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[julietsf1]

A Soft Place To Land - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: she came for the quiet—early mornings, silence, and a chance to find herself again. he came to disappear for a while, to bike through villages and forget what his name meant to other people. they weren’t looking for each other. but somehow, they kept meeting in the middle. (7.8k words)

content: slow-burn, mutual pining, found peace, simple life in a cmbyn type town off the grid <3

AN: so guess whose laptop died this weekend lmao :') nice excuse to treat myself to a MacBook finally! I feel like it makes me look extra sexy and mysterious now writing in my local cafe so bet I'm gonna be writing a lot upcoming days as I love looking sexy

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You arrived on a Wednesday. The kind of day that couldn’t commit to a forecast—sun, then shadow, then sun again—like the sky was tired of having an opinion. You came by car, winding your way through soft green hills and sleepy lanes until the town blinked into view, all shuttered windows and ochre rooftops tucked into the countryside like it belonged there before anyone decided to name it.

The cottage was waiting—slightly crooked, painted the kind of pale yellow that looks prettier in late afternoon. Ivy curled around the doorframe like it had been choreographed. Inside, there was no television. No WiFi. A teapot that wheezed when it boiled. A single mirror with cloudy edges and the kind of honest lighting that didn’t forgive. You liked that.

You weren’t fleeing anything dramatic. No messy breakup. No scandal. Just noise—the exhausting static of always being visible but never quite seen. Your old life had grown too curated, too performative. Lately even your laughter felt like it needed approval.

You wanted to be a person again. Quietly. Without audience.

The village made that easy.

It was the kind of place where mornings came slow and honest, dusted in that early golden light that made even the postboxes look charming. You wandered. Bought plums. Forgot your phone. The locals mostly left you alone, except for one old man who kept offering you pickled eggs. You politely declined. Twice.

That’s where you found the bike shop. Not a shop, exactly—just an open garage at the end of a lane. A few rusted frames leaned against the wall like retirees. One of them had lavender handlebars and a charm to it. You reached out.

So did someone else.

There was a brush of fingers—yours and his—and you both flinched.

“Oh—” you said, blinking up.

He was wearing sunglasses too scratched to be functional and a hoodie that looked like it had lived a full life. His sleeves were shoved up to the elbows, and his forearms were tanned and freckled like he hadn’t worn SPF since March. He didn’t look like he was trying. He just... was.

“No, no,” he said quickly, backing up with his palms raised. “Go ahead. You were there first.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, like the thought of arguing offended him personally. “I’ve had my eye on that one for days. But to be fair... I don’t trust the brakes anyway.”

“Ah so you’re just setting me up for an accident.”

“Small town. I could use some entertainment.”

You smiled—just a little. The kind that surprised even you.

He answered with a grin of his own. Slightly crooked. Not polished.

The handlebars were warm in your hands. Sun-soaked. Familiar, somehow.

“Thank you,” you said.

He gave a small nod. “I like the colour. Suits you better.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you didn’t. You wheeled the bike out toward the road, a little unsteady but determined.

He chose a different one—red, with one working pedal and a chip in the paint that gave it character. You glanced over your shoulder once, halfway down the lane.

He was already pedaling the other way.

His hair caught the wind. He tilted his head to the sky like he was letting it carry him.

You didn’t know his name.

…

You spend your time wandering the narrow lanes, sketchbook tucked under your arm, buying odd fruit from crooked stalls, sitting in patches of sunlight like a cat. You don’t know what time it is most of the day. You don’t care.

And you see him.

Always in motion, always a little removed—like he belongs here but hasn’t quite let the place claim him. Sometimes he bikes past humming under his breath, the wire of his headphones tucked messily into his shirt. Other times, he’s walking, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping a rhythm against his thigh like he’s thinking through something he’ll never actually say.

You’ve spotted the slim outline of a scratched iPod in his back pocket. The bracelet on his wrist—faded thread, sun-softened red and blue—looks handmade and not in a curated, aesthetic way. Just... worn in. Familiar. Like it was given, not bought.

You catch each other’s eye now and then. Not deliberately. More like the way birds nod at each other from separate fences. A lift of the hand, a small smile. It becomes a rhythm. Not daily. Not planned. Just... familiar. Like heat rising off cobblestones. Or the first scent of bread in the morning.

On the third day, the weather turns.

You wake up to a sky stretched thin with heat. The shutters rattle faintly in their hinges when you close them behind you, and the gravel path crunches with the lazy sound of summer under your shoes.

You head into the village and buy a small paper bag of figs and a loaf of bread still warm enough to make your fingers curl. There’s no rush. No plan. You pause at stalls for longer than usual, breathing in lavender and dust, turning over tomatoes like they might tell you a secret.

Eventually, you duck into the café near the edge of the square just as the first fat drops begin to fall.

It’s barely more than a room. One wall all windows, curtains tied back with string. Five tables, each with a different chair. A counter lined with baskets of sugar cubes and a chalkboard that always says something vague like le soleil revient toujours.

The woman behind it—silver hair twisted into a knot, hands like poetry—gives you a slice of carrot cake without asking.

“Fresh,” she tells you. “C’est bon pour les jours tristes.”

It’s good for sad days.

You sit by the window, the cake warm and sticky with cinnamon. It tastes like something soft inside you remembers.

The bell above the door chimes.

And he’s there.

Hair damp from the rain, curls darker now. His shirt clings slightly at the collarbone, sleeves wrinkled like they’ve been rolled and unrolled all morning. He has his iPod in one hand, the headphones wrapped around it in a way that says he got distracted midway through.

He sees you.

And something about his face stills, but doesn’t change.

You smile first.

This time, he smiles back—full and quiet and entirely sincere.

He glances around—just you, the rain, the hum of a far-off radio. Then he walks over.

“Mind if I...?” he gestures to the chair across from you.

You shake your head. “Please.”

He sits like someone who’s trying not to be in the way. Like he knows how to fold himself small when needed.

The café woman appears without a word and sets down a glass of apple juice in front of him. He blinks. “Wow. Okay.”

You raise a brow. “Apple juice?”

He takes a sip, eyebrows lifting like he’s tasting something from a different era. “Sexy. Mysterious. A little bit fruity.”

You snort into your fork. “That your review or your Tinder bio?”

He grins. “Bit of both. Gave up Tinder though, I just go to tiny cafés now.”

A faint blush creeps on your cheeks and you take another bite of your cake.

“I’m Lando by the way.” He holds his hand out for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Lando.” You answer smiling.

The rain tickles the windows like it’s trying to join the conversation.

“So,” he says, leaning his arms on the table, “there’s like 20 people in this town, us included?”

You smirk. “Yesterday, I bought plums from someone who called me la petite perdue, the little lost one, and gave me a free one out of pity.”

“Rough.” He nods gravely. “I asked a guy where to find the best croissants and he told me to ‘go home and learn how to bake.’”

You wince. “Brutal.”

“French.”

“Did you learn how to bake, though?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

You both laugh. It’s the kind that hums in your chest, easy and bright and not at all forced.

He glances at your plate. “So? This cake—is it actually good or just charming-village good?”

You study it for a second. “It's like something an aunt makes when guests come over and she wants to pretend she isn’t trying.”

“That’s the best kind.”

You push the plate toward the middle of the table. “Go on.”

He takes a bite without hesitation. Chews. Nods. “Annoyingly comforting.”

“It’s the cinnamon.”

“It’s like crack.” He sits back, tilting his head. “You staying long?”

You lift a shoulder. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether I keep waking up feeling a little more like myself.”

He looks at you for a moment longer than is strictly polite.

Then: “Yeah. I get that. Same for me.”

You tilt your head. “Really? What’s your escape-from-the-world backstory?”

He lets out a theatrical sigh. “Was hoping to be reborn as a goat, but mostly I’ve just been eating bread and avoiding my Australian colleague.”

“A noble quest.”

He lifts his juice like a toast. “To secondhand bikes and rainy mornings.”

You clink your fork against his glass. “To language barriers and stale croissants.”

And just like that, the café feels warmer. The space between you looser.

When the rain finally began to slow, the world outside looked washed and reflective. You stood. So did he. The chairs scraped gently against the tile floor, and the café owner gave you both a little nod as you passed.

Your bike was still leaning against the wall, looking the same as it always had: slightly crooked, unapologetically stubborn.

“Still doesn’t brake properly?” he asked, nodding toward it.

You glanced at the frame. “Keeps me on my toes.”

He grinned, eyes a little too knowing. “I respect that.”

You swung a leg over the bike, adjusted your cardigan. He didn’t move. Just watched you like he didn’t really want to leave the frame of this scene yet.

“Well,” he said.

“Well.”

“I’ll see you around, then?”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze with something lighter in your chest than before. “You usually do.”

Then you pushed off.

The wheels hummed beneath you as you coasted down the glistening lane, droplets flicking up from the tires, the wind lifting your hair. For a moment, everything—the air, the street, even the puddles—seemed to glow.

…

You wake with the early light, when the shutters spill pale gold across the floorboards like paint from an open jar. The air smells faintly of honeysuckle and the soft charcoal tang of chimney smoke drifting from somewhere higher up the hill. You boil water, steep tea in the chipped mug you brought from home, and walk barefoot across the uneven tiles while the kettle wheezes like an old dog trying to gossip.

Then, tea in hand, you go to the bench.

It’s not much—just a wooden seat with flaking paint, half-swallowed by long grass and perched at the edge of a field where the light always seems to move slower. Like the morning itself hasn't decided what kind of day it wants to be yet. You sit there every day with your sketchbook balanced on your knees, pencil in hand, the silence soft and obliging. It doesn’t ask questions. It just keeps you company.

Sketching doesn’t demand anything. It’s a way of looking that feels gentler. Less about perfection, more about presence. It pulls you back when your thoughts drift too far forward or behind. It reminds you—you’re still here.

And almost always, he bikes past.

You’ve learned that his Airbnb is further uphill, on a narrow, winding road that loops lazily through the back of the village. He cycles into town most mornings, allegedly for fruit or pastries, but often—he’ll admit—it’s for nothing at all. 

The conversations started small. Breezy things. Half-thoughts, half-jokes. The kind of talking that fills the air without crowding it.

One morning, Lando pulled up beside the bench and asked—with complete seriousness—what your favourite film was. You said Before Sunrise. He said Fantastic Mr. Fox.

“That tracks,” you murmured, and he cracked a grin—bright and boyish and slightly crooked. You thought about that laugh for the rest of the day.

Lately, he lingers.

He slows down more, even when he doesn’t plan to stop. Sometimes, he leans his forearms against the back of your bench and watches your pencil move, offering oddly specific commentary like, “That tree looks like my mate Oscar,” or “This cloud feels like it would judge me in a job interview.”

You never look at him when he says silly things like that. But you always smile.

Some mornings, he brings you things. Once, a bruised nectarine. Another time��a wrinkled leaflet for a jazz concert that had happened last year. One day, you asked what he was listening to on his iPod and he just said, “Early One Direction. But like, the deep cuts.” before cycling off with a wink.

You learn his rhythm. The way he hums on the downhill stretch. The way he says bonjour to the same grumpy cat outside the bakery. The way his hair curls at the nape of his neck when it’s humid. The bracelet he always wears—faded thread, frayed at the edge. How he never finishes a full pastry but always offers you the last bite.

You don’t know what to call it yet. This something. This him. But you’re starting to notice how much softer the mornings feel when he’s part of them.

And how strange it is to miss someone you never planned to see at all.

Then, one morning, he surprises you.

You’re sketching the tree line again, pencil balanced between your fingers, when a shadow lands softly over your knees.

