✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2: ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ, ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀᴘᴀʏᴀ ᴏʀᴀɴɢᴇ✈️
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ
ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ᴅᴀᴛɪɴɢ
ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ
ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴅɪꜱᴘᴀʀɪᴛʏ
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ
The realization didn’t come with a thunderclap. It came on a Tuesday.
(Y/n) was sitting in the cramped lounge of the aviation academy, sipping on cheap coffee and reviewing a checklist from their mock ATC drill. One of her classmates, Theo, was scrolling on his phone beside her. "Dude, the Monaco GP recap is finally up," he muttered.
"Grand Prix?" she asked, half-interested.
"Formula 1. The race they just had? It’s all over the place. Lando Norris was in top form."
Her brows pulled together. Lando?
Theo turned his phone toward her. A video played. Loud engines. Papaya-colored cars. Swarms of press. Then, walking into frame, in a crisp McLaren team uniform and a cocky half-smile, was him.
Lando.
Her Lando.
She blinked.
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait. That’s Lando?" she asked, pointing at the screen.
"Yeah. Lando Norris. Are you living under a rock?"
She barely heard him. Her coffee remained suspended halfway to her lips.
She had met that man through a sugar dating app? Had been having dinners, long talks, quiet walks with that Lando Norris?
She bolted out a laugh. Theo glanced over, confused.
"You good?"
"Oh, I’m just fantastic," she said, grinning into her sleeve.
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That evening, she messaged him: So... any reason you left out the whole 'international racing sensation' thing?
Lando responded with a single emoji: 😅
Then: Wanted you to get to know the version of me that doesn’t need a helmet to be interesting.
She snorted. Fair enough. But I’m still going to tease the hell out of you next time.
Can’t wait.
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They met at his flat later that week. Not the sprawling penthouse she expected, but a modern, minimal apartment tucked above the harbor, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view that could quiet even the busiest mind.
He opened the door in a hoodie and socks.
"Hey," he said casually.
"Oh my god," she drawled dramatically, stepping in. "It’s Lando Norris. Do you sign autographs or just race hearts?"
He groaned. "You're never letting this go, are you?"
"Not a chance."
She tossed her bag down and wandered toward the windows. "You do realize you could’ve just told me?"
"And risk being liked for my net worth instead of my sarcasm? No thanks."
She turned and raised a brow. "You think it was your sarcasm that charmed me?"
He laughed. "So, what was it?"
She pretended to think. "The coffee budget. Definitely."
They slipped into conversation as they always did, but something had shifted. Not awkwardly. Just a new awareness. She wasn’t just sitting across from some generous stranger. She was spending time with someone whose face plastered billboards, who was tracked by cameras, who carried pressure she hadn’t understood before.
That night, over takeout and a documentary she half paid attention to, Lando asked, "Have you ever seen a Grand Prix in person?"
She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. "Do I look like someone who has Grand Prix money?"
He grinned. "How about Grand Prix access?"
"What are you offering, exactly?"
"The Spanish Grand Prix is next weekend. You’re off Friday to Monday, right?"
She tilted her head, amused. "You memorized my class schedule?"
"I have an excellent memory when it comes to people I care about."
Her chest did that weird flutter thing again.
He continued, "I can get you a private pass. You won’t be on TV. Not with the media. My family will be there. Oscar and Lily too. You’ll be somewhere...safe. Away from all of it."
She hesitated. "Does your family know about me?"
He shook his head slowly. "They know I’ve been in a good mood lately. That’s about it."
"So, they don’t know I’m a broke aviation student with a sugar app profile?"
He smiled, but it was soft this time. "No. And when they do, they’ll be meeting the version of you I get to see every week. The one who makes me forget how insane my life is."
She swallowed. Then nodded. "Okay. Let’s go to Spain."
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Traveling with Lando was surreal.
The private flight wasn’t flashy, just quiet. Calm. He let her nap on his shoulder, let her pick the music, and even helped her revise a few notes for her systems check exam.
In Spain, everything was discreet. They had separate transportation. A hotel suite with a private elevator. She had passes under a pseudonym. The paddock was off-limits, but Lando made sure she had access to the upper VIP terrace—a space reserved for family and close friends.
There, she met Oscar Piastri, who was polite and oddly hilarious, and Lily, who immediately took to her like an old friend.
"So, you're the mysterious girl," Lily said, sipping champagne. "He’s been grinning for weeks. I thought it was the car upgrades."
(Y/n) laughed. "I assumed it was the carbs."
They clicked instantly.
Zak Brown gave her a brief nod, too busy on the phone. But it was Lando’s parents who made her nervous.
His mother, Cisca, was kind but observant, while his father, Adam, seemed focused more on Lando than anyone else. Neither asked questions, and (Y/n) was glad. No need to explain why she still wore her student ID in the side pocket of her backpack.
From the terrace, she watched her first race.
The roar of the engines. The choreography of pit stops. The sheer velocity. It was beautiful.
And watching Lando drive—knowing now what it took, the persona he wore, the life he didn’t brag about—made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t expected.
She held her breath as he crossed the finish line.
P3.
Not a podium, but he looked proud. Happy. Exhausted.
Later that evening, she found a note waiting for her on the suite pillow.
You made today less lonely. Thank you.
She sat down, read it again, and smiled.
Maybe she hadn’t just stepped into a new world.
Maybe she belonged here too.
To be continued...
✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3: ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ✈️
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