wasn’t ready to admit that either.
“Uh-oh, ‘something can happen to her,’” Keegan mocked, flailing his arms in an exaggerated panic. “Mate, I think she can handle herself. Especially Y/n. You remember when she kicked my ass that one time?”
Yeah. Lando remembered. Too well.
“Mhm,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might smile. But his eyes were already drifting back toward the beach bar, unfocused. His mind had wandered ahead—picturing you inside, laughing at someone else’s joke, leaning in close, your hand on someone else’s arm.
“Everything alright in there, mate?” Max asked from the sunbed, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp. Watching.
Lando didn’t answer right away.
Then Max tilted his head, tone light but pointed. “Are you jealous?”
There it was. Again.
Lando blinked, caught off guard. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “No!” he said, too fast, too loud. He threw his hands up like the idea was ridiculous. “I’m just… concerned. For safety reasons.”
He laughed, but it came out wrong—too forced, too brittle. The kind of laugh that tried to cover something up and failed miserably.
Keegan and Max exchanged a look, both rolling their eyes in perfect sync. It was written all over their faces: Sure, mate. Whatever you say.
And Lando? He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. Because the truth was, he was jealous. Completely. Stupidly. Hopelessly. And the worst part wasn’t that they knew.
It was that he did too.
“Lando’s in love with Y/n!” Keegan shouted, laughter spilling out of him, loud and unfiltered, probably helped along by too much sun and just enough alcohol.
“Oh, for sure,” Ria chimed in, smirking like she’d been waiting for someone to say it out loud. Like she’d known all along and was just biding her time.
Lando groaned, dragging his hands down his face in exaggerated frustration. “I’m not spending another second with you clowns,” he muttered, standing up like a man wrongfully accused. “I’m gonna… go check on Y/n.”
“Go save your damsel, hero,” Max called after him, nudging him in the ribs with a grin.
Lando shot him a look—half glare, half smirk. “You’re hilarious,” he said dryly, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
He stretched his arms overhead, trying to shake off the heat rising in his cheeks, the way his heart had started to beat just a little faster. But as he turned toward the bar, each step felt heavier. Not because he was embarrassed—though he was—but because he knew they weren’t wrong.
It wasn’t just concern anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.
Lando pushed through the packed club, the bass thudding beneath his feet, lights strobing across the sea of bodies moving in time with the music. It was too loud, too crowded, too much—but somehow, his eyes found you instantly. They always did.
You were perched on a barstool near the bar, laughing at something a tall, blonde guy had said. He looked nothing like Lando—tall in that lanky, model-off-duty way, with a button-down shirt unbuttoned just enough to be annoying. And yet, there you were, leaning in, smiling like it was the easiest thing in the world. Something twisted in Lando’s chest, sharp and unwelcome.
Then you turned, like you’d felt him watching. Your eyes met his across the room, and that familiar smirk tugged at your lips—mischievous, knowing. You leaned toward the guy, murmured something in his ear, then slid off the stool with practiced ease, weaving through the crowd until you were standing in front of Lando.
“Whatcha doing here?” you asked, voice slurred just enough to be charming, your smile lazy and teasing.
“Uh… checking on you,” Lando said, aiming for casual. But the words came out tight, clipped at the edges.
You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I don’t need saving, Norris.”
“Well, I don’t know,” he said, glancing toward the bar. “The guy looked… weird.”
“You didn’t even talk to him,” you pointed out, one brow arched, clearly enjoying this far too much.
“Exactly!” Lando said, throwing his hands up like it was the most obvious logic in the world. “That’s how you know.”
You laughed, loud and unbothered, the sound curling around Lando like smoke—warm, dizzying, impossible to ignore. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head, but there was no real bite to it. Just amusement. Just that familiar glint in your eyes that always made him feel like he was both winning and losing at the same time.
Lando crossed his arms, trying to look serious, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “I’m just saying,” he muttered, leaning in slightly so you could hear him over the music. “You don’t know him. He could be a serial killer.”
You snorted. “He’s a graphic designer from Berlin.”
“Exactly,” Lando said again, like that somehow proved his point. “That’s suspicious.”
You gave him a look, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not,” he repeated, but it was weaker this time. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up to your eyes, and he knew he was losing whatever game this was.
