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pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7

-

It wasn’t deliberate, the loss of contact. You just didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? “Hey, I’m choosing my career over us”? Also, there was not even an official us. The occasional texts became less frequent, the new project at work in Madrid was super busy and Lando had a world championship to win.

So when the time came for a holiday, it was much needed. The sun was beating down, reflecting off the glistening waves as the yacht rocked gently in the open water. You stretched out on one of the sun loungers, the soft hum of conversation in the background, ice clinking in glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from Flo. It was perfect—warm, lazy, a complete escape from the past few weeks.

You hadn’t thought about him in weeks. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The vintage Louis Vuitton bikini you’d pulled from the showroom had been a last-minute choice, but it fit like a dream, the delicate monogram print hugging your curves. You felt good. Better than you had in a while.

And then you heard his voice.

Low, familiar, unmistakable.

“Didn’t know I was crashing a Louis Vuitton ad.”

Your breath caught, fingers tightening around the cold glass in your hand. You turned your head slightly, heart lurching as your eyes met his.

Lando.

Standing at the edge of the deck, hands in the pockets of his swim shorts, looking irritatingly good. His tan had deepened, his hair was slightly longer, curling at the edges, and despite the sunglasses perched on his nose, you could feel his gaze dragging over you.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Flo had said he was training. She had specifically said he wasn’t coming.

You shot her a sharp look, but she only raised her drink to her lips, avoiding your gaze.

Lando pulled off his sunglasses, smirking slightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to sit up, to pretend his presence didn’t send a ripple of heat through you. “Funny. I could say the same thing.”

“Change of plans,” he said easily, glancing around. “Figured I’d get some sun. Relax.” His eyes flicked back to you, lingering. “Didn’t realize I’d be running into old friends.”

You didn’t miss the emphasis.

Something unspoken crackled in the air between you, thick and heavy. You knew everyone else could feel it too, even if they were pretending not to notice.

Flo finally spoke up, too casually. “Well, this is fun, isn’t it?”

Neither of you answered.

Instead, Lando’s gaze dropped, just for a second, taking in the bikini, the way the sun cast a glow over your skin. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he dragged his eyes back up to meet yours.

“I like the bikini,” he murmured, voice just low enough that only you could hear. “Very… on brand.”

Your stomach twisted.

You arched a brow, feigning nonchalance. “Still repping LV”

His lips twitched. “I see.”

You should have looked away. You should have stood up, walked inside, done something—but instead, you held his gaze, the past months flashing between you.

The nights. The mornings. The way it all seemed like a dream now .

“Anyway,” he said after a beat, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “Guess I’m staying.” His smirk deepened as he glanced back at you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

It was. It was a huge problem.

But you’d rather die than admit that.

So you just forced a smile, ignoring the way your pulse hammered in your throat.

“Not at all.”

Lando’s smirk didn’t waver. He gave you one last look before walking past.

-

-

The next morning, the sun was already high by the time you dragged yourself onto the deck, sunglasses firmly in place, the scent of salt and sunscreen thick in the warm air. The night before had been… confusing. The way Lando had looked at you. But the moment had passed, and now, in the bright daylight, things felt different. Lighter. You decided to suck it up and enjoy the holiday. 

Lando was already up, of course. He always had more energy than should be humanly possible. He sat at the back of the boat, shirtless, feet dangling over the edge, lazily tossing bits of bread into the water where small fish darted up to snatch them. When he spotted you, he grinned.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

You groaned, flopping onto a lounge chair. “Too early.”

“It’s noon.”

“Exactly.”

Lando laughed, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re gonna waste the day lying there?”

You peeked at him over the rim of your sunglasses. “That’s the plan.”

“Wrong answer.”

Before you had time to react, he was moving—fast—grabbing your wrist and pulling you up before you could protest.

“Lando—”

But he was already dragging you toward the edge of the boat.

You dug your heels in. “Don’t you dare.”

His only response was a wicked grin before he yanked you forward, sending you both tumbling into the sea. The Mediterranean wrapped around you in a rush, cool against your sun-heated skin, and when you surfaced, gasping, Lando was already laughing.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You splashed water at him, but he was quicker, dunking you under before you could retaliate. What followed was an all-out war—ducking, splashing, shrieking as you tried to get the upper hand. At one point, he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you from escaping, spinning you in the water, both of you breathless from laughter.

It felt like old times. Like before.

By mid-afternoon, the boat was anchored near a small secluded beach, the kind with soft golden sand and bright blue water, tucked away from the more crowded tourist spots. Someone had set up a speaker, music floating through the air as the group settled in.

The hours passed in a golden haze. Swimming, racing Lando and Flo on paddle boards (and losing, much to your annoyance), attempting to play beach volleyball with little success. At one point, you sat on your towel, lazily eating slices of fresh fruit when a shadow passed over you.

Lando. Holding out a bottle of water.

“You’re gonna get heatstroke if you don’t drink something.”

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway. “Yes, dad.”

He plopped down beside you, arms resting loosely on his knees. For a while, you just sat in comfortable silence, watching the waves roll in. Then, after a moment, he nudged your foot with his.

“You having fun?”

You glanced at him, catching the way his damp curls clung to his forehead, the relaxed tilt of his mouth, the way his skin had turned even more golden under the sun.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I am.”

His smile was softer this time, something unreadable in his expression. “Good.”

Before you could think too much about it, someone called for a rematch of beach volleyball, and Lando was up in an instant, offering you a hand.

“C’mon, stylist. Let’s see if you can actually win this time.”

You huffed but took it anyway, letting him pull you up, your fingers brushing just slightly longer than necessary.

And for the first time in a while, everything felt easy again.

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting golden light over the water as the yacht pulled into a small cove near the shore. 

-

The night air was cooler now, a soft breeze rolling off the water as the yacht gently rocked beneath you. Laughter and music spilled from the deck where everyone was still drinking, but you needed a break—a moment to breathe.

The small kitchen was dimly lit, a soft glow from under the cabinets the only source of light as you filled a glass with water.

And then, just as you turned, he walked in.

Lando froze for half a second in the doorway, like he hadn’t expected to see you either. His eyes flickered over you—bare feet, damp hair from a swim, the bikini still clinging to your skin—and something passed through you, too quick to catch.

You swallowed hard. The space was tiny, barely enough for one person, and when he stepped forward, it forced you back against the counter.

Then, the boat rocked with the gentle pull of the waves, and the movement knocked him forward slightly—just enough that his body brushed against yours. The warmth of his skin, bare and sun-warmed, pressed fleetingly against your own, the contact sparking something sharp and immediate.

Neither of you moved away.

His hand came up, gripping the counter beside you, steadying himself—or maybe steadying both of you. His breath was warm, his scent a mix of salt, sun, and cologne, something distinctly him. The boat swayed again, and this time, you felt his thigh press lightly against yours, your shoulder brushing his chest.

Your breath caught. His gaze dragged over you, slower this time.

“This bikini,” he murmured, lips just barely tilting. “Really doing it for me.”

Your breath hitched. 

You should say something. Anything.

But instead, you felt it—that pull, the slow, magnetic force that had always existed between you, no matter how much you had fought it.

And now, with the boat rocking beneath you, with barely an inch left between your bodies, it was impossible to ignore.

Your body responded before your mind did, leaning in ever so slightly, the air thick with something unspoken.

And then—

Your hands pressed against his chest before he could get any closer. “Lando, I can’t.”

His jaw tensed. “Why not?”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. “Because...”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift. A beat of silence stretched between you before he finally stepped back, nodding once, sharp.

“You’re seeing someone?” he said, voice unreadable. You didn’t deny it. “Got it.”

-

WN: Hope you guys like it!! Feedback/suggestions are always welcome xx

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.8

Next race weekend you walked on to the paddock unsuspectingly. But you couldn’t not notice multiple press taking your photo. Someone had shot a photo of you or your outfit before, but never this many.

You were barely five minutes into the paddock when the first question came—not for a quote, not about his suit or his styling, but about you.

“Excuse me—” A reporter stepped into your path, microphone in hand. “Can we get a quick comment?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I—uh, I don’t really—”

“You and Lando Norris seem close. Should fans be reading into that?”

Your stomach tightened. “I’m just here for work.”

“Come on,” the reporter pressed, a smirk playing on his lips. “No truth to the rumors? No secret romance?”

Before you could respond, a familiar hand landed on your lower back, a firm presence against you.

“That’s enough,” Lando’s voice cut in, smooth but commanding.

The reporter’s smirk faltered. “Just doing my job.”

“Then ask about racing,” Lando replied easily, guiding you past them with a subtle grip. He didn’t drop his hand until you were inside the McLaren hospitality, away from prying eyes.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “That was ridiculous.”

Lando leaned against the counter, watching you. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though your pulse was still racing. “I just—ugh. This is exactly what I didn’t want.” You really wanted to be professional, working at LV.

He studied you for a moment before sighing. “Just stay in hospitality for the rest of the day.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look he gave you made it clear—he wasn’t asking.

“I’ll get them to back off,” he added, jaw clenched. “But just stay in here.”

So, you stayed.

Hours later, as you were going over some last-minute details, Max leaned against the counter beside you, an amused smirk on his face.

“You know why they’re all watching you noe, right?”

You glanced up. “Because reporters are vultures?”

Max chuckled.“Well, yeah. But also because Lando’s stopped screwing around.”

Your blinked. “What?”

Max shrugged. “Think about it. Lando’s always had random girls floating around, models, party girls, but for the past couple weeks? Nothing. Just you. They noticed.”

You stared at Max, throat suddenly dry.

He shrugged. “I just think it’s funny you haven’t noticed.”

-

That night after the race, you were at the club with the McLaren team, Lando and you had discussed a plan.

“You sure about this?” he asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Positive,” you replied. “Let’s give them something else to talk about.”

The plan was simple: flirt with other people, redirect the media’s attention, kill the narrative before it got too real.

You spotted a Red Bull engineer leaning against the bar and made your way over, offering a bright smile and just the right amount of laughter. Lando, meanwhile, let himself get cornered by two models who clearly didn’t care about F1.