You glance up.

He’s standing beside the bench, holding something in both hands—a mug. Not new, not pristine. Blue glaze around the rim, a daisy painted off-center. It looks like it came from a kitchen where the cupboards don’t match and no one minds.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Just offers it out, his fingers curved gently around the handle.

“I saw this at the market,” he says, casual. “Figured it looked close enough to the one you chipped.”

You blink once, then again. It’s too early for your guard to be all the way up.

“You bought me a mug?”

Lando shrugs, like it’s not a thing. “Didn’t want you drinking out of something that might slice your lip open. Don’t even know if they have a doctor in this little town.”

You take it slowly, letting your fingers brush his just slightly. It’s warm.

“You’re very committed to my safety.”

“Some might say I’m an empath,” he says, trying to keep a straight-face. “You don’t have to look so surprised.”

You crack a smile.

He sits beside you, completely uninvited. Just like that. “Brought one for myself too, if you don’t mind”

His knee knocks yours as he shifts to grab another mug and a thermos from his bag. Neither of you adjust.

The breeze moves through the field, brushing the tall grass flat for half a second before it lifts again. You raise the mug to your lips and take a slow sip.

It tastes a little better than usual.

“Do you always make that face when you’re sketching?”

You didn’t look up. “What face?”

He coasted to a slow stop in the grass and launched straight into an over-the-top impersonation—lips scrunched, brows furrowed, eyes slightly crossed.

You glanced sideways. “Is that supposed to be me?”

He kept going. “I must... channel the essence of this leaf. I must suffer... for texture.”

You snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

He grinned. “Come on, you do have a whole look. Very funny. I respect the commitment.”

You shook your head, pencil still moving. “Right. Says the guy who bikes around looking like he’s in Call Me By Your Name.”

He leaned on the back of the bench, smug as anything. “I can’t help it if I look like a movie star, darling.”

You gave him a side-eye. “So humble.”

“I don’t hear you disagreeing with me.”

You laughed, soft and unwilling. He didn’t say anything else—just stayed close, quiet, easy in your orbit. And your pencil kept moving, but the corners of your mouth hadn’t stopped lifting since he arrived.

He leans back, his arm resting casually along the back of the bench. His bracelet slides a little on his wrist, thread faded in the center.

A few minutes pass like that—his presence quiet but close, your pencil moving in soft lines. He smells faintly of laundry powder and sunscreen.

…

You are secretly thrilled to see him that morning.

You’re at your usual bench, sketchbook open, tea warm in your hands, the sun already softening the edges of your linen trousers. The field hums. You’re halfway through the slant of a tree that never quite sits still when you hear tires crunching over the path.

You look up.

It’s him.

Same bike. Different shirt. Canvas bag slung over one shoulder, baguette sticking out the top like he’s been personally styled by a charming cliché. He squints through the light, already grinning.

“Still terrorizing that poor tree?” he calls.

You glance at your page. “It has character.”

He rolls to a stop beside you. “It’s been, what—four days?”

“It has a lot of personality,” you say, straight-faced.

“Oh, well then. If that’s what you are looking for, I’ve got loads of personality for you.” He says with a cheeky wink.

You raise an eyebrow. “You? Sit still long enough to be sketched? Please.”

He swings a leg off his bike with flair. “I could try. But I’d probably get hungry halfway through.”

He lifts the canvas bag like it’s a grand prize. “Speaking of—come with me.”

You eye the baguette. “That your sales pitch?”

“Bread and charm. I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“And where exactly are we going?”

“That wildflower field past the creek. You need new inspiration. This tree deserves a break. I need breakfast.”

“You’ve been watching me sketch long enough to have opinions now?”

“I’m observant. It’s a hidden skill. I’ve built a whole career out of reading lines and curves.”

You catch it. The quiet drop of something—easy, offhand, like he assumed you already knew.

But you don’t ask. You just stand, close your sketchbook, and tuck it under your arm.

Lando watches you with a flicker of curiosity—like he’s waiting for the question that never comes.

“And you’re getting me there how, exactly?”

He pats the cross bar of the bike. “Hop on.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious about snacks. And this blanket’s not going to carry itself.”

You hesitate, heart skipping—not with fear, but anticipation. You jump on the bar.

“Hold tight,” he says, kicking off.

“Oh my God.”

He laughs, arm instinctively sliding around your waist. “Relax. Worst case, we fall into a bush.”

“You’re not even holding the handlebars properly.”

“I’m multi-talented,” he says, steering with one hand, humming under his breath.

The path dips and curves. Wind brushes your face. And for the next five minutes, you feel like you’ve been dropped into the part of a summer film right before the music swells.

…

The wildflower field is even beautiful and bright.

He rolls the bike into the grass like it’s muscle memory, drops the bag beside it, and pulls out a folded blanket with the confidence of someone who’s done this before.

“I’m genuinely impressed you remembered a blanket,” you say, eyeing the setup.

He shrugs, casually smug. “Some of us come prepared.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as a planning-ahead kind of guy.”

“Among other hidden talents,” he says, casually flicking a grape your way. “Thought you might’ve Googled me by now.”

You catch the grape, just barely. “Wild to think I find you that interesting.”

He grins. “What if I’m a fugitive criminal and that’s why I’m out here, hiding.”

You hum. “I’ll think I prefer to remain in the dark about that.”

His eyes catch yours, teasing but quieter now. “You’re not even a little bit tempted to look me up right now?”

“Even less than before. For all I care you are the crown prince of Denmark, you are still an annoying little shit.”

He grins amused and grabs another grape.

You kick off your shoes and sit beside him, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“You ever bring anyone else here?” you ask, eyeing the setup—peaches in syrup, cheese, a suspiciously artisanal jar of jam.

He hands you a napkin. “No one. Only few get to experience my special seduction peaches.”

You almost spit your tea. “You did not just say that.”

“Oh, I absolutely did. You compared me to that Timothée movie the other day—so really, this is on you.”

Before you can respond, Lando plucks a flower from the grass and tucks it behind his ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then he looks at you, smug and unbothered.

“What do you think? Suits the vibe, right?”

You give him a slow once-over. “You’re pushing it.”

“Sure,” he says, adjusting it with mock precision. “I think it makes my eyes pop quite nicely though, don’t you?”

You snort. “You always fish this hard for compliments?”

He shrugs, casual as ever. “Only from you.”

You roll your eyes at him but fail to hide your smile.  

Lando unpacks slowly, casually—like this is all just something that happened to him, not something he planned. You let him talk about how he once tried to make focaccia and accidentally started a small kitchen fire. He lets you tell the story of the time you asked a Parisian barista for a boyfriend instead of a straw.

“Did he offer his number?”

“No. He laughed and said ‘bonne chance.’”

He tips his head back and laughs, a full sound that seems to ripple out into the field.

You lie back beside him, full of cheese and sunlight. The grass is soft, the breeze lazy, and for the first time in ages, you feel completely still.

Your fingers rest close but don’t touch. His eyes are closed, lashes long, expression relaxed. There’s a smudge of jam near the corner of his mouth. The bracelet on his wrist has slid halfway down his forearm.

You look at him—not because he’s objectively handsome, though he is—but because being around him doesn’t feel like something you have to manage. He doesn’t need anything from you. He just shows up. With jokes. With peaches. With warmth.

You’re not used to that. But you’re starting to think maybe you could be.

You turn your face toward the sky.

And for a second, you let the quiet hold you both.

…

You don’t sleep that night.

Not for lack of trying. You go through all the motions—face washed, teeth brushed, window cracked open just enough to let the breeze curl across the floor. You even do the thing where you flip the pillow to the cooler side, hoping your body will take the hint.

It doesn’t.

Your legs still feel sun-drunk and grass-damp. Your hands remember the weight of the baguette you both pretended not to take seriously. Your chest, somehow, still echoes with the sound of his laugh—low and delighted and very much not meant for anyone else.

And your mind won’t stop showing you that moment again.

Lando. The field. His shoulder just barely brushing yours. That ridiculous flower tucked behind his ear. The way he looked when he wasn’t talking—just… there. Loose-limbed and open. Hair a mess. Bracelet slipping halfway down his arm. Eyes closed like the sun belonged to him.

You shift under the covers. Still no good.

Eventually, you slip out of bed.

Barefoot and quiet, you cross the tiles to the kitchen. The lamp above the stove gives off a soft yellow glow. The house creaks once as if noticing you’re up.

Your sketchbook is right where you left it—on the nightstand, corner bent slightly from use. You carry it with you like muscle memory and sit at the little table with your legs tucked under, pencil already balanced between your fingers.

You don’t plan what you’re going to draw.

You just start.

It begins with his posture. Easy. Familiar now. Then the curve of his neck where the sun had kissed it pink. The line of his mouth—not posed, just relaxed. And that flower. Silly and lovely. You add it carefully, even though it makes you laugh under your breath again.

You sketch the hills in the background, the fold of the blanket, the half-bitten baguette lying next to him like a punchline.

Your hand moves without asking your permission. Your pencil seems to know the parts of him that mattered. The crinkle near his eye when he made you laugh. The line of his jaw when he leaned back and said something that made your chest buzz in that quiet, dangerous way.

You sit back when it’s done, but you don’t close the book.

You just look at him.

Something in your chest lets go a little.

And then—without really meaning to—you start flipping through the older pages.

Tree trunks. Hills. Sunlight. Quiet things. But now you’re noticing shapes that weren’t the focus at the time. A shadow leaning against a bench. The outline of a bike resting just off-frame. Coffee mugs.

You frown a little. Then smile, too.

Because he’s been showing up longer than you thought.

And now he’s here, on the page in front of you, taking up space like he always belonged there.

…

You didn’t sleep—not really.

One of those nights where you lay still for hours, heart too loud, sheets too warm, brain spinning in loops you couldn’t name. You kept thinking of the field, of the flowers brushing your ankles, of the way his laugh curled around your spine. And of his knees—close, brushing yours like it didn’t mean anything. Like it meant everything.

When morning finds you, it does so unkindly.

The light is too sharp. Your limbs are stiff with something leftover from the night before—restlessness, maybe, or the quiet ache of wanting.

You sit up slowly. The room smells like warm wood and the tea you didn’t finish yesterday.

You skip the kettle.

Too gentle. Too slow. You need caffeine. 

You pull on whatever’s nearby—a linen shirt, a pair of sandals—and grab your bag from the hook. Your sketchbook is tucked inside, the top corner of the latest page still slightly curled from where your hand lingered too long the night before. It’s warm from the sunlit table. Warm from you.

It’s quiet in the village. That early, golden hush that only comes once the birds have tired themselves out and the people haven’t started yet. Everything smells like stone and heat and thyme. You walk without much thought. First slow, then a little faster. Like maybe if you keep moving, your thoughts won’t catch up.

The café is open. It always is.

You go straight to the counter and order an espresso without looking up. Your voice is quieter than usual. Automatic. The barista nods. The machine hisses.

You shift your bag on your shoulder. Fumble in the front pocket for coins.

The sketchbook slips.

You don’t hear it.

You’re too busy remembering the shape of his grin.

You pay. Say merci. Take your espresso and go.

Behind you, the sketchbook lies open on the counter, a breeze flipping the top page like it wants someone—anyone—to look.

…

You take the long way home. Not on purpose. Not really.

Your legs just keep going—past the chapel with the wonky bell, past the grocer unloading crates of apricots that smell like sun, past the bakery with its windows fogged from the morning batch.

You sip slowly. The espresso is sharp and bitter and unkind but also everything you needed.

