quill-vy

[quill-vy]

ENCORE: the prequel.

a/n: quite a short one, just a little story leading up to the actual encore fic! hope you guys enjoy. ❤️

you’re in a sleepy coastal town, early evening. a hint of salt in the air. the pub’s tiny stage is lit with fairy lights, a single mic. you cradle your guitar, fingers grazing the frets as you find the intro to a song that’s still raw, still forming.

on stage, your voice is hushed, intimate. you glance at the audience—just a handful of locals and a couple nursing pints. it’s low-stakes, perfect. you breathe into the moment and start to play.

backstage, you lean against a scuffed amp, sipping from a bottle of water. your bassist is tuning her bass beside you. the mood is calm until the door creaks, and someone slips in.

a flash of papaya-orange jacket. a bowl of ginger curls. lando.

he’s frozen in the doorway, chest rising and falling like he’s sprinted. he tucks his hands in his pockets, cheeks flushed.

“sorry, didn’t mean to—” he starts, voice quiet. you set your guitar down and crouch to meet him eye to eye.

“you okay?” you whisper. he nods, glancing at your guitar case.

“i heard… something. thought i’d grab a drink, wander in. tuning?” he tries to mimic your actions, plucks a muted string—the sound discordant.

you smile softly. “how’d you hear me?”

he shrugs, glancing around. “i was in the car park. rain came early, quali got cancelled.” he swallows. “i needed… quiet.”

there’s something earnest in his tone—more than the habitual banter you expect of someone your age. you wait.

“i’m lando.”

“y/n.”

he glances at the stage. “you write your own?”

“yeah.”

“that’s brave.” he admits.

you shrug. “it’s… the only place i don’t overthink.”

he pauses, face serious. “i’m an overthinker. i talk to myself all the time. like homer simpson. brain arguments.” he ducks his head, soft laugh. “and i get anxious. i don’t eat much sometimes.”

something tightens in your chest. you’ve glimpsed truth.

“i noticed.” you say.

his eyes flick up. “yeah?”

you nod. “you don’t look like you believe. but i see you.”

he exhales, a laugh tumbling out. “no one else does.”

you challenge, “show me what your head’s saying.”

he considers, steps forward. “…what if i’m not enough? for the team, for the fans. what if i mess up, again?”

you reach out, touch his arm. “you will. you’ll also do things you love, unexpected things. like this.” you nod to the stage. “you came in, unannounced. i didn’t expect that.”

he shakes his head. “i’m usually in control. but tonight, this… felt necessary.”

you smile. you reach for your guitar and hand it to him. “play something.”

he hesitates, glancing from you to the instrument. then he slides onto a stool, gingerly takes the guitar.

you crouch low beside him. “just one chord.”

he breathes, places his fingers. it sounds hollow.

you hum along. “dun-dun-dun...”

he laughs softly. “that one?” he tries again. the chord tastes raw, real.

you nod, voice quiet: “yeah.”

the pub lights flicker. the rain starts drumming against the window. he plays a gentle progression, off time, but honest. fingers stiff, but sincere.

you sing along softly:

“lost in rounds of curves and lines
i tried to chase the sun
but found in quieter signs
you’re the only one i want”

he pauses mid-chord, eyes wide.

you meet his gaze. “that’s new.”

he swallows. “it’s good.” his voice cracks.

you smile. “want to write one together?”

he stares for a beat. “yeah.”

that night, after the crowd has gone, you sit cross-legged on the pub floor. rain-soaked lando beside you. guitar between your legs. your notebook open, lyrics scribbled in sharpie on your arm.

he reads:

“i’m just someone who’s overthinking
who finds the peace in strange places
and when the engines silence
i’m hoping i’ll see your face”

he tilts his head. “i like… that.” voice steady now. “it’s real.”

you realize it feels dangerous. but you lean in, press your lips to his helmeted forehead. he freezes, chest warm. you take in the moment.

he laughs quietly. “i should get back. quali still might happen.”

you shake your head. “stay.”

he fades his helmet strap. “i don’t get to choose.”

you stand and hold his hand. “not tonight.”

[quill-vy]

ENCORE

a/n: hi guys! so we’re back! this one’s a liiiittle exaggerated, but i hope you guys like it. put that imagination into perspective, and you have yourself a less.. reckless fic.

warnings: coarse language, untrue information about formula one (because i don’t know how to make it interesting 😭), popstar!reader, short fic

any references made to people from real life are pure coincidences.

---

TRACK ONE: COLLISION

the first time lando norris met you, he crashed into your dressing room. literally.

you were perched on a makeup counter, tuning your guitar, when the door slammed open and a blur of papaya orange stumbled inside, nearly wiping out a rack of sequined outfits.

"shit—sorry—" the blur resolved into a very flustered, very pretty boy in a mclaren race suit, helmet tucked under his arm like a misplaced prop. "wrong greenroom. again."

your bassist snorted. "third one this week, norris."

lando’s ears flushed pink. "i’m dyslexic, not stupid."

you bit back a smile. "aren’t you supposed to be, like… on track?"

"quali’s delayed. rain." he nodded at your guitar. "you’re y/n, right? the, uh…" he mimed something between air guitar and interpretive dance. you hadn’t seen each other in a while, but you were mutuals on instagram. maybe you could cut him some slack. or not.

"wow. nailed it." you plucked a string. "and yeah. the ‘uh’."

lando grinned. "cool. i’ve got, like, three of your songs on my pre-race playlist."

"which ones?"

"uh…" he scratched his neck. "golden? and the one that goes dun-dun-dun—"

your drummer groaned. "get out."

lando fled. as fast as he could.

you didn’t stop smiling for hours.

(sorry for the taylor reference guys, couldn’t help it. let’s imagine her song is just a different one ok :()

TRACK TWO: THE BACKSTAGE PASS

turns out, lando norris was a menace with a vip pass.

he showed up at your next gig with a laminate and zero shame, propped against your soundcheck speakers like he belonged there. "play golden," he said.

you adjusted a mic. "make me."

he held up his phone. "i’ll donate 50k to charity."

"100k and you have to sing backup."

"deal."

he was terrible. voice-cracks and all. you loved it.

after the show, he cornered you by the snack table. "you’re different than i thought."

you licked frosting off a cupcake. "less mysterious artiste, more chaos gremlin?"

"more… real." his eyes flicked to your mouth. "it’s nice."

the cupcake turned to static on your tongue.

TRACK THREE: INTERLUDE (PRESS TROUBLE)

fame had rules.

1. don’t date within the industry.

2. definitely don’t date a driver.

3. absolutely don’t get caught sneaking out of lando norris’s hotel at 3am, even if all you did was eat crisps and watch top gear reruns.

too late.

X:

popcrave (8.2m):
breaking: global pop sensation y/n spotted leaving f1 star lando norris’s hotel. new power couple?

your manager panicked. his pr team panicked harder.

lando called, voice tight: "they’ve got me doing damage control. sky sports interview tomorrow."

you chewed your lip. "what are you gonna say?"

a pause. then, quietly: "dunno. what do you want me to say?"

the line went dead before you could answer.

