#emotionalslowburn

🩶 Title: Blood & Promises (Elijah X F!Reader)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers | Angst | Slow Burn | Tension | Hurt/Comfort | TVD Universe Summary: You and Elijah Mikaelson were never supposed to be allies. You hunted his kind for years. But when a common enemy rises from the shadows of Mystic Falls, you’re forced to work together. Hatred turns into something far more dangerous—something that feels too much like love. Between blood, betrayal, and bruised hearts, the lines between monster and man blur until all that’s left is fire and longing.

Author’s Note: Hi @lonelyghosts-stuff! Thank you so much for your request 💌 This one’s packed with angst, tension, and all the slow-burn chaos Elijah deserves. I included the “Who did this to you” moment, emotional wreckage, and reluctant tenderness that builds into something real. Enjoy the bite and the burn 💔🕯️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ (7–8 ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴄʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱᴏʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ꜱʜɪꜰᴛꜱ ɪɴ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄꜱ

ᴏꜰꜰ-ꜱᴄʀᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ (ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴛɪᴛᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇꜱ, ᴀᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴꜱ)

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʜɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ

ꜱᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴜɴᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ

It had only been a few days since that drive, but everything had shifted.

Not dramatically. Not publicly.

But quietly, under the surface, in the way gravity shifts just before a storm.

(Y/n) was back at the boutique, folding linens and refitting mannequin displays with trembling hands she tried to disguise with careful precision. Carla was nearby, flipping through hangers while shooting her the occasional smirk. And Amara, as always, kept a watchful eye while pretending to steam a rack of dresses.

“You okay?” Amara whispered, catching her during a restock.

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t touched your smoothie.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Amara didn’t press.

Because the truth was, (Y/n) didn’t know what she was anymore.

Somewhere across Monaco, Lando was gearing up for the next round of training and simulator work, showing up to press duties and team meetings with that usual grin, but even his team had started to notice cracks in the polish.

He was late to strategy debriefs. Quieter during engineering huddles. And more than once, his trainer caught him glancing at his phone between reps, thumbing the screen as if expecting a message he couldn’t ask for out loud.

At McLaren HQ, the murmurs started in low tones:

“Has he been off to you?”

“Little distracted, yeah.”

“I asked about tire compounds and he looked like I’d said something about aliens.”

Even Oscar noticed. “You good, mate?”

Lando shrugged. “Didn’t sleep much. I’m alright.”

He wasn’t.

Because he was caught in this strange in-between of wanting to do something, and not knowing what that was yet.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not his team, not his family. Not even Max, who would’ve given him hell and maybe good advice all at once.

It felt too raw. Too fragile.

But he had her number now. Saved under Y/n – Monaco. He’d stared at it more than once, thumb hovering above a message he couldn’t quite bring himself to send.

You alright? Do you need anything? How do we do this?

He didn’t hit send.

Back at the boutique, the lull of a quiet afternoon stretched long and slow until Carla broke it with a sing-song voice.

“Sooo… any new celebrity drop-ins today?” She leaned against the counter with a grin, eyes flicking between (Y/n) and Amara.

(Y/n) gave her a look. “Don’t start.”

Carla shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying. I still can’t believe Lando freaking Norris came strolling in here like he was picking up dry cleaning.”

Amara rolled her eyes. “You’ve already told that story twice.”

Carla ignored her. “I mean, I get it now. The stares. The weird scarf folding. The mysterious ‘smoothie diet’—girl, you’ve been living in a soft-launch phase!”

(Y/n)’s cheeks burned. “Carla.”

“What? I’m supportive,” she teased. “Shocked, but supportive.”

Amara laughed. “Supportively loud, maybe.”

Carla winked. “Don’t worry, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Girl code.”

Later that evening, when the boutique lights dimmed and the last customer had drifted out, (Y/n) sat in the staff room with her head leaning back against the cool wall, phone clutched in one hand.

It buzzed.

Lando: Saw the clip going around. You okay?

She stared at it for a moment.

(Y/n): I’m used to hiding. Just didn’t expect the internet to start guessing.

Lando: We can figure something out. You shouldn’t do this alone.

(Y/n): We already agreed. No press. No noise.

