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maybe an enemies to lovers lando with this prompt: ❛ the odd thing is that i’m in love with you anyhow. ❜

love your writing!!!!

THIS PROMPT IS EVERYTHING!! thank you for requesting :)

hoping to finish it this weekend 🥰

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Drew for Cartier

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Lando with a fan at the Ralph Lauren Red event in Miami

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The photos that NASAHubble & NASAWebb took of The Pillars of Creation inspired me deeply. I had to draw what I saw in the formation: A hand reaching into the universe. What an accomplishment for humankind and what a symbol for exploration and knowledge. Credit 2nd image: NASA

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kait this is everything 🥹

the banter !!! between them, im in love <33

hiiiii... first off, i wanted to say that i love your work so so much. i'm usually a silent viewer but i wanted to come out and tell you that your work is absolutely stunning. secondly, i was wondering if you were still taking requests from that prompt list in the pinned post. i was thinking 3,26 and 24 for the absolute comeback lando made during jeddah. if not, all good. do not feel pressured at all to write this ❤️

i appreciate u so much thank u!!! <33

3. hiding face in neck, 24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + 26. kissing the top of their head. lando norris x reader, 1.2k. request something from here :)

Tenth on the grid isn’t near where Lando wanted to be for tomorrow’s race. Crashing out of qualifying definitely isn’t what he wanted either, not for him, but especially not for the team. 

Jeddah is a tricky track, so full of tight corners and narrow straights that it could’ve happened to anyone. It just so happened that he was the unlucky one this time around. 

He’s already beating himself up even before he gets out of the car. Fucking idiot, were his exact words on the radio, echoing through your headphones in the guest area of the McLaren garage, marking the exact moment your heart sank for him. It had already nearly jumped out of your chest as soon as you saw his car wobble, nearly stopped when he slammed into the barrier coming out of a turn. 

A little later, after the session ends and Verstappen has taken pole, you finally find Lando. His feet drag along the floor, helmet dangling from his fingertips as he trudges into the garage looking far from happy. 

His eyes find you immediately after he sets his gear down and you smile at him with what you hope is reassurance masking your concern, waiting for him to make his way over to where you are. He buries himself into your arms as best he can with the box wall between you, hiding his face in your neck like it’ll let him hide from the world. 

Things like this are inevitable in every driver’s career, but Lando has always taken the setbacks rather hard. Always blaming himself, getting in his head about all the what ifs and could’ve beens. You can’t solve his problems for him, but you can help in other ways. 

You squeeze him tightly, as if all your worries and his disappointment could melt away the closer you hold him. He’s here, he’s okay.

“M’okay, baby,” Lando mumbles, words muffled against your skin. Your fingers comb through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, palm splaying across warm skin just so you can feel his pulse under your touch. Lando pulls away just a bit, enough to speak clearly. “I’m fine, I promise. No damage—to me, at least. Car’s fucked.” 

“The team can fix it. They will fix it,” You insist, bringing one hand up to cup his face. Your thumb strokes over his rosy cheek, eyes boring into his with such firmness you want him to feel it too. “Everything will be fine tomorrow.” 

“Promise?” 

You can’t promise him anything—not really—but you nod anyway, sealing when you hope isn't an empty promise with a kiss. “I promise, Lan.” 

-------

You swear you haven't blinked since lights out. 

Your eyes have been glued to the screen above you the entire race, headphones clutched to your ears so you can hear exactly what's going on with Lando. You’ve even got the F1 app open on your phone to track live timings so you don't miss a thing from the depths of the garage. 

With every overtake, every gained position, your heart pounds a little faster. You’re even sweating a little bit, which would be odd given that you’re not actually the one in the car. But when your boyfriend is racing for his life out on track with only a handful of laps to go, you’re a ball of nerves. 

You mutter encouragement under your breath the whole time like Lando can hear you, fingers crossed so tightly it’s starting to hurt as the laps tick down to the final one. Anything is possible until he flies by that checkered flag. 