TRACK FOUR: LIVE AND UNFILTERED

the interview went viral.

natalie evans: "rumors about you and y/n. any truth to them?"

lando fidgeted. "we’re… friends."

"just friends?"

he hesitated. he murmured, just above a whisper. "she writes lyrics on her arm in sharpie. hates champagne, loves those gummy rings. and when she really laughs, she snorts."

a shrug.

"dunno what you call that. doesn’t feel very just to me."

the internet combusted.

your phone exploded.

lan 💩 (🧡)

lan 💩 (🧡): sorry

you: shut up. bring me haribos.

lan 💩 (🧡): already got them. x

TRACK FIVE: FINAL MIX

next race, you showed up unannounced.

lando nearly choked when he spotted you in the paddock. "what’re you—"

you shoved a note into his hand.

he unfolded it. scanned the lyrics. blinked. "this is a love song."

"observant." you stole his cap. "i’ll play it for you. if you win."

he won.

so, you played it.

ENCORE

months later, lando crowd-surfed at your wembley show.

the tablions lost their minds.

you lost your voice screaming.

and when he kissed you mid-stage, the flashbulbs burst like fireworks.

"told you i’d make you famous," you grinned.

lando rolled his eyes. "piss off."

he was still smiling.

a/n: guys, do we want a prequel? i repeat, do we want a prequel??? and im sorry yet again for lando being too rich or this being just a little unreal 🙁🙁

(if one person says yes im posting it because i already made it 🥺 i got carried away. i think i work better when i’m sad)

[quill-vy]

sorry guys. was a bit MIA for a while, think i’m gonna be inactive for a bit more. dk when i’ll be back. heartbreak warfare. love you all.

[quill-vy]

[quill-vy]

no no no no no guys i can’t get over this no no stop guys stop stop im crying i’ve just cried twice do not do this to me i need them to get back together please just call him back we need them to get back together stop this nonsense i can’t do this anymore

♡ i'm a shameless caller (she's a full machine) ♡

or: a collection of lando's post-breakup voicemails (ones he knows he shouldn't be sending). he wonders if you listen to them. he wonders if you know how much he still loves you. fem!ex!reader x lando norris pt 2

warnings: someone tell the monster in my bed to stop making me write angst. the people deserve LOVE they deserve HAPPINESS they do not deserve this batshit crazy stuff i keep pulling out of my ass. somehow i feel like im always hormonal i don't know what it is ANYWAY XOXO

♡

voicemail 1: — [00:44]

"hey, baby. i know it's been a while. just—just wanted to tell you we were in japan today. suzuka. i remembered you said the fans there had the best signs. this kid had one with my face on a cartoon frog. [laughs] felt like something you would've sent me. i... hope you're okay. i hope you're happy. anyways. see you when i see you."

voicemail 2: — [00:22]

"did you see the race in bahrain today? i waved at the camera on lap 23. don't know why i did it. just kinda felt like maybe you were watching. i dunno if you were. you probably weren't. anyway. that one was for you."

voicemail 3: — [00:42]

"hi, love. i, uh, saw the picture of you. with him at that cafe near your flat. you were wearing that blue scarf, the one my mum likes on you. you look happy. you should be. that's all i ever wanted for you. [pause] anyway. the hotel in jeddah had those tiny soap bars you used to steal. i took three out of habit. let me know if you want them."

voicemail 4: — [00.21]

"i keep telling myself i should stop calling. it's not fair to you. you don't listen to these, i know you don't. but he doesn't know you like i do. that's not jealousy, i swear. no one knows you like i do. no one can."

voicemail 5: — [00.11]

"okay, i know i said i would stop, but the guys asked if i still talk to you. i said no. lied through my teeth. guess that's just what i do, now."

voicemail 6: — [00.46]

"maybe he does listen to these. if he does, i hope he knows you sleep with socks on and hate being kissed before you brush your teeth. i hope he knows you hate sparkling water. been drinking a lot of that, actually. it sucks. [pause] i hope he's good to you. i hope he deserves you."

voicemail 7: — [00.30]

"i, uh, found this dinner place in the city. you'd love it. there's a whole wall of plants on one side. it's like a jungle in there. [laughs] miss going to dinner with you, baby. miss hearing your voice. please call me. please.

voicemail 8: — [00.33]

"i'm about to head into another press thing, but i just wanted to tell you you were on my mind today. yeah. just... hope you're doing okay. i saw your post on instagram this morning, and... and yeah. you look happy. i hope you are.

voicemail 9: — [00.34]

"hi, baby. i thought of you at the race last weekend. thought about how much i miss sharing that with you. it's lonely. really lonely. [pause] i'm, uh, still wearing that bracelet you made me. probably gonna be buried with it, at this point. anyway. miss you, baby."

voicemail 10: — [1.27]

"mum told me she saw you today. said she ran into you. apparently you're... engaged. that's... that's good. that's really good. [pause] i always thought... god, i had the ring for months, you know? kept it in my race suit pocket. was gonna ask after melbourne last year, make it special. [pause] i still have it. can't seem to leave it at home. like maybe if i... [pause] like maybe if i have it with me, i'll turn a corner and you'll be there, and everything will make sense again. fuck. i love you. i love you. i love you. please pick up. for me, baby."

♡

note: OMG GOT MYSELF IN THE FEELS WRITING THIS!! thank you so so so much for all the support and love on my works you guys it means SO MUCH to me!! hope this can fill the hole that 'when it happened to me' left behind MWAH from gracie!!

[quill-vy]

DNF

DNF— Did Not Finish (loving you.)

Lando Norris x reader!

lando saw you at the paddock, post-race, standing in the sun like a memory he couldn’t quite let go of. you were looking for someone—he could tell by the way your eyes scanned the crowd, squinting slightly under the sharp austrian light. that blue dress, the one that hugged your curves so effortlessly, made his heart ache. your sunglasses rested on your head, hair glinting like it used to under a summer sky in cambridge.

you hadn’t seen him yet.

and for a moment, he hoped you wouldn’t.

but then you did.

your eyes found his, and it was like someone took a knife to his chest and twisted—because you were still the most beautiful thing in the world to him. and yet, not his anymore.

memories rushed in—too fast, too sharp.

wait. let’s rewind a bit.

in formula 1, a DNF means a race that ends too soon. sometimes from a crash, a mechanical failure, or a single mistake that costs everything. but this story? this isn’t about racing.

this is about how you did not finish loving him.

lando norris, with his untamed grin and that reckless, golden boy energy, was never going to be easy to walk away from. he was a storm you wanted to be caught in. the kind of boy who made forever feel tangible… until you realized it was a word he couldn’t quite grasp.

you gave him your heart like it was a trophy.

but.. love isn’t a race. and in the end, you didn’t cross the finish line together.

maybe he pushed too hard.
maybe you both did.
or maybe some stories aren’t meant to be completed—just felt, fiercely and imperfectly, until they burn out.

this was your DNF: not a failure. just an ending that came too soon.

lando norris used to be your best friend, because you clicked.

until he wasn’t just a friend any more.

you two were friends for six months before you got together, and it felt like the start of something real. easy laughter, long nights, too many inside jokes to count. there was nothing wrong at first.

but then it got messy.

you were in cambridge, chasing deadlines, drowning in books and expectations. he was chasing podiums and checkered flags, hopping time zones like stepping stones.