From across the club, your eyes met. And held.

His jaw tightened.

You quickly turned back, not wanting to see him with the girls, focusing on the guy in front of you, lightly touching his arm and whispering something in his ear. 

Ten minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Lando: Come outside. Now.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool air hit you—followed immediately by Lando.

“Bad idea, we’re going home” he said, voice low, shaking his head. 

You nodded, the car ride back to the hotel was tense. Silent.

Inside your room, he shut the door behind him with a soft click. You turned to say something—anything—but he was already crossing the space between you.

Lando pressed you against the wall, mouth crashing against yours, all frustration and tension and unspoken words. His hands roamed over your body, gripping, claiming, desperate.

“I hated that,” he breathed, kissing down your neck.

“You told me to flirt,” you whispered, tilting your head back.

“I didn’t think I’d hate it this much.”

Your hands were already tugging at his jacket, your voice breathless. “I didn’t think I would either.”

His voice was low in the dark. “Is this what it’s going to be like?”

You swallowed. “What?”

“The press. The attention.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Flirting with other people just to prove a point.”

You hesitated. “I just… I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

Lando exhaled, pressing his forehead against yours. “Then let me handle it.”

—

Except, it was Louis Vuitton who handled it when she got called in a few days later.

The rumor buzz hadn’t died down.

If anything, it had only gotten louder since the club night. The media had latched onto her like hungry wolves, headlines speculating everything from secret relationships to "McLaren’s mystery girl." She avoided the comments, scrolled past the tagged photos, but they lingered like smoke.

You walked into the office. The room was cool and modern, sterile in that corporate-chic way, and your boss was already seated, tablet in hand. Another woman you vaguely recognized from PR was leaning against the wall, arms crossed casually.

“Take a seat,” she said said, not unkindly. “This won’t take long.”

You sat, knees tightly together, palms on your thighs. Trying not to look like you were bracing yourself.

“We’re moving you,” she said. “It’s a good thing.”

“Moving me where?”

“To the new Real Madrid partnership team. It’s a big rollout, very high profile. We need sharp people on it.” Her tone was firm but complimentary. “You’ve done good work. This is a step up.”

Your stomach fluttered. This should’ve been a dream. A high-profile campaign. A nod from the top. 

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”

The woman from PR spoke then, casual, almost teasing. “Just, a word of advice, at Louis Vuitton we do not mix our personal interests with our clientele.” Her smirk didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ve got real talent. Would be a shame.”

It was framed as a reward. And it was, in a way. But the subtext was loud and clear.

“We’ll loop you in with the Madrid team this week,” Marta said, already looking at her tablet again. “Exciting times.”

“Absolutely,” you murmured, already halfway out the door.

You didn’t let herself breathe until you were outside. 

You realized how lucky you were you got a promotion instead of being fired at your dream job, and you hated the fact you had almost messed it up.

—

WN: Im back???!!! I still have many chapters for this story in my drafts so i would like to finish it, so sorry for the long break!! Might even finish my other story or write one shots/shorter stories, requests welcome xx

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.7 pt.8 wordcount: 1249

You don’t know if it was the fact that you already knew Lando as a kid, or if you were just outright stupid, because it hadn’t really crossed your mind that an F1 racer fucking his stylist, fit the picture perfectly. You didn’t feel like that. He didn’t make you feel like that. Or you were just ignoring it. You had seen photos with other girls sometimes. You didn’t think much of it. But when it started to be the same blonde girl quite often, you actively ignored it. 

The tabloid headline came out that morning—Lando pictured walking with the same girl you’d already seen him with a few times in random social media sightings. It wasn’t a big deal before. You knew what this was, what it wasn’t. But the way the headline framed it—Lando Norris and mystery blonde spotted again—F1’s most eligible bachelor off the market?—you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You shouldn’t care. You don’t care. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But still, you find yourself pulling away, responding to his texts slower, keeping things short. Lando’s behavior, however, hadn’t changed one bit. He was still texting you daily. You hadn’t seen him in two weeks after he was in London. You didn’t have work at the previous race weekend. But there was an event tonight, which you were dreading now. Luckily you didn’t have a private fitting.

When you arrived at the event, you spotted Lando almost immediately. He was in the center of it all, drink in hand, laughing at something someone said. 

And somehow, as if he could feel you watching, he turned.

His gaze found yours through the crowd, and there it was again—that shift, the unspoken thing that neither of you had addressed. He didn’t look away.

Instead, he smirked.

You tried not to let it affect you. Tried not to let the fact that he abandoned his conversation and started making his way toward you send a thrill through your stomach.

“You look nice,” he said, voice low as he leaned in, just close enough for you to hear over the music, pulling you in a tight hug.

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you, skipping slightly. “I styled myself.”

He grinned. “That explains why I like it.”

It was stupid, the way he made you feel—like this was something more than what it was.

Like you weren’t just orbiting each other for the fun of it.

‘’Missed you’’ he added.

But before you could say anything, someone else pulled him back into conversation, and you let yourself disappear into the party again.

Only, it was impossible to ignore him. Every time you glanced his way, he was already looking. Every time he passed by, his hand would brush against your lower back, the touch fleeting but deliberate. Every interaction was like a thread pulling tighter, winding something between you.

But then you saw her.

Blonde, leggy, the kind of girl who fit into his world seamlessly. She leaned in close, laughing at something he said, her fingers grazing his arm.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That this was the dynamic you had set. But that didn’t mean you had to stay and watch it.

So, you left.

You weren’t dramatic about it. Just slipped out, phone buzzing in your hand a few minutes later.

Lando: Where’d you go? Lando: Come with me. Lando: Or I’ll find you myself.

You hesitated before replying.

You: Already back at my hotel.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door.

And when you opened it, he was standing there, looking like he had run his hands through his hair a few too many times, like he had left the party the second you did.

“You left,” he said.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Observant.”

His lips quirked, but there was something in his eyes—something not entirely playful. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure how to.

And maybe he didn’t need you to, because a second later, he was stepping closer, slipping inside, closing the door behind him.

Another beat of silence. Then—

“You’re acting weird.”

That makes you pause. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he counters, voice light but probing. “You’ve been weird all day. Actually… since yesterday. Barely texting. One-word answers. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” You finally turn to face him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. “I’m just tired.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Tired of me?”

“No, Lando. Tired. You know, that thing that happens when you don’t get enough sleep?”

He smirks. “Could’ve just said you missed me.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“See, normally, you’d have a better comeback than that,” he muses, tilting his head. “But you’re just shutting me down. Which means…” He trails off, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Did I do something?”

You look away. “No.”

“Did Max or Keegan say something dumb?”

“No.”

He squints. “Did you see something?”

Your stomach clenches.

Lando notices. His smirk returns, slower this time, like he’s figuring out a puzzle in real-time.

“Don’t tell me…” He starts, stepping toward you. “You’re jealous?”

You scoff immediately. “I’m not—”

“Hah,” he lets out a laugh, standing right in front of you now. “Oh my god, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are.” His grin widens, like this is the most amusing thing that’s ever happened to him. “Didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

‘’I’m not’’

‘’You’re the one who said this was casual’’ he continued, your eyes widened. 

‘’Flo told me’’ he grinned. ‘’Which, by the way—ouch."

You huffed, trying to sidestep him, but he’s faster—grabbing your waist and pulling you toward the couch. You stumble slightly, and before you can protest, he’s already guiding you backward until the back of your knees hit the cushion.

“Lando—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He nudges you down onto your back, climbing over you in one smooth motion. He catches both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head against the couch. His other hand settles on your waist, fingers pressing lightly against your skin.

“Say it,” he teases, mouth hovering just above yours. “Say you’re jealous.”

You glare up at him. “I’m not.”

He grins. “Liar.”

Then he dips his head, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down your neck, to your collarbone.

You shift beneath him, but he tightens his grip, keeping you in place. “Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above your chest. “No need to be jealous, you know.”

“I’m not,” you insist, voice thinner now.

He chuckles against your skin. “Right.”

His mouth moves lower, pressing soft, lingering kisses down your chest, across your stomach, stopping just at the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you then, eyes dark with amusement—and something else.

“You’re the best fucking stylist, you know that?” he murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “Take such good care of me.”

You swallow hard. “Lando—”

“Hm?”

He kisses just above your belly button, watching your reaction carefully. “Just want to take care of you too,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. Whatever you were mad about, whatever had been making you pull away—it all feels irrelevant now.

And when he smirks, feeling the tension melt from your body, he knows he’s won.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.6 pt.7 wordcount: 2039

The Monaco paddock was a chaotic mess of media, team personnel, and VIPs swarming every corner. You were supposed to be here—dropping off something personally for Lando. It wasn’t just something, it was the Richard Mille x Louis Vuitton Monaco release watch. You were holding almost a million dollars in your hand. You walked through McLaren hospitality, everyone eyeing you eagerly. Lando had texted you he was in his driver’s room.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you.

Lando stood by the small counter, shirtless, toweling off his damp hair from the post-qualifying sweat. His race suit was tied low around his hips, the fireproofs clinging to his torso in a way that was frankly unfair.

His eyes flicked up when he noticed you, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. “Special delivery for me, stylist?”

You huffed, trying to keep your gaze above his collarbones. “I have the watch.” You held up the box for emphasis. “I’ll leave now.”

Lando, predictably, didn’t move aside. He leaned back against the counter instead, arms crossing over his chest. “You in a rush?”

Yes.

Very much yes.

Because the way he was looking at you—like he was thinking about Monaco nights and zippers and everything you shouldn’t be doing right now—was making it very hard to breathe.

You tried for casual, gesturing toward the door. “People are around.”

He shrugged. “Door’s locked.”

“Lando.”

He grinned at your warning tone, like he enjoyed hearing his name in your voice a little too much. “Say it like that again, and we’ll have a real problem.”

Your stomach flipped. He was too close now, close enough that if you reached out, you could pull at the fireproofs, drag him forward. You weren’t going to. You were stronger than that.

But then his fingers brushed yours where you still held the box, and your resolve wavered.

