lanf1an

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7

-

It wasn’t deliberate, the loss of contact. You just didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? “Hey, I’m choosing my career over us”? Also, there was not even an official us. The occasional texts became less frequent, the new project at work in Madrid was super busy and Lando had a world championship to win.

So when the time came for a holiday, it was much needed. The sun was beating down, reflecting off the glistening waves as the yacht rocked gently in the open water. You stretched out on one of the sun loungers, the soft hum of conversation in the background, ice clinking in glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from Flo. It was perfect—warm, lazy, a complete escape from the past few weeks.

You hadn’t thought about him in weeks. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The vintage Louis Vuitton bikini you’d pulled from the showroom had been a last-minute choice, but it fit like a dream, the delicate monogram print hugging your curves. You felt good. Better than you had in a while.

And then you heard his voice.

Low, familiar, unmistakable.

“Didn’t know I was crashing a Louis Vuitton ad.”

Your breath caught, fingers tightening around the cold glass in your hand. You turned your head slightly, heart lurching as your eyes met his.

Lando.

Standing at the edge of the deck, hands in the pockets of his swim shorts, looking irritatingly good. His tan had deepened, his hair was slightly longer, curling at the edges, and despite the sunglasses perched on his nose, you could feel his gaze dragging over you.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Flo had said he was training. She had specifically said he wasn’t coming.

You shot her a sharp look, but she only raised her drink to her lips, avoiding your gaze.

Lando pulled off his sunglasses, smirking slightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to sit up, to pretend his presence didn’t send a ripple of heat through you. “Funny. I could say the same thing.”

“Change of plans,” he said easily, glancing around. “Figured I’d get some sun. Relax.” His eyes flicked back to you, lingering. “Didn’t realize I’d be running into old friends.”

You didn’t miss the emphasis.

Something unspoken crackled in the air between you, thick and heavy. You knew everyone else could feel it too, even if they were pretending not to notice.

Flo finally spoke up, too casually. “Well, this is fun, isn’t it?”

Neither of you answered.

Instead, Lando’s gaze dropped, just for a second, taking in the bikini, the way the sun cast a glow over your skin. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he dragged his eyes back up to meet yours.

“I like the bikini,” he murmured, voice just low enough that only you could hear. “Very… on brand.”

Your stomach twisted.

You arched a brow, feigning nonchalance. “Still repping LV”

His lips twitched. “I see.”

You should have looked away. You should have stood up, walked inside, done something—but instead, you held his gaze, the past months flashing between you.

The nights. The mornings. The way it all seemed like a dream now .

“Anyway,” he said after a beat, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “Guess I’m staying.” His smirk deepened as he glanced back at you. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

It was. It was a huge problem.

But you’d rather die than admit that.

So you just forced a smile, ignoring the way your pulse hammered in your throat.

“Not at all.”

Lando’s smirk didn’t waver. He gave you one last look before walking past.

-

-

The next morning, the sun was already high by the time you dragged yourself onto the deck, sunglasses firmly in place, the scent of salt and sunscreen thick in the warm air. The night before had been… confusing. The way Lando had looked at you. But the moment had passed, and now, in the bright daylight, things felt different. Lighter. You decided to suck it up and enjoy the holiday. 

Lando was already up, of course. He always had more energy than should be humanly possible. He sat at the back of the boat, shirtless, feet dangling over the edge, lazily tossing bits of bread into the water where small fish darted up to snatch them. When he spotted you, he grinned.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

You groaned, flopping onto a lounge chair. “Too early.”

“It’s noon.”

“Exactly.”

Lando laughed, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re gonna waste the day lying there?”

You peeked at him over the rim of your sunglasses. “That’s the plan.”

“Wrong answer.”

Before you had time to react, he was moving—fast—grabbing your wrist and pulling you up before you could protest.

“Lando—”

But he was already dragging you toward the edge of the boat.

You dug your heels in. “Don’t you dare.”

His only response was a wicked grin before he yanked you forward, sending you both tumbling into the sea. The Mediterranean wrapped around you in a rush, cool against your sun-heated skin, and when you surfaced, gasping, Lando was already laughing.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You splashed water at him, but he was quicker, dunking you under before you could retaliate. What followed was an all-out war—ducking, splashing, shrieking as you tried to get the upper hand. At one point, he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you from escaping, spinning you in the water, both of you breathless from laughter.

It felt like old times. Like before.

By mid-afternoon, the boat was anchored near a small secluded beach, the kind with soft golden sand and bright blue water, tucked away from the more crowded tourist spots. Someone had set up a speaker, music floating through the air as the group settled in.

The hours passed in a golden haze. Swimming, racing Lando and Flo on paddle boards (and losing, much to your annoyance), attempting to play beach volleyball with little success. At one point, you sat on your towel, lazily eating slices of fresh fruit when a shadow passed over you.

Lando. Holding out a bottle of water.

“You’re gonna get heatstroke if you don’t drink something.”

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway. “Yes, dad.”

He plopped down beside you, arms resting loosely on his knees. For a while, you just sat in comfortable silence, watching the waves roll in. Then, after a moment, he nudged your foot with his.

“You having fun?”

You glanced at him, catching the way his damp curls clung to his forehead, the relaxed tilt of his mouth, the way his skin had turned even more golden under the sun.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I am.”

His smile was softer this time, something unreadable in his expression. “Good.”

Before you could think too much about it, someone called for a rematch of beach volleyball, and Lando was up in an instant, offering you a hand.

“C’mon, stylist. Let’s see if you can actually win this time.”

You huffed but took it anyway, letting him pull you up, your fingers brushing just slightly longer than necessary.

And for the first time in a while, everything felt easy again.

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting golden light over the water as the yacht pulled into a small cove near the shore. 

-

The night air was cooler now, a soft breeze rolling off the water as the yacht gently rocked beneath you. Laughter and music spilled from the deck where everyone was still drinking, but you needed a break—a moment to breathe.

The small kitchen was dimly lit, a soft glow from under the cabinets the only source of light as you filled a glass with water.

And then, just as you turned, he walked in.

Lando froze for half a second in the doorway, like he hadn’t expected to see you either. His eyes flickered over you—bare feet, damp hair from a swim, the bikini still clinging to your skin—and something passed through you, too quick to catch.

You swallowed hard. The space was tiny, barely enough for one person, and when he stepped forward, it forced you back against the counter.

Then, the boat rocked with the gentle pull of the waves, and the movement knocked him forward slightly—just enough that his body brushed against yours. The warmth of his skin, bare and sun-warmed, pressed fleetingly against your own, the contact sparking something sharp and immediate.

Neither of you moved away.

His hand came up, gripping the counter beside you, steadying himself—or maybe steadying both of you. His breath was warm, his scent a mix of salt, sun, and cologne, something distinctly him. The boat swayed again, and this time, you felt his thigh press lightly against yours, your shoulder brushing his chest.

Your breath caught. His gaze dragged over you, slower this time.

“This bikini,” he murmured, lips just barely tilting. “Really doing it for me.”

Your breath hitched. 

You should say something. Anything.

But instead, you felt it—that pull, the slow, magnetic force that had always existed between you, no matter how much you had fought it.

And now, with the boat rocking beneath you, with barely an inch left between your bodies, it was impossible to ignore.

Your body responded before your mind did, leaning in ever so slightly, the air thick with something unspoken.

And then—

Your hands pressed against his chest before he could get any closer. “Lando, I can’t.”

His jaw tensed. “Why not?”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. “Because...”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift. A beat of silence stretched between you before he finally stepped back, nodding once, sharp.

“You’re seeing someone?” he said, voice unreadable. You didn’t deny it. “Got it.”

-

WN: Hope you guys like it!! Feedback/suggestions are always welcome xx

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6

Next race weekend you walked on to the paddock unsuspectingly. But you couldn’t not notice multiple press taking your photo. Someone had shot a photo of you or your outfit before, but never this many.

You were barely five minutes into the paddock when the first question came—not for a quote, not about his suit or his styling, but about you.

“Excuse me—” A reporter stepped into your path, microphone in hand. “Can we get a quick comment?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I—uh, I don’t really—”

“You and Lando Norris seem close. Should fans be reading into that?”

Your stomach tightened. “I’m just here for work.”

“Come on,” the reporter pressed, a smirk playing on his lips. “No truth to the rumors? No secret romance?”

Before you could respond, a familiar hand landed on your lower back, a firm presence against you.

“That’s enough,” Lando’s voice cut in, smooth but commanding.

The reporter’s smirk faltered. “Just doing my job.”

“Then ask about racing,” Lando replied easily, guiding you past them with a subtle grip. He didn’t drop his hand until you were inside the McLaren hospitality, away from prying eyes.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “That was ridiculous.”

Lando leaned against the counter, watching you. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though your pulse was still racing. “I just—ugh. This is exactly what I didn’t want.” You really wanted to be professional, working at LV.

He studied you for a moment before sighing. “Just stay in hospitality for the rest of the day.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look he gave you made it clear—he wasn’t asking.

“I’ll get them to back off,” he added, jaw clenched. “But just stay in here.”

So, you stayed.

Hours later, as you were going over some last-minute details, Max leaned against the counter beside you, an amused smirk on his face.

“You know why they’re all watching you noe, right?”

You glanced up. “Because reporters are vultures?”

Max chuckled.“Well, yeah. But also because Lando’s stopped screwing around.”

Your blinked. “What?”

Max shrugged. “Think about it. Lando’s always had random girls floating around, models, party girls, but for the past couple weeks? Nothing. Just you. They noticed.”

You stared at Max, throat suddenly dry.

He shrugged. “I just think it’s funny you haven’t noticed.”

-

That night after the race, you were at the club with the McLaren team, Lando and you had discussed a plan.

“You sure about this?” he asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Positive,” you replied. “Let’s give them something else to talk about.”

The plan was simple: flirt with other people, redirect the media’s attention, kill the narrative before it got too real.

You spotted a Red Bull engineer leaning against the bar and made your way over, offering a bright smile and just the right amount of laughter. Lando, meanwhile, let himself get cornered by two models who clearly didn’t care about F1.

From across the club, your eyes met. And held.

His jaw tightened.

You quickly turned back, not wanting to see him with the girls, focusing on the guy in front of you, lightly touching his arm and whispering something in his ear. 

Ten minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Lando: Come outside. Now.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool air hit you—followed immediately by Lando.

“Bad idea, we’re going home” he said, voice low, shaking his head. 

You nodded, the car ride back to the hotel was tense. Silent.

Inside your room, he shut the door behind him with a soft click. You turned to say something—anything—but he was already crossing the space between you.

Lando pressed you against the wall, mouth crashing against yours, all frustration and tension and unspoken words. His hands roamed over your body, gripping, claiming, desperate.

“I hated that,” he breathed, kissing down your neck.

“You told me to flirt,” you whispered, tilting your head back.

“I didn’t think I’d hate it this much.”

Your hands were already tugging at his jacket, your voice breathless. “I didn’t think I would either.”

His voice was low in the dark. “Is this what it’s going to be like?”

You swallowed. “What?”

“The press. The attention.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Flirting with other people just to prove a point.”

You hesitated. “I just… I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

Lando exhaled, pressing his forehead against yours. “Then let me handle it.”

—

Except, it was Louis Vuitton who handled it when she got called in a few days later.

The rumor buzz hadn’t died down.

If anything, it had only gotten louder since the club night. The media had latched onto her like hungry wolves, headlines speculating everything from secret relationships to "McLaren’s mystery girl." She avoided the comments, scrolled past the tagged photos, but they lingered like smoke.

You walked into the office. The room was cool and modern, sterile in that corporate-chic way, and your boss was already seated, tablet in hand. Another woman you vaguely recognized from PR was leaning against the wall, arms crossed casually.

“Take a seat,” she said said, not unkindly. “This won’t take long.”

You sat, knees tightly together, palms on your thighs. Trying not to look like you were bracing yourself.

“We’re moving you,” she said. “It’s a good thing.”

“Moving me where?”

“To the new Real Madrid partnership team. It’s a big rollout, very high profile. We need sharp people on it.” Her tone was firm but complimentary. “You’ve done good work. This is a step up.”

Your stomach fluttered. This should’ve been a dream. A high-profile campaign. A nod from the top. 

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”

The woman from PR spoke then, casual, almost teasing. “Just, a word of advice, at Louis Vuitton we do not mix our personal interests with our clientele.” Her smirk didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ve got real talent. Would be a shame.”

It was framed as a reward. And it was, in a way. But the subtext was loud and clear.

“We’ll loop you in with the Madrid team this week,” Marta said, already looking at her tablet again. “Exciting times.”

“Absolutely,” you murmured, already halfway out the door.

You didn’t let herself breathe until you were outside. 

You realized how lucky you were you got a promotion instead of being fired at your dream job, and you hated the fact you had almost messed it up.

—

WN: Im back???!!! I still have many chapters for this story in my drafts so i would like to finish it, so sorry for the long break!! Might even finish my other story or write one shots/shorter stories, requests welcome xx

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 wordcount: 1249

You don’t know if it was the fact that you already knew Lando as a kid, or if you were just outright stupid, because it hadn’t really crossed your mind that an F1 racer fucking his stylist, fit the picture perfectly. You didn’t feel like that. He didn’t make you feel like that. Or you were just ignoring it. You had seen photos with other girls sometimes. You didn’t think much of it. But when it started to be the same blonde girl quite often, you actively ignored it. 

The tabloid headline came out that morning—Lando pictured walking with the same girl you’d already seen him with a few times in random social media sightings. It wasn’t a big deal before. You knew what this was, what it wasn’t. But the way the headline framed it—Lando Norris and mystery blonde spotted again—F1’s most eligible bachelor off the market?—you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You shouldn’t care. You don’t care. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But still, you find yourself pulling away, responding to his texts slower, keeping things short. Lando’s behavior, however, hadn’t changed one bit. He was still texting you daily. You hadn’t seen him in two weeks after he was in London. You didn’t have work at the previous race weekend. But there was an event tonight, which you were dreading now. Luckily you didn’t have a private fitting.

When you arrived at the event, you spotted Lando almost immediately. He was in the center of it all, drink in hand, laughing at something someone said. 

And somehow, as if he could feel you watching, he turned.

His gaze found yours through the crowd, and there it was again—that shift, the unspoken thing that neither of you had addressed. He didn’t look away.

Instead, he smirked.

You tried not to let it affect you. Tried not to let the fact that he abandoned his conversation and started making his way toward you send a thrill through your stomach.

“You look nice,” he said, voice low as he leaned in, just close enough for you to hear over the music, pulling you in a tight hug.

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you, skipping slightly. “I styled myself.”

He grinned. “That explains why I like it.”

It was stupid, the way he made you feel—like this was something more than what it was.

Like you weren’t just orbiting each other for the fun of it.

‘’Missed you’’ he added.

But before you could say anything, someone else pulled him back into conversation, and you let yourself disappear into the party again.

Only, it was impossible to ignore him. Every time you glanced his way, he was already looking. Every time he passed by, his hand would brush against your lower back, the touch fleeting but deliberate. Every interaction was like a thread pulling tighter, winding something between you.

But then you saw her.

Blonde, leggy, the kind of girl who fit into his world seamlessly. She leaned in close, laughing at something he said, her fingers grazing his arm.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That this was the dynamic you had set. But that didn’t mean you had to stay and watch it.

So, you left.

You weren’t dramatic about it. Just slipped out, phone buzzing in your hand a few minutes later.

Lando: Where’d you go? Lando: Come with me. Lando: Or I’ll find you myself.

You hesitated before replying.

You: Already back at my hotel.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door.

And when you opened it, he was standing there, looking like he had run his hands through his hair a few too many times, like he had left the party the second you did.

“You left,” he said.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Observant.”

His lips quirked, but there was something in his eyes—something not entirely playful. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure how to.

And maybe he didn’t need you to, because a second later, he was stepping closer, slipping inside, closing the door behind him.

Another beat of silence. Then—

“You’re acting weird.”

That makes you pause. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he counters, voice light but probing. “You’ve been weird all day. Actually… since yesterday. Barely texting. One-word answers. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” You finally turn to face him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. “I’m just tired.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Tired of me?”

“No, Lando. Tired. You know, that thing that happens when you don’t get enough sleep?”

He smirks. “Could’ve just said you missed me.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“See, normally, you’d have a better comeback than that,” he muses, tilting his head. “But you’re just shutting me down. Which means…” He trails off, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Did I do something?”

You look away. “No.”

“Did Max or Keegan say something dumb?”

“No.”

He squints. “Did you see something?”

Your stomach clenches.

Lando notices. His smirk returns, slower this time, like he’s figuring out a puzzle in real-time.

“Don’t tell me…” He starts, stepping toward you. “You’re jealous?”

You scoff immediately. “I’m not—”

“Hah,” he lets out a laugh, standing right in front of you now. “Oh my god, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are.” His grin widens, like this is the most amusing thing that’s ever happened to him. “Didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

‘’I’m not’’

‘’You’re the one who said this was casual’’ he continued, your eyes widened. 

‘’Flo told me’’ he grinned. ‘’Which, by the way—ouch."

You huffed, trying to sidestep him, but he’s faster—grabbing your waist and pulling you toward the couch. You stumble slightly, and before you can protest, he’s already guiding you backward until the back of your knees hit the cushion.

“Lando—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He nudges you down onto your back, climbing over you in one smooth motion. He catches both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head against the couch. His other hand settles on your waist, fingers pressing lightly against your skin.

“Say it,” he teases, mouth hovering just above yours. “Say you’re jealous.”

You glare up at him. “I’m not.”

He grins. “Liar.”

Then he dips his head, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down your neck, to your collarbone.