You stepped a little closer, close enough that he could smell your perfume—something citrusy and sweet, something that always made his heart stutter. “You know,” you said, voice softer now, “if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked.”
Lando blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t—”
“You care way too much lately,” you said, cutting him off before he could fumble his way through another half-truth. Your voice was low, teasing, but your eyes didn’t waver. They stayed locked on his, steady and knowing.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly scrambling. “Well—I don’t,” he said, too quickly. Then, realizing how that sounded, he backpedaled. “I mean, I do. But, like… in a friendly way. Obviously.”
You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Right. Super friendly,” you echoed, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were trying not to smile.
Lando rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were standing. The music thudded around you, but it felt distant now, like the two of you were in a bubble just slightly out of sync with the rest of the club. The lights kept catching in your eyes, and it was messing with his ability to think clearly.
“I just…” he started, voice quieter now. “I just don’t want you getting hurt, okay? I’d hate to see my friend cry—or something like that.”
Fuck. Was this too much?
Your expression softened, the teasing slipping away for a moment. “That’s sweet,” you said, your voice gentler than before. “But I can take care of myself, Lando. You know that.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Yeah. I know. I do know, Y/n.”
You laughed, shaking your head at the look on his face—somewhere between exasperated and flustered. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, nudging his arm with yours. “Come on. Let’s go back to the others before Keegan starts another rumor.”
Lando hesitated for a beat, then nodded, falling into step beside you as you turned back toward the crowd. But even as you walked away, your shoulder brushing his, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you.
────────────
Third time? Ibiza. Again.
The morning sun had already settled over the villa, warm and golden, casting long shadows across the tiled patio. The air smelled like sunscreen and salt, with just a hint of leftover tequila from the night before. Lando, Max and Ria sat slouched at the outdoor table, a chaotic spread of McDonald’s breakfast laid out between them—greasy hash browns, half-unwrapped McMuffins, and enough lukewarm coffee to fuel a small army. It was the kind of meal that screamed hangover, and neither of them was pretending otherwise.
Out by the pool, you and Keegan were stretched out on loungers, laughing at something on your phones, voices bright and unbothered. You looked far too put-together for someone who’d been dancing until 3 a.m.—barefoot, sunglasses perched on your head, hair still damp from a quick dip in the pool. Keegan was equally smug, sipping orange juice like he hadn’t been doing shots off a stranger’s tray just hours ago. The two of you were obnoxiously cheerful, and Lando hated how much he noticed.
“Why are they so loud?” Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he bit into a McMuffin like it personally offended him. “They drank more than we did.”
“They’re always loud when they’re together,” Lando muttered, not even looking up from his phone. But his thumb hovered over the screen, unmoving. His eyes had already drifted toward the pool, toward you—laughing, sun-drenched, completely unaware of the way his chest tightened every time you threw your head back like that.
He told himself it was just the hangover. The heat. The lack of sleep. But even as he took a sip of coffee, bitter and too hot, he couldn’t stop watching you. Couldn’t stop wondering if you were thinking about last night. If that moment in the club—the closeness, the words they hadn’t quite said—meant as much to you as it did to him.
Lando scrolled through Instagram with the kind of half-lidded focus that only came from too little sleep and too much sun. His thumb moved lazily, flicking past the usual blur of beach shots, sunset reels, and blurry club selfies. Then he hit your post—your Ibiza photo dump.
At first, it was fine. Harmless, even. A golden-hour selfie, the sea glittering behind you. A boomerang of your feet in the sand. A blurry shot of the group at dinner, all laughter and wine-stained smiles. He swiped through them slowly, letting the images wash over him like background noise.
And then he stopped.
Photo ten.
You and Keegan. His arm slung casually over your shoulder, like it belonged there. His sunglasses were halfway down his nose, and you were mid-laugh, head tilted toward him, cheeks flushed, drink in hand. You looked happy. Comfortable.
Lando stared at the screen, something sharp and sour curling in his stomach. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl.
From the sunbed nearby, Ria let out a lazy sigh. “What?” she asked, not even lifting her sunglasses.
Lando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned his phone around with a dramatic flourish and held it out in front of her face like it was evidence in a trial. “This,” he said, voice tight, laced with mock outrage but undercut by something real. “This is what I wake up to.”
