Aquarelle Eyes
-- Mafia!Lando Norris x fem!reader
PART TWO : Cheese and Tourists
Other chapter : 1
Content : mafia au, obsessive!Lando, mafia man x artist girl, grumpy x sunshine, rich guy x financially in trouble girl, a lot of cliché, English man x french girl, mafia grid, emotionally constipated Lando. A LOT of French art culture and history (let me fancy my country, thanks)
Warning : dark ! Lando, manipulation, obsession, mafia au, violence, a bit of stalking, cheating (reader's ex), poor English but correct French, reader is French, reader has a really really shitty ex...
Summary : during a meeting with allies in Paris, the boss of the British mafia based in London meet an artist girl, lost in her world, freshly single and unaware of his identity. for him it's love at first sight, and he'll do anything to find her again and be the gentleman and perfect boyfriend he is sure she needs.
a/n : I hate Emily in Paris so much... this chapter is long...
« Are you sure you're not going through a midlife crisis?
— I'm 26 Max.
— Yeah, well, life can be really short in our line of work...»
this time Lando doesn't answer to Max sarcastic words. the man was lounging in the couch of the apartment, feet on the table, half scrolling on his phone, an infuriating green on his lips. This place wasn't hard to find, Max just pulled some strings and Lando's name did the rest. Lando was standing by the window, hands in his pocket looking down, not at the street but at the appartement in the building across the road, through the windows he can see you, you're standing in your small kitchen, eggs in bowling water, dressed in soft sleep shorts that rides up your thighs and a tank top. Facing the silence of his best friend, Max snort, but it sounds more like a mocking sneaker, glancing at the eyes locked on the exterior.
« Are you planning to actually do something or just stand there?
— Max shut it. »
Lando glares above his shoulder briefly when Max grins and sneakers again with a smug grin. That glare could have scared to death lesser men, but Max knows him too well.
« Just saying mate. it's been a week, she probably forgot about your existence by now.
— Who forgot his existence? »
Lando sighs, finally turning away form the window, his eyes leaving your movements. Ria stands there, in a black shirt that perfectly suits her and a skirt that goes to her knees, a golden necklace decoring her neck. Max is all smug teasing smile, Lando just sighs, massaging his temples like an exhausted man.
« You know the pretty French girl who draws in museum... Max starts.
— Oh, her! What about your latest obsession Lando ?
— Can you both shut up about it already? »
Lando's words are useless, he can scream orders, Ria and Max are his closest friends and they will not obey him, they are probably the only persons on this planet who can so blatantly disrespect him. So he just keeps his jaw locked and look back down to the window and your small frame waving on your feet as you dance you whatever music you're listening.
——
This day starts like every other day, you wake up in your bed, take half an hour to get out of it because the sheets and the blankets are just too warm and comfortable. And the pillow feels so good against your face...
But you have to get up.
So you do, you prop yourself up, swings your legs over the bed and goes to the window, opening the curtains to let the sun in.
You walks through the flat, it's small, really, the kitchen is in the living room, the bedroom and bathroom being the only two other rooms of the small apartment.
Your day goes by easily, or at least, it's as normal as it can.
Those days things are a bit weird. Your neighbor, usually so loud is quiet, the dog upstairs that pee on the balcony, the urine dropping into your balcony has not go out for four days...
all that once bothered you stopped. like some miracle or call from a gardian angel.
It's weird, but pleasant so you don't complain.
Until you open the fridge and discover it's empty.
Not even a bit of cheese left, how are you supposed to live, you, french and rooted in cultures and traditions, with no cheese in your fridge ?
With a sigh you dress up quickly and head down in the streets to go find some food.
The streets of Clignancourt, just on the edge of Paris, are crowded, kids playing football, teens squatting, sat in stairs, drinking cheap cans or eating junk food. When a walk under a bridge, the sounds of car passing by, speeding on the roads loud, a guy almost jump on you, asking if you want a bracelet, a pack of cigarettes or airpods. You shake your head and walk quickly to the shop at the corner of the street. It's safer here.
When you finally step out, your backpack is filled with a bit of cheese and enough 3 minutes pasta and rice for the next week. Not your best menue, but still good.
You're walking back toward your apartment when a sudden hand close on your wrist, you turn sharply, ready to fight for yourself when you see the face of the man holding you.