You shift beneath him, but he tightens his grip, keeping you in place. “Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above your chest. “No need to be jealous, you know.”

“I’m not,” you insist, voice thinner now.

He chuckles against your skin. “Right.”

His mouth moves lower, pressing soft, lingering kisses down your chest, across your stomach, stopping just at the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you then, eyes dark with amusement—and something else.

“You’re the best fucking stylist, you know that?” he murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “Take such good care of me.”

You swallow hard. “Lando—”

“Hm?”

He kisses just above your belly button, watching your reaction carefully. “Just want to take care of you too,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. Whatever you were mad about, whatever had been making you pull away—it all feels irrelevant now.

And when he smirks, feeling the tension melt from your body, he knows he’s won.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 wordcount: 2039

The Monaco paddock was a chaotic mess of media, team personnel, and VIPs swarming every corner. You were supposed to be here—dropping off something personally for Lando. It wasn’t just something, it was the Richard Mille x Louis Vuitton Monaco release watch. You were holding almost a million dollars in your hand. You walked through McLaren hospitality, everyone eyeing you eagerly. Lando had texted you he was in his driver’s room.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you.

Lando stood by the small counter, shirtless, toweling off his damp hair from the post-qualifying sweat. His race suit was tied low around his hips, the fireproofs clinging to his torso in a way that was frankly unfair.

His eyes flicked up when he noticed you, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. “Special delivery for me, stylist?”

You huffed, trying to keep your gaze above his collarbones. “I have the watch.” You held up the box for emphasis. “I’ll leave now.”

Lando, predictably, didn’t move aside. He leaned back against the counter instead, arms crossing over his chest. “You in a rush?”

Yes.

Very much yes.

Because the way he was looking at you—like he was thinking about Monaco nights and zippers and everything you shouldn’t be doing right now—was making it very hard to breathe.

You tried for casual, gesturing toward the door. “People are around.”

He shrugged. “Door’s locked.”

“Lando.”

He grinned at your warning tone, like he enjoyed hearing his name in your voice a little too much. “Say it like that again, and we’ll have a real problem.”

Your stomach flipped. He was too close now, close enough that if you reached out, you could pull at the fireproofs, drag him forward. You weren’t going to. You were stronger than that.

But then his fingers brushed yours where you still held the box, and your resolve wavered.

His other hand grabbed your waist, pressing your back against the closed door behind you. A sharp inhale was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, urgent and claiming. His hands moved, tracing down your hips, gripping tight as he pressed into you, his body hot and solid against yours. His fireproofs did nothing to hide the way he was pressing into you, hard and wanting, his breath heavy against your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw.

A small sound escaped you when his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, fingertips pressing possessively. He exhaled sharply against your neck. 

Then—three sharp knocks on the door.

“Lando, hurry up! Media’s waiting.”

Max. Of course.

You startled, stepping away quickly. Lando barely blinked, just exhaled sharply, muttering, “Fucking timing.”

You shot him a look. “Maybe don’t try to feel up your stylist in the middle of the paddock.”

He just smirked, grabbing a fresh shirt from the garment bag. “I wasn’t trying. If I was trying, you wouldn’t have left.”

You opened the door before you could react to that, nearly running into Max, who took one look at your flustered state, then at Lando’s smug expression, and sighed.

“Seriously?”

‘’Thanks for the watch, I’ll find a way to repay you another time’’ he smirked.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

That’s when the sneaking around officially started. You felt bad about it, to Flo, professionally. But you couldn’t stop. It was so easy. Fitting rooms, toilets, hotel rooms. It was an unspoken agreement. 

-

You were back in London after the Monaco chaos. The texts continued, you dreaded telling Flo, but you knew you had to.

You were supposed to catch up.

But you weren’t listening. Not really.

Flo was mid-sentence about a horse-riding competition, when she suddenly narrowed her eyes at you. “Okay,” she said, setting her cup down with a little too much force. “What’s up with you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You’re stirring your coffee like it personally offended you.”

You glanced down at the spoon in your hand, realizing you’d been absentmindedly spinning it in circles for the last five minutes. You dropped it with a sigh.

Flo’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, God. It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed. She leaned forward, eyes lighting up with interest. “Wait. Who? Do I know him?”

You hesitated, then exhaled sharply, looking away. “Flo… I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to say it so I’m just going to say it. It’s... Lando.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Flo burst out laughing.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she wheezed, trying and failing to hold it together. “It’s just—you hated him.”

“I did not hate him,” you muttered.

Flo gave you a look. “When you were at Quadrant, you once said, and I quote, ‘If I have to hear him interfere about the designs one more time, I will throw myself into oncoming traffic.’”

You winced. “Okay, fine. But it was different working together at LV, things changed.”

Flo smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, I’ll bet they did.”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the table. “I really hope you’re not mad. It’s nothing... serious. Just something casual..”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it. It’s just—fun. That’s all.”

Flo raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

You hesitated for a second too long, glaring at her. You weren’t worried about a famous F1 driver, but for her, of course it was still her brother. 

Flo’s smirk faded slightly. “Oh, babe.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “No, don’t ‘oh, babe’ me. It’s fine. We’re clearly just messing around. It’s not a thing.”

Flo watched you carefully, like she was picking apart every single word. “Okay.. As long as I don’t have to hear any details about it and I’m still your favorite Norris”

You could finally let out a laugh. ‘’You will always be my favorite Norris’’

‘’Thought F1 wasn’t really your scene’’ she want back to teasing. ‘’Who would’ve thought’’

You buried your face in your arms on the table. ‘’Wouldn’t it have been better to go for Lewis?’’ she continued jokingly when you didn’t reply. 

-

You were working in the London LV office when you got a text. 

Lando: I’m in London. What are you doing?

You frowned at your phone, the message popping up between work emails. He wasn’t at a race weekend, so he was either back in Monaco or in London.

You: Working. Why?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then came back.

Lando: Doesn’t your work involve me?

You rolled your eyes.

Before you could tell him off, another text came through.

Lando: I’ll come help you with that.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, even though you knew you should have expected this by now.

You: You don’t even know where I am.

Lando: I do, actually. Showroom, right?

You didn’t reply.

Lando: See you soon :)

And just like that, you knew you wouldn’t be getting any more work done.

He arrived half an hour later, strolling into the showroom like he belonged there.

You gave him an unimpressed look from your seat behind your laptop. “I knew I should’ve turned off my location sharing after Monaco.”

Lando just grinned. “Too late.” He plopped into the seat across from you, looking far too comfortable. “So, what’s up?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m working”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

You exhaled sharply. “Why are you here?”

Lando hesitated, then smirked. “I was in London and wanted to see you. Shouldn’t we go to your place? I still haven’t seen your apartment.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And that’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” He tilted his head. “I mean, you’ve seen my place. Seems unfair.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because you live in Monaco, and I don’t.”

“Still. I think it’s my turn.”

You scoffed. “Why do you even care?”

Lando shrugged, like it didn’t matter. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Maybe I just wanna know where you go when you’re not with me.”

That statement alone made you pause for half a second too long.

Lando didn’t push, just watched you carefully as you exhaled and shut your laptop. “Fine. But only because I need to leave soon anyway.”

“Perfect.” He grinned, standing up. “Lead the way.”

-

Lando followed you into your building like he’d done it a hundred times before, hands in his pockets, an easy smirk on his face.

You, on the other hand, were suddenly hyperaware of everything—of the way your apartment probably wasn’t as put-together as the places he was used to, and how you had left it behind. 

You pushed the thought away as you unlocked the door. “It’s small, so don’t be judgy.”

Lando stepped in first, looking around. “You’re acting like I live in a palace.”

“You do.”

“Okay, fair.” He walked further in, turning in a slow circle as he took everything in. “This is really nice, though.”

You shut the door, crossing your arms. “You sound surprised.”

Lando grinned, plopping onto your couch without hesitation. “I just thought maybe you were hiding something.”

You sighed, dropping your bag. “Yeah, my massive collection of Lando Norris merch.”

“I knew it.” He stretched out, getting comfortable. “So where’s my shrine?”

You rolled your eyes, heading into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure. What are my options?”

You opened the fridge. “Water, juice, or the wine I was saving for a night that doesn’t involve you.”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take the wine.”

You huffed but grabbed the bottle anyway, bringing it over with two glasses. Lando took one, watching you as you sat down beside him.

There was a moment of quiet as he sipped, eyes still trailing over your space.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… feels kinda nice.”

You frowned. “My apartment?”

Lando hummed. “Yeah. Feels like you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just took a sip of your wine, letting the warmth settle.

Lando turned to you fully, propping his elbow against the back of the couch. “So, do I get the tour?”

You laughed. “Lando, there’s like two rooms.”

“Yeah, and I wanna see them.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes but stood up anyway, leading him toward your bedroom. 

Lando grinned as he stepped in, scanning the space. His gaze landed on your nightstand, where a book was sitting, spine cracked. He picked it up, raising a brow. “Didn’t take you for the romance novel type.”

You snatched it back. “It’s not a romance novel.”

“No judgment.” He held up his hands, still smiling. “Just getting to know you better.”

You scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Then, as you moved to set the book down, you felt his hands brush your waist, casual and unhurried.

Your breath caught.

Lando leaned in, voice low. “So, how long do I have before you kick me out?”

You swallowed. “That depends.”

He smirked “On?”

“On if you’re actually just here for a tour.”

Lando hummed, fingers grazing your hip. “I think we both know I’m not.”

Your heart pounded as you turned to face him, eyes locking.

Lando leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So?”

You exhaled. Then reached for him first.

The moment your lips met, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth moved against yours, slow at first, teasing, before his grip firmed, deepening the kiss. You felt the warmth of his palms slide beneath your top, fingertips skimming over your lower back. His hands exploring, slipping under fabric, teasing. His fingers curled at your waist, urging you backward step by step until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Lando’s lips found yours again as he guided you down, his weight settling over you in a way that sent a thrill through your spine. His hands roamed, his touch slow but deliberate, exploring like he had all the time in the world.

“You still gonna kick me out?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement against your lips.

You answered by pulling him closer, fingers tangled in his hair, his quiet laugh dissolving into another heated kiss as he pressed you deeper into the sheets.

WN: hahah the whole story seems just them hooking up now, but dont worry mwahahha, love the black suits and testing livery, this new picture in the fireproofs goes perfect with this chapter, pure coincidence because I had already written this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

The café was one of those cozy little places tucked away on a quiet street in Monaco, far from the usual chaos of the race weekend. You, Max and Keegan had agreed to meet up for coffee today before the whole sleepover fiasco, the three of you now quietly nursing your coffee, the late morning sun streaming through the windows. It was a slow, easy moment—the kind that had become rare with how busy things had been lately, reminding you of old times in London.

Keegan was scrolling through his phone, probably looking at memes, while Max stretched lazily, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “I’m glad you and Lando get along well now,” he said casually before taking a sip of his drink, not letting his suspicions of the last night when you were at the apartment for your keycard go.

You blinked. “Do we?” You replied casually. 

Max shot you a look, amused. “Well, yeah. I mean, you used to talk about him like he was your worst nightmare during Quadrant.”

“That’s dramatic. He just always wanted to review my designs that we had already agreed on.”

“Is it?” Keegan cut in, grinning. “You hated the guy.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t his biggest fan. But I still wouldn’t say we ‘get along well’ now.”

There had been a shift. He had been texting. Not just about work, but little things. A funny picture from a shoot, a comment about a jacket he knew you hated, a random ‘What’s your coffee order?’ text that had caught you off guard. You had chalked it up to him being Lando—charming, friendly, probably like this with everyone. 

“He’s just—” You searched for the right words. “I don’t know, being normal?”

Keegan snorted. “For Lando, that’s basically flirting.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach twisted a little. Because you’d felt it too—that slight shift, the underlying current of something unspoken. And you weren’t sure what to do about it.

Then, a small smile tugged at your lips. “I do have something fun planned for him at the event tonight, though.”

That got their attention. Keegan finally looked up, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “What kind of fun?”

You just grinned, leaning back in your chair. “You guys will see.”

-

The event was big. Formal. Typical McLaren. It was their Monaco opening. A sea of sharp black suits, starched white shirts, and carefully curated ties. It was the kind of night where image mattered—where every driver, team principal, and executive looked like they had stepped straight out of a luxury menswear campaign.

Except Lando.

He looked good, of course. He always looked good. But instead of a suit like every other man in the room, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored business-casual look: an expensive white knit, sleek navy trousers, and—just to really drive the point home—pristine white sneakers.

Not a blazer in sight.

You watched from your seat in the audience, biting back a smirk as he stepped onto the stage beside Zak, Oscar, and Andrea—all of whom were dressed to the nines in proper suits. Lando barely had time to shake hands before he turned his head, scanning the crowd like he already knew exactly who was responsible. You were easy to find because Max and Keegan next to you had burst out laughing as soon as they saw him.

When he spotted you, sitting comfortably with Max and Keegan, his brows lifted in a silent really? Gesturing to the outfit.

You just smiled sweetly, lifting your hands to applaud like nothing was out of the ordinary. Keegan was the first to crack, letting out a low whistle. “You actually did it. You made him look like he’s here for a tech startup pitch instead of an F1 event.”

Max, already grinning, leaned in. “Wow, you’re an evil genius. How’d you get away with it?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “I have enough pull at Louis Vuitton now. They trust my vision.”

On stage, Lando shook his head slightly, fighting off a smirk. Then, ever so subtly, he lifted a hand and gestured at you—one of those small, exasperated motions that said this is your fault.

You just gave him a little wave in return.

He exhaled a laugh, running a hand over his face before focusing back on the event, because, well—he had to. But you knew this wasn’t over.

The event wrapped up smoothly, filled with speeches, applause, and a little too much formal pleasantry. You didn’t see Lando immediately after, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

And sure enough, just as you were slipping past the backstage area—maybe heading toward the afterparty, maybe just trying to make a quiet exit—he found you.

“Undress me. Now.”

His voice was low, but his words were very clear.

You turned, arching a brow as Lando stepped into your space, still looking unfairly good in the outfit you had put him in. “Excuse me?”

He gave you a pointed look. “You picked it. You put me in this. Fix it.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Didn’t realize you had a problem with it.”

“Oh, I don’t,” he said easily, tilting his head. “It’s the part where everyone else was in suits and I looked like I was about to give a TED Talk, that’s the problem.”

You hummed, feigning deep thought. “Well, maybe I just wanted you to stand out.”

Lando exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You knew what you were doing.”

You shrugged, gaze sweeping over him. “And yet… you still looked good.”

For a second, he just watched you—like he was weighing his next move. Then, he leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “I’m serious, though. Fix it.”

You swallowed, pulse kicking up.

Because suddenly, this didn’t just feel like him joking around anymore.

“Fine,” you said, steadying yourself. “But I’m not undressing you here.”

Lando’s smirk widened. “Dressing room backstage”

You exhaled sharply, giving him a look. “I’ll get the suit”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “I’ll be waiting, stylist.”

And with that, he walked off—leaving you standing there, heart racing, already knowing this wasn’t going to be just about a wardrobe change.

-

The door clicked shut behind you, the distant thump of the party muffled by thick walls.

Lando turned to face you, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Well?” He tilted his head, voice a quiet challenge. “You started this.”

You looked at him questionably.

‘’Was this your plan all along? Finding a reason to undress me?’’

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers itched to touch him. “You are such a—”

He took a step forward, crowding you against the wall. “Go on,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Undress me.”

He grabbed your wrist, leading it to his waist.

Your breath caught.

You reached for the hem of his knit sweater, fingers skimming the warm skin underneath. Lando inhaled sharply, his hands finding your hips as you tugged the fabric over his head, revealing toned muscle, golden skin.

He watched you, gaze dark, waiting.

And then he was kissing you—deep, insistent, no hesitation.

No pulling away this time.

No one disturbing this time.

You felt yourself melt into him, hands sliding over his bare chest, his fingers slipping beneath the straps of your dress, pushing it down slowly, deliberately. He didn’t wait for you to undress his pants.

His lips moved down your neck, across your collarbone, down your stomach, lower, leaving a trail of heat. He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, teasing. Worshipping.

“I love your clothes,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough. “But without is even better.”

-

You smoothed your hair in the mirror before stepping back into the party, the energy buzzing around you. Lando, as always, looked effortlessly unbothered, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you.

You were less successful at hiding it.

Max and Keegan noticed immediately.

“Oh, finally,” Keegan muttered, nursing his drink. “Took you long enough.”

Max smirked, raising a brow at Lando. “Have a nice wardrobe change?”

Lando rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed him. “Much needed”

Keegan snorted. “Right.”

Max leaned toward you, still grinning. “You really got him with the dress code thing. Brilliant.”

Keegan nodded. “Never seen him look so much like a finance bro.”

Lando groaned. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Then he turned to you, gaze lingering. “You’re lucky I still look good in anything.”

‘’Glad you two are working well together now.’’

You felt your face heat up, but Lando, the smug bastard, just smirked.  “Oh, yeah, great team effort.”

Max and Keegan burst out laughing again, but you barely heard them—because Lando was still looking at you, that same glint in his eye.

WN: Hope you guys like it! Let me know! All suggestions are welcome. I hope to be updating more regularly, already have many fun chapters for this story.

pt.1 pt.2 wordcount: 2495

You had convinced yourself nothing had happened. You would never have to tell Flo anything. And for a few days, it was easy to believe that. There were no events, no fittings, no reasons to see him. Just a silly mistake you had already forgotten. It should’ve never even happened in the first place. You weren’t the kind of person who mixed work with… whatever that had been. You were a professional and your LV job meant way too much to you to risk anything.

