HEADQUARTERS
v. she/her. 25. MDNI.
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noise dept.

Kaledo Art

Misplaced Lens Cap

oozey mess

blake kathryn

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sheepfilms
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taylor price
Not today Justin

pixel skylines
Keni
Monterey Bay Aquarium
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Xuebing Du
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
dirt enthusiast
Show & Tell
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@lavenderlando
HEADQUARTERS
v. she/her. 25. MDNI.
this blog interacts with and posts 18+ work. therefore, minors please do not interact. i am not responsible for what you choose to read, so please read all warnings/author notes before indulging.
NAVIGATION
fic recs - masterlist - who i write for
MORE ABOUT MEâŚ
aries. lover of all things pink.
RACES IâVE GONE TOâŚ
miami â24, canada â24, austin â24.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
plans for the summer
JERK IT
WRITE RPF
DRINK ALCOHOL
BLOG LIKE IVE NEVER BLOGGED BEFORE
job ?
LISTEN TO RECORDS
to the people who said âthis except alcoholâ: i support you & your sobriety/preference for other substances. i hope all goes well and you have the best summer ever.
to the few people who said âthis except rpfâ: sorry this isnât about you. this post is for real rpfers only and if you canât get behind that then you arenât invited to the BDY summer plans
hate that I was understanding when I shouldâve just been a cunt
25 today⌠i am getting old djskkakd
fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didnât grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like âbro what is this đ.â why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.
âcollege is absolutely nothing like thisâ âwhy are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one gameâ âso tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!â
if you donât like a fic, and if you canât suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you donât have to read it. you donât have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you donât have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. itâs not giving babyâs first fandom anymore, itâs giving entitled asshole and it isnât as cute as you think it is.

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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Reblog with your listening age according to Spotify
officially gremlin day!!!!
little gremlin (you endear me)
hey quick PSA but âreading before bed to wind downâ only works if youâre normal about books btw. if you arenât you are going to end up awake at 2:52am after finishing the whole book just trust me on this one
LN4: SUNSET AND VINE
you and lando are friends. which is why, when he asks for your help with his public image, you accept. you and lando are friendsâbut fake-dating in the media storm has a way of blurring the lines
pairing: lando norris x roommate!reader
contents: fake dating, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers, romance, light angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, smau elements, drinking/alcohol, she fell first but he fell harder, lando and r are emotionally constipated, max fewtrell my favorite designated third wheel <3, title from gorgeous by taylor swift, largely inspired by king of my heart.
word count: 10.1k
eveâs notes: this is my entry for @tsunodaradioâs the formula 1: eras collab !! so so so excited to be part of this collab with some of my most talented mutuals <3
Lando is your friend. He has been for a whileâone of your closest ones, in fact. After all, thereâs a reason why, six months ago, the two of you started living together.
Now, itâs not what you think.
Lando had been the one to come up with the idea. Heâd realized he spent more time away from his apartment than living in itâand he didnât quite like the idea of strangers looking after his place and personal belongings while he was away. Heâd also been insisting for years already that you should move to Monaco, to which you always replied that you werenât exactly in the correct tax bracket to do that. You intended it as an off-hand comment when you mentioned your job was becoming more of an online situation, when you mentioned you would be able to visit more often.
Really, it was a joke when Lando said it. Youâd both gone out to some fancy restaurant after Max had ditched the two of you last minute. Heâd been sipping his drink when he teased, âMaybe itâs finally time you move hereâyou could move in with me.â
Youâd laughed it off, but by the time Lando had set down his drink, paper umbrella poking his cheek, there was a more determined set of his browsâand he wasnât laughing anymore.
You donât know how he managed to convince you. Though, really, itâs Landoâand Max likes to tease that you always fold for him. Which you deny. Obviously.
Itâs since been six months since the two of you started living together. He keeps the rent very cheap for youâeven though he insisted you didnât have to pay for itâand you keep his apartment well-taken care of while heâs off being famous. For a while it felt more like you were house-sitting rather than being his roommate, with triple headers and flights to MTC becoming more and more noticeable. Still, youâve noticed heâs found more time to come back to Monaco. You know that only because Max pointedly mentioned during a stream that he didnât used to spend as much time in Monaco as he has this season.
âYeah, âcause Iâve missed my bed,â Lando retorted, but you knew he was doing it for your benefit. Probably because some misplaced guilt was catching up to him in leaving you alone in a home that still doesnât quite feel like your own.
Either way, living with Lando is⌠surprisingly nice. He was cautious the first few days of him being back. Constantly checking on you, asking âis this okay with you?â more often than not. But by the fourth day, you could see his shoulders relax, his posture ease, as if he suddenly remembered that itâs just you. From then, it doesnât take him long to start streaming late at night with shouts that make you want to put your head through the wall.
âAre your neighbors complaining?â Ginge asks through Landoâs headset. âThey must loathe you. Yâshould install a soundproof booth, Lando.â
âWhat? No, my neighbors donâtâSHIT!â His yelling is promptly followed by a loud banging against the wall besides him. He winces. âSorry!â
âOh, someoneâs angry at you.â
âYeah, sheâs gonna kill me,â Lando replies distractedly, ducking to lower the master volume of his headphones. He calls out an apology followed by your name. Itâs late, and youâre working tomorrowâand he rather appreciates not being maimed and killed in a fit of sleepless rage.
âSheâs visiting?â Ginge asks, and Lando huffs as he finally fixes his settings.
âWhat?â He scrunches his nose. âNo you muppet, she lives with me.â
Lando doesnât realize the impact those seven words have until much later.
Next morning, when youâre sitting on the kitchen island with your laptop propped open and your breakfast served beside you, you hear a muffled phone call from Landoâs roomâsomething you canât quite make out. Either way, itâs not a moment later that Lando is standing across the table from you, shirtless, with a half-panicked half-pleading expression on his face.
âPlease donât be mad.â
Your eyes slowly shift away from your screen and towards him. âWhat did you do?â
âYou have to promise not to be mad at me. âCause it was an accident, and I didnât meanâI didnât realizeââ
âLando,â you enunciate slowly. âWhat did you do?â
He winces, looking borderline constipated. He tilts his phone screen towards you, where you find texts from Max accompanied by a screenshot of the trending tab on Twitter.
You arch a brow. âI thought you didnât use Twitter.â
âI donât, I justââ he inhales deeply, exhales. âJust read it.â
You squint, and your brow furrows as you read the trending topics.
âYou have a girlfriend?â you ask, turning back to your laptop. âHow come you didnât tell me? Do I know her?â
âYouâre my girlfriend.â
You raise your brows. âOh my god, babe, really? This is so soon though! So unexpected!â
Lando doesnât even look slightly amused. âYouâre not funny.â
You can see his frown deepen when your lips curve with a bemused tilt. âSo, why does Twitter think Iâm your girlfriend?â
Lando closes his eyes, scratching his neck. ââŚI mightâve mentioned that weâre living together.â He quickly scrambles to continue, âI-I didnât realize what that would look like until the head of my PR team and Max left me, like, a hundred messages. Iâmâgenuinely, I didnât mean to pull you into this.â
You stare at him for a beat. He looks fidgety. As if thereâs something else he wants to say, but hasnât quite figured how. You click your tongue, closing your laptop. âSpit it out, Lan.â
He perks up at that, caught off guard. Now that youâre staring at him more pointedly, you realize he does look a little out of it. Guilty, maybe.