“You do realize that’s Keegan, right?” Max said with a lazy chuckle, glancing over at Lando, who was still hunched over his phone like it had just delivered a personal betrayal.
“Yeah! Exactly!” Lando snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation. His voice came out louder than he meant, edged with something too sharp to be casual. “That’s the problem!”
Ria, stretched out on her sunbed with her sunglasses pushed into her hair, didn’t even flinch. She just sighed, long and theatrical, and turned her head toward him. “I thought we were done with this phase, Lando,” she said, her tone light but laced with something knowing. Something that made his stomach twist.
That phase.
The words hit harder than he expected. He looked away, jaw tightening, but the memory was already there—uninvited and vivid. That stretch of time a year ago when you’d been hopelessly into Keegan. When every look lingered too long, every laugh felt like a maybe, and every time you leaned into him, something in Lando’s chest clenched. Lando spent weeks pretending it didn’t bother him, that he was fine, that it was just a stupid crush. But it hadn’t been. Not really.
And Keegan? Lando had never asked, but he was pretty sure the feeling had been mutual. At least for a while. The way Keegan looked at you, the way you laughed at his jokes—it had been enough to make Lando feel like the third wheel.
So yeah. Thank god that phase had faded.
“Oh, I am definitely over that phase,” Lando said, rolling his eyes with all the conviction of someone very much not over it. He dropped his voice to a low mutter, just loud enough for Ria and Max to hear. “Ask the two lovebirds over there.”
Ria snorted, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair as she turned toward him. “Lando, stop. You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”
“I absolutely do not,” he said, sitting up straighter like the accusation had physically offended him. “I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea about my best friends.”
Max raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly on a hash brown. “No one’s getting the wrong idea, mate.”
“Oh, they are,” Lando said, already unlocking his phone with a dramatic flourish. “Open the goddamn comments.”
He scrolled furiously through your post, jabbing at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. “‘Are you guys a thing?! So cute!!’” he read aloud in a mocking voice. Another swipe. “‘Is this a hard launch?!’” He let out a strangled noise of disbelief. “‘Omg I knew it!!’”
With a groan, he dropped the phone onto the table like it had burned him. The screen went dark, but the damage was done.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, dragging both hands down his face before slumping back in his chair. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”
Ria just laughed, sipping her iced coffee like she was watching a particularly entertaining soap opera. “You’re already halfway there.”
And Lando? He didn’t argue. Because honestly, she might’ve had a point.
“Get over it,” Max said, biting into his McMuffin like the conversation was barely worth the effort. “Friends post friends. It’s not that deep.”
“Well, yeah,” Lando snapped, throwing his hands in the air with a dramatic flair that made his chair creak. “But why didn’t she post me, huh? Huh?!”
Max raised an eyebrow, clearly fighting a grin. “I don’t know, mate. Maybe ask her?”
Lando let out a groan, loud and theatrical, before slamming both palms onto the table like the universe had personally wronged him. “I can’t just ask her! That’s insane. I’ll sound completely stupid.”
Ria just tipped her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and gave him a long, amused look. “Lando,” she said, voice dry as the Ibiza heat, “you already look stupid.”
Lando opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, slumping back in his chair with a defeated sigh.
Later, you were alone in the kitchen, the morning sun spilling through the windows in soft, golden streaks. The villa was quiet for once—no music, no shouting, just the low hum of the blender and the rhythmic sound of your knife against the cutting board. You moved slowly, deliberately, dropping slices of mango and frozen berries into the blender, the scent of citrus clinging to your fingertips. It was peaceful. Almost meditative.
Then came footsteps. A fridge door creaked open.
Lando.
He hovered near the counter, pretending to look for something inside the fridge, though it was clear he had no idea what. He stood there for a second too long, hand resting on the door, eyes scanning the shelves like he was reading a language he didn’t understand.
And then, without looking at you, he said it.
“Congrats,” he muttered, voice pitched somewhere between nonchalance and something tighter. “To you and Keegan… on your relationship.”
You paused mid-pour, the smoothie sloshing slightly in the blender as you turned your head. For a moment, you just stared at him, like you were trying to figure out if you’d heard him right—or if he’d actually lost his mind.
“…Excuse me?” you said slowly, one eyebrow lifting, sharp and incredulous.