So when you arrived at the next fitting, relieved you weren’t assigned to Lando. It was for a campaign shoot, a setting that felt much more comfortable to you than the chaos of a live event. Here, things were controlled. Professional.

You were helping another driver with their fitting when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Manager: Hey, slight change—Norris requested you.

You barely had time to process before the door opened and Lando strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking completely at ease.

Lando stretched lazily, like he had no idea why you’d be annoyed. 

“Hey, stylist.”

You kept your voice even. “Didn’t realize I was assigned to you.”

His grin widened. “Well, you weren’t.”

You exhaled sharply. “Then why am I here?”

Lando shrugged. "Yeah, well. Wouldn’t trust anyone else with my zippers during a wardrobe malfunction. Only the best, hey?"

You didn’t answer, just tossed the first outfit at him. “Try it on.”

Lando took the suit, standing up. “You’re all business today.”

“I’m always all business,” you muttered.

He didn’t push further, just disappeared behind the curtain to change. You took a steadying breath, shaking off the tension creeping into your shoulders. This was fine. You were in control.

A few moments later, he emerged, adjusting the sleeves of the suit jacket.

“How do I look?”

You turned, ready to make some small remark—but your words caught in your throat.

The suit fit him too well. Sharp lines, tailored perfectly to his frame. The deep navy color made his eyes stand out, the crisp white shirt underneath just barely undone at the collar.

Damn it.

Lando caught your hesitation, grinning. “That good, huh?”

You exhaled. “Put the next outfit on.”

He chuckled but did as he was told.

By the end of it, Lando looked as effortlessly put together as ever, and you had successfully done your job, and kept your professionalism intact. You were glad the fitting was done and you didn’t have to stay for the whole shoot, so you quickly left.

-

After the Australian Grand Prix and the first few races, there were no high profile LV events. You had been doing preparatory work at the London office. Until Monaco. Of course for Monaco, Louis Vuitton would play a big part at the events again. You flew there a few days before the events and race. Quadrant was also in Monaco for the race and they were all going out tonight, Max and Keegan had both texted you to come with like old times in London. 

When you arrive, the party is in full swing, the rooftop of the Monaco venue buzzing with drivers, influencers, and the elite of both motorsport and fashion. Maybe it’s the relief of not being on duty, of not having to hover over drivers making sure they don’t wrinkle their suits before the cameras get to them. 

You spot Max and Keegan near the bar, laughing at something stupid, and make your way towards them immediately.

“Finally,” you sigh, sliding between them. “People I actually like.”

Keegan grins, handing you a drink. “We’re honored.”

“Don’t be,” you tease, taking a sip. “I just don’t like anyone here”

Max laughs. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

You let yourself have fun. It’s been a while since you weren’t just the put-together stylist, since you weren’t navigating an event with work on your mind. The music is good and the drinks are flowing.

Of course they had invited Lando, he was their actual best friend. But you had thought he might not be there with the race weekend coming up. 

You’re all dancing, when you see him approach, greeting Max and Keegan enthusiastically. When you see Lando laughing with Max, joking around effortlessly like they always had, there was something oddly familiar about it. For a brief moment, he wasn’t the global superstar you had to dress. He was just Flo’s annoying brother, the same kid who used to crash your sleepovers and steal your snacks.

Then he sees you. 

“Hey stylist” he says as he steps closer.

You tilt your head. “I’m not working tonight”

Lando hums, eyes flicking over you. “I can tell.”

There’s something about the way he says it. 

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lando leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach twist. “Just… didn’t see this side of you.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, his hand grazes your waist as he reaches past you for something on the bar.

The touch is fleeting. Almost nothing.

But it lingers.

Your breath catches.

His smirk deepens, like he knows.

So you turn back to Keegan, laughing at something he says, ignoring Lando for the rest of the night.

-

Your head was pounding.

The second you cracked your eyes open, you regretted it. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to let in the Monaco morning light. Everything smelled like expensive cologne, a mix of fresh linen and something unmistakably male.

This was not your hotel room.

You groan, shifting slightly—only to feel someone beside you.

Your eyes fly open, heart hammering.

You turn your head.

Keegan.

Your entire body sags in relief. Keegan is still dead asleep, sprawled on his stomach, snoring into the pillow.

You push yourself up, glancing around. The sheets are too nice. The floor-to-ceiling windows too clean, too expensive-looking. You carefully slid out of bed. You needed to leave before anyone saw you.

That’s when you hear voices from the other room.

“…absolutely gone.” Max’s voice, amused.

“Yeah, she’s never drinking that much again.”

Lando.

The possibility of sneaking out without anyone noticing vanished instantly.

You sighed, making your way into the living room, where Lando and Max are sitting casually drinking coffee, looking way too well-rested.

Lando smirks over his cup. “Look who’s alive.”

You fold your arms. “What the hell am I?”

Max grins. “Lando’s place.”

Your stomach drops. You stare at Lando.

His smirk widens. “Don’t look so horrified. It was just the safest option.”

“You and Keegan got absolutely wrecked. Figured we’d let you crash here instead of sending you back to your hotel in that state.” Max adds.

Lando just shrugs. “Safe house.”

You narrow your eyes. “And we just… crashed?”

“You both crashed onto my bed directly,” Lando says. 

Keegan stumbles into the room, groaning. “I am never drinking that much again.”

You laugh when you see him, nudging him. “This is all your fault, those damn tequila shots”

Lando watches the exchange, something unreadable in his expression.

You heard your phone buzz.

Manager: Hey, last-minute change for the fitting today—it’ll be at Lando’s place instead of the hotel. Be there in 20.

You blinked. Then read it again.

No. No, no, no.

"Something wrong?" Lando asked, too entertained by your reaction.

You slowly looked up at him, horrified. "You arranged the fitting here?" you asked, voice hoarse.

Lando stretched, entirely unbothered. "Oh yeah. Seemed convenient. Thought you’d appreciate not having to travel. Figured it’d be easier than going to the hotel. Hope you don’t mind."

You wanted to murder him. Instead, you exhaled sharply, turned on your heel, and headed straight for the bathroom to make yourself look less like you had spent the night drinking tequila with his best friends.

You really needed to not look like a complete disaster before the fitting.

Which left you with only one option.

Lando’s wardrobe.

You rummaged through his neatly arranged collection until you found what you needed—a white button-up shirt and a pair of jeans. The jeans were  too big, but with a little trick—you were a stylist afterall—it worked. They sat low on your hips, hanging just right. His button-up was oversized, falling effortlessly over your frame, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows.

By the time you emerged from the bathroom, freshened up and dressed, you actually looked good. Casual. Effortless. Like you hadn’t just woken up hungover in a Formula 1 driver’s apartment.

Lando raised his eyebrows when you walked in, smirking. “Didn’t know we were styling my clothes on you today.”

You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t know I’d be styling someone in their own damn apartment.”

“Worked out, though.”

You heard Max and Keegan arguing in a different room, it sounded like they were playing videogames. 

You were glad the doorbell rang, it was your colleague with the clothes. It was very normal for celebrities to request their fittings at their homes, so she didn’t question it. 

The fitting itself was smooth—thankfully, he didn’t push too much. When you stepped back to check the final look, he tilted his head.

“You’re quiet today.”

You met his eyes, unamused. “I have a headache.”

“From drinking?”

“No. From you.”

Lando laughed. “Fair.”

You finished up quickly, more than ready to get out of there.

“Alright,” you said, taking a step back. “You’re done. I’ll see you at the event.” You still had to go the LV office before, and were going to the event from there.

Lando just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

You popped your head into the gaming room to say goodbye to Keegan and Max, too focused on their video game and stream, mumbling something like ‘’See you soon’’. They wouldn’t be going to tonight’s event, but they would be at enough other things in Monaco this week and weekend. You were glad they were around again, missing the friendships during your work at Quadrant.

-

The venue was extravagant—glistening chandeliers, perfectly curated floral arrangements, and guests dressed in luxury from head to toe. Louis was always extravagant, but this was Louis at Monaco, you hadn’t seen something like this before.

Lando was already there, talking to a group of people, glass of champagne in hand, his fitted suit a sharp contrast to the playful persona he usually carried. He had a way of looking effortlessly put together.

And yet, there was something about how easily he slipped into the role of charming, high-profile athlete that irritated you. He looked good—you knew he would. You had styled him. But it still annoyed you to see him flashing those perfect smiles for the cameras, working the crowd like it was effortless. It didn’t help you were still feeling hungover.

So, you did what you never did at events. You drank.

Not recklessly, just enough to take the edge off. 

"I liked my clothes better on you" Lando said, his gaze dragging over you in a way that felt deliberate. You had obviously changed into something else back at the LV office.

"Guess you can dress yourself again then" you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

He laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "Nah, I like all the attention your outfits get me"

You rolled your eyes.

The night went on, and you did your best to avoid him—not in an obvious way, but enough to keep some distance. It was necessary. 

But, of course, it was impossible to ignore him completely.

And then, the final blow—

You reached for your bag, instinctively searching for your keycard, only to realize—

Shit.

Your stomach dropped. You had left it at his apartment.

And, as if the universe was just as cruel as Lando, he already knew.

"Problem?" Lando’s voice came from just behind you, close enough that you felt his breath against your ear.

You should have been startled, but instead, your pulse just kicked up. You turned slightly, exhaling sharply. "I left my keycard at your place."

Lando smirked. "Looks like you’ll have to come home with me, then."

You shot him a look. "I could just ask the front desk for a new one."

"You could." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. "But then you wouldn’t have an excuse to come over again."

Your stomach twisted. You hated the way he said it—like he knew what he was doing to you.

You huffed, tilting your chin up. "I don’t need an excuse."

His smirk widened. "Then let’s go."

-

Lando unlocked the door to his apartment, stepping inside and tossing his keys onto the counter. "Make yourself at home," he said, amusement laced in his voice.

You shot him a glare, slipping off your heels. "Not funny."

"Little bit funny."

You ignored him, going straight for the living room where you had probably left your keycard earlier. But before you could grab it, Lando was suddenly there, leaning against the couch, watching you with an expression you really didn’t trust.

"You know," he started, and you could already tell he was going to say something stupid. "At this rate, you should just move in."

You glared at him. "Shut up."

He laughed, but then his eyes flickered down—just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked, his hands slipping into his pockets like he wasn’t affected. Like he wasn’t standing close enough that you could smell the mix of his cologne and whatever alcohol still lingered on him.

"Okay, got it. Leaving now."

Lando leaned against the doorframe, blocking the way.

"Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "You sure? You do basically live here now."

Lando was suddenly close. Closer than he had been all night. Hands grazing your waist, fingers trailing up your spine.

“Lando,” you warned, voice quieter than you intended.

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

You could feel his breath against your skin.

“I—”

And then, suddenly, his hands were on your zipper.

"Think I can handle this one," he murmured against your lips.

A breathless laugh escaped you, but it was lost in the way he kissed you—deeper, needier.

Lando’s hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his grip firmer this time, like he wasn’t afraid you’d pull away. 

And this time, you didn’t stop it, you weren’t sure if it was the lack of energy or the drinks you had.

It was messy and rushed again, seemingly unplanned, and before it could go any further, you heard stumbling and a door opening. You quickly stepped away.

‘’Lando, that you?’’ Max emerged from the bedroom, still half asleep.

-

WN: guysss sorry it took so long!! long chapter to make up for it. I actually have many chapters and ideas for this story but I just want able to finalize to post because I was busy. Hope you enjoy it!! xx

pt.1 wordcount: 1248

The Louis Vuitton event was everything it was supposed to be—elegant, high-profile, filled with models, designers, and A-list athletes. You had been to fashion events before, but this was different. The merging of fashion and motorsport brought a unique energy, an almost surreal overlap of two worlds you hadn’t expected to be a part of at the same time.

You kept yourself busy, moving between conversations with your colleagues at Louis Vuitton, small talk, strategic networking, and answering questions about the collection. Lando had been doing his own thing—flashing smiles for the cameras, entertaining sponsors, talking to reporters, and a rotation of beautiful women.

You didn’t interact much throughout the night. Still, you were aware of him, it was impossible not to be in the suit you styled him in. You knew you had done a good job.

Until you heard your name.

The interviewer was smiling, microphone angled toward Lando as cameras recorded. 

"Yeah, the partnership with Louis Vuitton is great. But not only that, this outfit is styled by my sister’s best friend, which makes it extra special," Lando said smoothly, the perfect PR-trained answer. "Means a lot to me to be working together—first at Quadrant and now here at Louis Vuitton."

You stilled.

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. Like it was some full-circle, sentimental thing. Like he had ever said something like that to you before. As if you had actually personally worked together at Quadrant. It annoyed you, making your professional work sound like something personal and intimate, reserved for him, as if you hadn’t styled some of the other drivers with the same attention.

You turned away, ignoring the weird mix of irritation and something heavier sitting in your chest. You weren’t going to let it get to you.

And you hadn’t planned on saying anything.

But when the event was wrapping up and you were back at the hotel, by some cruel twist of fate, you ended up in the elevator together. Just the two of you, the hum of the lift filling the silence as the doors slid shut.

Lando leaned back against the mirrored wall, hands in his pockets, looking unbothered as ever. You had to say something. 

"What was that all about?" you asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about?"

You gave him a look. "That perfect little PR answer."

He smirked slightly. "Thought you’d appreciate the shoutout."

You folded your arms, unimpressed. "You’ve never said anything like that to me before."

"Didn’t know you wanted me to, the media has given you enough attention." he shot back, tilting his head.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Right, cause that’s all I care about."

Lando turned, arms folding over his chest. "What’s the problem? It was a nice answer."

"That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

You didn’t have an immediate response, which only made his smirk widen.

The elevator doors slid open, and before you could walk out, his voice stopped you.

"Anyway," he drawled, walking towards the door. "Thanks for the nice outfit, it was great, should’ve asked you to style me sooner.’’ he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.  ‘’Can’t wait to take it off though. Looking good is exhausting, sweet dreams stylist" 

You rolled your eyes without a response, walking to your room annoyed that it had gotten to you.

-

The second night of the Louis Vuitton x F1 launch was in full swing, luxury and motorsport merging under glittering lights. You kept to your side of the event, mingling with the LV team and ensuring the drivers looked sharp.

You barely interacted with Lando after yesterday, just the occasional glance across the room to admire the suit you had picked out for him tonight.

Then, as if sensing your thoughts, your phone buzzed.

Lando: Where are you?

You frowned, typing back.

You: At the event, obviously.

Lando: Need you. Now.

Your heartbeat kicked up. You glanced around, trying to spot him, but he wasn’t in sight.

You: What? Why?

No response.

Then another buzz.

Lando: Toilets. Back hallway. Please.

Your stomach twisted. Without thinking too much, you slipped away from the crowd, making your way toward the hallway. You pushed open the door to the private restroom area, and there he was—leaning against the sink, looking both frustrated and amused.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

Lando exhaled sharply, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “Zipper broke.”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“No, I’m making it up for fun,” he deadpanned. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Your eyes narrowed, stepping closer. “A Louis Vuitton zipper doesn’t just break.”

Lando hesitated. Just for a second.

It was quick, but you caught it. And suddenly, the situation felt… off.

You crossed your arms. “What exactly were you doing before this broke?”

Lando’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the shift—the slight smirk, the too-casual way he leaned back.

“Are you implying something?” he asked, voice teasing.

You raised a brow. “I don’t know. Am I?”

His grin widened, but he didn’t answer.

Your stomach twisted, an irrational frustration bubbling up. Why did you care? It wasn’t your business what—or who—he was doing before this event. But the thought of him slipping away with someone, being careless enough to mess up his suit right before stepping out onto the carpet, annoyed you more than it should have.

“Forget it,” you muttered, stepping closer. “Just—hold still.”

Lando’s smirk lingered, but he obeyed, shifting just enough to give you better access.

You knelt down, fingers adjusting the fabric quickly. The problem itself wasn’t as bad as he made it sound—it was a minor snag, nothing you couldn’t handle. But the proximity was dangerous. Your fingers moved with careful precision, but it was impossible not to graze the warm skin beneath the waistband. You could feel the way Lando barely shifted, his breath steady but controlled, like he was making an effort not to react.

“Not bad at this, are you?” Lando murmured, voice lower than before.

You didn’t respond. You just focused, ignoring the way his muscles tensed when your fingers brushed against him.

Finally, with one last tug, you straightened. “There. Fixed.” 

Lando glanced down, then back up at you. Neither of you moved.

The air shifted.

And then, before you could think too hard about it, he leaned in.

His lips met yours, firm and insistent. It was messy, rushed, like neither of you had planned for this but couldn’t stop it either. You barely had time to react before you were kissing him back. His hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you into him like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on.

Then, as suddenly as it started, you pulled back.

Breathless.

Lando exhaled, eyes flickering over your face, searching. “Well,” he murmured. “That’s one way to handle a wardrobe malfunction.”

You stared at him, your own breath unsteady.

What the hell just happened?

WN: Hope you guys like it! Let me know!

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Flo's voice filled the room as she scrolled through her phone, her excitement palpable.

"I'm telling you, this is perfect for you," Flo said, thrusting her phone in your direction.

You squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the email she was showing you. "A job at Quadrant? Flo, I’m studying fashion design, not... whatever that is."

Flo looked up, her brows furrowed as if you’d just said something ridiculous. "What do you mean? It can be. Look at Tommy Hilfiger. Or Lewis Hamilton—his fashion work, hosting the Met Gala, working with big brands. F1’s bigger than you think, and it’s not just about cars."

"Haha, Flo, what are you talking about?" you said, shaking your head at the idea. "F1 is not really the place I want to be for my fashion stuff."

