abudhabby29-blog

[abudhabby29-blog]

grasping your love. // ln4

part one. || part two.

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | angst, fluff, friends to lovers, childhood best friends au, hurt-comfort

word count | 11.7k

warnings | no use of y/n, heartbreak, emotional distress, themes of regret and longing, abandonment themes, low-key manipulation themes??, use of alcohol, cursing, crying.

inspired by: sydney rose - we hug now, conan gray - memories, the kid laroi - bleed

summary: you told yourself you’d moved on. that you didn't care, and your heart had mended. but when he came back, all ruined and raw, you realized some hearts don’t forget who they were meant to beat for.

a/n: PART TWOOOOO!!!! as soon as i saw the requests for part two i started working on this, and actually, it turned out to be longer than i expected- OOPSIE but y'all.. writing this kinda broke me :,) i'm so happy that at least they got their happy ending </3 hope you'll enjoy !!

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that wraps itself around you, like the silence after a storm—where everything feels too calm, too heavy with unspoken words. You could hear the soft ticking of the clock in the hallway, the distant hum of the fridge, the muffled sound of your parents’ breathing in their room down the hall.

You padded across the hallway in thick socks, dressed in your oversized sleep shirt with sleeves tugged down over your fingers. The exhaustion from the day had settled into your bones, dull and familiar. You’d brushed your teeth, put your hair up, wiped the smeared mascara from under your eyes—and still, somehow, you felt heavy.

Not even tired. Just… drained. Hollow in a quiet way. The kind of tiredness that had nothing to do with sleep, but with the ache in your chest that had been there since that night.

The night when you sat under the stars, knees drawn to your chest. When he was crouching in front of you with that lopsided smile, and made you feel like you could hope again. 

The night you almost said it. The night he almost knew.

But after that night, there came the distance. Not cruel, not sharp, just drifting. Like smoke through fingers, like something slipping underwater.

And you were trying. Trying so hard to be okay with it. But god—you were exhausted. 

However, it wasn’t the physical kind of exhaustion. It was something deeper, a kind of tiredness that came from the emotional weight of trying to convince yourself that everything was fine, that things were normal. But every time you opened social media and saw Lando’s name, or caught a glimpse of him in the halls at school laughing with Olivia, leaning in close, his hand in hers, her lips on his cheek—it all felt like a cruel reminder that the world had moved on, and you hadn’t been included in it. You were stuck in a loop of saddness and regret.

When you reached your bedroom door, hand resting on the knob, a strange noise came from downstairs, making you stop mid-step.

Clink. 

You wanted to brush it off, taking for granted that it was just the wind, or the house creaking. But then it came again—the scrape of a drawer, the distinct sound of a cup hitting the counter, the slight clink of something being set down. 

You sucked in a breath, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Your first thought? Someone broke in.

You tiptoed out of your room, pulse quickening, each creak of the floorboards beneath you feeling like an alarm bell. The hallway was dark, save for the faint glow of the nightlight near the stairs. You could hear the rustling louder now, the sound of something being knocked over, maybe.

A breathless moment of hesitation, then you flicked the light on, your hand trembling slightly. The glow of the kitchen illuminated the open doorway.

And there, leaning against the sink, was no one other than Lando himself. A glass of water in his hand, his back hunched slightly like he’d been holding up too much weight for too long.

When his eyes set on you, he blinked a few times like he wasn’t sure if you were real or if he was dreaming you up.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Lando… what the hell are you doing here?” You blurted out, your voice far sharper than you intended. “It’s fucking one in the morning! You scared the shit out of me.”

He observed you, eyes bleary, and half-lidded. He didn’t seem surprised—just tired. His lips curled up slightly, almost forming a smile, but also an apology. 

Your chest tightened at that sight. “You broke into my house?” You said with your voice trembling, not from fear anymore, but from confusion. Anger. Sadness. Everything at once.

He didn’t seem bothered by your accusation. Instead, he just shrugged, “The key,” Lando muttered. “Was still under the orange flower pot.”

That flower pot. The one your mom had left by the doors years ago. The one he used to hide candy under for you in middle school. The one that had, unknowingly, never switched places.

You stepped closer, the light casting his figure in sharper detail. His hair was a mess—curls flattened on one side, wild on the other, like he’d run his hands through it over and over. His shirt was wrinkled, untucked, stained slightly with something you didn’t care to identify. And his eyes—god, his eyes. Always so bright and beautiful, in that aquamarine color, but now bloodshot, tired and wrecked.

You blinked, still trying to process what was happening, what had led him to your kitchen at this hour. “Lando, what happened?” You took a step closer. 

Your anger melted into something else—worry, and concern. You had never seen him like this. Drunk, disoriented. Not even the usual playful charm he wore like armor.

Your heart clenched at the sight. What happened to him?

“Lando… what’s going on? Why aren’t you with Olivia?” Saying her name left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted, like his knees had given out. Slowly, he slid down the cabinets until he hit the floor, back against the drawers, legs stretched out carelessly. 

You panicked for a second as he looked pale, dizzy, and lost. “Lan— hey.. are you okay?” You crouched beside him instinctively, heart pounding. 

Then he slumped into you without warning. His head fell to your shoulder, the warmth of his skin pressing into yours. And for a long, drawn-out moment, you just let him rest there. His breath was slow, ragged, like he had been running a marathon, like he had been fighting something for a long time. 

But all of it—the tension, the pain, the confusion—had finally spilled over in this one vulnerable moment. 

Lando sighed against your collarbone. “M’tired.” His hot breath tickled your skin, making you shiver at the sound of his voice.

And you stayed like that. There, on the kitchen floor. Tiles cold beneath your legs, your body stiff beside his slumped frame while letting the boy rest on your shoulder. The silence settled again, but heavier now, thick with questions you didn’t know how to ask.

His breath was slow and warm where it met your neck. You stared ahead at the fridge, heart unraveling in your chest.

This was still Lando. Your Lando.

The boy who used to throw pebbles at your window at 2 a.m. just to see if you wanted to go stargazing. The boy who once tried to braid your hair in sixth grade and ended up tying it in a knot. The boy who almost said he loved you once—and you didn’t hear it in time.

And now he was here, on your kitchen floor. 

“I don’t wanna leave you.” Lando mumbled, his words barely audible, his voice thick and muffled against the fabric of your shirt.

Your breath caught in your throat. “What?”

But he didn’t repeat it. He just exhaled like he’d been holding that in for years. Like that sentence had broken out of him by accident, cracked through whatever wall he’d built around himself.

You held him there, on the cold kitchen floor, unsure of what to do with his confession. Your heart pulsed violently in your chest, because what did he mean? Did he mean tonight? Or forever?

Why wasn’t he with Olivia? Why wasn’t she the one holding him now? Why did he come here like you were still his safe place?

But you didn’t ask, not knowing how. You just sat there with him—shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the same air, memories thick in the space between you.

But the weight of his presence, of him leaning into you, of him saying those words that you didn’t know what to do with, was unbearable. And it broke something inside you. Something that you hadn’t realized was still holding on.

You closed your eyes, the tears threatening to spill again. You didn’t know what you wanted from him—or from yourself. You just held him. You held him because you couldn’t let him go. Not yet. Not when he was still here.

And you didn’t know it yet, but that moment would stay burned into you—into your soul. 

Days after the kitchen night, the silence between you and Lando grew so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You thought maybe he’d text. Apologize. Mention what he said. Explain this whole situation. 

But he didn’t.

And so, you convinced yourself that it was a mistake—drunken words said in a foggy haze. Words meant for the moment, and not especially for you.

Still, you couldn’t forget the way his head had rested on your shoulder, like he belonged there. You couldn’t unhear the slurred, soft-spoken “I don’t want to leave you.” Those six words looped in your head like a broken record. 

Were they meant to be comforting? A warning? A confession?

But even worse than that was how everything returned to normal or, at least, seemed to.

You stopped bumping into him at school. He stopped showing up in the group chat. 

Olivia posted more often now—the two of them posing in bookstores, going to brunch, prepping for their “future.” She seemed so perfect on his arm, so carefully curated. Their relationship was like a photo in a museum: admired by everyone, but no one really understood it.

And you—you felt like a visitor. A stranger peering into a life you used to be a part of. You didn’t go to the group hangout in the woods. You skipped the movie night that once used to be your thing. Your friends texted, called, asked where you were. But you always had an excuse: studying, babysitting your cousin, or just being tired. 

Anything but the truth.

The truth was that it hurt to exist in a space where Lando no longer looked for you. Even when you did see him, it was… different. He was quieter, more distracted by being new version of him. He even laughed less than he usually would when he was around you. He didn’t hold eye contact like he used to—not the way he did when it was just you two in the corner of a room, stealing glances across dinner tables or hiding giggles behind shared inside jokes.

It was like watching a star dim slowly, day by day, losing its uniqueness.

You’d pass each other in the halls sometimes. There was a flicker in his eyes—like maybe he wanted to say something, even the smallest thing. But the moment always passed and you’d look away first, because it felt safer that way.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting by the window, the same one you both used to lean against when you studied together. The sky outside was soft and grey, and the silence in the room felt like it was screaming at you.

You clutched your phone in your hand, screen still open on the last video you ever took together—blurry, spontaneous, just you two laughing over some dumb joke, your laughs loud and vibrant. You looked at your smile in it, and how easy it had been to smile with him. How full you had felt back then.

But then came a new notification. A tagged photo on Olivia’s Instagram.

“Couldn’t be happier to start this chapter with you. Amsterdam, here we come <3”

The picture was beautiful, in that staged kind of way. Lando kissing her cheek, his arm around her waist as she held her passport and their tickets. The luggage was behind them, and departure gate in the background.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your chest caved in.

He hadn’t told you. Again. But this time he hadn’t even said goodbye.

There had been no message, no last knock on the door, no final look.

The disbelief washed over you in waves. First it was confusion, then came the bitterness. And then that slow, aching pain—like someone had reached inside and quietly rewired your heart. And it would knock the breath out of you, because suddenly it would make sense.

“I don’t wanna leave you.”

But he did. And he was already gone, taking his future with Olivia, leaving you with nothing but the words he’d whispered to you on that kitchen floor. Words you still didn’t understand, but somehow knew were real.

────୨ৎ────

The airport was too bright.

Everything felt like it was glowing under harsh, white light—the floors, the departure signs, the rows of metal benches where people sat with neck pillows, their luggage beside them, and some even taking a nap. 

Lando could hear Olivia's voice next to him, cheerful and animated, chatting with her mum as they went over last-minute plans. He smiled, or at least tried to, but it didn’t feel right on his face. It didn’t stick.

He stood a little outside of it all—just off to the side of the check-in area, surrounded by people but entirely elsewhere. His eyes kept drifting toward the entrance doors. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked there—searching.

It had been weeks since that night. The kitchen. The water. Your shoulder. The words he wasn’t supposed to say out loud. 

You hadn’t texted him since. Not even once. He had tried writing a couple of short, awkward messages but he always changed his mind, immediately deleting them. 

And yet, some stupid, desperate part of him believed you’d still come.

Maybe you’d rush in, sleeves of your favourite hoodie pulled up your arms, out of breath, pretending you just happened to be nearby. Maybe you’d roll your eyes and mutter something like “figured you’d want a dramatic send-off, loser.”

He would’ve smiled, laughed even. He would’ve known what you meant. So he kept looking. Every flash of the color which your favourite hoodie had. Every girl which walked a little too fast through the crowd. His stomach turned every time he thought—that might be you.

But it never was.

“Boarding group A, you’re now welcome at gate 27.”

The announcement echoed through the terminal. Olivia squeezed his hand, excited, practically buzzing with it. “Ready?” She asked, sending him a warm smile. Lando nodded, but his eyes were still locked on the doors. Still waiting, hoping, hurting.

Olivia tugged his hand gently, and he looked one last time, but you weren’t there. It felt like something inside his chest folded in on itself.

────୨ৎ────

The house was quiet. Your parents were already gone for the day, hanging out with their friends which came to your city. The sun was filtering in through the curtains, soft and golden.

You were still in bed. Blankets pulled up to your chin, phone in your hand, screen dark. You hadn’t looked at his Instagram story. Not yet. Seeing Olivia’s post was enough for you.

You didn’t want to see the gate, again. The luggage. Olivia’s arm looped through his. You didn’t want confirmation that this was real. That he was really leaving. That he was no longer just not here, but truly, physically and emotionally gone.

Your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid. And now you laid in your bed, curled under your blanket, breathing through the quiet kind of grief that doesn’t come with sobs or screams—just this low, constant ache in your chest. Like your ribs were too tight. Like your heart was trying to remember how to exist without him.

You stared at the ceiling—eyes wide, dry. You weren’t crying, you just felt… hollow.

Somewhere in a crowded airport, Lando was still looking for you in a sea of people. But now it was too late. 

He had left. And you had let him.

────୨ৎ────

a few months later

The sky hadn’t been blue in weeks. Months.

Every day carried a quiet grayness, like the world had slipped into a version of itself that was somehow dimmer—dull and breathless. The leaves had started to curl at the edges, the sun set earlier now, and everything seemed to echo more, especially the silence in your chest.

You didn’t realize how much you had gotten used to him being part of your days until the days went on without him. Not suddenly—not like a door slammed shut, but like a faucet that dripped until the sink overflowed. Now, the drip was gone, the tap turned off. But you were still soaked in the memories.

He was gone. And you hated how easily everyone had accepted it.

It was late afternoon, the kind of cloudy-gray sky that made everything look softer, like the world had been rubbed with a layer of dust. You sat outside the library, on that same bench tucked beneath the skeletal arms of a tree that had long since shed its leaves. The wind moved gently through the branches, dry and cool, like fingers brushing against your skin, but you barely even felt it.

Your textbook lay open in your lap, untouched. You weren’t reading—you hadn’t been reading for a while. You were just… sitting. Existing. Or something like it.

Students moved past in waves—laughing, talking, balancing coffees in one hand and phones in the other. Their lives felt fast, full, like they were already becoming something. Moving forward, getting somewhere. But you? You felt stuck in the same still frame, like time had stretched out for you but kept moving for everyone else.

Your phone buzzed once in your pocket. You didn’t reach for it. You already knew it wouldn’t be him.

It hadn’t been him in months.

Lando was gone. Not just in the physical way—though yes, he was hundreds of miles away in Amsterdam, probably stretched out in a dorm bed beside someone who wasn’t you. But he was also gone in the invisible, intimate, excruciating way. In the way someone disappears from your days, not all at once, but in pieces. One text not sent, one weekend not spent together, one secret not shared until all that’s left is pure silence.

You saw all the stories, posts, sunlit selfies. Blurry party photos, Olivia’s cherry gloss smudged on his cheek, and his hand around her waist like it belonged there. His smile—it looked so familiar, yet no longer yours.

He had everything he had ever wanted.

A new city. A new life. A new girl.

And you were still here, feeling as if you’re basically wasting your time. Staring at the same sidewalk cracks, listening to the same sad songs and playing the same night in your head—the one where you almost told him everything. The one where he looked at you like you were the only person in the universe, only to walk away and give his world to someone else.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, you thought back to that night in your kitchen. When he showed up drunk, lost, whispering he didn’t want to leave you. You hadn’t understood what he meant back then. Not fully. Maybe you didn’t want to, but now, in the echo of his absence, it haunted you.

It wasn’t even the relationship that hurt the most. It was the way it all disappeared—like you had never mattered, never been chosen, never been even considered.

You remembered finding out about him and Olivia. You didn’t sleep that night. You just lay there, eyes burning, heart breaking in this small, quiet, invisible way—where you weren’t allowed to scream or sob or say this isn’t fair because technically, nothing had been promised. 

But it had felt like a promise. Hadn’t it?

In the shared glances, in the laughter, in the way he used to text you when something dumb happened and say you were the first person he thought of. In the memory of him crouching in front of you at the party, brushing a tear from your cheek and saying he missed you.

Damn. Had you been that easy to forget?

Now, months later, you still carried that grief, that quiet ache but one else really noticed it. You’d gotten good at pretending—at laughing when you were supposed to, convincing that everything was great when people asked about school, often responding “yeah, I’m okay” with just the right smile to convince them.

But deep down, you were stuck, you couldn’t move on, and that’s what scared you the most. Because he had already moved on. 

His heart had mended so quickly, while yours was still bleeding. 

You saw it every time you opened Instagram. The way he glowed in those photos, new hair suiting him so goddamn good, looking like nothing ever haunted him. Like you had never haunted him. Like the version of himself that only existed when he was with you had vanished—as if it never mattered in the first place.

And yet you still remembered.

You remembered the time he fell asleep with his head on your lap, mumbling half-dreamed thoughts about how safe he felt with you. The time you screamed the lyrics of your favourite songs in your room, both of you out of breath from laughing too hard. The moment, months ago, when he almost confessed—voice low, eyes soft, something hidden in the way he touched your hand. But you had brushed it off. Laughed, and teased him about it, not taking him seriously because back then you hadn’t known. 

You hadn’t realized, and now it was too late.

It wasn’t fair, how one person could move on and build a life, while the other lived with an ending that never truly ended.

You looked up from your textbook and blinked into the gray sky. Your chest ached—dull and constant. It had become part of you now, the same way a scar settles into skin.

Sometimes, you wondered if he ever missed you. If he ever thought back to the version of his life that included you. But you knew the truth. For him, it was just something that happened. Something small. But for you? It was everything. And it felt like the world ended when it did.

Some mornings, you stared at your phone for too long. You’d open your messages and scroll to his name, only to lock your screen again. His contact was still saved—still with the dumb nickname he’d given himself when you finally saved his number. Still with the photo of him pulling a face, mid-laugh, cheeks pink from the cold. You couldn’t bring yourself to change or delete it because deleting it would make it all real, and you weren’t ready for that.

You still carried all of the conversations in your head. Those little ones, and stupid ones. Like what he would say if he saw you after going to the hairstylist, how he’d tease you for the playlist you’d made for studying or how he’d groan dramatically about missing your mom’s cooking if he walked through your front door again.

You still remembered the way it all slipped. The last few months of high school had felt like they were lined with fog—slow, delicate, full of things unsaid. You had started keeping your emotions in a box, tucking them beneath small smiles and empty reassurances. You didn’t want to be a weight on his shoulders, didn’t want to make things harder. And most importantly, you didn’t want to lose him by telling him how much you needed him to stay. But you lost him anyway.

When you got to know that he was going to university with Olivia, it felt like your heart had been held above a flame. Slowly, gently burning. 

He had made his choice, and it hadn’t been you.

You never told anyone how much that night broke you. How you cried in the shower with your hand pressed over your mouth, not to muffle the sobs, but to hold yourself together. You didn’t want anyone to know that you’d fallen apart over someone who, to the outside world, had never been yours to begin with. 

But he had been yours. In the stolen glances, in the late-night conversations, in the inside jokes that no one else understood. He had been yours in every way that mattered—until he wasn’t.

Now, time was moving without him. He was off in a new city—Amsterdam, with new friends, new routines and new loves. And you? You were left behind with the echoes. 

You never told him how often you still wore the hoodie he left at your place after one of many movie nights. Or how your chest still clenched every time you passed his old house, how sometimes you swore you could hear his laugh in the crowd, only to remember he wasn’t here anymore. The worst part? No one knew you were still grieving. Because you decided to just smile through it as it had never been said what you two were. 

Some days, the sadness came in small waves—manageable, dull, like a bruise. Other days, however, it felt catastrophic, like you were drowning in everything unsaid. Everything he’d taken with him, everything he’d left behind.

You wondered—deeply, painfully—if he thought of you at all. If there were nights when he missed your voice, if he ever wished, even just for a second, that he’d done it all differently.

But you didn’t ask, you didn’t reach out because if he had wanted to stay he would’ve.

Right?

And yet, even now, all this time later, with the silence between you stretching wider and wider from one day to another, you still dreamed of him sometimes. Still woke up with tears on your pillow and his name lodged somewhere in your throat. Still felt like he was right at your fingertips. 