âLando.â
He tugs at his curls a little too harshly. âMy management saw it.â
You furrow your brows. âOkay. Are they, like, mad? Canât you just tell them it was a misunderstanding?â
Lando finally takes a seat, and despite his bedhead and his lack of a shirt, you canât help but feel heâs getting serious.
âI need a favor.â
And those words shouldnât sound too badâexcept he looks nervous. Youâve seen Lando nervous before, it comes with the territory of being in his close circle. But itâs been a long while since heâs acted like this when itâs just you.
ââŚI don't think I like where this is going,â you say carefully.
âJustâhear me out.â He runs a hand through his face, this weird, jittery energy emanating from him in waves. âMy team has been on my ass for a while to set me up with some PR girlfriend.â
You snort. âAnd they say romance is dead.â
He shoots you a look. âBe serious.â
Youâre deflectingâLando can tell. But you canât stop yourselfâitâs a nervous habit. âHave you tried dating apps? I thought your sort used⌠whatâs it called? Raya?â You squint at him. âAnd since when do you need your management to score you a date?â
âI donât,â he says defensively. âAnd itâd be a PR relationshipâitâs not a real thing. Itâs just to, yâknow, create a better public image. Itâs a press thing. Tons of celebrities do it.â
âDo other drivers do it?â Lando pauses at that, and your eyebrows shoot up as you inch forward. âOh my god. Oh my god, who? Do I know them? Have I met them?â
âI feel like youâre missing the point of this conversation.â
âYeah, only âcause youâre dancing around the subject.â You straighten, and Lando mimics the action. âJust say what you wanna say, Lan.â
âMy team thinks weâre dating,â he finally manages.
âYeah, I figured.â
He shifts on his seat to inch closer to you, gesturing with his hands. âYeah, but theyâre happy about itâthey say itâs a good thing, for my image or whatever.â
You pause. Heâs fidgeting with his fingers, avoiding looking you in the eye. Oh, surely⌠âSo you told them it was a misunderstanding.â
He scrunches his nose as he turns his head up to the ceiling, avoiding your gaze.
Your eyes widen. âLando!â
âI really need your help in this,â he pleads. âItâd be, like, a small favor! And Iâll pay it back somehow, I promise. Whatever you want.â
âSmall favor?â
âIt would just be for a few monthsâjust so I can get them off my back about this.â
You blink at him in utter disbelief. It takes you a moment to find the words to answer. He just sits across from you, looking at you pleadingly. ââŚSo what?â you start slowly. âYouâre asking me to be your pretend girlfriend?â
Lando tries to smile, but you can see the uneasy anxiety brewing behind it. Itâs an important season for himâand if he wants his voice to have weight, he first needs to satisfy his teamâs demands. Give in order to get. Even if they are as ridiculous as getting someone to go out with.
âYouâd be the prettiest pretend girlfriend,â Lando tries. He inches forward again, stray curls sticking at odd angles. âPlease? I love you.â Then, as a last ditch effort, ââŚThereâs no one Iâd rather be fake dating than you?â
You donât appreciate the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. At all. âI need to think about this.â
âOkay, yeah, cool, no problem.â Heâs already nodding a little too eagerly, as if youâve agreed instead of saying youâll consider it. Lando rushes around the table to press a kiss into the crown of your head. Warmth shoots in your belly as you watch him head back into his room. âThank you!â he calls out.
âI havenât said yes yet,â you shout back.
The smile you hear in Landoâs voice goes directly against his words when he calls back: âI know!â
Max was right. You hate that Max was right.
So, you caved. Big surprise there. Itâs Lando, after all. Heâs your friend, and youâll always wanna help him in any way you can. Plus, you two already live under the same roof. Just how hard can pretend dating be?
The only person youâve toldâthat you both agreed you could tellâwas Max. And the moment you did, he responded with a two minute audio of him laughing himself into tears.
Needless to say, itâs not the encouragement you needed.
Now youâre both sitting in the living room across from each other. The two of you are still in pajamas, the golden Monaco sun filtering through the open curtains of your shared flat.Â
âIf we do this, we need to set some ground rules,â you finally say.
âRules?â he repeats, slowly. âFor dating?â
âPretend dating,â you correct.
Lando tilts his head at you, green eyes watching you for a second. A glint you canât quite place dances in his gaze for a beat. Finally, he straightens from his reclined position on the couch. âAlright, bug,â he says, with all the formality of someone who hasnât showered yet. âWhat are your rules?â
You set your phone on the table, opening your notes app to see the guidelines youâd scribbled out nearing three am last night.
âOne.â You hold up your index finger. âYouâre dating me for the next four months. I donât wanna see you or find out youâre flirting or making out or hooking up with other people. If Iâm gonna be in the public eye, I donât wanna be thrown into some scandal.â You narrow your eyes and watch as he raises a brow. âIf you get exposed for it I will be calling you a cheater on Twitter.â
Lando gasps dramatically. âAlready preparing for the worst case scenario? On our first day of pretend dating?â He makes an over exaggerated motion, pressing his hands against his chest. âMy pretend feelings are so hurt.â You arch a brow, to which he nods his head half-heartedly. âFine, point taken. And itâs seven months.â
âFive.â
âSix.â
âDeal. Number two.â You pause, embarrassment tinging your cheeks. The words feel like molasses in your throat. Viscous, sticky. Hard to get out. You awkwardly shift on your spot on the rug, finally looking at Lando. âNo kissing.â
âWhat?â Lando makes a face, squinting at you. âBut weâre dating. Howâs anyone gonna buy that if we never kiss?â
You tilt your head. âYouâre sounding a little eager there, Lan. Anything you wanna share?â
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. âFine. But can I at least kiss you on the cheek when weâre in public?â He shrugs his shoulders. âItalians do it all the time. And itâs not like weâre not already doing that.â
Heat licks at your face with that last comment. He says it so casuallyâwhich, yeah, you suppose it is normal for the two of you. But hearing Lando saying it like that. Like it should be a compromise in a situation like this, but not for the two of you.
Still, you consider it. âOkay. Yeah, cheek kisses are fine.â
Lando nods. âOkay then. Three.â He notices the look youâre giving him and makes a face. âWhat? I canât set rules of my own?â
You roll your eyes. âGo ahead.â
âThree,â he continues. He turns his three fingers around to face you. âYou go to at least three races with me.â
You hum. âThree is a lot.â
âNot in six months,â Lando says. âThey can be like⌠mini vacations. All expenses paid for.â
âAlready trying to prove you can be a decent boyfriend?â you tease, making him roll his eyes again with a smile. âOkay. But I get to choose which races.â
âDeal.â He clicks his tongue. âBut Monaco doesnât count.â
You part your lips to complain. âWhat? Why not?â
ââCause I want you to travel with me,â Lando says in a sickeningly sweet voice as he leans closer to you. You shove his face away. âOh! And dates.â
Your head snaps up. âWhat?â
He toys with his thumb as he looks at you. And if you squint, youâd swear he looks borderline embarrassedâthat heâs trying to hide it. âDates. We need to be seen in public. Yâknow. Together.â
You hadnât thought about that. You just figured you would make appearances in his streams, post a picture or two. It makes sense, though. âYouâre paying for those.â
âMhm,â he hums.
