Pairing: Lando Norris x Female reader
Word count: 2.4k
Summary: Loving your skin isn’t easy when acne and idiots exist. Lando Norris makes it his mission to convince you otherwise.
Tags: fluff, friend to lovers, insecure reader, acne, i'm not sure what else...
A/N: this is partially based on a real life story of mine, since I had a lot of acne in my early teen years. (I mean the rude comment reader receives regarding her acne lmao)
The night had been good before that moment, really good.
You’d actually taken your time getting ready for once. Put on that black top you’d been saving for a night you felt brave enough to wear it. Your curls fell nicely for once, your lip gloss wasn’t smudging, and your skin… well, yes, you had acne, red patches along your cheeks and jaw, but you’d managed to cover some of it without feeling cakey or suffocated.
You felt… cute. Maybe even a little sexy. And that was rare.
So sitting there at the bar with your friends, laughing, sipping your drink, tapping your foot to the music, you felt light. Warm. Normal. Like your face wasn’t the first thing people saw.
Lando was somewhere behind you, arguing with Max about who could do a better darts throw while the rest of you sat around the high table talking nonsense. Everything was easy. Until it wasn’t.
Because Mark, a guy you’d met only twice before, turned to you with a casual grin and said: “Hey, random question, my mum’s a pharmacist.”
You blinked, confused but smiling. “Okay…?”
“No, just saying because…” he gestured vaguely at your face, circling the air near your cheek, “you’ve got… you know. A lot going on.”
You froze. For a moment, you genuinely thought he meant something else. A lot going on? Like makeup? Like stress?
“Oh,” you laughed awkwardly. “Uh… you mean the acne.”
He nodded, happily oblivious. “Yeah. It’s really noticeable. I figured maybe you haven’t tried the right stuff.”
A few friends shifted uncomfortably. Your stomach dropped so hard it felt like it hit the floor. “Um… I actually take really good care of it,” you said quietly, tucking your hair behind your ear as if it could hide half your face. “I’ve got a whole routine. Dermatologist too.”
Mark shrugged. “Then you’re probably doing something wrong. Because it’s… yeah, it’s pretty bad.”
The words were a slap wearing a casual tone. Pretty bad... Pretty bad???
Your throat tightened, and suddenly the bar felt too bright, too loud, too focused on you even though no one was looking. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks; not blush, just humiliation.
You had felt so beautiful. Or at least comfortable.
Now you felt like everyone was staring at your skin. Like the red patches had doubled in size. Like your face was the ugliest thing in the room.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” you whispered.
“What?” Mark laughed. “I’m just trying to help. No need to get dramatic. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”
He kept talking, but you weren’t hearing him anymore. Your confidence cracked open so fast you almost felt dizzy.
Your fingers moved to your jaw without meaning to; covering. Shielding. Hiding. You wanted to sink into the floor. Disappear. Scrub your face until it was perfect, or until it didn’t exist anymore.
You had been having a good night. Had felt pretty. And now you couldn’t even look up.
Someone called your name, maybe Lando, maybe someone else… but you were staring at your drink, heart pounding, wishing desperately you could go home and wash everything off and be unseen.
Because for one second, one beautiful rare second, you had felt confident. And one stupid dickhead shattered it. A dickhead who simply. Kept. Going.
“Honestly, I don’t mean it in a bad way,” he added with a shrug. “It’s just… with that much inflammation, whatever routine you’re doing? Yeah, it’s probably not working. Maybe stop wearing makeup for a while. Or drink more water. I dunno. Just— yeah. It really stands out.”
Lando set his drink down.
He didn’t slam it, didn’t make a scene, he just set it down with a steadiness that made the entire table go quiet. “Okay,” he said lightly, but there was steel under it. “We’re done with that.”
“We’re done talking about her face,” Lando repeated, tone still soft but knife-sharp. “Or anyone’s face, actually. No one asked for skincare advice tonight.”
The guy laughed awkwardly. “I wasn’t trying to be rude—”
“Well,” Lando said, eyebrows raised, “you were.”
Silence fell again. One of the girls shifted, sensing the discomfort. Another took a drink to pretend she wasn’t watching.
Lando’s gaze didn’t drop from the guy, not angry, not aggressive, just… firm. Protective in that quiet Lando way that didn’t require volume. “Just don’t comment on people’s appearance unless they ask,” he added, voice low. “Basic rule.”