CAMBRIDGE

“lando, i have to study,” you’d said, calm but firm, fist clenching subtly.

“but you don’t even have school for the next few months—can’t you just come?” he snapped, frustration flickering across his face. he was looking at you.

you looked at him—really looked. the messy hair, the hoodie that smelled like him, the tired eyes that once felt like home. now, all you saw was the sharpness—disappointment. loneliness.

“i always have something to study,” you said gently. “that’s how it is here.”

he sighed and paced your bedroom like the walls were closing in. “i just thought… this weekend, you could make an exception. i only get a few days off, and i chose to spend them here. with you.”

your heart cracked. you knew that. you felt it in every 2 a.m. text, every glitchy video call from the other side of the world. every time you said goodnight in one timezone and good morning in another.

“i know,” you whispered. “and i’m grateful. but i can’t just drop everything. it’s not like your world. i don’t get many breaks. i’m barely keeping up.”

“so i’m a distraction now?”

you blinked. “that’s not what i said.”

“no,” he said, voice tight. “but it’s what you meant. when we started this, you knew my life. i never lied to you.”

“i know,” you said. “but knowing something and living it are two different things.”

the silence stretched between you—long enough to change something.

“i don’t want to be someone you resent,” he said, and it felt so final. but he continued, eyes flicking back up to you. “someone who keeps you from what you want.”

“you’re not,” you said, softly. “but i think we both know this isn’t working.”

his gaze met yours, and something behind his eyes shattered. “so what, that’s it?”

you gave a sad, almost bitter smile. “not a failure. just… an ending.”

and so there was no goodbye. no door slam. just the quiet hum of something once burning, now still.

still real.
still yours.
but not forever.

unless.

a year later (the scene in the first paragraph), you’re still in cambridge studying mechanical engineering.

your eyes locked with the tan boy in papaya, just a few feet away.

and without hesitation, you walked toward him.

“lando, oh my gosh.”

he didn’t move.

he’d seen you since the moment he walked out after he DNFed.

he blinked like he didn’t believe it was really you. “hey.”

“can i hug you?” you asked, breathless. “or is that… weird?”

he didn’t answer, just stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms like he’d been waiting a hundred races to do it again.

his grip was tight, almost desperate, and you buried your face in his shoulder like maybe time could rewind if you just held him hard enough.

you inhaled his scent, taking it back in together with past memories.

“you look…” he paused, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes squinting slightly. his hands held your waist. “you look happy.”

“so do you,” you said, even though his eyes said otherwise.

“do you wanna get a coffee?” he asked. “catch up?”

you nodded. “yeah. i’d like that.”

neither of you said it—but the moment hung in the air like the pause before lights out.

this wasn’t the start of a race.
but maybe, just maybe, it was another lap.

One Lap At A Time.

the coffee date.

the coffee shop was tucked away behind the paddock, quiet enough to hear the clink of ceramic and the low murmur of conversation. it wasn’t fancy—just two stools by a sunlit window and the soft whir of an espresso machine. but it felt like neutral ground, like neither of you had to pretend to be the versions you used to be.

lando held the door for you, and for a second, your fingers brushed. nothing dramatic. nothing cinematic. just warm skin, and a heartbeat that still hadn’t quite settled.

“you still drink flat whites?” he asked, glancing at you as you reached the counter.

you smiled, soft and surprised. “you remember?”

“‘course i do.” he looked down. “you used to always make me get one with you, even though i didn’t like them.”

a beat passed, while you looked into each other’s eyes.

“you never told me that.”

“you liked them. that was enough.”

that silence again—the kind that says too much without saying anything at all.

you took a seat by the window while he paid, watching the way the light kissed his profile.

he looked older.

not dramatically, but in that quiet, subtle way time leaves its fingerprints. sharper jaw, a touch of tired around the eyes, but still lando.

still him.

he slid your coffee across to you, then sat across the small table, tapping the rim of his cup.

“so,” he started, glancing out the window. “how’s cambridge?”

you exhaled through your nose, a small, rueful laugh.

you hand clutched your phone, “hard. exhausting. amazing, in ways i didn’t expect. i’m almost done, though. one more term.”

“i’m proud of you,” he said, instantly. “i mean it.”

your chest tightened. “thank you.”

a pause.

“and you?” you asked gently. “how’s… the circus?”

he laughed, really laughed, the kind that only you knew was genuine.

and the sound hit you like a wave. “chaotic, as always. but good. some days i still can’t believe it’s real.”

“you used to say that all the time,” you murmured, eyes drifting away. “after every race.”

“yeah,” he said, voice a little softer now. “and after every call with you.”

you looked down at your cup. the foam had started to settle, but your hands didn’t move. didn’t touch it.

“lando,” you said in a rather hushed tone, not quite sure what came next, only that something needed to. “i never stopped caring about you.”

he looked up, eyes searching yours. “i know.”

“i just… didn’t know how to hold everything. school. you. the distance. it felt like i was always choosing.”

“i know,” he said again, quieter this time. “and i didn’t make it easier. i kept asking you to meet me halfway when you were already trying to survive.”

you nodded, throat tight.

“i used to get mad,” he continued, fingers tracing the side of his cup. “like, really mad. y-you know.. how i am. thinking you were choosing school over me. but now i get it. i was asking you to pause your life while mine was speeding by.”

you smiled, a little sadly. “we were too young to get it right.”

“maybe,” he said. “or maybe we just ran out of time.”

or maybe it was a typical case of right person wrong time.

the sun shifted slightly, casting a gold glow on the table between you.

you took a breath. “do you ever think about… us?”

he didn’t hesitate. “all the time.”

“and?”

he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “and i think maybe… we needed that ending. to get to this moment. to figure out who we are without each other.”

you met his eyes. “and now that we know?”

he smiled. not cocky. not cheeky. just honest.

“maybe we try again. slowly. no races. no expectations. just… one lap at a time.”

you looked at him, really looked. and for the first time in a long time, your heart didn’t ache.

it hoped.

[quill-vy]

DNF

DNF— Did Not Finish (loving you.)

lando norris x reader!

Did Not Finish (loving you)—a sneak peek.

but.. love isn’t a race. and in the end, you didn’t cross the finish line together.

maybe he pushed too hard.
maybe you both did.
or maybe some stories aren’t meant to be completed—just felt, fiercely and imperfectly, until they burn out.

this was your DNF: not a failure. just an ending that came too soon.

a/n: wanna see how you guys like this one. tinge of angst, but recovery towards the end.