You paused, realizing you hadn’t really thought about it like that before. You’d never paid much attention to Formula 1, aside from the occasional updates Flo gave you about Lando. It had been years since you'd spent any real time with him. As kids, you'd catch fleeting glimpses of each other whenever he wasn’t off karting or, later, racing. But you knew Lewis Hamilton. He had enormous influence. He’d collaborated with brands you admired and pushed boundaries in the fashion world.

"Maybe not," Flo said, leaning forward with a knowing grin. "But there could be great opportunities"

"And trust me, Quadrant desperately needs someone like you. You’ve seen their merch, right? It’s..." She continued.

"Basic?" you offered, arching an eyebrow, Flo had already showed you the designs before in an attempt for you to improve them.

"Exactly! They’re looking for someone to revamp their designs. You’re always talking about how things could be better.''

You sipped your coffee, considering her words. It wasn’t your dream job, but the thought of improving a brand and the opportunities that came with it was oddly tempting.

"Fine," you said, setting your mug down. "I’ll think about it."

Flo grinned like she'd won the lottery. "You’ll kill it. Trust me."

-

The buzz around Quadrant’s new merch started slowly but picked up pace when a few photos of Lando wearing your designs at the paddock made their way online. Suddenly, it wasn’t just fans buying hoodies and tees, people in the fashion and sports world were taking notice, and journalists started to make comparisons you weren’t sure anyone expected.

“Is Lando Norris the next Lewis Hamilton?” one article headline read.

Another went deeper: “From driver to brand icon: How Lando Norris and Quadrant are reshaping athlete influence.”

It had been surreal to watch the shift, you had worked hard. Max had been supportive from the start, seeing the vision. Keegan had actually become a reliable creative partner, having similar styles and taste. Lando had been the same as when you were kids, you had barely seen him, too busy racing, handling his CEO duties from afar.

And now, after months of hard work, it was all leading to something bigger.

-

The first time at the paddock was overwhelming. The heat, the constant movement, the blur of media, mechanics, and drivers navigating their way through the chaos—it was a world you still didn’t quite belong to. Even though it did bid a uncanny resemblance to the chaos of the fashion world, which intrigued you.

You watched as the photographers snapped pictures of Lando and the team in their latest Quadrant pieces. The collection had taken months to finalize, and the response had been overwhelming—more press than usual, more attention, more recognition “You’re the one behind all this, aren’t you?”

You turned at the voice, surprised to find yourself face to face with Lewis Hamilton. He was dressed effortlessly, a silk LV shirt under an unbuttoned suit vest, sunglasses perched on his nose.

You blinked. “I—uh. Sorry?”

Lewis smiled knowingly. “The Quadrant collection. It’s you.”

You hesitated. “I mean… it’s a team effort.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “But I know talent when I see it.”

Her stomach flipped. Compliments were one thing, but this—coming from him—felt different.

“I’ve been following your work,” Lewis continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You’ve got a fresh perspective. Louis Vuitton is partnering with F1. They want to bring in new talent, I tipped you.” Your breath caught. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You stared at him, waiting for the catch, but there wasn’t one. He was just… offering this. Just like that.

“I—” You glanced over at the Quadrant shoot, where Lando was laughing with the guys, completely unaware of the conversation happening across the paddock. “Thank you so much.”

Lewis smiled. “You’ll be hearing from them soon. Excited to work together.”

And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the paddock like he hadn’t just cracked your entire world open in a two-minute conversation. Flo had turned to be right after all.

-

Louis Vuitton had officially announced their F1 partnership, and with it, their campaign featuring a select group of drivers. The second she saw Lando’s name on the list, you knew there was no avoiding it. You hadn’t expected it, even though it made sense after Quadrant’s succes and having already worked together. Still, you hadn’t expected to be working with him again, especially not like this. He hadn't shown too much emotion when you left Quadrant, but you knew he wasn't happy about it.

When he walked into the Louis Vuitton studio, you could feel his glare as soon as he saw you.

Now, standing in the Louis Vuitton studio, flipping through the fitting schedule, you could feel his glare when the door opened before looking up.

"From Quadrant to Louis V," Lando mused, his voice light but edged with something unreadable. "Look at us."

You finally glanced up. He walked around inspecting the room, sunglasses perched on his head, fingers brushing against the fabric of a tailored jacket. His expression was casual, like he wasn’t really thinking about what he’d just said. Like it was just an observation.

You gave a small shrug. "Who would've thought."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he turned toward the fitting area. "Thought you could get rid of me, huh?"

“Alright, first look,” you said, flipping through your notes without looking up.

Lando sighed dramatically. “Do I really need to try all of these on?”

You shot him a look. “Unless you suddenly developed a sense of style overnight, yes.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, grabbing the set from the rack.

You turned you back as he changed, focusing on adjusting the pins on one of the outfits. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a fitting with Lando, but this was different. The Louis Vuitton studio was quieter than Quadrant HQ, the lighting softer, there was no Max, no Keegan, no distractions.

“Okay,” Lando said, stepping forward. “What do you think?”

You turned—and fuck.

The suit fit him unfairly well. The sharp tailoring, the way the fabric moved with him—it was annoyingly perfect. Which meant you had done a great job.

You forced yourself to be professional, stepping closer to fix his collar. “Hold still.”

Lando stayed quiet as you smoothed the lapels, fingers brushing against his chest. The silence felt thick, aware of how close you were.

“Looks good,” you said, voice even. “But the pants need adjusting.”

You knelt down, reaching for the hem.

You could feel his eyes on you as you adjusted the fabric, fingers skimming his ankle, making sure the length was right. You refused to look up, but you could hear him breathe in, then exhale slowly.

“Comfortable down there?” he asked, voice casual, but you could hear his smirk.

You rolled your eyes, unable for him to see. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Lando huffed out a laugh, but when you did glance up—just for a second—his jaw was tight. Like he was the one struggling.

You stood, smoothing out the jacket. “Alright,” you said, stepping back, regaining distance. “I think we’re done here.”

Lando tilted his head. “You sure? Thought you liked bossing me around now.”

You smirked. “If I really wanted to boss you around, Lando, you’d know it.”

He blinked, caught off guard for just a second.

Then he grinned. “Noted.”

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9

wordcount: 1875

The morning after felt surreal, but there was no time to process it. Lando had to leave early for a McLaren training camp. You remembered him mentioning it in passing, not thinking too much about it, but now the timing felt cruel. You had barely opened your eyes when you heard him moving around the room.

His hoodie was already on, his bag slung over his shoulder. He glanced at you as he pulled the zipper closed, his expression unreadable. He moved towards the bed, kissing your forehead as if that was the most normal thing to do. 

“Morning,” he said, voice rough.

“Morning,” you replied, suddenly hyperaware of the intimacy between you.

“You’re leaving already?” you asked, your voice still raspy from sleep.

“Yeah,” He looked at the door briefly, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“See you at the lodge yeah?” He said standing up ‘’We’ll talk’’

Before you could respond, he stepped back, offering you a small smile. “Don’t overthink it, okay?”

You nodded, but your mind was already racing.

-

The ski trip was early this year, with everyone’s conflicting schedules, it fell during Christmas and New Years again, like old times. It was Christmas eve when you all arrived, your families spiralling into chaos directly with the preparations. 

You sat by the window, staring out at the snowy expanse, but your focus was elsewhere—on the familiar figure lounging across the room. Lando was leaning back in an armchair, his dark hoodie tugged over his hair, talking to your dad and Max, but his sharp gaze was fixed on you. The memory of that night haunted you—the way his lips had claimed yours, the way he’d pressed you into your bed, making promises with his touch you’d never heard him say aloud. But then the morning came, and there was no time. He had left in a rush, and the silence that followed was deafening, you had texted a bit, but it wasn’t enough. Now, surrounded by your families, the space between you felt unbearable. Every glance, every subtle brush of his hand against yours—it was like he wanted to pick up where you left off but couldn’t. Christmas eve was hectic, as it always was. Between skiing in the morning, a late lunch that stretched into early evening, and the chaos of unwrapping presents, there was no moment to breathe—and no opportunity for you and Lando to talk. 

When the night had finally come to an end, you were in your bedroom getting ready for bed, you heard the faint creak of the door behind you, and your heart stopped. Turning, you found Lando standing there, his hand on the doorknob, his hoodie now off, hair tousled.

“Are you insane?” you hissed, rushing over to push him back into the hallway. But he caught your wrist, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Relax. Everyone’s asleep,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes were anything but playful. “I couldn’t just leave things like this.”

Your breath hitched. “Lando, we can’t—Max is in the next room. If anyone—”

“I’ve missed you.” he murmured, stepping closer, his hands finding your waist. 

The words sent a shiver through you, your resolve crumbling as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly at first, then with more insistence. You melted into him, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as he backed you toward the bed.

“Lando,” you whispered against his lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak. “We have to be quiet.”

He grinned, his forehead resting against yours. “Then you better keep me in check.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him to leave, but when his lips met yours again, all resistance crumbled. His kiss was slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world, even though you both knew he didn’t. Your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer as he shifted, laying you back against the pillows.

His lips found yours again, his hand sliding up under your shirt, his touch igniting every nerve. The fear of being caught only made everything more intense, every whispered word, every soft sigh heightening the moment. You still didn’t talk, but your bodies said enough.

When he finally slipped out of your room hours later, the sky outside was starting to lighten, and you were left staring at the ceiling, your heart racing and your body still buzzing from his touch.

-

The next morning, you woke to the sound of Max banging on your door.

“Get up! We’re leaving in ten minutes,” he shouted.

You groaned, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow. Sleep had been elusive after Lando had left, your mind replaying every moment, every kiss, every touch.

Breakfast was a chaotic affair, as it always was with both families in the house. Lando was already at the table when you came downstairs, sitting next to Max and laughing at something your dad had said. He looked perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t spent half the night in your bed. You, on the other hand, felt like you were going to combust every time his knee brushed against yours under the table or his eyes met yours across the room. How had it come to this? Not being able to act normal around your best friend.

After a full day of skiing and another chaotic christmas dinner, Max was talking about the Christmas special Quadrant stream event they had planned. 

“We’ve got an event to stream, and it’ll be easier if we’re in the same room,” Max said to Lando casually, oblivious to the way your stomach dropped at his words.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Lando blurted out, earning a surprised look from Max.

“Why? We’ve done it before, we have to stream until late hours” Max said, shrugging. “Unless you’ve got some other reason to not want to share with me?”

Lando glanced at you briefly, his jaw tightening before he shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Whatever.” Max raised his eyebrows at him but didn’t press further.

Between Max’s constant presence and the impossibility of sneaking around, the tension between you and Lando only grew. And as New Year’s Eve arrived, the lodge buzzing with excitement as your families prepared for the celebration. The living room had been transformed into a cozy party space. You tried to focus on the festivities, chatting with your parents and helping set up the table with finger foods and champagne glasses. But your mind kept drifting to Lando. He was on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall with a glass of wine in hand, talking to Max and your dad. He looked too good in his black sweater and jeans, his hair perfectly messy, his smile easy and charming. Every time his gaze flickered to you, it felt like a physical touch, making your heart race.

As midnight approached, the group scattered around the place, counting down the minutes. Your parents were laughing, your mom sipping champagne while your dad cracked jokes. Max was fiddling with his phone, probably trying to text and call P, while Lando stood close by, his attention divided between the countdown and you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The countdown began, voices mingling with the music as the excitement in the room built.

Your heart pounded as you locked eyes with Lando from across the room. The way he looked at you—intense, longing, like he couldn’t wait another second—made your breath catch. You knew what he was thinking because you were thinking it too.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Cheers erupted, glasses clinking, and the room filled with hugs and laughter.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you slipped out of the living room and into the dimly lit hallway. The noise of the party faded as you leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath. You didn’t have to wait long. Lando appeared seconds later, his eyes scanning the hall until they landed on you. He didn’t say a word as he closed the distance between you, pushing you further against the wall, his hands finding your waist and pulling you close. His lips were on yours before you could speak, the kiss fierce and hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough.

“Happy New Year” you whispered, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you grabbed the front of his sweater, pulling him closer.  His fingers tightened on your waist, and you knew you were both teetering on the edge of losing control. “Let’s go upstairs” he whispered. 

He grabbed your hand, leading you down the hallway and up the stairs, his grip warm and steady.

The party continued below, the sound of music and laughter muffled as you slipped into your room. 

His lips found yours again, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped you. Every movement was careful, deliberate, as if the risk of being caught only made it more intoxicating. You were so lost in him that you didn’t hear the soft creak of the floorboards outside until it was too late.

“What the hell?” Max’s voice was a sharp whisper, and you froze, your blood turning to ice.

Lando jerked back, his eyes wide as he stared at the door, which had opened just enough for Max’s face to peek through. Your brother looked equal parts horrified and furious.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Max muttered, pushing the door open fully. “Are you serious right now?”

“Max, it’s not what it looks like,” you started, but even you didn’t believe the words.

“Not what it—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair as he stepped into the room. “You’re joking, right? In the middle of the night? While everyone’s downstairs?”

Lando stood, hands raised in a gesture. “Max, I can explain.”

Max pointed a finger at him, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, you’d better. Because this—” He gestured between the two of you. “—is not happening. ”

“Max,” you said, your voice pleading. “Can we not do this right now?”

“No, we’re doing this now,” he snapped. “What the hell are you two thinking?”

Lando glanced at you, his expression unreadable, before turning back to Max. “Look, I get it. You’re upset. But—”

“Upset doesn’t even cover it, mate,” Max interrupted. “This is my sister.”

“I know that” Lando shot back, his tone firmer now. “And you’re my best friend.”

The room went silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, Max let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I need some air.”

He turned and left without another word, leaving the door ajar behind him. You stared at the empty doorway, your heart still racing, before turning to Lando.

“Well,” you said weakly. “That went well. Great start of the new year”

He gave you a rueful smile, sitting back down beside you. “Could’ve been worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Might’ve walked in five minutes later,” he said, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh.

WN: I think we are coming to an end nonetheless :( Probably in the next part. Maybe a sequel, or a new story, not sure yet. :(

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8

wordcount: 2926

The sunlight streaming through the blinds was sharp and unforgiving, waking you far earlier than you wanted. You shifted under the covers, the events of the night before flashing through your mind. Your stomach churned—not from the alcohol, but from the weight of what had happened.

You glanced over at Lando, still asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful, his hair a mess against the pillow, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel the warmth of it. But then guilt crept in, tightening around your chest. What the hell had you done? 

Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you grabbed some clothes and padded out into the kitchen. Coffee first, then… you’d figure out how to handle this.

“Morning,” Lando’s voice startled you, and you turned to see him leaning against the doorway, hair tousled, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. He looked way too good to be feeling even half the hangover you were feeling. 

“Oh, hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I was just making coffee. Want some?”

“Sure,” he said, raising his eyebrows, his eyes lingering on you for a beat too long.

The silence stretched as you busied yourself with the coffee machine. He didn’t move closer, didn’t sit down. You knew he was waiting for you to say something.

“Last night…” you began.

“Yeah?” he prompted, quick to reply.

“It was…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Sorry?”

“It’s just…” You hesitated, the words tumbling out. “So much alcohol. And the break-up. I wasn’t—I don’t know. I’m just sorry.”

His expression flickered, something guarded settling in his eyes. “Right... Yeah, of course. I’m sorry too”

Before either of you could say more, there was a loud knock on the door.

“Thank God,” you muttered under your breath, heading to open it.

Max stood there, looking like death warmed over, his sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair, more like you were feeling.

“Kill me,” he groaned, brushing past you and collapsing onto the couch.

“Good morning to you too,” Lando said, handing him a bottle of water from the fridge.

“What did we do last night?” Max asked, his voice muffled by the pillow he’d shoved his face into.

Lando smirked. “You challenged a group of strangers to a dance-off. And lost.”

“Tragic,” Max mumbled. He lifted his head slightly, squinting at you both. “Anyway, what are we watching?”

Before you could protest, he was scrolling through the options on your streaming service, settling on an over-the-top action flick.

You exchanged a glance with Lando, who gave you a small, almost imperceptible shrug before sitting down on the couch.

Max patted the cushion beside him. “Come on, both of you. Misery loves company.”

As the movie played, with Max sitting between you and Lando, you occasionally glanced over to Lando, whose eyes were glued to the TV. Max made his usual sarcastic comments, keeping the atmosphere light. On the outside everything looked exactly the same, but even as you laughed along, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t quite the same.

- The following months were a strange blur—a whirlwind of processing the breakup, diving into work, and navigating race weekends. Of course, you still went to the races. Skipping them would have been unthinkable, far too weird. But it felt different. You had decided to keep some distance from Lando, convinced it was the right thing to do. Maybe for him, maybe for you. You didn’t expect him to do the same. It wasn’t overt enough for anyone else to notice. To the untrained eye, nothing had changed. You were still at every race, still part of the usual group settings. But the small moments—the ones that used to belong to just the two of you—those were gone.

No impromptu meet-ups in random cities. No late-night texts or phone calls that had nothing to do with racing. The unspoken routine you’d fallen into over the years had quietly unraveled, and no one else seemed to notice. Lando was having the season of his life, the world around him growing brighter and louder with every race. Media attention surged, fans swarmed, and with the success came a revolving door of new people. Girls. Even Magui made an appearance again.

It all looked perfectly normal from the outside—like you were just giving him space to focus, like his rising stardom left no room for anything else. But you knew better. You felt the distance that had never been there before, even if no one else could see it.