Close enough to remember, but too far to touch.

────୨ৎ────

Amsterdam had been covered with heavy, dark rain clouds for a week now. Thin, cold rain that didn’t fall in sheets, but misted the air like grief that never stopped clinging. The kind that soaked into the seams of your hoodie and stuck to your eyelashes. 

He’d been in this city for eight months now. Everything should’ve felt like a new chapter. Everything should’ve felt like the freedom he once craved — the escape he told himself he needed. Instead, he felt… off. Out of place in his own life. Like he had walked onto someone else’s path and didn’t know how to find his way back. 

He had new friends here, a schedule, a routine, a girlfriend. He even made sure to decorate his room with little posters, like you once told him to. But even then—even with those pieces of color and personality—it felt hollow. He felt hollow. Olivia filled the space beside him, but not within him. That space had been carved out slowly, over the last year. And it hadn’t been carved for her. It had been carved for you.

Lando hadn’t been able to sleep properly in weeks. His room was too clean, too beige. He missed the cute mugs you used for drinking tea with him and the way your socks never matched. He even missed the ridiculous alarm tone you used—that one song you claimed was the only thing aggressive enough to get you out of bed. Now his alarm was Olivia. Waking him up with a practiced kiss to the cheek and a to-do list for the day already in her hand. Organized and efficient, but distant.

She always smelled expensive and her hair was always perfect. Her perfume clung to his hoodies now, replacing the faint vanilla and lavender scent that used to make his chest clench unexpectedly. She fit the picture—but not the frame.

He didn’t notice how much he was unraveling until he stopped recognizing himself. Everything he said felt like a script, everything he did felt like it was on autopilot. He went to class., he sat through lectures, then he answered Olivia’s questions, and he smiled when he was supposed to smile.

But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the Lando he had been all his life, this was a new, artificial version of him. He’d laugh at something someone said at a party, and the sound would feel different. He’d catch himself zoning out at lunch, his eyes drawn to things that reminded him of home—a chipped tile, a girl wearing her hair like you used to, the specific color of a hoodie like the one you always borrowed from him. It has never stopped.

You were a ghost that followed him everywhere, not haunting him maliciously—but softly, and quietly. Just present enough to hurt.

And every time Olivia asked him what was wrong, he’d lie.

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s just adjusting to a new place, that’s all.”

Sometimes, when Olivia was out late with her friends, he’d sit on the cold tile floor of the kitchen—like he had that night in your kitchen, and he’d let the silence settle.

He remembered what he said to you, slumped against the cabinets, head spinning, your shoulder warm beneath him. At the time, he hadn’t fully understood what that meant. But now? Now he did because he had left, and it had ruined him.

He checked his phone before the flight, over and over. Desperately hoping for a message. One of your typical, low-effort, high-meaning texts:

“Don’t forget your passport, idiot.” or “You’re gonna do great, Lan.”

But it never came.

He’d hoped—selfishly—that you’d come say goodbye. That you’d be there at the airport, even if just standing in the back. That maybe, just maybe, you’d catch his hand, say something like “Stay.” But you didn’t.

He’d looked for you anyway. Chest tight, heart racing, his eyes scanning the faces of every person who showed up to send him off. Laughing, hugging, cheering. But not you. And in that moment, he felt something twist deep in his chest—a mix of guilt and disbelief. Because even after everything… some part of him truly believed you’d be there. You always were, until now.

And something inside him snapped quietly in that moment. Like a string too tight for too long finally giving way.

She didn’t come.

She didn’t come.

She didn’t come.

She didn’t—

Lando never deleted your messages. He couldn’t. They were still there, buried deep in the chat log. All those late-night voice notes, the blurry selfies, the playlists you made, the “tell me you got home safe, idiot” texts. Now they sat untouched, blue and gray bubbles frozen in time.

One night, he tapped on one of your voice notes and hit play, and your voice filled the room. It broke him. He sank to the floor—knees pulled to his chest, face in his hands—and cried. Really cried. Not the frustrated kind, or the angry kind, but the kind that came from loss. From deep, heavy regret because now, with the noise of this new life screaming around him, he realized how quiet you had been when you left.

You didn’t beg, you didn’t argue. You didn’t even try to convince him to stay. You simply stepped back, and he let you.

Everything with Olivia started to rot after that. Not all at once—but slowly. He stopped laughing at her jokes, she started noticing how distant he’d become, they argued more. She asked why he wouldn’t touch her like he used to, why he stayed up late when she went to bed. Why didn't he try. He didn’t have an answer she wanted to hear. Because the truth was that he was still in love with someone else. And he’d left her behind.

He tried. God, he tried. Olivia was everything on paper—beautiful, perfect body, intelligent, well-spoken. She had a plan for her future, a five-year vision board, a curated Spotify playlist for every mood. But she didn’t know how to read his silences like you did.

She didn’t call him out when he was spiraling in his thoughts, having anxiety attacks. She didn’t remember how he hated fish or how he picked at the skin on his thumb when he was overthinking. She didn’t feel like home, and over time, he stopped trying to force it. He stopped texting her when he stayed on campus later than planned, he started noticing how tight her grip was on his arm, how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when he mentioned your name—which he always did by accident.

You had a way of slipping into his sentences, even when he wasn’t trying.

“Oh yeah, she always said that movie was mint!”

“We used to listen to this song in the summer.”

Each time, Olivia would go quiet, and Lando would pretend he didn’t notice—but he did.

He just didn’t know how to stop it.

The nights were the worst. When the city noise finally died, and all that was left was the glow of streetlights bleeding through the blinds. He’d lie awake, the bed too big, the air too thin, your voice still echoing faintly in the back of his mind. 

It wasn’t even the last time he saw you that haunted him—not really. It was everything before that. The look in your eyes when you told him you were fine, the way you nodded, even though your voice cracked. The way you smiled for him even while your heart broke quietly behind your ribs.

He’d never forget the weight of your head on his shoulder in that quiet kitchen. The warmth of your presence, the familiar rhythm of your breathing, the silence between you that somehow said everything he wasn’t brave enough to. You just let him rest there, drowning in the alcohol, the ache, and the guilt.

Lando has thought about messaging you so many times. Late at night, early in the morning, after a fight with Olivia, after a dream that felt too real. He even typed out a few drafts, but he always deleted them because it felt too selfish. Because what right did he have to pull you back when he was the one who walked away?

So instead, he stayed silent—and hoped you’d reach out first. Yet days passed, and you didn’t.

He scrolled through your Instagram more often than he wanted to admit. You’d changed your profile picture, and even cut your hair shorter. You posted photos with friends, laughing in golden sunlight, and yet your eyes still carried something heavy, something distant. He zoomed in on one photo once, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it—that slight sadness you always tried to hide behind your smile.

You looked okay. But not happy. And it wrecked him to know that he was probably the reason why.

At the four-month mark, he started skipping more classes, stayed in bed longer and let his favorite lego sets collect dust. Olivia noticed, of course, but she didn’t ask the right questions—and even if she had, he wouldn’t have told the truth. Because the truth was simple and devastating: he missed you more than he ever thought possible. Not just in the romantic sense—but existentially. Like something about his very being had gone numb without you there to ground him, like he couldn’t find the version of himself he liked anymore. The version who laughed too loudly, who stayed up late talking about nothing, who said stupid things just to make you roll your eyes and smile.

He felt like a stranger to himself, and the more he tried to fit into this new life, the more he realized he didn’t belong here.

He hadn’t told Olivia yet about the truth of what he was feeling. About the growing distance in his chest every time she kissed him. About how every time he said “I love you,” it felt like a lie wrapped in an apology. He couldn’t look at her without thinking about how he got here. And how he should’ve never left you behind.

────୨ৎ────

The apartment was dim, lit only by the blue glare of a paused movie screen and the glow of Olivia’s phone. Outside, the city murmured its usual midnight song—distant traffic, wind brushing windows, occasional laughter from people who still had somewhere to be.

However, inside, it was dead quiet.

Lando sat slouched on the far end of the couch, elbows on his knees, thumb pressed hard into the side of his temple. His jaw ached from clenching. He’d been this way for the past hour—motionless, burning silently. 

Olivia didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but chose not to care. Her legs were tucked beneath her, wrapped in that gray blanket she bought when they were picking things for the apartment. She scrolled on her phone, her thumb moving in slow flicks, laughter bubbling from her lips every now and then at something on her screen. 

It didn’t even feel like they were in the same room. 

“You’re really not gonna talk again tonight?” She finally said, not even looking at him, too busy replying to someone on Instagram.

He blinked slowly, taking a deep breath. “There’s nothing to say.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “That’s bullshit, Lan. You’ve been weird for weeks.” She tilted her head, getting a better look at him. Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, exhaling through his nose.

“Is this about college?” She asked, more pointed now. “Or is this about her?” He stiffened at her last words. 

There it was—the unspoken name, hanging in the air like a match above gasoline.

“Of course it is,” She scoffed, throwing her phone down. “You’ve been floating since we got here. You barely try anymore. Like your body’s here, but your head’s somewhere else—always looking back to Bristol. You need to understand that this city and every memory that is connected with it is already long gone.”

He looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, really looked—and didn’t recognize the person staring back. She wasn’t the Olivia he had first met, full of ambition and spontaneous affection. She was different now. Controlled, and expectant. Like she wanted to mold him into someone else. 

How could he forget about Bristol, about you?

“Because I don’t feel like myself anymore, Liv!” Lando finally snapped, voice sharp, loud and desperate. “I don’t even know who the fuck I am when I’m with you.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed, “Wow,” She snickered, voice trembling with disbelief. “That’s a shitty thing to say to the person who moved hundreds of kilometers to a foreign country with you.”

“No. You moved here,” He snapped, his voice finally rising. “And I just followed. I followed after you here because I thought that maybe it would fix whatever I was feeling. But it didn’t. It just made it worse.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. She blinked a few times before finally letting out a scoff and replying, “Okay, so this is my fault, huh?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Bullshit!” She stood now, the blanket falling off her lap. “You’ve been checked out for months. Is this really about her, Lando? Just say it. Have balls and say it, straight to my face, that this is true.”

Lando’s chest tightened. He ran a hand through his curls, pacing in quick, tight circles. He could feel the frustration building in his throat, like it was choking him. 

“I haven’t spoken to her in months, Olivia.”

“But you still think about her. I see it on your face every time we walk past something that reminds you of home. Every time someone says her name. You go quiet, and get lost in your little, stupid head again, overthinking everything.”

Her words landed like a punch in the stomach. He stopped pacing, his back was turned to her. Softly, he answered, “Maybe I am.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Her breath hitched, hands trembling, knotted into fists.

“You’re such a coward, Lando,” She whispered in disbelief. “You couldn’t even admit you loved her. You just kept pretending, and now that this life isn’t perfect, you want to run back like a scared little boy.”

He turned around, eyes shining now, but not from tears. From fury. “I never wanted this life, can’t you understand it?!” He shouted, gripping his fists tightly, his nails digging deeply into the skin of his hand. “You planned it all out and I just… I went along. I left my family, my best friend, my home. I thought I could make it work, but I can’t. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Olivia.”

“So what now?” She spat, a non-chalant grimace visible on her face. “You’re gonna crawl back and expect her to just be waiting for you with open arms? Like none of this happened? Pretend like you didn’t break her heart too?”

That brought him to a halt. He hadn’t let himself think of it that way—how much damage he might’ve caused. How you had stayed quiet while he disappeared into someone else’s world. 

Lando felt sick.

“I don’t know what she’ll say,” He admitted, softer now. “But I can’t keep doing this. Not when I feel like I’ve lost everything that made me who I was.”

Olivia stared at him for a long time. Then, her expression hardened. “Then go. And don’t bother coming back.” She added coldly.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Go ahead. Pack all of your shit, dickhead. Go chase your fucking dream girl. Just don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out who you are.”

He nodded once, jaw tight, eyes stinging. “I wouldn’t even ask you to.”

And just like that, he turned around and walked into their shared bedroom. He pulled out the old bag from under the bed—the one with his initials stitched into the side from when he was sixteen. It hadn’t been touched in months.

He threw in clothes without thinking. Chargers. Toothbrush. Photo strip he’d once tucked into a side pocket—the one with the two of you, silly grins and bright eyes, back when life had been simple. With all the necessary things, he zipped the bag up, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped back into the living room.

When he came back out, Olivia stood there, arms crossed over her chest, tears in her angry eyes. She was bitter, not even trying to stop him. 

“Lando.” She called him one last time, and he turned to look at her for the last time. “You’ll regret this,” She continued, voice low and furious. “She won’t take you back, and you’ll be left with nothing.”

But Lando didn’t say a word, he just walked out, slamming the door behind him. The moment the door clicked shut, he felt it—like breathing after holding it too long. Like grief and relief tangled into one.

For the first time in months, the silence didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like something new beginning.

────୨ৎ────

You weren’t expecting anything—just the usual hum of silence broken only by the rain pounding on the windows. It had been a quiet evening. Too quiet, actually. 

You’d brushed your teeth, turned the lights low, your skin still warm from a shower, wrapped in a worn hoodie far too big for you. A movie played softly in the background, but you weren’t really watching. You never did anymore. Everything had dulled around the edges. You went through motions now. You existed in between hours, in between memories of what used to be and the aching of what could’ve been.

It was close to 1:00 AM. You hadn’t planned on staying up this late, but sleep never came easy these days. Not since he left. So when the knock came—three distinct raps followed by a silence so heavy it filled the room—your stomach dropped. 

You froze mid-step, heart punching your ribs, unsure whether it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But then it came again—three more knocks, slower this time. Heavier. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they had the right to be there.

Your feet moved before you realized it. Soft, tentative steps across the hardwood. The kind you take when your heart is at your throat. When everything in you says, “Don’t hope. Don’t you dare hope.”

You reached the door and slowly peeked through the peephole. And in that moment, everything inside you fell apart.

It was him. Lando.

Soaked from head to toe, rain dripping from his curls, hoodie clinging to him like the weight of every decision he’d made. His face was pale, exhausted. His eyes locked on the doormat like he couldn’t bear to look up. He looked like regret had come to life.

You stared, frozen in place. Every nerve in your body screamed. Every instinct said this isn’t real, that it was just a trick of your mind conjured out of all the times you’d cried yourself to sleep.

You didn’t even think twice as your fingers already fumbled at the lock, breath shallow, pulse racing. When the door finally creaked open, the rain surged in, bringing cold and memories with it. 

Lando slowly lifted his head, making your eyes meet, and in that moment it felt as if everything around stopped. The storm behind him blurred into white noise, and the air between you buzzed with everything unspoken. 

Your throat tightened, and you felt as if your knees threatened to give out any second. You hadn’t seen him in eight months. Just glimpses, pictures with Olivia that felt like salt in a wound you never asked for. But now here he was, Lando in the flesh, standing right in front of you. And you couldn’t breathe.

Lando didn’t speak. He just stood there, rain running down his face, mixing with something that might’ve been tears—but you couldn’t tell. He looked older somehow. More tired, like he hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. Like life had eaten him alive.

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to scream, and cry. To ask him why—why he left, why he never looked back, why he let you shatter without a single word. 

The pain hit you all at once—heavy, violent, and consuming—making you break apart. Your throat burned as you moved towards him. You shoved him back once, then again. Your fists thudded against his chest, angry, raw, messy and real. 

“You bastard—” Your voice broke into a sob as you hit him again. “You goddamn— selfish coward—” Lando flinched at your words, but still didn’t move away.

You shoved him harder. “You— you left me! You said nothing, not even a single word! You just disappeared! You think you can show up here after months and what? What?!”

Your fists pounded his chest as anger boiled over into pure heartbreak. “Do you have any idea what you did to me? How much it hurt?” Still, he took it. He didn’t raise a hand. He let you hit him. “You just left! Like I was nothing to you. Like I wasn’t even— God, I hate you!” 

Each word broke more of you apart. Hot tears blurred your vision as your fists pounded against him with every ache you’d buried for months. You were crying now, properly crying. Ugly, broken sobs tearing through your chest. The kind of crying that made your knees weak, that shook your whole body.

“You fucking asshole! You didn’t even say goodbye—” Your voice cracked. “I waited, Lando. I waited for you to say something. To make it make sense. And you just— you were gone.”

Still, he said nothing. His breath was shaking, lips parted, eyes wet from more than just the rain. And then finally—finally—he moved. Slowly and carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, he wrapped his arms around you in a strong embrace. You struggled at first—your fists still weakly hitting at his chest, but his arms only tightened more. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed across your back, grounding you.

“Shhh… I know. I know.” He whispered, his throat tightening, “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked on the last word, and that’s what finally shattered you.

You stopped fighting.

His arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go. Tight and desperate. One hand tangled in your hair, the other pressing you against him like he was terrified you’d disappear. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest��fast and scared. He was shaking, and so were you.

You sobbed into his hoodie, the fabric soaking up your tears and rain and months of silence. He didn’t say a word. His chin dropped to rest on the top of your head as he held you there, like if he let go, the world would fall apart again. You gripped at him like a lifeline, hands fisting into his hoodie, face pressed into the warmth of his chest as your body trembled. You missed him so much.

No words were needed. Not yet. Just the rain and the sound of your heartbeat against his. The thud of two souls colliding after too long apart.

You cried into his chest while he stood in your doorway, dripping rainwater and regret, your name probably sitting at the edge of his tongue.

And still, nothing. Nothing except the unshakable feeling that even now, even after everything—this was still home.

────୨ৎ────

Some time had passed before you finally led him inside.

The house was still quiet. Not the kind of quiet that hummed peacefully—but the breathless kind. The kind where the walls still echoed with everything left unsaid. 

Rain had soaked into the hallway carpet beneath your feet, his clothes leaving wet spots behind him that you didn’t have the heart to care about. Your hand trembled slightly as it held onto the railing while you climbed the stairs. Behind you, Lando followed wordlessly, his movements hesitant—like he wasn’t sure he belonged here anymore.

Your room hadn’t changed much. Same soft light from the lamp on the bedside table, same books piled up on your desk, same blanket folded at the end of the bed. And yet, when he stepped in behind you, something shifted. The air tightened.

Lando stood in the doorway, dripping, still breathing like he hadn’t figured out how to do it properly since he saw your face again. And you didn’t say anything. Not yet. You just turned around to face him, heart pounding in your ears like a warning, and the second your eyes met again in that dim golden light, something collapsed inside you. Not with noise, but with a softness that hurt.

You crossed the room slowly. No rush, no desperation, just the ache of every second that had passed since he had left. Every second you’d spent trying not to miss him, trying not to hate him, trying not to wish for this exact moment.

He looked down at you when you stopped in front of him. His hair was sticking to his forehead. His shirt clung to his skin, knuckles were scraped, and his eyes held centuries of regret. And you reached for him—not with certainty, but with instinct.

Fingers brushed his sleeve, then his hand, and finally, without a word, he let out the quietest exhale and stepped closer to you, forehead pressing to yours like he’d finally made it home.

You stood like that for a while, eyes closed, neither of you moving. The sound of the rain bleeding through the walls.

“I…” He started to whisper, voice cracking—but you shook your head against him.

“Don’t,” You breathed, your voice trembling. “Not yet, Lan.” The nickname made his heart squeeze painfully, remembering all the happiest times when you called him that.

Lando nodded as he understood what you meant. This wasn’t the time for words, for answers—not tonight.

You took his hand and pulled him gently toward the bed. It wasn’t romantic nor filled with lust. It was the comfort and longing that made you do that.

You handed him a towel from the dresser, watched as he clumsily dried his hair, and peeled off the hoodie that stuck to him like a second skin. Then you passed him one of your old sweatshirts—the navy one he used to steal during movie nights, and the one you could never bring yourself to throw away. He hesitated, but eventually he took it, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled it over his head.

You turned away to give him space. But when you sat down on the bed, you felt the weight shift beside you. He was close, but not touching. Like he was scared to ruin the fragile thing you’d just begun stitching back together. 