His other hand grabbed your waist, pressing your back against the closed door behind you. A sharp inhale was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, urgent and claiming. His hands moved, tracing down your hips, gripping tight as he pressed into you, his body hot and solid against yours. His fireproofs did nothing to hide the way he was pressing into you, hard and wanting, his breath heavy against your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw.

A small sound escaped you when his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, fingertips pressing possessively. He exhaled sharply against your neck. 

Then—three sharp knocks on the door.

“Lando, hurry up! Media’s waiting.”

Max. Of course.

You startled, stepping away quickly. Lando barely blinked, just exhaled sharply, muttering, “Fucking timing.”

You shot him a look. “Maybe don’t try to feel up your stylist in the middle of the paddock.”

He just smirked, grabbing a fresh shirt from the garment bag. “I wasn’t trying. If I was trying, you wouldn’t have left.”

You opened the door before you could react to that, nearly running into Max, who took one look at your flustered state, then at Lando’s smug expression, and sighed.

“Seriously?”

‘’Thanks for the watch, I’ll find a way to repay you another time’’ he smirked.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

That’s when the sneaking around officially started. You felt bad about it, to Flo, professionally. But you couldn’t stop. It was so easy. Fitting rooms, toilets, hotel rooms. It was an unspoken agreement. 

-

You were back in London after the Monaco chaos. The texts continued, you dreaded telling Flo, but you knew you had to.

You were supposed to catch up.

But you weren’t listening. Not really.

Flo was mid-sentence about a horse-riding competition, when she suddenly narrowed her eyes at you. “Okay,” she said, setting her cup down with a little too much force. “What’s up with you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You’re stirring your coffee like it personally offended you.”

You glanced down at the spoon in your hand, realizing you’d been absentmindedly spinning it in circles for the last five minutes. You dropped it with a sigh.

Flo’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, God. It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed. She leaned forward, eyes lighting up with interest. “Wait. Who? Do I know him?”

You hesitated, then exhaled sharply, looking away. “Flo… I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to say it so I’m just going to say it. It’s... Lando.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Flo burst out laughing.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she wheezed, trying and failing to hold it together. “It’s just—you hated him.”

“I did not hate him,” you muttered.

Flo gave you a look. “When you were at Quadrant, you once said, and I quote, ‘If I have to hear him interfere about the designs one more time, I will throw myself into oncoming traffic.’”

You winced. “Okay, fine. But it was different working together at LV, things changed.”

Flo smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, I’ll bet they did.”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the table. “I really hope you’re not mad. It’s nothing... serious. Just something casual..”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it. It’s just—fun. That’s all.”

Flo raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

You hesitated for a second too long, glaring at her. You weren’t worried about a famous F1 driver, but for her, of course it was still her brother. 

Flo’s smirk faded slightly. “Oh, babe.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “No, don’t ‘oh, babe’ me. It’s fine. We’re clearly just messing around. It’s not a thing.”

Flo watched you carefully, like she was picking apart every single word. “Okay.. As long as I don’t have to hear any details about it and I’m still your favorite Norris”

You could finally let out a laugh. ‘’You will always be my favorite Norris’’

‘’Thought F1 wasn’t really your scene’’ she want back to teasing. ‘’Who would’ve thought’’

You buried your face in your arms on the table. ‘’Wouldn’t it have been better to go for Lewis?’’ she continued jokingly when you didn’t reply. 

-

You were working in the London LV office when you got a text. 

Lando: I’m in London. What are you doing?

You frowned at your phone, the message popping up between work emails. He wasn’t at a race weekend, so he was either back in Monaco or in London.

You: Working. Why?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then came back.

Lando: Doesn’t your work involve me?

You rolled your eyes.

Before you could tell him off, another text came through.

Lando: I’ll come help you with that.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, even though you knew you should have expected this by now.

You: You don’t even know where I am.

Lando: I do, actually. Showroom, right?

You didn’t reply.

Lando: See you soon :)

And just like that, you knew you wouldn’t be getting any more work done.

He arrived half an hour later, strolling into the showroom like he belonged there.

You gave him an unimpressed look from your seat behind your laptop. “I knew I should’ve turned off my location sharing after Monaco.”

Lando just grinned. “Too late.” He plopped into the seat across from you, looking far too comfortable. “So, what’s up?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m working”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

You exhaled sharply. “Why are you here?”

Lando hesitated, then smirked. “I was in London and wanted to see you. Shouldn’t we go to your place? I still haven’t seen your apartment.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And that’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” He tilted his head. “I mean, you’ve seen my place. Seems unfair.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because you live in Monaco, and I don’t.”

“Still. I think it’s my turn.”

You scoffed. “Why do you even care?”

Lando shrugged, like it didn’t matter. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Maybe I just wanna know where you go when you’re not with me.”

That statement alone made you pause for half a second too long.

Lando didn’t push, just watched you carefully as you exhaled and shut your laptop. “Fine. But only because I need to leave soon anyway.”

“Perfect.” He grinned, standing up. “Lead the way.”

-

Lando followed you into your building like he’d done it a hundred times before, hands in his pockets, an easy smirk on his face.

You, on the other hand, were suddenly hyperaware of everything—of the way your apartment probably wasn’t as put-together as the places he was used to, and how you had left it behind. 

You pushed the thought away as you unlocked the door. “It’s small, so don’t be judgy.”

Lando stepped in first, looking around. “You’re acting like I live in a palace.”

“You do.”

“Okay, fair.” He walked further in, turning in a slow circle as he took everything in. “This is really nice, though.”

You shut the door, crossing your arms. “You sound surprised.”

Lando grinned, plopping onto your couch without hesitation. “I just thought maybe you were hiding something.”

You sighed, dropping your bag. “Yeah, my massive collection of Lando Norris merch.”

“I knew it.” He stretched out, getting comfortable. “So where’s my shrine?”

You rolled your eyes, heading into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure. What are my options?”

You opened the fridge. “Water, juice, or the wine I was saving for a night that doesn’t involve you.”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take the wine.”

You huffed but grabbed the bottle anyway, bringing it over with two glasses. Lando took one, watching you as you sat down beside him.

There was a moment of quiet as he sipped, eyes still trailing over your space.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… feels kinda nice.”

You frowned. “My apartment?”

Lando hummed. “Yeah. Feels like you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just took a sip of your wine, letting the warmth settle.

Lando turned to you fully, propping his elbow against the back of the couch. “So, do I get the tour?”

You laughed. “Lando, there’s like two rooms.”

“Yeah, and I wanna see them.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes but stood up anyway, leading him toward your bedroom. 

Lando grinned as he stepped in, scanning the space. His gaze landed on your nightstand, where a book was sitting, spine cracked. He picked it up, raising a brow. “Didn’t take you for the romance novel type.”

You snatched it back. “It’s not a romance novel.”

“No judgment.” He held up his hands, still smiling. “Just getting to know you better.”

You scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Then, as you moved to set the book down, you felt his hands brush your waist, casual and unhurried.

Your breath caught.

Lando leaned in, voice low. “So, how long do I have before you kick me out?”

You swallowed. “That depends.”

He smirked “On?”

“On if you’re actually just here for a tour.”

Lando hummed, fingers grazing your hip. “I think we both know I’m not.”

Your heart pounded as you turned to face him, eyes locking.

Lando leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So?”

You exhaled. Then reached for him first.

The moment your lips met, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth moved against yours, slow at first, teasing, before his grip firmed, deepening the kiss. You felt the warmth of his palms slide beneath your top, fingertips skimming over your lower back. His hands exploring, slipping under fabric, teasing. His fingers curled at your waist, urging you backward step by step until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Lando’s lips found yours again as he guided you down, his weight settling over you in a way that sent a thrill through your spine. His hands roamed, his touch slow but deliberate, exploring like he had all the time in the world.

“You still gonna kick me out?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement against your lips.

You answered by pulling him closer, fingers tangled in his hair, his quiet laugh dissolving into another heated kiss as he pressed you deeper into the sheets.

WN: hahah the whole story seems just them hooking up now, but dont worry mwahahha, love the black suits and testing livery, this new picture in the fireproofs goes perfect with this chapter, pure coincidence because I had already written this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7

The café was one of those cozy little places tucked away on a quiet street in Monaco, far from the usual chaos of the race weekend. You, Max and Keegan had agreed to meet up for coffee today before the whole sleepover fiasco, the three of you now quietly nursing your coffee, the late morning sun streaming through the windows. It was a slow, easy moment—the kind that had become rare with how busy things had been lately, reminding you of old times in London.

Keegan was scrolling through his phone, probably looking at memes, while Max stretched lazily, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “I’m glad you and Lando get along well now,” he said casually before taking a sip of his drink, not letting his suspicions of the last night when you were at the apartment for your keycard go.

You blinked. “Do we?” You replied casually. 

Max shot you a look, amused. “Well, yeah. I mean, you used to talk about him like he was your worst nightmare during Quadrant.”

“That’s dramatic. He just always wanted to review my designs that we had already agreed on.”

“Is it?” Keegan cut in, grinning. “You hated the guy.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t his biggest fan. But I still wouldn’t say we ‘get along well’ now.”

There had been a shift. He had been texting. Not just about work, but little things. A funny picture from a shoot, a comment about a jacket he knew you hated, a random ‘What’s your coffee order?’ text that had caught you off guard. You had chalked it up to him being Lando—charming, friendly, probably like this with everyone. 

“He’s just—” You searched for the right words. “I don’t know, being normal?”

Keegan snorted. “For Lando, that’s basically flirting.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach twisted a little. Because you’d felt it too—that slight shift, the underlying current of something unspoken. And you weren’t sure what to do about it.

Then, a small smile tugged at your lips. “I do have something fun planned for him at the event tonight, though.”

That got their attention. Keegan finally looked up, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “What kind of fun?”

You just grinned, leaning back in your chair. “You guys will see.”

-

The event was big. Formal. Typical McLaren. It was their Monaco opening. A sea of sharp black suits, starched white shirts, and carefully curated ties. It was the kind of night where image mattered—where every driver, team principal, and executive looked like they had stepped straight out of a luxury menswear campaign.