OUT JUNE 1st, 2025.

[quill-vy]

guys pls send ideas.!.1! i do any drivers, (i think)

love you guys so so so much. like wtf thank you??!?

mwah 💋

[quill-vy]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU

lando norris x bsf!reader

you and lando norris were a package deal, and you found out from the moment you met at each others’ front doors.

you stood there, still missing your two front teeth, with scraped knees and tangled hair, shyly waving at the boy in the oversized helmet who refused to take it off even when his mum asked him nicely twice. his cheeks were red from the heat, or maybe the nerves, and yours were sticky from the popsicle you’d dropped and tried to lick off your hand before his family arrived.

from that day on, your parents just… knew. that was it. done deal. there wasn’t a weekend that passed without one of you invading the other’s house, trailing dirt and laughter behind like breadcrumbs.

you learned to ride bikes together—well, kind of. lando rode first and crashed spectacularly into the neighbour’s bin. you followed five minutes later and scraped your elbow so bad you cried all the way home. he gave you half his last fruit snack, and you forgave him instantly, despite the fact that he dared you to ride down the hill in the first place.

ice cream became your sunday ritual. pistachio—lando’s favourite, not that his parents let him have it often. your mum would always buy two cones and hand one to him in secret while winking like she was committing some great crime. he’d light up like you’d given him gold, and you'd always end up with it smeared on your nose while he tried to lick the side before it dripped on his shirt.

you shared too much. secrets. bruises. dreams.

when you were ten, lando announced with total confidence that he was going to be a formula one driver. no hesitation, no maybes. he said it like it was already decided, already done.
you, in your spaghetti-stained hoodie, nodded solemnly and said you’d be there, cheering at every single one of his races. you meant it. even then.

and maybe, just maybe, you did.

16 — the almost

it happened in the back of lando’s dad’s car, cramped between too many limbs and somehow way too many stolen snacks. the summer before sixth form, when everything still felt close and possible and unspoken.

max was snoring already, head tipped against the seat like a bobblehead. you and lando were half-whispering, half-laughing, voices soft so you didn’t wake him. the sky outside was velvet dark, stars blinking through the rear windshield like they were listening in.

“think you’ll remember me when you’re famous?” you asked, nudging his arm.

he gave you a look. “obviously.”

“i mean it. you’ll be on magazine covers. you won’t even recognise me anymore. i’ll be… working in a café or something, and you’ll just walk right past it and not even notice me.”

“you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m not, it’s true!” you poked his side. “i just know how these stories go.”

he turned, looked at you in a way he rarely did. serious. still. and then, just like that, he kissed you.

not long. not intense. just a press of lips that tasted like sugar and cherry cola.

the cherry cola you two shared only a few hours ago.

three seconds at most. then he blinked, like waking up from a dream, and leaned back.

neither of you said anything.

max snored loudly in his sleep and rolled over, knocking his elbow into your knee.

you didn’t talk about it. not the next day, or the next month. not even when school started again and things got busy and weird and exciting.

but you thought about it. all the time. in the quiet moments. in the loud ones too.

20 — the distance

lando got his f1 seat.

you got a job in paris.

no big fights. no shouting matches or dramatic goodbyes. it wasn’t that kind of break. it was more like a slow fade, like a song turning to static on the radio.

the kind that hurt the most.

the daily calls became every other day calls. the every other day calls became weekly calls. the weekly calls became fortnightly calls. the fortnightly calls became monthly, and then they just… stopped.

the double texting, or a long string of messages turned to just “miss u” and “hope ur okay” and eventually stopped altogether.

it was silent, the way it ended.

but oh, it hurt.

he never thought you noticed, but he experienced the pain of being “left”.

you never thought he noticed, but you felt it more than he ever would.

he was your everything.

and you thought you were just his something.

he was everywhere now. on tv. on posters. on billboards in the cities you wandered through with coffee in hand and something tight in your chest.

you still watched every race. still held your breath during every overtake, every close call.

and.. lando just became another driver to you now. it wasn’t a complete, overwhelming feeling, but you definitely felt it, somehow. you felt as if he didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. not personally, at least.

you didn’t know, but he still wore the bracelet you made him at fourteen. frayed now. the black thread a little faded. but the initials on the plate were still there. yours and his. like they belonged.

sometimes, you wondered if he ever looked at it and thought about that day in the car.
about the kiss.
about you.

24 — the reunion

you didn’t plan to see him again.

but then your brother had to go and get married, and of course your whole childhood showed up with her.
of course lando was invited.
of course he came.

you spotted him before he saw you. leaning against the bar, glass in hand, laughing at something some girl said. suit sharp, hair longer, smile the same.

he looked older. taller, too. but still him. still lando.

“you cut your hair,” he said when you finally got the guts to walk over.

his fingers twitched like they remembered it, remembered you.

“you grew yours,” you said back, and then smiled without meaning to.

there was a beat of silence. a shift. a memory in the air.

and you both knew which one it was.

“missed you,” he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it.

you wanted to say it back, but it stuck somewhere in your throat, where the champagne burned a little too sharp.

it kind of happened like this:

too much champagne. an old oak tree. the garden you used to play hide-and-seek in.

lando’s hands on your waist. your fingers in his hair, or on his nape.

the music muffled by the walls of the house, your breath loud in your ears.

“i think,” he said, forehead to yours, “i’ve been in love with you since i was sixteen.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i’ve been in love with you. since that summer. probably before then. definitely since then.”

you didn’t answer with words. you didn’t need to. you leaned in, or maybe he did.

your lips met again, and this time it wasn’t three seconds. it wasn’t hesitant or scared or stolen.

it was slow. real. the kind of kiss you wait years for. one of those which hold pent-up feelings.

you sat beside him in his bed, watchinga replayed race, with your hand fiddling with his shirt mindlessly as you looked up at the boy while you rested your head on his shoulder.

you were staring. you knew that. well, you didn’t care.

“you’re staring,” lando muttered, peeking up from his phone.

you hummed, not denying it. “just thinkin’.”

“about?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

you nodded toward the tv, where highlights from his latest race were playing on loop.

“how i used to promise i’d watch you win.” a pause. “never imagined i’d be doing it from your bed, though.”

lando grinned, all boyish charm and mischief, and rolled over to pin you under him. “life’s full of surprises.”

you laughed, hand curling into the fabric of his shirt.

and somewhere, deep down, that version of you—the one with missing teeth and scraped knees, the one who waved at the boy in the helmet—was still waving. still watching.

still in love.

and this time, for real, he was watching back.

now, if 16-year-old you was told this information, she would laugh in your face.

but, this was really happening.

26

here you were, in the middle of the park you both used to stroll in when you were teenagers, in the middle of winter break.

well, it wasn’t that cold, but lando knew how your fingers went just a tad bit colder when you really began to feel it in your body. without a word, he slung his jacket over your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple like a good boyfriend would.