Lando: I know. But that doesn’t mean nothing.

The words lingered.

She didn’t reply again.

But for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

Somewhere in this mess, between the silence, the stolen glances, and the threads unraveling in every direction, there was something slowly being stitched back together.

Not a solution.

But maybe, just maybe, a start.

To be continued... 🧡

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9: ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴꜱᴇᴇɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ 🧡

📝 Note from the Author: It’s another day today HAHAHA and somehow… we’re already on Chapter 8?? 😭 Time’s flying when there’s drama, secrets, and accidental pregnancies involved.

Alsooo I was thinking, what if I call you all Alarwynnites(?) 🤔 If y’all like it, great! If not… well, I’m still calling you that anyway AHAHAHAHA. Y’all are stuck with it now 💅🧡

As always, thank you for reading, crying, laughing, and spiraling with me. Your support means the world, don’t forget to like, share, reblog, and comment if you’re enjoying the chaos 💌

But she apologized.

Not pretty. Not soft.

And it hit him harder than anything else ever had.

“I never kid about apologies.”

📻🖤 If you like characters who are allergic to vulnerability… this chapter is for you.

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ + ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴀʀ, ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ, ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ

ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴜɴʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ

ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜰᴜʟ ʀᴇᴠᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟɪꜱᴍ ᴍᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘᴀɪɴ

The days that followed the cake tasting were a blur of nonstop work for (Y/n).

Every hour was packed: venue confirmations, floral arrangements, catering contracts, guest list revisions.

It wasn’t just Kelly and Max’s wedding, her calendar was full of other luxury events too, but this one... this one weighed heavier.

Because every time her phone pinged with an update about the Verstappen wedding, every time she reviewed a seating plan or an RSVP note... the thought of him crept in.

Lando.

She hadn’t been able to shake the way he’d looked at her during that almost-confrontation, equal parts desperate, confused, and wounded.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

She had vanished. Left him without explanation. Because explaining the truth back then... would’ve meant facing it herself. And she hadn’t been ready.

Now, there was no more running. She could feel the moment building, inevitable.

It came sooner than expected.

A week before the final wedding rehearsal, Kelly asked for a last round of decor adjustments at the venue. A small, informal walk-through, just Kelly, Lando, and (Y/n).

(Y/n) didn’t flinch when the request came. Not outwardly. Inside? Her stomach twisted with nerves.

She didn’t even tell Celeste this time, she needed to face him alone.

Château de Villeneuve looked breathtaking in the late afternoon sun when they arrived. The staff had set everything up exactly as it would appear on the day, ceremony chairs, floral arches, dining tables dressed in linens and crystal.

Kelly moved through the space with easy grace, occasionally consulting her notes. Lando lingered behind her, quiet. Watching.

(Y/n) walked them through the layout, voice smooth. "We’ll add a second drinks station here to ease the flow post-ceremony… and the musicians will be set up along this side of the terrace."

“Perfect,” Kelly smiled. "This is going to be beautiful."

Satisfied, she glanced at her phone. "I need to take a quick call, my mum's asking about transport. Be right back."

And just like that, she was gone.

(Y/n) and Lando stood in the empty courtyard, soft sunlight casting long shadows between them.

Silence stretched, thick, loaded.

Lando was the first to break it. "You're good at this," he said, voice low.

(Y/n) gave a small smile. "It’s my job."

He hesitated, then took a step closer.

"(Y/n)... that day at the tasting, you were going to tell me something. Weren’t you?"

Her breath caught. There was no dodging it now.

He held her gaze, something raw in his eyes. "Please. No more running. Just tell me."

For a long moment, she said nothing. The words stuck in her throat, old fear pressing down.

But then, she exhaled slowly.

And finally, the truth spilled out:

"I was scared."

Lando blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "Scared of what?"

(Y/n)’s voice trembled, but she forced herself to go on:

"You. Us. The future you always talked about."

He frowned, taking another step toward her. "What are you talking about? I thought we wanted the same things—"

"That was the problem," she whispered.

His brows furrowed deeper.

"You talked about everything, our house, our cars, our dog... kids," (Y/n) continued, voice cracking. "Every conversation about the future... it was always us. Always together. You never once imagined your life on your own, not for yourself. You built everything around me."