Except Lando.

He looked good, of course. He always looked good. But instead of a suit like every other man in the room, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored business-casual look: an expensive white knit, sleek navy trousers, and—just to really drive the point home—pristine white sneakers.

Not a blazer in sight.

You watched from your seat in the audience, biting back a smirk as he stepped onto the stage beside Zak, Oscar, and Andrea—all of whom were dressed to the nines in proper suits. Lando barely had time to shake hands before he turned his head, scanning the crowd like he already knew exactly who was responsible. You were easy to find because Max and Keegan next to you had burst out laughing as soon as they saw him.

When he spotted you, sitting comfortably with Max and Keegan, his brows lifted in a silent really? Gesturing to the outfit.

You just smiled sweetly, lifting your hands to applaud like nothing was out of the ordinary. Keegan was the first to crack, letting out a low whistle. “You actually did it. You made him look like he’s here for a tech startup pitch instead of an F1 event.”

Max, already grinning, leaned in. “Wow, you’re an evil genius. How’d you get away with it?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “I have enough pull at Louis Vuitton now. They trust my vision.”

On stage, Lando shook his head slightly, fighting off a smirk. Then, ever so subtly, he lifted a hand and gestured at you—one of those small, exasperated motions that said this is your fault.

You just gave him a little wave in return.

He exhaled a laugh, running a hand over his face before focusing back on the event, because, well—he had to. But you knew this wasn’t over.

The event wrapped up smoothly, filled with speeches, applause, and a little too much formal pleasantry. You didn’t see Lando immediately after, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

And sure enough, just as you were slipping past the backstage area—maybe heading toward the afterparty, maybe just trying to make a quiet exit—he found you.

“Undress me. Now.”

His voice was low, but his words were very clear.

You turned, arching a brow as Lando stepped into your space, still looking unfairly good in the outfit you had put him in. “Excuse me?”

He gave you a pointed look. “You picked it. You put me in this. Fix it.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Didn’t realize you had a problem with it.”

“Oh, I don’t,” he said easily, tilting his head. “It’s the part where everyone else was in suits and I looked like I was about to give a TED Talk, that’s the problem.”

You hummed, feigning deep thought. “Well, maybe I just wanted you to stand out.”

Lando exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You knew what you were doing.”

You shrugged, gaze sweeping over him. “And yet… you still looked good.”

For a second, he just watched you—like he was weighing his next move. Then, he leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “I’m serious, though. Fix it.”

You swallowed, pulse kicking up.

Because suddenly, this didn’t just feel like him joking around anymore.

“Fine,” you said, steadying yourself. “But I’m not undressing you here.”

Lando’s smirk widened. “Dressing room backstage”

You exhaled sharply, giving him a look. “I’ll get the suit”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “I’ll be waiting, stylist.”

And with that, he walked off—leaving you standing there, heart racing, already knowing this wasn’t going to be just about a wardrobe change.

-

The door clicked shut behind you, the distant thump of the party muffled by thick walls.

Lando turned to face you, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Well?” He tilted his head, voice a quiet challenge. “You started this.”

You looked at him questionably.

‘’Was this your plan all along? Finding a reason to undress me?’’

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers itched to touch him. “You are such a—”

He took a step forward, crowding you against the wall. “Go on,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Undress me.”

He grabbed your wrist, leading it to his waist.

Your breath caught.

You reached for the hem of his knit sweater, fingers skimming the warm skin underneath. Lando inhaled sharply, his hands finding your hips as you tugged the fabric over his head, revealing toned muscle, golden skin.

He watched you, gaze dark, waiting.

And then he was kissing you—deep, insistent, no hesitation.

No pulling away this time.

No one disturbing this time.

You felt yourself melt into him, hands sliding over his bare chest, his fingers slipping beneath the straps of your dress, pushing it down slowly, deliberately. He didn’t wait for you to undress his pants.

His lips moved down your neck, across your collarbone, down your stomach, lower, leaving a trail of heat. He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, teasing. Worshipping.

“I love your clothes,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough. “But without is even better.”

-

You smoothed your hair in the mirror before stepping back into the party, the energy buzzing around you. Lando, as always, looked effortlessly unbothered, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you.

You were less successful at hiding it.

Max and Keegan noticed immediately.

“Oh, finally,” Keegan muttered, nursing his drink. “Took you long enough.”

Max smirked, raising a brow at Lando. “Have a nice wardrobe change?”

Lando rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed him. “Much needed”

Keegan snorted. “Right.”

Max leaned toward you, still grinning. “You really got him with the dress code thing. Brilliant.”

Keegan nodded. “Never seen him look so much like a finance bro.”

Lando groaned. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Then he turned to you, gaze lingering. “You’re lucky I still look good in anything.”

‘’Glad you two are working well together now.’’

You felt your face heat up, but Lando, the smug bastard, just smirked.  “Oh, yeah, great team effort.”

Max and Keegan burst out laughing again, but you barely heard them—because Lando was still looking at you, that same glint in his eye.

WN: Hope you guys like it! Let me know! All suggestions are welcome. I hope to be updating more regularly, already have many fun chapters for this story.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 wordcount: 2495

You had convinced yourself nothing had happened. You would never have to tell Flo anything. And for a few days, it was easy to believe that. There were no events, no fittings, no reasons to see him. Just a silly mistake you had already forgotten. It should’ve never even happened in the first place. You weren’t the kind of person who mixed work with… whatever that had been. You were a professional and your LV job meant way too much to you to risk anything.

So when you arrived at the next fitting, relieved you weren’t assigned to Lando. It was for a campaign shoot, a setting that felt much more comfortable to you than the chaos of a live event. Here, things were controlled. Professional.

You were helping another driver with their fitting when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Manager: Hey, slight change—Norris requested you.

You barely had time to process before the door opened and Lando strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking completely at ease.

Lando stretched lazily, like he had no idea why you’d be annoyed. 

“Hey, stylist.”

You kept your voice even. “Didn’t realize I was assigned to you.”

His grin widened. “Well, you weren’t.”

You exhaled sharply. “Then why am I here?”

Lando shrugged. "Yeah, well. Wouldn’t trust anyone else with my zippers during a wardrobe malfunction. Only the best, hey?"

You didn’t answer, just tossed the first outfit at him. “Try it on.”

Lando took the suit, standing up. “You’re all business today.”

“I’m always all business,” you muttered.

He didn’t push further, just disappeared behind the curtain to change. You took a steadying breath, shaking off the tension creeping into your shoulders. This was fine. You were in control.

A few moments later, he emerged, adjusting the sleeves of the suit jacket.

“How do I look?”

You turned, ready to make some small remark—but your words caught in your throat.

The suit fit him too well. Sharp lines, tailored perfectly to his frame. The deep navy color made his eyes stand out, the crisp white shirt underneath just barely undone at the collar.

Damn it.

Lando caught your hesitation, grinning. “That good, huh?”

You exhaled. “Put the next outfit on.”

He chuckled but did as he was told.

By the end of it, Lando looked as effortlessly put together as ever, and you had successfully done your job, and kept your professionalism intact. You were glad the fitting was done and you didn’t have to stay for the whole shoot, so you quickly left.

-

After the Australian Grand Prix and the first few races, there were no high profile LV events. You had been doing preparatory work at the London office. Until Monaco. Of course for Monaco, Louis Vuitton would play a big part at the events again. You flew there a few days before the events and race. Quadrant was also in Monaco for the race and they were all going out tonight, Max and Keegan had both texted you to come with like old times in London. 

When you arrive, the party is in full swing, the rooftop of the Monaco venue buzzing with drivers, influencers, and the elite of both motorsport and fashion. Maybe it’s the relief of not being on duty, of not having to hover over drivers making sure they don’t wrinkle their suits before the cameras get to them. 

You spot Max and Keegan near the bar, laughing at something stupid, and make your way towards them immediately.

“Finally,” you sigh, sliding between them. “People I actually like.”

Keegan grins, handing you a drink. “We’re honored.”

“Don’t be,” you tease, taking a sip. “I just don’t like anyone here”

Max laughs. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

You let yourself have fun. It’s been a while since you weren’t just the put-together stylist, since you weren’t navigating an event with work on your mind. The music is good and the drinks are flowing.

Of course they had invited Lando, he was their actual best friend. But you had thought he might not be there with the race weekend coming up. 

You’re all dancing, when you see him approach, greeting Max and Keegan enthusiastically. When you see Lando laughing with Max, joking around effortlessly like they always had, there was something oddly familiar about it. For a brief moment, he wasn’t the global superstar you had to dress. He was just Flo’s annoying brother, the same kid who used to crash your sleepovers and steal your snacks.

Then he sees you. 

“Hey stylist” he says as he steps closer.

You tilt your head. “I’m not working tonight”

Lando hums, eyes flicking over you. “I can tell.”

There’s something about the way he says it. 

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lando leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach twist. “Just… didn’t see this side of you.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, his hand grazes your waist as he reaches past you for something on the bar.

The touch is fleeting. Almost nothing.

But it lingers.

Your breath catches.

His smirk deepens, like he knows.

So you turn back to Keegan, laughing at something he says, ignoring Lando for the rest of the night.

-

Your head was pounding.

The second you cracked your eyes open, you regretted it. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to let in the Monaco morning light. Everything smelled like expensive cologne, a mix of fresh linen and something unmistakably male.

This was not your hotel room.

You groan, shifting slightly—only to feel someone beside you.

Your eyes fly open, heart hammering.

You turn your head.

Keegan.

Your entire body sags in relief. Keegan is still dead asleep, sprawled on his stomach, snoring into the pillow.

You push yourself up, glancing around. The sheets are too nice. The floor-to-ceiling windows too clean, too expensive-looking. You carefully slid out of bed. You needed to leave before anyone saw you.

That’s when you hear voices from the other room.

“…absolutely gone.” Max’s voice, amused.

“Yeah, she’s never drinking that much again.”

Lando.