When you pass the bench, it’s empty. You don’t stop. You don’t even glance toward the road that loops up the hill.

But halfway home, you freeze.

That ache in your chest returns—low, pulling. Something’s off.

You reach for your bag. Dig past your wallet, the folded napkin from yesterday’s market, a spare pencil.

No sketchbook.

You stop walking.

Check again.

Slower this time. More methodical. Like maybe it’ll appear if you’re careful enough.

It doesn’t.

Your stomach drops.

You whisper to yourself, trying to backtrack. “I had it. I know I had it. I remember taking it.”

And then it hits you.

The café.

You’re already running.

…

The bell above the café door jangled sharply as you burst in. The barista looked up, startled.

“Excusez-moi,” you said, slightly out of breath.  “Vous auriez trouvé un carnet, par hasard ? Je l’ai peut-être oublié ce matin.” (Excuse me, did you happen to find a notebook? I might’ve left it here this morning.)

She blinked, then frowned slightly. “Un carnet… genre un cahier ?” (A notebook… like a journal?)

You nodded. “Oui, un carnet à dessin. Noir. Je l’ai sûrement laissé sur le comptoir.” (Yes, a sketchbook. Black. I probably left it on the counter.)

She glanced around, lifted the napkin holder, checked behind the coffee machine. “J’ai rien vu, désolée. Mais y’a eu pas mal de monde après vous.” (Didn’t see anything, sorry. But there were quite a few people after you.)

Your stomach dipped.

“D’accord… merci quand même,” you murmured. (Alright… thanks anyway.)

“Pas de souci,” she said gently, already returning to the machine. (No worries.)

Your eyes scan the tables. The chairs. Every quiet shadow. But it’s gone.

Really, truly gone.

You step outside slowly. The sun is too high now, the village too awake. The world feels like it’s pressing in from all angles.

You sit on the stone step outside the café, espresso forgotten. The cup sweats in your palm.

You don’t drink it.

You just... sit.

Your breath is shallow. Not panicked, exactly. But cracked at the edges.

You think of the pages—your pages.

Not just trees or windows or bowls of fruit. But him.

The slope of his neck. The way the sun hit the side of his face when he laughed. The soft curve of his hand resting near yours.

The flower behind his ear. That ridiculous moment he wore it like a crown and said something about giving you something to look at.

And now someone else might be looking.

You walk home in silence.

You check the house. The table. The windowsill. Your bed. You check the chair you always leave it on, like maybe—maybe—you forgot and imagined everything else.

But you didn’t.

It’s not there.

…

After the café, you try to reset.

You tell yourself it’s just a notebook. Just paper. Just lines and impressions. You’ve lost things before. It’s fine. It’s nothing. It’s not everything.

You throw on your sandals, tug your bag over your shoulder, and head for the market—not because you need anything, but because standing still might make your chest cave in. You need noise. Fruit stalls. Shouting. Old men debating over melons. Something that reminds you how to be in your body.

The sun is already high, painting your shoulders gold. The rhythm of the stalls is comforting in its own strange way—baskets rustling, paper bags crinkling, the clink of coins and easy bonjours. You watch someone tear a baguette with their teeth. You buy a peach.

It’s soft in your palm, a little too ripe. You brush your thumb over the fuzz, trying to ground yourself in something small.

That’s when you hear it.

"Didn’t think I’d see you here this early," someone says behind you, casual like he’s been here all along.

You turn.

Lando’s leaning on his bike one-handed, an apple in the other, already half-eaten. He’s in a worn navy tee, curls pushed up by his sunglasses, grinning like he’s not even trying.

You blink at him. "I could say the same. You don’t strike me as a morning person."

He shrugs, taking another bite. "Very true. Thought I’d do something different today. Blend in. Be a local."

You eye his trainers and canvas bag. "Yeah. Totally inconspicuous."

“The very British sunburn really sells it,” he says, pointing to his red cheeks.

You snort. Keep walking. He pushes the bike beside you like it’s second nature now.

"You doing the full lap?" he asks.

"Haven’t decided. Just needed to move."

"Same. Mostly I’m out here hoping something vaguely interesting happens."

"And?"

He holds up the apple. "Might’ve peaked already."

You shoot him a look, but you’re smiling. He bumps your shoulder, just barely.

The breeze catches the hem of your dress. A tomato vendor yells something in French about someone’s parking spot. Lando steals a grape off a display like he owns the place.

You’re halfway past the cheese stand when he glances at you. “So you’re not sketching today.”

Your whole body goes still.

“Lost it,” you say, like it’s no big deal. “My sketchbook. Think I left it at the café. Was gone when I went back.”

Lando stops walking.

Then, slowly, he pulls the tote around from his shoulder and fishes something out.

“It looked something like this, right?”

Your eyes land on it—your sketchbook, worn at the edges, a smudge of charcoal on the corner.

You freeze. “No way.”

He flips it once in his hands. “Way.”

You reach for it, but he takes a step back, grin deepening. “Oi, snatching? Not even a thank you first?”

“I was getting there,” you say, eyes narrowing.

“Sure you were,” he says, flipping the cover open. “Let’s see all those trees you’ve been staring at in the past week.”

“Don’t—”

“Oh, I’m already in.” His grin stretches wider as he glances down. But then it falters—just slightly. Like the air shifts.

And then he looks up at you.

The teasing’s gone now, folded away somewhere beneath the warmth in his voice. He closes the sketchbook gently, hands holding it like it might bruise if he let it fall. “I just wanted to see if you drew the wildflowers already.”

You don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to—but because something about the way he’s looking at you makes the words wait.

Soft confusion. A hint of something quieter underneath. A flicker of disbelief, maybe.

“I can’t believe you actually drew me,” he says, like it’s only just hitting him.

You want to joke. Deflect. Say something casual and light. But your throat feels too full. Your fingers fidget near the edge of your skirt.

He reopens it and looks down at the page again, as if he was expecting it to have disappeared.

“Not just a little sketch either,” he adds, thumb brushing the edge of the paper. “You didn’t just... doodle me. You saw me.”

You finally meet his eyes.

“You’re kind of hard to miss.” You half joke, trying to lighten the thick and heavy air that had dawned between the two of you. 

He breathes out—half-laugh, half-question. “I didn’t know I looked like that.”

You tilt your head slightly.

“Like what?”

He squints down at the drawing again, shifting the sketchbook in his hands.

There’s colour on his cheeks now. His voice is softer. “You got everything. My awful posture. The weird way I hold my hands. Even the mole I always forget is there.”

He smiles faintly. “It’s kind of weird, how much that gets to me.”

You don’t reply. You don’t need to. Because it’s written in the line of your shoulders, in the way your breath catches and holds still.

He straightens a little, pressing a palm flat over the closed cover like he’s anchoring it.

“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat like he needs a reset, “That’s enough vulnerability for one market morning.”

You raise a brow.

He nods solemnly. “Look at me, being cool and composed and absolutely not affected.”

You laugh, finally.

He grins like he’s been waiting to see that. Then he shifts his bike with one hand, the sketchbook still tucked in his other arm like it’s something he's meant to carry.

You walk slowly now, shoes scuffing along the uneven stones. Your shoulder bumps his once. Then again. Neither of you pulls away.

You look up just as he glances over, lashes low, smile lazy, that tiny smug tilt creeping back in.

But now you know what’s underneath it.

And maybe he’s glad you do.

…

The walk to his cottage that evening is quiet.

You take the long route through the trees, basket swinging at your hip. The sky is blushing, the whole village exhaling after the heat of the day. Gravel crunches beneath your shoes, louder in the hush that settles around you. The afternoon still lingers on your skin. So does the sketchbook.

His door is ajar when you reach it.

You knock once.

“Come in,” he calls, a clatter following—a pot lid, probably, hitting the floor.

You step inside.

His cottage is smaller than yours, but warm in a wonky, lived-in way. One wall leans slightly. The light is golden, catching on the edges of hanging mugs and cluttered spice jars. There’s a low hum of wordless music playing from a vintage speaker in the corner. Something soft and jazzy. Something that matches the air.

Lando appears barefoot, damp curls still tousled from a shower, grey sweatpants slung too casually low, a t-shirt faded at the seams. There’s a smear of flour near his wrist. The towel on his shoulder has a questionable stain on one corner.

“You’re exactly on time,” he says, tossing the towel at the counter. “I was just ruining dinner.”

You lift an eyebrow. “I can see that.”

He waves a wooden spoon. “Rude. I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn to salvage things.”

You join him by the stove. There are garlic skins everywhere and one tomato that looks like it’s been crushed in a fit of rage.

“Wow,” you say. “It looks like a proper crime scene in here.”

He grins, handing you the spoon. “It’s artisanal. You wouldn’t get it.”

You fall into step beside him—chopping, stirring, nudging each other out of the way. It’s chaotic in a way that feels easy.

“Is that jam? In the pasta sauce?”

He stirs, unfazed. “Might be. Might not. Who’s to say?”

You sigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

He winks. “Ridiculously sexy, though.” 

“You would be in jail in Italy for this.”

He nudges you with his elbow. “No way. It will be super good."

You raise an eyebrow trying to contain your laughter.

"If I mess this up, you’ll have to come over again. For redemption dinner.”

You laugh under your breath. “So this is a trap?”

“Obviously,” he says, smiling like it’s already worked. 

You shake your head, fighting the grin. “I’m just here to file the incident report.”

He laughs—easy, boyish. “Sure. That’s why you’re here.”

You nudge him with your hip, but you’re smiling now, and so is he.

There’s a beat where everything feels suspended—like the world’s trying to decide whether to lean in or let go.

Dinner, somehow, becomes edible. Better than edible, actually. The kitchen smells like garlic and warmth. Or maybe just him.

You eat perched on the stools at his narrow counter, knees bumping, plates resting on mismatched placemats. The music hums low. The wine he poured earlier—without asking—sits mostly untouched between you.

You scrape the bottom of your bowl, trying not to admit how good it all is.

The conversation drifts. Then slows. The air thickens, not in a heavy way—just... heavier than before.

You run your finger along the rim of your plate.

“I like this,” you say, quieter now.

“The failed pasta?”

You shake your head. “This. The whole thing. With you.”

He leans his elbow on the counter, watching you. There’s something less cheeky in his eyes now. But not serious, not exactly. Just a different kind of focused.

“I don’t even know when everything started feeling like a performance,” you murmur. “I don’t know. It’s nice to be here and not worry if I’m being too much or not enough.”

He sets his fork down. Fingers loose, gentle. 

“I get that,” he says. “Sometimes I walk into a room and feel like half of me’s already there. The one people expect. Loud, easy, fast. And then someone says something like ‘I feel like I know you,’ and I want to ask them which version.” 

You glance at him, a smile tugging at your mouth before you finish. “It’s nice to really let go and not having to try so hard.”

His gaze doesn’t move. “You don’t have to try at all.”

You blink.

“And that’s not me being smooth,” he adds, lips curving. “Okay, mostly not me being smooth.”

You nudge his leg lightly with your knee. “Mostly?”

He shrugs, letting it sit.

“You are so wonderful. I could watch you like this for hours,” he says. “And still feel like I’m missing something.”

You finish eating slowly, forks scraping the last of the pasta as the music hums behind you, low and warm. Neither of you rushes to clear the plates—there’s something easy about sitting there, knees bumping, the last of the wine forgotten between you.

Eventually, you both get up, brushing shoulders as you move around the narrow kitchen. He rinses the dishes. You dry. There’s a rhythm to it, quiet and unspoken.

And then—he reaches for a bowl at the same time you do.

Your hands brush. Not by accident.

You look up.