He's tall, with a stubble under his chin, his eyes are dark, his cheekbones high and full, his lips split, his hair held back with gel, a backward Gucci pack resting on top of his head. You know him from your ex, one of those guys who smoke for attitude and wears backward cap like it makes them looks like gangsta. He leans a bit too close, invading your personal space.
« Bah alors, on dit pas bonjour ? » (what's up, you don't say hi?)
You scoff but doesn't really have a choice, his grip on you is firm, under his sweats and Nike hoodie, he probably has more strength than he thought at first glance months ago when you met him in your ex's apartment. You don't even know him that much, to you he's just a random guy you met months ago and exchanged brief acknowledging nods when you crossed his path.
« Qu'est-ce-que tu veux ? Si il t'envoie pour me donner un stupide message alors c'est no- » (what do you want? if he sends you to give some stupid message it's no-)
You don't even have time to finish your sentence that he cuts you and lean even closer to you, completely invading your space, you can smell Tabasco and cheap bear on his breath.
« Tu sais t'est plutôt pas mal, j'avais pas remarqué, t'as un jolie cul. (You're not that bad, I hadn't notice that nice ass you got.)
- Pour qui tu te prends, espèce de dégueulasse !? » (Who do you think you are, you disgusting pervert !?)
He just grins and tugs on your wrist, bringing you even closer to him, your free hand flee to his chest, pushing him away but he just laugh at your attempt.
« She told you to let her go. »
The voice is sharp, threatening, a deep growl comming from behind you. your head snap back. one hand stretch to grab the man's wrist and push him away from you forcefully, stepping forward until his body create a wall between them. The guy gasp stumble backward and look up, snarling, closing his fists, but the second he looks up and see Landon he gasp and stumbles backward, his face draining of colors, pale and his eyes widening with fear. You swear he almost turned blue. He glance at you, half hidden behind Lando's strongrame and he runs away, not without sending a glare above his shoulder. You breath in and out, the adrenaline leaving slowly your body. You look up and then he turns around to look at you. you recognize those eyes immediatly.
blue, greenish, the colors swirling together, even more beautiful in the sun, with those long eyelashes spreading shadows around the orbs.
« You okay? he asks and you nod.
— Yeah... thanks for that. »
The silence stay between you, but it's not exactly uncomfortable, it's almost timid. when your breathing is stable and calm again, the fear of the moment away, you glance up at him. his eyes are already on you, blue pupils focused solely on your person, like if he is trying to read every micro expression of your face, your body.
Lando is sure he looks completely composed on the inside, he knows he is, he always looks perfectly composed and calm. but inside, his brain is running twice harder than normal, why are you quiet? did you forgot him like Max joked earlier today? he just can't help it...
You look up at him and shrugs slightly, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
« You know... his face snaps even more to attention when you finally speak, eyes lowered to you. I hadn't tell him yet to let me go when you arrived. »
Lando doesn't miss it, the tiny joke, the little teasing tone, a tentative thing that sounds so perfect coming from that perfect little accent. his eyes follow each little detail of your face, reading every expression to understand you.
« Oh, yeah? what did you say, love? he asks, taking a small step closer, his eyes lowering to trap yours in that ocean of blue.
— He told me I had a nice ass, so I insulted him... »
he frowns at the knowledge of what the guy had say to you, for half a second his irises flash with murderous anger. he tenses, protectiveness flares in his stomach.
« Who is he? you know him? he asks, voice tensed.
— He's one of my ex's friends... I barely know him... we just met once, that's all. you reply surprised by his sudden interest.»
he hums, eyes never leaving you. he register the word 'ex' with satisfaction, and then decides it will be something he'll investigate on later. right now you're in front of him, good moment to change the subject and get to know you better.
Ria would be proud of him, getting so close.
he lets a slight smirk tug on his lips, almost invisible, but it curl the edge of his mouth and dig small dimples in his cheeks. small enough for you to acknowledge their existence and to imagine how those dimples look with a full smile and his teeth showing.
you gasp in surprise, yanked out of your thought when his hand lifts, his thumb brushing your cheekbone when his palm cup your face. it's a small touch, so natural and tender, and it makes your heart stumble for a second. his palm is so large it's almost comical, his skin warm, and you feel your cheeks flush under his touch. Lando looks at those flushed cheeks, so easy to bother, so cute...