Not knowing what to say, you lay down, and he followed your steps. It was awkward at first, like learning again a language you used to speak fluently. His arm grazed yours and you shifted slightly, making him mirror your moves. The duvet settled over you both like a secret, warm and heavy and sacred.

It took time—slow, aching minutes—for your body to relax. But it happened, eventually. Your head found its way to his chest, just above his heart, and his arm found your waist. Your legs tangled together under the covers like they’d never forgotten how to fit. And still… you said nothing. 

You listened his breathing—to the gradually slowing thump of his heart. To the rain whispering against your windows. You felt the warmth of his skin through the borrowed fabric. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

He held you like you were made of glass. Carefully, and reverently. Your fingers curled in the hem of his sleeve and didn’t let go. And finally—finally—you allowed yourself to breathe.

You didn’t want to sleep. You were afraid all of this would vanish if you closed your eyes. That if you let go, he’d disappear again. That the morning would come and this would all be just another cruel dream. But your body betrayed you, and for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you fell asleep wrapped in the arms of someone who knew you. Who had broken you, and had come back. 

You didn’t dream You just slept—heart pressed to heart, hands entwined in quiet forgiveness.

And Lando? He stayed awake, watching the way your face softened in sleep. The faint frown that still lingered, even now. He studied every inch of your skin like he was afraid he’d forget it again. His thumb brushed your back, up and down, slow and reverent. 

He couldn’t believe that he’d left this, that he’d chosen to leave you.

You stirred slightly, breathing shifting against his chest, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear so gently it almost broke him. 

And that was when he knew.

No matter what it took—no matter how long it would be—he wasn’t leaving again. He couldn’t. You were his home. And this? This was just the beginning.

────୨ৎ────

The next morning the rain hadn’t stopped. It painted the windows in soft streams, whispering against the glass like an old lullaby, a rhythm that felt almost like breathing. Slow, gentle and unrelenting. The world outside was hushed, dulled beneath a curtain of gray skies and water-soaked streets, but in the stillness of the apartment, it felt safe. Wrapped in that soft kind of silence that only rain brings—where time slows, and nothing demands to be done except existing.

The bedroom was still dim, bathed in the faint amber glow of the bedside lamp that was left on throughout the night. Its golden light caught on the edges of things—the half-empty glass of water on the dresser, the corner of a blanket trailing off the bed, the framed photo next to the books which depicted you and Lando, laughing at something neither of you remembered now. Younger, lighter, unaware of the ache the years would bring.

But now, your older selves lay beneath the covers, wrapped up in warmth and each other. Skin against skin, his arm draped around your waist, your legs tangled naturally beneath the duvet. As if you’d always belonged in this shape. Like the spaces you left in each other had only ever been waiting to be filled.

His thumb moved slowly against your side—back and forth, back and forth. A silent check-in. A promise, a reminder that he was there.

When you woke up, you didn’t move at first. Just let your eyes follow the soft pattern of shadows across the ceiling, let the sound of the rain blur into the quiet thudding of your heart.

Lando shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His curls were messy, and his eyes—blue and familiar—were half-lidded but awake. “Are you okay?” He murmured, voice thick with sleep and something deeper.

You hesitated, then shrugged, your voice soft. “Just thinking.”

“About?” He questioned, his tone careful. Like he already knew the answer might sting.

You blinked slowly, and swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “You know… I don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet,” You whispered. “Not fully.” The words cracked slightly on their way out, and you hated how vulnerable they sounded. How fragile they made you feel.

Lando didn’t flinch, nor pulled away. He just held your gaze. “I know.” He said quietly. 

You turned onto your side to face him fully, his hand now resting on the curve of your hip. The mattress dipped slightly under your movement, the duvet sliding down your shoulder. Your skin cooled instantly in the air, but it wasn’t why you shivered.

“I told myself I had,” You continued, a little more steadily now. “I wanted to. But I still remember the silence. The way it felt when you left, Lan. Like— like I’d been erased from your life overnight. Like I didn’t matter.”

Lando’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at your words. Then, slowly, he reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch lingered, as if trying to memorize you all over again, his eyes full of regret.

“I think about that too,” He murmured. “Every single day.” There was no defense in his voice. No excuses. Just the truth, bare and broken. 

“I was a coward. I was scared, and I let that fear decide everything. I left you without a word and convinced myself it was the right thing. That you’d be fine, and that you didn’t need me. But it wasn’t about you. It was about me—and I hurt you because I didn’t know how to stay.” He shook his head, like the memory made him sick. “I was selfish. I chose a version of myself that made me feel safe, even if it meant becoming someone I didn’t recognize. Even if it meant walking away from the one person who ever really saw me.”

His eyes searched yours, shimmering. “And I’m sorry.”

The words hung between you, bare and trembling.

“I’m sorry for the silence. I’m sorry for every night you waited, every time you wondered what you did wrong, every piece of yourself you had to stitch back together without me. I should’ve been there. I should’ve fought for you.”

You felt your throat tighten. Your chest ached with the force of how badly you’d needed to hear those words.

“I think I didn’t deserve your love,” He continued, “but I had it. And I broke it. And that’s something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. But if there’s a chance—any chance—that I can still be the person you trust again… I’ll spend every day trying.” His voice cracked. “I just want you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You blinked, and the tears finally slipped down your cheeks again—warm, unstoppable.

You sat up slowly, mirroring him now, the duvet pooled around your waist. And for a moment, you just looked at him. Looked at the boy who had left, and the man who had come back.

You whispered, “Thank you.” as a wave of relief ran down you. 

You never knew how much you needed to hear that apology. And though forgiveness wasn’t something that could be wrapped in a single moment, it lived in that breath. In the way your body leaned into his without fear. In the way he exhaled like he’d been holding that apology in his lungs for a year.

You didn’t need a grand gesture. You needed this. The truth, laid bare. Between two people who had shattered each other once—and were now choosing, quietly, to try again.Together.

Your eyes met his. “Do you regret it? All of it?”

He exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with the weight of the question. “Not everything,” He said finally, “But most of all, the time I wasted pretending I didn’t love you.” That cracked something wide open inside you.

“I thought if I stayed gone,” He continued, voice shaking now, “if I became who Olivia wanted me to be, then maybe I’d forget how much I needed you. But I didn’t. I never did. And one morning, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.” He paused for a second, his throat tightening at the recall of all the memories, “I missed you so much it made me sick.”

Your breath caught. That was the moment you let the tears fall once again—not loud or gasping, just silent, and honest. They slipped down your cheeks like the rain on the window, blurring everything.

“I missed you too,” You whispered, your hand finding his beneath the blanket, your fingers curling around his like a lifeline. “Even when I told myself I didn’t.”

When you said that, Lando smiled. It was small, soft—nothing like the wide grins he used to wear when the world was still simple—but it was real. Tired and tender and entirely yours.

He leaned forward until your foreheads touched, his breath warm against your skin. Neither of you spoke for a while, there was no need to. Just that quiet, precious stillness—the kind that only came after the storm, after the wreckage, when you realized you were both still here. Still breathing. Still reaching for each other.

When he finally whispered, “Can I stay?” it wasn’t a question about just staying at your place. It was about everything that came after—your future.

You nodded, voice barely audible. “You never have to leave again, Lan.” And you meant it wholeheartedly.

His hand curled around your side again, anchoring you close, and your body folded into his like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had. But never like this. Never with the knowledge that tomorrow wouldn’t take him away again.

The rain outside kept falling, steady and quiet, but the storm between you had broken. And in that little apartment, tucked beneath layers of blankets and bruised apologies, two people who had once been torn apart by time and distance had finally found each other again.

Not in grand confessions. Not in desperate pleas. But in the way his thumb still moved against your hip. In the way your fingers clutched his like they couldn’t bear to let go.

This wasn’t about going back to the beginning, rather about starting from here. Where the pain had already been named. Where the truths had already been spoken. Where love, battered but burning, had quietly survived.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow could wait because right now, in the amber light and the hush of falling rain, you were home.

────୨ৎ────

3 years later

Your shared apartment smelled like warm vanilla and the candle you lit hours ago—something earthy, sandalwood maybe, that had slowly wrapped itself around the quiet of the afternoon. 

Outside, the sky was beginning to shift into early evening—dusted pinks and soft oranges stretching across the skyline like a watercolor bleeding into paper. A soft breeze drifted in through the cracked balcony door, swaying the white curtains like waves.

You were nestled into the couch, legs stretched out, a blanket tossed haphazardly over both your bodies. Your head rested on Lando’s chest, his hoodie swallowing you up, the fabric worn-in and smelling like him—clean cotton and a scent you could never name but always recognized. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, slowly, over and over again, untangling the strands with gentle care like it was the most important task in the world. And in that moment, maybe it was.

A record played low in the background, some old song he loved that you’d grown to love too. Lando had his arm wrapped around you, his hand trailing slowly through your hair. Over and over. Fingertips catching in soft strands before sliding free again, curling around them like he never wanted to stop touching you. 

You were laying there, head on his torso, the quiet rise and fall beneath your cheek like a lullaby. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. It was one of those moments where everything was said in the silence—in the closeness, the steady breathing, the way your fingers rested against the inside of his wrist, your thumb brushing the faint line of a scar you both knew the story of.

Lando shifted a little, just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head. No words, just that.

You smiled into the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers tracing slow circles over the inside of his wrist. “You’re gonna make me fall asleep, Lan.” You mumbled, your words softened by the weight of comfort, eyelids heavy.

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against your hairline. “Then fall asleep,” He whispered, voice laced with that familiar warmth that always made your chest flutter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smiled into his shirt, your heart swelling, a quiet little ache blooming behind your ribs. “You always say that.”

He smiled, too. “Because I mean it. And would it be so bad?” He said softly, the corners of his lips twitching into a half-smile. “I like having you like this, pretty girl.”

You tilted your head to look at him, chin resting against his chest. “Like what?”

He met your eyes, all warm honey and quiet adoration. “Close.” 

And then he leaned down, connecting your lips in a kiss. Not in that rushed, desperate way he used to when everything was still uncertain—when love felt fragile and maybe temporary. No, this kiss was slow. Anchored. Like he was still choosing you, over and over again, even now.

You kissed him back, one hand curling into the collar of his shirt, the other still resting against his chest where you could feel his heartbeat under your palm. He pulled back just enough to brush your nose with his, grinning against your mouth. Lando looked at you like you were something precious—like he still couldn’t believe you were real, like even in all the time that had passed, he hadn’t gotten used to having you close again.

Your fingers slid up to his jaw, thumb brushing along the line of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. “You know, sometimes I still feel like I’m dreaming,” You said softly. “Like I’ll wake up and you’ll still be gone.”

His brows knit together, and his free hand came up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey,” He said, voice suddenly serious, “you’re not dreaming. I’m here.”

You nodded, but your throat felt thick, full of memories you hadn’t spoken aloud in months. The silence between you shifted—still soft, but a little heavier now. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asked, quiet and sure.

You nodded again, slower this time, your eyes starting to sting. “I know.” His eyes searched yours, his thumb resting just beneath your cheekbone like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.

His hand slipped back into your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear. “I don’t think I knew how much until I almost lost you.”

You blinked, your lips parting, but no words came. Instead, you just laid your head back against his chest, curling in tighter, wrapping your arm around his waist. You didn’t need to say it—he could feel it in the way you held him like he was home.

“You know,” He murmured after a while, “I could do this forever.”

You pretended to think about it. “Do what?”

“This,” He whispered. “Be with you. Like this. Wake up next to you. Watch you fall asleep on me before we finish a movie. Let you steal all the covers.”

“That sounds a lot like a lifetime commitment.” You smirked, making the man beside you grin at your words.

“That’s kind of the point, love.”

You looked at him then—really looked—and it hit you again, how much love had filled the quiet spaces in your life since that night he came back. Since the rain, the doorstep, the apology. Since everything shifted.

You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the curve of his cheek. “You know,” You said softly, “I never thought we’d make it here.”

He leaned into your touch, gaze steady. “Well, I did.” And with that, the silence wrapped around you both again—no pressure, no need to rush. Just comfort, and peace. The quiet knowledge that love didn’t need to be loud to be real. 

It was here. In the way your body curved into his, perfectly fitted. In the way his eyes softened every time they landed on you. It was here. Always.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you melted further into him, burying your face in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. You stayed like that for a long time. Breathing. Existing. Loving.

The light outside faded into dusky blues. The candle flickered, the music looped. And still, you stayed like that—wrapped in each other. Lando’s fingers never stopped moving through your hair, slow and thoughtful, like he was memorizing the feel of you. And when the night time finally came, when the only light was the glow of the kitchen lamp left on across the room, Lando gently scooped you up—blanket and all—and carried you to bed.

Because this wasn’t the beginning of something new. This was the finally. Finally together, finally home. Finally, always. 

Everything that had once been right at the fingertips, was now fully grasped.

© haniette | 2025, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

taglist: @xoxomansee @htpssgavi @toriiez @neo-teenkidz

[abudhabby29-blog]

The Life of Racing Pt. 19

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: through it all, the racing, the media, the meetings. What matters to Lando the most is you. His home life is just as important as track life. Some days, he doesn't balance it easily. But through it all, the both of you try. Going through some challenges, but always coming out together, hand in hand again.

Second Person POV

Notes: my first F1 series! Requests are open!

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Summer break hit fast. Lando's first thing he wanted to do was go golfing with Max, which you didn't mind since you could stay back and wedding plan, but he insisted on you going.

That's how you ended up crossed legged in a golf cart, looking through wedding shopping magazines and watching Lando and Max fight it out on the course.

"Y/n!"

"Yeah?" You turn your head to see the two boys jogging towards you.

"We have something to tell you." Max says annoyed.

"I literally went to go swing the ball, but Max shouted at me and it messed me up, and now he won't let me go again." Lando whines.

"Because in all reality, professional golfers don't get to go again." Max backs.

Lando points a finger at him. "Does this look like we are in the Grand Prix for golf? No. So shut up before I make you!"

"You won't do a damn thing. It's not my fault your terrible!"

"I am not-"

"Children!" You yell though. "Can we just stop for a second?" Their eyes widen as they nod slowly. "Take it like this." You point to the magazine. "I really want to do this indoor venue for the wedding. Nice, luxurious, calm, cool, and collective." You say. They nod along.

"But Lando..." You flip the page. "Wants this. Outdoors, on a cliff with the Monaco sea looking overboard. See now, I don't mind outdoors, but there are so many things that can go wrong, like unexpected weather, tornados, or something." You pause, looking at the both of them. "Now... Max, why don't you let Lando have one more turn, and if he messes up again, then it's fine, he has no more re-do's again."

"You just... you just told us to compromise, over golf shit, with a wedding situation." Max points at you.

"Didn't it help you children out?"

They nod. "Good, now go play, and no beating each other with the clubs."

Max jogs off back to the start, while Lando stays, peering over your shoulder.

"I will bet you one hundred percent it will not do anything whethery on our wedding day because God loves me."

You look up at him. "Go play your little game. I'll keep looking."

He gasps dramatically. "It's not a game! It's a passion." And walks off. You laugh, flipping through the pages of the small book, looking at each venue, dress, and decorative items carefully.

You circle a couple of things you were interested in so you wouldn't forget later on, when you hear someone yelling from behind you.

You turn to see Max and Kelly driving a golf cart up and parking next to you.

"Hey! I didn't know people still read magazines!" Max laughs.

"Very funny." You snicker.

"Oh yeah! I was hoping we'd catch you here. Norris forgot this at work." He says, handing a magazine of his own to you. "Congrats on the proposal by the way."

You playfully roll your eyes. "Yeah and I heard all of you ratted me out to him." You laugh.

"We couldn't help it!"

You flip through the magazine. Lando had circled almost everything F1 theme.

"Lando!"

"Yes my darling!" He looks back before putting.

"We are not having an F1 themed wedding!"

"Yep! Sorry lovey! Thought I'd give it a go!" He yells back.

You giggle, rolling your eyes. "I mean, the proposal was truly special, I wouldn't have thought of the car out there and everything, but the F1 wedding is just too much."

"He'll change his mind, one way or another." Kelly laughs.

"Yes! Let's fucking go!" Lando shouts from afar, running to the carts. "I just won!" He gets in the drivers side happily, starting the cart as Max gets in his.

"What are you doing?" Kelly asks.

"He thinks he's good so we're going to race, something he actually knows how to do."

"I'm in!" Max says happily.

"No you are not!" Kelly says.

"Oh come on! Let Max in!" Max yells from the back.

Lando speeds off down the pathway. "Lando! I swear to God if you crash I will kill you!" You yell.

"You are safe with me! Don't worry!" He speeds up down the pathway, leading both of his friends when Max and Kelly cuts across the grass, landing in front of you.

"What! That's corner cutting!" Lando shouts. He goes around the curve of the path, driving onto the small curb and cutting Max off and leading the group once again.

He starts slowly down, eventually parking in front of the seventh hole.

"Norris! You corner cut the corner!" Max marches up to you while Kelly follows behind.

"You've corner cutted first! And then I got you back!" Lando yells.

"I did not!"

"Yes you did!"

"Are they like this all the time?" Kelly whispers next to you.

"Sadly." You smile. She nods her head back towards the clubs in the back. You smirk, grabbing her one and grabbing one yourself. The both of you walk up to the starting point, dropping the tee into the ground and putting the ball on top.

"No! Oh my God! What are you doing!" Lando yells after you. The three of them jog up after you.

"Playing golf!" You giggle.

"Darling, golf is for professionals. I think you need to go wedding planning." He suggests.

"No."

"That's cold." Max F laughs.

"Kelly, you don't know a thing about gold." Max says.

"I will learn from Y/n."

"Y/n has only watched Happy Golmore. That's it." Lando chuckles.

You back away from the tee, running up to it and swinging the club. The ball went flying across the grass area, landing right into the hole.

"Oh my God! Happy Gilmore swing for the win!" You yell. Kelly pulls you into a hug and spins you around as the guys clap in the background.

"Watching those movies payed off!" Kelly laughs.

"Fucking right!"

"I knew she could do it." Lando smirks.

You turn to him slowly. "That was my point. Not yours. You said I couldn't do it."

"You can't even play. You get a penalty for baggy jeans." Max points down to your jeans.

"Happy Gilmore did it." You shrug.

"Love, that was a movie." Lando says.

"My point. Let's see you try to beat that." You point at Lando.

He chuckles, stepping up to the plate. He sets his ball down and gets ready to swing.

"Jackass." You snickers. He misses the ball, kicking up a pile of dirt.

"We are not in Happy Gilmore so will you please stop!" He whines, looking at Max.

"Mate it wasn't me! I'm your roommate! I wouldn't do that!"

"Yeah right."

"It was Y/n." Max says.

"Shut up. Don't you have a family to tend to?" You chuckle.

"Everyone shush!" Lando yells. You all go quiet as he swings, the ball landing further than the hole.

"Oo, not good." Max shakes his head.

Lando turns, pointing his club to Max. "Alright, the person with the most amount of swings has to treat the winner, that's not y/n, to a day full of service."

"Service? What kind of service?" Max steps up.

"Doing the laundry, tidying the dishes, doing house chores, taking care of Rio, waiting on the other hand and foot." Lando smirks.

"You're on." Max snickers, stepping up to the plate. He swings, the ball curves to the left, making it land in the sand pit.

"Oh come on!"

You and Lando laugh, sitting in the cart together. Lando and Max go again. Lando makes the hole in three swings while Max makes his in six. Everyone piles into their carts, driving off to the next area.

"You know, your pretty good." Lando admits.

"Oh yeah? Does that mean we get to have an indoor wedding?" You smirk, flipping through another magazine.

"Ehh, maybe possibly."

"You know you're not doing too well." You snicker.

"I know... I need a way to beat him. A way that's good." He thinks aloud before turning to you. "You could do it."

"Me? No, I'm not a part of this deal. You made that very clear." You put a hand up.

"But we could fake it and make you apart of the deal." He smirks, parking the cart in front of the starting point of hole eight.

"What- lando." You got to grab his arm, but he gets up, tripping and falling out of the cart.