"thank you, love," you smiled, looking up at the boy.

"no worries, pretty." he tapped your chin, before holding it and bringing your lips to his in a quick kiss.

you both slowed down walking for a bit, and lando eventually stopped you both at the tree you always sat at during school holidays to have picnics. he held your waist, leaning down to press one more, lasting kiss on your lips before letting out a shaky breath.

"lan?" you whispered, after he pulled away. "what happened? are you okay?"

he quickly nodded, squeezing your sides without a word.

"um, y/n, bubs, let me have your full attention for a bit? don’t think about taylor swift, just for a second." he chuckled softly at his own comment, bluish green eyes looking into yours.

"f’course, what’s up?" you asked with a comforting smile.

"it’s just… i have a question." he says softly, a vulnerability you’ve never heard before.

you nodded subtly, prompting him to continue.

and then…

he was on one knee, fishing the black, velvet box out of his pocket.

"pretty, you’ve.. you’ve been uh.. with me, all my life." he whispered, voice shaking just like his hands were.

holy shit, so this was happening.

"you’ve given me too many chances. honestly, i’m starting to think i don’t even deserve you." he laughs softly, almost bitterly, looking up at you before darting his eyes back down to the box.

your eyes welled up with tears.

"i regret the time i didn’t spend with you when i was in my peak. and i want to spend forever repaying you." he says, voice barely over a whisper, trembling.

his hands fumbled with the opening of the box before he opened it towards you.

"y/n y/l/n. will you.. uh, make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?" gosh, he was so nervous you’d say no.

"yes." you replied, no hesitation at all.

he stood up, slipping the ring onto your finger like it was the most natural thing ever before he pulled you into a lasting kiss.

---

lando norris did not do things quietly.

this became abundantly clear when he accidentally leaked your engagement during a post-race interview.

"lando! thoughts on your podium finish?"

he grinned, still buzzing from champagne. "feels amazing, but not as amazing as my fiancée saying yes last week—"

the reporter blinked. "your… what?"

the entire paddock found out before you did.

your phone exploded with notifications mid-meeting.

george [3:14pm]: so when were you going to tell me i’m best man????

max [3:15pm]: i CALLED IT. PAY UP, CARLOS.

you sighed. lando’s text came through last:

lando [3:17pm]: …oops?

---

"absolutely not," you said for the tenth time that hour.

lando pouted, sprawled across your couch with a binder labeled “WEDDING IDEAS!!!” in horrifying orange sharpie. "but imagine how cool it would be to arrive in the mclaren."

"we are not turning our wedding into a pit stop."

"fine." he sighed dramatically. "but i’m wearing papaya under my suit."

you threw a pillow at him.

you found lando sitting on the bathroom floor at 2am, three days before the wedding, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

"lan?"

"what if i’m shit at this?" he whispered.

you sank down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. "at what? being my husband?"

he nodded, jaw tight. "i don’t… what if i mess it up?"

you took his hand, pressing his palm to your engagement ring. "remember when you asked me to marry you? how scared you were?"

"yeah."

"and yet here we are." you kissed his knuckles. "you’ve never let me down before. you won’t start now."

lando’s breath hitched. "fuck, i love you."

"gross," you teased. "save it for the vows."

“kidding, i love you too, obviously.” you whispered after a pause, kissing his temple.

---

27

lando cried during your first look.

you laughed at him walking down the aisle.

max cried during his best man speech (which was mostly just him roasting lando for being "obsessed with you since, like, birth").

but when lando pulled you close during your first dance, his voice was steady in your ear:

"told you i’d make it up to you."

you laughed, spinning under his arm. "you’ve got forever to try."

he kissed you as the fireworks went off—just like he had under that tree, all those months ago.

some promises were worth the wait.

---

The End.

a/n: so this one took a lot longer but is longer than the others… but i love it! (love u guys more)

it took so much planning, but it’s totally worth it.

feedback is appreciated!

[quill-vy]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU

lando norris x bsf!reader

the way i loved you: a sneak peek 💋

a/n: this seems really confusing for now, but you’ll understand when you read the full story. or connect the dots…

neither of you said anything.

max snored loudly in his sleep and rolled over, knocking his elbow into your knee.

you didn’t talk about it. not the next day, or the next month. not even when school started again and things got busy and weird and exciting.

[quill-vy]

UNDER THE MONACO LIGHTS

IN WHICH

after the monaco win, charles leclerc finds himself drawn to you— a fellow monegasque and longtime friend. but beneath the glittering lights of your hometown, unspoken feelings begin to surface.

after the win in monaco, charles leclerc found himself pulled toward you—his longtime friend, a fellow monegasque. the crowd’s cheers still reverberated in his ears as he stepped away from the ferrari garage, adrenaline slowly ebbing from his veins. a win in his hometown, on home soil—something he had dreamed of for years. he had smiled for the cameras, answered the questions, and popped the champagne. but through it all, his eyes had quietly searched for one person.

you.

you stood by the harbor, where the water shimmered in the glow of the city lights. the setting sun bathed everything in warm gold, and the breeze carried the salty scent of the sea. for a moment, charles forgot about the race. all he saw was you.

he walked toward you, his racing suit still unzipped halfway, revealing the red layer underneath. he looked tired, yes, but there was something else in his eyes now—something electric, alive.

“you were amazing today,” you said, your voice steady and filled with quiet pride—the kind that only someone who had known him before the fame could feel.

charles gave a small, lopsided smile, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “i still can’t believe it. a win in monaco… i’ve dreamed of this forever,” he said, his voice almost breathless. “but… it feels different.”

“why?” you asked softly, meeting his gaze.

“because you were here. i wanted to share it with you,” he said quietly.

you smiled, a soft, understanding smile. “you made monaco proud,” you said simply, stepping closer to him.

charles glanced down, his shoe nudging a loose pebble at his feet. the tension in the air shifted—subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. something unspoken passed between you.

he had known you forever. through summers spent by the marina, sneaking into empty grandstands, running through the narrow alleys of monaco. you were a constant in his life, even when the rest of it spun faster than he could keep up with. but now, standing in the quiet after the race, something was different.

charles looked at you, his eyes lingering on your face, before quickly glancing down at your lips. then, as if catching himself, he forced his gaze away.

“i was thinking,” he began, his voice low and uncertain, “maybe we could celebrate properly. just the two of us?”

you hesitated, your breath catching in your throat. “what did you have in mind?”

a smile softened his features, warmer and more intimate than before. “dinner. at that little place by the water—the one we used to go to.”

you knew exactly the one he meant. small, tucked away, with rickety wooden chairs and the best seafood in the city. it was the same place where, years ago, you had sat together, sharing simple meals and dreaming about the future. it was there that charles had first wondered what it might be like if the two of you were something more.