Lando crosses the line fourth. 

He’d put up a phenomenal drive, fighting his way past seven very impressive opponents, managing his tires, keeping up the pace. In your eyes, he’s a winner all the time, but especially now. With what happened yesterday, a P4 comeback is sure to put some confidence back in him. 

You find him chatting with Oscar after his post-race media duties, completely unaware of your appearance as you start to creep towards him from behind.

Oscar does notice, but doesn’t say anything when he spots you over his teammate’s shoulder, just tries his best to hide his grin so as to not blow your mission. 

Lando's still going on and on about tire degradation when you pounce on him from behind.

“Fucking hell!” He screeches, nearly keeling over backwards before he manages to get his hands under your thighs for support. At the excited kiss you smack to his cheek, he lets out a loud exhale. “Baby, don’t do that! I thought I was being mugged!” 

“In the middle of the paddock? Seriously?” You giggle, both feet back on the ground. You smile at the younger boy across from you. “Hi, Oscar! Mega drive today, congrats on the win.” 

Oscar’s cheeks tinge pink and he grins, rocks back on his heels a little. “Glad you thought so.”

“Alright, mate, don’t you have your own girlfriend to bother?” Lando huffs dramatically, hooking an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes playfully at his change in demeanor. “Go on, get out of here, kid.” 

“See you on the plane, old man,” Oscar shoots back, sidestepping the halfhearted swipe Lando takes at him. He holds his fist out towards you for a bump. “Great to see you again.”

“Likewise. Say hi to Lily for me.” You wait for Oscar to disappear into the team hub before turning your attention on your boyfriend, hands on your hips, brows raised. “Why are you like this?” 

“Me? Baby, he was seconds away from giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. I’m telling you, Oscar definitely has a crush on you.” 

“He has a girlfriend, Lando. You’ve met Lily, you’ve seen them together. He’s head over heels for her, and you’re being ridiculous.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s stop talking about him now.” 

You drape your arms around his neck, tilting your chin up at him with a smile. “You’re lucky I find your weirdness attractive.” 

“Luckiest guy in the world, I always say,” He hums, beaming back at you. “So, what’d you think of the race?” 

“You did amazing today, Lan,” You say, nearly squeezing the life out of him with your hug. He pushes in closer to hear you over the bustle of the paddock and you do the same, putting your lips right against his ear for your next whispered praise. “I’m so proud of you, d’you know that? I'll always be proud of you, wherever you finish, whatever you do.” 

“Yeah, I know,” He says bashfully, grinning ear to ear. His arms wrap tighter around you. “Thanks to you. My lucky charm.” 

“Nuh uh, that’s all you, baby,” You reply with a shake of your head. Lando can only smile bigger, kissing the top of your head four times in succession, four lucky kisses for his lucky charm. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ugh, beyond. I need a fucking shower,” He groans, tipping his head towards the night sky. His gaze snaps back to you just as fast, this time with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wanna join?” 

“Way to ruin the heartfelt moment, you horndog.” 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing!” 

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house handy ⛐ 𝐃𝐑𝟑

“if there are leaves that need to be swept, i’ll sweep them. if there’s rubbish that needs to be emptied, i’ll empty it.” — harris dickinson on being domesticated (or: the one where daniel gets to slow down a bit)

ꔮ starring: daniel ricciardo x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 1.6k. ꔮ includes: romance, fluff fluff fluff. mentions of food. established relationship, post-f1 daniel. inspired by the dickinson quote in the synopsis. ꔮ commentary box: every so often i miss dric and something like this gets written. shoutout to this one spotify playlist for being the perfect writing accompaniment. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

There’s a cup of coffee on your bedside table when you wake up.

It’s a specific Australian brew, one your boyfriend has proudly touted as Danny-approved. Anything less would be a travesty. The steam curling from the mug draws you out of your sleep, reminding you of less than favorable experiences with the drink—days spent working yourself to the bone, evenings chugging the drink to stay awake for FaceTime calls.