The possibility of sneaking out without anyone noticing vanished instantly.

You sighed, making your way into the living room, where Lando and Max are sitting casually drinking coffee, looking way too well-rested.

Lando smirks over his cup. “Look who’s alive.”

You fold your arms. “What the hell am I?”

Max grins. “Lando’s place.”

Your stomach drops. You stare at Lando.

His smirk widens. “Don’t look so horrified. It was just the safest option.”

“You and Keegan got absolutely wrecked. Figured we’d let you crash here instead of sending you back to your hotel in that state.” Max adds.

Lando just shrugs. “Safe house.”

You narrow your eyes. “And we just… crashed?”

“You both crashed onto my bed directly,” Lando says. 

Keegan stumbles into the room, groaning. “I am never drinking that much again.”

You laugh when you see him, nudging him. “This is all your fault, those damn tequila shots”

Lando watches the exchange, something unreadable in his expression.

You heard your phone buzz.

Manager: Hey, last-minute change for the fitting today—it’ll be at Lando’s place instead of the hotel. Be there in 20.

You blinked. Then read it again.

No. No, no, no.

"Something wrong?" Lando asked, too entertained by your reaction.

You slowly looked up at him, horrified. "You arranged the fitting here?" you asked, voice hoarse.

Lando stretched, entirely unbothered. "Oh yeah. Seemed convenient. Thought you’d appreciate not having to travel. Figured it’d be easier than going to the hotel. Hope you don’t mind."

You wanted to murder him. Instead, you exhaled sharply, turned on your heel, and headed straight for the bathroom to make yourself look less like you had spent the night drinking tequila with his best friends.

You really needed to not look like a complete disaster before the fitting.

Which left you with only one option.

Lando’s wardrobe.

You rummaged through his neatly arranged collection until you found what you needed—a white button-up shirt and a pair of jeans. The jeans were  too big, but with a little trick—you were a stylist afterall—it worked. They sat low on your hips, hanging just right. His button-up was oversized, falling effortlessly over your frame, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows.

By the time you emerged from the bathroom, freshened up and dressed, you actually looked good. Casual. Effortless. Like you hadn’t just woken up hungover in a Formula 1 driver’s apartment.

Lando raised his eyebrows when you walked in, smirking. “Didn’t know we were styling my clothes on you today.”

You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t know I’d be styling someone in their own damn apartment.”

“Worked out, though.”

You heard Max and Keegan arguing in a different room, it sounded like they were playing videogames. 

You were glad the doorbell rang, it was your colleague with the clothes. It was very normal for celebrities to request their fittings at their homes, so she didn’t question it. 

The fitting itself was smooth—thankfully, he didn’t push too much. When you stepped back to check the final look, he tilted his head.

“You’re quiet today.”

You met his eyes, unamused. “I have a headache.”

“From drinking?”

“No. From you.”

Lando laughed. “Fair.”

You finished up quickly, more than ready to get out of there.

“Alright,” you said, taking a step back. “You’re done. I’ll see you at the event.” You still had to go the LV office before, and were going to the event from there.

Lando just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

You popped your head into the gaming room to say goodbye to Keegan and Max, too focused on their video game and stream, mumbling something like ‘’See you soon’’. They wouldn’t be going to tonight’s event, but they would be at enough other things in Monaco this week and weekend. You were glad they were around again, missing the friendships during your work at Quadrant.

-

The venue was extravagant—glistening chandeliers, perfectly curated floral arrangements, and guests dressed in luxury from head to toe. Louis was always extravagant, but this was Louis at Monaco, you hadn’t seen something like this before.

Lando was already there, talking to a group of people, glass of champagne in hand, his fitted suit a sharp contrast to the playful persona he usually carried. He had a way of looking effortlessly put together.

And yet, there was something about how easily he slipped into the role of charming, high-profile athlete that irritated you. He looked good—you knew he would. You had styled him. But it still annoyed you to see him flashing those perfect smiles for the cameras, working the crowd like it was effortless. It didn’t help you were still feeling hungover.

So, you did what you never did at events. You drank.

Not recklessly, just enough to take the edge off. 

"I liked my clothes better on you" Lando said, his gaze dragging over you in a way that felt deliberate. You had obviously changed into something else back at the LV office.

"Guess you can dress yourself again then" you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

He laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "Nah, I like all the attention your outfits get me"

You rolled your eyes.

The night went on, and you did your best to avoid him—not in an obvious way, but enough to keep some distance. It was necessary. 

But, of course, it was impossible to ignore him completely.

And then, the final blow—

You reached for your bag, instinctively searching for your keycard, only to realize—

Shit.

Your stomach dropped. You had left it at his apartment.

And, as if the universe was just as cruel as Lando, he already knew.

"Problem?" Lando’s voice came from just behind you, close enough that you felt his breath against your ear.

You should have been startled, but instead, your pulse just kicked up. You turned slightly, exhaling sharply. "I left my keycard at your place."

Lando smirked. "Looks like you’ll have to come home with me, then."

You shot him a look. "I could just ask the front desk for a new one."

"You could." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. "But then you wouldn’t have an excuse to come over again."

Your stomach twisted. You hated the way he said it—like he knew what he was doing to you.

You huffed, tilting your chin up. "I don’t need an excuse."

His smirk widened. "Then let’s go."

-

Lando unlocked the door to his apartment, stepping inside and tossing his keys onto the counter. "Make yourself at home," he said, amusement laced in his voice.

You shot him a glare, slipping off your heels. "Not funny."

"Little bit funny."

You ignored him, going straight for the living room where you had probably left your keycard earlier. But before you could grab it, Lando was suddenly there, leaning against the couch, watching you with an expression you really didn’t trust.

"You know," he started, and you could already tell he was going to say something stupid. "At this rate, you should just move in."

You glared at him. "Shut up."

He laughed, but then his eyes flickered down—just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked, his hands slipping into his pockets like he wasn’t affected. Like he wasn’t standing close enough that you could smell the mix of his cologne and whatever alcohol still lingered on him.

"Okay, got it. Leaving now."

Lando leaned against the doorframe, blocking the way.

"Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "You sure? You do basically live here now."

Lando was suddenly close. Closer than he had been all night. Hands grazing your waist, fingers trailing up your spine.

“Lando,” you warned, voice quieter than you intended.

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

You could feel his breath against your skin.

“I—”

And then, suddenly, his hands were on your zipper.

"Think I can handle this one," he murmured against your lips.

A breathless laugh escaped you, but it was lost in the way he kissed you—deeper, needier.

Lando’s hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his grip firmer this time, like he wasn’t afraid you’d pull away. 

And this time, you didn’t stop it, you weren’t sure if it was the lack of energy or the drinks you had.

It was messy and rushed again, seemingly unplanned, and before it could go any further, you heard stumbling and a door opening. You quickly stepped away.

‘’Lando, that you?’’ Max emerged from the bedroom, still half asleep.

-

WN: guysss sorry it took so long!! long chapter to make up for it. I actually have many chapters and ideas for this story but I just want able to finalize to post because I was busy. Hope you enjoy it!! xx

pt.1 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 wordcount: 1248

The Louis Vuitton event was everything it was supposed to be—elegant, high-profile, filled with models, designers, and A-list athletes. You had been to fashion events before, but this was different. The merging of fashion and motorsport brought a unique energy, an almost surreal overlap of two worlds you hadn’t expected to be a part of at the same time.

You kept yourself busy, moving between conversations with your colleagues at Louis Vuitton, small talk, strategic networking, and answering questions about the collection. Lando had been doing his own thing—flashing smiles for the cameras, entertaining sponsors, talking to reporters, and a rotation of beautiful women.

You didn’t interact much throughout the night. Still, you were aware of him, it was impossible not to be in the suit you styled him in. You knew you had done a good job.

Until you heard your name.

The interviewer was smiling, microphone angled toward Lando as cameras recorded. 

"Yeah, the partnership with Louis Vuitton is great. But not only that, this outfit is styled by my sister’s best friend, which makes it extra special," Lando said smoothly, the perfect PR-trained answer. "Means a lot to me to be working together—first at Quadrant and now here at Louis Vuitton."

You stilled.

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. Like it was some full-circle, sentimental thing. Like he had ever said something like that to you before. As if you had actually personally worked together at Quadrant. It annoyed you, making your professional work sound like something personal and intimate, reserved for him, as if you hadn’t styled some of the other drivers with the same attention.

You turned away, ignoring the weird mix of irritation and something heavier sitting in your chest. You weren’t going to let it get to you.

And you hadn’t planned on saying anything.

But when the event was wrapping up and you were back at the hotel, by some cruel twist of fate, you ended up in the elevator together. Just the two of you, the hum of the lift filling the silence as the doors slid shut.

Lando leaned back against the mirrored wall, hands in his pockets, looking unbothered as ever. You had to say something. 

"What was that all about?" you asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about?"

You gave him a look. "That perfect little PR answer."

He smirked slightly. "Thought you’d appreciate the shoutout."

You folded your arms, unimpressed. "You’ve never said anything like that to me before."

"Didn’t know you wanted me to, the media has given you enough attention." he shot back, tilting his head.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Right, cause that’s all I care about."

Lando turned, arms folding over his chest. "What’s the problem? It was a nice answer."

"That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

You didn’t have an immediate response, which only made his smirk widen.

The elevator doors slid open, and before you could walk out, his voice stopped you.

"Anyway," he drawled, walking towards the door. "Thanks for the nice outfit, it was great, should’ve asked you to style me sooner.’’ he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.  ‘’Can’t wait to take it off though. Looking good is exhausting, sweet dreams stylist" 

You rolled your eyes without a response, walking to your room annoyed that it had gotten to you.

-

The second night of the Louis Vuitton x F1 launch was in full swing, luxury and motorsport merging under glittering lights. You kept to your side of the event, mingling with the LV team and ensuring the drivers looked sharp.

You barely interacted with Lando after yesterday, just the occasional glance across the room to admire the suit you had picked out for him tonight.

Then, as if sensing your thoughts, your phone buzzed.

Lando: Where are you?