âAnd flowers,â you add. Lando tilts his head at you curiously. Maybe itâd feel more embarrassing to say this if it were anyone but Lando. You raise your chin. âI wanna get flowers. Not generic ones, though.â
Lando nods slowly, almost confused. âOkay, sure.â
You blink. âThat easy?â
âYeah, âcourse. Itâs not hard.â He shrugs, unlocking his phone and opening his notes app. He types something before his eyes peer at you. âYou like tulips, right?â
âUm, yeah.â You straighten, surprise catching on your voice. âYeah, tulips work.â
Lando nods. âOkay then. So, just to recap: six months, no kissing, three racesânot including Monacoâpublic dates, aaand tulips.â
You run through your mental list and nod in agreement.
Lando grins impishly. âOkay, then. Are you ready to be my girlfriend?â He leans closer to you, as if telling you a secret. His voice drops. âRemember though: youâre not allowed to fall in love with me.â
You scoff with a smile. âPlease. Iâve done your laundry before. It canât be that hard.â
Your first date with Lando is at a place that is nice, fancy. Fancier than any date has ever brought you onâand living in Monaco, thatâs saying something. Even then, you know Lando hasnât gone all out. You know, because you explicitly asked him not to. The last thing you need is to stress over which fork youâre supposed to use for a salad. Stillâthe restaurant is more posh than youâre used to.
Warm lights illuminate the terrace, appetizers already set in front of you on your plates. For a moment you wondered whether you shouldâve ordered something to share, but you are not willing to compromise on fish because of Lando.
Itâs not like this is the first time youâve gone out to eat together. Youâve gone out with Max, or Ria, or Martinâor just the two of you.
Even so, itâs easy to forget youâre here under false pretenses.
Itâs hard, putting it into wordsâbut it feels like youâre more aware this time. Unlike other times, today you did your makeup with more attention to detail. Spent more time fixing your hairâeven longer choosing a paparazzi-ready outfit. Your nerves still simmer in your gut since Lando told you his team had tipped off a few photographers about the place of your date. It makes you wonder, how often casual pictures in casual settings are staged.
Still. Despite the hours of mental and physical preparation, the fancy restaurant and the pep talk you gave yourself in the bathroomâthe moment you sit across from Lando, it becomes easy to forget. Maybe too easy.
When you look up from your plate, you find that Lando is already looking at you.
âWhat?â you ask. Heâs wearing that white shirt of his with the first two buttons undone, his curls as unruly as ever. You lick your lips, suddenly feeling self-conscious. âOh my god, please tell me I donât have anything on my face.â
Lando blinks. âNo, no, youâre fine,â he says, quickly. âReally. You just⌠you look pretty.â
Warmth shoots across your stomach. You shake your head. You think you hear yourself scoffing. âAlready flirting, huh?â you say amusedly, shaking your head as you reach for another forkful of your plate. âYouâre quick.â
Lando winks, and you roll your eyes with a smile.
As dinner goes on, you can feel yourself falling into that familiar rhythm. Itâs Lando, after allâand itâs always been natural for you to feel at ease around him. And by the time the two of you have ordered desserts, you forget about the fancy restaurant, or the fake-dating thingâand, for a moment, itâs just you and Lando. Not performing some convoluted plan, but just you. Friends. Easy.
You find you like it better when itâs just that. You and Lando.
You listen attentively as he talks, explaining with his hands. The terrace feels noisier now, so you lean closer to hear him. At some point, Lando reaches for your hand, and your heart does a weird thing in your chest. Heâs still smiling while heâs talking, but youâre unfocused. His fingers are warm as he caresses your palm. Honey spills inside of you, warm and sweet, casting the night in liquid gold.
Lando smiles softly, tenderly, and your heart jumps. âOkay, thatâs good,â he says.
âHm?â you hum, sounding distracted, maybe even a little dazed.
Lando tilts his head somewhere to the side, and you follow his gaze. Off by the street, a man is packing up his camera.
Oh. Right.Â
âReally good job.â Lando smiles, offering an encouraging thumbs up. You nod in return with a smile that doesnât feel as genuine. He lets go of your hand, and you donât let yourself linger on how you miss the weight of it against yours.
âYeah,â you say, reaching for your glass of wine. âThanks.â
deuxmoi DEUXMOI EXCLUSIVE ...... NEW WAG ALERT? McLaren Driver Lando Norris & mystery woman spotted dining at Cipriani Monte Carlo, a local restaurant in Monaco đ¸ monaco_celebs
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đ user1 not to be that person but iâm like 90% sure its landoâs friend from those older quadrant videos!!! âĽď¸ liked by author
user2 okay and this comes out DAYS after lando reveals theyâre living together???? this is not a soft launch this is hitting us with a BRICK
user3 WHAT đđ
user4 i hope that if it is yourusername then it means we get to see her again in quadrant videos :(
user5 OH MY GOD??
user6 so no one can have a private moment anymore is what iâm hearing
user7 okay but theyâre totally kissing right??
user8 i mean the angle is kinda funky so itâs hard to say?
user9 idk it looks like theyâre just talking tbh
user10 THEYâRE TOTALLY KISSING
user11 AGREED!!! you are never catching me talking THAT close to other people đŚđľâđŤ
liked by maxfewtrell, lando and 101,871 others
yourusername he got me tulips đ
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user12 HELLO?????? i thought this was a prank đ
user13 if it is⌠theyâre really committing to the bit
user14 lando liking this post after being photographed with a âmystery womanâ? stop this madness
maxfewtrell orange tulips huh đ
lando donât be jealous
yourusername yeah itâs unbecoming max
user15 oh hello hard launch
user16 welp there go my delusions of ever having a chance with lando norris
user17 might we call thoseâŚâŚ.. papaya tulips
user18 yes
maxfewtrell donât even start
The picture the paparazzi took of you has been haunting you more than it should.
As soon as you left the restaurant, food sitting oddly in your stomach, it was already making rounds on social media. Each time you open Instagram, you find that youâve been tagged in yet another upload of it.
It looks like youâre kissing him. Which youâre not, by the wayâsomething you had to explain to Max over text. It was a really loud place! Really, maybe they should invest in less open concepts instead of wasting all their high-end budget in a bajillion differently-sized forks.
Point is, itâs a compromising picture making rounds on gossip pages. It should be a good thing. And yet, it makes you feel⌠odd. A strange weight on your gut.
It only hits you a little after the date. After the two of you arrived back at the apartment, kicking off expensive shoes and tucking your to-go bag that definitely was not restaurant-certified into the fridge. You bid Lando goodnight and close your door behind you.
Then it hits you. Within the confines of your room, just a wall away from Landoâs. An odd tingle on your skin. A long-dormant flutter in your stomach.
So, hereâs a small bit of totally irrelevant information you neglected to mention to Max.
You used to have a crush on Lando. Used to. Past tense. Long forgotten. A thing of the past tucked alongside childhood embarrassments and picture day mishaps.
And, really, could anyone blame you? Itâs hardly your fault that you blinked one day and little Lando NorrisâLando who used to be five inches shorter than youâsuddenly decided to have a growth spurt.
( âWould you look at that! Looks like Iâm taller than you now,â heâd say with that squeaky voice of his, grinning. You squinted at him, noticing it but refusing to acknowledge it. The giveaway shouldâve been his trousersâwhich were significantly shorter on him than they shouldâve been.
Summer break had certainly been kind to Lando. And while his voice was still high-pitched and cracking at the edges, not even you could deny noticing the inches he had on you. Or the more golden color of his skin. The sharper lines of his jaw.