Lando stared at her, stunned.

"And I..." she swallowed hard. "I didn’t know if I could be that person. The one holding it all up. What if one day I... couldn’t give you all those things you imagined? I was terrified of failing you. Of disappointing you."

Silence. The breeze stirred the leaves above them.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, tension radiating off him. "You think that’s why I loved you? Because of what you could ‘give’ me?"

Tears pricked (Y/n)'s eyes. "It wasn’t logical, Lando. It was just... fear. You deserved someone who wasn’t scared of that future."

His jaw clenched. "And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me? You just—left."

A beat passed, sharp, painful.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I thought I was protecting us both."

Lando’s shoulders heaved with a heavy breath.

"You broke my fucking heart," he said, voice raw.

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping free.

Before either could say more, Kelly’s voice called out from across the courtyard: "You guys ready? I sorted the transport!"

Lando stepped back, shoulders rigid. His gaze burned into her one last time.

And then, he turned away.

(Y/n) swiped at her tears quickly before following after them.

The final prep week flew past.

Rehearsals. Seating plans. Last-minute floral swaps.

One thing was different, though, Lando wasn’t present at the next session.

Kelly mentioned casually that he was away doing promo events for the team.

(Y/n) felt relief. And a strange emptiness, too.

She threw herself into the work, anything to keep from thinking about that conversation... or the way Lando’s voice had cracked when he said she’d broken his heart.

The wedding day arrived warm and bright, an early summer masterpiece.

(Y/n) had barely slept the night before. Her nerves weren’t about the wedding, those, she could handle. It was seeing him again.

Would he ignore her? Speak to her? She had no idea what to expect.

She arrived at the chateau hours before the guests, headset clipped on, coordinating the final details. The grounds buzzed with florists, caterers, musicians.

Her clipboard was in her hands constantly, checking lists, adjusting placements, calming Kelly’s nerves.

And then, he was there.

Lando arrived with Max and the groomsmen, sharp in a tailored navy suit.

(Y/n)’s breath caught at the sight of him.

He looked... devastating. But there was something guarded in his posture, something brittle beneath the easy smile he gave to others.

For the first two hours, they barely crossed paths. She kept to her role; he stuck close to Max.

But as the final prep unfolded, small fires started.

The welcome drink station was behind schedule. The custom seating board got smudged. And worse, a floral runner meant for the head table had arrived tangled, the assistant florists unsure how to reassemble it in time.

It was too much. (Y/n)’s head spun as she tried to manage it all. Her headset buzzed with constant questions.

In the middle of it, a low voice startled her:

"Need a hand?"

She turned, and there was Lando.

For a beat, she stared, unsure. But the genuine offer in his eyes made her nod.

"Yes," she exhaled. "Please."

He rolled up his sleeves without hesitation. They knelt together at the head table, untangling the stubborn floral strands. Their hands worked in tandem, moving through the delicate petals and ribbons.

For a long moment, it was just the two of them, moving in sync, old rhythms resurfacing.

When they finally secured the runner in place, (Y/n) slumped slightly, breathless.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He glanced at her, something softer in his gaze now. "Didn’t think I’d see you this stressed."

She huffed a laugh, wiping her brow. "It happens."

They stood, brushing off their hands. For a beat, neither moved, caught in the quiet.

Then Lando spoke, voice low.

"You really think... that version of me, the guy who had a new girl every week... that was about moving on from you?"

Her breath hitched. "Wasn’t it?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. That was me being angry. At you. At myself. At everything."

(Y/n)’s heart ached.

He studied her, voice quieter now. "You’ve changed, I know."

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"You used to run from moments like this," he said softly. "Now you run the whole show. You turned into someone... who belongs here."

His eyes flicked to the reception setup, the flowers, the grand terrace.

"Maybe," he added, "you needed me out of your life... to become her."

The words struck deep.

But before she could answer, Celeste buzzed in her ear: "Guests arriving in ten!"

Duty called.

(Y/n) exhaled shakily. "I have to go."

Lando nodded. "I know."

As she moved away, her chest tightened painfully. There was so much still unsaid between them.

But today wasn’t the day.

Today was about the couple. The wedding.