Lando finally shut the fridge, still empty-handed, and turned to face you. He tried for nonchalance—shoulders loose, expression blank—but the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.
“I mean… it’s all over Instagram,” he said quickly, like that was enough to justify the weird tension in his voice. “So… congrats. Or whatever.”
You blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “Wait. You actually think I’m dating Keegan?”
He shrugged, aiming for casual, but the gesture was too stiff, too rehearsed. “I don’t know. People are talking.”
You stared at him for a beat, then let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Oh my god,” you said, shaking your head. “You’re actually serious.”
Lando frowned. “What?”
“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, still laughing, though there was a thread of disbelief running through it now. “Like, spectacularly stupid.”
“Stupid… for congratulating my best friend on a relationship?” Lando said, voice a touch too sharp, the edge of defensiveness creeping in as he folded his arms tightly across his chest.
You raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk. “Lando,” you said, voice light but deliberate, “you do remember I’m over that Keegan phase, right?”
He scoffed, eyes flicking away like he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing his reaction. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Right.”
His arms stayed crossed, like he was bracing for impact—or maybe just shielding himself from the way you were looking at him now, all amused and a little too perceptive.
You took a step closer, holding up your phone with a glint in your eye. “What’s this really about?” you asked, voice teasing. “You want me to post you instead? Is that it?”
Lando blinked, caught somewhere between flustered and flattered. “What? No. I mean—” He paused, then narrowed his eyes. “Are you offering?”
You grinned. “Depends. You gonna put your arm around me too, or just keep sulking in the comments?”
────────────
The fourth time was different. It wasn’t playful or petty or something he could laugh off later. It wasn’t Keegan with his arm slung around your shoulder, or some blurry club photo with a stranger’s hand on your waist. This time, it was Oscar.
His teammate.
Rain hammered the paddock, relentless and cold, turning the asphalt slick and reflective. The sky hung low and grey, the kind of weather that made everything feel heavier—like the whole world was holding its breath. Inside the McLaren hospitality, the air was warmer but no less tense. The scent of coffee and damp clothes lingered, and the low hum of conversation barely cut through the sound of rain on the roof.
Keegan and Max were already settled, tucked into the corner of the lounge with their phones and half-eaten pastries. Lando sat near the window, coffee cupped between his hands, steam curling up toward his face. He wasn’t really drinking it. Just holding it. Just waiting.
You weren’t there yet.
You’d said earlier that you needed more time—that you wanted to get ready properly, that you’d meet them later. And of course, everyone had nodded, said “sure,” like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t a pattern. Like it didn’t always end with you showing up beside someone else.
Still, Lando kept glancing toward the door. Every few seconds, like clockwork. Like maybe this time, you’d walk in and look for him first.
“Wonder when she’ll finally show,” he said, trying to sound offhanded, like it didn’t matter. But the tightness in his voice gave him away.
Max didn’t even look up from his phone. “She will, mate,” he said, calm and certain. “Relax.”
Lando didn’t answer. Just took another sip of coffee, eyes drifting back to the door.
Until you stepped into the hospitality, Oscar beside you, a McLaren rain jacket draped over your shoulders—definitely not yours—Lando had been fine. Or at least pretending to be. But the second he saw you, laughing softly, cheeks flushed from the cold, something in his chest pulled tight.
His coffee hovered halfway to his mouth, forgotten.
“Thanks for the ride, Oscar,” you said, your voice light, familiar. That easy smile on your face—the one Lando knew too well—was aimed squarely at his teammate. “Without you, I’d probably be floating down the paddock by now.”
Lando told himself to look away. To mind his own business. But his ears tuned in like they had a mind of their own, catching every word, every soft laugh, every shift in your tone.
“No worries, Y/n,” Oscar replied, and Lando’s jaw tensed. It was the way he said your name—casual, warm, like it belonged to him in some small, unspoken way. Like there was history there. Or worse, potential.
You tugged at the jacket, glancing down at it. “You want this back?”
Oscar shook his head, grinning. “Nah. I’ve got loads. You’ll probably need it again later anyway.”
“Thanks,” you said again, flashing that soft, easy smile at Oscar—the one that always made Lando’s chest tighten for reasons he didn’t like to examine too closely. “Good luck in quali.”