You swallowed hard, throat tight. The room felt too small, too loud, too bright. Suddenly your own skin suffocated you. “I’m just—” your voice cracked, so you cleared it. “I’m gonna go outside for a sec.”
You stood before anyone could stop you. The cool night air hit you like a physical relief. You hugged your arms around yourself, blinking back the humiliation clawing up your throat.
Why tonight? Why when I actually felt good for once? Why did he have to say it like that?
You leaned against the wall, breath shaking. A few seconds passed. Then footsteps. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“Hey,” Lando said gently, hands in his jacket pockets, voice soft in the way he only used with you. “You leaving?”
“I just need air,” you murmured, wiping under your eyes quickly. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t point it out. Didn’t call out the lie. He just nodded. “Okay.”
“You want to go somewhere else?” he asked.
He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Anywhere. Doesn’t matter. Just not there. I’ll go wherever you want.”
You looked at him, really looked at him, the way his brows tilted with worry, the way he studied your expression like he was searching for cracks to patch up. And something in you unclenched.
“Lando, I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“You’re not,” he said instantly.
He shook his head. “They’ll live.”
You looked down at your hands. “He didn’t mean to be rude.”
Lando exhaled a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Doesn’t matter. It hurt you.”
Your throat closed. He stepped closer, not touching, just close enough that you felt warmer. “You looked really fucking pretty tonight,” he murmured.
You blinked, stunned. “Lando—”
“I mean it,” he said, voice quieter now. “You always do. Acne or not. Makeup or not. Fancy bar or grocery store aisle. You’re… beautiful. Full stop.”
Your chest tightened so painfully you nearly folded.
“And,” he added softly, “if anyone makes you feel like you’re anything less? We leave.”
Your eyes flooded instantly.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked again, gentler this time. “Home? A drive? Late-night McDonald’s? You pick.”
You let out a shaky breath. “McDonald’s sounds nice,” you whispered.
His smile warmed the cold night air. “Perfect,” he said, offering you his hand. “Let’s go.”
You took it. And for the first time that night, you didn’t feel ugly. You felt… seen. Safe. Wanted.
Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and one eye flicking toward you every few seconds, not in that overly concerned way that makes someone feel worse, but in that quiet, steady way that said I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.
The McDonald’s sign glowed like a ridiculous yellow beacon in the night sky.
“That okay?” he asked when he pulled into the drive-thru. “Or do you want something fancier? We can go to Nobu in sweatpants, I’m not above that.”
You sniffed, still shaken, still staring out the window. “No, McDonald’s is good.” Your voice cracked slightly. He pretended not to hear it, in the kindest way.
He ordered for both of you, rattling off items in a voice that carried more confidence than the situation warranted.
“Yeah, mate, large fries. No, larger. Like offensively large fries if you’ve got that.”
You gave him a look. He winked.
A few minutes later, he was balancing two bags of food on his lap as he maneuvered the car into a quiet, empty corner of the parking lot under a dim streetlamp.
“Welcome to fine dining,” he announced, putting the car in park.
Despite everything, a tiny smile tugged at your lips.
Inside the car, the world felt smaller. Quieter. Safer.
Lando pushed the bags toward you. “Eat. Before I steal your fries.”
“You always steal my fries,” you muttered.
He grinned. “Yeah, but tonight you’re fragile, so I’m announcing it beforehand.”
You laughed, a real one, small and a little watery, but real.
The music played softly through the speakers, something chill, something low, the kind of playlist he always used when he wanted to make the world slow down for someone. For you.
You pulled your legs up onto the seat, turning sideways to face him as you opened your burger. You caught him looking at you, gently, not pitying, not scrutinizing, just… looking.
“What?” you asked quietly.
“You look pretty,” he said simply.
You felt your throat tighten. “Lando, you don’t have to—”
“I’m not saying it because I have to.” He leaned back, biting into his own burger. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Silence. Warm. Heavy. Soft.
“But tonight,” he added, “I want you to believe it too.”
You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “It’s hard. When someone points out your biggest insecurity like that. Especially when you’re… trying.”
Lando’s tone softened even more. “Hey. That guy is an idiot. A well-intentioned idiot, maybe, but still an idiot. Acne isn’t a personality trait. It’s not who you are. It’s not something that makes you less beautiful. And you don’t deserve to be spoken to that way.”