Your throat felt tighter, your face warm. You batted his hand away regardless. âYouâre wearing sneakers. It doesnât count.â
But Lando wasnât listening anymore. He tilted his head at you with a smug look on his face.
âWhat?â
âYou look better from up here.â He poked your cheek with his finger, smiling pleasantly behind his fringe. âLike a cute little bug.â )
Your body slumps against your mattress. Your make-up suddenly feels like too much, your skin crawling. Staring up at the ceiling, your stomach still flutters with that feeling that you refuse to acknowledge.
You canât possibly be that easy. What, all it takes is a somewhat decent dateâa very decent, very fake dateâand suddenly youâre back in high school again?
This isnât happening. You refuse to let it happen.
Your keys jingle in your hand, bedroom door closing behind you. Days are warmer in Monacoâearly morning breeze, sunlight stretching across streets and shop awnings. Thereâs something particularly refreshing about waking up to ocean air in the summer. If anything, itâs one of the many things you love about Monaco.
You open the door of your flat, as quiet as you can manage. Before you can step out, however, youâre met with a roadblock.
âMorning,â Lando greets from the hallway, face sweaty as he pulls out his airpods.Â
âHi,â you say, dumbly. A part of you had hoped Lando wouldâve stuck to his summer break scheduleâwaking up late, going around the city in the afternoon. You shouldâve known heâd go for morning runs this time of the season.
He gives you a pearly-white smileâsimilar to those in magazines and ads, except the real thing is more crooked, wider at the corners. He side-steps you, and for a moment, you think youâre in the clear. Before you can make a break for it, though, he asks: âAre you going somewhere?â
âJust the mall,â you say casually.Â
âCool,â Lando says, picking up one of the snacks left by his trainer. Heâs halfway through chewing his protein bar when he adds, âCan I come with? I need to buy another pair of trainers.â
And because youâre weakâso, so weakâall it takes is a glance at Lando for your resolve to crumble. Despite your best interests, you find yourself smiling. âYeah, sure.â Lando straightens off the counter. âJust⌠shower first. You stink.â
He grins. And with his sweaty running gear and sweaty face, he still leans closer to you and presses a kiss to your temple. âIâll be quick!â he calls out, already halfway into the bathroom.
You wipe your face off, making a sound of disgust. âLando!â
You can hear his laugh even as he closes the door.
You open the curtain in front of you, walking across the fitting room to nitpick your reflection in a large mirror. Lando lounges on one of the small seats provided for the boyfriends, brothers and husbands that seemed to have all gotten dragged into shopping for womenâs clothes. He scrolls on his phone, sinking into his own Quadrant hoodie.
âHowâd it go?â he asks absentmindedly.
You tilt your head at your own reflection. Sundresses are trickyâbut somehow, after spending the better part of the morning searching for one, you think this is finally it. The material is soft to the touch. Itâs not uncomfortably short nor impractically long. It really is beautiful, with blue and white floral details that remind you of those porcelain botanical patterns.Â
âI think I like it,â you say, turning to see how the skirt fits around your waist. You tilt your head at Lando through the mirror. âWhat do you think?â
Lando raises his head, meeting your gaze through the reflection. He stops, just a beat, barely a second, before straightening in his seat. âYou lookâum,â his voice cracks. Lando clears his throat, offering an encouraging smile. âIt looks great. I like it.âÂ
You arch a brow, unimpressed. The guy sitting next to him masks a laugh as a cough.
âWhat?â Lando asks, voice rising an octave. âWhatâd I say?â
âI need actual, genuine encouragement here, Lan.âÂ
His face twists, brows creasing into a confused bordering on offended look. âWhat do you want me to say?â he asks, always just a smidge theatric. âThat I think youâd look better with nothing on?â
Heat rushes to your cheeks. âLando!â
âWhat?â he repeats, voice pitching another octave higher. His cheeks turn noticeably pink.Â
Your face is warm as you walk past the pointed glances thrown your way. âYouâre unbelievable,â you mutter, shaking your head and closing the curtains behind you. Much to your surprise though, itâs only once youâre alone in the fitting room again that you realize youâre smiling.
Up until you see the tag.
There are many things you love about living in the principality. The prices, though⌠theyâre certainly not one of them.
âAh,â you say quietly. You bite into your bottom lip with regret. You get paid every fifteen, meaning youâre still a few days out to have the money to spend on it.
Damn it. You can hear your friendsâ voices telling you to pay it with your credit card, but youâve never been keen on spending money you donât have yet. What if you have an emergency? What if you break a leg? You already depend on Lando for rentâyou canât depend on him for everything.
You donât like that, the idea of asking Lando for it. It feels wrong. Because heâd say yesâof course heâd say yes. It feels like taking advantage of him, especially when youâve seen it happen in the past. People using him for fame, money, access.
You never want to be that person to him.
Itâs easier than you thought, putting the dress on the hanger and making the decision. Itâs just a dress. You can live without a dress.
You open the curtain as youâre still pulling your thin sweater over your head, fixing the sleeves around your arms. Lando looks up from his phone, giving you a lopsided smile. Thereâs still a lingering pink flush on the apples of his cheeks.Â
âYou ready?â he asks, already standing up.
âYeah.â You nod, but as Lando walks you to the register, you leave the sundress where you found it.Â
He does a double-take, nearly tripping over himself in the process. âWait, I thought you liked it,â he protests, tone nearing concern. âI was just teasing before, I didnât meanââ
âItâs not that, it justâŚâ You reach to scratch the back of your ear. âIt wasnât really worth it. Itchy,â you say, trying to go for nonchalant.
From the way Lando lingers, even as youâre heading towards the entrance of the store, you know he doesnât buy it. You can hear him catching up to you.
âButââ
âCâmon.â Unthinking, you reach for his wrist, tugging him forward. Whatever comment he was going to make dies in his throat. His Adamâs apple bobs in his throat. âWe still have to find those trainers you wanted.â
He follows you without protest.
Youâre starting to get used to the butterflies. They settle occasionallyâother times you have to crush them down. Even if you were to pluck their wings one by one, youâre certain you would still feel them fluttering about in your stomach.
Youâre getting used to them. To the feeling that comes with the prolonged touches. The fleeting glances. The way Lando seems to linger close, always either with his palm guiding you at the small of your back or interlacing your fingers with his. Itâs a rhythm that is all-too easy to fall into.
Getting used to the butterflies doesnât make any of it easier, though.
Youâve committed to your agreement, though. Saying youâre grateful for the invasiveness of gossip media and tabloid magazines would be going a step too far. Still, youâre surprised that planting seeds of your fake-relationship has been easier than you wouldâve expected. Going out for a few intentionally public dates, some well-timed paparazzi pictures leaking to the press. Everything thatâs been manufactured and orchestrated with detail has been like a feast for F1 rumor sites. Thereâs blurry pictures of you ordering at a boulangerie holding hands, a few soft-launches in each otherâs Instagrams.Â
There are other pictures, though. Pictures that werenât planned. An impromptu walk down the piers of Monaco, where neither of you had been wanting to pretend anything. A few clips resurfacing of you and Lando in the Quadrant channel. Glances from you that lingered a beat too long. Smiles that were too wide. Shoves and jabs that bordered on something other than friendship.Â
When youâre locked in your room at night, scrolling down Twitter threads and Tiktok comments, the butterflies in your stomach feel more like scorpions.Â
You can hear Lando giggling and shouting through the walls of his room. Heâs live on Twitchâright on schedule as you agreed. Itâs been a bit under an hour, playing with Max and a few other people youâre not as familiar with.