And so, like the professional she’d become, (Y/n) pulled herself together, pasted on her smile, and went to greet the arriving guests.

To be continued...🧡

💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴄᴏɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ💍

📝 Note from the Author: To the ever-loyal Alarwynnites, still here, still breathing (barely) through the emotional landmines I keep planting: thank you. Truly. You are the real MVPs of this chaotic storytelling journey.

We’re back again for the second emotional gut-punch of the day, hope your hearts are doing well, because mine sure isn’t. I just wrote a navy-suited Lando Norris untangling wedding florals like it’s a metaphor for everything they never said. Tragedy? Comedy? Romance? Yes.

Just a gentle reminder (again): this story was inspired by everlovingdeer’s brilliant one-shot “Love and All Things Fake.” If you haven’t read it, run to Wattpad and soak in the angst and beauty. That story stuck with me in the quietest, deepest way. This is my tribute to it.

And if you believe this work is skating a little too close to plagiarism, don’t worry, no defense lawyer arc here. I’ll just delete it and disappear like (Y/n) after the breakup. Swift. Clean. Elegant.

In conclusion: Luxury weddings are stressful. Lando Norris is a menace. And I... need to lie down.

With love, me 🧡

Taglist:

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ

ɢʜᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ / ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴅʀᴀᴡᴀʟ

ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴜɴᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ

ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

The warmth of those early days faded like summer evenings—slow, subtle, and painful in ways (Y/n) couldn’t quite name.

She still had Lando’s number saved under something ridiculous, Mr. Vanilla Latte, a callback to their second meeting when he’d ordered the same drink with no shame. But for the past few days, her screen remained achingly still. No texts. No pings. No private driver at her curb with a lazy smile and a mumbled, “You know the routine, Miss.”

It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear briefly during back-to-back races, but this time felt different. He hadn’t warned her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He’d simply faded out, leaving her with a half-read message and a dozen half-formed questions.

You: Everything okay? Just checking in.

Delivered. Not read.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

(Y/n) tried to be rational about it. Lando was busy. The F1 calendar was relentless. And she had her own mountains to climb: mock exams, flight deck assessments, her scholarship paperwork due next week.

But even as she sat inside the university simulator cockpit, headset firm over her ears, altitude ticking upward in digital meters, her mind spiraled somewhere far from the clouds.

What if he was ghosting her?

What if he had someone else?

What if the whole thing—every sweet moment, every soft laugh—had been nothing more than an indulgent illusion?

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

It wasn’t until the third evening that he finally texted.

Lando: Sorry. Just landed. Been a shitty week.

That was it. No emojis. No humor. No softness.

She stared at the message, thumb hovering.

She thought about leaving it unanswered. She thought about asking directly—What’s going on? But instead, she sent:

You: Hope things get better soon.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Another two days passed.

By the time Sunday arrived, she was no longer waiting. She was studying late in a quiet café, textbook open beside her untouched coffee, when her phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Lando.

She let it ring once. Twice. Almost didn’t answer. Then sighed, flipped her phone, and pressed it to her ear.

"Hi."

"Hey," his voice was low, tired. "I’m outside. Can we talk?"

Her brows furrowed. "Outside... the café?"

"Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up."

She gathered her things quickly, shoving notes into her backpack and wrapping her jacket around herself. The sky outside was bruised purple, and Lando leaned against a black SUV, hands in his pockets, baseball cap low over his eyes.

She walked up slowly. "Hey."

"Hey."

They stood there awkwardly for a second. Then he opened the passenger door.

"Ride with me?"

She didn’t say anything, just slid in.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

They drove in silence for a while. The city flickered past in streaks of amber. He didn’t take her to his apartment. Instead, they pulled up near a lookout point on the outskirts—where city lights glittered like stars scattered below.

(Y/n) broke the silence first. “So, is this where you bring all your sugar babies to get dumped?”

His head snapped toward her, startled. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—quiet and raw.

“No. Just you.”

She looked at him. “That’s not as comforting as you think.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly serious.

“I didn’t mean to vanish. I was just... overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?”

He nodded. “The team. The press. My family. And then—” he looked at her, “—you.”

Her breath caught. “What about me?”