"Oh my God!" He yells, shooting a small smirk up to you before going back into panic. "Ow! Ugh my God!" He cradles his ankle like no tomorrow.

"Mate, are you alright?" Max says, him and Kelly rushing down to his side along with you.

"God! I don't know what happened! My foot must have gotten caught." He says.

Max rushes over, the four of you creating a circle around him. "You alright? Looked like a hard fall."

"I don't think I'm going to be able to play." Lando shakes his head.

"Well, you don't have to. Just call your little deal off." Kelly says.

"Oh my word, it hurts so much!"

"Lando." You say sternly. "You can't play."

"God but we had a deal!"

"So don't so that deal." Max says.

"Yeah right now we need to get you home." Max agrees.

"No, no. I'll be fine."

"You really shouldn't play." Kelly says.

Lando pauses, slowly looking at you. "Could you try?"

"Me?"

"Yes you."

"I- I don't know." You say.

"Please, you could try and if you don't like it then don't do it." Lando says sadly.

"I think you should." Kelly smiles.

"It would be fun!" Max agrees.

"Yeah!"

You look at all of them, giving Lando a big side eye. "Fine, I'll do it."

The group cheers, all getting up and helping Lando slowly into the cart.

You walk around, grabbing a club out of the back of the cart. "I hate you." You whisper, as he sprawls out on the back bench.

"You love me."

You roll your eyes, giggling as you walk up to the tee. You place the ball down, back up and swing, the ball flying and landing right next to the hole.

"Yes! Alright!" Lando cheers from the cart. You smirk and back away, letting Max up for his turn.

He puts his ball down, stepping to the side before swinging it, the ball landing far before the hole.

"How the fuck?" He turns to you. "How are you doing this?"

You shrug. "I binged Happy Gilmore for like... ever."

"Hey honey! You've got some great venues picked out!" Lando calls out. "None of which are outside!"

"Fuck your outside theme alright! I guarantee you the moment I step onto the aisle I'll get attacked by bee's or it'll rain!" You yell back. The three around you try their best to hold in their laughs.

"I think this monaco cliff with the ocean view is nice!"

"Will it be nice once I push you off of that cliff?"

He pauses, looking over at you. "No."

"So stop. I have a game to finish!" You walk off down the course, standing in front of your ball. You putt it in, and Kelly writes down '2' in your score spot on the card.

Max goes up next, putting as well. He misses most of them, making it in six moves.

You drive the cart up the course, going through each different section until you end up at the last one. You've mostly gotten a couple of hits, while Max kept his hitting score pretty high.

"You've got this. And if you don't... you have Max to tend to all weekend." Lando snickers from the back seat. You break check the cart, making him jolt forward as you get out.

"Not cool!"

"What did you do?" Kelly smirks.

"Break check." You grab your club, and walk up to the tee marker. The three stand off to the side while Lando watches from the cart.

"Don't mess this up. It's a long shot just from here." Max smirks.

You roll your eyes, standing slightly back from the ball. You step up, twist your arms back, and hit the ball. Everyone watches as it flies across the course, landing straight in the hole.

"Yes! That's how you do it!" Kelly shouts, pulling you into a big hug.

"You know it!"

"Alright, alright." Max puts a calm hand up. "We haven't finished yet." He steps forwards, swinging back and hitting the ball. It flies across the course with a slight curve, landing in a sand pit once again.

"Oh my God, no!"

You and Kelly laugh. "Sucks for you."

"Ugh this is awful!" He says, walking over to the cart with you.

"I look forward to a day full of relaxation and fun." You smirk, sitting down in the drivers side.

"You're awful. How are you this good and never play before?" He asks.

You shrug. "I'm just that good."

He rolls his eyes, putting your club away in the back where Lando is sat.

"You got lucky Norris." Max points.

"I twisted my ankle! How is that luck!" Lando points to his ankle.

"Well, all know damn well you didn't twist your ankle."

You bite your lip, holding in your laugh as you drive off from him, going back to the front of the building.

"How much is the taxi fare today?" Lando asks, hoping off the golf cart and standing with you.

"A kiss." You smile.

"Woah- I have a girlfriend."

"Oh well." You shrug.

"I am a loyal ass man. Back off woman!" He points behind you.

"What is going on?" Kelly asks, walking up behind you.

"Lando's being a jerk."

"Y/n is being a jerk."

"You both are jerks." Max chuckles, walking past you both.

"See you at home, sweetie!" You yell. He quickly flips you off and rounds the corner. Max and Kelly give a simple goodbye before you and Lando leave. You sat in the passenger's seat, reading magazine's while Lando was driving.

"How many magazines did you bring?" He glances over at you quickly.

"A lot. But you better be careful." You smirk. "Wouldn't want you to fall out of the car again."

"I did that for good causes."

You giggle. "Sure you did."

"Hey, you won didn't you? Especially on that last course, did you see Max's face!" He laughs.

"I did. He looked like he wanted to cry!" You laugh out.

He pulled into the apartment building. "Oh man... He's in for a rude awakening." He chuckles, getting out of the car. You open your door, stepping out. "Wait!"

"What?" He scoops your leg back into the car, closing the door before opening it again. "My lady." He smiles.

You giggle, standing out of the car. You both walk up to the apartment, silently walking through the lobby and taking the elevator up to the top floor.

"Oh! Look at this one." You say excitedly, shoving the magazine in Lando's face as you walk down the hallway.

"Je- well I can't see it." He laughs.

"Yes you can, your just not looking hard enough." He takes it into his hands, reading over the description and the picture. "Where is this?"

"Here, it's outside just like how you want, and the reception inside." You point, unlocking the apartment door.

"What happened to getting chased by bee's?"

"I might punch someone, but it's cute." You shrug, stepping inside. The apartment was dark, nothing but the TV that glowed half way across the living room.

"Did he leave?" Lando asks, peering his head in.

"I have no idea." You walk in further, putting your finger under the light switch.

"Don't." You look back at him in confusion, echoing his words. "Let's leave in ominous." He smirks, stepping closer to you.

"Your crazy." You giggle. He lightly takes your hand in his, guiding your over to the couch. You lay against him, his arms indistinctively around you. He turns the light on on his phone and points it to the paper you held up. "We can always turn the light on."

"I like it, it's cool." He snickers. You shake your head. "Villa et Jardins Ephrussi De Rothschild."

"Its cute, they have different outside area's we could pick from." You point at each of the pictures.

"God..." He pauses. "I can't believe were getting married." You look up at him and smile. "And I can't believe you thought I would break up with you."

"Okay that was an accident. I felt so out of the loop, and to top it off you were distant!" You groan.

"Awe, baby. I would never." He kisses the top of your head. "It was my mum's idea actually, I was supposed to win in Belgium but that got turned upside down. And I just couldn't wait, especially when the guys all rushed to me in a hurry." He smiles.

"What exactly did they say?"

"'Oh my God, Oh my God Lando! You need to propose now or else Y/n might break up with you!' I asked why and they said that you said you thought I was cheating on your or going to break up with you."

"They are awful." You joke.

"They sure are." A voice from beside you answers. You turn your gaze down the couch to see Max smiling at you.

"Oh my God!" Lando jumps.

"What the fuck, Max!" You yell.

He laughs. "Mate, I've been sitting here for ages just waiting!"

Lando clutches his chest like his heart might jump out. "Your awful! treating us like that."

"It was to funny." Max cries out.

"Come on Y/n." Lando grabs your hand. "We've got things to plan."

Hey loves! Pt. 19 is here! Requests are open!

Tag list:

@mimisweetz @latay7 @lex2205 @dakotapaigelove @landofotographyy

[abudhabby29-blog]

welcome!!!

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

daydreamer with too many hyperfixations but it is what it is

incapable of writing short fics!

masterlist ✧.* ask away ✧.*

[abudhabby29-blog]

A heart of woe series

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Tyler Galpin ✧ reader!Addams (ft. Xavier till 8 )

👻 part 1

👻 part 2

👻 part 3

👻part 4

👻 part 5

👻 part 6

👻 part 7 

👻part 8 

👻 part 9 

👻 part 10 

[abudhabby29-blog]

margin for error | pt. 12

✎ — oscar piastri x fem!teammate!reader

✎ — summary: They were teammates. Friends. Maybe lovers. But McLaren lets their drivers race, and as the championship slips into chaos, ambition corrodes everything. Two rising stars, one world title, and a rivalry so personal it bleeds. Love isn’t gone. It’s just buried under throttle, heartbreak, and the will to win.

✎ — chapter word count: +3.6k

✎ — radio: we have officially passed the actual race calender! I kinda love this chapter and I hope you do too <3 there's a playlist at the bottom :) thanks so much for all the reblogs and notes!

series masterlist

The podcast studio in the Spa paddock is a cozy setup — warm lighting, plush seats, soft background music. It feels far from the chaos of a Formula 1 weekend, which is probably why you’re finally able to breathe. The hosts of the DRS and Chill -Podcast greet you with wide smiles and an energy that doesn’t feel forced. It’s comforting. You’re wearing a team hoodie and comfy jeans, hair tied back, makeup light — the reigning championship leader with a quiet storm behind your eyes. “You’ve had a phenomenal season so far,” one host starts, “What changed between last year and now?” You tilt your head thoughtfully. “I think... I just got better at tuning out the noise. I mean your rookies season is tough. You are being given this exceptional opportunity that you worked you ass off for, for almost two decades of your life. And rookies are not being given super long contracts. At least not usually and neither was I. So last year I was trying so hard to prove I belonged in that seat. This year, I know I do. And this growing confidence in the car and knowing the team better, that helps a ton. Other than that, there are mistakes you make as a rookie that cost you positions or sometimes the entire race. You do them once. You learn from it and then you don’t do them again. Like for instane with my race in Silverstone. Last year it was horrible and I didn’t find the pace, didn't even finish it and this year it was immaculate, even with the weather conditions being so much worse this year.” “And what do you still want to improve?” You smile. “Launches for sure. If you look at Max Verstappen for instance. If he’s starting from pole then usually he pulls away quite quickly and if he’s not starting from pole then he still manages to gain a lot of positions in the first couple of turns and put pressure on the pole sitter. The start is really crucial to set up a solid foundation for the remaining race. So that’s where I’d like to improve some more. And staying consistent under pressure. Sometimes I let one mistake spiral —yeah, I’m working on that.” The questions come easy at first. You talk about growing up karting, about how your ten-year-old self would probably scream joyfully if she saw you now. “What would you tell her, that younger version of you?” A pause. “That it’s going to be hard. And lonely, sometimes. But it's worth it. And that she should hold onto herself. And the friends along the way. Karting is super competitive. Everyone has such big dreams and friendships are rare. So holding on to moments and people offside the track should be a bigger priority, but that’s something you only realise when getting older.” They ask if your parents are proud. You grin. “My dad cried the first time I won a race in Formula 1. And I swear I have never seen that man sob. Not at movies. Not when I crashed his car in an accident right after I had gotten my license. So yeah, I think they’re pretty proud.”

“You crashed a road car once?” You nod, blushing in shame. „Do you want to tell us about it?“ You shake your head „All I can say that involved me going over the speed limit while it was icy on the road. It was just stupid, reckless driving. I really overestimated my abilities to handle a road car, because I thought as an F3 driver I could handle anything. Dear listeners, do not be as stupid as me. If it’s icy, then go slow. And never go over the speed limit.“ The hosts laugh at your warning. „Was the car fine though?“, they ask following up. „Lucky for me it was. I don't know how my parents would have reacted if I totaled their car. It only had a cute little dent in the right front afterwards, but it was fine.“ The hosts move on to the next question „Would you call yourself a celebrity?“  You snort. “No. I think I’m someone with a really weird job that a lot of people seem to care about.” 

The Drive to Survive and F1 movie questions make you roll your eyes fondly. “The movie was fun,” you admit. “Sure, not entirely true to my life on and offside track, but I think it’s great, harmless fun to watch. Could they have had more strong female characters? Sure. But I guess it was the writers choice not to.” „You were in it, right?“ You shift your seat slightly to get more comfortable. „Yeah, but like only for a second or so. Most of the filming was done in the 2023 season and I wasn’t racing in Formula 1 back then. But the scene I was able to do with,“ you hesitate for a moment „my teammate, in the garage, that was fun.“ The interview moves on to some questions that were sent in by the fans of the podcast.  “How do you feel being the only girl on the grid?”

Your smile falters slightly. “Sometimes it sucks. Like my first racing suit didn’t fit, because they take all these measurements of you, but then they just scaled them into a sewing pattern for a male racing suit and well that didn’t fit the proportions right. But I’ve made peace with not fitting the mold. And it got better with time. Especially at McLaren the team is very sensible and inclusive. I’m not the only woman in F1, just the only driver currently. I mean that is also up for change.” There’s a tension in the room as the hosts tiptoe around the obvious. “How would you describe your team dynamic right now?” The PR rep leans forward off-camera. “That’s a no-go.” You keep your face blank, professional. Give a short answer nonetheless it was off-limits to ask and the hosts had been made of that beforehand. “I think the team is doing everything they can to give both drivers a competitive car and good chance at winning the championship.” Your answer or the question wouldn’t air in the edited version. They nod and move on. But there’s something cold in your tone — something that lingers in the room even after the podcast ends. When they ask about what your current season has taught you so far, you keep it brief. “It taught me a lot. About myself. And other people.” You don’t say his name. Not once.

username1 okay but why is she glowing during every answer EXCEPT anything related to oscar 😭 username2 “my teammate” HELLO?? we don’t even get his name now?? username3 she called drive to survive “fondly annoying” but oscar “my teammate” 😭😭 username4 if you told me a year ago they’d be like this I would’ve called up a psych in disbelief username6 she didn’t say his name >>> this is already a fanfic

Spa is soaked in fog and tension. The Ardennes air is thick, the kind that clings to your fireproofs and makes every breath feel like a chore. Saturday’s qualifying brings more cold air and unpredictable track evolution. FP2 on Friday and FP3 today had looked strong for you — corner speeds on point, sector times promising, confidence humming just under your skin. The kind of rhythm that whispers, You’ve got this. But Q2 brings traffic — a train of slower cars in your prep lap that ruins your tire temps. You barely scrape into Q3. And then Q3 brings the crack in the dam. A lock-up in sector two. A fraction too late on the brakes, tires screaming in protest, and the whole lap starts to unravel in your hands. You try to recover in the final sector, but the damage is done. P10. No more time left to try for another lap. Dead silence in the radio when the lap ends, except for a clipped, “Box now. That’s P10 unfortunately.“ „Fucking hell, what a disastrous fucking qualifying“ you swear into the radio with frustration. You are not being answered. Parking your car in the pit lane behind the other cars, you climb out of the cockpit with your helmet still on for far too long, like it’s the only thing holding you together. Like if you keep the visor down, you can hold the world at bay for just a few more seconds. Zak claps your shoulder. “Shake it off. Tomorrow’s what counts.” You nod, but your jaw is tight. You hate making mistakes. And you hate when people see it.

You make your way to the media pen with the stiffness of someone walking into a courtroom. The microphones crowd around you, the lights bright, unkind. You fold your arms across your chest, still in your race suit, eyes cool beneath damp strands of hair that cling to your temple. “Tough result today — can you walk us through what happened in Q3?” You exhale slowly. “I messed up. Simple as that. A lock-up in sector two cost me the lap. Traffic in Q2 didn’t help either, but honestly, Q3 was in my hands. I just didn’t deliver.” “You’ve called it a ‘disastrous qualifying’ over team radio — that’s pretty harsh for P10, isn’t it?” You flick your eyes toward the reporter, gaze sharp. “It feels like a disaster when you know what the car is capable of. When you see pole pace in the data all weekend and then end up on row five, yeah — I’m going to call it what it is.” “You’ve been leading the championship — does that add pressure in moments like these?” You pause. “Of course it does. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’ve worked too hard to be in this position, and I know what’s at stake. But the pressure, that’s part of the job. And I’m not one to fold when one session goes wrong.” There’s a beat of silence, and someone tries to sneak in a cheeky team-dynamics question — you shoot them a glance so cold it could freeze the Eau Rouge runoff. “No team comments today,” you say flatly. “We made that clear beforehand.” You leave the pen with a nod to the PR rep, steps tight and purposeful. Not storming off — just walking like the fire in your chest needs somewhere to go before it burns you up from the inside. Tomorrow, you remind yourself. Tomorrow you get to fight again. And you will. Because second-year or not — you're not here to participate.

Rain again. Not the full downpour Spa has delivered in legends and nightmares, but a steady, taunting drizzle. Enough to split strategies. Enough to turn visibility into a rumour and grip into a gamble. Enough to make your heartbeat feel like it's ricocheting inside your helmet. Starting from P10 in such conditions is war. The start is chaos — the kind that leaves tire smoke and adrenaline in its wake. Your launch is clean tough, your instincts sharper than ever. You dive up the inside of Gasly into La Source, almost clipping his rear wing, and take two places before the climb to Eau Rouge. Your engineer’s voice crackles in your ear telling you times but you barely register it — you’re already threading the needle between Hadjar and Alonso on the Kemmel Straight, DRS disabled but courage very much engaged. Lap 4: you’re in P7. Your race suit is already damp from the downpour, but you are laser-focused. But the track isn’t just wet — it’s changing. Lap to lap, corner to corner, the grip shifts beneath your tires like a trapdoor. You catch a snap of oversteer coming out of Pouhon and correct it on instinct, the car writhing under you like it wants to break loose. It’s not a dance. It’s a bare knuckle fight. You pit early — gamble on fresh inters while the leaders stay out. It gains you track position, but costs you tire life later. Classic Spa. By lap 19, you’re P6. You breathe hard, deeper than you mean to. Your visor is fogging, sweat and rain blurring the world into streaks. You curse under your breath. You didn’t come here for damage control. You came here to win this thing from the back. Lap 22: the rain eases. The dry line returns like a tease. It’s time for slicks soon. You box again — just a lap later than ideal — and rejoin behind Leclerc. You know he won’t make it easy. He never does. Lap 27: You’re on him. He weaves down the straight. You stay tucked in, biding time. Your engineer gives you the green light. You fake left into Les Combes, then throw the car around the outside, two wheels off the dry line, tires protesting like hell. But you make it stick. P5. You don't cheer. You don't breathe.

You keep going. But ahead of you — too far ahead — is Oscar. P2. Fast. Controlled. Precise. And Max? Untouchable. Flying. Somewhere in another galaxy. He is the master of rainy races after all having proven his capabilities numerous times. You close in on P4 but there just isn’t time. Not with the tire deg. Not with your earlier pit delta. Not with the fucking lock-up in qualifying that’s haunted every lap since. Your engineer counts you down. "Last lap. Leclerc 0.6 behind. Hold position, do not let him pass.“ You do. But it feels like standing still. The checkered flag falls. You cross the line in P5. Oscar finishes P2. Max wins. Again. Making the championship even more competitive between the three of you. You keep the lead in the championship — just. A handful of points. A coin toss. And it feels like a loss. Not because you were bad. But because the version of you that showed up today wasn’t the version this fight demands.

Croft: “And that’s it — Verstappen’s victorious at Spa! Piastri keeps it steady for second, and surprisingly [Y/LN] finishes P5 after a gritty, scrappy comeback drive.” Naomi Schiff: “Not the result she wanted, but she’s still leading this championship. She’ll know this wasn’t her best weekend — and that’ll frustrate her more than anyone else.”

 You park the car in the pit lane. Helmet off. But your face gives nothing away. You know the cameras are watching — that every twitch of disappointment will be dissected. You look at Oscar celebrating with the team, say nothing. You head down the paddock corridor, drenched and aching. There’s still sweat on your skin. And anger under that. Because good isn’t good enough anymore. Not when a championship is on the line. Not when history is this close. Not when you're this good — and still not good enough.