You knock on his door. It creaks as you open it just slightly.
âYeah?â he calls.Â
The room is dark, save for a few purple ambient lights. You donât think youâre in the frame of his cameraânot yet, anyway.Â
âLan?â you say, the hesitation and inexplicable shyness in your voice genuine. Itâs nervewracking, knowing that this is the first time you donât really get any do-overs. That thousands of people are watching Landoâs livestream. âAre you still live?â
Even from the doorway, you can see his second monitor speeding through a sudden flood of comments. Lando turns on his seat, pulling down his headphones.Â
âHi,â he says, the traces of a grin still lingering at the corners of his lips. It softens, though. Less wide, more privateâsomething kinder.Â
âHi,â you repeat, fighting off a smile. âI can come back later.â
Lando shakes his head, leaning back against his chair. âNo, itâs okay,â he says. Finally, he glances back at his screen, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he considers it. âYou can come say hi, if you want.â
You pause at that. Hesitate. You were just supposed to barely appear in frame. Confirm whatâs been obvious to most fans since you started with your little agreement. Then again, itâs not like you havenât shown up in his streams a handful of times in the past.
It feels⌠different now. For good reason.Â
You walk into frame, feeling Landoâs gaze following you as you rest your arms against the backrest of his chair. The violet and orange lights are low, but recognition is evident from chatters. They know who you areâthey know what this means.
âHi chat,â you hum quietly. It almost feels like a challenge, asking you to come close. It makes you bolder.Â
You canât be sure where the burst of confidence comes from. Your body moves of its own accord, not allowing you a moment to overthink it. One of your hands reaching down and resting loosely around his neck. Lando freezes for just a split second, caught off-guard, before he nuzzles his nose into your arm. Ticklish.Â
It feels too soft, too domestic. Bordering dangerously on something you wonât be able to come back from. Still, you canât help yourself when you murmur into his hair, âFoodâs here.â
Lando nods a moment too late, like the words wade through honey before they reach him. He hums in response, stretches a bit, leaning into your touch. âMhm.â He looks up at you and for a secondâjust a secondâyou catch a glimpse of something in his eyes. Something too warm, too tender. Itâs gone before you can really place it, overshadowed by a toothy smile. âIâll be right there,â he says lightly.
You nod, moving to pull away. His hand tightens around yours just brieflyâa casual goodbye, probably.Â
You donât know what compels you to do it. Unthinkingly, you lean into him from the back of his chair, pressing a kiss into the crown of his head. Lando doesnât freeze this time. If anything, itâs almost like he leans into you.Â
It feels a little like revenge, pulling away then. A part of you wants to believe Landoâs not that good of an actor. But the issue is that he isâitâs part of his job, lying. Looking into the barrel of a camera and smiling and pretending like he doesnât want to cuss out some journalist and tell them all to fuck off. And while the boy you grew up with has always worn his heart on his sleeve, youâre also well-aware of the consequences that has in his line of work.
âDonât stay until too late.â
By the time Lando walks out of his sim room, takeout is already on the kitchen island, waiting. The smell of Chinese food is enough to make your stomach growl, a handful of spring rolls already missing from the box.
âSo? Howâd I do?â
Landoâs hair is mussed, his blinks owlish. âHuh?â he asks dazedly. âOh, um, yeah. You did great. Really convincing.â His voice feels odd, distracted.Â
Lando grabs one of the kitchen stools, dragging it to sit in front of you. âMax texted me,â you say.Â
He perks up at that. âWhatâd he say?â
The corner of your mouth quirks upward as you unlock your phone to show him. âThat youâre down horrendously bad. I think itâs his way of saying we really sold it.â
You look up when he doesnât respond, only to find Lando staring down at the screen with blushing cheeks. It spreads up into the tips of his ears as he scoffs.
âWhat a fuckinâ prick,â Lando says under his breath. âDonât listen to a word he says,â he mutters.
The teasing smile on your lips dims at that. Something inside your chest splinters. A fracture line that widens by a fraction. You quietly take back your phone, picking at your lemon chicken. You went too far. When you swallow, it feels like pebbles are lodged against your throat.
you [ 2:01 AM ] : hi so
you [ 2:01 AM ] : this was a bad idea
max f đź [ 2:07 AM ] : Yeah no shit
you [ 2:07 AM ] : stop it stop it stop
you [ 2:07 AM ] : iâm being so serious
you [ 2:08 AM ] : what do i do?????? i think i ruined it. like everything
max f đź [ 2:08 AM ] : Are you gonna listen to me? Coz lately it feels like Iâm giving advice to people that just do the exact opposite of what I tell them to
you [ 2:09 AM ] : MAX
you [ 2:10 AM ] : i just
you [ 2:10 AM ] : i think i went too far
you [ 2:10 AM ] : i think he hates me now
max f đź [ 2:10 AM ] : What????
max f đź [ 2:10 AM ] : Mate thereâs no world in which he hates you
you [ 2:11 AM ] : be serious
max f đź [ 2:11 AM ] : I AM being serious
max f đź [ 2:11 AM ] : Stop typing rn I can see the little text bubble just listen to me for a sec
max f đź [ 2:12 AM ] : He doesnât hate you. You just think he does cause youâve probably spent the night locked in your room staring at your ceiling
you [ 2:13 AM ] : i am being vulnerable here can you not mock me for a minute
max f đź [ 2:13 AM ] : IM LITERALLY NOT
max f đź [ 2:13 AM ] : What Iâm trying to get at is that nothing good happens after 2 am.
max f đź [ 2:14 AM ] : Just sleep it off mate I promise youâll wake up feeling better
you [ 2:14 AM ] : did you just quote how i met your mother to me
max f đź [ 2:15 AM ] : Itâs a great show and itâs great advice??????
max f đź [ 2:15 AM ] : I feel like youâre missing the point
you [ 2:16 AM ] : what even is your point
max f đź [ 2:16 AM ] : That youâre getting stuck inside your head
max f đź [ 2:17 AM ] : Why do you think that is?
you [ 2:17 AM ] : itâs just something dumb he said
max f đź [ 2:17 AM ] : Landoâs always saying something dumb
max f đź [ 2:17 AM ] : Youâre just too busy staring at his face to notice it most of the time
you [ 2:18 AM ] : MAX
max f đź [ 2:18 AM ] : WHAT
max f đź [ 2:18 AM ] : If he said something hurtful I can talk to him
max f đź [ 2:18 AM ] : Knock some sense into that big head
you [ 2:18 AM ] : itâs okay you donât need to do that
max f đź [ 2:19 AM ] : Iâd like to though
you [ 2:19 AM ] : i think iâll take what you said before and try to get some sleep before this spirals out of hand
you [ 2:19 AM ] : thank you max <3
max f đź [ 2:20 AM ] : You know what could also work
you [ 2:20 AM ] : what
max f đź [ 2:20 AM ] : Telling him how you feel about his big dumb face
you [ 2:20 AM ] : i would rather die :)
The flat is unusually quiet in the week leading up to the Monaco Grand Prix. Youâve grown accustomed to the silence whenever Lando is off racing across different countries in the calendar. Itâs different then, though. His laughter is still tucked like a secret into the corners of the room, exhausted voice notes in your phone lingering in the quiet once his day is over. Itâs never this quiet when heâs around.