He’s close now. Closer than before. The counter feels smaller suddenly. The music softer. The room warmer.

He doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

His voice is low, playful, but there's something underneath it. “That thing you do with your rings... is that a tell?”

Your brow lifts slightly. “Do what?”

“You’re fidgeting, darling,” he says. “And have been for the past couple of minutes.”

Your mouth curves despite yourself. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.” His fingers skim lightly over yours, still damp from the sink. “You’re a terrible liar.”

And then—he stands straighter. Like a decision’s just been made.

He lifts a hand to your cheek, brushing a loose strand of hair back, his knuckles warm where they linger.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t want to.

His thumb moves gently, tilting your chin. “You make me a bit nervous too.” he murmurs, grinning just enough to be trouble.

“Tell me to stop.”

You breathe in. Just once.

Then, “Please don’t.”

And then he kisses you.

Soft. Slow. Like he’s not in a hurry, but also like he’s been thinking about this every night since the first time you smirked at him from that bench.

You sink into it.

His other hand finds your waist, grounding. Yours slide up his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt like you need to hold on to something solid.

His lips part slightly. So do yours. He exhales into you, and the air around you shifts again—fizzing, slow-burning, like a spark finally catching.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, he doesn’t move.

Just rests his forehead lightly against yours.

“You good?” he asks, voice somewhere between careful and cocky.

You nod. “Still think you’re terrible at pasta.”

He grins. “Fine. But undeniable at kissing.”

“Cocky,” you say, smiling against his mouth.

“Only when I’m right.”

He kisses you again—deeper this time, more sure. One hand still at your waist, the other slipping behind your neck.

And you let yourself have it. The heat of him. The weight of it. The way his body presses into yours like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.

Because maybe it is.

…

You wake in his arms.

Not in some cinematic, sun-drenched way—no birdsong, no breeze gently billowing the curtains. Just warmth. Slow and steady. The hush of his breath tucked against the back of your neck, the weight of his arm heavy across your waist, the sheets tangled somewhere near your knees. The room smells like sleep mixed with his cologne. 

You stretch slightly, and his grip tightens instinctively.

“You awake?” he mumbles, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Mm.”

You shift, slowly, until you’re facing him. His eyes open, half-lidded and soft, focus still finding its way. And then—there it is. That lazy little smile, the kind that feels more like a secret than a greeting.

“Morning,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Hi.”

The quiet between you isn’t awkward. It’s padded. Safe.

“I think,” you say, eyelids still heavy, “your pasta disaster got redeemed.”

He lets out a sleepy huff. “Told you. Charm and chaos. Balanced recipe.”

You smile, tucking yourself closer. He shifts onto his back, pulling you with him until your head fits into the crook of his shoulder. His fingers trail lightly down your spine, just under the hem of the hoodie you’re still wearing—his hoodie, which he definitely hasn’t asked for back and is definitely not mad about seeing on you.

You stay like that a while. No talking. No rush. Just letting the morning hold you.

“I get why people never leave places like this,” he murmurs eventually.

You tilt your chin up, just slightly. “Because of the views?”

He pauses.

“Because of the mornings.”

And he doesn’t say more than that—but the quiet lingers with meaning, like maybe this is new for him too. Not just the waking up like this, but the wanting to.

Then—because of course—there’s a doorbell.

He groans into the pillow. “This place doesn’t even have a doorbell.”

You’re already pushing yourself upright, sleeves covering your hands. He swings his legs over the bed, the light catching the lines of his shoulders, his chest. It’s kind of rude, honestly.

You throw him a look. “You’re going down there like that? Just underwear?”

He shrugs, already walking. “If it’s the postman, he’s earned a little joy.”

You follow barefoot, hoodie sleeves tugged over your knuckles, hair messy, heart full of something that’s just starting to make sense.

He opens the door.

Oscar.

Holding his phone, keys dangling from his fingers, and an expression that sits somewhere between unimpressed and deeply unsurprised.

“There he is,” Oscar says flatly. “The missing child.”

Lando blinks. “Hi.”

“Hi. Zac says hi, too. You’ve gone full ghost mode for a week and a half now, and considering you’re allergic to not being online, we assumed you’d fallen down a ravine.”

Lando leans against the doorframe, completely calm. “Define fallen.”

Oscar opens his mouth—but then he spots you.

And you, still half-tucked behind Lando, offer the kind of smile that says: yes, this is awkward. No, you’re not sorry.

Oscar squints. His gaze drops to the hoodie. He exhales through his nose.

“Knew you had to be sticking around for a reason.”

Lando smirks, unapologetic. “Takes one to know one.”

Oscar sighs like he’s aged a decade in two minutes. “Anyway. Testing starts. Sim sessions are racking up. You missed three already, and if you keep slacking, I might actually beat you this year.”

Lando’s still looking at you when he says, “Any more room in the car?”

Oscar raises a brow. “For you?”

Lando doesn’t look away. “No. For us.”

There’s a pause. A flicker of something almost fond on Oscar’s face.

“God,” he mutters. “Fine.”

Lando turns to you, grin a little too confident now. “You into sketching race cars?”

You raise a brow. “That depends. Are they prettier than the trees?”

“They are,” he says, tugging you gently toward him. “Especially when I’m driving them.”

You let him. Smile blooming as your fingers curl around the fabric of his sleeve.

“Guess I’ll find out.”

[f1-mcmuffin]

Hiii can i request a fifth member au where lando takes her on a hotlap and its just so chaotic and funny since i can imagine reader being very scared yet full of adrenaline while landonis laughing at her screaming

Hot Seat

(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

The McLaren media office was buzzing in that familiar off-season way — half chaos, half espresso. No race weekend panic, but enough pressure in the air to remind everyone that Formula 1 never really stopped.

Lando leaned back on the couch in a branded zip-up, sipping an oat milk latte that had gone cold an hour ago. He wasn’t really listening to the interview running in the background — some B-roll from the previous race — just tapping absentmindedly at his phone, scrolling and half-watching a pigeon outside the glass walls.

That was when Emma, head of McLaren’s digital content team, the only person who could get Lando to agree to TikTok ideas without bribery, slid into the seat next to him with the kind of mischievous smile that immediately put him on alert.

“No,” he said preemptively, eyes still on his phone.

Emma laughed. “You didn’t even hear the question.”

“I’ve known you for three years. I don’t need to.”

“Okay, but you’re going to like this one.”

He finally looked up. “Doubt it.”

Emma held up her tablet, flipping to a slide with a mock-up thumbnail for a YouTube video. Bright colors, big text, classic clickbait.

“Y/N L/N DOES A HOT LAP WITH LANDO NORRIS” 🔥 Kpop star Meets F1 Speed – Will She Survive? 🔥

Lando stared at it then looked at her. “You’re joking.”

Emma grinned. “She’s been in the paddock. The fans are obsessed with her. This would break the internet.”

“She hates attention.”

“She’s literally in BLACKPINK.”

“That’s different,” he muttered, setting his cup down. “Performing is one thing. Sitting next to me while I pretend I’m not trying to scare her to death in a fast car is another.”

Emma tapped the tablet. “It doesn’t have to be dramatic. We can shoot it clean, slow build, lots of soft moments. Let the fandom ship itself into oblivion. And honestly? You two just being you on camera would outperform any scripted segment we’ve done this year.”

Lando rubbed a hand down his face. “She’s gonna kill me if she sees that thumbnail.”

“So, she’ll say no?”

He paused. “I didn’t say that.”

Emma tilted her head. “Think she’d do it?”

Lando chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. Then shrugged.

“She might,” he said finally. Lando leaned back in his chair, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’re serious about this?”

“As a heart attack. Or a missed braking point.”

He laughed quietly to himself, then ran a hand through his curls.

Lando didn’t answer immediately. He gave a little laugh under his breath instead. Not at her — at the idea. At how quickly his brain had already started filling in how she’d react. The shriek when he accelerated. The quiet I swear to God, if you crash this I’m haunting you she’d probably whisper through clenched teeth. The smug look he’d wear the whole time.

“I’ll ask her,” 

LATER THAT NIGHT – THEIR SHARED APARTMENT

That night, Monaco was quiet — that rare window where the city almost sighed into stillness. The windows were cracked open to let in the breeze, and the living room was bathed in the dim orange glow of the streetlamp outside.

She was home before him for once, sitting cross-legged on the couch with sheet music, her precious Macbook, and a half-eaten bowl of cereal at her side,  and “Pride and Prejudice” playing quietly on the TV.

Lando kicked off his shoes at the door, dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and padded into the living room, already grinning. She was on the couch, one leg tucked under her, in an oversized black crewneck that definitely wasn’t hers — probably another one that had mysteriously migrated from his side of the closet to hers.

“You’re late,” she called without looking, her voice lazy with contentment.

“Yeah,” he said,  “Blame Emma.”

She looked up from her laptop as he flopped onto the couch dramatically, resting his arm over the back like he was posing for a promo photo.

“Good day at the office?” she asked

“Productive,” he said. “Didn’t crash. Only got slightly roasted by Oscar during filming.”

“A successful Tuesday,” she teased.

She shifted slightly, making room for him to tuck himself against her side. He stole a spoonful of cereal, grimaced.

“Why is it warm?”

“Because you took forty-seven years to get home.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder, eyes flicking to the TV. “Did I miss Darcy being insufferable?”

“You are Darcy.”

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She laughed, and he let it linger for a moment before clearing his throat — casual, too casual.

He grinned. “I have a question.”

“Mhm?”

“If McLaren asked you to do a hot lap with me, like for content or whatever... what would you say?”

She stopped whatever she was doing on her laptop then turned her head just enough to give him a suspicious look. “Are they actually asking or is this you doing the thing where you pretend it’s hypothetical when it’s not?”

Lando winced. “...Yes.”

“To which part?”

“Yes.”

She groaned, dropping her head back against the couch. “Lando.”

“They’re not pressuring or anything!” he added quickly. “It was just an idea. Emma thinks it would break the internet. She made a thumbnail. You looked terrified in it.”

“Oh, great,” she deadpanned. “A pre-visualized panic attack. Love that for myself.”

He turned more toward her, arm draping across her stomach, fingers brushing lightly at the hem of her sweatshirt. “I’d drive safe. Promise.”

“Your version of safe is ‘let me brake as late as physically possible and laugh while you scream.’”

He bit back a grin. “Only with people I like.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I thought... I dunno. Could be fun. You and me. In the car. Just vibes.”

She exhaled, studying him for a second — that soft little furrow in his brow he always got when he was trying to play it cool but really cared.

“Just one lap,” she said finally.

Lando blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

He kissed her cheek immediately, grinning against her skin. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I’m going to vomit,” she corrected.

“Still content.”

“Lando.”

He kissed her again — this time on the temple — before leaning back and stealing another bite of warm cereal.

“Just think,” he said between chews. “You, me, high speeds, and Emma screaming in the media trailer because we went off-script.”

She smirked. “And if I survive, you’re doing a dance class with me.”

“yeah , yeah sure” he said mindlessly then it hit him. “Wait—what?”

“Too late,” she said sweetly. “Deal’s locked.”

THE NEXT DAY

The track was quiet when they arrived — not silent, but peaceful. The kind of early morning calm that came before engines roared and cameras clicked. A low breeze swept across the tarmac, the scent of burnt rubber still lingering from yesterday’s laps.

She stepped out of the passenger side of Lando’s lamborghini urus, her sneakers crunching against the gravel. She wore a cropped tee, baggy jeans, and sunglasses that covered most of her face. Her hair was settled on her shoulders, and she had that look, the “agreed to this but I might regret it” look.