Your eyes dropped to the fries in your hand. “I just… for once I felt good. And then—”
“—someone ruined it,” he finished for you. “Someone who doesn’t know you, doesn’t get to decide how you should feel.”
“You should’ve seen your face when you walked into the bar tonight,” he continued. “You looked confident. Happy. Like you felt good in your skin. I liked that version of you. A lot.”
You felt something warm unfurl in your chest. “…You do?”
“Yes,” he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “And I want you to get that feeling back.”
You breathed in shakily, picking at the fry carton. “You don’t have to fix it,” you murmured.
“I’m not trying to fix anything,” he answered softly. “I’m trying to be here.”
Another stretch of gentle silence. The kind that didn’t require explanations or apologies. Just… presence.
Eventually, Lando nudged your knee with his. “Hey.”
Your brow arched. “A game?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “It’s called: tell-me-two-things-you-like-about-yourself-or-I-suffer-a-violent-death.”
“Nope.” He shoved a fry into his mouth. “Those are the rules. I don’t make them. The universe does.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling again. “Okay,” you said quietly. “Fine. Um… I like my hair.”
“Correct answer,” he nodded proudly. “Your hair is sick.”
“And… I guess… I like my sense of humor.”
He lit up. “Oh, absolutely. You’re hilarious. At least three times funnier than me.”
“Unnecessary attack,” he gasped.
And you laughed. A real, full laugh that made your chest hurt in the good way.
He smiled, softer this time, watching you as if he was memorizing that sound. “See?” he murmured. “That’s the girl I know.”
You felt your eyes sting again, but not from insecurity this time. “You’re kind of amazing,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
He shrugged one shoulder, cheeks faintly pink. “Just trying to be a good friend.”
Then, after a beat: “But if McDonald’s under a streetlamp helps you feel a little more like yourself again… I’ll do it a hundred times.”
You looked at him, really looked, at the boy who had dragged you out of a bar, at the boy who always noticed when you faded out, at the boy who drove you to a parking lot at midnight just so you could breathe again.
And in that tiny, quiet car filled with the smell of fries and the warmth of music… You felt pretty again. Not because of makeup. Not because of good lighting. Not because of flawless skin. Because someone saw you. And made you feel worth seeing.
Your half-eaten fries sat between you. Lando stole one without asking.
“Hey,” you protested weakly.
He shrugged. “You weren’t eating them. Therefore, they’re mine.”
You looked at him, finally, really looked, and felt that ache in your chest again. The soft, warm one. The one you pretended not to notice every time he draped his hoodie over your shoulders or memorized exactly how you liked your tea.
He caught your stare. His voice dropped even lower. “Can I tell you something else?”
“I like you,” he said simply. No theatrics. No nervous laugh to soften it. Just truth, quiet and sincere. “More than I should. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.”
Your lips parted in surprise.
He laughed softly at your expression, breathless and fond. “Yeah. That face you’re making? That’s the one I’ve been trying to avoid for months.”
You choked on a laugh, shoulders relaxing. “I’m just… shocked.”
“I figured,” he said. “Which is why I’m asking before I do anything stupid.”
He leaned in a little, not too much, just enough that you felt the warmth of him.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.
Your heart flipped. Hard. Then reality hit you like a truck.
“Lando, I— I literally just ate cheese. And onions. And ketchup. And—”
“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned even closer, “my favorite.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, his smile dipping into something softer, more earnest, “but I’m yours. If you want me.”
Your throat tightened. Then, slowly, you nodded.
Lando’s smile broke wide and boyish before he gently cupped your jaw and closed the small distance between you. The kiss was warm. Soft. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that felt like being chosen, like he’d been waiting for you, like he’d always wait for you.
You pulled back with a breathless laugh. “You really didn’t mind the onions?”
He grinned, nose brushing yours. “I’d kiss you after garlic bread dipped in mustard if it meant my only chance at kissing you.”
You shoved his shoulder playfully, cheeks burning. He only laughed and leaned in for another kiss, deeper this time, still gentle, still careful, but unmistakably certain.
And you melted. Completely. Hopelessly.
Because he liked you. You. In every way, shape or form, whether that came with blotchy acne or clear skin.