« You know, I don't speak French, this language is a bit foreign for me. »
The words are nothing weird or extravagant, but somehow it makes your heart skips a beat, the tone as something underneath, flirty, his British accent making unholy things to the words. your eyes flutter to look up at him, his stubble grew a bit since the Louvre a week ago. his thumb brush your cheek. he tilts your head to the side, leaning down until he is so close you can hear each vibration of his voice.
« It would be perfect if a pretty French girl was willing to show me around.»
you are just out of a one year long relationship, you know how your body works, how you react, how things works with men... but that, the way your heart flutters, how his voice vibrate against your ear, smooth like velvet, how his breath brush your neck when he lifts his head a little bit, leaning back.
it's unknown.
it's thrilling.
his hand move from your cheek, his index gently lifting your chin with a gentle push.
« You'll help? You know, as a thank you for helping you. »
you feel so warm your head must be fuming.
Your brain is at war with your heart, you don't know him, you don't know his name, you don't know how he happened to be here on the exact perfect moment.
but you nod anyway.
——
He is confident, you can't take that away from him as you sit next to him in the subway. the line is automatic, silent, just the little burst of speed in long straight. He proposed you to take his car but you don't go in stranger's car and you know this city enough to know that driving is a stupid thing to do here.
he looks weirdly out of place in here, Paors is always so vibrant, fast, people always lack time, always need to catch a train, but he's relaxed, composed, not even looking at his phone or staring at the dark walls of the tunnel with the empty eyes of a worked out business man.
« Why did you come to Paris? you ask, he's already looking at you.
— I had some business to sort... he trails off, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
— You're gonna play mystery man? fine. »
he just smirks, leaning back against the backrest of his seat, the feminine voice in the speakers calls the next stop and you sit, adjusting your trousers.
« We change here.
— Where are you bringing me?
— My favorite place when I'm lacking inspiration... »
Lando doesn't show it, but he's extremely pleased with this answer. his little French artist is going to show him her favorite inspiration sanctuary, that's the kind of privilege he wasn't expecting until at least three date. he is doing really well.
Ria and Max will definitly not believe their ears when they will learn about his progress.
Lando had heard about Chatelet, the heart of Paris, a labyrinth of corridors, white tiles and advertisement plastered on the wall, a cacophony of people walking, escalators humming, traffic informations spreading through speakers, beggers asking for scraps of food or money in the corners.
but nothing will ever compete to the truth.
the reckless never stopping crowd, the mix of language, Arabic mixing with French, syllable muffled, fast, between people, African dialects and French slang, accents and intonation. there's a man playing trumpet in a corner, the music echoes through meters of white gallery.
but in all that organized mess, his eyes are locked on you, walking without even looking up or searching. you're so beautiful in that moment he thinks, knowing, walking with the simple knowledge of where you are going, with barely a glance at the signs, just a quick check. like you could even make a mistake.
you look more at the ads, reading each moto, looking at each design with critical eyes, like your brain was working a ten pages essay of why it was a good or bad advertisement, than at the signs where most of the tourists are standing, searching their way.
that's strangely hot.
« You're following? or did I lost you?»
he gris at the teasing tone in your voice and follows quickly behind you.
« I never get lost. »
And you just roll your eyes, like you know any better.
the next subway is automatic too, green and black, large windows, glass door and a train every two minutes. paradise apparently, if he had to listen to you and your feral hatred for line 7, the RER and the people who faint at 6pm.
You step inside when the door opens right in front of you.
that's hot too, the way you know exactly which door and where and when. like it was the subway that was obeying your routine.
he looks at the station's name, all French references to historic moment or people who died centuries ago.
« Where are we getting off? he asks, glancing at the screen that shows the train next stops.
— Louvre-Rivolie.»
that French tongue is unfair. he thinks very strongly.
« Louvre? wanna remake our first met?
— if I could I'll ask you your name back then.
— You can still do it now. »
you look at him, he's smirking. of course he is, he always is when you're speaking or when he's watching you.
« What's your name? you ask with a dramatic roll of your eyes.
— Lando. »
Once out of the underground, you guide him to stairs that leads to the Quai. the Seine is half green half brown, thick and dense just on your side as you walk through the paving stones.
some people are sat on the edge, other against the wall, you pass under a bridge. people around are chilling, drinking beer or sodas, eating chips, sharing biscuits or sandwichs. Lando looks around, raising an eyebrow.
« What are they doing? »
you glance at your phone, the hour glares back at you and you just shrugs, not stopping your walk.