You’re alone. And for once, that’s not what you want. Not really. Away from the cameras and the media? Yes. Completely alone? No.  The door clicks shut behind you — the dull, soundproof seal of a McLaren drivers’ room swallowing the world whole. The lights are dimmed, one panel flickering softly overhead. You don’t bother changing. Barely manage to take off your wet racing gloves and throw them into a corner. You sit. Back hunched. Knees pulled up. Race suit wet at the collar from sweat and drizzle and everything in between. The adrenaline's bled out of your system now, leaving a raw, unfiltered ache where the fire used to burn. Your helmet sits on the bench next to you like a quiet accusation. You didn’t crash. You didn’t DNF. You finished fifth. So why does it feel like the sky is falling? Because you’re not here to finish fifth. Because finishing fifth when you could have — should have — done more is the slowest kind of heartbreak. You rub your hands together to try and stop the trembling. It doesn’t work. They just feel colder. More empty. You press your forehead to your arms and bite down on your lip, hard. It doesn't stop the quiet, frustrated sob that escapes into the fireproof fabric. You were supposed to be better. Spa was meant to be your statement weekend after that crazy win in Silverstone — not just survival. Not just clawing your way back from mistakes. You were meant to be flawless. Ruthless. Unshakable. Because you're leading this championship now. Every lap today felt like a tug-of-war between what you are and what you should’ve been. Every snap of oversteer, every millisecond lost in sector two, every tyre struggling to hold on at Blanchimont — the thoughts pile up like weights on your chest. You know your window is narrow. Your rivals are ruthless. More experienced. Hungry for the trophy just as much as you are. Your teammate — the one person who should’ve had your back — is the closest threat to your title. And worst of all? You still care about him. Even when you tell yourself you don’t or you shouldn’t. Oscar, who you won’t name out loud in interviews. Oscar, who looks at you like he’s still trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Oscar, who won something today. Who stood on the podium today. Who is everything you’re trying not to think about right now. So yeah. You cry. Not like a meltdown. Not a collapse. Just soft, quiet grief for a race that should’ve been more. For a season that might slip through your fingers. For the stupid, stupid heart of yours that still twists when you see Oscar smile — not because he’s happy, but because you didn’t make him happy. 

The knock comes so lightly you almost think you imagined it. Then, his voice. “Hey… you okay?” You freeze. Don’t lift your head. Try to breathe quieter. But he knows you’re in there. Of course he knows. Maybe someone has told him. Maybe he still remembers from your reactions last year to a race that you fucked up.  “Are you here to rub it in?” you ask through the door, voice flat. There’s a pause, and then the soft creak of the door opening slightly wider. He’s still in his fireproofs, his race suit dangeling unzipped at his hips. No champagne on his skin, no grin plastered across his face. He doesn’t have his trophy. Just a tired look in his eyes. Just… Oscar. “No,” he says. “Just thought… you fought hard out there. Saw it in the highlight reel in the cooldown room. That wasn’t a bad race. Not by a long shot.” You lift your head slowly. Your eyes are red and rimmed with salty tear stains. He sees that. Of course he sees that. “It wasn’t a win,” you whisper. Oscar leans against the frame, arms folded — not smug, not condescending. Last year he would’ve come in. But invading your space like that, he doesn’t allow himself that anymore. He’s just glad for any contact with you at all. Just… there. “We all have days like this. And you still came back from tenth. Most drivers wouldn’t have.” You shake your head, a bitter edge to your laugh. “I can’t afford days like this.”He doesn’t argue. Just watches you quietly. You press your nails into your palms until they leave dents. “I can’t afford to slip. Not now. Not when it’s this close. Max is coming. You’re coming. I can’t leave the door open for either of you.” Oscar’s gaze softens. “You’re still leading.” “Barely.” “Barely still counts as leading,” he says gently. Silence, except for the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears. And then, softer, he adds, “You're allowed to be disappointed. That doesn't mean you're losing it. It simply means that you care.” It’s not a lecture. Not a comfort you asked for. But something in it still eases the sharpest edge of your grief. You sniffle and sit up straighter. Wipe under your eyes with the sleeve of your suit. “I hate when it shows,” you say. “When I can’t hide it.” He smiles, small and tired. “Hiding it never helped me.” You glance up at him, eyes searching. And for a second — one heartbeat-long second — you almost say something dangerous. Something real. Something like: I think about leaving because of how you make me feel. Because I don’t know how to deal with you. But you don’t. Because you can’t live with that truth yet. You’re just learning how to want something else more than you want him. “Thanks,” you say instead, and your voice is steadier now. Firmer. He nods. “Anytime.” You check the watch on your wrist. Debrief. Of course. „We gotta head out.“ You both stand. Neither of you say anything as you fall into step with one another, leaving the quiet safety of the drivers’ room behind. There’s still space between you — enough to remember everything that’s broken, enough to know nothing’s fixed. But still, you walk out side by side. And someone, somewhere — a media intern with too much free time and a decent phone camera — catches the photo as you pass. Two drivers. Two contenders. Two ex-somethings. Side by side again. You with red eyes, but a light slime. Him peacefully next to you. And the internet? The internet goes feral.  The caption is instant clickbait:

f1insider Enemies to lovers? Papaya duo spotted walking out for a post-race debrief together, looks like he comforted her after her P5 finish… 👀

📍Spa-Francorchamps

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mclaren Another strong Sunday from the team in Spa! 🏁💪 P2 for Oscar and a fierce recovery drive from P10 to P5 for [Y/N] — proud of the grit, points, and progress. Let’s carry the momentum into Hungary before the summer break 🧡

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username1 P2 KING OSCAR!! that was masterclass precision and calm under pressure. GIVE HIM THAT TITLE SHOT 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

username2 she came back from P10 like her life depended on it… RESPECT

username3 why is oscar comforting her after the race like they didn’t act like strangers all week 😭😭

username4 interesting shift in tone from [Y/N] this weekend… calling him “my teammate” on a podcast, then this blurry back-pat moment in the hallway? 👀

username5 This is why we’re proud of BOTH drivers. Oscar is killing it and [Y/N] is fighting tooth and nail every week 🧡

username6 Oscar deserves more credit than he gets. P2 in Spa is no joke. Mental strength = elite.

username7 so let me get this straight… she publicly downplays their relationship and calls him “teammate” and now he’s literally soothing her in a hallway? they’re insane

username8 ngl [Y/N] made some rookie mistakes this weekend... maybe she's just not ready yet

username9 soooo we’re not going to address the fact that she locked up twice in qualifying and nearly took out Alonso? second year or not, that’s bad racecraft 🤷‍♀️

username10 i want someone to look at me the way oscar looks at her even when she doesn’t look back 🫠

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Lessons in Jealousy

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with Lando as long as you can remember, but to him, you’re just his best friend. Enter Max your longtime frenemy who offers to help make Lando jealous. But as Lando finally starts to notice you, you wonder if you were chasing the wrong heart all along.

11.3k words / Poll Winner / Masterlist

Celebrations were in full swing tonight, laughter and clinking glasses filled the paddock lounge, and there was Lando in the middle of it all. He’d just finished another impressive race and with each victory the swarm of admirers seemed to grow. You’d spent years watching him like this, taking it all in from the sidelines. From kids at the karting track you’d been through nearly everything together. Yet somehow he never seemed to see you in the same way you saw him.

The thought stung. He saw you as his constant, his dependable best friend, and though your heart had tried, time and time again, to beat in time with his, it seemed that it may never be.

As you sat on the edge of the lounge sipping a drink, feeling like you’d blended into the wall, a familiar, annoyingly smug voice brought you back to reality. Max Verstappen leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on his lips as he nodded towards Lando.

“Never gets old huh?”

You’ve known Max almost as long as you’d known Lando, which is to say, too long. Your friendship with Lando was easy, uncomplicated, and comfortable from the start. Max though? That was different. With Max, it was like fire and ice.

You weren’t sure exactly when it started, but from the moment he entered your orbit, it was as if the universe had decided you two were destined to push each other’s buttons. If Lando was easy warmth, Max was the kind of heat that could burn. He had a knack for getting under your skin, for knowing exactly what to say to rile you up, to make you bite back with sharp words and narrowed eyes. And you weren’t innocent in it either, you knew what set him off, what made his jaw go tight, what made his hands flex against his thighs like he was physically restraining himself from responding.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let him get under your skin. “You’re always so observant Max. Maybe try worrying about your own life?”

“Come on, it’s practically a free show,” he laughed, eyes not moving from Lando who was currently entertaining a particularly beautiful fan with one of his charming stories. You’d tried to accept his constant stream of dates, pretending that each one didn’t hurt a little more than the last, but the look in his eyes when he gazed at her… it stung.

“Surprised you have time to comment on my life Verstappen,” you shot back, not bothering to turn.

“It’s hard to miss. Every time I turn around there you are. Just trying to understand it.”

You glanced up at him. “Understand what?”

“Do you have a life outside of following him around?” he asked, raising an eyebrow

“Do you have a life outside of annoying me?” You fire back, hiding the warmth rising to your cheeks.

Every time you saw Max his quick wit and sometimes annoyingly perceptive comments rubbed you the wrong way. Lando would just laugh whenever you and Max got into your usual back-and-forth.

“You guys are worse than siblings,” he would tease.

Max seemed to enjoy poking at your devotion to Lando, teasing you about your years spent watching him with starry eyes, never once making a move. And yet, somehow, every taunt felt calculated, like he was trying to unravel something only he could see.

Max’s moved closer to you, his expression shifting into something almost thoughtful. “You know,” he said, his voice lowering, “I almost feel bad for you sometimes.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean. I’ve watched you for years, following him around like he’s the last guy on earth.”

“Because he’s my best friend,” you retorted, feeling defensive. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Max tilted his head, considering you. “Right. And that’s why you look at him like he hung the damn moon?”

“That’s not—” You opened your mouth to argue but snapped it shut. Arguing with Max was like arguing with a brick wall. He always had a way of pushing buttons you didn’t even know you had.

He shrugged. “Look, I just don’t get it. You’ve been waiting around for him forever. And for what?”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that already. What exactly are you getting at?”

His gaze flickered. “You need a new approach.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A new approach?”

Max nodded. “Simple psychology. Stop hanging around like his shadow. Make him notice you’re not always there.”

“So, your grand plan is to just play hard to get?”

“Not just play,” he corrected, a sly smile on his face. “Be hard to get. Lando’s used to always having you around, if you change that up it’ll get under his skin.”

The thought took you by surprise. You’d spent years at Lando’s side, always dependable, always there. The idea of pulling back felt...risky. But Max was right. It was a small risk compared to the years of waiting you’d already put in.

“I could help you, you know.” His voice was so casual that it took you a moment to process what he’d just offered. When you turned to him, he wore an expression of mild amusement. “Give him a little push. Maybe make him notice you for once.” His eyes glinted.

You stared at him, caught between skepticism and intrigue. “And what would you get out of it?”

Max crossed his arms, that signature confidence settling over him. “Maybe it’ll be fun,” he said with a wink, then shrugged. “Or maybe I just want to stop seeing you look miserable every race weekend.”

His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he was looking at you made your stomach twist.

What did you really have to lose?

You decided to give Max’s plan a try. Over the next few weeks you started making yourself less available. At first it felt unnatural, like you were playing a role in someone else’s life. Instead of rushing to Lando’s side after each race, instead of being the first person to celebrate his podiums or commiserate his losses you found other ways to spend your time. What you didn’t expect was how quickly your free time started being filled by Max.

He had a habit of appearing at the exact moment you might have otherwise gone to Lando, redirecting your focus with an effortless pull. If Lando was occupied, Max would materialise leaning against a wall, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised as if he’d been waiting for you to notice.

What was worse? You didn’t hate it.

You started seeking him out. Not consciously at first, but enough that he noticed.

“Still following orders?” he’d ask whenever you showed up in his garage, as though challenging you.

“Believe it or not I’m here by choice,” you’d reply, trying not to smile at his cocky grin.

That was the thing about Max he pushed, he prodded, he provoked. But for all his sharp edges, he had a way of making you think, of making you see things differently. You found yourself spending more time with Max in a way that bordered on ridiculous. You started joining him for lunch, sitting in on debriefs you had no real reason to be in, talking strategy like you actually belonged there.

And more and more, you started to notice things you hadn’t before.

The way Max listened, really listened, when you spoke. The way his brow furrowed when he disagreed, the way he challenged you, not to be difficult, but because he wanted to hear your reasoning, wanted to understand your perspective. Beneath the arrogance, beneath the ever-present smirk and the witty remarks, there was an intelligence and insightfulness you hadn’t fully appreciated before.

The longer you took to text Lando back, the more he started to notice. At first he joked about it, throwing an arm around your shoulders like he always did.

“You’re getting popular, huh? Who’s keeping you so busy?” he asked, a little laugh in his voice. But there was something else in his gaze confusion, maybe even curiosity.

You only smiled, shrugging it off, but you could feel the shift.

“Let me guess,” Max said as you both sat outside the team’s motorhome later that week, watching Lando down the pit-lane goof around with a few fans, occasionally glancing in your direction, “he asked you to meet up tonight, didn’t he?”

You sighed, folding your arms. “Yeah, he did.”

Max scoffed, shaking his head. “See? It’s already working. He’s starting to realise you’re not always there when he wants you.”

You let out a short laugh, though there was uncertainty beneath it. “I don’t think that’s true. He probably just—”

Max turned toward you then, his teasing fading into something more serious.

“You really don’t see it do you?” he said, almost as if he were realising something in real-time.

You frowned. “See what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at you, at the space between you, at whatever invisible shift had taken place in the past few weeks. “You’re different when you’re not waiting around for him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Max leaned in slightly, voice lowering just enough to make you feel like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “You’re not trying so hard to be the girl you think Lando wants. And, for what it’s worth I think this version of you…the real you, is a hell of a lot more interesting.”

The words settled in your chest, warm and unexpected, leaving you momentarily without a response.

Late one afternoon Max showed up at your hotel door twirling his car keys around his finger. “Come on,” he said, eyes gleaming with something that looked dangerously close to mischief.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Come where?”

He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. “I figured it was time to see if you’re actually capable of driving or just a glorified spectator.”

Your brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, grinning now. “Let’s go.”

Naturally, you took that as a challenge.

The two of you spent hours racing each other, bumping karts, stealing inside lines, and throwing accusations of dirty tactics back and forth. Sure, it was fast, intense, competitive but there was so much laughter, a kind of easy camaraderie that felt strangely liberating.

You had just pulled off your helmet, hair a mess and adrenaline still buzzing through your veins, when you spotted Max watching you with a small, unguarded smile

“You’re actually pretty good out there,” Max admitted, his voice amused.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you took a sip of water. “High praise from the world champion. Should I be flattered?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts.”

You scoffed, leaning against the railing beside him. “Only because it’s you. It’s survival instincts Verstappen.”

Max turned slightly, his arm brushing yours as he studied you. “Oh, so now you’re saying I make you better? That’s interesting.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “Sounds a lot like what you said.”

You huffed, nudging him with your elbow. “Fine. If it makes you feel better you make me drive more aggressively.”

His grin widened. “See? You do get better when I’m around.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “No I just want to beat you.”

Max bumped his shoulder against yours, casual, easy. “Same thing.”

You shook your head, unable to fight the grin pulling at your lips.

“Seriously,” he said, his voice softer now, “I think you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for. Definitely tougher than most people realise.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause, the words striking somewhere deeper than you expected.

Things slowly started to shift between you and Max. Little moments that should have been insignificant but somehow weren’t.

Like the way Max always seemed to find you in a crowded room, even when you weren’t looking for him. How he started waiting not in an obvious, deliberate way, but just enough for you to notice. Just enough that you felt it.

Or the way he’d pass you a drink at an event before you could even ask for one, like he already knew what you needed. The way he’d brush his knee against yours under the table at dinners, wordlessly checking in. The way he always had a sarcastic remark at the ready, but if anyone else gave you a hard time, he was the first to shut it down.

And then there were the more obvious moments.

Like how somewhere along the way, you had just become part of his post-race routine, not just because you were waiting for him, but because he was waiting for you too. Whether it was dinner, drinks, or decompressing in a hotel room after a long day. You just ended up there like you belonged, the same way he always ended up beside you.

Or the time he offered you a seat on his plane without a second thought, the invitation so casual it almost felt meaningless. You don’t need to fly commercial just come with me. As if it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was obvious you’d say yes. And when you did, the entire flight passed in quiet conversation and comfortable silence, his jacket draped over you when you fell asleep somewhere over the Atlantic, something you only noticed when you woke up, groggy and warm, finding Max pretending as if he hadn’t been watching you.

It wasn’t the same as following Lando around, lingering in the spaces he occupied, hoping he’d finally see you. With Max, you weren’t just there, you were wanted.

At some point, the teasing had shifted, too. It was still there, sharp as ever, but there was something gentler beneath it. A knowing look. A lingering glance. The more time you spent together, the harder it was becoming to deny.

As the paddock wound down one evening and the last traces of daylight faded into the horizon, you stepped out to find Max waiting for you. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed over his chest, that ever-present smirk playing at his lips.

You slowed your steps, eyeing him warily. “What?”

Max smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I just wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

Your heart stuttered for a fraction and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Depends on the reason.”

He just grinned, rolling his eyes. “Get in the car. I have a spot I want to show you.”

You didn’t question it. That was the strange thing about Max, you never quite knew what he was up to, but somehow, it always felt like it made sense in the moment. So, you got in.

The city lights faded behind you as Max drove further out, leaving the familiar chaos of the paddock behind. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable if anything, it felt easy, like neither of you needed to fill it just for the sake of it, he just drove. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift, his posture relaxed but focused.

You leaned your head against the window, watching the world blur past. “So, am I going to get an explanation at some point, or are we just driving until we run out of gas?”

Max huffed a laugh, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Patience, princess.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but the blush rising to your cheeks threatened to betray you.

Eventually, he pulled off onto a secluded hilltop, a place that overlooked the distant glow of the city below. The sky stretched wide above you, stars blinking against the dark canvas of night.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to stargaze,” you murmured as you stepped out of the car, glancing at Max as his gaze lifted to the sky.

He smirked, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the stars above. “I’m full of surprises.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “And what’s the other way?”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “A walking contradiction. Impossible. Infuriating.”

Max chuckled as he looked back up at the sky. “You forgot irresistible.”

You let out a scoff. “Oh, right. How could I forget that?”

You sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth in the crisp night air, but not close enough to touch. As your conversation continued late into the night, you started to realise there was a lot more to Max than you had ever really understood.

He was talking about his early days on the track, the relentless pressure, the suffocating expectations, the way the sport had consumed him before he was even old enough to fully understand what it meant. And with that came the isolation of a life that revolved around racing before he had the chance to figure out who he was outside of it.

“You don’t exactly seem like someone who needs…anyone,” you said, your curiosity genuine.

Max gave a small shrug, his gaze flickering toward the horizon. “You get used to being alone in this world. Everyone wants something from you, so you learn to keep people at a distance.”

His honesty caught you off guard, the vulnerability in his words settling in a way you hadn’t expected. “Then why are you helping me?”

He let out a short laugh, but his gaze held yours. “Maybe because I understand what you’re going through. More than you know.”

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning.

You weren’t sure what to say. This was new territory, uncharted, and unfamiliar.

Several weeks later you were all out at a club, the night was loud, the place packed with bodies. The bass thrummed through your chest, neon lights casting shadows over familiar faces as you navigated through the crowd. Lando was here, you’d spotted him earlier laughing with a group of people you barely recognised caught up in his own world.

You had found him, weaving through the crowd, your hand grazing his arm as you leaned in close, your voice barely cutting through the music. But the moment lasted no more than a few seconds before he brushed you off, distracted, his attention elsewhere. A joke thrown over his shoulder, an easy grin at someone else, and suddenly you weren’t even there.

Maybe it was the drinks, or the music, or the fact that he had no idea how much this all meant to you, but for the first time, it felt different. Like a crack forming in something you’d always assumed was solid.

So you had stepped away, retreating to the edges of the club, frustration twisting in your chest as you rested against the cool wall. Your shoulders slumped, exhaustion creeping in not just from the night, but from all of it. The waiting, the hoping, the years of being right there only to be left standing in the background.