It becomes an unspoken thing amongst the two of you. A pause. An interlude between the moment that got too real and the day youâre going to be holding hands, walking side-by-side in front of reporters and photographers in the paddock.
Even if the distance wasnât noticeable, even if it wasnât tugging at your heartstrings more than youâd like to admit, youâve got other things to worry about.
The Monaco Grand Prix, for example. The crown jewel of Formula 1âthe legendary, glamorous, historical track. And the dreaded realization you donât know what the hell to wear for it.
It creeps up on you suddenly, unexpectedly. Once it does, though, thereâs no shutting down the alarms blaring inside your head.Â
Clothes are strewn across your bed, closet door and floor. Shelves and hangers alike are left empty. You end up stalking Alexandra Saint Mleuxâs Instagram like a psychopath, finding thatâunsurprisinglyânone of your clothes remotely match hers.Â
Thereâs a knock at your door.Â
âHey,â you hear Landoâs voice, muffled through the wood. âYou there, bug?â
âIâm a little busy!â
Thereâs a beat, a pause. âYou okay?â he asks, voice tinged with a hesitant concern. âYou soundâŚâ
You open the door, throat tight and insides tangled into a knot. âI donât know what to wear. What do wags wear?â you ask, and even amidst your blind panic you can hear your frantic tone. âTheyâre gonna eat me alive.â
Lando raises a brow. âYouâve gone to races before.â
âYeah but I wasnât your girlfriendâfakeâwhatever!â You huff, turning your back to him and sorting through your discarded clothes again. âIâve seen the posts people make about the wags. Iâve seen them get destroyed for overdressing and underdressing.â You breathe in. Breathe out. Feel as embarrassment tints your cheeks. You turn to Lando apologetically. âIâm sorry. Youâre the one thatâs driving, and Iâm freaking out over clothes.â
A fond smile curls at the corner of his lips. âWeâve all been there, bug. I just get to skip it now âcause I have a stylist.â
âIs that supposed to make me feel better?â
âNo,â Lando concedes. Only then do you notice he has one of his hands behind his back. âBut hopefully this is.â
He pulls out a dress. The dress.
You blink once. Twice. Three times to make sure youâre not hallucinating the white and blue fabric in Landoâs hand. âYou bought it,â you say softly. âWhen?â
He looks at the ceiling sheepishly. Almost embarrassed. âIâd⌠rather not say.â
âLando,â you insist.
âI mightâve doubled back. That day. When you were distracted.â He shrugs, trying to go for nonchalant. âI just asked them to set it aside.â
You look down at the dress. Reach out to feel the fabric underneath your fingertips. âYou didnât have to,â you argue, though thereâs no edge to it. Â
âI wanted to.â It feels a bit like an apology. Youâre not sure whether he knows what heâs apologizing for, exactly. Still, here he isâshowing up regardless. âYouâve always been shit at getting stuff for yourself.â
Lando hands you the dress, the tag still onâthough the price has been conviniently scrawled out with sharpie.Â
âBesides, rule number three,â Lando says, voice reeling back into something more casual. âI said all expenses paid for race weekends.â
âThatâs not what you meant, though,â you protest.
âYou donât know what I meant.âÂ
âLando.â
âJust learn to take a gift, Jesus,â he says, faux exasperation drawing a smile from him. âWear it, donât wear itâitâs your choice.â His lips part to add something else. You see the brief, split-second hesitation before he adds, voice soft, âEither way, you looked really pretty in it.âÂ
His gaze drops down to your lips. Just a second. He clears his throat.
âWe leave in an hour!â
liked by lando, maxfewtrell and 290,561 others
yourusername monaco has never looked better đ§Ą
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user1 HELLO
riabish gorgeous gorgeous girl <3
lnfour our favorite wag đ§Ą
user2 ainât no way the first official confirmation is coming from landoâs merch account
user3 i mean itâs pretty much confirmed that theyâre dating though đľâđŤđľâđŤ we all saw the way lando was looking at her during his last streamâŚ..
user4 fully grown adults over here playing at tripping each other btw đ
lando aww did you write that
yourusername that was NOT me no
lando okay plausible deniability i see what youâre doing đ
yourusername how long did it take you to spell that
lando jokes on u coz i love it when youâre mean to me
user5 wait why is boyfriend lando kind of endearing :(
user6 no cause i see what you meanâŚ
Nothing couldâve ever prepared you for flashing lights and hounding cameras that greet you at the paddock. Youâve been here beforeâtwo years ago, with Max acting as a green-eyed buffer to whatever feelings youâd long wrestled down when it came to Lando.Â
Itâs different now. You can feel it in the way cameras donât just gloss past you, but rather fix their lenses upon the two of you.
It may have something to do with Lando holding your hand. Fingers interlaced. Walking just half a step in front of you, blocking the most invasive photographers from your path.Â
You donât know how he deals with it every race week.
Thankfully, the McLaren garage offers what feels like some semblance of privacyâhowever misleading that may be. At the very least, you can appreciate that the attentionâs no longer set on you. Not for the most part, anyway.
Lando gives you a quick peck on the cheek for the broadcast camera before being pulled away by one of his engineers. Controlled chaos, a reporter from Sky once called it. Engineers and mechanics moving across rooms with spare gear, adjusting comms, analyzing telemetry.
Over on the opposite side of the garageâOscarâs sideâyou spot his girlfriend Lily with an orange headset that matches with yours. She meets your gaze, offering a small polite smile.
You swallow your nerves. Smile back. Try not to throw up your breakfast on your shoes. It still makes you anxious, you findâwatching Lando race. When itâs just him on a screen, you can at least put it on mute and look away whenever your pulse starts racing.
You donât think thatâs much of an option here.
âHi,â you hear behind you. Youâre met with a friendly blue gaze. She smiles again, warmer this time. âIâm Lily. You must be Landoâs girlfriend.â
Itâs one of two options. Either you donât have as good a poker face as you thought, or Lilyâs better at reading people than you couldâve given her credit for. Maybe bothâprobably both. The way her expression is laced with sympathy tells you she sees the nervousness. Understands it.
You end up sticking by her until the race starts. Youâre not surprised to find out sheâs soft-spoken and kind-heartedânot that youâd seen or heard much from her before. You suppose thatâs probably the whole point.Â
Itâs impossible not to make the comparison. Private, genuine, in a long-time relationship with Landoâs teammate versus you; very public, very fake, placeholder of a girlfriend.
The thought lands harder than you expected it to.
âIf it makes you feel any better, I still get nervous every time,â Lily says halfway through your conversation. âAlthoughâactually, you have been at a race before, right?âÂ
âYeah,â you nod, pushing away your wreck of a train of thought. âCame with Max Fewtrell a few times. Still, everything makes me feel a littleâŚâÂ
âExposed?â she suggests, nodding knowingly.
âExactly! I just, last time it wasnât just me, so I felt less⌠on the spot. And obviously last time I wasnât Landoâsââ you trail off, the lie feeling surprisingly heavy on your tongue.
âLandoâs girlfriend,â Lily finishes comprehensively, and you hate the fact that youâre starting to really like her. You hate that your first conversation, your first semblance of common ground, is a boldfaced lie.
âI mean, Lando and I have always been close,â you say, trying to veer the conversation towards the truth.