Max noticed, of course. He was the one person who would. “You and Lando good?” he had asked one evening, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

You’d brushed it off with a shrug. “Just don’t love this side of F1,” you’d said vaguely, which wasn’t entirely untrue. You didn’t press further, and to your relief, neither did he. He seemed satisfied enough, happy, in fact, to have more of your time to himself.

The awkward radio silence between Lando and you was interrupted by the buzz of your phone. His name flashed on the screen. Surprised you picked up the phone.

“Hey,” 

“Hey…” he replied, his voice a touch uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure how to start.

There was a pause, and then he dove in. “Listen, I wanted to ask you something. I’m sorry to bother you with this—you can say no—but, um…” He hesitated, and you could almost hear him scratching the back of his neck through the phone.

“You know how I absolutely hated the FIA awards on my own last year?” he continued. “It was boring, long, and just... the worst. Thing is, you’re only allowed to bring a date, and I was wondering if you’d come with me. Reckoned you’d look better in photos than Max.”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “So let me get this straight—this is an invite to a boring, long night that you hated? Wow, what a proposition.”

You heard his laugh on the other end of the line, warm and genuine. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds terrible. But yeah, basically.”

“You owe me for this.” you agreed.

“Big time,” he said, you could hear his grin through the phone.

— 16 december 2025

The invitation to the FIA awards came with more than just a request for your company. It came with a trip—this year, the gala was being held in Cape Town, South Africa. When Lando explained the logistics over the phone, you weren’t sure what surprised you more: that the event was happening on another continent or that McLaren had arranged for the team’s private jet to take you there.

When you arrived at the airstrip, the sight of the sleek McLaren jet against the orange and purple hues of the evening sky made your chest tighten with nerves.

“Finally,” Lando said, a playful grin spreading across his face as he spotted you. He was already dressed casually, a bag slung over one shoulder. “Thought you were going to ditch me.”

“I considered it,” you said with a smirk, adjusting the strap of your own bag.

Oscar appeared next, giving you a quick nod and a grin. “Looking forward to this?”

“Not particularly,” you admitted.

“Good. Neither am I.”

When you were all settled in the jet, it felt familiar. Traveling together like always, the years of friendship taking over, diminishing the awkward last few months.

“Let’s play?” Oscar asked, shuffling a deck of cards. “Lando taught me that complicated game you guys always play.”

Your eyes lit up at the mention. “Oh, really? That’s nice—let’s do it.”

Oscar grinned. “I like it, but I always lose when I play with Lando.”

“Of course you do,” you said with a laugh. “He probably cheats. He always does.”

“I don’t” Lando protested, though the smirk on his face wasn’t exactly convincing.

Oscar narrowed his eyes, glancing at the cards, coming to the realization. “Yeah, sure. That’s what someone who cheats would say.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Trust me, we don’t even count his wins anymore. It’s just embarrassing at this point.”

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, feigning outrage as he dealt the cards.

-

Arriving at the hotel, it was as luxurious as you’d expected, with marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city. Your rooms were adjacent, even though McLaren probably did the booking, it was a detail that shouldn’t have meant anything but somehow felt significant, having always shared rooms.

“You’ve got to see the view from my room,” Lando said, leaning against your doorframe with a grin.

“Maybe later, I’m sure it’s exactly the same, we gotta get ready” you replied, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered on you. 

-

The sound of a knock on your hotel room door pulled you from the mirror where you were applying the finishing touches to your makeup.

“Coming!” you called, carefully stepping into your heels before opening the door. Lando stood on the other side, already in his tuxedo, the bow tie slightly askew in a way that was annoyingly charming.

He opened his mouth to greet you, but the words caught in his throat as his eyes swept over your dress—a sleek black dress with a low back.

“You look… wow,” he finally managed, his voice lower than usual.

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze. “Thanks. You look great too” He looked every bit the world champion he’d just become—poised, confident, yet still undeniably him.

“Yeah, but no one’s going to be looking at me tonight,” he said, his lips quirking into that familiar teasing smile. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake off the warmth. “Let’s go before you make us late.”

-

The ballroom was breathtaking. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting golden light onto the polished marble floor. Tables were adorned with elaborate centerpieces, and waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne. It was a scene straight out of a fairytale, and for a moment, you felt like you didn’t belong.

Lando leaned closer as you both descended the grand staircase. “Forgot how glamorous this all is, didn’t you?”

“A little,” you admitted. “It’s easy to forget this is also your life.”

He grinned. “I’d trade this for a karting track any day.”

You both mingled, exchanging pleasantries with familiar faces. Zak Brown greeted you with a wide smile.

“Wow, look at you two,” Zak said, his tone teasing. “A proper power couple. Took you becoming world champion to finally get her as your date, huh?”

Lando’s cheeks turned pink, but he rolled with it. “Guess I had to up my game, huh?”

‘’Wow,” Max Verstappen said as he passed by, giving you an appraising look. “You look... different.”

“Thanks, Max,” you said dryly.

“No, I mean good,” he added quickly, looking mildly embarrassed. “Not like in the paddock, screaming your lungs out for McLaren.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lando shot back with a grin. “She’ll still be screaming for McLaren tonight.”

-

The formalities of the evening dragged on, speeches blending into one another as awards were handed out. You tried to keep up, but your attention waned as the night wore on.

Lando leaned closer during one particularly dry speech, whispering, “See how I was dying on my own last year?”

You stifled a laugh. “You poor thing.”

“Don’t worry. I have a plan to make this bearable.”

It didn’t take long for you to discover his plan—a subtle drinking game he’d invented. Whenever the FIA would say how amazing the FIA is, you both took a sip of your drinks.

By the time the speeches ended, you were both giddy, the tension from the past few weeks melting into laughter.

-

As the night wore on, the drinking caught up with Lando. You were heading toward the restrooms when he groaned at the sight of the long men’s line, compared to an empty women’s, illustrative of the crowd at the event.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, glancing at the empty women’s restroom.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned.

But before you could stop him, he ducked inside.

“So this is what the women’s bathroom is like,” he said, looking around with mock appreciation. “Fancy.”

“It’s not a sightseeing tour,” you said, exasperated. “Hurry up.” 

He darted into a stall, leaving you to shake your head in disbelief. When he emerged moments later, you were washing your hands at the sink.

Lando leaned against the counter, his playful grin softening as he caught your gaze in the mirror. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“What?” you asked, not entirely sure where this was going.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone sincere. “I mean, with... everything? Dylan. The break up. Us.”

You paused, drying your hands slowly. “Why do you always wait until we’re in a bathroom to have serious conversations?”

“Maybe I like the acoustics,” he said, his grin returning briefly before fading again. “Seriously, though. Are we okay?”

The question hung in the air, the tension between you almost tangible.

“I...” You hesitated, not entirely sure how to answer. “I think so. Are you?”

His gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you before he nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

It wasn’t a resolution, but it was enough for now.

-

As the night wore on, the drinks kept flowing. You and Lando drifted back toward the crowd, laughing and joking with Max, Oscar, and a few others.

At one point, Christian Horner walked by, offering a polite nod. As he passed, Lando’s hand casually patted your bum.

“Lando?!” you hissed in shock, your voice low but sharp.

“What?” he replied, feigning innocence.

“We’re in public!”

“So? Is that the only reason I’m not allowed to do that?” he teased, his eyes glinting mischievously.

You gave him a look, fighting the urge to smile.

-

The ride back to the hotel was a blur of laughter and lingering glances. The whole night together had forced some flashbacks from the previous night you spent together. Even though your mind had pushed it away, your body betrayed you, longing for the way it had felt—how good it had been.

You hesitated at your door, fumbling with the key card. Lando stood next to you, his hand resting lightly against the wall as he watched you.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of everything unsaid.

But instead of moving to his door, Lando took a step closer, his voice low. “You’re just going to leave me alone after a night like that?”

You turned to face him, the air between you charged with tension. “We’ve had a lot of champagne, Lando.”

His lips quirked into a small, playful smile. “Exactly. Perfect excuse for bad decisions.”

You tried to suppress a laugh, but his easy confidence had already disarmed you.

“Come on,” he added, his voice dipping lower. “We’re both thinking it.”

Your heart raced as you opened your door, stepping inside without a word. Lando followed, letting the door click shut behind him.

The room felt warmer, the air heavier with anticipation. You kicked off your heels, the plush carpet soft under your feet as you turned to face him.

“Lando...” you began, but your voice faltered as he stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Tell me to go, and I will,” he murmured, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.

But you didn’t.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed like last time. It was slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss. It was a contrast to the wildness of your last encounter—a quiet intensity that felt both overwhelming and grounding.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours. When his lips left yours, trailing down your jaw to your collarbone, your breath hitched, your fingers threading through his hair.

WN: This was a fun chapter to write!! Long one!! needed after the previous short one. My original story line has 10 chapters :((( But i think im going to continue it a bit longer, I love this story much and dont want to start a new story yet because I like this one too much. Excited to see a new interview of Lando, so cute how excited he talks about Quadrant, but am I the only one who questions his fashion choices sometimes?? The blazer quarter zip combo, I’m not sure. I don’t know why I’m so critical i love him and its not bad but idk hahaha.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 wordcount: 1501

Of course, you felt bad. Dylan’s most important boarding competition of the year fell during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, but you couldn’t not go. To Monaco. It wasn’t just the race—it was everything. Your whole life. Racing was in your blood, the paddock your second home, the people in it your family. Missing a race weekend wasn’t just unthinkable; it was impossible.

“It’s not this competition, I don’t care about that, it’s everything, not going to Japan, …” 

”Dyl, I’m sorry, you know racing is my life, it has always been part of my life, I can’t give that up.”

“I should be part of your life now too” you looked at him a bit confused. 

‘’You are’’

“I’m so sorry.. I love you and I really thought I could do this, that I didn’t care, not going to Japan, my competitions, all the time apart, but I’m tired of not caring” 

“Dyl..” your voice trembled, unsure of what to say. 

“I didn’t want to lose you, I liked that you had your own life and I had mine, but I want to share the same life as well, like you and your racing friends. I want that, someone to be at all my competitions and know everyone, I’m sorry, I thought I didn’t…” Dylan continued. And he wasn’t wrong to want to share a life with you—one that didn’t revolve around track schedules, podium celebrations, and flights halfway across the world. You were so happy you had found someone that could deal with that, it wasn’t easy. Turns out, it really isn't, not even for the coolest professional snowboarder. 

At first you didn’t cry. Not because you thought it made you weak, not because the overwhelming emotion wasn’t sadness. You were frustrated—at the situation, at yourself, at the inevitable clash between the life you live and the life Dylan and most other people wanted, this always having been a subject in your life. - Max showed up later that afternoon, letting himself in with the spare key you’d given him. You were still on the couch, staring blankly at the wall when he flopped down beside you.

“I heard,” he interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Dylan texted me. He knows I’d come to check on you whether you wanted me to or not. Are you okay?”

You blinked at him. “Dylan texted you?” your voice breaking.

Max held up his hands. “Just to say you’d broken up. Don’t worry, he didn’t give me a play-by-play. But I figured you might need your twin brother to cheer you up.” 

“I’m fine,” you said while crying, the words feeling hollow even as you said them.

“You don’t look fine,” Max said, his tone softer now. “You look like you’re trying to figure out how to not feel guilty about something that wasn’t your fault.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch, trying to wipe some tears away. “It’s just...I don’t blame him. He wasn’t wrong. Racing is my life, and I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t give it up. Not for him, not for anyone. But maybe that makes me selfish.”

Max tilted his head, studying you. “You’re not selfish. You’re honest. And honestly? If he couldn’t handle this part of your life, it’s better it ended now than years down the line.”

“It’s not about handling it,” you muttered. “He wanted a life I couldn’t give him. A normal life. And I wanted him to want this one.” It was a deeper problem that had been a problem in previous relationships and friendships, for Max and you the same.

Max gave you a wry smile, as if reading your mind. “Not everyone’s built for the chaos of our world. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong for living it.”

You stared at him, the only person who understood exactly what you meant being there for you, a lump forming in your throat. “It still sucks.” You hugged him, tears falling from your eyes.

“Of course it does.” he said, holding you. - Two days later, you were curled up on the couch in your London apartment, watching a mindless rom-com when there was loud thumping on your door. Max had texted you earlier in the day asking how you were holding up, but you hadn’t expected him to organize a rescue mission.

“You’re coming out with us,” Max declared the moment you opened your apartment door, his tone leaving no room for argument. Lando stood behind him, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“I’m really not in the mood,” you protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

“Too bad. You’ve been moping for days, and we’re not letting you wallow.” He glanced over his shoulder at Lando. “Back me up here.”

Lando’s smile widened. “He’s right. You need a distraction. And we’re excellent distractions.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden invasion

You really weren’t in the mood, but you couldn’t say no if Lando had flown over from Monaco for this.  - The bar was crowded and lively, a blur of neon lights and pulsing music. Lando stuck close to your side, his presence steadying amidst the chaos. Max, on the other hand, had already disappeared into the crowd, likely chatting up someone at the bar.

“Drink this,” Lando said, handing you a cocktail with a lopsided grin.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you teased, taking a sip.

“Obviously,” he stated, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music. “It’s called distraction therapy.”

Max reappeared with shots, dragging you both to the dance floor. The alcohol had loosened your nerves, and you found yourself laughing as Max attempted to teach Lando some ridiculous dance moves. Lando’s face lit up with his usual playful grin, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

The bar Max had picked was exactly what you needed—loud, lively, and far removed from anything that reminded you of Dylan. 

As the night wore on, the three of you found a rhythm—dancing, drinking, laughing. Max eventually got distracted by a group of girls, leaving you and Lando alone near the edge of the dance floor.

“You’re having fun,” Lando observed, his smile warm as he watched you sway to the music.

“I am,” you admitted, surprised by how true it felt.

“Good.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “And good riddance by the way, we dont like Red Bull anyway” you laughed, rolling your eyes. - By the time you stumbled back into your apartment, you were drunk, feeling happy, and unsteady.

You had put Max in an uber to his apartment, too drunk to stay. Classic, having to rescue him during his rescue mission for you. Leaving Lando to stay with you ‘’He snores too much when he’s drunk and I don’t want to take care of him’’.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, kicking off your shoes and sinking onto the couch.

“Anytime,” Lando replied, dropping onto the seat beside you. His knee brushed against yours, and neither of you moved away.

The silence stretched, charged with something unspoken. You turned to him, your breath catching at the way his gaze lingered on you.

“What?” you asked softly.

He hesitated, his hand resting on the back of the couch as he leaned closer. “You know what.”

You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as his eyes flicked to your lips.

“Lando…”

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

But you didn’t.

When his lips met yours, it was like everything you’d been holding back finally broke free. The kiss was hungry, desperate, months of tension unraveling in a heartbeat.

You barely made it to the bedroom, your clothes scattered in a trail behind you. It was messy and impulsive and everything it shouldn’t have been.

WN: Im so sorry guys, took way longer, I was sick :(((((

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 wordcount: 2637

You woke up with a pounding headache and a vague sense of unease. The events of last night blurred together. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow as your phone buzzed on the bedside table.

Max: “Bet Lando broke his personal record for post-win hookups last night. What’s the count? 10? 15?”

You stared at the screen, your stomach tightening. A sharp pang of something you couldn’t name struck you. You knew exactly how many girls Lando had kissed the previous night—just one. You.

After a moment, you typed back.

You: “Dunno, wasn’t keeping tabs. Ask him yourself.”

Max’s response came almost immediately.

Max: “You’re supposed to be the reliable one. Useless.”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand again. Squinting, you grabbed it and opened the message.

Lando: Hope your head’s not as bad as mine.

You stared at the screen, debating how to respond. Did he mean the hangover or… something else? Finally, you typed back something neutral.

You: I’m surviving. You?

His reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Barely. Who thought tequila was a good idea?

You smiled faintly, Lando seemed determined to brush past it, that had worked well for you the last time. 

-

Later that afternoon, your phone buzzed again.

Max: Lando just arrived back in Monaco, he’s still kinda off. Thought winning the first race would’ve had him buzzing. The break up must’ve done a bigger number on him that I thought. You good though?

You frowned, rereading the message. Lando had seemed fine—at least, before the kiss.

Shaking the thought away, you quickly texted Max back.

You: Yeah, I’m fine. He probably just overdid it. You know how he gets after races.

Max responded almost immediately:

Max: Yeah, maybe. I told him to chill, but you know him. Anyway, see you later

-

The morning after your return, Dylan surprised you by showing up at your apartment with coffee.

“I figured you’d need this,” he said, handing over your favorite latte as he kissed your cheek.

You smiled, grateful for the gesture, definitely feeling the jetlag. Thought I’d come by and steal you for breakfast.”

The idea was sweet, and you agreed, letting him whisk you away to your favorite café. Over avocado toast and coffee refills, Dylan asked about the party.

“So, big celebration for Lando’s win?” Dylan asked, his tone casual as he leaned back in his chair, stirring his coffee idly. 

“Yeah, it was...” You hesitated, thinking back to the night. The flashing lights, the laughter, the heat of Lando’s breath on your skin. “...eventful.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Eventful how?”

You felt your stomach tighten. This was it. Do you tell him about the kiss? Would he care? Should he care? “Lando broke up with Magui,” you said instead, your voice steady.

His brows shot up, but there was no real surprise in his expression. “Well, that doesn’t shock me. Those two were always cold.”

“Yeah... and, um, he—he kissed me at the party.” You blurted it out before you could overthink it. It hung in the air between you, and you couldn’t read Dylan’s face.

He didn’t react the way you expected. Instead of anger or jealousy, he just nodded, as if you’d told him Lando tried a new hairstyle. “That doesn’t surprise me either.”

“What?” you said, your voice louder than you intended.