That was how Max found you.

“Still hoping for a miracle?” His voice cut through the music, and when you turned your head, he was beside you, leaning casually against the wall like he hadn’t just read your mind.

You sighed, tilting your head back. “I don’t know anymore.”

For once, Max didn’t smirk, didn’t tease. When you glanced at him, his expression was softer, the usual sharpness in his eyes replaced with something closer to concern.

“You don’t have to wait for him you know,” he said simply.

You exhaled, turning to face him fully. “And what else am I supposed to do?”

He shrugged, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe you’re too close to see it, but you’re worth a lot more than being someone’s second choice.”

Max’s words his unwavering certainty planted a thought in your mind that you weren’t ready to face. “I know you’re trying to help,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, “but it’s complicated. I’ve been friends with Lando for so long it’s hard to just—”

“Walk away?” Max interrupted gently. “Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Max shook his head, as if letting you off the hook.

“Forget it,” he said, his tone lighter. “I know you’re not ready to give up on him.” And then he pushed off the wall and walked away, disappearing into the crowd before you could stop him.

But as you stood there, alone in the darkened corner of the club, Lando’s laughter echoing from somewhere across the room, you found yourself wondering if Max was right. And if he was…what the hell were you still waiting for?

One late night, you found yourself sitting with Max in the quiet hum of the Red Bull garage. His hands moved animatedly as he explained his thoughts on the upcoming strategy, eyes sharp with focus, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. He spoke fast, precise, running through every possibility, every variable, like his mind was operating on a level most people couldn’t even grasp.

It was mesmerising to watch.

“You’re staring,” he noted, barely looking up from the data, but the smirk in his voice was unmistakable.

You blinked, caught off guard, heat creeping up your neck. “Am I?” you deflected, tilting your head. “Maybe I’m just realising you might actually know what you’re talking about.”

Max let out a short chuckle, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you with an infuriating level of amusement. “Careful,” he mused, his eyes glinting. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were impressed.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Let’s not get carried away.”

His smirk widened, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned in. “Too late. I’m taking it as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small smile you couldn’t quite hide gave you away. “Fine. I guess you’re a lot better at this than I may have originally gave you credit for.”

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That almost sounded genuine. Say it again, I just wanna make sure I heard you right.”

You nudged his arm, laughing despite yourself. “Don’t push your luck Verstappen.”

Max just grinned, and he looked at you then like he knew something you didn’t, but before you could respond your phone buzzed on the table between you. You didn’t even have to check the screen to know who it was.

Lando.

You picked it up, your stomach tightening as you read the message. A simple, casual miss you.

Two words that once would have sent your heart racing now felt hollow. Forced. Like an afterthought rather than something real. Your fingers hovered over the screen before you exhaled quietly and set your phone back down without replying.

“What did he say?” Max asked, his tone unreadable.

“Nothing important,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the edge of the table.

Max didn’t press, but the atmosphere felt heavier, like there was something you’d both acknowledged without needing to say it aloud.

Then, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Max stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Come on, it’s late let’s get out of here.”

You nodded, standing as well, but before you could say anything, he glanced at you, something unreadable across his face. “Goodnight princess,” he added as you headed your own way, his tone light, teasing like nothing about this night had affected him at all.

But when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it. The shift in his expression. The way his smirk faltered for just a second, like there was something else he wanted to say but wouldn’t.

Days later you were standing beside Max the night air was warm, thick with the lingering heat of the day. It could’ve been anywhere, a quiet corner of the paddock, or a rooftop overlooking the city, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way Max wouldn’t look at you.

He had been quiet all day. His jaw was tight, his fingers tracing the edge of the bottle in his hand, his eyes fixed on the ground like he was thinking about something he didn’t want to say out loud.

You exhaled, shifting beside him. “You’re acting weird.”

Max scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

You arched an eyebrow. “You are. You’re never quiet this long unless you’re planning something dangerous.”

At that, he let out a breath of laughter, but it faded quickly.

“I don’t get it,” he said suddenly, watching you over his drink.

You frowned. “Get what?”

His jaw clenched slightly before he spoke, his voice quieter now, more measured. “How can he not see it?”

A strange sort of unease curled in your chest. “See what?”

“You.” His voice was steady, intent. “You’re always there, supporting him, understanding him…I don’t understand how he doesn’t see how incredible you are.”

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your face at the sheer honesty in his tone. Max didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He didn’t hand out compliments just for the sake of it.

“Max…”

He shook his head, setting his drink down on the ledge beside him. “He’s blind, or maybe just afraid. But you deserve more than this.” His lips pressed together for a second, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “You deserve someone who doesn’t take you for granted.”

You swallowed, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “It’s not as bad as you make it sound,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I know he cares about me, maybe not in the way I’ve always wanted him to but…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “When things got hard, when I needed someone, he’s never turned his back on me.” A small, almost sad smile crossed your lips. “We’ve been through so much together. He knows me better than most people do.”

Max’s expression was lost, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It’s just sometimes, it’s hard,” you admitted finally, your voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken doubts. “Because I know he cares really, in his own way, but I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough.” You shook your head, exhaling slowly. “Not in the way I want it to be.”

Max’s gaze softened slightly, the edge of his earlier frustration fading just a little. “You can’t keep waiting for him to notice,” he murmured finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was steady, but there was something else there too.

You shifted beside him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m not waiting—”

Max cut you a look.

You sighed, looking down at your hands. “Okay. Maybe I am.”

Max exhaled, running a hand through his hair, glancing out into the night. For a moment, you thought that was the end of it that he would just drop it like he always did when you didn’t want to listen. But then, just as you were about to change the subject, he spoke again.

“I just don’t get why it has to be him.”

Your head snapped up, eyes locking onto his. “What?”

Max’s jaw tightened, like he regretted saying it out loud. But he didn’t backtrack. He never did. Instead, he exhaled sharply. “You act like he’s the only person in the world who could ever make you happy.”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” His voice was level, but there was an edge to it, something restrained. He ran a hand over his jaw, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “I’ve seen you wait for him. Years. And I keep wondering…”

A lump formed in your throat. “Wondering what?”

Max swallowed, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to shove them in his pockets or maybe run them through his hair again, anything to distract himself. But he didn’t. He just looked at you.

“Wondering when you’re gonna realise you don’t have to.”

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because what the hell were you supposed to say to that?

He leaned back against the ledge, tilting his head slightly. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice softer now, no teasing, just quiet sincerity. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all.”

You exhaled, looking down at your hands, the weight of everything settling deep in your chest. “Me too.”

Max nudged your knee with his, a small attempt to lighten the moment. “You’ll figure it out.”

You glanced at him, searching his expression, and found nothing but warmth in his gaze. “Yeah?”

He nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. You always figure things out when it matters.”

You huffed a small laugh and just like that, the tension lifted, fading into the night. Maybe nothing had changed. Maybe everything had. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were waiting for Lando at all. Or if you were just afraid of what would happen if you finally stopped.

Lando’s behaviour changed even more in the following weeks as he felt your absence grow.

The late replies that once went unnoticed were now met with double texts. The easy, casual invites had turned into persistent attempts to recreate days together “just like old times.” He was calling more, messaging at odd hours, throwing your name into conversations like a tether, as if trying to remind you of your place in his world.

It should have felt like everything you had ever wanted. The attention, the shift, the proof that maybe this had been the answer all along. And yet, somehow, the thrill of getting Lando’s attention wasn’t as satisfying as you’d imagined.

And then, one night, everything changed.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, no dramatic moment of realisation. It was just Lando, the two of you standing together slightly separated from the crowd. You had noticed it the way his eyes lingered, the way his laughter softened when it was just the two of you, like he was seeing something new.

And then, just like that, he finally said it.

“You’re one of the most important people in my life,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Let me take you out,” he said suddenly, almost like he was realising it in real time. “Just us. Properly.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him.

This was it.

Lando, finally seeing you. Finally wanting you.

For months, years really, you had waited for this. Dreamed of it even.

And when the moment finally arrived, you said yes.

A real dinner, just the two of you. No last-minute paddock meet-ups, no half-hearted invitations tacked onto group outings. A proper date. The kind you had imagined more times than you could count. And yet, as you sat across from Lando at a sleek, candlelit table, dressed in the outfit you’d spent way too long picking out, the excitement you had expected wasn’t there.

Instead, a strange mix of anticipation and dread settled in your chest.

You tried to ignore it.

Lando was smiling at you, talking animatedly about something, golf, or maybe a new sim rig setup, but you found your mind drifting. The restaurant was perfect, the kind of place you used to imagine him taking you to.

But something about the moment still felt…off.

You forced yourself to focus.

Lando leaned back in his chair, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers raking through the curls like he was trying to ease some unseen tension. “Everything is just so busy at the moment,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. “Sponsor stuff, sim training, and, you know, the actual racing.” He let out a small laugh. “Barely any time to breathe.”

He smiled then, but there was something searching in his gaze. His fingers tapped lightly against the stem of his glass before he lifted it, taking a slow sip. “But I guess you’ve been busy too.”

You blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

Lando tilted his head slightly, the candlelight flickering in his eyes as he studied you. “I don’t know,” he said, voice lighter than his expression. “It just feels like I don’t see you as much anymore. Not like we used to.”

The words settled between you, and suddenly, the air felt heavier.

You hesitated, fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass, rolling it between your fingertips as if that would steady you. “Yeah…I guess things have just been different lately.”

Lando nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you said carefully. “I guess I’ve just been… busy.”

Lando hummed, unconvinced. “Busy with Max?”

You inhaled sharply, the directness of his words catching you off guard. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smirking. He was asking.

You placed your glass down, exhaling. “We’ve been spending more time together, yeah.”

“I figured,” he said finally, his voice even. “You two have been… close lately.”

You swallowed, feeling a strange mix of guilt and something else, something you weren’t ready to name. “It’s not like that,” you said quickly, but even as the words left your mouth, you weren’t sure they were true.

Lando studied you for another second, then sighed, shaking his head with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not mad, you know,” he said, softer now. “I just… I guess I didn’t realise how much things had changed.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t know what to say. Because neither had you.

Lando nodded, then he leaned forward resting his elbows on the table, his voice dropping slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

You swallowed, caught off guard. “No. Of course not.”

And it was true, wasn’t it? Lando hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really.

But even as the words left your mouth, doubt crept in.

Lando smiled then, that boyish grin that had always made your heart stutter in the past, the one that made it so easy to believe that maybe this could be something real. Something right.

“I’m glad,” he said, his voice lighter now, more assured. “Because I’ve missed you. And I’m really glad we’re finally doing this.”

You smiled, sipping your wine. “Yeah, it’s nice. Kind of reminds me of when things were simpler.”

The conversation flowed easier after that, the awkwardness from earlier slipping away, replaced by something familiar. Comfortable. For the first time that night, it felt like just you and Lando again. No second-guessing, no pressure, but deep down you knew there was still that lingering uncertainty in the back of your mind.

The next evening you found Max leaning against the hotel’s outdoor railing, looking out over the city lights. He glanced up as you approached, and you saw it the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly against the metal railing.

“You okay?” you asked, coming to stand beside him.

Max let out a slow breath. “Long day.”

You hesitated before speaking. “I went out with Lando last night.”

His jaw tensed. “I know.”

You studied him for a moment, the way his expression gave nothing away, the way his shoulders seemed just a little more rigid than usual. “Going out with him again tonight?” His voice was calm.

You frowned, something about the way he asked making your stomach twist. “Yes. I thought that’s what you wanted. Isn’t this your plan?”

Max finally turned to you then, he exhaled through his nose, a humourless chuckle escaping before he shook his head. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “It was.”

“Max…”

He looked away, his fingers gripping the railing a little tighter. “Maybe it wasn’t the best idea after all.”

You blinked, taken aback by the shift in his voice, the weight behind the words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Max let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, like he was frustrated, like he was frustrated with himself more than anything else. “Forget it,” he muttered, pushing off the railing.

“No,” you countered quickly, “tell me.”

He hesitated, his gaze searching yours, but whatever he was looking for he must not have found it, because instead of answering he took a step back. “Trust me, it doesn’t matter,” he sighed, turning towards the door.

You watched him go, frustration rising in your chest. “It does matter Max,” you called after him, but he didn’t stop, didn’t turn back.

His words hung in the air between you as he walked back inside. It wasn’t like Max to admit something like that to let something slip in a way that made him sound uncertain. He was always so sure, so stubborn, so relentless in his convictions. But tonight? He had let you see it. For the first time, you weren’t sure who this plan had really been for.

His words lingered in your mind long after he’d said them.

Dinners with Lando should have felt like everything you’d been waiting for. The perfect setting, the glow of candlelight, the easy rhythm of conversation. And yet, despite it all, the way he smiled at you from across the table, the familiarity that once felt effortless, something was missing.

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t awkward. But it felt… off. Like a song played just slightly out of tune. Like you were reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore, grasping at the edges of a feeling that had already slipped through your fingers.

And worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about Max.

His easy smile, the way he always saw through you, the way he challenged you and pushed you in a way that never felt like a game. Just enough to make you feel. Just enough to make you realise that somehow he had carved out space in your life when you hadn’t even been looking. You weren’t sure when it had started, this creeping awareness, this feeling that had settled in the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored. But it was there now. Constant. Unshakable.

Sitting across from Lando you realised something that terrified you. You had outgrown the idea of him, outgrown the dream of what you thought this would be.

And yet, things didn’t get any better from there. If anything, they got worse.

Lando’s sudden attention and Max’s constant presence pulled you in opposite directions, leaving you stranded somewhere between what you had always wanted and what you had never expected to find. And then, one evening, everything came to a head.

It was after another race, the energy in the paddock still buzzing as people came and went, but you had stepped away from the noise, needing a moment to breathe when the familiar hum of certain voices caught your attention.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But the second you recognised Max’s voice, low, tight, edged with frustration, you froze.

“You know, you’ve got a real gift for not seeing what’s right in front of you,” he said, his tone sharper than usual.

You frowned, your heart already racing as you stood up, moving closer to the edge of the doorway.

Lando’s reply was instant, defensive. “What’s your problem Max?”

Max let out a hollow laugh, sharp and humourless. “My problem?” he repeated, his voice dripping with frustration. “My problem is that you’ve had her in front of you for years, and you still can’t see her.”

Your breath caught, your body going rigid where you stood, hidden just out of sight.

There was a beat of silence, then Lando’s voice again, louder now. “What are you even talking about?”

Max scoffed, the sound filled with disbelief. “You know exactly what.” His voice was rising, the usual restraint gone. “She’s there, every race, every time you win, every time you screw up. Every time you need someone, she’s there.” His voice wavered for just a second before he pressed on, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “She’s the one who backs you up. Who understands you. Who makes excuses for you when you don’t even deserve them.”

Lando exhaled sharply, the sound more irritated than guilty. “Jesus Max you’re acting like I don’t care about her.”

Max let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t care about her. Not in the way you should.”

Lando’s voice sharpened. “And I suppose you do?”

Silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but charged, pulsing between them like the prelude to a storm.

Your stomach twisted violently, your pulse hammering in your ears.

When Max spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less intense. “She’s incredible Lando,” he said, his frustration bleeding into something raw, something real. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s… beautiful.” His voice cracked slightly, like saying the words out loud was taking something from him. “And you’re too blind to see it.”

Lando was quiet for a second. "You’re being dramatic.”

Max’s voice was flat. “Am I?”

“What’s your deal man? Since when do you care so much?” Lando prodded.

There it was.

The question you had never dared to ask yourself.

“Because I…” He stopped, inhaling sharply like the words had gotten stuck somewhere in his throat. But when he spoke again, they came out hoarse, unguarded in a way you had never heard from him before. “Because maybe she deserves someone who actually sees her.” His voice was thick with something fragile. “Someone who doesn’t just notice her when she’s not there.”

Max wasn’t just arguing anymore. He wasn’t just frustrated with Lando. He was hurt.

Lando shook his head, disbelieving. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Max shot back, stepping forward now, his voice taut. “How is it fair to her? How is it fair that she’s spent years—years Lando waiting for you to notice something you never have? And now you suddenly care? Now that she’s not standing around waiting for you to decide?”

Lando opened his mouth, but Max cut him off.

“No, you don’t get to act like you’re some innocent guy in all this,” he snapped, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t get to pretend you’re confused when you’ve spent this whole time taking her for granted.”

Lando’s face twisted, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Max took another step closer. “Then tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, voice low, dangerous. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not just doing this because she finally pulled away. Tell me that if she had never distanced herself, if she had never stopped running after you, if she never came to me, you still would’ve done something about it.”

Lando’s mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to argue, like he needed to argue.

But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Max exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter now, resigned. “If you really care about her…if you actually see her like you should have a long time ago then prove it. Otherwise…” He swallowed, his jaw tightening. “Otherwise, let her go.”

Your entire body had gone numb, frozen in place as the weight of his words crashed over you.

Lando didn’t answer and you couldn’t listen anymore.

You found Max outside the paddock, walking with quick, purposeful strides, his shoulders tense like he was trying to outrun what had just happened. His head was down, his fists clenched at his sides, his usual easy confidence stripped away.

You followed him before you could think better of it, your own heart hammering in your chest, your mind racing with everything you had just overheard.

“Max,” you called, your voice unsteady.

He didn’t stop.

“Max!” you yelled.

He stumbled back a step, his eyes widening when they met yours, realisation crashing over him in real time.

Shock. Guilt. Panic.

You saw it all flash across his face before he masked it, his expression shuttering, his jaw tightening as he instinctively tried to school himself into neutrality. But his fingers curled at his sides, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, unsteady breaths.

He knew.

He knew you had heard everything.

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something, an excuse, maybe, a brush-off, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“What was that?” you demanded, breathless, your pulse still racing.

Max hesitated, and for the first time since you’d known him he looked unsure. His entire frame stiffened, his lips parting before he pressed them into a thin line, calculating his next move weighing whether to tell the truth or run from it.

Finally, he let out a breath, voice rough when he spoke. “I would never take you for granted,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I would never make you wonder where you stand. I would never make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

His eyes never left yours, as he continued. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, if he doesn’t wake up every damn day knowing how lucky he is just to exist in your orbit. If he can’t see you, if he can’t want you the way you deserve to be wanted, fully, completely, without hesitation..."

“Then maybe I can.” his next words coming out softer, but no less certain. “Because I already do.”

The world stilled.

Your breath caught, your body betraying you as warmth spread through your chest, through your limbs, through every single place Max Verstappen had ever touched in some way.

For weeks, months, you had been fighting it. Pretending it wasn’t there. Telling yourself that this was about Lando.

But standing here now, with Max looking at you like this, like you were something to be fought for you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

The days following Max’s confession were a blur of introspection and uncertainty. Lando reached out, texting, calling, sending you memes like nothing had changed, like he was trying to pull you back into the rhythm of what you’d always been.

But everything had changed.

Because every time your phone lit up with his name, your thoughts drifted to Max. The quiet strength of his presence, the way he had seen you, really seen you, long before you had even admitted it to yourself. Because for all the sniping and bickering, for all the fire and ice between you, Max had always been there. Not in the soft, obvious way Lando was, but in the way that mattered. He’d challenge you, push you, piss you off, but when it counted, when you really needed someone, Max showed up. No grand gestures, no sentimental speeches. Just him. Standing beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And eventually, you knew what you had to do.

You needed to talk to Lando. Really talk.

You found him at the track, sitting in the back of McLaren’s garage, staring at his phone like it held answers he didn’t know how to ask for. He looked up when you approached, his expression flickering with something between relief and apprehension.

“Hey,” he said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You finally decided to stop avoiding me?”

You sighed, sliding into the seat across from him. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Oh so you just happened to stop texting back? And just happened to be everywhere except where I was?” His voice was teasing, but his expression betrayed him.

You exhaled, gripping the edge of the table as you tried to steady your emotions. “I needed space to figure things out.”