âOscarâs mentioned.â Lilyâs mouth curls up into a smile. âI donât know if itâs my place to say, but he kept wondering when Lando would finally ask you out.â She tilts her head, sunglasses perched over her head. âHow was that, if you donât mind me asking?â
âOh, you know,â you say vaguely, toying with a lock of your hair. A nervous habit. âIt sort of just⌠happened. I donât know.â You swallow, and hope that this time she doesnât see through you. âIt still feels unreal.â
Lilyâs lips part to ask something else, before a sudden silence washes over the garage. You frown. Lily places it immediately.
She squeezes your hand. âBest of luck.â
Even when resting around your neck, you hear the unmistakable phrase coming from your McLaren-issued headset.
Itâs lights out and away we go.
The world narrows into the racing line between the Nouvelle Chicane and Turn 19. Your heart thunders in your ears, as the leading cars make it past Anthony Noughesâthe very last corner.Â
In the tenths it takes for the number four car to make it past the finish line, the McLaren garage is suspended in air. Quiet. Hearts beating.
Someone screams. Youâre not completely certain it wasnât you. Mechanics and engineers run out the garage and onto the pitlane, grinning and shouting.Â
Lando Norris, Monaco Grand Prix Winner.Â
The McLaren garage splits into two large groups, a sea of sunset orange overtaking the parc fermĂŠ. A woman in a McLaren uniformâprobably from Landoâs PR teamâhelps you make way towards the very front of the crowd. The metal barrier presses against your body.
You watch as Lando jumps off his car, his energy boundless and ecstatic even with his helmet still on and hiding his face. He leaps into the papaya crowd, receiving congratulatory pats, hugs and cheers.Â
He takes off his helmet and balaclava. Runs a hand through matted curls. You watch as he looks around, scanning the crowd, searchingâ
Until he spots you.
His helmet is left behind and forgotten as he runs towards you, grinning widely and brightly. He embraces you instantly, your arms wrapping around his neck like second nature.
His hands reach over the barrier and settle around your waist with a firm grip. Then, without giving you a moment to pull back, he brings you over the barrier and spins you in a hug.
âYouâre golden,â you say, giddiness overwhelming. You vaguely register the flashes of cameras. Distantly. Your entire world narrows down into the sweaty, lovely, sunlit boy in front of you. You hold Landoâs face with a grin as he puts you down, hands still resting around your waist. You bury your face into his neck. âOh my god, youâre golden.â
When he finally pulls awayâalready sensing some McLaren spokesperson waiting for himâhe looks at you and grins. Unguarded. Unrestrained.Â
And in a way that thoroughly undoes you.
âCâmon, champ,â you say, matching his smile. Heâs glowingâhoney dipped in sunlight. âTheyâre waiting for you.â
Music beats against the walls of the club. Blue and pink strobe lights set the dance floor aglow. You vaguely recognize a handful of facesâmechanics, interns, even a couple of social media admins.Â
As far as clubs go, you suppose it fits the celebration. McLaren footing the bill of the open bar is just the cherry on top.
Alcohol thrums steadily underneath your skinâa pretty combination of Fireball and fancy drinks you didnât really care to learn the name of.
The night has unfolded in a series of syrupy moments that seem to melt into one another. You remember arriving with Landoâhand in hand, the high of his win still ripe. You remember being introduced to a few other driversâOscar, Carlos, maybe Alexâas his girlfriend. Later in the night, you recall dancing with Lando. More than once.
The night stretches like melted sugar, sweet and honeyed. Purple and red lights flash against the floor, leaving the club half-lit half cast in shadows.
Youâve found a more private spot by one of the corners of the club. VIP table, by the looks of it.Â
You lean back against Landoâs side, legs perpendicular to his. One of his hands rests on your lower back, steadying, while yours toys with the curls at the nape of his neck.Â
You donât remember when exactly you ended up on Landoâs lapânot that youâre complaining, anyway. Maybe itâs the lights, the high of his win, the alcohol in your veinsâit all has a way of stripping down your inhibitions.
Some distant, muted part of you is half-aware that maybe this is too much. Too close to being PDA. Bordering too much on intimacy. But then Lando leans into your ear to murmur some comment about Carlosâ story and you laughâyou laugh and you forget.
Itâs dangerous, this closeness. More so, itâs dangerous how easy it is for you to fall into it. Hook, line, sinker. You never stood a chance.
As Lando talks, as you gaze down at him, you catch Oscar and Carlos sharing a look out of the corner of your eye. You pay them no mindânot when the club lights cast Landoâs face aglow.
âYou have really pretty eyes,â you tell him, because itâs the truth. He looks up at you then, lips slightly parted. âHave I ever told you that?â
You hear Carlos attempting to stifle a laugh. Heâs not very good at it.
Lando doesnât pay him any mind. Instead, he gives you a lopsided smile. âDâyou think so?âÂ
âI know so.â
âNot to interrupt,â Oscar begins, already moving to stand up. âBut I should get going. Congrats on the win, mate.â
âWe should do one last round of shots before you leave!â you announce, but Landoâs hands tighten around your waist.
He presses an unintelligible murmur onto your shoulder. When you turn your head, you find heâs already looking up at you. Long lashes cast crescent shadows on his cheeks. âDonât go,â he mumbles into the exposed skin of your neck.
Your stomach flips. You grin nonetheless. âItâs my mission today to get you just a little drunk, race winner.â
He considers it. Then, âOkay,â he finally says, smiling softly.
Thereâs a moment before you stand up. A full second. A beat suspended in time. And maybe itâs the drinks youâve hadâbut maybe youâre the only one still pretending this isnât exactly what you want.Â
âIâll be right back,â you hear yourself say, before youâre moving into the crowd. You weave through the throngs of people dancing, finally making it to the bar. You flag down the bartender, give him your orderâmaking sure to highlight under whoâs tab this is.
âThatâs a lot of shots,â you hear someone say beside you. Heâs cuteâshaggy blonde hair, brown eyesânot your type necessarily, but cute. âAre you here with friends?â
âYeah!â you say, voice bright. âCelebrating.â
âThatâs nice.â You can barely hear him over the music. âWhat are we celebrating?â
You grin proudly at that. âMy best friend won a race!âÂ
âYeah?â he asks, but he doesnât sound like heâs really listening. He steps a little closer. Only then do you feel his hand on your waist. âThatâs cool,â he says relaxedly. âWhatâs your name?â
It hits you then, how out of it you really are. You shake your head politely, ready to tell him that sorry, youâre not interested, youâre actually here withâ
âHey, you were taking a bit,â you hear behind you. You donât even have to turn around to know itâs LandoâLando, who sounds suspiciously out of breath.Â
He pulls you closer to himâaway from the manâand wraps his arms around your waist like a shield. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he mutters, âWhoâs your friend?â
âActually, we were talking.â
Lando narrows his eyes. âYeah, well, I kinda wanna spend the rest of the night with my girlfriend, so if you donât mind.â
His eyebrows shoot up. âGirlfriend?â the guy repeats, not quite apologetic. Not really. âOh, shit, my bad.â
âYeah.â Lando glares at the guy until he finally walks away. Itâs only once heâs gone that he looks at you properly. âWhat the hell?â
You feel dazed. âWhat?â
âWhat happened to rule number one? No flirting?âÂ
You blink once. Twice. âRight. Sorry.â You clear your throat. âI wasnât flirting, by the way. He justâhe sort of came onto me.â You lick your lips, glancing behind him. âDid, um, did anyone see?â
Landoâs been drinking tooâyou know so, because when he does, he tends to wear his heart on his sleeve. Has a harder time hiding what he feels. This time, he looks conflicted. âUh, no,â he says, as if finally settling on a response. He swallows. âNo, just me.â
The two of you walk back to the table, quieter this time. You take a seat next to him, the world still swimming around you to the beat of the songs playing. Lando places the tray of shots on the table before he lays his arm on the backrest. Close. Too close. Not nearly close enough.