What the hell?
“Thanks, Y/n. See you later,” Oscar replied, his tone light, familiar. Like it was normal. Like it was routine.
See you later? Lando’s brain stalled. His grip on the coffee cup tightened.
There was no see you later. Not with Oscar. Not with anyone. That wasn’t how this worked. You didn’t get to have casual goodbyes and shared jackets and inside jokes with someone else. Not when Lando was sitting right there, watching it all unfold like some background extra in a story he didn’t remember signing up for.
You weren’t supposed to have a see you later with anyone.
Not unless it was him.
You walked over, hands tucked into the oversized sleeves of the McLaren jacket—now unmistakably yours. The fabric hung loose around your frame, the collar slightly askew, and your hair was still damp from the rain, curling at the ends. You looked warm, comfortable, like you belonged there. And Lando hated how much that thought messed with him.
The moment you stepped into his orbit, his eyes found you. The calm he’d been clinging to—thin and brittle as it was—shattered instantly.
“Hey,” you said, voice light, casual, like nothing was off. Like you hadn’t just walked in wearing someone else’s jacket.
Lando’s jaw tensed, his grip tightening around the coffee cup. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, the words low and edged with something he didn’t bother to hide.
You blinked, then shrugged, unbothered. “Yeah, sorry. It started pouring, and Oscar offered me a ride.”
“Glad you survived it,” Lando said, his tone clipped, too sharp to pass as neutral. “Would’ve been tragic if you’d drowned.”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Survived what? the flood… or Oscar?”
He hesitated, then looked past you, toward the door like he expected Oscar to still be standing there. “Both,” he said finally, the word landing heavier than it should have.
You laughed, soft and knowing, but Lando caught the flicker in your eyes—the way your smile didn’t quite reach them. You’d heard it. The edge. The jealousy he hadn’t meant to let slip.
“Oscar’s a pretty nice guy, y’know,” you said, voice light, almost absentminded—except it wasn’t. Not really. There was a glint in your eye, a deliberate tilt to your tone that made it clear you were testing something.
Lando didn’t bite. Not at first. He stared into his coffee like it held the answers to a question he hadn’t figured out how to ask. “Mhm,” he murmured, noncommittal.
You leaned a little closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his. “He helped me out there,” you added, your voice dipping into something softer, more playful. “Was actually kind of sweet.”
That got him.
Lando looked up, finally meeting your gaze. His brow furrowed, just slightly, like he was trying to keep his expression neutral and failing. “I would’ve helped too,” he said, quieter now. “If you’d called me.”
You turned to him fully then, the teasing smile still lingering—but softer now, gentler around the edges. Not gone. Just… quieter.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said, voice low, honest in a way that made something in Lando’s chest twist. “You had quali. I figured you’d be in the zone, doing your whole race-brain thing.”
Lando let out a quiet scoff, but it lacked bite. “Oscar literally had quali too,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the swirl of steam rising from his cup. Then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out—fast, unfiltered. “And you’re not a bother.”
It landed heavier than he expected. Like it had been waiting there, just beneath the surface, for too long.
Silence settled between you, thick with everything unsaid. Outside, the rain kept falling in steady sheets, streaking down the glass like a metronome. Inside, Lando shifted his weight, fingers tightening around the paper cup like it was the only thing anchoring him.
“You could’ve called,” he said, quieter now. “I would’ve come.”
You watched him for a long beat, eyes tracing the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders curled inward just slightly, like he was bracing for something. He still wouldn’t quite look at you.
“…Good to know,” you said at last, voice soft as you bumped your arm gently against his. “Next time I’m drowning, I’ll call Lando Norris. First on the list.”
That pulled a breath of a laugh from him—small, but real. He glanced at you then, finally, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head, eyes lingering on yours. “Please do.”
────────────
Right before the race, the paddock was a blur—engines roaring, radios crackling, footsteps echoing off the wet concrete. Everything moved too fast, too loud, too much. But inside his driver’s room, Lando moved on autopilot. Suit half on, mind miles away.
Still stuck on you.
On Oscar.
On that damn jacket.
On all the things he hadn’t said and probably never would.
The door slammed open.
“We need to fucking talk.”