Lando emerged from the driver’s side in black cargo pants and a hoodie with the McLaren logo on the sleeve. He was already grinning.

“Still time to back out,” he offered, tossing her a bottle of water.

She caught it, unscrewed the cap, and took a long sip. “And let you hold it over my head for the next three years? No chance.”

From the nearby pit wall, Emma and two other digital team staff watched from behind their cameras and phones, pretending to be casual but clearly vibrating with secondhand excitement.

“She doesn’t look scared,” one of them whispered.

“Because she hasn’t heard the engine yet,” the other muttered.

Lando turned to her and held out a helmet. “Ready?”

She looked at it like it was judging her. “Does it come with insurance?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

She took the helmet, slipping it on over her hair, letting it rest loosely on top while he fastened the chin strap for her. Lando pulled on his own and headed toward the McLaren GT car waiting near the edge of the track — low, sleek, orange. Sunlight skimmed across its surface like it knew it was going to be the main character today.

The inside of the McLaren smelled like burnt rubber, heat, and trouble.

She gripped the sides of the seat with both hands, helmet suddenly too tight, her heart already somewhere near her throat — and they hadn’t even moved yet.

Lando sat beside her in full smug mode, adjusting the wheel like this was just another Tuesday. He looked over at her, visor up, expression too calm.

“You good?”

“No,” she said instantly. “I am so far from good.”

He grinned like a menace. “Want me to play music?”

“I want you to not kill us.”

Lando pressed a button. The engine roared to life with a growl that rattled her spine.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, half-laughing, half-praying. “Is it too late to do content on gardening? Or knitting?” she quickly tried to reason

He revved it once — once — and she flinched so hard her helmet knocked the seat. 

“I hate you,” she whispered. “I genuinely hate you.”

“Strap in, baby,” Lando said, already shifting them into gear. “It’s Monza time.”

They took off so fast her scream wasn’t even a sound at first — just one long exhale of panic.

The first straight was smooth. Almost suspiciously so.

Lando wasn’t pushing it — just letting her settle in, the speed creeping up, tires singing slightly as they glided over the track.

She relaxed a fraction. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. I can do this. I—”

He downshifted and dove into the first tight corner.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

Her whole body lurched. She reached for the dashboard. Lando burst out laughing.

“Why would you do that?!”

“You said it was fine!”

“I LIED. I’M A LIAR. I—OH MY GOD. Lando, honey please”

It wasn’t even that Lando was reckless. He was terrifyingly good. Every turn was precise, every brake late enough to make her question every life decision she’d ever made. He was calm. In control.

Which somehow made it worse.

“YOU’RE SMILING,” she shouted.

“I always smile when I’m having fun.”

“You’re smiling like a serial killer.” she squealed 

Lando chuckled. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m not doing anything! I’M JUST SURVIVING!” she groaned, her voice getting higher with each word

He hit another corner — a tight one — and she screamed again, louder, with more emotion this time.

“LANDO CHARLES NORRIS,”

He lost it. His laughter echoed over the engine.

“You used my middle name!”

“That’s how you know I’m serious!”

Somewhere after the halfway mark, She stopped trying to process what was happening and just gave in to it — the velocity, the weightlessness through a sweeping curve, the stupid grin on Lando’s face.

“I think I’ve transcended,” she said loudly. “I’m outside my body. I’ve seen my ancestors.”

Lando shifted down again. The tires squealed.

“OH MY GOD I CAN FEEL MY EYEBALLS MOVING.”

“You wanted adrenaline, right?”

“Baby, I never said that!”

Every corner came faster than the last, and her reactions were a mix of swearing, shouting, and trying to stay upright in her seat as G-force pulled her sideways.

But what the cameras didn’t catch — or maybe they did — was the way her laughter never faded. How even while clinging to the seatbelt, she looked over at him like he was absolutely ridiculous and she loved him for it.

The final straight approached. Lando eased off — not much, but enough to let her breathe.

She was hysterical. Full laughing, full crying, nothing in between.

“I can’t believe I’m still alive,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re still licensed. I can’t believe I screamed your full name like your mom.”

“I’m never letting you forget that.”

“I will deny it”

The car rolled back into the paddock and slowed to a stop. She sat completely still for a moment, eyes squinted and mouth slightly agape,  Lando popped his helmet off, his hair completely flattened and wild at the same time. “So? Final thoughts?” he asked. She slowly turned her head to look at him dead in the eye.

“I want a fully paid trip somewhere i’ve never been, how bout that.”

He grinned, keeping that in mind.

“So… next lap?”

“I think I need therapy,” she said.

He grinned. “That bad?”

“I mean,” she started, and then burst out laughing. “That was insane. You’re insane. I can’t believe people pay you to do that.”

Emma walked over, still recording on her phone, trying not to laugh herself. “So, Y/n, would you do it again?”

She looked directly at the camera, deadpan.

“Only if I’m driving.”

Lando froze. “Wait—what?”

She shoved her helmet into his chest. “Better start praying.”

YOUTUBE VIDEO COMMENTS:

@/jisoofthegrid Lando Norris unlocking new levels of fear in her while laughing like a feral child… iconic couple behavior.

@/blinkbonfire “I want a fully paid trip somewhere i’ve never been, how bout that.” is such a Y/n line. This girl has main character energy even when she’s screaming at 200kph 😭💅

@/roses_are_revvingnot the fact that she was genuinely terrified and still looked stunning doing it??? She is a threat to us all

@/kpopf1brainrot Imagine going from choreographing world tours to clinging for dear life in a McLaren because your boyfriend has no chill 😭 she’s living a movie.

@/jenniesferraribabe Blink culture is watching her literally suffer in a sports car and still commenting “slay queen 💅”

@/chaengslap Okay but when she said “Okay. Okay, this is fine. I can do this.,” it gave 2019 comeback energy. We’ve been knowing she’s a survivor 💀💗

@/koreanracequeen No because Lando was LAUGHING while she’s seeing God and her ancestors at once??? This man is a menace to society and her cardiovascular system.

@/blinktoktoktok Also can we talk about how soft he looked at her after they stopped? Like yeah he just traumatized her but also he was in love. Ugh. Men like this don’t exist.

@/icecreamrevengekpop Somebody PLEASE put “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” on a BLACKPINK tour tee or I’ll do it myself. Solo merch now. LandoY/n world domination.

@/bpworldarchive You can tell she trusts him so much, even while screaming. That’s not just adrenaline. That’s ride-or-die girlfriend energy. We stan a woman with nerves of titanium and a clown of a boyfriend 🫡💗

@/f1obsessedgirl Not her screaming “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” like she’s his disappointed mother 😭😭😭 I’m crying.

@/tracksidewitch She didn’t just go for the middle name. She went for the soul. That’s a woman fighting for her life.

@/drsdramaqueen The way Lando was LAUGHING while she was having a spiritual experience in the passenger seat 😭💀

@/kimchiandcarbonfiber Her: screaming in fear Lando: “Haha she’s thriving.” Psychopath energy.

@/prettypitcrew Can we talk about how they were both fully in casual clothes, no race suits, no overproduction — just ✨vibes and terror✨

@/no_context_mclaren I love them so much, I can't put into words, WE NEED MORE LANDO AND Y/N CONTENT. Oh and oscar and lily too

@/hotlapsandhighheels I’ve never shipped something so violently. She’s unhinged in the passenger seat, and he’s laughing like a 12-year-old on a roller coaster. True love.

@/mclarensmutbrain (unwell) Not to be dramatic but if my future husband doesn’t drive like that while I scream his full government name, I don’t want it.

@/dancefloordrs She screamed like she saw the light, and then five seconds later she was laughing like she’d do it again. That’s ✨peak adrenaline junkie girlfriend✨ behavior.

@/charlesleclouts Can we get a Lando hot lap with Charles next so we can compare who screams more? Because she might have him beat 😭😭😭

@/softfory/nlando The way she said “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” with her whole chest??? Give this woman her own Mclaren merch line.

@/helmetcamfan69 This video is on replay. WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE TOGETHER

@/tracksidegfenergy Honestly the most realistic relationship content I’ve ever seen. Full panic. Full love. She hated every second and trusted him anyway 🧡

TEXTS TO LANDO AFTER THE HOT LAP VIDEO DROPS

Carlos Sainz

Chilli con queso: bro BRO she said your full name like she was filing a police report 😭😭 Chilli con queso: I’ve never heard someone sound so betrayed in a hot lap video besides me of couse Soy Lago: She lived Chilli con queso: Barely 😭

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

George Russell 

Regina George: Is that the first time a woman’s screamed your name in fear or Lando no rizz: Blocked. Regina George: Just saying, the G-forces weren’t the only thing slapping her Lando no rizz: GEORGE. Regina George: ok ok I’m done 😭

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Daniel Ricciardo 

 KI KI KI  RAH RAH: Mate I just watched that hot lap video KI KI KI  RAH RAH: You are a MENACE KI KI KI  RAH RAH: “I want a fully paid trip somewhere I've never been, how ‘bout that.” has entered my daily vocabulary Little shit: You should’ve seen her before the lap. Dead silent. Like a woman preparing for battle. KI KI KI  RAH RAH: I would’ve cried. You’re braver than me.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Charles Leclerc 

Lord Percerval: Mon dieu Lord Percerval: She used your middle name?? Lord Percerval: I’m sending that audio to your future children Landino: Delete this number. Lord Percerval: Too late. It’s my new text tone.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Alex Albon 

Mr. round the outside: Why does she scream better than half the horror movies I’ve seen Last Lap Lando: Natural talent Mr. round the outside: Lily said she’s the new team radio queen Mr. round the outside: She’s got more iconic one-liners than me and Lily combined

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lewis Hamilton

Sir Lewis 🐐: Just saw the vid. She handled that better than most rookies 😄 Sir Lewis 🐐: Tell her she’s got guts. Real ones. Lando Norris: I will. She’s still recovering 💀 Sir Lewis 🐐: She’s a real one. Keep hold of that.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Oscar Piastri 

Oscar pastry: This video just came up on my feed Oscar pastry: You laughed the entire time while she was legit fighting for her life Just Lando: That’s how we bond Oscar pastry: Tell her I said respect. I’d never get in a car with you after that Just Lando: She’s still threatening me. All’s normal.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Max Verstappen 

franz hermann: Screaming “LANDO CHARLES NORRIS” franz hermann: 💀 franz hermann: She unlocked a new fear level bob: Bet you five laps you wouldn’t survive one with her driving franz hermann: Deal. franz hermann: Wait is she actually planning that bob: Wouldn’t you like to know 🤨

----------

DOUBLE POST. I had too much fun coming up with account names for the comments and text messages . Also I don’t know Landos middle name so I just made one up 😭

WAG chapter next....anyone??