Oscar winces as he downs his shot, cheeks pink. He clears his throat before turning to you. âYâknow, Iâm glad you two finally got together.â
Lando drops his arm. Instead, he tentatively reaches for your hand. Carefully interlaces his fingers with yours.Â
âYeah, it was unexpected, huh?â
âRight,â he says with a laugh, as if youâre joking. You donât get it. Landoâs thumb gently brushes against the back of your palm, drawing quiet patterns. âTo be honest, Iâm just glad I donât have to stand by watching and hearing Lando pining after you anymore.â
Lando stops at that, back stiffening. âOscar,â he hisses.
You blink. âSorry?â
âYeahâdidnât he tell you?â Oscar freezes for just a split second as his eyes meet with Landoâs over your shoulder. You can feel Lando tense against you. âOh. Um.â
You turn to Lando, confused, maybe a little lostâbut sobering up. Even in the flashing magenta lights you can see the deep-rooted shame taking shape in his face.
âLando?â you ask, voice drowning in the music.
But then heâs taking your hand again, and guiding you out. Past the table, past the crowdsâout of the club where the two of you can hear yourselves think.
Didnât he tell you?
Oscarâs voice echoes in the marrow of your skull like the chorus of a song that gets stuck in your head. The cold night air that greets you on the terrace is enough to make the world feel firm around you again.Â
Lando lets go of you then, tugging at his hair. You want to tell him to stop, that heâs pulling too hard, that heâs going to hurt himselfâ
âLandoââ
âIt wasnât like that,â he says abruptly, defensively. âIt sounds so fuckinâ creepy when he says it. Itâs not likeâlike this is some scheme to get you to go out with me. You know that, right?â Lando doesnât look at you. Wonât look at you. âI swear, Oscar just has this whole movie in his head about me being into you, but I swear heâs just⌠he doesnât get that weâre friends. Heâs probably confused because he thinks weâre going out so, just. That thing he said about me piningâI donât know where the hell he got that from.â
Itâs a lot like being punched in the stomach, the way you feel the air leave your lungs. A gut punch. Low. Horrible. Painful.
ââCause being into me would be crazy,â you say slowly. The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
âYeah,â Lando agrees. His face twists a second too late. âI meanâno, that came out wrong, I meant, like,â he gestures with his hands, struggling to find the right words. He shrugs half-heartedly. âWeâre us, yeah?â he says, voice small. âWeâve been us for so long.â
âRight,â you say.Â
You were sure you knew heartbreak. You knew it when he introduced you to his first girlfriend, when you thought she was lovely, when you found you couldnât even bring yourself to hate her. You knew heartbreak. You picked him up at some club in London when he was too drunk to drive. You watched him being flirted with by models and actressesâwatched him flirt back.
This feels worse than heartbreak, somehow. It aches deep inside your chest. A fracture line that finally fragments all the way through.Â
You swallow down the stones lodged in your throat. âLook, I think Iâm tired,â you say, voice tight. You can feel the tears threatening to spill. You blink them back. Not here. Not now. âI think I underestimated the jet lag.â
âJet lag?â He looks understandably confused. You landed days ago.Â
You bite your tongue. âI mean, likeâI think Iâm still a little overwhelmed.â Your voice breaks. âI think I wanna go back to the hotel.â
Landoâs face falls. Heâs nodding, already moving, âOkay, let me get myââ
âIâll take an uber,â you cut him off, reaching for your purse and finding you left it at the table. You just canât get anything right. Youâre already pulling away when you add, maybe for your sake: âReally, I donât wanna ruin your night.âÂ
âHey, no,â Lando protests, words weak and fragile and filled with something you canât bring yourself to name. âWait.â His fingers latch around your wrist. He tugs at your hand. âPlease.âÂ
You donât think he knows what heâs begging for.
The night settles around you. Cold air, the dull sound of music on the other side of the door. You canât blame the winnerâs high. You canât blame the club music. You canât even blame the drinks.Â
You press your lips into his without thinking of the disastrous consequences it will reap. You kiss him like itâs goodbye. For just a second, you let yourself forget the hurt, the heartache, the heartbreak.Â
His lips are warm against you, soft. It feels like gravity. Inevitable. Like it was always going to end this way.
He doesnât kiss you back.
When you pull away from him, the world goes on. Cars honk at each other in the street below. The moon hides behind the clouds. Realization of what youâve done fully settles in your gut.
âOh my god,â you say, mortified. âOh my god, I shouldnât have done that.â
But Lando blinks down at you, dazed. He doesnât step back. Doesnât look away. Instead, his eyes search your face. Ultimately, they dip down to your lips.
âYou said no kissing,â he says slowly, absentmindedly, and youâre unsure whether heâs telling you or reminding himself.Â
I didnât mean to, you want to say, but the lie gets stuck in your throat.
Your bottom lip trembles. The back of your eyes prick. You think youâre gonna cry.
Landoâs touch is gentle. His hand tips your head up, thumb caressing your cheek. âRule two. You said no kissing,â he repeats, voice barely a murmur.
He leans into you then, kisses your forehead. Then presses another kiss below your eye. Then one to your cheek. To the corner of your lips. But not where you want him most.
âLandoââ
âTell me,â he mumbles into your skin, hand still cradling your face like youâre fragile. Like youâre going to slip through his fingers. His lips press against the corners of your mouth. âTell me the truth. Tell me what you want. Please.âÂ
The response is a murmur, a whisper. âI want you to kiss me.â
His lips find yours in a heartbeat.
When you eventually call a cab in the late hours of the night, the two of you end up clumsily stumbling into the backseat. Exhaustion wears you down like gravity.
Lando interlaces his fingers with yours. Tugs you closer to him. You lay your head on his shoulder, breathing out softly. Quietly.
He kisses the crown of your head. Leans down into you.
And for the first time in a long while, it feels like coming home.
liked by lando, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 201,214 others
yourusername okay, take two. for real this time :)
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user1 ?????
user2 what
maxfewtrell well thatâs just a wildly inconvenient way to water tulips
yourusername can you ever just lay off
lando pretty girl đˇ
yourusername pretty boy đđ
user3 are we supposed to know what that means
eveâs notes: this took SO LONG i am SOOO not used to writing long fics. completely unrelated but can we just take a second to appreciate the fact that kae writes multiple long fics every week. unbelievable. could not be me even if i tried (i tried) anyways!!!!!! i hope you enjoyed <3

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some of you never experienced the âthis isnât available in your countryâ situation and it shows
lando beautiful weekend
photo credit: mario renzi
doesnât matter if it was racing incident or not. for the past two weeks weâve been told that landoâs singapore bump was a breach of papaya rules and that he deserved to be punished for it. same thing goes here.
"google ai" "spotify ai dj" "ai assistant" "enhanced by ai" what if i just start beating people over the head with a rock

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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hi long time no see, iâm having surgery on wednesday and iâm catching up on everything ive missed on here while iâm recovering :â)))))
my tiny update is iâm healing relatively well but i had a serious allergic reaction to the pain medication 𼲠so iâve been rawdogging tf out of the pain with no strong meds
iâve started writing again but for acotar and itâs soooooooooooo fun iâm really enjoying the process again!