“i’d love that,” you said, your smile growing.

as the last light of day slipped behind the hills, the sky above monaco turned a deep indigo, speckled with stars. the sounds of the city softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the space between the two of you.

charles reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before gently intertwining them. his hand was warm, familiar, and for the first time in a long time, everything else—the race, the pressure, the endless pursuit of victory—faded into the background. beneath the monaco lights, it was just you and him. and maybe, finally, it was the right time.

the restaurant hadn’t changed much. the same creaky floorboards, the same old man behind the bar who gave charles a knowing nod when you walked in together. the same candlelit tables scattered along the terrace, overlooking the calm stretch of water where yachts rocked gently in the harbor.

you both chose the same table as always—the one by the railing, second from the end. it was the same spot where, years ago, you had sat together, sharing pasta and laughing about who would finish theirs first. now, everything felt a little quieter, a little older, but still familiar.

charles leaned back in his chair, his racing suit replaced with something more casual—a black shirt, sleeves pushed up, collar slightly open. his curls were still damp from a quick shower, and there was a peacefulness on his face that you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“you remember that summer?” he asked after the waiter left, his voice warm. “when we came here almost every night? we were so broke we just shared one plate of gnocchi and pretended we were full.”

you laughed, a real, easy laugh. “and they let us. i think they liked us.”

charles smiled, but it was softer now, more reflective. “i liked us.”

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the clink of glasses and the soft hum of conversation filled the space around you, but the weight of the moment was still there, hanging between you. charles looked down at his hands, turning his glass slowly in his fingers.

“i used to think if i ever got here—if i ever stood on that monaco podium—it would be the happiest day of my life,” he said quietly.

“and was it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

charles looked up at you, his gaze intense. “almost,” he said, the word slipping from his lips like a confession. “but the only thing that kept running through my mind was you. wishing you were there. wishing i’d told you sooner.”

you felt your heart skip a beat. all the years of shared memories, the late-night phone calls, the way his eyes always searched for you in the crowd—it all made sense now. it had always been more than friendship. even when neither of you had said it.

“charles…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“i’m not trying to make this complicated,” he said quickly, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “but i’ve loved you for a long time. maybe it wasn’t always clear—not even to me—but it’s always been there. always.”

your breath caught in your throat. your fingers trembled as you reached across the table, finding his hand. “i think… i’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

charles’s smile was slow, almost relieved, as if a weight had been lifted from him. he turned your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering for a moment that felt like an eternity.

“so,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet yours, “what do we do now?”

you squeezed his hand, your voice steady. “we stop waiting.”

and under the soft, golden glow of the monaco lights, with the city humming quietly around you, you both began something new. something that had always been there, waiting for the right moment.

a/n: ooo first CL fic. how was it?

this one’s for you bae 💋 @tabisswag

[quill-vy]

UNDER THE MONACO LIGHTS

pairings: Charles Leclerc x reader

UNDER THE MONACO LIGHTS: A SNEAK PEEK

IN WHICH

after the monaco win, charles leclerc finds himself drawn to you— a fellow monegasque and longtime friend. but beneath the glittering lights of your hometown, unspoken feelings begin to surface.

a win in his hometown, on home soil—something he had dreamed of for years. he had smiled for the cameras, answered the questions, and popped the champagne. but through it all, his eyes had quietly searched for one person.

you.

a/n: first ever CL16 fic, kinda nervous… 🤭🤭

[quill-vy]

the winner takes it all

TW suicide attempt (sleeping pills overdose), social media hate, mental health struggles, depression (lmk if i missed anything)

feat. lando norris

lyrics when oscar wins in bahrain, lando loses everything: credibility, respect... and almost his life, too

maddie i'm tired of people hating on lando for literally no reason, so i wrote about it

2045 words

The race had gone… good. Not great, but not necessarily bad either.

Sure, receiving a five-second penalty for overshooting his grid box at the start wasn’t exactly optimal, but Lando had still managed to get a podium, going from P6 to P3. And you really thought—you hoped—that would be enough for him.

But the moment you saw him stepping up there, you knew it wasn’t.

He did everything right, as if it was all part of a routine he’d learned to perform like some kind of circus monkey: wave, clap, smile. Repeat. He took his trophy, listened to the anthem, sprayed the champagne—turning his back to Oscar and going straight for Andrea.

Rookie mistake.

The media noticed. Of course they did. Had they ever missed anything when it came to Lando, after all?

Within minutes, the clip of him “ignoring” his teammate had gone viral, and suddenly, it was Hungary 2024 all over again. The usual criticism was quick to follow:

he is a good driver but actually so incredibly immature

grow up Lando, you win some and lose some

Piastri making strides 💪 Lando going backwards

It always ended up with people spitting venom at him at every given opportunity—even for something as stupid as this—so you didn’t give it much thought, praying that Lando would do the same.

When you scrolled down your Instagram page, however, your heart clenched at the sight of his post-race interview, already trending on every F1-related account. He was clearly disappointed with the result, the car… himself.

You opened the comments, expecting to find, if not sympathy, at least some basic human decency.

But you should’ve known better.

yes lando you aren’t good enought

This guy is not a world champion 😂😂

If you can’t handle your emotions, you’re not strong enough. Thats why he never wins a worldtitle

During his rookie days I’d have some sympathy but now he just looks like a whiney child

He will be 2nd driver soon

Tears clouded your vision as you clutched the phone so hard you thought it might break.

You wished it did.

Maybe that would’ve finally erased the cruelty, the hate, the insults people apparently liked to throw at a 25-year-old boy who was already carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—a world that was ready to jump at his throat the moment he slipped up.

You needed to find him before something like that could happen again. So you ran.

The cooldown room was still buzzing with electricity when you stormed in, the kind that lingers only after champagne-soaked celebrations and loud smiles. Your eyes searched every corner of it, looking for a curly head they didn’t find, landing on Oscar instead, drenched from head to toe and radiating happiness while he chatted with Zak.

“Hey,” he smiled warmly as soon as he spotted you, his expression shifting immediately when he noticed how tense yours was. “Something wrong?”

“Lando?” It wasn’t an answer, but you hoped Oscar would catch on either way.

You didn’t like how he frowned in confusion instead.

“He told me he was going back to the hotel with you,” he explained, brows furrowed.

Your stomach dropped, color draining from your face.

Panic.

The second he saw your reaction, it clicked in his head, too. “Wait, why would he…”

You didn’t let him finish—just turned around and left, sprinting out of the paddock like your life depended on it.

Because, even if yours didn’t, Lando’s might.

And you knew what Oscar was about to say. It was the same question that gnawed at you as you ran one red light after the other, your mind going faster than your car ever could.

Why would he lie about where he is?

The silence hit you like a slap in the face when you finally entered the hotel room.

Not welcoming. Not peaceful.

Empty.

Like something was missing.

There was no background music playing in the kitchen, no faint chattering coming from the TV you usually left on, no white noise of any sort… just eerie, deafening silence.

But your boyfriend didn’t do silence.

He hated it.