“You’re not just a fling, (Y/n). You’re not just some arrangement. And that scares the hell out of me.”

There it was. The fracture line.

She folded her arms. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been terrified since day one, Lando. I walked into this thinking I’d trade time for tuition money, not... not fall for someone who acts like I’m his secret.”

He blinked. “You’ve fallen for me?”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

He leaned back against the headrest. “I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle it. You’re young. You’re brilliant. You’ve got this whole future ahead of you. I shouldn’t even be in the picture.”

“You are in the picture,” she said softly. “Whether you want to be or not.”

Silence stretched again. A tension hung between them, dense and uncertain.

Finally, he looked over. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Would you still want to be with me... if there was no money? No McLaren? No private flights?”

That cut deep. She didn’t answer right away. Just stared out at the glittering horizon.

Then, quietly: “Yes. But I won’t lie, your money got me through the door. Your heart kept me here.”

He looked wrecked. Moved. Maybe both.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispered.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Norris.”

He chuckled. “You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

Then, without warning, she reached across the console and took his hand. It was cold. But steady.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

His thumb brushed over hers.

“I think we could be.”

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

The next week was a strange return to something familiar, but with cracks now visible.

Lando still called, still sent Uber Eats to her dorm when she forgot to eat. Still left her sweet notes when she visited. But he was guarded now. Measured. Like he was afraid to tip the scale too far.

And (Y/n), for all her coolness, felt the shift too.

They weren’t sugar daddy and sugar baby anymore. Not really. They were something messier. Undefined.

One evening, as they lay in bed fully clothed, her head on his chest and his fingers tracing light patterns along her arm, she asked, “What happens if your team finds out?”

He didn’t answer.

“Your parents?”

Still silent.

She pulled back to look at him. “Lando. I need to know where I stand.”

He stared up at the ceiling. “You’re the one thing in my life that feels real right now. But I don’t know how to protect that without ruining everything else.”

Tears stung her eyes, unbidden.

“I don’t need protection. I need honesty.”

He nodded. Swallowed hard. “You’re right.”

(Y/n) sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’m not asking you to announce me to the world. I’m asking you not to hide me from it.”

He sat up too, closer now. “Then I’ll try. I promise.”

She searched his face. “Don’t promise things you can’t keep.”

“I’m not.”

And somehow, she believed him.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

But late that night, as Lando watched her sleep beside him—curled into his hoodie, lips parted slightly—he wondered just how long he could hold that promise.

He was falling for her.

And falling, in his world, always came at a cost.

To be continued...

✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ʙʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ✈️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ + ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ

ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴜᴘꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴᴄɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱʟᴏᴡ-ʙᴜʀɴ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴋɪɴᴅʟᴇᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪꜰᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ

ɴᴏɴ-ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏꜱᴀʟ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ

ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ꜱᴘᴏʀᴛꜱ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ (ꜰ1 ʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ)

It started as a casual thing, really.

An unspoken agreement.

Every few weeks, when Lando was home between races, he’d swing by Maison de Lys around lunchtime. No big declarations, no grand plans, just... him bringing takeaway or coffee, slipping into her office with an easy grin.

And slowly, what had once felt impossible, being friends again, being close, became natural.

The first time he’d shown up unannounced, (Y/n) had blinked in surprise.

She’d been hunched over her desk, hair in a loose knot, fingers flying across her laptop.

Then: three sharp knocks on the glass pane.

She looked up, and there he was, grinning through the door with two coffee cups in hand and a takeaway bag under his arm.

She opened the door, arching a brow. “Is this bribery?”

He laughed. “Depends. Will it get me ten minutes of your time?”

And somehow... it had.

From there, the habit stuck.

Some days it was coffee and pastries. Other times sandwiches from their favorite deli. Once, he’d even brought her a full sushi spread and a tiny potted plant for her desk.

(Y/n) found herself looking forward to those days more than she’d admit.

Not because of the food, though that helped. But because in those quiet hours, with no fans, no media, no clients buzzing in her ear, Lando was just... Lando.

Not the man everyone expected him to be. Not her ex, not the playboy the tabloids loved to paint.

Just... hers.

And she was learning to let herself be herself around him again.

It didn’t take long for Celeste to notice.

