#bad drivers

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: New to Monaco and already overwhelmed, you almost run over Lando Norris on your way to class.

PT2: Three Seconds from Something More, PT3: Three Steps Closer

The narrow streets of Monaco were nothing like the wide, forgiving roads back home. You gripped the steering wheel of your borrowed Fiat 500, knuckles white as you navigated yet another hairpin turn. Three weeks into your study abroad program, and you still felt like you were playing a very high-stakes video game every time you got behind the wheel.

"Left, left, no—right!" you muttered to yourself, checking your mirrors obsessively. The GPS had already led you astray twice today, and you were running late for your International Business lecture.

The hill down toward Portier was steep, and you were focused on managing the speed, one foot hovering over the brake. The morning sun hit your windshield at just the wrong angle, creating a blinding glare. You flipped down the visor, squinting through the brightness.

That's when everything went wrong.

You didn't see him until he was right there.

A figure in running gear, jogging across the street between parked cars, right into your path.

Your brain screamed. Your foot slammed the brake pedal so hard that your whole leg locked. The ABS system kicked in, the entire car shuddering and bucking beneath you. Tires screeched against asphalt. Time stretched into horrifying slow motion.

The runner's head snapped up. His eyes went wide. He tried to change direction mid-stride, stumbling sideways.

Your Fiat skidded, sliding at an angle. You cranked the wheel instinctively, heart in your throat, certain you were about to feel the sickening thud of impact—

The car stopped.

Dead silence except for your ragged breathing and the tick of the engine.

The runner was frozen three feet from your bumper, hands braced on your hood, chest heaving. His baseball cap had fallen off, revealing a mess of curly hair. He was staring at you through the windshield with an expression of pure shock.

You couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Your hands were locked on the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white.

Slowly, the guy pushed himself off your hood and bent down to grab his cap. When he straightened, and you got a clear look at his face, your stomach dropped through the floor.

Lando Norris. You'd almost run over Lando Norris.

He came around to your driver's side window. You fumbled with the button, hands shaking so violently you could barely press it.

"Hey," he said, and his voice was breathless but surprisingly steady. "You okay?"

"Am I—" Your voice cracked. "Am I okay? I almost killed you!"

"But you didn't." He pulled off his sunglasses, and you could see the adrenaline in his bright eyes, the way his hands weren't quite steady either. "Seriously, are you alright? You look like you're about to pass out."

"I almost—you just—I didn't see you and—" You couldn't form a complete sentence. The reality of what had almost happened was hitting you in waves. If you'd been going faster. If your brakes had failed. If he'd been a second slower. "Oh my God."

"Okay, you need to pull over before you actually do pass out." He glanced around, then pointed to a small parking area just ahead. "Right there. Can you make it?"

You nodded numbly and somehow managed to navigate the thirty feet to the parking spot without hitting anything else. The moment you turned off the ignition, your hands started shaking uncontrollably.

Lando appeared at your door and opened it. "Come on, out. You're in shock."

"I'm not in shock, I'm—" But when you tried to stand, your legs nearly buckled. He caught your elbow, steadying you.

"Yeah, you're definitely in shock." His grip was firm but gentle. "Come sit on the wall for a minute."

He guided you to a low stone wall overlooking the street. Your brain was still replaying the moment over and over, his face through the windshield, the certainty that you were going to hit him, the horrible skidding feeling.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. The sun was in my eyes, and I didn't see you until—"

"Hey." He sat down beside you. "Look at me."

You forced yourself to meet his eyes.

"I ran out from between parked cars without looking properly. I had music playing, and wasn't paying attention." He held up his phone. "I was checking my splits like an idiot. That's on me as much as you."

"But I was driving. I should have been more careful. What if I'd actually hit you? What if—" Your voice broke. "You could have died."

"But I didn't. We both messed up, and we both got lucky, and now we're sitting here having a chat about it." He paused. "Breathe. Seriously. In and out. You're hyperventilating."

You tried to follow his instructions, taking shaky breaths. He waited patiently beside you, not rushing you, occasionally checking his own pulse on his wrist like he was trying to ground himself, too.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked after a moment.

You let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Yeah. I almost ran over Lando Norris. Of all the people in Monaco, I had to almost kill an actual Formula 1 driver. The irony is not lost on me."

"Okay, so you're aware of the cosmic joke happening here." A smile tugged at his lips. "What's your name?"

You told him, still trying to get your breathing under control.

"Okay. Here's what's going to happen. Neither of us is calling the police because nothing actually happened. I'm fine—" he gestured to himself, "—you're going to be fine once the shock wears off. And we're both going to be more careful from now on. Deal?"