Lando’s smirk, the one he always used to defuse tension, flickered, then disappeared entirely.

“Lando,” you said cautiously, searching for the right words, unsure of how to say what needed to be said. “I care about you…I always will…but I also care about Max.”

His brows pulled together instantly. “What do you mean?” His voice wasn’t defensive, but it was careful, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

You took a steadying breath, your pulse quickening. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him this year, and somewhere along the way something changed,” you admitted, the words feeling heavier as they left your lips. “I see us all so differently now. And it’s… complicated.”

Lando’s expression shifted, his jaw tensing slightly. He blinked a few times, like he was still trying to process what you were saying. “So… you’re saying you like him?”

You hesitated, but there was no point in denying it anymore. “Yeah,” you said softly, your heart pounding. “I think I do.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling slowly. His lips pressed together, his mind working through something you couldn’t quite place.

You could see it, the initial reaction he was fighting, the part of him that didn’t like it, the part that was still struggling with the idea of losing whatever the two of you had once been. For years, you had been his, his closest friend, his safe space, the person who had always been there, no matter what.

And now, you weren’t.

For a long moment he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the table, brows furrowed, jaw still clenched like he was trying to work out how he really felt about this.

“Lando?” you prompted hesitantly.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “I mean… I guess I should’ve seen this coming, right?”

You frowned. “Lando—”

“No, I mean it,” he interrupted, sitting up straighter. “You and Max…I don’t know. It makes sense, I guess.”

You searched his face, trying to gauge how much of that was genuine. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it.”

Lando sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not pretending.” He paused, rubbing his palms over his thighs before looking back at you. “It’s just weird you know? I got so used to you being my person, even if I was too stupid to ever do anything about it.” His lips twitched into a small, almost bitter smile. “And now you’re…his?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat. “I don’t know what I am yet.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “You two have spent years arguing about everything. I always thought you hated each other half the time.”

You let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. “We do sometimes.” You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips as memories flickered through your mind. “We push each other’s buttons, we argue, we drive each other insane. But somehow…it just makes sense now.”

Lando drummed his fingers on the table, nodding slowly as he processed your words. “So what you’re saying is you like the way he pushes your buttons?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not just that.”

He smirked slightly. “But it is a little bit that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe. But it’s also the fact that he sees me. He pushes me to be better. He doesn’t let me fade into the background or sit around waiting for someone to notice me.”

Lando let out a slow breath, nodding. “Yeah. That sounds like Max.”

You hesitated. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get it.” He glanced away for a second before looking back at you, his gaze softer. “Does he make you happy?”

The question caught you off guard.

Did Max make you happy?

The thought of him alone sent warmth spreading through your chest, and you realised you were smiling before you even had the chance to answer.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. “He does.”

Lando watched you for a long moment, then let out a short chuckle. “Then that’s it isn’t it?”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he makes you happy, then you should go for it.”

You blinked. “Just like that?”

He gave you a small, almost exasperated smile. “No, not just like that. I don’t love it, okay? I don’t love the idea…” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I’ve known Max a long time. And yeah, he can piss me off…” A smirk ghosted over his lips before fading just as quickly. “But he’s a good guy. And if he’s the one who finally made you feel seen then I can’t be mad about that. And I know that if he cares about you the way I think he does, then he’s going to treat you right.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your chest tightening.

“This might not mean much, but…” he started, voice softer now. “I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For not being what you needed. For noticing you too late.” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if things would have been different if I had figured it out sooner, but you deserved better than waiting around for me to get my shit together.”

Your chest ached at his words, but there was no anger, no resentment just an understanding that you had both needed to reach.

“I do love you, you know,” Lando added. “Maybe not in the way you wanted. But you’ve always meant a lot to me.”

You reached across the table, squeezing his hand briefly before pulling away. “And you’ll always mean a lot to me too.”

Lando smiled then. “Just don’t let him gloat too much about this, alright?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, and for the first time in months, it didn’t feel weighed down by uncertainty.

Things between you and Lando weren’t perfect. Maybe they never would be again.

But as you sat there, sharing a smile that still felt familiar, you realised something important.

You hadn’t lost him.

And maybe you were finally allowing yourself to find something new.

You went to Max the next night, your heart pounding with every step, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin like electricity. No more waiting, no more pretending. Every nerve in your body was alight with the urgency of it, the sheer need to see him, to tell him.

The moment he opened the door you could tell something was wrong. He stood there, gripping the handle tightly, his posture tense, like he had been expecting bad news. His hair was slightly disheveled, he looked restless, unsettled, like he was carrying a weight he didn’t know how to put down.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”

Max stared at you for a second longer, as if debating whether letting you in would make this better or worse. But then, with a sigh, he stepped back, holding the door open.

You slipped inside, the air in the room heavy, thick with unspoken words. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the space, and you noticed the half-empty water bottle on the bedside table, the hotel key tossed haphazardly on the desk. It looked like he had been pacing, maybe sitting at the edge of the bed, getting up, sitting back down, as if he hadn’t been able to sit still since the last time you saw him.

Max ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly before turning back to you. “I get it,” he muttered before you could speak, voice gruff, like he had already convinced himself of the worst. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Your brows furrowed. “Max—”

“No, really.” He let out a breathless, almost bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “I already know how this goes. I saw you with him yesterday at the McLaren garage.” He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re here to tell me that this was a mistake. That I got the wrong idea. That you’re choosing him.”

His words stung, not because they were true, but because he actually believed them.

Your throat tightened. “Max, that’s not—”

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” His voice was quieter now, you knew he was telling the truth, but still he was guarded, like he was preparing himself for impact. “That’s what matters.”

Something inside you cracked.

You stepped forward before you could second-guess yourself, reaching for his hand. He flinched slightly at the contact, his fingers twitching against yours, but he didn’t pull away.

“Did you mean what you said?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s brows knitted together, his body going still. “What?”

You swallowed hard, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “About seeing me, wanting me?”

For a second you saw it that flicker of hesitation, the instinct to lie, to brush it off, to save himself from whatever heartbreak he thought was coming. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something dismissive, something easy.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Not when it had been clawing at him for months, maybe years.

His mask slipped, the exhaustion, the frustration, the sheer weight of everything finally crashing down as he exhaled. His voice when he spoke was raw, unfiltered, like he had no choice but to lay himself bare.

“Every word,” he admitted, his gaze burning into yours. His fingers twitched against your hand, his grip tightening just slightly, as if he needed something to hold onto. “I meant every fucking word.”

You had spent so long waiting, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be chosen, waiting for something that was never going to happen. And all this time, Max had been there. Right in front of you. Seeing you in a way you had never even thought to ask for.

Relief flooded through you, mingling with something that had been building for so long, something inevitable.

Your breath came shakily, your fingers trembling slightly as the truth tumbled out before you could stop it. “I think…” You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like gravity itself. “I think I’ve been waiting for the wrong person.”

His entire body reacted, like the words had physically hit him, like he had been bracing himself for heartbreak and suddenly, inexplicably, found himself with something else entirely.

Hope.

His eyes searched yours, desperate and overwhelmed. “I didn’t plan this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand hovering near your cheek fighting against every instinct telling him to touch you. “But…I can’t pretend it isn’t real.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

It was real. It had been real for so much longer than you had even realised.

You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. “Neither can I.”

“You mean that?” he asked.

“I mean it,” you whispered, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. “I see you now,” you breathed, voice steadier than you expected. “And I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Max’s lips parted slightly. “Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead pressing lightly against yours as his other hand settled on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Max let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head against yours. “Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

You laughed, though it was shaky, uneven, because your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.

Max’s hands flexed against you, like he was still struggling to believe this was happening. “I tried not to want this,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Tried to push it down, to ignore it, to pretend like it wasn’t tearing me apart every time I saw you waiting for him.” His grip on you tightened, his forehead pressing harder against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “But once there was even the slightest chance? Once I realised I wasn’t crazy, that maybe—maybe you could feel this too?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “There was no turning back. I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I’d never want anyone else,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “That it’s always been you.”

The words sent a shockwave through you, your entire body reacting before your mind could catch up. A soft breath escaped your lips as you surged forward, your hands gripping his hoodie, your mouth finding his in a kiss that was everything, all the months, years of unspoken feelings, of stolen glances, of tension neither of you had been willing to name.

Max groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you against him like he needed you closer, like there was no air without you. He kissed you like he had been starving for this, like he had spent so long convincing himself he couldn’t have it that now, finally, he was never letting go.

You gasped against his mouth, and he smiled into the kiss, tilting his head slightly to deepen it, to savour it, to own it. His hands slid around your back, holding you flush against him, his heartbeat racing just as fast as yours.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to press his forehead to yours again, his breathing was uneven, his lips swollen from the force of it. His fingers trailed down your arms, finding your hands, lacing your fingers together, he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” you asked, grinning as you fought to steady your breathing, still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.

Max shook his head, brushing his nose against yours. “I just…I never thought I’d get this,” he admitted, his voice lighter now.

Your heart clenched at the honesty in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something impossible that had somehow, miraculously, become real.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “I’ve felt like this for longer than you probably realise.”

“Oh Max…”

He shook his head. “No, I need to say this.” His hands squeezed at your waist, his touch grounding, reassuring. “I used to tell myself I was just looking out for you. That I was just annoyed whenever you talked about him because I didn’t care…but the truth is I was jealous. So fucking jealous.”

His confession sent warmth flooding through your chest, making your fingers tighten in his hands.

“I’d see you standing by him, always waiting, always looking at him like he was the only one for you, and I’d tell myself that it didn’t matter. That you deserved each other.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “But I could never really believe it.”

Your throat felt tight, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Max…”

“I spent so much time telling myself you’d never see me that way,” Max continued, his voice dropping even lower, more intimate. “That even if I wanted you, even if I needed you, it didn’t matter. Because he was always the one you wanted.”

Your breath caught, the truth of it settling deep inside you.

“But then…” He smiled, just barely, like he still couldn’t believe it. “You started choosing me. It wasn’t all at once. It was little things, sticking around in my garage longer than you needed to, texting me first, showing up even when you had no reason to.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze dipping down for a fraction of a second before meeting yours again. “And I realised I couldn’t just be your backup plan. I couldn’t just be the person keeping you distracted while you waited for him.”

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head just slightly into his touch. “Max…” You exhaled shakily, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “You were never just a distraction. You were never a backup plan. You—”

“I know,” he interrupted, smiling more now. “I know that now.”

His fingers brushed over your jaw, achingly gentle, his thumb traced along your cheek, making it impossible to look anywhere but at him.

“For so long, I told myself it wasn’t real. That it was just something in my head. Something I could turn off if I wanted to.”

You felt your chest tighten at the confession, at how much weight he had been carrying alone.

“But then you started pulling away from him,” Max continued, exhaling sharply, his voice almost breaking. “And I—” He shook his head, like the memory itself made him unravel. “I realised I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t want you.”

“When we first made that stupid plan I thought, this is my chance to help her. I thought, if I can just get her to stop waiting around for him, maybe she’ll be happy.” He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between yours. “But I never planned for you. I didn’t think I’d be the one falling harder every second we were together.”

“You’re the one who sees me,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not just when it’s convenient, not just when I’m standing right in front of you, waiting. You see me, even when I don’t know what I want. You make me feel like I matter,” you continued, your fingers smoothing over the lines in his jaw. “Not just because I’m there, not because it’s easy, but because you choose to. Every time.”

A shaky exhale left his lips.

And you weren’t finished.

“You’ve never made me feel like I had to earn my place with you,” you whispered, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I don’t have to be louder, or funnier, or wait for my turn. I don’t have to prove I belong with you. I just do. You are the person who makes me feel safe, who pushes me without ever making me doubt myself. You don’t just listen, you understand. You don’t just show up, you stay.”

“And it’s not just that,” you continued, voice steadier now. “It’s the way I see you too.”

“I don’t think you even realise it,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly. “How rare you are. How brilliant you are. How you notice things before anyone else does. How your mind works so fast it’s almost unfair.” You let out a small breath of laughter, your hand still cradling his jaw. “They don’t see how funny you are, how effortless it is for you to make people laugh, even when you’re not trying. How much you care even when you pretend not to.”

Before either of you could say anything else, he kissed you again, slow and deep and certain, like he was making up for all the time he had wasted. You sighed into it, your arms winding around his neck, your body pressing into his as his hands gripped your waist, anchoring you against him.

He kissed you like you were his like you had always been his.

“I hope you know,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there, “that I’m never letting you go now.”

A wide grin broke across your face as you squeezed his hands in return. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Max let out a laugh, one full of relief, full of joy, full of you. He kissed you again, and again, and again, each one lighter, each one full of laughter, all full of something so impossibly right.

[abudhabby29-blog]

SERIES/MULTI-CHAPTERS

Collabs

Threes (Not) a Crowd (co-written with @beccabarba) Part 1 Part 2

Series In Progress

Mafia!Barba

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends, Ch.2 12 Steps to Love Step 1: Powerlessness Step 2: Restoration Step 3: Making a Decision Step 4: Making a Moral Inventory

Step 5: Admitting Our Wrongdoings

Step 6: Removing All Defects

Step 7: Ask a Higher Power to Remove Your Shortcomings

Beautiful Sinner (priest!Barba AU)

Series Completed

Mr. In Between Mr. In Between, Pt1 Mr. In Between, Pt. 2 Mr. In Between, Pt. 3 Mr. In Between, Pt. 4 Mr. In Between, Pt. 5

Mr. In Between, Pt. 6

Neighbors Neighbors Neighbors, Pt. 2 Neighbors, Pt. 3 Neighbors, Pt. 4 Neighbors, Pt. 5 Neighbors, Pt. 6

The Senorita Series Señorita, Pt. 1 Señorita, Pt. 2 Señorita, Pt. 3 Señorita, Pt. 4 Señorita, Pt. 5 Señorita, Pt. 6 Señorita, Pt. 7 Señorita, Pt. 8 Señorita, Pt. 9

The Senorita Series - Sequel Señorita Redux, Pt. 1 Señorita Redux, Pt. 2 Señorita Redux, Pt. 3 Señorita Redux, Pt. 4

Soul Savin’ Soul Savin’, Pt. 1 Soul Savin’, Pt. 2 Soul Savin’, Pt. 3 Soul Savin’, Pt. 4 Soul Savin’, Pt. 5

The Word of Your Body The Word of Your Body, Pt1 The Word of Your Body, Pt2 The Word of Your Body, Pt3 The Word of Your Body, Pt4 The Word of Your Body, Pt 5

Long Way Home (SVU x Good Wife Crossover Series) Long Way Home, Pt1 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt2 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt3 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt 4 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt 5 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt 6 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt 7 [SVU x The Good Wife Long Way Home, Pt 8 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt 9 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt 10 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt. 11 [SVU x The Good Wife] Long Way Home, Pt. 12 [SVU x The Good Wife] Telephone**

[abudhabby29-blog]

Law & Order SVU Fanfic: All In - Chapter Twenty Four

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Summary: He never meant for it to happen but now he wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to stop.

Chapters:  Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight,Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve,Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen,Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen,Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty One, Chapter Twenty Two, Chapter Twenty Three, 

Keep reading

[abudhabby29-blog]

Law & Order SVU Fanfic: All In - Chapter Twenty Four

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Summary: He never meant for it to happen but now he wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to stop.

Chapters:  Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight,Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve,Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen,Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen,Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty One, Chapter Twenty Two, Chapter Twenty Three, 

Keep reading

[abudhabby29-blog]

Rafael Barba & Dominick Carisi LAW AND ORDER: SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT, Season 16 (2014)

16x11 — Agent Provocateur 16x13 — Decaying Morality 16x16 — December Solstice 16x19 — Granting Immunity

[abudhabby29-blog]

Ch. 63: Behind the Curtains

Previous chapters // Montserrat’s masterlist

Fandom: SVU // Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @arrthurpendragon​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @stareyedplanet​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @averyhotchner​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @abzidabzy​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @hellofutur​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @foxesandmagic​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xovalliegirlxo @sam-i–am @kmc1989 @midmourn @choosejoyangel @rebeccapineapple @duckybird101 @caplanbuckybarnes ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message

Author's Note:

I just want to thank everyone who's been reaching out about this story. The amount of comments I get on this particular fic is so amazing. So many people are invested in this story and ask me when I'll be updating again. I really love all YOUR love for this story so I've gone back to keep writing more chapters for this (I think you'll r e a ll y love the next chapter btw, it's got some good angst ;)). Again, thank you soooo much!

Olivia would only be surprised with Rafael's sudden visit to the precinct for about five minutes. It was completely him to pull this kind of stunt when he still had plenty of time to rest before returning to work. She was guilty of doing the same thing in the past.

"You know you're supposed to be resting, right? Like in a bed and in a room...?" Olivia closed her office door then went to help Rafael reach the couch, an action he shooed her away for.

"Officially, I am at home," he replied, managing to sit on his own with no problem. Olivia liked to see the good sign.

"Officially?" she raised an eyebrow at him. "How'd you pull this one?" There was no way in hell that Montserrat would allow this if she knew.

"Montserrat's got a therapy session and I told her my mother was coming over anyways. She won't ever know that I was here if you help me out..." To his credit, Rafael did seem genuinely guilty when he explained himself.

"I see…" Olivia nodded as she took a seat on the couch beside him.

"I hate it, I know," Rafael said, as if Olivia was reproaching him for his lie. He hated himself for lying to Montserrat. She had been nothing but helpful and so concerned about him. He hated doing this... "I needed to talk to you without her around."

"I could have just as easily gone to see you. There's no need to push yourself more than you have to right now."

"Now you're sounding like Montserrat."

"Well, you know, she kind of has a point."

"She usually always does," sighed Rafael, "Lucky for me, the peanut gallery wasn't out there," he made a nod at the bullpen.

"There's an ongoing case," Olivia explained the absence of her squad. "So, how are you?"

Rafael raised a hand at her and shook it. "I'm not here for me. I want to know about the case." He had a limited window here and wanted to use every minute he had.

"But you also need to take care of yourself," Olivia said, and Rafael rolled his eyes at her. "You were shot — there were moments where we thought you weren't going to make it. Speaking from my experience, you have your own issues to handle too."

"I understand, but I promise that I'm okay," Rafael said, "I'm not traumatized — I have seen worse."

"What's worse than getting shot?" Olivia said incredulously.

"Not knowing when the person responsible will finally go after his real target: the woman that I love." Rafael had maintained a straight face when he responded, not even fazed with the gaping look on Olivia's face.

"Uh…okay…" Olivia tried her darn best to get past the vital information she just learned, for the sake of her two very good friends and the circumstances that were surrounding them. "Well…officially, the case has gone cold…"

"But unofficially?"

"Unofficially, we're still working it."

"And who's this 'we'?" Rafael demanded.

Olivia let it slide because she knew how troubled he must be with zero answers in his pocket. "Finn. I trust him completely and he won't say anything to anyone."

Rafael could agree with that choice. "So…no one else knows, then?"

Olivia shook her head. "Carisi, Rollins and Amaro think the case is cold and even though we knew beforehand that it looked like a hit, none of them will say anything to Montserrat."

"They better not," Rafael said warningly, "Because that's the last thing she needs right now. I already talked to Clara too so that we have the same story."

"And she's okay with that?" Olivia had only spoken to Clara a few times and sent her right to a counselor because the young girl had been terrified about what happened.

"Yeah," nodded Rafael, "So we can get back to work on this quickly, please."

"We can't rush these things, Rafa," Olivia reminded him, "The case isn't 'cold' but it's not very open either. There's not much to go off by."

"I know that but we can't stop looking either," Rafael said, "Because I know that this was one of the last blows before he goes after what he really wants."

Olivia didn't want to openly admit that Rafael was right. She had worked SVU for too long to not know the usual patterns criminals — including rapists — exhibited. It just so happened that this criminal was waiting a bit longer than usual. She detested that in this situation, what the man wanted was her friend. The ultimate target was Montserrat, and she had no idea about it.