Groggy, you take a sip. It’s perfect in a way you’ve never quite nailed. The right amount of sugar, just a hint of milk. The caffeine shot straight to your system gives you just enough energy to drag yourself out of bed.

It doesn’t take too long to find him, even if you weren’t expecting to find him at all.

You follow the music.

If he could help it, Daniel would never bother your rest; he knows how little of it you get as is. In the mornings, his footsteps are quiet. He pitches his voice low when he’s on the phone. And he tries to hum, not sing.

Key word: Tries. Better word: Fails.

He attempts to muffle his Bluetooth speaker with an old racing jersey, but the sound leaks through the fabric anyway. You feel the vibrations of the Noah Kahan song in your toes as you wordlessly pad into the kitchen. The space smells like maple syrup and flour, like what used to be good about off-seasons and long weekends. 

Daniel is too busy wrestling with a pancake to notice you at first. He’s singing, almost like it’s a stage whisper of some sorts. 

We ain’t angry at you, love, your boyfriend croons to himself, you’re the greatest thing we lost. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“Jesus Christ!” The words escape him in a surprised back of laughter. “You move like a freakin’ ninja, I swear.” 

A drowsy smile curls on your face as you rest your cheek to his back, in the space between his shoulder blades. You had always teased him for being something like your personal radiator. He’s solid and warm in your arms, enough to make you want to crawl back into bed. 

“You’re here,” you mumble into the unjustifiably soft material of his sleepshirt.

You feel him chuckle. The sound ripples through his body, through his obvious resistance in turning around and hugging you properly. He’s far too dedicated to the pancake in the non-stick pan to give into your sleepy brand of affection. 

“Where else would I be?” he teases lightly. 

Austin, you nearly say, because you’ve memorized the race calendar like the back of your hand. But you bite your tongue at the last second, holding back the remark when you remember—right. Right.

He’s not even looking at you, but Daniel already knows. He’s always had a sixth sense for anything that had to do with you. With a low hum, he flicks the stove off, sets down his spatula, and finally turns to face you. 

He looks better now. It’s a sigh of relief, a major grace. The days after Singapore had been rough, had dimmed his megawatt smile like it was a popped lightbulb that could never be replaced. But then the days turned into weeks, and the media frenzy died down, and proper goodbyes were given to those who mattered most to him. 

“Don’t do that,” Daniel chides, tugging at your chin.

You had started chewing on your lower lip, the way you did when you were deep in thought. Hadn’t even noticed it. Of course Daniel had; of course he knew just the way to look at you and hold you in a way that made you feel like you were unraveling. 

“Sorry,” you say softly. 

“Don’t be,” he says without missing a beat. 

He leans down slightly, just enough. You feel his stubble first. The brush of his five o’clock shadow on the top of your head. And then there’s the kiss—the firm press of his lips to your forehead. 

Your eyes flutter close as your arms tighten around him. He doesn’t pull away immediately, doesn’t move an inch even as the song on his phone transitions into a new one. So clean the house, clear the drawers, mop the floors, and stand tall, like no one's ever been here before or at all, the singer trills. 

“I’m not used to you being around again,” you finally confess, the words almost lost as you bury your face in Daniel’s chest. 

“I figured,” he huffs. “Gotta get more used to it, though. I’m going to be home a lot more now.” 

You strain your ears, trying your best to see if there’s anything lingering beneath his words. Is there any pain you might need to patch up? Any anger you might need to unpack? 

No. Not this time. Daniel says it like a fact. He sounds a bit wistful, and maybe a touch sad. But—for the most part—he’s folding himself back into your life. It’s in the way he sets the table for breakfast and chatters with you about everything except the elephant in the room. It’s in the small argument you have on who will wash the dishes before you settle on a compromise: you wash, he dries. It’s in the afternoon he spends moving around your apartment like he can’t quite relax, like there’s a part of him still behind that cursed second seat. 