Dylan shrugged. “I mean, it’s Lando.”

His reaction knocked the breath out of you. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on.” He smiled, as if you were being naive. “He’s been protective of you since day one. You’re basically his second shadow. I’ve always just... figured that was part of the deal with being with you.”

You stared at him, feeling a strange mix of confusion and irritation. Part of the deal? That didn’t sound like love or care—it sounded indifferent. “So... you’re not mad?”

Dylan reached across the table and took your hand. “No, I’m not mad. I trust you. Lando’s just—Lando. He does what he wants, but I know you’re with me.”

His grip was warm, his smile steady, but something about it annoyed you. You pulled your hand away to sip your coffee, pretending to study the foam swirl at the top.

His nonchalance sent a flicker of irritation through you. Shouldn’t he care more about this? Shouldn’t it bother him that Lando had kissed you? Should it bother him?

-

You didn’t travel to the next weekend’s race in China, having to catch up on work instead. Max’s texts, however, kept you in the loop.

Max: Your boy’s back to his old ways. Can’t keep up with how many girls he’s talking to tonight.

Your chest tightened as you read the message. You could practically hear Max’s laughter through the text. It didn’t take much to imagine Lando at another party, charming his way through a crowd.

You: That didn’t take long.

Max: What did you expect? It’s Lando.

You weren’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, but before you could process any further or reply, your phone buzzed again.

Lando: Missing you this race weekend x

— February 17, 2016

It was past curfew at the team hotel, where you and Lando were staying for a karting tournament. The day’s races had gone well, and tomorrow was the final race day. It was a rare occasion Max hadn’t qualified for the tournament, leaving you with two instead of the usual three. You sat on the edge of Lando’s bed, the faint buzz from the drinks some of the guys had smuggled in during the team dinner making the room feel warmer than it was.

Lando leaned back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. He fiddled with the string of his hoodie, but you caught him glancing at you every so often, like he was debating saying something.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?” he began, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “When you start like that, it’s usually something weird.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, it’s not weird. Just... you know, the last time we talked about that guy—your first time—how’s that going?”

You blinked, caught off guard. You had hoped the subject would never come up again, but you knew he was just trying to be a good friend. “Oh. Um...We broke up.” You shrugged, looking down at your hands, it hadn’t been a serious relationship, so you weren’t too upset about it. ‘’So, no improvements?’’ Lando grinned. You groaned in response. “I mean, it wasn’t terrible or anything. Just... I don’t know. Everyone makes it sound like it’s supposed to be this big deal, right? Like fireworks and angels singing.” 

“And it wasn’t?” he asked, clearly amused.

You let out a dry laugh. “It was... fine. But it didn’t really feel amazing, you know? I thought maybe something was wrong with me.”

His brows furrowed, and he shifted to face you fully. “Trust me, It’s not you,” he said firmly. 

“Yeah, well, maybe he just wasn’t great at it,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. But the words hung there, more truthful than you intended.

He smirked, but there was an undercurrent of something serious in his expression. “It should be good for both people.”

The comment made your stomach twist, the way he said it—so genuine, so matter-of-fact—caught you off guard. You glanced up, meeting his gaze for a split second, as you turned the tables. “And how would you know?” you asked, aiming for teasing but faltering at the end.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Because I’ve done it,” he answered casually, his tone steady but quiet.

The casualness of his answer shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. You blinked, your stomach flipping unexpectedly. “Oh,” was all you managed to say.

Your mind raced. Of course, he had. You weren’t sure why you were even surprised—Lando had always been good-looking and charismatic in a way that drew people to him effortlessly. You pictured the last girl you’d seen him with, a petite brunette with long legs and perfect skin. She’d had her arm slung around his neck at a karting party a few months ago, whispering in his ear as he’d grinned down at her.

The thought sent a strange pang through your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been good with her. Of course, he had. Lando wasn’t the kind of guy who’d fumble through anything.

“Does that bother you?” he asked, breaking the silence, his voice a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

“What?” you said quickly looking up, your cheeks heating. “No. Why would it?”

He shrugged, his eyes scanning your face. “I don’t know. You’re just... quiet.”

You shook your head, brushing it off. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Was it fireworks and angels singing?” you quickly recollected yourself, teasing, though your curiosity was genuine.

Lando let out a low laugh, his cheeks darkening slightly. “Not exactly. The first time, I was so nervous I could barely think straight. The second time was better, but it’s not just about that. It’s better when you actually care about the person. When it’s not just... random.”

His words settled over you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, you wondered if he was talking about someone specific, but you didn’t dare ask.

Lando tilted his head, his expression thoughtful.  “Like, yeah, it depends on the person, but… when it’s good, it’s like everything just clicks. You’re not overthinking or second-guessing—it just… works.” he continued, leaning back against the headboard.

You nodded slowly, trying to picture what he meant. “Must be nice,” you murmured. “To actually enjoy it.”

Lando’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “You will,” he said quietly. “With the right person.”

The way he said it made your chest tighten, and you found yourself holding your breath. His eyes lingered on yours, the space between you suddenly feeling charged.

Lando tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “Did he make you feel comfortable?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly.

You blinked at the sudden shift, your heart skipping at his seriousness. “Uh… I guess? I mean, he wasn’t… mean or anything, but he didn’t really ask me what I wanted either.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, just barely, but he stayed silent for a beat too long before saying, “You shouldn’t have to guess. He should’ve cared enough to ask, to, like… figure it out with you.”

You bit your lip, his words sinking in more than you wanted to admit.

He leaned forward slightly. “Look, I’m not saying this to be weird, but... you should figure out what you like. What makes you feel good. What… turns you on.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your cheeks flush. “That’s… easy for you to say,” you muttered, focusing on the thread in your sweatshirt.

“I’m serious,” he pressed, his tone a little gentler. 

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a brief, charged moment. He wasn’t teasing or trying to make you feel awkward; he genuinely meant it.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You should really find someone who knows what they’re doing next time. No more amateurs.”

You laughed, grateful for the change in tone. “I’ll keep that in mind, Norris.”

“Good,” he said, grinning.

Lando leaned back on his elbows, a lazy smirk on his face. “Alright, real talk,” he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Did he even go down on you?”

You froze, his question catching you completely off guard. “Lando!” you hissed, your face heating up as you looked around the empty room, as if someone might overhear.

“What?” he said, shrugging like it was the most casual thing in the world. “It’s a legit question.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words. “No, he didn’t,” you finally muttered, crossing your arms defensively.

He made a face, somewhere between disbelief and disappointment. “Figures. Most guys don’t know what they’re doing.” He tilted his head, studying you. “You should find someone who actually gives a shit about making it good for you.”

You looked away, your stomach flipping at the casual confidence in his tone. Images of him with other girls flitted through your mind—hearing the rumors, catching glimpses of the way they looked at him. He probably was good, wasn’t he?

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “maybe I just need someone to teach me what’s supposed to be good.”

His smirk widened, but there was something softer beneath it now. “Maybe. Or maybe you just need to stop settling for guys who don’t try.”

For the rest of the night, you stayed up talking about everything and nothing. But as you finally drifted off to sleep in the makeshift bed you’d built on his floor, his words replayed in your mind, accompanied by flashes of Lando smiling at some girl, his hands on her waist, his lips on hers. And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, the thought made your stomach flip.

-

The next evening, the team dinner spilled over into a small party, celebrating the final race day. You’d been nursing a couple of drinks, the warm buzz loosening your usual reservations. Somewhere along the way, you found yourself talking to a racer from a rival team, he had placed second, behind Lando. He was charming enough, leaning in a little closer with every laugh, his hand brushing yours as you spoke.

Maybe it was the leftover thoughts from your conversation with Lando the night before, or maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins, but when the guy leaned in, you didn’t stop him. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, and then more confident as you responded.

Before the kiss could deepen, though, a familiar hand landed lightly on your shoulder. “Not him,” Lando’s voice murmured in your ear, firm but calm.

You blinked, pulling back from the karter and turning to face Lando. He stood there, his expression unreadable but his eyes unwavering. “Come on,” he added, his tone softer now. “Let’s get you some air.”

You didn’t protest. Maybe it was the slight pull of his hand on your arm or the way his gaze seemed to cut through the haze of the evening, but you let him guide you out of the room.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered once you were in the quieter hallway, the cool air sobering you slightly. The one time Max wasn’t there, Lando had to act as the protective brother.

Lando raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t I?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“No,” Lando admitted, leaning casually against the wall. “But not good enough”

You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes—half teasing, half serious—made your resolve falter.

He chuckled softly, tilting his head toward the vending machine down the hall. “C’mon, Let’s get you some water before you start thinking about kissing any more idiots tonight.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as you followed him. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Lando just shrugged, his grin growing. “That’s why you keep me around.”

-

WN: almost a SMAU with all the texts 🤪🤪 oop sorry in 2016 Lando wasn’t mkarting anymore but minor detail for the story lol, just couldn’t have her be in formula 4 or something. Also let me know if you think it’s going too slow, but actually, too late, shits going down in the next chapter and I think it’s going to be 10 chapters, eventhough I’m going to miss this story a lot so maybe I’ll make it longer if I think of more storyline. Took a bit long this time, so trying to upload tomorrow to make up for it! Suggestions about anything are always welcome 💕💕 Hope i didnt forget anyone for the taglist, let me know if i did

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5

wordcount: 1735

Coming back from the lodge felt like stepping back into the real world. While you settled back in London, splitting your days between work,  catching up with friends and Dylan. Lando’s preseason schedule consumed him completely. Between testing, media obligations, and rigorous training, he barely had time to answer texts. Max was the bridge that kept everyone connected, his group chats filled with memes, updates, and occasional calls to check in.

The first race weekend arrived like a jolt of adrenaline, pulling everyone together again. The paddock was buzzing, cameras flashing, engines roaring, and an unmistakable energy in the air.

You didn’t have to look far to spot the papaya orange of McLaren’s setup. Lando’s teammate for the season, Oscar Piastri, stood just outside, chatting with a group of mechanics. He looked calm, but there was a stiffness in his posture that gave away his nerves.

“Hey, Oscar,” you greeted, stopping by. He turned, offering a polite smile.

“Hey,” he replied. “Excited to be back?”

“Definitely. Though I think you’re the one everyone’s excited for.”

Oscar laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, right?”

“You’ll do great,” you assured him. “you’ve got Lando to show you the ropes.”

At that, Oscar chuckled, glancing toward the garage. “Yeah, he’s… helpful. In his own way.”

“Translation: he’s been teasing you nonstop?”

“Pretty much,” Oscar admitted, grinning now.

Before you could continue, Lando emerged from the garage, spotting you immediately. His face lit up with a wide grin, and he jogged over.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” he said, pulling you into a quick hug, keeping his arms casually around you as the conversation continued.

“I’m here to keep you out of trouble,” you teased, putting your head back, resting it on his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I mean, as good as it gets when you’ve been stuck doing PR interviews all morning,” Lando replied, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Oscar cut in. “He loves the attention.”

Lando gasped in offense. “Betrayed by my own teammate. Unreal.”

The paddock was as much about racing as it was about the people who made it feel like a second home since the karting days.

“Finally!” Max called out, spreading his arms, walking over. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to see my twin sister grace us with her presence?”

“Max,” you said dryly, but pulling him in a tight hug. “It’s been what, a month?”

“One and a half, but who’s counting?” he shot back, pulling you into a tighter hug. 

“Feels like we never left, huh?” he smiled nostalgically.

“Speak for yourself,” you replied with a small laugh. “Some of us don’t get paid to stand around looking cool.”

Max smirked. “Someone’s gotta do it. Besides, I had to keep an eye on Lando during preseason. He’s useless without me.”

“Fewtrell,” Lando said, glaring at Max.

“You ready for qualifying?” you interrupted. 

He nodded, his usual confidence tempered by the quiet intensity in his eyes. “Yeah. It feels good to be back. Preseason was… long.” He hinted at his break-up with Magui.

“Tell me about it,” you said with a small laugh, thinking about how busy he’d been. You had barely seen him outside of a few fleeting texts and FaceTimes over the last couple of months. Max had told you not to bring up the break-up too much, but you felt bad not being there for him a lot.

As if reading your thoughts, Lando added, “It’s good to have everyone here, though. Makes it feel normal again.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Ah, there she is!”

You turned to see Christian Horner striding toward you, his usual confident grin firmly in place. Behind him, a few Red Bull team members hovered, chatting among themselves.

“Our favorite Red Bull athlete’s girlfriend,” Christian said warmly, clapping you on the shoulder. “Dylan’s been singing your praises all winter.”

Your smile froze for a second, but you recovered quickly, glancing around to find Lando and Max watching the interaction with identical expressions of barely concealed amusement.

“Well,” you started, “I’m sure Dylan exaggerates.”

Christian chuckled. “I doubt it. I heard you were quite the good luck charm last season. Don’t be a stranger around the Red Bull garage, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Christian,” Lando chimed in before you could reply. “She’s not a stranger.’’ crossing his arms.

Christian turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with the hostility? Feeling threatened?”

Lando grinned. “Not at all. It’s just worth mentioning—she was a McLaren fan first, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Christian shook his head in disappointment. “Well, I suppose no one’s perfect. Don’t let Zak Brown hear that, though.”

Lando smirked, stepping closer. “Zak knows where her loyalties lie. Right?”

“Careful, Norris,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t test me.”

Christian laughed, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but his attention was quickly pulled away by someone calling his name from the Red Bull garage. “Alright, I’ll let you lot get back to it. But seriously, swing by later—Red Bull is where it’s at, your boyfriend knows”

As Christian walked away, you turned back to find Max and Lando watching you with matching smirks.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Favorite Red Bull girlfriend,” Max said, mimicking Christian’s voice. “Hadn’t expected my sister to become that kind of girl”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “At least she knows better than to wear a Red Bull cap in the McLaren garage.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you teased, grinning at his exaggerated look of horror.

-

He won the first race. He actually won the first race of the season. He’d been in F1 for six years but since the wins last year it had been different. You all went out, but Max had to head back early, having an early flight tomorrow for an important meeting. “Didn’t expect you were gonna win” he pestered Lando, hiding his disappointment of having to leave. The club was electric, a blur of flashing lights, pounding bass, and a sea of bodies moving in sync. You nursed your drink at the edge of the dance floor, watching Lando with cautious eyes. Max's voice rang in your head: "Keep an eye on him, alright? He’s been... off since the breakup."

At first, you’d expected to be playing crowd control, pulling Lando out of his usual post-race antics. But to your surprise, he wasn’t bouncing from girl to girl or drowning himself in shots. Instead, he stuck mostly to your side, occasionally wandering off to dance or chat, but always returning.

“You’re not going to drink me under the table tonight, are you?” you teased, leaning closer so he could hear you over the music.

Lando grinned, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the club and the alcohol in his system. “You never know.”

Lando was leaning back, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the room, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“What?” he asked, catching you staring.

You shook your head with a small smile. “Nothing.”

Lando gulped down his drink, his gaze dropping for a moment before he spoke again “So... what about Japan?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a second, you froze. It wasn’t like Lando to address these kinds of things so directly, especially not when he was tipsy, but here he was, his eyes locked on yours.

“What about it?” you asked carefully, buying yourself time. You hadn’t actually told anyone yet.

He gave you a look, his brows drawing together slightly. “You know what I mean. Are you... still thinking of going?”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Actually,” you said, leaning forward a little, “I’m not going to Japan. Not for a long time, at least.”

His eyes widened slightly, the surprise evident in his expression. “Wait, what? Why?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Because I got a bigger promotion. I’m overseeing the Japan project now, which means I’ll still have to go there occasionally, but not for months at a time like we thought.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, and a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

His grin widened. “That’s amazing. I mean, for you. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You sound a little too excited, though. Think you can contain yourself?”

Lando leaned forward, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Not really, no.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned back again, his smile lingering. “I’m just glad you’re not leaving. That’s all.”

Another song started, and before you knew it, he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. You laughed, shaking your head, but didn’t resist. His energy was infectious, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself matching his rhythm, letting the music and the drinks blur the edges of the night.

As the hours wore on, Lando got bolder. His hands rested on your waist a little longer, his fingers brushing your bare skin. He leaned in to shout something in your ear, his breath warm against your neck. Normally, you’d push him away, crack a joke, or remind him to focus on something else. But tonight, you let it happen, trying to ignore the shivers his touches sent up your spine and down to somewhere else.

His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer as the music slowed. You felt his forehead rest against yours, and then his lips brushed yours—soft at first, tentative, testing.

“Lando—” you started, pulling back.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just this once.”

“C’mon, you,” you shot back, trying to laugh it off, but it came out shakier than you intended. “I’m not going to be your rebound kiss. You’re finally free to actually kiss girls at the club.”

His hands tightened slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I don’t want to kiss girls at the club,” he said, his voice steady now, the playful edge gone.

For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hung between you, cutting through the haze of alcohol and music.

“Lando…” you started, but he shook his head, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’m just drunk.”

You didn’t believe him for a second.

-

WN: Hope you guys still like it! Let me know! Took a bit longer this time, but will try to upload again tomorrow!

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 wordcount: 1850

The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled you into the kitchen, your oversized sweater and thick socks your only defense against the chilly air. Dylan was leaning against the counter, his hair messy but his grin charmingly intact, a steaming mug in his hand.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice warm and teasing. “Missed me already?” Your cheeks flushed involuntarily at the images flashing through your mind of you together in bed just earlier.

“Morning,” you replied, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “Last day together,” you added with a pout. The trip was winding down. Magui had left early this morning, and tomorrow morning, Dylan would be gone too, leaving with the rest of the family. Your flight wasn’t until the day after, giving you one last evening with Max and Lando—like old times. 