One particularly sunny afternoon, Lando was sitting cross-legged on the floor of (Y/n)’s office, unpacking Greek wraps and olives from a paper bag. (Y/n) perched on the edge of her desk, barefoot and laughing at one of his stories.

That’s when Celeste stuck her head through the door, arms full of swatch books.

“Well, well,” she teased, eyebrows lifting. “Look who’s made himself at home.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes fondly. “He brought food. I’m easily bribed.”

Celeste grinned. “You know, I knew there was chemistry between you two during those wedding sessions. No one takes that much floral stress flirting unless there’s history.”

(Y/n)’s cheeks flushed. Lando smirked playfully.

“I plead the fifth,” he said.

Celeste laughed. “No need. It’s written all over your faces.”

She breezed off down the hall, leaving (Y/n) half-embarrassed, half-smiling.

Lando looked up at her, eyes sparkling. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

(Y/n)’s heart fluttered.

“No,” she murmured softly. “She’s not.”

And somehow, just like that... they were steady.

No grand declarations. No rush. Just a quiet, growing certainty.

TWO YEARS LATER

The change was so gradual, (Y/n) barely noticed it happening.

One day, Lando’s toothbrush was in her bathroom. Then an extra hoodie on her coat rack. Then—half his wardrobe in her closet.

He still traveled constantly. She still juggled her weddings. But between the flights and the races, he always came home to her.

And when he was away, texts, calls, late-night video chats kept them connected.

It wasn’t always easy. Their schedules clashed, tempers flared, exhaustion sometimes won.

But every time—every single time—they chose to stay. To fight for it.

It was the healthiest, most real relationship (Y/n) had ever known.

And if anyone had told her two years ago, when she’d walked out of his life, that this would be their future?

She wouldn’t have believed them.

The proposal wasn’t elaborate.

No fireworks. No staged moments.

Just... them.

It was late summer. Lando had just flown home after a brutal triple-header on the F1 calendar—jet-lagged, sunburned, running on fumes.

He’d texted her from the airport:

Lando: Missed you. See you in an hour?

When he arrived at her flat, she was curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, hair messy, face bare of makeup.

He dropped his bag, toed off his shoes, and flopped beside her with a groan.

She laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “Rough week?”

“The worst.” He nuzzled her shoulder. “This, being here, is the only part I was looking forward to.”

They lay there for a while, tangled together in easy silence.

Then, without preamble, he reached into his backpack.

Pulled out a small velvet box.

And set it on her knee.

(Y/n)’s breath caught.

“Lando...”

He sat up, gaze steady, voice rough with exhaustion, but full of certainty.

“I love you,” he said simply. “More than anything. And I’m done waiting.”

She blinked, heart pounding.

He opened the box, revealing a simple, stunning ring. Classic. Elegant. So them.

“Marry me,” he said softly. “Please.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

She cupped his cheek, voice trembling. “Of course I will.”

He kissed her, slow, deep, full of emotion.

But when they finally pulled apart, she hesitated.

“There’s just... one thing,” she said, trying to steady her breath.

His brows lifted. “Name it.”

(Y/n) gave a watery laugh. “We’re not planning the wedding this year. Or next. It has to be at least three years from now.”

He blinked. “Three years?”

“I need time,” she explained. “My calendar’s insane, and... I want us to enjoy being engaged. Not rush it.”

Lando groaned dramatically, flopping back on the cushions.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered.

She giggled, tugging his arm playfully. “You’ll survive.”

But then, he sat up, a gleam in his eye.

“Okay. How about this?” he said. “If I win the Driver’s Championship next season... we move the wedding up. One year after I win.”

(Y/n) laughed. “That’s a big ‘if’.”

He shrugged. “You’re worth it.”

She pretended to consider, then smiled slyly. “Fine. If you win, we do it sooner.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Deal.”

They sealed it with another kiss, both knowing the odds weren’t in his favor.

But neither cared.

In that moment, nothing else mattered but them.

ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX

The season that followed was... electric.

Lando drove like a man possessed, more focused than she’d ever seen him. Race after race, podium after podium.

And with each victory, whispers grew louder.

Was this finally his year?

(Y/n) watched from the sidelines, heart in her throat every weekend, proud, anxious, hopeful.