Taglist: @verogonewild @freyathehuntress

[ggukkiedae]

2sun on and off cameras

Click Below to See the Video

*quotations in the bottom of the pictures are narrated by the video editor. dialogue in italics are spoken in english, dialogue in bold are spoken in chinese. content warning: one curse word*

*did i write this because i miss haechan? yes. yes i did. get well soon haechannie 🥺*

00z lives 2018 vs. 2020

in the 2018 live when talking about spoilers, hannah and haechan both started doing the same choreography, so jeno stopped haechan while jaemin stopped hannah.

they exchanged a look then continued the choreo, so jeno shoved haechan off the chair while jaemin pulled hannah onto his lap, acting like a straight jacket

(then moments later spoiling choreo again while dancing to chewing gum until renjun shoved them both away)

in the 2020 live, hannah and haechan explained the iphone macbook bit to jeno, then haechan reached over her to pinch jeno’s ears while hannah poked his side.

jeno just pinched haechan’s arm and started tickling her side, making them both start yelling

Bonus Clip #3 | Analog Trip NCT 127: Escape From Magic Island

they all agreed to throw haechan into the water, and he runs away and hides behind hannah

and she looks at the older members, grabs a paddle and looks at them “i will splash you if you touch my twin!” but there was a splash behind her.

she turned around and saw haechan dove into the water willingly, so she gave him a look

“i can’t help you if you do stuff like that!” “it was throw or be thrown!”

he was thrown anyway while jaehyun lifted her in a fireman’s hold, bringing her to johnny

[BE ORIGINAL] NCT DREAM(엔시티 드림) ‘ISTJ’ (Behind)

while monitoring their cuts, haechan’s backhugging her, patting her stomach and she starts squirming before breaking from his hold

he looks at her offended, then there’s a small pause before she pulls his shirt up, making him panic to hold it back down and hide his own stomach

he moves to do the same to until he realized she was in a bralette

“try. try. just you try, lee donghyuck” “don’t test me, lee haeeun”

and he just throws her over his shoulder, and she’s yelling and mark's just following them all “guys? guys? haechan, put her down”

PADO Dance Practice Behind VS Concert Performance

during a break, there’s just a clip of them trying to (for lack of better terms) out-babygirl each other while doing the chorus, and all the other members are just watching all amused

cut to them dancing the chorus after their shared pre-chorus facing each other, eyes intense just until the second “you got me so satisfied” where they turned to face opposite directions, but beside each other instead then fist bumping as the piano chords sound at the end of the chorus

2sun during concerts compilation

cue a compilation of them hoeing it out together during baby don’t like it stages

them stacking accessories on each other during candy stages

their slow motion to normal speed high five during faster stages

their play arguments before mfal stages

2016 Chewing Gum Making Film

taeyong speaking to the camera: “it’s so interesting. our 127 maknae is over there acting like an oppa to our haeeun. it’s so interesting to see, i don’t think he’s like this even with his actual siblings.”

the camera pans to hannah and haechan, but the two are just seen eating, so the camera pans back to taeyong

taeyong: “you didn’t catch it? such a shame, it was really cute.”

2017 Doyoung Hosting the NCT Dream MFAL Comeback Show

“hey, lee haechan, why are you being like this? where’s the maturity you said you’d have because you’re a hyung in dream?” “hyung, are you haeeunie?” “no?” “exactly.”

*doyoung looks at the crowd with an accusatory look while the dreamies laugh*

“no, but it really is weird seeing haechan being an oppa to hannah. he’s like a different person.”

2018 Taeyong Vlive

“haeeunie is my daughter, everyone. now that she’s in 127, i’ll be taking care of her more. but i don’t think i can ever beat haechannie. haechannie is our maknae, but he’s like a real oppa with our haeeunie. he avoids doing it on camera, but he always takes care of her very well. it’s sweet, if you think about it.”

2019 Chenle and Jisung live

jisung: “hannah noona and haechan hyung? they’re with the 127 hyungs right now, working very hard.”

chenle: “right. i feel so thankful to them for working hard for both 127 and dream. i feel sorry whenever i see them go from one schedule to another, it’s like they aren’t resting.”

jisung: “but they’re taking care of themselves for sure! haechan hyung especially makes sure hannah noona always eats and sleeps well”

chenle (imitating haechan): “haeeun-ah, time for lunch” “haeeun-ah, let’s go to bed, you need energy, okay?” “is our haeeunie okay? is she hurt? is she tired?”

jisung: “woah, you sound exactly like him!”

2020 Kun live

“kun baba?” *chuckles* “i am. i’m huanuo’s kun baba… partly. don’t get me wrong, i love hannah and the fact that we’re working together again after two years, but i don’t see her all the time, you know? i can’t be her baba all the time because she’s always off on schedules.” *sighs* “i’m just glad she has haechan. You may not believe it from haechan’s very bright and energetic energy, but he becomes very mellow and caring when he’s with her. it’s like watching him turn into a dad.”

2021 Yangyang live

“do you ever get jealous of haechan and hannah? no, i don’t. maybe once, but that was for, like, two seconds. yeah haechan is actually very big brother to her, you know? you guys have never, like, hung out with just those two without staff or cameras, there’s a switch. i mean, hannah is still her, but just a little more kid-like. just a little. haechan becomes like an extra protective big brother. they really are like actual siblings. them and mark hyung, too!”

2022 Sungchan live

*sounds of the door opening, sungchan looks, bows his head, then looks back to the live*

“i thought it was hannah noona. she likes checking on me every now and then, but i forgot she’s still on tour. that was a staff just now. hannah noona… she’s like my second mom. she really takes care of me well, which is why it’s a little strange for me to see her with haechan hyung. He’s like hannah noona’s personal hannah noona. do you get it? did i say that right? it’s a little bit like if me, chenle, and and jisung have hannah noona, noona has haechan hyung.”

2023 Yuta on Weverse

hannah is ignoring me right now

not by choice

haechan has my kitsune wrapped in a blanket because she has a cold right now

i want to take care of her but haechan said it’s his job and she’s his responsibility

when did he get so grown up, our maknae?

[N’-153] We gon’ resonate 🔥 | NCT 2020💚MAMA 안무연습 비하인드🌟

around 7 minutes and 20 seconds into the video there’s a really quick moment where you can see them behind johnny dancing while the choreographer was discussing details

she was looking down, and he was just a little hunched over to be more at level with her while holding her face, looking like he was asking her something, and she shook her head, then he nodded, and that was all seen before the clip cut

Mark’s IG Story

hannah straight up just walked into a glass door because she was on her phone, then haechan cradles her forehead, lightly scolding her for not looking where she was going meanwhile mark’s just in laughs going “cute, why are the babies so cute”

[Un Cut] Take #3 | ‘Kick It’ Dance Practice

while taeyong’s talking about the famous dance moves in the choreography, you can see hannah and haechan’s reflection in the mirror where he had sat on the floor, making her sit next to him then urging her to drink water while they both marked the choreography in the mirror

2020 앙게이트 20 📝 #1 | 2020 ENQUETE 20 | NCT RESONANCE Pt.2

in the very corner of the video when jaemin is answering the eighth question, they’re walking, and hannah trips. haechan quickly catches her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and helping her walk

DREAM SKETCH : Page #2 | THE DREAM TOUR BEHIND

at the very beginning of the video when jisung is vlogging with the mirror behind him, you can see the reflection of hannah and haechan on the couch where haechan is rubbing something onto her knee

“woah, can you see that? this is rare to see on camera, everyone. haechan hyung’s natural state when he’s with hannah noona. let’s not disturb them, he’s putting muscle reliever on noona’s knee because it’s been bothering her”

Dance Practice Behind | Ep.1 | 2023 NCT CONCERT - NCT NATION: To The World

when jisung, ten, and renjun are talking, you can hear haechan and hannah in the background

“haeeun-ah, have you taken your medicine?” “yes, and i’m fine” “just making sure. i didn’t see you eat breakfast today” “i’m good, oppa, i had a sandwich a while ago, and jungwoo oppa and i are gonna have a big lunch. it’s just a cold, stop worrying” “you know i can’t do that”

taglist: @1-800-enhypennabi @strwberrydinosaur @sunflower-0180 @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @world-full-of-roses @stopeatread @allthings-fandoms

drop an ask or a dm if you wanna be added or taken out of the taglist 🥰 requests are also open!

[allwaswell16]

I just saw this TikTok of a Reddit post, and slightly odd question lol but do you have any fic recs that are similar? Not necessarily the catfishing thing but even just something that’s equally as cute lol https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMBHsoYjW/

Hi, anon, so I think I do know what you mean! First of all, the quintessential catfish fic is this one:

When We Were Younger by dinosaursmate

About a week after Harry started visiting this particular chat room, he was watching some kid argue with the whole room about football, personally disinterested as he tipped a bag of crisps into his mouth. He happily chomped on the crumbs, taking a swig from a glass of Ribena to wash them down, glancing at the screen and very nearly spat the squash back out again. His heart was pounding wildly. The display icon of the argumentative newcomer had caught his eye, and not in a good way. He gulped as he clicked the picture, and when it popped up in full resolution, his heart nearly fell right out of his arse.

Sixteen year old Harry Styles’ world turns upside down when he logs on to gay teen chat to discover somebody has stolen his photos and used them as their own.

Here are a few more that I think have the same vibes:

No One But You Got Me Feeling This Way by runaway_train

Harry is well aware he should be studying or watching T.V or cleaning the kitchen or doing literally anything from a list as long as his arm instead of this, but he is. The list of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this is probably at least double that, but here he most definitely is. He’s sitting on his bed, legs straight out in front of him, back propped up against the headboard and some fluffed-up pillows and his MacBook is resting on his thighs. His jittery fingers drum lightly on the edge of the keyboard as he stares at the tiny digital clock in the top right-hand corner of the screen, willing the seconds to tick by faster. He wants to get into this and get it over with in equal measures.

Or The one where Harry has a particular desire that only Louis can fulfil.

Your secret's safe with me by lightswoodmagic

He knew almost everything about Haz, considered him his best friend. He knew his favourite movies and books, how he liked his coffee, knew how many pets he had and what he was most afraid of. Louis knew how to calm him down when he was panicking, and that he’d lost his virginity to his ex-boyfriend when he was 17. He knew that Haz had curly hair, green eyes, that he was tall and considered himself slightly awkward. He knew his Instagram account that only had aesthetic pictures or ridiculous jokes, but in the all the time that Louis had known him, he’d never learnt, or been allowed to know, Haz’s full name, what he sounded like, or what he looked like.

Louis didn't care.

Or, when Louis' favourite singer comes back and announces he's performing again, him and the rest of his group chat decide to go. When Haz, the man Louis' fallen in love with without meeting him, says that he can't, Louis tries his best to convince him with a drunken phone call, hearing his voice for the first time. It's not until he's at Royal Variety that he swears he can hear it again.

Life Was a Song, You Came Along by rainbowninja167

It's embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them.   It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.  

Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend's career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan's newest album. A modern retelling of Singin' in the Rain.

And here are some recs I've made that will have more for you like this:

🌸 Chaotic & Sweet Fics

🌸 Online Friends to Lovers Fics

🌸 Spy AU Fics

I keep thinking of more like that TikTok to be honest lol, so if you want a longer rec let me know and I'll add it to my to do list which is on my pinned post!

[keitaiware]

📁 Interview 003: "Emulating Windows on MacOS for UTAU Workflow." ft. ryouichii

Today's topic is something most of you all must be curious about, when making my content, my job is to make UTAU on MacOS a better experience for everyone. So today I pulled together a very interesting interview on contrasting the experience of UTAU on Windows and MacOS operating systems! We will be interviewing UTAU content creator Ryouichii for today's interview, who operates between MacOS and Windows in their workflow.

Before we get started with the questions, please introduce yourself!

Ryouichi: I’m Ryouichi! I'm an artist and UTAU user from the UK, I make covers and manage 3 (soon-to-be 4) UTAUs! My main UTAU is Hikuine Kiiro, who just recently got a massive multi-expression VCV for his 10th anniversary!

I'm super proud of it.. it took me more than a year to put together. I got into Vocaloid around 2011-2012 and subsequently found out UTAU is a thing at around 2013? It took me a while, but I released my first UTAU in late 2014 and it's led me to where I am now !