“Lando?” Your voice echoed off the walls. Too loud. Too scared. “Baby, it’s me.”

Still nothing.

You paced around the apartment like a ghost, looking for any sign of his presence in the shadows that crowded the place.

It was the bathroom light, bleeding through the darkness from beneath a half-open door, that ended up catching your attention. You reached for it like a moth to a flame, gaze dropping to the floor as soon as you found yourself in the doorway.

Your knees followed it.

He was there. Slumped against the wall, his head lolling sideways, fingers wrapped loosely around a bottle of sleeping pills.

When you took it from his hand to check it, there were only a few of them left.

You almost threw up.

“Lando. No, no, no, shit–Lando, wake up. Baby, please, wake up, don’t do this to me–” Tears streamed down your cheeks, his name falling out of your mouth like a plea as you gently cupped his jaw with your palms.

His eyelids fluttered open at the sound of your voice. Slow. Heavy. As if something so simple had suddenly become incredibly painful.

“That’s it, baby. Just keep your eyes open for me, okay? Stay awake, I’m here. I’m here.” You kept repeating that last sentence like a mantra, running one of your hands through his curls while you rushed to dial the emergency number with the other, your fingers shaking so much you only got it right on the third try.

You didn’t give the operator on the other end a chance to speak when they finally picked up, a river of disconnected sentences flowing out of your mouth—he’s barely conscious, he took some pills, I don’t know how many, please hurry up.

Then, just as you were about to hang up, his lips parted, a whisper so low you could’ve imagined it pushing past them.

“I fucked up.”

Yes, you fucked up, you wanted to scream, but the relief of finally hearing his voice, of knowing he could still breathe, only brought more tears to your eyes.

“You’re okay.” Lie. “You’re okay, and that’s all that matters. You hear me? Just–” you choked on your words. “Just stay with me, please.”

“M’tired.” His voice was hoarse, scraping his throat like he’d been screaming for hours. Maybe he had.

“I know, baby, I know,” you sobbed, pressing your forehead against his—raw, desperate, alive. “But hold on a little longer. Just a little, okay? Shit, Lan, I’m sorry....”

I’m sorry I didn’t see it coming.

***

The next few hours were a blur.

Red and blue lights. White gowns.

You refused to let go of Lando’s hand while the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance, holding it even tighter when they put needles into his arms and ran fluids through his veins, your fingers linked to his like a lifeline.

For him or yourself, you didn’t know anymore.

They told you he was lucky. That if you hadn’t found him and acted so quickly, he could’ve–

You didn’t want to think about it.

Which was hard when the only thing you could see was how frail your boyfriend looked on that bed, his skin as pale as the blanket he was tucked under, small and helpless like a child.

You didn’t leave his side for a second, caressing his face with the same gentleness and care of a mother while you lulled him softly—allowing yourself to pretend.

Pretend he’d just gone back to sleep after a bad dream.

Pretend he wasn’t surrounded by machines that lived for him after he stopped trying to.

Pretend you didn’t almost give up, too, when you saw him limp on the bathroom floor back at the hotel.

***

It was 3 a.m. when he finally gave the first signs of life.

A beep on the monitor. A sharp, weak inhale as he stirred.

He blinked.

“You’re awake,” you choked out a laugh, relief washing over you as you took his hand between your trembling ones and planted a kiss on his knuckles.

His skin beneath your lips felt warm, familiar.

The chuckle that left his, not so much.

“You’re surprised.”

Bitterness. Guilt. Shame.

You froze and glanced up at him, a chill running down your spine at the insinuation hidden behind his words.

He didn’t meet your gaze.

“Lando.”

He flinched, staring at the ceiling like he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing the reflection of his mistake on your face if he turned toward you instead.

As if it was easier to ignore you rather than acknowledge your concern.

“Lando, look at me. Please.”

You heard it before you saw it: his breath hitching when you begged him. Begged him to let you in, to show you the demons he’d been carrying alone for too long—so long that they’d almost taken over him.

Then, a single tear ran down his cheek.

And another.

And another.

Until he couldn’t stop them anymore, and they just kept spilling from his eyes, each one heavier than the one before.

Without a second thought, you crawled into bed beside him, letting him bury his face in the crook of your neck as you muttered sweet nothings against his temple, fighting to hold yourself together and be strong for the both of you.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, violent sobs racking his chest. Your hands drew soothing paths down his back, and you wished that could be enough to stop his shoulders from shaking like there was an earthquake wrecking him from the inside.

“For what, baby?” you asked, voice laced with the kind of sadness that only witnessing the person you love trying to self-destroy himself could bring.

“For... being like this. I hate it. I fucking hate it. And I don’t–” he gasped, out of breath. “–shit, I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Because you don’t have to. There’s nothing to fix, Lan. I know people expect you to, but you’re not a robot. You’re a human being, and you’re allowed to break. Okay?”

“It hurts,” he sniffled, though you could feel the tension starting to leave his body under your touch.

He lay there for what felt like hours, curled into your side like a baby while you held him close to your heart, hoping he’d hear how fast it beat and realized that it only ached for him.

The first rays of light filtered through the small hospital window when Lando’s breathing finally slowed down, matching your own.

You almost thought he'd fallen asleep—peaceful, at last—but then you felt him shift against you, his brown locks tickling your throat when he pulled back slightly to look up at you.

His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, eyelashes sticking together, wet with tears, but still undeniably, utterly him.

“I didn’t want to die,” he whispered, realization dawning on him as soon as those words left him mouth.

You didn’t miss the flicker of fear in his gaze, either: it terrified him thinking about how close he’d been to ending it all—when he actually didn’t want to.

“I was just... tired, I guess.” He sighed deeply, almost to prove his point. He really did look exhausted. “And they were getting too loud.”

“Who? People online? You know I always tell you not to worry about what they sa–”

“The voices in my head.”

The way he said it, as if that was something he’d learned to live with the hard way, was like a punch to the gut.

“Then you scream louder. And I’ll scream with you until the only voices you can hear are yours and mine. Because it’s you who should have the power to silence them, not the other way around. Understood?”

He nodded, weak but trustful, his wide eyes a sea of blue and green as you stared into them.

“I love you,” you added, gently brushing your lips against his forehead. “Even when you think nobody does.”

“Promise?” he croaked, voice breaking as he nuzzled closer into the comforting heat of your chest.

“Promise.”

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[quill-vy]

THE LANDO EFFECT

IN WHICH

Lando Norris was your boyfriend, and he definitely had something on you. well, for better or for worse!

lando norris was just a boy, after all.

a boy with too much talent and not enough patience.

a boy who laughed like he’d never learned how to care, a boy who kissed you in the rain after a shit qualifying session and said, “fuck it, let’s get pizza,” like that could fix everything. and somehow, it did.

that was the thing about lando. he was immature in the way that made you roll your eyes but grin anyway.

the smallest details like, he’d send you memes at 3 am after a race, voice notes of him singing horribly off-key, and pictures of his dog with captions like “he misses u more than me.” well that’s obviously a lie. you knew he missed you like a withdrawal symptom.

you made him feel like he wasn’t just a driver.

and he helped you realise how terribly perfect you were, well, to him.

but then there were the other moments. the ones that made your ribs ache. like when he’d stare at his phone after a bad race, jaw clenched, and you’d see the weight of the world press down on him. or when he’d cancel plans last minute, voice tight with guilt, and you’d swallow your disappointment because, of course, mclaren came first.