She’d thought the bet was playful. That it would buy them time.

But as the championship drew closer, suddenly, it didn’t seem so impossible.

And when the final race came, Abu Dhabi, under the floodlights, Lando crossed the finish line first.

World Champion.

Against all odds, he’d done it.

The second his car rolled into parc fermé, helmet off, tears in his eyes, his first words to the team weren’t about the title.

They were about her.

“I need to call (Y/n),” he said hoarsely.

And when her phone rang, shaking hands barely managing to answer, his voice was pure joy.

“You’d better start planning, love,” he laughed. “We’re getting married next year.”

Tears streamed down her face.

“Deal’s a deal,” she whispered, heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he said. “Always.”

To be continued...🧡

💍ᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪɴᴅ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8: ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛꜱ ɴᴏᴡ💍

📝 Note from the Author: Second post of the day, my Alarwynnitessss~ 💛 Yes yes, your girl is on a roll and guess what? This is the second to the last oneeee heeheehee. We’re almost at the finish line, and I’m hanging on by the edge of my seat with Lando’s championship arc like it’s my own personal F1 season finale.

Now let’s talk about this chapter: Started with coffee runs and soft office flirting... ended with a whole engagement ring on the couch. Like, HELLO? I did not sign up for this much softness from a man who used to wear bucket hats unironically. And (Y/n)? Giving us boundaries, career goals, and a three-year engagement clause? She’s winning and she knows it. Honestly, Celeste deserves a raise just for witnessing all this unfold while carrying swatch books like a rom-com side character with taste.

As always, this was inspired by everlovingdeer and her one-shot from Love and All Things Fake (check it out on Wattpad if you haven’t yet—it’s so good I nearly cried over fake dating tropes).

Also, if any of you feel this is too similar or even bordering on plagiarism, please don’t hesitate to comment. I’ll delete it instantly. No drama, no backflips, no fight scenes. I am not built for fandom wars, Alarwynnites HAHAHAHA 💀

Thank you again for reading, loving, and staying with this story. Your support means the world. See you in the next (and final!) post soon!

With love, me 🧡

Taglist:

✨ NEW STORY DROP ✨

(F1 x Reader | Lando Norris AU | Soulmates + Longing + Fate)

Title: Soulstruck

Chapter 1: The Touch That Waits

In a world where fate leaves a mark, some still walk through life untouched. He was one of them. Lando Norris—fast hands, faster life—had it all. Trophies. Fame. Lovers. But no mark. No spark. No soulmate. Not yet.

She wasn’t waiting. (Y/n) Kairi didn’t have time for fate—not when bills needed paying, not when her younger brother's racing dreams rested on her shoulders. Her hands were tired. Her heart was buried. Love would have to wait.

Until Austria. Until one weekend changed everything. Until their hands brushed in the blur of the paddock. And the mark finally came.

But it doesn’t solve everything. Because fate is crueler than anyone admits. And sometimes, the hardest part isn’t finding your soulmate—it’s figuring out what to do once you do.

——————————————— 💬 "I'm scared." ———————————————

She didn’t believe she deserved it. He didn’t believe it would ever happen. But now, destiny is watching. And neither of them will leave this weekend the same.

📖 A story of quiet sacrifices, lives lived in halves, and the one moment that rewrites it all.

📝 Note from the Author: Soulstruck was inspired by years of reading soulmate tropes, especially the ones that leave a mark when you touch your other half. But I always wondered… what if that mark came at the wrong time? What if love arrived when you least had room for it?

This story explores what it means to belong to someone, not out of obligation, but out of choice. And how sometimes, the ones who wait the longest are the ones who feel it the deepest.

If you love slow burns, fate vs. free will, and a love story that simmers before it sears, this one’s for you.

The vows were spoken. The contract was signed. And twenty minutes ago, she buried the last chance she had of choosing her own future.

Lady Oliana Hikavard is the widowed heir of House Hikavard, a wealthy merchant family whose fortune was built upon the rare Crownveil Marble quarries of Vnterkan. With her husband dead and rival houses circling, she has entered a second marriage not for love, but for survival.

Now the two of you sit together in a carriage bound for Hikavard Estate. Strangers. Married. And tied together by duty.