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let’s make the most of it, I’ll go easy on you today.”

Your eyes widened in excitement at an idea. “Easy? I’d rather prefer hard. There’s some tricks you haven’t taught me on the slopes yet” you smirked. Dylan looked at you puzzled. 

“Remind me?” You pulled him closer in a response, kissing him. “Ooh, those kind of tricks” he chuckled.

Lando scoffed. 

You looked up, you hadn’t noticed he was there. He sat at the table, slouched with his coffee, his expression a mix of irritation and exhaustion. “Morning to you too,” you said curtly, your irritation flaring up from the unresolved tension between you two after the conversation about Japan.

Lando didn’t look up, swirling his coffee as he scoffed. “Morning. Just enjoying the show.”

You shot him a glare, but before the tension could escalate further, Max appeared in the doorway, yawning and stretching dramatically.

“Alright, easy on the cute couple stuff” he grumbled, his eyes darting between you and Dylan before landing on Lando. “Lando will get jealous, he’s already sulking about Magui leaving this morning”

Dylan burst out laughing, completely unbothered, while you groaned. Lando’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, instead standing abruptly and leaving the room. His coffee cup clinked sharply against the counter on his way out.

“Good talk,” Max said, grabbing the pot to pour himself a cup. He glanced at you and Dylan, a smirk playing on his lips. “Carry on. Just don’t traumatize me this early, yeah?”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Why are you like this?”

Max just grinned. “Because someone has to keep it interesting.” - Later that afternoon, after a long day on the slopes, Dylan was packing his stuff, you slipped into the hot tub outside the lodge. The warm water was a welcome relief against the crisp mountain air. Max was already there, lounging with a beer in hand.

“Finally,” he said, raising his bottle. “Thought you’d never show up.”

You eased into the water with a sigh. “Needed this after trying to keep up with Dylan all day. He’s annoyingly good.”

Max smirked. “Sounds like someone’s got a little crush.”

You splashed water at him. “Don’t start.”

You relaxed at the hot water, settling into comfortable silence with your brother. Then Max broke it. “It was great having Dylan around this trip, eventhough I'm surprised Lando hasn’t gone full overprotective older brother on him yet.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No need, I've got good taste. You said it yourself—he’s the most laid-back guy ever.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” Max said, smirking. “Laid-back and Lando don’t exactly mix. He’s all adrenaline and proving he’s the best at everything.”

You frowned, leaning forward slightly. “They get along, though. Don’t they?” You hadn’t specifically noticed, Lando always took some time to warm up to people and you had attributed most of his behavior with Dylan to his extreme competitiveness. It was the same story with every teammate he'd had.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Do they? Or are you just convincing yourself they do? Dylan’s easygoing, so he’s not gonna make a big deal of it. But you know Lando. He can’t handle not being the center of attention—especially not with you.”

“That’s not fair,” you said quickly, though the words felt defensive even to you. “Lando’s competitive, sure, but it’s not personal. He’s always been like that. It’s just how he’s wired.”

Max gave you a knowing look. “Yeah, the competitiveness of the most important man in your life. He can’t handle not being second anymore. Always behind me, of course,” he added with a smug grin. “Now third, behind Dylan.”

You splashed water at him, laughing despite yourself. “You’re so full of it.”

Max wiped his face, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it. Don’t get me wrong—I think Dylan’s great. And I think Lando knows that too.'' - Dylan was already in bed for his early departure the next morning, as you padded into the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. You’d stayed up later than usual, nursing the remnants of a bottle of wine with Max.

As you stood at the sink, brushing lazily, the door creaked open, and Lando stepped inside, toothbrush dangling from his fingers.

“Seriously?” you mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste foam. “There are three other bathrooms.”

He shrugged, already squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. “This one’s closest. Don’t worry, I won’t peek.”

Rolling your eyes, you returned your focus to the mirror, but the small space seemed to shrink with both of you in it. You could feel his presence, the casual way he moved like he belonged there, even in the quiet intimacy of brushing teeth side by side.

Lando started brushing, his reflection meeting yours briefly in the mirror. “You’re still mad,” he said around the toothbrush, his words muffled. 

You realized he came to make amends after the Japan fight yesterday, having not really talked today.  

“What gave it away?” you replied flatly, spitting into the sink.

He leaned forward to do the same, his expression unreadable as he straightened. “C’mon, I said I’m sorry” But you weren’t fully ready to let it go yet.

He came closer, resting his head lightly on your shoulder,  looking at you in the mirror.  “Remember when we used to share this kind of thing all the time-” He continued, being vaguely sentimental in an attempt to make you forgive him. “Guess those days are over now that everyone’s got someone in their bed.” 

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “What, missing the sleepovers? I thought you were glad to be rid of me taking over your apartment in Monaco.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, quieter now. “I liked it when things were simple.”

You turned to face him fully. “Things change, Lando. We’re not kids anymore.”

He stepped closer, the tension between you crackling. “Yeah, I know. But sometimes I wish we still were.”

His gaze lingered on yours, and for a moment, it felt like he might step even closer.  “Goodnight,” he said, turning to leave, giving you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes

— Monaco, May 16 2021

You remembered one of those nights years ago, staying up late in his new sparsely decorated apartment in Monaco. The three of you had eaten takeout on the floor, talking about his upcoming race and playing games. 

“I swear, you two bring out the worst in me,” Max groaned, sprawled on the couch as Lando rifled through a pile of controllers.

“Don’t blame us because you suck at Mario Kart,” you said, smirking as you leaned against the couch with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

“Me?” Max shot back, sitting up. “The only reason you win is because Lando cheats. And don’t deny it!”

Lando turned with an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “Cheat? I’m offended. I’m just naturally gifted.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you threw a piece of popcorn at him. It missed, landing on the floor, and he scooped it up to toss back at you, grinning like a child.

Later, as the game devolved into chaos and Max declared himself out, he collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I’m done. Wake me when it’s breakfast.”

“Lightweight,” Lando teased, watching as Max buried himself in the blankets and promptly started snoring.

“Max don’t be a baby” you said, picking up the scattered controllers and snacks.

Lando joined you, stacking empty cans on the counter. “Think he’ll survive out here?”

You glanced at Max, snoring softly. “He’s fine. He could sleep through an earthquake.”

As you came back from the bedroom to grab a blanket for Max, Lando suddenly stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening slightly. “Uh... you might want to rethink that.”

You looked down and realized that out of habit, you’d stripped down to your tank top and underwear, your usual sleep attire. Your face flushed. 

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying to brush it off. “You’ve seen worse.”

“Not the point,” he mumbled, his cheeks pink as he averted his gaze.

Max stirred on the couch, half-opening one eye. “Ew. Gross. Put on some pants or something. This isn’t Love Island. You'll give me nightmares.”

You grabbed the blanket and threw it at him, laughing despite your embarrassment. “Shut up, Max, you were literally naked in the womb with me. A woman's body gives you nightmares?!”

Lando chuckled, though he still looked a little flustered. Max groaned and turned over on the couch.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a t-shirt from your bag and tugged it over your head. “Better?”

“Marginally,” Lando teased, his grin returning.

With Max out cold, the night grew quieter. You and Lando eventually found yourselves in his room, lying side by side on his bed while quickly falling asleep.

—

With everyone gone, the lodge was left for a final night to just you, Max, and Lando—like old times. It felt oddly comforting to fall back into familiar patterns without the added complexities of relationships or new dynamics. After a last day of skiing, you were drinking and playing games at the lodge, Lando had brought out a vintage bottle of champagne he'd been saving for “a special occasion.”

“You can thank me later,” he said with a grin, pouring everyone a generous glass.

“I guess this counts as special,” you teased, holding your glass up. “To us—still standing after all these years.” You were drunk, feeling nostalgic, and had finally fully forgiven Lando about the fight.  

“To us,” Max and Lando echoed, clinking their glasses against yours.

As the night wore on, the three of you grew progressively more tipsy, laughing so hard your sides hurt, as Max was losing every game against Lando and you. 

It was well past midnight when Max declared he was too drunk to move and collapsed onto one of the couches. ''Always a sore loser''.

You groaned in protest when Lando grabbed your arm and pulled you upstairs. “Come on,” he said, smirking. “You’re not sleeping in the living room with Max snoring like that.” He guided you to one of the spare bedrooms—the same room the two of you had shared for years during other ski trips. The familiarity made your chest tighten as you dropped onto the bed.

“You know,” you said, your words slurred from the alcohol, “you always get what you want, Lando. It’s so unfair.”

He paused, pulling a blanket over you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You always do,” you mumbled, turning to face the wall. “You wanted this—just us three. You always get your way.”

Lando didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slid under the covers beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist in a gesture so natural, it didn’t even register as strange. You were too tipsy to care, and Max was too far gone downstairs to notice.

“I don’t always get what I want,” Lando said softly, his voice barely audible. “Not everything.”

-

WN: last chapter at the ski lodge im crying 😭😭 i will miss it. But don’t worry, they’ll come back next year like every year (spoiler!!!!) Let me know what you think! Also btw what’s that outfit Lando's wearing in the new vid in Monaco???? I hate and love it at the same time….

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 wordcount: 1850

The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled you into the kitchen, your oversized sweater and thick socks your only defense against the chilly air. Dylan was leaning against the counter, his hair messy but his grin charmingly intact, a steaming mug in his hand.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice warm and teasing. “Missed me already?” Your cheeks flushed involuntarily at the images flashing through your mind of you together in bed just earlier.

“Morning,” you replied, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “Last day together,” you added with a pout. The trip was winding down. Magui had left early this morning, and tomorrow morning, Dylan would be gone too, leaving with the rest of the family. Your flight wasn’t until the day after, giving you one last evening with Max and Lando—like old times. 

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let’s make the most of it, I’ll go easy on you today.”

Your eyes widened in excitement at an idea. “Easy? I’d rather prefer hard. There’s some tricks you haven’t taught me on the slopes yet” you smirked. Dylan looked at you puzzled. 

“Remind me?” You pulled him closer in a response, kissing him. “Ooh, those kind of tricks” he chuckled.

Lando scoffed. 

You looked up, you hadn’t noticed he was there. He sat at the table, slouched with his coffee, his expression a mix of irritation and exhaustion. “Morning to you too,” you said curtly, your irritation flaring up from the unresolved tension between you two after the conversation about Japan.

Lando didn’t look up, swirling his coffee as he scoffed. “Morning. Just enjoying the show.”

You shot him a glare, but before the tension could escalate further, Max appeared in the doorway, yawning and stretching dramatically.

“Alright, easy on the cute couple stuff” he grumbled, his eyes darting between you and Dylan before landing on Lando. “Lando will get jealous, he’s already sulking about Magui leaving this morning”

Dylan burst out laughing, completely unbothered, while you groaned. Lando’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, instead standing abruptly and leaving the room. His coffee cup clinked sharply against the counter on his way out.

“Good talk,” Max said, grabbing the pot to pour himself a cup. He glanced at you and Dylan, a smirk playing on his lips. “Carry on. Just don’t traumatize me this early, yeah?”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Why are you like this?”

Max just grinned. “Because someone has to keep it interesting.” - Later that afternoon, after a long day on the slopes, Dylan was packing his stuff, you slipped into the hot tub outside the lodge. The warm water was a welcome relief against the crisp mountain air. Max was already there, lounging with a beer in hand.

“Finally,” he said, raising his bottle. “Thought you’d never show up.”

You eased into the water with a sigh. “Needed this after trying to keep up with Dylan all day. He’s annoyingly good.”

Max smirked. “Sounds like someone’s got a little crush.”

You splashed water at him. “Don’t start.”

You relaxed at the hot water, settling into comfortable silence with your brother. Then Max broke it with a question. “You noticed how weird Lando’s been around Dylan?”

You frowned. “Weird how?” You hadn’t specifically noticed, Lando always took some time to warm up to people and you had attributed most of his behavior with Dylan to his extreme competitiveness. It was the same story with every teammate he'd had.

“He’s… colder than usual.”

You shrugged. “It’s just his competitiveness. You know how he always gets.”

Max nodded his head. “Yeah his competitiveness about being the most important man in your life, always second behind me, now third behind Dylan.” Max winked. “He’s lucky he’s not that much taller than him, he probably would have killed him.”

You laughed. “That’s ridiculous,” you said.

Max shrugged, closing his eyes again leaving you two in silence. - Dylan was already in bed for his early departure the next morning, as you padded into the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. You’d stayed up later than usual, nursing the remnants of a bottle of wine with Max.

As you stood at the sink, brushing lazily, the door creaked open, and Lando stepped inside, toothbrush dangling from his fingers.

“Seriously?” you mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste foam. “There are three other bathrooms.”

He shrugged, already squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. “This one’s closest. Don’t worry, I won’t peek.”

Rolling your eyes, you returned your focus to the mirror, but the small space seemed to shrink with both of you in it. You could feel his presence, the casual way he moved like he belonged there, even in the quiet intimacy of brushing teeth side by side.

Lando started brushing, his reflection meeting yours briefly in the mirror. “You’re still mad,” he said around the toothbrush, his words muffled. 

You realized he came to make amends after the Japan fight yesterday, having not really talked today.  

“What gave it away?” you replied flatly, spitting into the sink.

He leaned forward to do the same, his expression unreadable as he straightened. “C’mon, I said I’m sorry” But you weren’t fully ready to let it go yet.

He came closer, resting his head lightly on your shoulder,  looking at you in the mirror.  “Remember when we used to share this kind of thing all the time-” He continued, being vaguely sentimental in an attempt to make you forgive him. “Guess those days are over now that everyone’s got someone in their bed.” 

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “What, missing the sleepovers? I thought you were glad to be rid of me taking over your apartment in Monaco.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, quieter now. “I liked it when things were simple.”

You turned to face him fully. “Things change, Lando. We’re not kids anymore.”

He stepped closer, the tension between you crackling. “Yeah, I know. But sometimes I wish we still were.”

His gaze lingered on yours, and for a moment, it felt like he might step even closer.  “Goodnight,” he said, turning to leave, giving you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes

— Monaco, May 16 2021

You remembered one of those nights years ago, staying up late in his new sparsely decorated apartment in Monaco. The three of you had eaten takeout on the floor, talking about his upcoming race and playing games. 

“I swear, you two bring out the worst in me,” Max groaned, sprawled on the couch as Lando rifled through a pile of controllers.

“Don’t blame us because you suck at Mario Kart,” you said, smirking as you leaned against the couch with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

“Me?” Max shot back, sitting up. “The only reason you win is because Lando cheats. And don’t deny it!”

Lando turned with an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “Cheat? I’m offended. I’m just naturally gifted.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you threw a piece of popcorn at him. It missed, landing on the floor, and he scooped it up to toss back at you, grinning like a child.

Later, as the game devolved into chaos and Max declared himself out, he collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I’m done. Wake me when it’s breakfast.”

“Lightweight,” Lando teased, watching as Max buried himself in the blankets and promptly started snoring.

“Max don’t be a baby” you said, picking up the scattered controllers and snacks.

Lando joined you, stacking empty cans on the counter. “Think he’ll survive out here?”

You glanced at Max, snoring softly. “He’s fine. He could sleep through an earthquake.”

As you came back from the bedroom to grab a blanket for Max, Lando suddenly stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening slightly. “Uh... you might want to rethink that.”

You looked down and realized that out of habit, you’d stripped down to your tank top and underwear, your usual sleep attire. Your face flushed. 

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying to brush it off. “You’ve seen worse.”

“Not the point,” he mumbled, his cheeks pink as he averted his gaze.

Max stirred on the couch, half-opening one eye. “Ew. Gross. Put on some pants or something. This isn’t Love Island. You'll give me nightmares.”

You grabbed the blanket and threw it at him, laughing despite your embarrassment. “Shut up, Max, you were literally naked in the womb with me. A woman's body gives you nightmares?!”

Lando chuckled, though he still looked a little flustered. Max groaned and turned over on the couch.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a t-shirt from your bag and tugged it over your head. “Better?”

“Marginally,” Lando teased, his grin returning.

With Max out cold, the night grew quieter. You and Lando eventually found yourselves in his room, lying side by side on his bed while quickly falling asleep.

—

With everyone gone, the lodge was left for a final night to just you, Max, and Lando—like old times. It felt oddly comforting to fall back into familiar patterns without the added complexities of relationships or new dynamics. After a last day of skiing, you were drinking and playing games at the lodge, Lando had brought out a vintage bottle of champagne he'd been saving for “a special occasion.”

“You can thank me later,” he said with a grin, pouring everyone a generous glass.

“I guess this counts as special,” you teased, holding your glass up. “To us—still standing after all these years.” You were drunk, feeling nostalgic, and had finally fully forgiven Lando about the fight.  

“To us,” Max and Lando echoed, clinking their glasses against yours.

As the night wore on, the three of you grew progressively more tipsy, laughing so hard your sides hurt, as Max was losing every game against Lando and you. 

It was well past midnight when Max declared he was too drunk to move and collapsed onto one of the couches. ''Always a sore loser''.

You groaned in protest when Lando grabbed your arm and pulled you upstairs. “Come on,” he said, smirking. “You’re not sleeping in the living room with Max snoring like that.” He guided you to one of the spare bedrooms—the same room the two of you had shared for years during other ski trips. The familiarity made your chest tighten as you dropped onto the bed.

“You know,” you said, your words slurred from the alcohol, “you always get what you want, Lando. It’s so unfair.”

He paused, pulling a blanket over you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You always do,” you mumbled, turning to face the wall. “You wanted this—just us three. You always get your way.”