"You're not... mad?"

"Mad?" He looked genuinely surprised. "I'm the idiot who ran into traffic while checking his phone. If anything, I should be apologizing to you for nearly giving you a heart attack." He ran a hand through his curls. "Trust me, my heart rate is still through the roof too."

You noticed he was right; there was a slight tremor in his hands, a heightened energy in the way he moved. The adrenaline was affecting him too; he was just better at hiding it.

"I've been here three weeks," you said quietly. "Study abroad. I'm still getting used to these roads."

"Where are you from?"

You told him, and he nodded. "That explains it. These streets are insane. I've lived here for years, and I still hate driving them. Too narrow, too steep, too many blind corners." He paused. "Where are you studying?"

"International University of Monaco. Business program."

"No kidding? My mate's sister goes there." He was quiet for a moment, then stood up. "Come on. There's a café two streets over. I'm buying you breakfast."

"What?"

"Breakfast. Food. You need sugar and something to do besides replay that over and over in your head." He offered his hand. "Plus, I was going to grab something after my run anyway. Might as well have company."

"You want to have breakfast with me after I almost ran you over?"

"Would you prefer I traumatize you by running away? Because that seems harsh." His smile was surprisingly kind. "Come on. I promise I don't bite. And honestly, I could use the distraction too. That was..." He blew out a breath. "Yeah. That was close."

Something about his admission that it had scared him, too, made you feel slightly less like a monster. You took his hand and let him pull you up.

"My car—"

"It is legally parked and will be fine for an hour." He started walking, and you fell into step beside him, still feeling shaky. "So, business degree. What kind?"

The café was small and local, tucked away from the main tourist areas. Lando ordered in fluent French two cappuccinos, pastries, and what looked like a full breakfast spread. You tried to protest, but he waved you off.

"I almost caused you to have a breakdown. The least I can do is feed you."

As you sat down, the reality of the situation finally started to settle. You were having breakfast with Lando Norris. After nearly running him over with your car. This was absolutely insane.

"You're still processing," he observed, amusement in his eyes.

"Can you blame me? This morning I was worried about being late to class. Now I'm here because I almost committed vehicular manslaughter on an F1 driver."

"You've got to stop saying it like that. 'Almost' is the keyword." He took a sip of his cappuccino. "Tell me about your program. What made you pick Monaco?"

Slowly, carefully, he drew you into conversation. Asked about your studies, your interest in luxury brand management, and what you thought of Monaco so far. Shared his own stories about living there, the weirdness of the place, and how surreal it was to have the circuit as your backyard.

"Do you ever drive it?" you asked. "For practice?"

"The streets? Not officially. But I've driven every corner of Monaco at some point. It's in my blood now." He paused. "Actually, I could help you. With the driving. Show you the easier routes, the ones where you're less likely to encounter suicidal joggers."

"You want to teach me to drive? After I almost hit you?"

"I want to make sure you don't almost hit anyone else. Consider it a public service." His grin was infectious. "Plus, you seem cool. And you're here for the whole year, right?"

"Until June."

"Perfect. That gives me plenty of time to make sure you're competent." He pulled out his phone. "Give me your number. I'll text you when I'm back in Monaco. We'll start with the easy stuff."

Your hands were steadier as you typed your information into his phone. He sent you a quick message, and your phone buzzed in your pocket.

"There," he said. "Now you have proof this insane morning actually happened."

"I don't think I could forget it if I tried."

"Good. I'm pretty memorable." He grinned, then his expression softened. "Seriously, though. Stop beating yourself up. It was an accident. We're both fine. And hey, now you've got a friend in Monaco who understands the roads. Could be worse."

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

"Well, you've already tried to kill me. We're bonded for life now." He stood up, leaving cash on the table. "I need to finish my run at a much safer location. But I'll text you, yeah? Saturday work for you?"

"For driving lessons?"

"For whatever. We'll figure it out." He grabbed his cap. "Try not to hit anyone else before then."

"I'll do my absolute best."

You watched him jog off, this time very carefully checking for traffic before crossing any streets. Your phone buzzed.

Lando: Made it across the street. Still alive. Just wanted you to know.

You: I'm so glad. I don't think I could handle the guilt.

Lando: See you Saturday. And seriously, stop replaying it. We're good. Promise.

You sat there for a long moment, staring at your phone, trying to process everything that had happened in the last hour.

Then you walked back to your Fiat, drove very carefully to campus, and spent the rest of the day in a daze.

Somehow, almost running over Lando Norris might have been the best worst thing to happen to you in Monaco.

please stop being bad drivers

sincerely, with hate,

maine