You frowned, typing back.

You: At the event, obviously.

Lando: Need you. Now.

Your heartbeat kicked up. You glanced around, trying to spot him, but he wasn’t in sight.

You: What? Why?

No response.

Then another buzz.

Lando: Toilets. Back hallway. Please.

Your stomach twisted. Without thinking too much, you slipped away from the crowd, making your way toward the hallway. You pushed open the door to the private restroom area, and there he was—leaning against the sink, looking both frustrated and amused.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

Lando exhaled sharply, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “Zipper broke.”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“No, I’m making it up for fun,” he deadpanned. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Your eyes narrowed, stepping closer. “A Louis Vuitton zipper doesn’t just break.”

Lando hesitated. Just for a second.

It was quick, but you caught it. And suddenly, the situation felt… off.

You crossed your arms. “What exactly were you doing before this broke?”

Lando’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the shift—the slight smirk, the too-casual way he leaned back.

“Are you implying something?” he asked, voice teasing.

You raised a brow. “I don’t know. Am I?”

His grin widened, but he didn’t answer.

Your stomach twisted, an irrational frustration bubbling up. Why did you care? It wasn’t your business what—or who—he was doing before this event. But the thought of him slipping away with someone, being careless enough to mess up his suit right before stepping out onto the carpet, annoyed you more than it should have.

“Forget it,” you muttered, stepping closer. “Just—hold still.”

Lando’s smirk lingered, but he obeyed, shifting just enough to give you better access.

You knelt down, fingers adjusting the fabric quickly. The problem itself wasn’t as bad as he made it sound—it was a minor snag, nothing you couldn’t handle. But the proximity was dangerous. Your fingers moved with careful precision, but it was impossible not to graze the warm skin beneath the waistband. You could feel the way Lando barely shifted, his breath steady but controlled, like he was making an effort not to react.

“Not bad at this, are you?” Lando murmured, voice lower than before.

You didn’t respond. You just focused, ignoring the way his muscles tensed when your fingers brushed against him.

Finally, with one last tug, you straightened. “There. Fixed.” 

Lando glanced down, then back up at you. Neither of you moved.

The air shifted.

And then, before you could think too hard about it, he leaned in.

His lips met yours, firm and insistent. It was messy, rushed, like neither of you had planned for this but couldn’t stop it either. You barely had time to react before you were kissing him back. His hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you into him like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on.

Then, as suddenly as it started, you pulled back.

Breathless.

Lando exhaled, eyes flickering over your face, searching. “Well,” he murmured. “That’s one way to handle a wardrobe malfunction.”

You stared at him, your own breath unsteady.

What the hell just happened?

WN: Hope you guys like it! Let me know!

pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 wordcount: 1378

Flo's voice filled the room as she scrolled through her phone, her excitement palpable.

"I'm telling you, this is perfect for you," Flo said, thrusting her phone in your direction.

You squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the email she was showing you. "A job at Quadrant? Flo, I’m studying fashion design, not... whatever that is."

Flo looked up, her brows furrowed as if you’d just said something ridiculous. "What do you mean? It can be. Look at Tommy Hilfiger. Or Lewis Hamilton—his fashion work, hosting the Met Gala, working with big brands. F1’s bigger than you think, and it’s not just about cars."

"Haha, Flo, what are you talking about?" you said, shaking your head at the idea. "F1 is not really the place I want to be for my fashion stuff."

You paused, realizing you hadn’t really thought about it like that before. You’d never paid much attention to Formula 1, aside from the occasional updates Flo gave you about Lando. It had been years since you'd spent any real time with him. As kids, you'd catch fleeting glimpses of each other whenever he wasn’t off karting or, later, racing. But you knew Lewis Hamilton. He had enormous influence. He’d collaborated with brands you admired and pushed boundaries in the fashion world.

"Maybe not," Flo said, leaning forward with a knowing grin. "But there could be great opportunities"

"And trust me, Quadrant desperately needs someone like you. You’ve seen their merch, right? It’s..." She continued.

"Basic?" you offered, arching an eyebrow, Flo had already showed you the designs before in an attempt for you to improve them.

"Exactly! They’re looking for someone to revamp their designs. You’re always talking about how things could be better.''

You sipped your coffee, considering her words. It wasn’t your dream job, but the thought of improving a brand and the opportunities that came with it was oddly tempting.

"Fine," you said, setting your mug down. "I’ll think about it."

Flo grinned like she'd won the lottery. "You’ll kill it. Trust me."

-

The buzz around Quadrant’s new merch started slowly but picked up pace when a few photos of Lando wearing your designs at the paddock made their way online. Suddenly, it wasn’t just fans buying hoodies and tees, people in the fashion and sports world were taking notice, and journalists started to make comparisons you weren’t sure anyone expected.

“Is Lando Norris the next Lewis Hamilton?” one article headline read.

Another went deeper: “From driver to brand icon: How Lando Norris and Quadrant are reshaping athlete influence.”

It had been surreal to watch the shift, you had worked hard. Max had been supportive from the start, seeing the vision. Keegan had actually become a reliable creative partner, having similar styles and taste. Lando had been the same as when you were kids, you had barely seen him, too busy racing, handling his CEO duties from afar.

And now, after months of hard work, it was all leading to something bigger.

-

The first time at the paddock was overwhelming. The heat, the constant movement, the blur of media, mechanics, and drivers navigating their way through the chaos—it was a world you still didn’t quite belong to. Even though it did bid a uncanny resemblance to the chaos of the fashion world, which intrigued you.

You watched as the photographers snapped pictures of Lando and the team in their latest Quadrant pieces. The collection had taken months to finalize, and the response had been overwhelming—more press than usual, more attention, more recognition.

“You’re the one behind all this, aren’t you?”

You turned at the voice, surprised to find yourself face to face with Lewis Hamilton. He was dressed effortlessly, a silk LV shirt under an unbuttoned suit vest, sunglasses perched on his nose.

You blinked. “I—uh. Sorry?”

Lewis smiled knowingly. “The Quadrant collection. It’s you.”

You hesitated. “I mean… it’s a team effort.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “But I know talent when I see it.”

Her stomach flipped. Compliments were one thing, but this—coming from him—felt different.

“I’ve been following your work,” Lewis continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You’ve got a fresh perspective. Louis Vuitton is partnering with F1. They want to bring in new talent, I tipped you.” Your breath caught. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You stared at him, waiting for the catch, but there wasn’t one. He was just… offering this. Just like that.

“I—” You glanced over at the Quadrant shoot, where Lando was laughing with the guys, completely unaware of the conversation happening across the paddock. “Thank you so much.”

Lewis smiled. “You’ll be hearing from them soon. Excited to work together.”

And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the paddock like he hadn’t just cracked your entire world open in a two-minute conversation. Flo had turned to be right after all.

-

Louis Vuitton had officially announced their F1 partnership, and with it, their campaign featuring a select group of drivers. The second she saw Lando’s name on the list, you knew there was no avoiding it. You hadn’t expected it, even though it made sense after Quadrant’s succes and having already worked together. Still, you hadn’t expected to be working with him again, especially not like this. He hadn't shown too much emotion when you left Quadrant, but you knew he wasn't happy about it.

Now, standing in the Louis Vuitton studio, flipping through the fitting schedule, you could feel his glare when the door opened before looking up.

"From Quadrant to Louis V," Lando mused, his voice light but edged with something unreadable. "Look at us."

You finally glanced up. He walked around inspecting the room, sunglasses perched on his head, fingers brushing against the fabric of a tailored jacket. His expression was casual, like he wasn’t really thinking about what he’d just said. Like it was just an observation.

You gave a small shrug. "Who would've thought."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he turned toward the fitting area. "Thought you could get rid of me, huh?"

“Alright, first look,” you said, flipping through your notes without looking up.

Lando sighed dramatically. “Do I really need to try all of these on?”

You shot him a look. “Unless you suddenly developed a sense of style overnight, yes.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, grabbing the set from the rack.

You turned you back as he changed, focusing on adjusting the pins on one of the outfits. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a fitting with Lando, but this was different. The Louis Vuitton studio was quieter than Quadrant HQ, the lighting softer, there was no Max, no Keegan, no distractions.

“Okay,” Lando said, stepping forward. “What do you think?”

You turned—and fuck.

The suit fit him unfairly well. The sharp tailoring, the way the fabric moved with him—it was annoyingly perfect. Which meant you had done a great job.

You forced yourself to be professional, stepping closer to fix his collar. “Hold still.”

Lando stayed quiet as you smoothed the lapels, fingers brushing against his chest. The silence felt thick, aware of how close you were.

“Looks good,” you said, voice even. “But the pants need adjusting.”

You knelt down, reaching for the hem.

You could feel his eyes on you as you adjusted the fabric, fingers skimming his ankle, making sure the length was right. You refused to look up, but you could hear him breathe in, then exhale slowly.

“Comfortable down there?” he asked, voice casual, but you could hear his smirk.

You rolled your eyes, unable for him to see. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Lando huffed out a laugh, but when you did glance up—just for a second—his jaw was tight. Like he was the one struggling.

You stood, smoothing out the jacket. “Alright,” you said, stepping back, regaining distance. “I think we’re done here.”

Lando tilted his head. “You sure? Thought you liked bossing me around now.”

You smirked. “If I really wanted to boss you around, Lando, you’d know it.”

He blinked, caught off guard for just a second.

Then he grinned. “Noted.”

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9

wordcount: 1875

The morning after felt surreal, but there was no time to process it. Lando had to leave early for a McLaren training camp. You remembered him mentioning it in passing, not thinking too much about it, but now the timing felt cruel. You had barely opened your eyes when you heard him moving around the room.

His hoodie was already on, his bag slung over his shoulder. He glanced at you as he pulled the zipper closed, his expression unreadable. He moved towards the bed, kissing your forehead as if that was the most normal thing to do. 

“Morning,” he said, voice rough.

“Morning,” you replied, suddenly hyperaware of the intimacy between you.

“You’re leaving already?” you asked, your voice still raspy from sleep.