Lando didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slid under the covers beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist in a gesture so natural, it didn’t even register as strange. You were too tipsy to care, and Max was too far gone downstairs to notice.

“I don’t always get what I want,” Lando said softly, his voice barely audible. “Not everything.”

-

WN: last chapter at the ski lodge im crying 😭😭 i will miss it. But don’t worry, they’ll come back next year like every year (spoiler!!!!) Let me know what you think! Also btw what’s that outfit Lando's wearing in the new vid in Monaco???? I hate and love it at the same time….

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

Wordcount: 1936

The group was scattered across the slopes, each pairing off for a morning of skiing or snowboarding. Lando and Dylan had somehow ended up together after riding the lifts, and were carving through the snow in companionable silence. Lando had to admit Dylan was annoyingly good on a board, making it look effortless as he sped down the powdery trails.

At the bottom of the run, they paused to catch their breath. Dylan stretched his arms above his head, grinning. “Man, this is the life. It’s great you guys have been doing this every year.”

“Yeah, it’s the best,” Lando replied, adjusting his goggles. “You’re lucky you got the invite.”

Dylan laughed. “I guess I passed the test with her, huh?”

“Guess so.”

As they lined up for the next lift, Dylan turned to him. “Speaking of passing tests, she told me she’s thinking of taking that job in Japan. Pretty big deal for her, right?”

Lando froze. “Wait—what job in Japan?”

Dylan looked confused. “She didn’t tell you? It’s with her company. Some kind of high-level exchange position for a few months. She’s not sure yet, but we’ve been talking about it.”

Lando forced himself to stay casual, though his chest tightened. “You’ve been talking about it?”

“Well, yeah,” Dylan said. “If she goes, I’d probably go with her for a bit. There’s great boarding in Japan, so it’d be a win-win. But she’s still deciding.”

Lando didn’t respond immediately, pushing off as the lift began to carry them up the mountain. 

“She didn’t mention it to me,” he said finally, not wanting to admit it.

Dylan shrugged, oblivious. “She’s probably waiting until she decides for sure. I mean, she’s got you, Max, her parents—it’s a lot of people to think about.”

“Right,” Lando said shortly, staring out over the snowy landscape. — Later that evening, the group was lounging in the cozy living room of the chalet, the fire crackling softly in the background. Dylan was engrossed in a card game with Max and some of the others, leaving you and Lando alone in the corner, sipping your drinks.

Lando leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “So... Japan?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Dylan mentioned something about you getting a job offer in Japan,” Lando said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing. “You didn’t think that was worth mentioning to me?”

You sighed, swirling your drink. “It’s not set in stone, Lan. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it until I decided.”

“Decided what?” His voice had an edge now. “Whether or not to move halfway across the world?”

You frowned, defensive. “It’s an amazing opportunity, Lando. I’m not saying yes or no yet, but it’s something I have to consider.”

His jaw tightened, and he set his glass down a little too hard on the coffee table. “What about the season? You’ve always been there—well, mostly. I can’t imagine doing it without you around.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your tone remained firm. “Lando, I wasn’t at every race last season, and you were fine. Look at your results!” You gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re a superstar. You don’t need me there holding your hand.”

He stared at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not about needing you to hold my hand. It’s...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “You being there—it just makes things... easier. Part of my routine I’m used to”

Your brow furrowed. ‘’Part of your routine?’’

“I just… It’ll be weird without you around. You’ve always been there.’’

The sentiment was sweet, but there was something about the way he said it that made your chest tighten. “You’ll be fine,” you said, forcing a smile now. “You’ve got Magui, and Max, and the whole team. You’re not exactly lacking in support.”

“It’s not the same,” Lando replied, his voice barely above a murmur.

Your hand froze mid-reach for your drink. You set it down instead, the clink of glass against wood sharper than you intended. “What are you saying, Lando?”

He hesitated, like he hadn’t expected you to call him on it. “I’m just saying… you’ve always been part of this. Part of my life, my career. You get it in a way that—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try,” you said, your tone sharper than he expected.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you’d known all those years ago—earnest, vulnerable, and completely unaware of how his words could cut. “I guess I just… I need you. You’ve always been there, and I don’t know what it’s going to be like if you’re not.”

“You need me?” you repeated irritated. “Lando, I’m not going to Japan to sit on a beach. This is my career. My chance to do something for me. Do you even realize how that sounds?”

His eyes widened in confusion. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying you want me to put my life on hold so I can keep holding your hand through yours and be part of your routine?” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Lando recoiled slightly. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Isn’t it?” you pressed, you voice rising. “You’re asking me to stay, Lando. To stay and make your life easier, while I give up something I’ve worked just as hard for. Do you know how selfish that sounds?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said again, but this time his voice was quieter, tinged with guilt. “I just— It’s not easy, okay? Doing this. And I thought… I thought you understood that.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in her chest. “I do understand. That’s why I’m still here, isn’t it? That’s why I’ve always been here. But you don’t get to ask this of me, Lando.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but the sting of his words lingered. “I know you didn’t,” you said softly. 

— Mexico, 29 november 2023

The shrill sound of tires screeching and the thud of impact echoed through the paddock speakers. Your breath caught in your throat as the screen showed Lando’s car slamming into the barriers, a plume of debris scattering across the track.

“Red flag. That’s Norris in the wall,” the commentator announced, their tone serious but calm.

You were already on your feet in the McLaren garage, staring at the screen with wide eyes. The replay looped, showing his car losing grip on the exit of a corner before careening into the barriers.

“Is he okay?” you blurted, your voice sharp with worry.

One of the engineers turned to reassure you. “We’ve got radio communication. He’s fine, just frustrated.”

The knot in your stomach didn’t ease until you heard his voice crackle through the team radio, muttering, “I’m okay, I’m okay. Sorry, guys.”

You exhaled, hands trembling slightly as you sat back down. He might be physically fine, but you knew how much this would rattle him mentally.

The energy in the hospitality area was buzzing with activity, mechanics and engineers rushing around to prepare for tomorrow. You made your way over to Lando, who was perched on a counter, still in his race suit, a bag of ice pressed against his shoulder. His helmet sat beside him, a little scuffed from the impact.

“You alright?” you asked, leaning against the counter beside him.

He shrugged, wincing slightly as the motion aggravated his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine. Car’s a mess, though.”

You shot him a look. “The car can be fixed. I’m asking about you.”

Lando glanced at you, his expression guarded but softening under your gaze. “I’ve had worse.” Then, with a self-deprecating chuckle: “Though I can’t say the engineers are thrilled with me right now.”

“They’ll get over it,” you said firmly. “They know you’re pushing to the limit—that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“Yeah, well, limits don’t win races if you’re sitting in the wall during quali.” He leaned back against the counter, his jaw tight.

You didn’t let the tension linger. “Oh, c’mon, Lan. You’ve come back from worse. Remember last season? You started at the back of the grid and still finished in the points.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “That was different. I didn’t stuff it in the barriers first.”

You reached over, grabbing a nearby energy drink can and tapping it lightly against his knee. “Then tomorrow’s your chance to remind everyone what you’re made of. You’ve got the pace, and we both know you love a challenge. Besides,” you added, grinning, “you’ll make the highlight reel if you pull it off.”

That earned a real laugh from him, and he tilted his head toward you. “You think I’ll pull it off?”

“I know you will,” you said, your tone unwavering.

Lando sat there for a beat, then hopped off the counter, dropping the ice pack onto the surface. “Alright, then I guess we will see.” —  The garage was absolute chaos. Team members shouted and high-fived, celebrating an incredible recovery drive. Lando had fought his way through the field with surgical precision, finishing in a stunning P5. The relief and joy in the room were palpable.

Lando barged into the garage, his race suit unzipped to his waist, hair a wild mess from pulling off his helmet. He was grinning ear to ear, waving a bottle of champagne in the air.

“P5, baby!” he shouted, and the room erupted in cheers again.

You were standing with Max and a few others when he spotted you. “Oi, don’t act like you’re not impressed,” he called, pointing at you with the neck of the champagne bottle.

You crossed your arms, pretending to look unimpressed. “P5? Meh, could’ve been P4 if you’d overtaken Gasly one lap earlier.”

Lando strode over, uncorking the bottle with a loud pop and spraying it wildly, catching you and a few nearby engineers in the crossfire. You shrieked, laughing as the cold champagne hit your face and jacket.

“Alright, alright!” you yelled, holding up your hands. “You win, Norris! P5 is pretty damn good!”

“Damn right it is,” he said, grinning as he took a swig straight from the bottle, still dripping champagne. “You doubted me for a second, didn’t you?”

“Never,” you replied, swiping the bottle from his hand and taking a sip yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s mine.”

“Not anymore,” you quipped, handing it back to him with a smirk.

The atmosphere was electric, the team chanting and laughing around you both. It wasn’t long before the post-race interviews started pulling people away, but Lando lingered for a moment.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in so you could hear him over the noise. “Thanks for, you know, earlier. Couldn’t have done it without your support.”

You glanced at him, surprised at the sudden sincerity in his voice. “What are you thanking me for? You’re the one who clawed your way back.”

He gave a small shrug, “Yeah, but you’re always there. Even when I’m a proper idiot.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed you. “You’re always a proper idiot.”

He laughed, holding up the champagne bottle. “Guess it works for me.”

“I guess it does.”

pt.1 pt.2 wordcount: 1835

The sun had started to dip behind the mountains, and after a full day of skiing and snowboarding, the group stumbled onto the terrace après-ski bar. Lando and Magui had spent the day skiing together, while the rest of the group tackled the slopes together, most of the parents and Magui had headed back to the lodge, tired from travels.

At the bar, the mood was lively. Skiers and boarders still in their gear gathered around tables, their cheeks flushed from the cold and the day’s exertion. The air was thick with the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and classic après-ski tunes.

Max leaned over the table, a mischievous grin on his face. “Alright, new game. We spot the fans trying to make a move on Norris, and we try to casually block them.”

Cisca rolled her eyes but was already scanning the room. “I saw a girl at the bar earlier with a McLaren beanie. She’s been eyeing him for the last five minutes.”

Flo laughed, nudging you. “Your turn to play defense. You’re standing closest to him.”

You glanced over your shoulder at Lando, who was at the bar. You shook your head, smiling. “I think he’s oblivious.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Max said, clearly enjoying himself. “That’s the fun part. Let’s see who does it best.” - “Alright, up on the shoulders Flo'' Dylan suggested, her clapping her hands in response.

As they plotted their interference, Norris’s dad leaned in from the next table, his voice low. “Alright, kids, let’s not make a scene. We don’t want to attract too much attention to Lando.”

“Too late for that,” Max muttered under his breath, nodding towards the bar.

The group turned just in time to see Lando coming towards them, two enormous champagne bottles in hand, sparklers shooting from the tops like miniature fireworks. Heads turned instantly, the bar erupting in cheers and applause.

“Subtle,” You said, deadpan, as Lando made his way to their table, grinning like he’d just won a Grand Prix.

“What?” he said, feigning innocence as he placed the bottles on the table with a flourish. “It’s après-ski! Live a little.”

You shook your head, unable to hide a smirk. “Of course. Mr. Center of Attention.” You could say fame didn't change him, he was always like this and fame is not stopping him from being himself.

Lando leaned closer, a playful glint in his eye. “You love it.”

''You wish'' You huffed a laugh, still shaking your head. You gave him a warning look but you already knew what was coming.

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging, giving one of the bottles to Max and smashing the other on the floor, Foam spraying out, trying to get some in everyone's mouths.

Max shook his head, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible or iconic?” Lando retorted to his signature gran prix podium celebration, raising his glass in a toast. The music became louder and everyone started dancing. You stayed dancing close to him anyway, feeling protective even when he didn't seem to care and the game already being over. — Lando leaned against the bar, still holding one of the oversized champagne bottles, as Dylan and you stood beside him. Dylan had taught you some pro tricks todat and had been ribbing you all day about your snowboarding skills —or according to him, lack thereof, which wasn't fair, compared to a pro—and you were finally getting him back.

“I don’t know, Dylan,” your said, swirling the remnants of your champagne. “The way you wiped out on that last run? I’m not sure you’re qualified to teach me anything.”

Dylan clutched his chest dramatically. “Excuse me, that wipeout was tactical. I was demonstrating what not to do.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. ''Bit dissapointing for a pro, don't you think?''

Lando watched them, a grin tugging at his lips. “You two bicker like an old married couple.”

Dylan smirked, nudging your shoulder. “You should’ve joined us, Lando. Could’ve shown her how the pros snowboard.” he continued the bickering.

You laughed. “Please. He’d just show off the whole time, thinking he's actually better than me, than you even” you accidentally complimented Dylan.

“Correct,” Lando admitted with a shrug. “But at least it would’ve been impressive.” He set the champagne bottle down at the bar and crossed his arms, his gaze flicking between them. “Besides, I wouldn’t let her spend all day falling over. Unlike some people.”

“I wasn’t falling all day,” you protested, lightly punching his arm.

“No, just half the day,” Dylan said, earning himself a glare.

Lando grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Seriously, though. Tomorrow we'll go all together. I’ll teach you how to actually stay upright.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re assuming I’d trust you with that responsibility.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked, feigning offense.

“Because you’d probably push me over for fun.”

“Ah yeah, true” he said, smirking.

Dylan shook his head, laughing. “You two are ridiculous.” He glanced between them. “Actually, kind of makes sense.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugged, a sly grin on his face. “Nothing. Just saying, you two act more like an old married couple for way longer than we do.”

Lando barked out a laugh, but you could feel your cheeks flush, even though Dylan didn't seem to care one bit, the chill attitude and easy-going confidence you fell in love with and admired so much. “Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late,” Dylan grinned, knowing you weren't as careless and relaxed as him.

You turned back to Lando, hands in the air. “You’re not helping, you know.”

“What?” he asked, all innocence, though his smile said otherwise. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide a smile as he poured you another glass of champagne as you walked off, back towards the others.

''You know what I'm going to say right?'' Lando turned to Dylan, suddenly serious. Dylan laughed ''I'm surprised you hadn't yet, Max told me she has not one, but two protective brothers, twins nonetheless'' Dylan tried to joke. Lando didn't laugh.

''I'm not going to hurt her''.

— january 3 2017

The night was getting quiet after having drinks, muffled laughter of the others still lingering at the table. She sat slumped on the couch in the corner, her legs stretched out, ski boots still tightly strapped. The wine she’d been nursing had her feeling warm and a little bold, but exhaustion weighed heavy on her limbs.

Lando appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed from the cold and a little from all the beer they’d had earlier. His hair was a tousled mess, sticking out in all directions from where he’d rubbed at it with his gloved hands earlier that day.

“You alright there?” he asked, his voice soft, tinged with amusement as he stepped into the room.

She groaned, leaning her head back against the couch. “No. I’m stuck. These stupid boots won’t come off, and I’m too tired to fight with them.”

Lando chuckled and walked over, crouching down in front of her. “Let me help. Lift your leg.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “What are you, my knight in shining armor now?”

“Obviously,” he rolled, grabbing her foot before she could protest. His fingers worked at the straps, the tips brushing against her calf as he loosened the bindings. Her breath hitched involuntarily, but she quickly covered it with a laugh.

“Ticklish?” Lando teased, glancing up at her with a knowing grin.

“No,” she lied, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

He didn’t push further, focusing instead on freeing her foot from the boot. When he managed to tug it off, she sighed dramatically in relief, wriggling her toes. “Freedom,” she declared.

“One more to go,” Lando said, reaching for her other foot. His hands wrapped firmly around her ankle, steadying it as he worked. This time, the touch lingered—not inappropriately, but enough to send a tingle up her spine. She looked down at him, at the way his brow furrowed in concentration.

When the second boot finally came off, Lando sat back on his heels, letting out an exaggerated sigh of triumph. “And that, my lady, is how you—”

“Shut up,” she interrupted, laughing, and lightly kicking his shoulder with her freed foot. But her laughter faded when their eyes met.

“Lan…” she started, her voice low, but she didn’t know what she wanted to say.

“You’ve got…” he murmured, leaning in slightly and brushing his thumb just below her lip, where a speck of wine had stained her skin. The contact made her pulse race.

Before she could second-guess it, her hand reached for his cheek, and suddenly, his lips were on hers. The kiss was tentative at first, like both of them were testing the waters, but it quickly deepened. His hands cupped her face, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer. She responded in kind, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.

It was familiar and foreign at the same time. But just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

Lando pulled back, his breathing uneven, his gaze searching hers. “I… I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” she said, though her voice trembled. She wasn’t sure if she meant it.

“No, I mean…” He ran a hand through his hair, looking troubled. “We’re drunk. And we… we can’t.”

She nodded hesitantly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

They didn’t talk about it again after that night, both silently agreeing to bury it under layers of banter and shared history.

—

Back at the lodge you were tugging fruitlessly at the straps of your ski boots, weak in the hands after the amount of champagne this afternoon. “These things are impossible.” you huffed,

Lando appeared out of nowhere, grinning. “Need a hand, princess?”

You rolled your eyes heavily. “Don’t ever call me that again. And yes, apparently, I do.”

He crouched down in front of you. ''Lift your leg'' his hands worked expertly at the straps, fingers brushing against her leg. You suddenly remembered a moment you had forgotten a few years ago, your breath hitching at the thought, you quickly looked away, focusing on the snow outside the window.

“There,” Lando said, pulling the boot off swiftly. “I’m getting good at this.”

“Not exactly a competitive skill” you said, narrowing you eyes, ''Don't underestimate the importance of dexterity'' he said, showing off his hands, wiggling his fingers.

"Thanks"

“No problem,” he replied, standing up and offering you a hand.

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the others who were already heading inside. “Let’s get warm.