That's incredible! You've been in the scene since the very beginning! I'm happy to see you're still here pouring out your passion into your work. Kiiro is a very impressive UTAU. I look forward to seeing your new projects to come! For our first question, I originally saw your tweet when you sold your PC to work on MacOS, and it really interested me because. I normally don't see phenomena like that, its normally vice versa?

Q. So, when switching to MacOS, what stood out to you, and why did you switch?

Ryouichi: I mainly switched to MacOS out of frustration with Windows 11, and with Windows 10 reaching EOS, I thought it was time to jump ship. I was getting tired of the constant hitches and bugs, along with Microsoft forcing bloatware onto my PC. I remember specifically watching the bluetooth menu freaking the heck out and I just gave up on the spot and went to look for Macbooks. Funnily enough, past experiences with MacOS was a little frustrating too (...not sure if it was because I had no idea what I was doing?), but this was around the OS X days, so I gave it the benefit of the doubt. When I switched, Sonoma was the latest version, and it felt sooo much easier to use compared to El Capitan personally.

I see, I've heard of the difficulties with the latest in Windows. At least Macs give you the option to update! It is very common when switching from Windows, most my friends complain to me about the interface of MacOS, but its something that I've used for the last 13 years! But I get the struggle because I recently got a Windows laptop and it feels so rigid compared to MacOS? But I feel I've gotten better at navigating it and broke the habit of double clicking! (haha)

Q. For the next question, before the interview, we discussed emulation on MacOS, so I would like to ask what it is like having a workflow reliant on emulation, and what it is like producing a cover between Mac and Windows OS?

Ryouichi: It's definitely clunky, and at one point, I had to change my external storage from a hard drive to an SSD because of the hangs and freezes it would cause. It can also be very expensive!! Parallels charges up the butt for a license, and you don't even get to own the software if you don't want weird limits on performance. I know there's VMware, but I couldn't get it to access my external storage for whatever reason, so I dropped that pretty quickly. I've gotten used to Parallels over the months, though! It can be slow at times, but it allows me to use a workflow I'm very comfy with, and that's perfectly fine with me. As for making covers between OS's, I find Mac to be more restrictive than Windows personally. It's because I established a good workflow while I was still using Windows, and trying to fit that into MacOS proved difficult. I will say producing videos on MacOS feels much smoother though!! I used to use AviUtl for that stuff, but moving to MacOS forced me to switch to more professional software like After Effects, and it runs like a dream… I've dabbled with it on Windows before and found the performance to be not so good? So in comparison, it's great, honestly.

A Parallels license is quite expensive! Its the only option for Silicon MacOS as far as I know, but on Intel, I did have a Windows Bootcamp set up. It was quite laggy, so I deleted the partition and stuck with vanilla MacOS. For MV production, I will say the larger programs like the Adobe suite, and Final Cut, run MUCH better on Apple Silicon than on Intel MacOS. So because of this I do all of my MV production on my iPad!

Continuing on the topic of emulation, people have mentioned Wine and Homebrew, but I do believe that running UTAU2008 through these means is a bit clunky. Found this out recently when trying to emulate Notepad++, as its a hassle to boot and locate using the Wine emulator. So when opting for Parallels, while it might be expensive you’re paying for the quality as well!

This was a very good contrast between Windows and MacOS; taking advantage of both operating systems, and discussing virtual machine emulation!

Q. To continue on the topic, what sorts of features do you wish MacOS had?

Ryouichi: It's not really a MacOS feature, but more on the end of developers… I really wish there was more MacOS support for games. Sure, there's crossover and GPTK which do an amazing job with translating games over to apple silicon, but I prefer native support, since some games are SO particular and finicky on crossover. It's a shame that there's barely any games coming out with that, especially with how good graphical processing is getting with the newer chips. But if I had to nitpick, I wish there were individual app volume sliders… and I wish screenshots were automatically copied into the clipboard … but that's about it honestly.

Ah yes, I recently have been looking into Crossover but I genuinely wish there was more support for MacOS. Crossover perpetual will cost an arm and a leg, but I believe it is much more streamlined than Wine. Crossover has the convenience of making your Windows applications accessible from a singular hub rather than digging in your system files. This is one of the main reasons I got a Windows laptop was to play the games I bought during steam sales!

On the topic of volume control, after trying Windows, I noticed there was a built-in feature to adjust individual App volume! I love this feature, but was something I had to pay for on my Mac using Sound Control, and that has been working smoothly for me. As for screenshots, I was not aware they did that! But I do see how that would be inconvenient. On iOS you're given the option to copy and paste a screenshot if I remember correctly.

Q. To wrap up this interview, what are you future ambitions for your work?

Ryouichi: My future ambitions ……. I'm not the type to really have those, honestly, I tend to just do what I wanna do without really thinking ahead. I guess I'd like to see myself improve! I like looking back on old art and covers and comparing it with what I've produced more recently. It's a really big reason why I'm still going, gives me a sense that what I'm doing is really doing something. I'd also want to dabble with different languages in vocal synths… I've been thinking of adding Korean to Kiiro's DiffSinger voicebank when I get around to re-recording it?? I just hope my bri'ish accent isn't distracting, innit ™️ I'd also like to put my name out more, be it making PVs for people, entering contests or something like CVfest if that's happening next year! I've noticed I've been losing interest over the years and I'd really like to revitalize it by doing things I usually wouldn't.

I see! Normally I just pick up work as I go, so it was probably a very direct question. Dabbling in other languages sounds fun! It can be very daunting, but I wish you all the luck with it, I’m sure you'll do fantastic! CVfest is a great event, a lot of people touch back into making a simple voicebank and build characters together! It's something I would be interested in as well! As for keeping passion more consistent, I think the easiest way to keep your interest is to incorporate new ideas and mediums into vocal synth as its a very tangible hobby! I've found myself using all my skills for it, so its very expansive. That being said, I appreciate you sharing your time and insight with us today on the KEITAIWARE project! If you would like to see more of Ryouichii's work, their profiles will be tagged below. Thank you for reading!

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ryouichii BSky: https://bsky.app/profile/ryouichi.uk YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/c/ryouichi

[smartfixcastleblayney0]

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[quikfixtechnology]

Everything You Need to Know About MacBook Repair Services in Dubai

In this fast-paced digital age, laptops have become an essential tool for both personal and professional purposes. Among the popular laptops available in the market, MacBook stands out as a symbol of innovation and sleek design, beloved by millions of users worldwide. However, like any electronic device, MacBooks are susceptible to wear and tear, hardware failures, and other issues over time. When such problems arise, it becomes crucial to find reliable MacBook repair services in Dubai to get your precious device back in optimal working condition. In this blog, we will explore everything you need to know about MacBook repair services in Dubai.

1. Understanding the Importance of Professional MacBook Repairs

When your MacBook starts experiencing problems, the first instinct might be to attempt a DIY fix or take it to an unauthorized repair shop to save time and money. However, this approach can lead to disastrous consequences. MacBooks are sophisticated pieces of technology, and attempting amateur repairs can result in further damage, voiding your warranty, and potentially rendering your device irreparable.

Choosing professional MacBook repair services in Dubai is vital for several reasons. These authorized service centers employ certified technicians with the necessary expertise to diagnose and fix MacBook issues effectively. They use genuine replacement parts, ensuring the longevity and performance of your device. Moreover, authorized repair centers safeguard your warranty, providing peace of mind and protecting your investment.

2. Common MacBook Issues

MacBook users may encounter a range of issues during the lifespan of their device. Some common problems include:

a. Screen and Display Issues: These can include cracked screens, dead pixels, flickering displays, or backlight failures.

b. Keyboard Malfunctions: Sticky keys, unresponsive keys, or keyboard backlight issues are prevalent concerns.

c. Battery Problems: Rapid battery drain, failure to charge, or swelling batteries require immediate attention.

d. Performance and Software Troubles: Slow processing, system crashes, and software glitches can be disruptive.

e. Connectivity Problems: Wi-Fi connectivity, Bluetooth issues, or faulty ports can hamper productivity.

3. Choose Authorized Service Centers

 Dubai boasts an array of repair options, but opting for an authorized MacBook service center is crucial for a seamless experience. Authorized service centers have direct access to Apple's technical resources, genuine parts, and diagnostic tools that ensure a high-quality repair process.

Authorized technicians undergo rigorous training, enabling them to deliver expert assistance on various MacBook models, including MacBook Air, MacBook Pro, and the latest M1-based MacBooks. They also keep abreast of the latest Apple updates and product knowledge, which is vital for efficient repairs.

4. Convenient Repair Options

MacBook users in Dubai can benefit from a range of repair options tailored to their convenience. Some authorized service centers offer walk-in repairs, where you can take your MacBook directly to the repair center without prior appointments. This is ideal for minor issues and quick fixes.

However, for more extensive repairs or in cases where visiting the service center is not feasible, some repair centers provide pick-up and delivery services. They collect your MacBook from your location, diagnose the problem, carry out the necessary repairs, and return it to you once it's fixed. This service is particularly useful for busy professionals and businesses that can't afford downtime.

5. Data Security and Privacy

When handing over your MacBook for repairs, you may have concerns about data security and privacy. Authorized service centers understand the sensitivity of personal and professional data and take stringent measures to protect it. They adhere to strict protocols to ensure that your data remains secure throughout the repair process.

In conclusion, choosing the right MacBook repair Dubai is essential to keep your device running smoothly and efficiently. Opt for authorized service centres staffed with certified technicians, ensuring the use of genuine parts and maintaining your warranty intact. Addressing issues promptly and professionally will prolong your MacBook's life and ensure you get the most out of your investment. Remember to inquire about the available repair options and data security measures to make the entire process seamless and worry-free. A well-maintained MacBook will continue to be your trusted companion in all your digital endeavors.

 Read More: The Essential Checklist for MacBook Repair in Dubai

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Your Complete Guide to MacBook Repair in Bangalore: Fast & Reliable Solutions

If you’re a MacBook user in Bangalore, you know how much you rely on your MacBook for work, creativity, or study on a daily basis. But what can you do when the system breaks or slows down, you get a black screen, or the battery begins to drain twice as fast? Making sure you find a reliable MacBook repair in Bangalore can be the difference between days of stress versus a quick and smooth experience.

In this blog, we’ll cover everything you need to know about getting a professional MacBook service in Bangalore, including which technicians to choose, what the most common repair issues are, and why trusted centres like iConnect Care Technology are becoming the popular option for many Apple users.

Why quality MacBook repair

A MacBook is a premium device - it deserves premium repair and care. It is especially important to find a reliable MacBook service center in Bangalore, whether you’re trying to repair a broken screen, overheating, software issues, water damage, you don’t want to just drop it off at the first repair shop you see because there’s a good chance they will mess things up worse or risk damaging your costly device beyond repair. 

Make sure you find a reliable MacBook repair service centre in Bangalore that uses genuine parts, experienced technicians, and provides an honest and transparent service.

Common MacBook Problems

Here are a few common problems that can best be solved by expert MacBook repair in Bangalore:

1. Battery Draining Fast: Your MacBook battery may need to be replaced.

2. Overheating: Many times this is simply because of hardware failure or a buildup of dust.

3. Cracked/Black Screen: A screen replacement is always your best option.

4. Water Damage: To ensure prolonged life of your MacBook, it is critical to get the MacBook dried and cleaned, preferably by professionals.

5. Trackpad or Keyboard Problems: Often are a symptom of response problems of spill or loose keys.

Regardless of your problems, getting expert and timely MacBook service means you can find dependability, longevity, and improved performance. 

What to Consider When Choosing A MacBook Service Center In Bangalore.