“Yeah,” He looked at the door briefly, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“See you at the lodge yeah?” He said standing up ‘’We’ll talk’’

Before you could respond, he stepped back, offering you a small smile. “Don’t overthink it, okay?”

You nodded, but your mind was already racing.

-

The ski trip was early this year, with everyone’s conflicting schedules, it fell during Christmas and New Years again, like old times. It was Christmas eve when you all arrived, your families spiralling into chaos directly with the preparations. 

You sat by the window, staring out at the snowy expanse, but your focus was elsewhere—on the familiar figure lounging across the room. Lando was leaning back in an armchair, his dark hoodie tugged over his hair, talking to your dad and Max, but his sharp gaze was fixed on you. The memory of that night haunted you—the way his lips had claimed yours, the way he’d pressed you into your bed, making promises with his touch you’d never heard him say aloud. But then the morning came, and there was no time. He had left in a rush, and the silence that followed was deafening, you had texted a bit, but it wasn’t enough. Now, surrounded by your families, the space between you felt unbearable. Every glance, every subtle brush of his hand against yours—it was like he wanted to pick up where you left off but couldn’t. Christmas eve was hectic, as it always was. Between skiing in the morning, a late lunch that stretched into early evening, and the chaos of unwrapping presents, there was no moment to breathe—and no opportunity for you and Lando to talk. 

When the night had finally come to an end, you were in your bedroom getting ready for bed, you heard the faint creak of the door behind you, and your heart stopped. Turning, you found Lando standing there, his hand on the doorknob, his hoodie now off, hair tousled.

“Are you insane?” you hissed, rushing over to push him back into the hallway. But he caught your wrist, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Relax. Everyone’s asleep,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes were anything but playful. “I couldn’t just leave things like this.”

Your breath hitched. “Lando, we can’t—Max is in the next room. If anyone—”

“I’ve missed you.” he murmured, stepping closer, his hands finding your waist. 

The words sent a shiver through you, your resolve crumbling as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly at first, then with more insistence. You melted into him, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as he backed you toward the bed.

“Lando,” you whispered against his lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak. “We have to be quiet.”

He grinned, his forehead resting against yours. “Then you better keep me in check.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him to leave, but when his lips met yours again, all resistance crumbled. His kiss was slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world, even though you both knew he didn’t. Your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer as he shifted, laying you back against the pillows.

His lips found yours again, his hand sliding up under your shirt, his touch igniting every nerve. The fear of being caught only made everything more intense, every whispered word, every soft sigh heightening the moment. You still didn’t talk, but your bodies said enough.

When he finally slipped out of your room hours later, the sky outside was starting to lighten, and you were left staring at the ceiling, your heart racing and your body still buzzing from his touch.

-

The next morning, you woke to the sound of Max banging on your door.

“Get up! We’re leaving in ten minutes,” he shouted.

You groaned, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow. Sleep had been elusive after Lando had left, your mind replaying every moment, every kiss, every touch.

Breakfast was a chaotic affair, as it always was with both families in the house. Lando was already at the table when you came downstairs, sitting next to Max and laughing at something your dad had said. He looked perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t spent half the night in your bed. You, on the other hand, felt like you were going to combust every time his knee brushed against yours under the table or his eyes met yours across the room. How had it come to this? Not being able to act normal around your best friend.

After a full day of skiing and another chaotic christmas dinner, Max was talking about the Christmas special Quadrant stream event they had planned. 

“We’ve got an event to stream, and it’ll be easier if we’re in the same room,” Max said to Lando casually, oblivious to the way your stomach dropped at his words.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Lando blurted out, earning a surprised look from Max.

“Why? We’ve done it before, we have to stream until late hours” Max said, shrugging. “Unless you’ve got some other reason to not want to share with me?”

Lando glanced at you briefly, his jaw tightening before he shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Whatever.” Max raised his eyebrows at him but didn’t press further.

Between Max’s constant presence and the impossibility of sneaking around, the tension between you and Lando only grew. And as New Year’s Eve arrived, the lodge buzzing with excitement as your families prepared for the celebration. The living room had been transformed into a cozy party space. You tried to focus on the festivities, chatting with your parents and helping set up the table with finger foods and champagne glasses. But your mind kept drifting to Lando. He was on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall with a glass of wine in hand, talking to Max and your dad. He looked too good in his black sweater and jeans, his hair perfectly messy, his smile easy and charming. Every time his gaze flickered to you, it felt like a physical touch, making your heart race.

As midnight approached, the group scattered around the place, counting down the minutes. Your parents were laughing, your mom sipping champagne while your dad cracked jokes. Max was fiddling with his phone, probably trying to text and call P, while Lando stood close by, his attention divided between the countdown and you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The countdown began, voices mingling with the music as the excitement in the room built.

Your heart pounded as you locked eyes with Lando from across the room. The way he looked at you—intense, longing, like he couldn’t wait another second—made your breath catch. You knew what he was thinking because you were thinking it too.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Cheers erupted, glasses clinking, and the room filled with hugs and laughter.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you slipped out of the living room and into the dimly lit hallway. The noise of the party faded as you leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath. You didn’t have to wait long. Lando appeared seconds later, his eyes scanning the hall until they landed on you. He didn’t say a word as he closed the distance between you, pushing you further against the wall, his hands finding your waist and pulling you close. His lips were on yours before you could speak, the kiss fierce and hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough.

“Happy New Year” you whispered, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you grabbed the front of his sweater, pulling him closer.  His fingers tightened on your waist, and you knew you were both teetering on the edge of losing control. “Let’s go upstairs” he whispered. 

He grabbed your hand, leading you down the hallway and up the stairs, his grip warm and steady.

The party continued below, the sound of music and laughter muffled as you slipped into your room. 

His lips found yours again, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped you. Every movement was careful, deliberate, as if the risk of being caught only made it more intoxicating. You were so lost in him that you didn’t hear the soft creak of the floorboards outside until it was too late.

“What the hell?” Max’s voice was a sharp whisper, and you froze, your blood turning to ice.

Lando jerked back, his eyes wide as he stared at the door, which had opened just enough for Max’s face to peek through. Your brother looked equal parts horrified and furious.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Max muttered, pushing the door open fully. “Are you serious right now?”

“Max, it’s not what it looks like,” you started, but even you didn’t believe the words.

“Not what it—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair as he stepped into the room. “You’re joking, right? In the middle of the night? While everyone’s downstairs?”

Lando stood, hands raised in a gesture. “Max, I can explain.”

Max pointed a finger at him, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, you’d better. Because this—” He gestured between the two of you. “—is not happening. ”

“Max,” you said, your voice pleading. “Can we not do this right now?”

“No, we’re doing this now,” he snapped. “What the hell are you two thinking?”

Lando glanced at you, his expression unreadable, before turning back to Max. “Look, I get it. You’re upset. But—”

“Upset doesn’t even cover it, mate,” Max interrupted. “This is my sister.”

“I know that” Lando shot back, his tone firmer now. “And you’re my best friend.”

The room went silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, Max let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I need some air.”

He turned and left without another word, leaving the door ajar behind him. You stared at the empty doorway, your heart still racing, before turning to Lando.

“Well,” you said weakly. “That went well. Great start of the new year”

He gave you a rueful smile, sitting back down beside you. “Could’ve been worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Might’ve walked in five minutes later,” he said, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh.

WN: I think we are coming to an end nonetheless :( Probably in the next part. Maybe a sequel, or a new story, not sure yet. :(

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.10

wordcount: 2926

The sunlight streaming through the blinds was sharp and unforgiving, waking you far earlier than you wanted. You shifted under the covers, the events of the night before flashing through your mind. Your stomach churned—not from the alcohol, but from the weight of what had happened.

You glanced over at Lando, still asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful, his hair a mess against the pillow, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel the warmth of it. But then guilt crept in, tightening around your chest. What the hell had you done? 

Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you grabbed some clothes and padded out into the kitchen. Coffee first, then… you’d figure out how to handle this.

“Morning,” Lando’s voice startled you, and you turned to see him leaning against the doorway, hair tousled, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. He looked way too good to be feeling even half the hangover you were feeling. 

“Oh, hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I was just making coffee. Want some?”

“Sure,” he said, raising his eyebrows, his eyes lingering on you for a beat too long.

The silence stretched as you busied yourself with the coffee machine. He didn’t move closer, didn’t sit down. You knew he was waiting for you to say something.

“Last night…” you began.

“Yeah?” he prompted, quick to reply.

“It was…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Sorry?”

“It’s just…” You hesitated, the words tumbling out. “So much alcohol. And the break-up. I wasn’t—I don’t know. I’m just sorry.”

His expression flickered, something guarded settling in his eyes. “Right... Yeah, of course. I’m sorry too”

Before either of you could say more, there was a loud knock on the door.

“Thank God,” you muttered under your breath, heading to open it.

Max stood there, looking like death warmed over, his sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair, more like you were feeling.

“Kill me,” he groaned, brushing past you and collapsing onto the couch.

“Good morning to you too,” Lando said, handing him a bottle of water from the fridge.

“What did we do last night?” Max asked, his voice muffled by the pillow he’d shoved his face into.

Lando smirked. “You challenged a group of strangers to a dance-off. And lost.”

“Tragic,” Max mumbled. He lifted his head slightly, squinting at you both. “Anyway, what are we watching?”

Before you could protest, he was scrolling through the options on your streaming service, settling on an over-the-top action flick.

You exchanged a glance with Lando, who gave you a small, almost imperceptible shrug before sitting down on the couch.

Max patted the cushion beside him. “Come on, both of you. Misery loves company.”

As the movie played, with Max sitting between you and Lando, you occasionally glanced over to Lando, whose eyes were glued to the TV. Max made his usual sarcastic comments, keeping the atmosphere light. On the outside everything looked exactly the same, but even as you laughed along, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t quite the same.