“Danny,” you call out to him exasperatedly, but he’s not listening. 

He sweeps the leaves from your porch. He folds all the laundry. He inspects the cabinets and shelves, which is pretty much the last straw for you. 

“Daniel.” 

He freezes, hands bracing your bookshelf. The expression on his face—as if he’s a kid caught rifling through the cookie jar. “What?” he asks, already halfway into being defensive. 

“What are you doing?”

A beat. He’s looking at you, gauging you, to see how driven crazy you are. It’s truthfully not much, but the warning signs are there. Your arched eyebrows, crossed arms, pursed lips. 

He does the unwise thing and tries to play it off.

“Making repairs,” he says. The second word rises in intonation—making repairs?—almost as if he’s asking you, challenging you to stay otherwise. 

“You can barely even work a hammer,” you deadpan.

“I take serious offense to that.” 

“Danny, c’mon.” 

“There’s a loose screw here, I swear—” 

“Ricciardo.” 

He’s dropping the act before you can even get half his surname out. “Alright, alright.” He crosses the room in a couple of quick strides, settling down next to you. “You caught me.” 

The couch groans underneath your combined weight. He perks up, as if pleased to have found something he can work on, but the look on your face has him sheepishly curling into your side. Absent-mindedly, you begin to curl your fingers through his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, treading as delicately as you can manage. 

An outsider might not see anything wrong. Daniel curls around you like a parentheses, pulling you into him until you’re tucked together. He’s been holding you like this a lot as of late. Arms around your middle, face burrowing into the side of your neck. Relearning your curves, keeping you from slipping through his fingers. 

“Nothing,” he murmurs against your skin. 

You pinch the back of his neck. He whines in protest.

“What’s going on in your head, love?” you rephrase. 

The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. It holds like a held breath. When Daniel responds, it’s in the deep exhale of the truth. 

“I don’t know how—” He pauses, inhales, pushes on. “I don’t know how to be.” 

“Be what?” 

“Just be.” 

Ah. 

Daniel has gone stock still next to you, as if the confession is one that will have him condemned. It makes your heart ache. You’re the last person in the world to ever think bad of this man, and you make it clear as you plant a kiss between his scrunched eyebrows. 

“It’s okay,” you say soothingly. “You’ve got time.” 

He mumbles something inaudible into your collarbone. Something about the hour, something about you. You give an absentminded hum in response. Right now, all you can do is let the moment pass. 

Let Daniel find his footing. Let your apartment feel like a home again. Let Sundays be exactly that—not a race weekend, not the loss of his life. Just a weekend. Just a Sunday. 

After a couple of minutes, he breaks the silence. “I think I’d like to be a house husband.” 

That makes you giggle. “What?” you ask, giving his forehead a light flick of your fingers. “A house husband?” 

He pulls his face away from where he’d been hiding. And there it is, you think to yourself. The face-splitting smile that has whiskers crinkling around his eyes. God, the things you would do to keep Daniel smiling like that. 

“I’d be pretty good at it, no?” he teases. “I can cook. I can clean.”

“The pancakes were burnt this morning.” 

“And you said you loved them.” 

The bickering brings laughter, and the laughter gives way to breathless kissing, and the kissing lapses into another bout of silence. This one is a lot more companionable, as if Daniel’s spirits have been lifted after only a couple of bad jokes and exchanged smooches. 

Relief rattles out of Daniel in a soft sigh. A quiet, wordless acquiescence of This is my life now. 

He looks like he doesn’t regret it. You want so badly to keep it that way. ⛐

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zendaya for galore magazine, shot by jacob dekat

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insanely beautiful

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MEDIA DAY | SAUDIA ARABIA

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Drew Starkey for Eugene Allerton's passport in 'QUEER'

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Zendaya makeup by Sheika Daley – Allure Magazine

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❤️‍🔥 [©Mark Sutton]