« It's apéro time. »
Lando just smirks again, French things. he follows you under another bridge and then you look to the left, climb two steps, the road here is of asphalt and you turn around, like if to go back. he joins you and stops in his track.
there is a large tunnel, it turns, no sign of any exit, just never ending darkness, lighten by golden led in the ceiling and fluorescent lights against the walls. you absolutly not look concerned at the idea of walking through an abandoned tunnel.
which is scary.
Lando is a mafia man, he knows how this job works, he knows danger, he flirted with death more than once. to him that abandoned tunnel is sign of problems. there's only one possible thing. drug, violence, illegal stuff, dangerous things. and you will not be in any danger.
« You are not planning to get inside that abandoned tunnel.
— it's not abandoned.
— looks like it. »
you roll your eyes but he crosses his arms and glance back at the underground road, walls covered in tags and spray paint, the strong smell attacking his nose. Lando looks down at the road, the two ways still clear, except now one is painted with a bike and the other with a walking persona. he ignored the abandoned cans, the cigarettes and other trash on the ground, that is not very different from the rest of the city.
« You're coming? it's a shortcut.
— I can't believe you think walking in an abandoned tunnel you don't see the end of, with closed emergency exits and-
— Oh come on Lando, I walk here every week.
— That doesn't make it better.
— C'est pas bientôt finis ce boucan!? y en a qui dorme ici ! » (Are you over being loud soon !? some people are sleeping here!)
Lando turns sharp at the new voice, and the foreign language, words making absolutly no sense for him. a head had popped from a bunch of blankets and old sheets that were probably left them for the trash to pick up. but before he can say anything, you grab his hand and tugs him in the tunnel.
« Come on, let's let him nap. »
Lando doesn't really have time to react, or protest again, or make a comment on the angry man in his blankets or how you treat that like it's a normal occurrence to be told to shut up by a homeless guy sleeping in the middle of the day.
because your hand is smaller than him, your palm is soft, your skin feels perfect, your fingers can't wrap around his entier palm, but you tug on them and pull him inside, sunlight disappearing for artificial gold. it's cute, your little hand is so perfect, he loves it... so he doesn't fight.
what an easy man he became under your spell...
Lando have to admit, it isn't as bad as he thought.
the walls are covered in artwork, and he starts to understand why you love this place so much, it's full of creativity, paint on the ceiling, landscapes and graphic letters mixing together, colors on top of everything, objects, collections, realistic drawing and political message spread everywhere like a canva of art and freedom.
and what he love the most is probably how you keep looking at everything, pointing things out and explaining exactly what it means for you and where the inspiration come from, and the references to historic moment or pop culture things.
« You come every week, you never get bored? you always see the same thing, how can inspiration keep coming? he asks when you reach half of the tunnel.»
you grin walking to the imposant painting of a realistic wolf on the right wall.
« It's street art. it change every week. before that wolf they were a forest, and before they were something else. everything is fated to disappear here. I think that's the most beautiful thing about this place. People come, spend hours on an artwork just for it to disappear under another masterpiece. »
Lando looks at you with wide eyes and blink, he never thought about it like that. in his mind art was the canvas in museum, centuries old and meant to be kept like treasure under glass and care so they'll never fade and people will still admire them in millenials.
« Every time I come here I look at my favorite and try to grave them in my mind, to have the clearest image, because I know one day they will only be a memory.»
you keep walking. and Lando follows, eyes locked on you.
it's poetic, your vision of the world.
and it's beautiful...
so beautiful.
——
« I had an amazing day, thank you.»
You blush slightly at Lando's grateful words. you are both standing next to your appartement door, the night slowly falling over the city, the sun disappearing behind the skyline of Osman building and modern architecture.
« I had a good time too. thanks for bringing me home, it wasn't necessary...
— Oh, it absolutly was. »
you smile and you two stays in silence for a few seconds, it's not awkward, it's comfortable. you lower your eyes slightly but he doesn't let you, his index tips gently your chin up, until your eyes meet his again, the blue of his irises is bathed in the gold of the streetlight, and it might be the most beautiful thing you ever saw.
« Ever wanna do it again? he asks, his voice dropping to that low smooth velvety tone again.
— Sure. you smile.»
He smiles, satisfied of himself and takes his phone out of his pocket, slipping the device out and taping the password, unlocking it. your heart picks up as you see him. open the contact app and hand you the device with the keyboard open.