You barreled in like a storm, eyes sharp, voice cutting through the noise like a blade. Lando jumped, nearly dropping his fireproofs in the process, caught somewhere between startled and scandalized.
“Jesus—Y/n!” he blurted, scrambling to cover himself. “Ever heard of knocking?”
You didn’t flinch. “I’ve seen you shirtless more times than I’ve seen my own reflection.”
“That doesn’t make it legal,” he muttered, yanking his fireproof top over his head with far too much urgency, nearly getting tangled in the sleeves.
You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Relax. It’s not like I haven’t seen worse.”
Lando shot you a look, exasperated and flustered all at once. “You can’t just storm in here like that.”
“You’ve been acting weird lately,” you snapped, stepping in close, hands planted firmly on your hips. “So yeah, I am calling you out.”
Lando leaned back against the bench, trying for casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I’m always weird,” he said, voice light, too light, like he could joke his way out of this.
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Sure. Always. But funny how your brand of ‘weird’ now includes sulking every time I talk to someone who isn’t you.”
“I’m not sulking,” he said quickly—too quickly. “And I don’t care who you’re with.”
You let that hang for a beat, then tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Right. So the Keegan meltdown was… what? A performance piece?”
Lando’s gaze darted to the floor, then to the wall, anywhere but you. “It was a misunderstanding,” he muttered, the words clipped and defensive.
You crossed your arms, watching him squirm. “Uh-huh. And what exactly did you misunderstand? The part where I wasn’t dating him, or the part where you made it everyone’s problem anyway?”
Lando exhaled sharply, jaw clenched. “I don’t know, okay? I just—” He stopped himself, biting down on whatever he was about to say.
You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. “You’re a terrible liar, Norris.”
Lando let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Y/n, I’m not doing this right now. Not before a race.”
“Oh, you are,” you said, stepping in closer, your voice sharp with something that had clearly been building. “Because a lot can be said in ten minutes. And you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I haven’t,” he said quickly, too quickly.
“You have.”
“I haven’t.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Please. You usually won’t shut up. You text me at 2 a.m. about memes and cereal brands. And now? Radio silence.”
Lando looked away, jaw tight, like he was trying to hold something back—or maybe trying not to say too much.
“It’s nothing,” Lando muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Jesus Christ, Lando,” you snapped, stepping closer. “Just tell me what’s going on. I’m not asking to fight—I’m asking because I care. You’re my friend.”
Friend.
The word hit him like a slap. Of course. That was the problem.
“Fine!” he burst out, voice cracking under the weight of everything he’d been holding in. “I like you, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
The words landed like a thunderclap—loud, raw, irreversible.
Your breath caught. “You don’t.”
“I do,” he said instantly, like he’d been waiting to say it for months. His chest rose and fell too fast, like the air had turned thin.
You stared at him, stunned. “You do not. Shut up.”
“I do,” he repeated, quieter now, but no less certain. “I like you. I’ve been trying not to, but I do.”
“I’m serious,” he said again, firmer this time, like he needed you to believe it—like saying it out loud might finally make it real. “I’ve been serious for a while now.”
You shook your head slowly, disbelief etched into every line of your face. “No. You’re just—stressed. It’s race day. You’re spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling,” Lando said, quieter now, but no less certain. “I’m just done pretending.”
“I didn’t want to say anything,” he continued, voice softer now, more careful. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have. Us. Our friendship. But watching you with other people—Oscar, Keegan—trying to act like it didn’t bother me?” He let out a short, bitter laugh, eyes flicking away. “Turns out I’m shit at hiding it. Clearly.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.
“I don’t just like you,” he said, steady now, like he’d made peace with whatever came next. “I’m in love with you. That’s why I’ve been a jealous idiot. That’s why I’ve been weird. That’s why I couldn’t stand seeing you in Oscar’s jacket when it wasn’t from me.”
Your breath caught. “You’re such an asshole,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Lando blinked, startled. “Does that mean you like me too?”
You didn’t even pause. “Of course I like you.”
The relief hit him like a wave. His shoulders sagged, the tension draining from his body all at once. A stunned laugh escaped him, soft and breathless, and his smile broke through—crooked, boyish, disbelieving.
“Okay,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours like he was still trying to make sure this was real. “Good. Because that would’ve been a really shit way to start a race.”
