#monacopeacebeforestorm

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ (ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ʙᴜᴍᴘ, ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇꜱ)

ʜɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ / ʀɪꜱᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴇxᴘᴏꜱᴜʀᴇ

ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ

ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ (ɴᴏɴ-ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ, ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ)

It had been a week since (Y/n) moved in with Lando, and the walls of his flat had begun to hum with the rhythm of a quiet, shared life.

They were careful. Deliberate. (Y/n) still went to work at the boutique like usual, always picked up two blocks away from Lando’s by Amara or Carla. No one had caught on. Not yet.

And yet, there was a fragile stillness to it all, like a glass surface before the first stone.

Every morning, Lando made her tea instead of coffee. Mint with a splash of honey. Every evening, he rubbed her feet while they watched reruns of travel documentaries and giggled over how terrible some voiceovers were. It wasn’t romantic, not overtly. But it was soft. Steady. Something new.

One morning, as she finished brushing her hair, she felt the weight of Lando’s gaze behind her in the mirror.

“You’re starting to show,” he said gently.

(Y/n) paused, hand frozen mid-motion. She looked down at the slight curve beneath her sweatshirt. “I know.”

He came closer, brushing a kiss against her shoulder. “You’re glowing.”

She rolled her eyes, but she smiled.

Back at the boutique, Carla and Amara had already opened up. A quiet Tuesday meant less foot traffic, which (Y/n) appreciated. Carla had returned from her lunch run when she leaned on the counter with a smirk.

“You’re different,” she said.

(Y/n) blinked. “What do you mean?”

Carla grinned. “You glow. Just like in those maternity blog posts.”

(Y/n) gave her a look. “I do not glow.”

Amara chimed in from the display table, “You kinda do.”

Before (Y/n) could protest, Carla lowered her voice, “So… what’s it like living with a literal F1 driver?”

(Y/n) laughed under her breath. “Like living with a man-child who steals the last cookie but also makes the bed.”

“Ugh,” Carla groaned playfully. “Sounds disgustingly sweet.”

Meanwhile, at the McLaren hospitality suite, Oscar Piastri leaned back on a folding chair, scrolling through his phone. He nudged his girlfriend, Lily, who was curled up beside him with a magazine.

“Hey,” he muttered, lowering his voice. “Have you noticed something weird with Lando lately?”

Lily looked up. “Weird how?”

“He’s been disappearing more. Like, low profile. And not in the usual ‘I need to recharge’ kind of way. I mean, he’s less jittery, more… I don’t know. Settled?”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that good?”

Oscar shrugged. “It is. But it’s different. And he’s way more protective lately. Like the other day, he nearly bit a reporter’s head off for asking about his dating life.”

“Maybe he’s actually dating someone,” Lily offered.

Oscar leaned closer. “I think he is. But he’s hiding her. And I don’t think it’s just because he wants privacy.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “You think it’s serious?”

Oscar nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like, real serious.”

That evening, Lando came home with takeaway from her favorite Indian place and a box of almond croissants she had been craving since morning.

“I remembered,” he said simply, setting the bag on the kitchen counter.

(Y/n) smiled so hard her cheeks hurt.

For now, things were quiet. Hidden. Precious.

But Monaco never stayed quiet for long.

To be continued... 🧡

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 19: ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ 🧡

📝 Note from the Author: The quiet moments (the tea, the foot rubs, the croissants) sometimes say more than declarations ever could. 🧡

(Y/n) and Lando are settling into something delicate, real, and deeply human. They’re not rushing. They're surviving. They're trying.

And yes… Oscar’s detective arc is absolutely brewing 👀

Thank you so much for reading this far. If you felt the comfort of their quiet nights too, drop a 🛋️ or 🍯 below, because we all deserve a little softness before the storm.

Don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, and follow for more stories in the future, we’re just getting started.