- The following months were a strange blur—a whirlwind of processing the breakup, diving into work, and navigating race weekends. Of course, you still went to the races. Skipping them would have been unthinkable, far too weird. But it felt different. You had decided to keep some distance from Lando, convinced it was the right thing to do. Maybe for him, maybe for you. You didn’t expect him to do the same. It wasn’t overt enough for anyone else to notice. To the untrained eye, nothing had changed. You were still at every race, still part of the usual group settings. But the small moments—the ones that used to belong to just the two of you—those were gone.

No impromptu meet-ups in random cities. No late-night texts or phone calls that had nothing to do with racing. The unspoken routine you’d fallen into over the years had quietly unraveled, and no one else seemed to notice. Lando was having the season of his life, the world around him growing brighter and louder with every race. Media attention surged, fans swarmed, and with the success came a revolving door of new people. Girls. Even Magui made an appearance again.

It all looked perfectly normal from the outside—like you were just giving him space to focus, like his rising stardom left no room for anything else. But you knew better. You felt the distance that had never been there before, even if no one else could see it.

Max noticed, of course. He was the one person who would. “You and Lando good?” he had asked one evening, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

You’d brushed it off with a shrug. “Just don’t love this side of F1,” you’d said vaguely, which wasn’t entirely untrue. You didn’t press further, and to your relief, neither did he. He seemed satisfied enough, happy, in fact, to have more of your time to himself.

The awkward radio silence between Lando and you was interrupted by the buzz of your phone. His name flashed on the screen. Surprised you picked up the phone.

“Hey,” 

“Hey…” he replied, his voice a touch uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure how to start.

There was a pause, and then he dove in. “Listen, I wanted to ask you something. I’m sorry to bother you with this—you can say no—but, um…” He hesitated, and you could almost hear him scratching the back of his neck through the phone.

“You know how I absolutely hated the FIA awards on my own last year?” he continued. “It was boring, long, and just... the worst. Thing is, you’re only allowed to bring a date, and I was wondering if you’d come with me. Reckoned you’d look better in photos than Max.”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “So let me get this straight—this is an invite to a boring, long night that you hated? Wow, what a proposition.”

You heard his laugh on the other end of the line, warm and genuine. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds terrible. But yeah, basically.”

“You owe me for this.” you agreed.

“Big time,” he said, you could hear his grin through the phone.

— 16 december 2025

The invitation to the FIA awards came with more than just a request for your company. It came with a trip—this year, the gala was being held in Cape Town, South Africa. When Lando explained the logistics over the phone, you weren’t sure what surprised you more: that the event was happening on another continent or that McLaren had arranged for the team’s private jet to take you there.

When you arrived at the airstrip, the sight of the sleek McLaren jet against the orange and purple hues of the evening sky made your chest tighten with nerves.

“Finally,” Lando said, a playful grin spreading across his face as he spotted you. He was already dressed casually, a bag slung over one shoulder. “Thought you were going to ditch me.”

“I considered it,” you said with a smirk, adjusting the strap of your own bag.

Oscar appeared next, giving you a quick nod and a grin. “Looking forward to this?”

“Not particularly,” you admitted.

“Good. Neither am I.”

When you were all settled in the jet, it felt familiar. Traveling together like always, the years of friendship taking over, diminishing the awkward last few months.

“Let’s play?” Oscar asked, shuffling a deck of cards. “Lando taught me that complicated game you guys always play.”

Your eyes lit up at the mention. “Oh, really? That’s nice—let’s do it.”

Oscar grinned. “I like it, but I always lose when I play with Lando.”

“Of course you do,” you said with a laugh. “He probably cheats. He always does.”

“I don’t” Lando protested, though the smirk on his face wasn’t exactly convincing.

Oscar narrowed his eyes, glancing at the cards, coming to the realization. “Yeah, sure. That’s what someone who cheats would say.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Trust me, we don’t even count his wins anymore. It’s just embarrassing at this point.”

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, feigning outrage as he dealt the cards.

-

Arriving at the hotel, it was as luxurious as you’d expected, with marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city. Your rooms were adjacent, even though McLaren probably did the booking, it was a detail that shouldn’t have meant anything but somehow felt significant, having always shared rooms.

“You’ve got to see the view from my room,” Lando said, leaning against your doorframe with a grin.

“Maybe later, I’m sure it’s exactly the same, we gotta get ready” you replied, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered on you. 

-

The sound of a knock on your hotel room door pulled you from the mirror where you were applying the finishing touches to your makeup.

“Coming!” you called, carefully stepping into your heels before opening the door. Lando stood on the other side, already in his tuxedo, the bow tie slightly askew in a way that was annoyingly charming.

He opened his mouth to greet you, but the words caught in his throat as his eyes swept over your dress—a sleek black dress with a low back.

“You look… wow,” he finally managed, his voice lower than usual.

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze. “Thanks. You look great too” He looked every bit the world champion he’d just become—poised, confident, yet still undeniably him.

“Yeah, but no one’s going to be looking at me tonight,” he said, his lips quirking into that familiar teasing smile. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake off the warmth. “Let’s go before you make us late.”

-

The ballroom was breathtaking. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting golden light onto the polished marble floor. Tables were adorned with elaborate centerpieces, and waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne. It was a scene straight out of a fairytale, and for a moment, you felt like you didn’t belong.

Lando leaned closer as you both descended the grand staircase. “Forgot how glamorous this all is, didn’t you?”

“A little,” you admitted. “It’s easy to forget this is also your life.”

He grinned. “I’d trade this for a karting track any day.”

You both mingled, exchanging pleasantries with familiar faces. Zak Brown greeted you with a wide smile.

“Wow, look at you two,” Zak said, his tone teasing. “A proper power couple. Took you becoming world champion to finally get her as your date, huh?”

Lando’s cheeks turned pink, but he rolled with it. “Guess I had to up my game, huh?”

‘’Wow,” Max Verstappen said as he passed by, giving you an appraising look. “You look... different.”

“Thanks, Max,” you said dryly.

“No, I mean good,” he added quickly, looking mildly embarrassed. “Not like in the paddock, screaming your lungs out for McLaren.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lando shot back with a grin. “She’ll still be screaming for McLaren tonight.”

-

The formalities of the evening dragged on, speeches blending into one another as awards were handed out. You tried to keep up, but your attention waned as the night wore on.

Lando leaned closer during one particularly dry speech, whispering, “See how I was dying on my own last year?”

You stifled a laugh. “You poor thing.”

“Don’t worry. I have a plan to make this bearable.”

It didn’t take long for you to discover his plan—a subtle drinking game he’d invented. Whenever the FIA would say how amazing the FIA is, you both took a sip of your drinks.

By the time the speeches ended, you were both giddy, the tension from the past few weeks melting into laughter.

-

As the night wore on, the drinking caught up with Lando. You were heading toward the restrooms when he groaned at the sight of the long men’s line, compared to an empty women’s, illustrative of the crowd at the event.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, glancing at the empty women’s restroom.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned.

But before you could stop him, he ducked inside.

“So this is what the women’s bathroom is like,” he said, looking around with mock appreciation. “Fancy.”

“It’s not a sightseeing tour,” you said, exasperated. “Hurry up.” 

He darted into a stall, leaving you to shake your head in disbelief. When he emerged moments later, you were washing your hands at the sink.

Lando leaned against the counter, his playful grin softening as he caught your gaze in the mirror. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“What?” you asked, not entirely sure where this was going.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone sincere. “I mean, with... everything? Dylan. The break up. Us.”

You paused, drying your hands slowly. “Why do you always wait until we’re in a bathroom to have serious conversations?”

“Maybe I like the acoustics,” he said, his grin returning briefly before fading again. “Seriously, though. Are we okay?”

The question hung in the air, the tension between you almost tangible.

“I...” You hesitated, not entirely sure how to answer. “I think so. Are you?”

His gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you before he nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

It wasn’t a resolution, but it was enough for now.

-

As the night wore on, the drinks kept flowing. You and Lando drifted back toward the crowd, laughing and joking with Max, Oscar, and a few others.

At one point, Christian Horner walked by, offering a polite nod. As he passed, Lando’s hand casually patted your bum.

“Lando?!” you hissed in shock, your voice low but sharp.

“What?” he replied, feigning innocence.

“We’re in public!”

“So? Is that the only reason I’m not allowed to do that?” he teased, his eyes glinting mischievously.

You gave him a look, fighting the urge to smile.

-

The ride back to the hotel was a blur of laughter and lingering glances. The whole night together had forced some flashbacks from the previous night you spent together. Even though your mind had pushed it away, your body betrayed you, longing for the way it had felt—how good it had been.

You hesitated at your door, fumbling with the key card. Lando stood next to you, his hand resting lightly against the wall as he watched you.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of everything unsaid.

But instead of moving to his door, Lando took a step closer, his voice low. “You’re just going to leave me alone after a night like that?”

You turned to face him, the air between you charged with tension. “We’ve had a lot of champagne, Lando.”

His lips quirked into a small, playful smile. “Exactly. Perfect excuse for bad decisions.”

You tried to suppress a laugh, but his easy confidence had already disarmed you.

“Come on,” he added, his voice dipping lower. “We’re both thinking it.”

Your heart raced as you opened your door, stepping inside without a word. Lando followed, letting the door click shut behind him.

The room felt warmer, the air heavier with anticipation. You kicked off your heels, the plush carpet soft under your feet as you turned to face him.

“Lando...” you began, but your voice faltered as he stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Tell me to go, and I will,” he murmured, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.

But you didn’t.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed like last time. It was slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss. It was a contrast to the wildness of your last encounter—a quiet intensity that felt both overwhelming and grounding.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours. When his lips left yours, trailing down your jaw to your collarbone, your breath hitched, your fingers threading through his hair.

WN: This was a fun chapter to write!! Long one!! needed after the previous short one. My original story line has 10 chapters :((( But i think im going to continue it a bit longer, I love this story much and dont want to start a new story yet because I like this one too much. Excited to see a new interview of Lando, so cute how excited he talks about Quadrant, but am I the only one who questions his fashion choices sometimes?? The blazer quarter zip combo, I’m not sure. I don’t know why I’m so critical i love him and its not bad but idk hahaha.