« Here, give me your number, you chose the place today, the next time I'm taking care of everything.»
You swallow and nod, heart pounding in your chest as you tap your number in the phone. when you hands it back to him he make sure everything is saved in the app and tilt your chin again, his palm cupping your cheek. he leans down and press a kiss, soft, small, barely there, on your forehead.
« I'll text you. sleep well.»
and with that the door to your building close and he walks away. you climb the stairs, open your door with your key and slip inside. the door close behind you and you let yourself fall, your back sliding against it. your heart is beating so fast it might explode.
After two minutes there, looking at your ceiling, remembering every second of the past hours, you stand, walking to the fridge, opening the door, realizing it is empty.
oh yeah...
that's why you had left your apartment in the first place.
you run to your backpack, clumsily opening it to discover your packs of pasta and rice and that poor excuses of a cheese now, the transport and the warm climate definitly not good for the poor milk. you sigh.
no cheese for tonight...
as you are wondering if you should make a minute of silence for that box of cheese or mourn it in proper funeral tradition, you feel it.
a small buzz.
you immediatly scramble for your phone, pulling it out of your back pocket.
unknown number
tomorrow, 6pm, I'll pick you up, wear something classy.
Your cheeks flushed slightly and you fumbled with the keyboard.
you
I finish my work at 6, I'll send you the address.
the 'delivered' changed immediatly for 'read' and the three dots appeared.
unknown number
no problem
have nice dreams love
oh, forget the cheese, you were going to have a very good night with very sweet dreams...
——
« Boss.»
Lando turns around from where he was staring through the window, your form moving behind curtain in the building across the street, ready to go to sleep.
Max is standing in the doorway, he's not smiling or teasing, his face is a cold calculated mask of seriousness and business. Lando frowns slightly at his right hand tensed posture. he nods, silently telling him to continue.
« It's Gasly. he's here.»
The French man and him aren't supposed to meet until next week, from a common accord motivated by each other's business plans. Lando tense, any thought of you chased away and replaced by the cold, composed mob boss. he walks to the couch and sit, the leather creaking under him.
« Let him in. »
The French man steps in easily, like he owns the room, and since this is his city, he kind of does. his costume is perfect, hands in the elegant jacket, and his smile is all venom, sharp and definitly knowing. Lando shows nothing, he just lean back in his couch, taking the bottle of old fine whiskey, pouring himself a drink.
« Whiskey?
— Non merci, I'll stick to wine.»
Lando nods, sipping his drink, Gasly is almost glowing with arrogance, he had that proud smirk, grinning like he found something priceless. he walks through the room, before finally stopping just in front of Lando, tilting his head to the side slightly, with that psychotic smile.
« From what I've heard you enjoyed Paris' hidden places.»
Lando tensed, but not visibly, he kept that silence, that cold composed image. how did Gasly knew, why did he felt the need to show him how much he knew, Lando had no idea. but he had to show nothing but relaxation, showing an hint of reaction would be weakness given on a plate to his enemy.
« I thought it'll be a nice opportunity to make some tourism, it's a beautiful city.
— Oh I'm sure it is. the French replies with a carnivorous smile. »
he walks to the window, slowly, making all a show of it, one step at a time, letting the old parisian wood creak under his feet, he leans against the windows frame, his fingers hook in the curtain masking the window and he slowly peels them back until he can look through the glass. his eyes lock on something and Lando knows exactly what he's looking at.
your flat.
but then Gasly let's go and walks away, he stops in the doorframe, one hand resting against it as he give Lando a last glance above his shoulder.
« Be careful with who you decides to see, they might already belong to someone.»
HERE IT IS YAYYYYY
it was long just like I promised (so long that my note app told me I was writing too much and refused more characters 🥲)
Please tell me what you think about it, if you have ideas, theories, I reply to everything quickly.
for the next chapter : do not expect it in a week, I truly don't know when I will post, I'm in vacation and internet is not really present with me. but I'll keep writing so maybe by the end of August you'll get a bunch of chapters... who knows.
here are two moodboard I made for fun for the metro and the tunnel (Tunnel des Tuileries).
taglist : @lunadi1una @adelaidehawthorne17 @alexandraisnthere @jsprien213 @sallyciinnamonn @gayooo26 @thegwen @barbare2 @kinghalchalamet @imnottherealusa @seawaterbrain