When considering which service center to take your MacBook to in Bangalore, ensure that they have:

•   Certified or trained Apple technicians.

•   Use genuine or OEM quality parts.

•   A warranty on all repairs.

•   Good customer reviews.

•   A clear pricing structure.

A professional MacBook service will have no issues letting you watch, or showing you their processes for service or providing you a repair estimate before moving forward with repairs.

iConnect Care Technology – Reliable Apple Device Repair Specialists

If you are searching for a reliable source for MacBook repair in Bangalore, iConnect Care Technology is a name to know. Based in Bangalore, this repair facility has developed a reputation for fast turnaround time, upfront pricing, and experienced technicians who are well-versed with Apple Products.

Whether you need a screen replacement, battery replacement, or a service-level issue on your motherboard, iConnect Care Technology is your go-to service centre as they use high-quality parts and tools to get your device back to as good as new. Having serviced many satisfied customers, iConnect Care Technology is becoming the best option for MacBook service centre in Bangalore.

Why Should You Choose Professional MacBook Service in Bangalore?

When you have professional MacBook service in Bangalore, it saves you time, stress, and money in the long haul! Here are some reasons why:

Correct issue diagnosis

Sensitive components are handled correctly

Access to the correct tools and parts

Timely delivery and progress tracking

Warranty peace of mind

Professional service centres take the speed of service to the next level when it comes to repairing your MacBook versus local shops that just want to "turn and burn" fixes.

Suggestions for Continuing Care of Your MacBook:

Even if you have just had MacBook repair in Bangalore, ongoing care can help ensure that you avoid common problems in the future:

Keep your macOS up-to-date

Do not expose the device to high heat or moisture

Always carry the device in a padded case

While you might be tempted to use a cloth, use a microfiber cloth to wipe down the keyboard and screen

If you notice any small glitches, have them checked out sooner than later

Conclusion

Finding a reputable MacBook service center in Bangalore can seem overwhelming, especially if you require immediate use of your MacBook. After knowing what to look for and having a dependable name such as iConnect Care Technology, you will receive professional, efficient, and affordable services every time.

So when trouble knocks on your door through your MacBook, remember not to wait. Choose a dependable MacBook repair in Bengaluru and give your device the professional care it requires.

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Is Your MacBook Sluggish or Unresponsive? Repair Tips for Common Issues

Is your MacBook feeling sluggish, freezing, or not responding? Discover effective repair tips for common issues like slow performance, startup problems, and system crashes. Learn how to restore your MacBook’s speed and efficiency with expert solutions.

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Are you in need of expert MacBook Pro repair in Dubai or Sharjah? Look no further than F2 Technology. As the best MacBook Pro repair in Dubai and Sharjah, F2 Technology tackles all issues with precision and efficiency. Whether you have a broken MacBook Pro, need diagnostic services, or require fast repairs, we’ve got you covered. As the leading MacBook Pro repair in Dubai and Sharjah, we offer swift and affordable solutions to get your device back up and running in no time. From vital work documents to important personal files, a malfunctioning MacBook Pro can be a significant inconvenience. Don’t let these issues become a long-term problem. Contact us now for professional MacBook Pro repair in Dubai & Sharjah.

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Why Is My Apple Laptop Keyboard Not Working?

Nothing’s more frustrating than a non-responsive keyboard, especially on a device as reliable as a MacBook. Whether a few keys are malfunctioning or the entire keyboard is unresponsive, several factors could be causing the issue.

Common Causes Behind Keyboard Malfunctions

First, check for simple problems like dust or debris stuck beneath the keys. Sometimes, a quick blast of compressed air can help. If your MacBook recently experienced a liquid spill or drop, that could be the root of the problem. Software glitches may also cause unexpected keyboard issues—resetting the SMC or updating macOS can sometimes resolve this.

Before heading to an expert, it’s worth trying an external keyboard. If that works fine, the issue is likely hardware-related. In such cases, searching for apple laptop repair near me can connect you with local technicians who offer quick diagnostics and services.

Professional Help Is Sometimes the Best Help

If you’re based in West Bengal, your best bet might be a trusted apple laptop repair in Kolkata center. Certified technicians there can replace the keyboard or perform internal repairs without risking your device’s warranty. Always ensure that the repair center uses original parts and provides a service guarantee.

Final Thoughts

While minor issues might be DIY-fixable, persistent problems with your MacBook’s keyboard need expert attention. Delaying the repair could lead to more severe damage, so it’s best to act promptly. A malfunctioning keyboard can affect productivity, slow down your workflow, and even risk damaging internal circuits if ignored. Timely service not only restores functionality but also extends the life of your device. Whether you're a student, creative professional, or business user, a fully working keyboard is essential for daily performance. Don't wait, get your laptop checked before the problem escalates.

[computercures]

How Can You Fix Common Apple Mac Issues?

Apple Macs are known for their sleek design, exceptional performance, and reliability, making them a favorite among tech enthusiasts and professionals alike. However, like any electronic device, they are not immune to issues. Whether you’re facing a sluggish system, frozen applications, or hardware malfunctions, understanding how to troubleshoot and fix common Apple Mac issues can save you time and money. In this blog, we will walk through some of the most frequent problems Apple Mac users encounter and explore effective solutions to get your device back to working smoothly. Plus, we’ll highlight when it's time to seek expert Apple Mac repairs.

1. Apple Mac Running Slow

One of the most common complaints among Mac users is a slow system. This can happen for a variety of reasons, including too many startup programs, low storage space, or outdated software.

How to fix it:

Free up space: Check your storage by going to Apple Menu > About This Mac > Storage. Remove unnecessary files and clear the cache.

Close unnecessary apps: Running too many apps can cause your Mac to slow down. Close apps that are not in use.

Update macOS: Ensure your macOS is up-to-date to improve performance and fix bugs.

If these steps don’t solve the issue, consider getting your Mac checked by a professional for potential hardware issues.

2. Mac Won’t Turn On

A Mac that won't turn on is one of the most stressful problems a user can encounter. This could be due to a faulty battery, power supply, or even a software crash.

How to fix it:

Check power supply: Ensure your Mac is plugged into a working outlet and that the power cable is not damaged.

Reset SMC (System Management Controller): This can resolve issues related to power. Shut down your Mac, then hold down Shift + Control + Option on the left side of the built-in keyboard and press the power button for 10 seconds. Release all keys and press the power button again to turn it on.

Reset NVRAM: Shut down your Mac and turn it back on while holding Option + Command + P + R. Keep holding until you hear the startup sound twice.

If these steps don't work, you may need professional Apple Mac repairs to address the underlying cause.

3. Frozen Applications

Another common issue is applications that freeze and become unresponsive, which can be frustrating during work or play.

How to fix it:

Force quit apps: Press Command + Option + Escape to bring up the Force Quit Applications window and close any unresponsive apps.

Reboot your Mac: Sometimes a simple reboot can solve the issue and clear up minor software glitches.

Update your apps: Ensure all your apps are up to date, as outdated apps can cause compatibility issues.

If freezing continues, your Mac might need a deeper software cleanup or hardware inspection through Apple Mac repairs.

4. Battery Drain

Apple Macs are known for their impressive battery life, but over time, battery performance can degrade, leading to rapid draining.

How to fix it:

Check battery health: Go to Apple Menu > About This Mac > System Report > Power to check the battery condition. If it's listed as “Replace Soon” or “Replace Now,” it’s time to replace the battery.

Reduce background processes: Disable apps running in the background that aren’t needed.

Adjust settings: Reduce screen brightness and disable energy-draining features like Bluetooth when not in use.

For severe battery issues, visiting a professional for Apple Mac repairs may be necessary.

5. MacBook Screen Issues

Cracked screens, dead pixels, and color distortions are some of the most noticeable problems that can occur with your Mac's display.

How to fix it:

Check for loose connections: If your MacBook screen flickers, it could be due to a loose internal cable.

Perform an SMC reset: This can help resolve display-related problems.

Visit a professional repair service: If the screen is physically damaged or the problem persists, Apple Mac repairs might be your best bet.

6. Wi-Fi Connectivity Issues

Wi-Fi problems can disrupt your workflow and make it difficult to stay connected. These can be caused by router issues, software glitches, or network configuration problems.

How to fix it:

Restart your router: Sometimes the issue may not be with your Mac but with your Wi-Fi router.

Forget and reconnect to the network: Go to System Preferences > Network and remove your current Wi-Fi connection, then reconnect.

Reset network settings: In System Preferences > Network > Wi-Fi, click the "minus" button to remove the network and add it again.

If Wi-Fi issues persist, your Mac may need an internal hardware check.

7. Mac Overheating

Overheating can affect the performance of your Mac and cause it to shut down unexpectedly. This often occurs due to dust accumulation in the fan or excessive workload.

How to fix it:

Clear vents: Make sure your Mac's vents are clear of dust or obstructions.

Use your Mac on hard surfaces: Using your Mac on soft surfaces like beds or couches can block the vents.

Monitor system performance: Keep track of CPU usage to avoid excessive heat buildup. You can use Activity Monitor to close resource-heavy apps.

For persistent overheating, Apple Mac repairs may be required to check the internal fans or cooling system.

When to Seek Professional Apple Mac Repairs

While you can troubleshoot many common issues yourself, some problems require expert intervention. If you're facing hardware damage, system corruption, or persistent issues despite troubleshooting, seeking professional Apple Mac repairs is the best course of action. Authorized repair centers or Apple service providers can diagnose and fix complex issues, ensuring that your Mac is restored to optimal condition.

In conclusion, knowing how to fix common Apple Mac issues can help keep your device running smoothly for years. Whether you’re dealing with slow performance, screen issues, or battery drain, most problems can be resolved with simple steps. However, for more serious or recurring problems, don’t hesitate to reach out for professional Apple Mac repairs.

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Best Phone Laptop Tablet Repairs in St Kilda — UVTech

Looking for fast, reliable, and affordable phone, laptop, and tablet repairs in St Kilda? Look no further than UVTech, your trusted local repair expert.

Whether your screen is cracked, battery is draining too fast, or your device won’t power on — we have the tools, skills, and experience to get you back up and running quickly.

Why Choose UVTech for Repairs in St Kilda?

✅ Certified Technicians — Our team is trained and experienced in repairing all major brands including Apple, Samsung, Dell, HP, Lenovo, and more.

✅ Quick Turnaround — Most repairs are done on the same day to get you back online fast.

✅ Affordable Pricing — Quality service doesn’t have to break the bank. UVTech provides cost-effective solutions with no hidden fees.

✅ Genuine Parts — We use only high-quality, original or OEM parts to ensure your device performs like new.

✅ Customer Satisfaction — With hundreds of happy customers in St Kilda, we are known for our reliable service and honest advice.

Our Repair Services

📱 Phone Repairs in St Kilda

From cracked screens and battery replacements to water damage and charging port fixes, we repair all phone models including iPhones, Samsung Galaxy, Google Pixel, and more.

💻 Laptop Repairs in St Kilda

Whether it’s a broken screen, software issue, slow performance, or keyboard malfunction, our laptop repair experts diagnose and fix the problem quickly.

📱 Tablet Repairs in St Kilda

We handle repairs for iPads, Samsung Tabs, and other Android tablets. Common services include screen replacement, battery replacement, charging port repair, and more.

Brands We Repair

Apple (iPhone, iPad, MacBook)

Samsung

Lenovo

Dell

HP

Microsoft

Oppo, OnePlus, Xiaomi & more

Book Your Repair Now!

Don’t let a damaged device slow you down. Trust the Best Phone, Laptop, and Tablet Repairs in St Kilda — UVTech for all your tech needs.

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