In all the time that Olivia spent thinking silently, Rafael had not stopped looking at her. He was waiting for her to admit it because once it was out in the open they could move on and work towards the solution. It was the only way they could continue to work. His insides twisted each time he thought about that man.

That man wanted Montserrat. He thought about her like he had some claim on her. He thought she belonged to him.

"We need to find this guy," Rafael said, his jaw clenched, "Fast."

Olivia sensed the growing anger and so treaded carefully. "We have to be smart about this—"

"I know—"

"—because according to the little that we have—"

"I know."

"—there's no reports of any Daniel in the black market."

"I know, Olivia!" Rafael exclaimed. "But we have to at least try to keep searching!" Olivia remained calm in the face of his anger. "Because I know he's going to do something else soon. We already got lucky once—"

"Lucky?" Olivia repeated, her brows raising incredulously. "I don't know if I have to keep reminding you but you got shot," she gestured at him, "That's not 'lucky' in any book."

"You know what I meant," Rafael snapped.

"I don't think I did…"

"Olivia, please. Help me. Help me help her — because that's all that matters here. She is the only thing that matters here!"

Olivia nodded slowly. "I know, and you have to know that I will do anything I can to keep Montserrat safe. At the same time, though, I'd like to make sure you are also safe."

"I will be just fine," Rafael promised. "All I want is to be working on this case. This is the most important case I've ever dealt with. Nothing can be left to chance."

Olivia would have liked to point out that if this case actually went to trial, Rafael would not be allowed to prosecute it. He wouldn't be allowed anywhere near it. She suspected that he may have either chosen to forget it or he was filing it under 'deal with later'.

"Well, looking into the details, I can tell you right now that we don't have a lot," Olivia repeated, sighing, "The guy who shot you—"

"It wasn't Daniel," Rafael said immediately, waving a hand dismissively. "He was just a hired hitman."

"Okay, right," nodded Olivia, "but that guy was wearing a mask. Clara wasn't able to give anything unique about the guy. Could you?"

"No," Rafael muttered, "He was all covered up. If I heard his voice again, I'd be able to recognize him."

"How about we start small then," Olivia's suggestion was met with a blatant rejection.

"We can't do that, not when we have a clear path," Rafael said, prompting Olivia to ask what he had in mind. "Let's go after the one clear name we do have."

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him. "Who's name do we have?" she asked, puzzled.

Rafael didn't think twice with his answer. "Hallie D'Amico."

Olivia's eyes widened, her mouth opening with shock. "I know you were shot but are you insane?" She stood up from the couch, taking a few steps away to contemplate such an absurd idea.

Rafael took the opportunity to lean back on the couch and adjust his position to ease his side. It didn't hurt as much as it used to, although Montserrat loved to exaggerate. "I've thought about it, Liv—"

"Oh, really?" Olivia spun around, shooting him a sharp look. "So I bet you told Montserrat about this already?"

Rafael's silence was answer enough.

"Rafael, c'mon, what are you thinking!?"

"Of course I wasn't going to tell her!" Rafael exclaimed. "Because I know exactly what she's going to say—"

"That you're crazy?" Olivia tilted her head. "Gotta say, I might have to agree with her on that one."

"Olivia—"

"Visiting Hallie D'Amico in prison is a crazy idea!"

"Oli—"

"She's in jail for a reason, she's not going to give up Daniel—"

"Liv!" Rafael yelled over Olivia's words to get her attention. He looked at her sharply. "I know that my idea isn't easy, but it is the most logical. If this were any other case, one of you would have already coined the idea. Lie to me and say I'm wrong."

Olivia wouldn't take his challenge but she didn't want to admit that he was right either. She shook her head and started pacing. "This wouldn't work," she said, sounding like she was starting to consider the idea. "Montserrat testified against her. Hallie knows that Montserrat was a UC — for all we know, she could have put the hit on you as revenge."

"No," Rafael said on the spot, "I know it was Daniel. I know it was him."

Olivia sighed and stopped pacing, looking at Rafael with a certain sympathy. "I know this is hard for you—"

"Don't," Rafael warned her to stop, "Don't…don't do the empathy talk."

"That's not what I'm doing—"

"It's what you always do for the victims. I know you, Liv," Rafael said, "And you don't need to do that with me. Montserrat's told me about this woman and I've looked into her case. D'Amico went down for drug trafficking but there was never any sexual assault accusations about her ring."

"A drug dealer with some scruples? Am I supposed to congratulate her on that?"

"I'm not saying she should get a medal but it does go to say that she has something against those kinds of crimes," Rafael said, shrugging, "That's a line she didn't cross. Montserrat said that she confided in D'Amico about Daniel's advances towards her and that D'Amico tried moving Montserrat away from him."

Olivia hadn't known about that detail and as such became interested. She slowly returned to her seat on the couch, listening attentively.

"We could believe for a moment that D'Amico wouldn't stand for that kind of stuff from her own ring — the fact is that she's in jail and Daniel is in possession of her work." Rafael smirked widely. "If we piss her off the right way, she'll give us his full name and we build a case from there."

Olivia always knew that Rafael was a fantastic prosecutor making cases and arguments, but this one took the cake. He took a crazy idea and morphed it into the only logical, sensible thing to do. She let out a long sigh and leaned back on the couch. "If Montserrat finds out about this…she's going to shoot us both."

"Well, I already got shot and you're her boss so we might get off with a warning," Rafael shrugged. "Me, probably a smack — and you a stink eye."

Olivia couldn't believe that was his argument; she laughed. Hearing her laugh, made Rafael laugh. For a split moment, they were friends just saying nonsense.

~ 0 ~

Montserrat was livid when she returned to the apartment and found it empty. "Oh, if you weren't dead before you will be now!" she said as soon as Rafael walked in through the door.

"I'm sorry," he apologized with a little smile, "I couldn't help it." Things ran a little later at the precinct than he had expected, but it was all for a good reason. He and Olivia were working to find the right moment to visit D'Amico. He wanted to be present, despite Olivia's reluctance, and so that meant he would have to find an opportunity to get away from Montserrat. That was the major problem at the moment.

"You lied to me," Montserrat accused, striding over to him, immediately looking him over, "You're not supposed to be out on the streets yet."

"Calmate," Rafael said, resting his hands on her arms, "Calm down. I just went to the office. I had to, I'm sorry, but I had to."

"No, you didn't," Montserrat sighed, "But that's what I get for daring to believe you'd be intelligent about this stuff."

"Intelligent?" Rafael frowned. "Are you implying that I'm stupid?"

Montserrat smiled as she innocently pressed out his shoulders. "Because I said that I was going to be nicer while you're injured, I won't answer that...right now."

Rafael deadpanned her for a long while. "Strangely, that wasn't a nice answer either."

Montserrat's smile widened. "Where the hell did you go?"

"I already told you — the office. I have cases that are piling up."

"No," Montserrat said sharply, "Those cases are being handled by a substitute prosecutor. You, my dear, have no reason to be at that office right now. I don't want you exerting yourself."

"I promise you that I'm not," Rafael said, bringing his hands to her face, "Just doing a walk here and there. Besides, you promised me that you wouldn't get so worked up about me picking up a few cases here and there."

"From home," Montserrat reminded him. "We agreed that you could work from here."

"Right, but I still needed to pick some things up," Rafael said, and dealt with the less than believing gaze Montserrat had on him. She was too smart for her own good and in this case, he really needed her to not be anything close to that. "C'mon," he insisted, "I stopped by and saw Liv too. Had a nice normal conversation. Distractions, you know?"

Montserrat shook her head disapprovingly. "You know what? Let's just move on before you give me gray hairs — oh, and by the way—" She had just pointed at Rafael when he warned her to stop right there. Montserrat laughed right in his face. "It's alright, you only have a couple—"

"Montserrat!"

"Kidding! But I mean, I think you'd look very nice with a few gray hairs here and there."

Rafael rolled his eyes. "You know what? I'm actually very tired. Whether I like to admit it or not, the walking and moving altogether did exhaust me a bit."

Montserrat dropped the laughs and jokes when he said that. "Are you—?"

"I'm okay," Rafael cut her off, knowing damn well her concerns had returned in a second. "Just tired, that's all."

"Do you want to go rest?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I think I actually do. Turn in early."

"Okay—"

"With you."

Montserrat blinked and slowly started to smile. Her entire body relaxed within minutes. "Okay," she nodded, "I like that idea."

They left their things in the living room, Rafael being very careful not to leave his "paperwork" out in the open where Monsterrat could accidentally come across it. He would come back for it later when she was asleep.

~ 0 ~

"You know I talked to your mother earlier. I bumped into her at the grocery store," Montserrat confessed once they were settled in bed. She snuggled up to Rafael's side, careful not to hurt him in the process.

Rafael groaned. "Oh God, what did she say now?" He could just see his mother being nitty-gritty about the things Montserrat picked up in the store.

"Nothing," Montserrat chuckled. "She's been real good to me ever since we brought you home from the hospital. I mean, she has her moments but it's been okay overall."

"She better be." Rafael was not afraid to have another go with his mother. Although, he was glad that the first "go" had been successful. He didn't like arguing with her either. "So, if she wasn't being mean, what did she say?"

"She asked about you, how you were doing and all that stuff. She also mentioned that you haven't called her once since you left the hospital." Montserrat tilted her head up to look at him. "Says maybe I'm distracting you."

"And there it is…" Rafael had to draw in a breath to ease himself. Of course his mother would say stupid nonsense like that, especially if he wasn't around. "I'm sorry," he said, sighing.

Montserrat chuckled. "Don't worry about it. She caught me off guard but it's nothing." Course she wouldn't tell him how she reacted at the store, how her been a sputtering mess for five minutes right in public. "I told her you were just resting most of the time."

"I'm still going to talk to her," Rafael decided, because knowing his mother this wouldn't be the last time a comment like that left her mouth.

"Your choice," Montserrat shrugged. She rested her head on his chest again, beginning to feel the wisps of sleep coming for her. "Also called my dad."

"Oh, and how'd that go?" Rafael heard Montserrat's faint intake of breath. He moved his hand on her back, gently rubbing up and down.

"Okay," Montserrat yawned, "Wants to have dinner with us soon."

"We still haven't done that," Rafael actually laughed. It hurt less now. "Seems like we've been planning that for ages now."

"I know," Montserrat mused, "Maybe we can make it a dinner/'you're all better' celebration? That way we can invite everyone, not just my family?"

"Would be a lot better for me…" Rafael said, thinking it over. It would at least give him excuses to talk to Olivia and Fin about the ongoing case. "I like it," he decided. "We can do it this week, if you want."

Montserrat scoffed. "Nice try. You're still out from work for at least another month."

"You really want me to stay on the couch all day, huh? You realize you're going to have to sustain my lifestyle, right?"

Montserrat rolled her eyes at him.

"I mean — I like expensive scotch, you know that. And there always has to be sweets in the cabinet and let's not mention—"

"If you value your life, you'll go to sleep right now."

Rafael laughed to himself. "So much for my lovely nurse."

"Be quiet."

Rafael held Montserrat closer to him. He suspected that she had no idea just how much he actually loved her. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you for everything."

Montserrat thought his sudden gratitude was questionable — perhaps it was a tactic to appease her when she sounded so annoyed by him?

"I really don't know what I would do without you," Rafael continued, absent-mindedly running his fingers up and down Montserrat's back.

"Are you okay?" She had to ask. She shifted her head enough to catch his eye.

Rafael smiled at her. "I can't tell you 'thank you' without you questioning my health?"

A bashful smile crossed Montserrat's face. "Sorry, you're just not very talkative sometimes which is quite the contradiction to you when you're at work."

"You always say that I have a big mouth."

"Yeah, to give sass and snark, but you're not exactly the kind to talk about, you know, feelings and stuff like that."

"I know," Rafael sighed, admitting defeat to that one. "And I should be more but—"

"It's alright," Montserrat chuckled lightly, "I like the way you are. And even though sometimes you don't say the words, you do what you want to say. I understand your language and I love it. Just like I love you."

Everything she said just confirmed what Rafael already knew and felt. He felt so lucky with her at his side. "And I love you." He pressed a kiss on her forehead but Montserrat beat him to it and instead kissed him on the lips. Much sweeter indeed.

He wished he could move more easily to kiss her more but it just wasn't possible.

Montserrat pulled away from him wearing another smile. "You should rest now."

Rafael didn't take her suggestion with the most enthusiasm. She laughed in response. She grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him again. She could honestly kiss him for hours but alas, he had to rest and like the good nurse that she was, she drew away again.

"Sleep," she patted a hand on his chest. "Now."

"Something tells me it's not a suggestion," Rafael said, feigning suspicion.

"Mm, smart man," Montserrat wagged a finger at him.

"Stay with me?"

"Always." Montserrat snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his chest. She would end up falling asleep with him in no time.

[abudhabby29-blog]

Dare To Forget Me: Chapter Masterlist

Fandom: Law & Order SVU

Pairings: Rafael Barba x OFC // Minor Sonny Carisi x 2nd OFC

Story Summary: Detective Montserrat Novak originally planned to transfer to SVU but mysteriously withdrew her papers. Nine months later, Olivia pulls her profile when Montserrat becomes a material witness to a case. From there, Montserrat can’t really get away from SVU. Now she finds herself dealing with a Detectives & an ADA whom she seems to have a talent at pulling all his right strings.

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

This post will be updated as the story progresses!

Montserrat Novak’s face claim: Ellie Kemper

Ch. 1 A Runaway  Ch. 2 Novak, Witness Ch. 3 Didn’t You Know? Ch. 4 Come Back Ch. 5 Ins And Outs Ch.6 Twists And Turns Ch.7 A Detective’s Business Ch.8 A Joker’s Way Ch. 9: Jokester’s Final Show Ch.10: Of All Moms Ch.11: Rivalries Ch.12: History Ch.13: Playing with Fire Ch.14: Wonderland Blues Ch.15: I Don’t Know Ch.16: Facing the Beast Ch.17: Shadows of the Past Ch.18: Secrets Behind Ch.19: I See You Ch.20: One, Two, Three Questions Ch.21: Birthday Blues Ch.22: Repercussions  Ch.23: Tangled Ch. 24: Detective What’s His Name? Ch.25: Owing Zero Ch.26: Playing the Game Ch.27: Shock-Worthy Ch.28: Like High School Ch.29: Help Me Help Him Ch.30: There For Her Ch. 31: Impeccable Timing Ch.32: One More Time Ch.33: Secret Detectives Ch.34: The Perfect Team Ch.35: How To? Ch.36: It’s Complicated Ch.37: The Truth Ch.38: Not Good Ch.39: Getting There Ch.40: Picture Perfect Ch.41: Tell & Hush Ch. 42: Ardent Ginger Ch.43: Sore Loser Ch.44: If I was Ch.45: If I Had Ch.46: A Casual Interlude Ch.47: The Lesser Gaps Ch.48: No Rest for the Weary Ch.49: Coming Down Ch.50: A Secret’s End Ch.51: First Confrontation   Ch.52: The One Where Everyone Knows Ch.53: The Impending Meet Ch.54: The Not-Jealousy Ch.55: Maybe She Did  Ch.56: All About One Ch.57: Just a Thought Ch.58: Family Loyalty Ch.59: Fearing the Unknown Ch.60: The Waiting Game Ch.61: What Comes After… Ch.62: The Little Big Words Ch.63: Behind the Curtains Ch.64: TBA

Montserrat’s masterlist

taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @hellofutur @foxesandmagic @abzidabzy @xovalliegirlxo @sam-i–am @kmc1989 @midmourn @choosejoyangel @rebeccapineapple @caplanbuckybarnes @duckybird101

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

[abudhabby29-blog]

stare decisis - a masterlist

rafael barba x original female character

(a/n: timeline is a little wonky, starts at the end of season fifteen but Sonny is already there and Murphy is not CO of SVU, I just love Sonny too much to start the fic a season later)

When Assistant District Attorney Quinn Brady lateral transfers from the Queens Gangs Unit to Manhattan Special Victims on orders of the District Attorney feathers are ruffled. Preexisting ADA Rafael Barba struggles with introduction of co-counsel after flying solo for years and the SVU detectives enjoy answering to two attorneys much less than they enjoyed answering to one.

Follow Manhattan's elite detective squad as this new addition changes things for the better . . . or for the worse.

stare decisis: latin for to stand by things decided

trigger warnings: canonical violence, war, PTSD, military service, slow burn, enemies to lovers.

Starring: Darby Stanchfield as Quinn Brady

TRAILER

chapter one - novus

chapter two - amarum

chapter three - ira

chapter four - solitudo

chapter five - amica

chapter six - praeterita vitas

chapter seven - tinnitus

chapter eight - amentia

chapter nine - frigus

chapter ten - nota

chapter eleven - indicium

chapter twelve - acceptatio

chapter thirteen - disputo

chapter fourteen - caeruleum

chapter fifteen - potio

chapter sixteen - effingo

chapter seventeen - natus

chapter eighteen - rubrum

chapter nineteen - hospitium

[abudhabby29-blog]

Every Life is a Pile of Good Things and Bad Things Master list

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

[abudhabby29-blog]

Being Alive Masterlist

Rafael Barba is in his 40s and has still yet to marry, much to the dismay of his mother. That part of is his life is over; it has to be. He’s far too old, far too pained, far too set in his ways. Well, that’s what he thought until a fresh face on the SVU starts to weasel her way in and change his mind.

Set somewhere in S15-16 and will progress to later seasons throughout the story.

Expect a lot of Company references!

This has been such a labor of love and I am so happy to finally be posting this. I will try to update weekly!

Want to be tagged in future parts? Let me know and I’ll add you!

***indicates smut

❤️ = my favorite chapters

Archive of Our Own link

Chapter 1: Someone to Hold You Too Close ❤️

Chapter 2: Someone to Hurt You Too Deep ❤️

Chapter 3: Someone to Sit in Your Chair and Ruin Your Sleep 

Chapter 4: Someone to Need You Too Much 

Chapter 5: Someone to Know You Too Well 

Chapter 6: Someone to Pull You Up Short, To Put You Through Hell *** ❤️

Chapter 7: Someone You Have to Let In

Chapter 8: Someone Whose Feelings You Spare

Chapter 9: Someone Who, Like It or Not, Will Want You to Share A Little, A Lot *** ❤️

Chapter 10: Someone to Crowd You With Love ❤️

Chapter 11: Someone to Force You to Care

Chapter 12: Someone to Make You Come Through

Chapter 13: Somebody Hold Me Too Close ***

Chapter 14: Somebody Hurt Me Too Deep ❤️

Chapter 15: Somebody Sit in My Chair and Ruin My Sleep

Chapter 16: Somebody Need Me Too Much

Chapter 17: Somebody Know Me Too Well

Chapter 18: Somebody to Pull Me Up Short, and Put Me Through Hell

Chapter 19: But Alone is Alone, Not Alive! ❤️

Emo Ending Author’s Note

[abudhabby29-blog]

Somebody Sit in My Chair and Ruin My Sleep (Being Alive Ch 15)

A/N: Idk how I feel about this chapter but here u go I guess lol

Previous Chapter

content warnings: implied smut

WC: 1.9k

Rafael didn’t have any idea what he was walking into on Monday morning, but Jesus Christ, the fact that you let the squad know what happened - down to the very last detail, it seemed - was a horror show. Amanda avoids him in some show of female solidarity, Nick shoots him sympathetic looks, and Sonny - fucking Sonny asks Rafael how he is and won’t stop asking how you were, if he’d heard from you.

But why should he expect mercy from the woman who turned down his proposal?

And maybe he deserved it. Maybe he should’ve tried to read the room instead of just pushing forward. You had been right - that night certainly wasn’t the prime time for a proposal in the slightest. Hindsight is always 20/20, and he keeps remembering moments where you were slipping away inch by inch like sand past his fingertips, and he can’t believe how stupid he was that he chose to swallow it down and chalk it up as nothing instead of sitting down and actually talking to you.

Keep reading

[abudhabby29-blog]

Law and Order

Series

Coffee Shops and Soulmates

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Blood is Thicker than Water (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19