“you deserve better than this,” he mumbled once, forehead against yours in some dimly lit hotel room.

you laughed, but it came out shaky. “yeah, well. too bad i’m stupid for you.”

he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. the taste of him was electric and soft, like the calm before the storm. he kissed you like you were the only thing he had left in the world, and maybe, just maybe, he thought you were.

MAX FEWTRELL

“she’s too good for you,” max said, watching you across the paddock, laughing with oscar over some inside joke.

lando didn’t even argue. just took a swig of his red bull and said, “tell me something i don’t know.”

max raised an eyebrow, but he could tell lando wasn’t in the mood to talk.

maybe he was right.

maybe you were too good for him.

maybe he didn’t deserve you, but it didn’t change the fact that every time he looked at you, his chest tightened like he couldn’t breathe without you there.

lando wasn’t good at talking about feelings. he was good at laughing them off, distracting you with dumb jokes, and pretending like nothing was wrong. but deep down, he knew.

he always knew.

“it’s not that i don’t care,” he muttered one night as you sat on his lap, your fingers running through his hair. “it’s just… i’m scared, okay? scared that i’ll fuck it all up.”

you kissed him then, not to shut him up, but to show him. to remind him that love wasn’t about being perfect—but it was about trying. and lando was trying. god, he was trying his best. he just didn’t know how to let you in. not all the way. not yet.

THE BREAKING POINT

it happened after vegas.

a crash. not his fault, but it didn’t matter—the car was wrecked, his race was over, and the second he stormed past you without a word, you knew.

you found him in the garage later, still in his suit, hands gripping his helmet like he wanted to throw it.

“lando.”

he didn’t look up. “not now.”

“yes now.” you stepped closer. “you don’t get to shut me out every time it gets hard.”

“i don’t—” he exhaled sharply. “i don’t know how to do this, okay? the racing, the fucking media, you—”

you swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “i’m not asking you to choose,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “i’m asking you to let me in.”

for a second, he looked so young it hurt. like a boy who still thought the world was black and white, that if he messed up, everything would break. but there was so much more to him than that. he just needed someone to remind him. someone to show him it was okay to be scared, to not always have the answers.

then he pulled you into his arms, his breath hot against your neck. his hands shook slightly, and you could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. “i’m trying.”

you kissed him then, softly, not to fix things but just to be with him, to remind him that he wasn’t alone. in that moment, it didn’t matter what happened next. all that mattered was the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him together.

The Lando Effect.

it was messy. it was stupid. but it was all yours.

lando had a way of making everything feel like it could fall apart, but somehow, it never did.

there was something about the way he would look at you, eyes wide and vulnerable, like he was scared of you leaving but didn’t know how to ask you to stay. you didn’t need him to say it, though.

you could see it in the way he held onto you, the way his hand would slip into yours when he thought no one was watching.

you didn’t have to tell him you loved him, because you both knew. it was in the quiet moments, the little things—like when he’d text you at 2 am to ask if you were awake, just to hear your voice. just to hear your voice.

this man was down bad.

when he showed up at your door two weeks later, hair a mess, eyes wild, you knew something had changed.

“i think i love you,” he said, like the words that he never knew how to say had slipped out before he could stop them. he looked at you, his face flushed with that mixture of excitement and fear, and for a second, it felt like everything stopped.

he just went down just for you.

“i love you too, baby.”

you kissed him then, soft and slow, tasting forever like it was the only thing that mattered. you didn’t need words, but you said them. just to reassure him. just for him to trust you.

but the kiss said it all. he was still lando, still messy and chaotic and a little broken, but he was yours.

and that was enough.

and then max, who conveniently lived in the opposite apartment room from you, ruined it by yelling “get a room!” from the hallway, but whatever. romance was dead anyway.

a/n: noooo this was short but it’s okay

did you see what i did there with the black and white 🤭🤭 i’m a genius ✅✅

i have a longer one loaded guys (TRUST)

[quill-vy]

GUYS HOW DO I GET WORD COUNTS

[quill-vy]

THE LANDO EFFECT

a/n: a little look for my upcoming work, the lando effect! it should be out tomorrow, because it’s kind of short & i wanna work on something else (😉)!

hope you enjoy!

IN WHICH

Lando Norris was your boyfriend, and he definitely had something on you. well, for better or for worse!

for a second, he looked so young it hurt. like a boy who still thought the world was black and white, that if he messed up, everything would break. but there was so much more to him than that. he just needed someone to remind him. someone to show him it was okay to be scared, to not always have the answers.

[quill-vy]

WHOOPS, FELL IN LOVE!

warnings! use of alcohol, swearing and suggestive comments (ish) (let me know if there’s any more!)

a/n: i wrote this a while back, kind of before i began posting on here… i just wanted to say thank you to anyone who has supported me so far and helping me gain the confidence to post this! i tried to make some tweaks over the last day or so, but it was kind of like 12am so…….. don’t kill me if nothing makes sense ok 💔

the night had started like any other—lando losing at fifa, max talking endless shit, and you curled up on the couch with a cocktail carlos had sworn was "not that strong" (it was, and you were already feeling it). the flat was comfortably messy, the low hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional shout of frustration from the tv.

lando groaned dramatically as his virtual player missed yet another wide-open goal, flinging the controller onto the coffee table like it had personally betrayed him.

“honestly, you’re shit at this,” max said, grinning as he leaned forward to grab another slice of pizza from the box sitting between you. he chewed obnoxiously, the smug expression on his face growing with every bite.

“i am not,” lando muttered, collapsing against the cushions like his soul had just left his body. “you’re just cheating.”

you laughed, taking a slow sip of your cocktail before nudging lando’s foot with your own. “how do you even cheat at fifa? are you hacking the game from your brain or something?”

he gave you a look, one that screamed betrayal, and then narrowed his eyes. almost dangerously. you knew that look. that was the look he got when he was about to do something deeply unwise, usually involving a dare, a terrible idea, or both.

“i bet you can’t go a whole month without hooking up with anyone,” lando said suddenly, pointing at max like he’d just cracked the code to world peace.

max nearly choked on his pizza. “easy,” he said through a laugh, brushing crumbs from his shirt. “i could do that in my sleep.”

“bullshit,” lando fired back instantly. “you, max verstappen? the man who flirts with anything that breathes? please. i’d pay good money to watch you try.”

you shook your head, smiling behind your glass. “honestly, i’ll bet you can’t even go a week,” you said, turning the tables. “you’re worse than he is. you can’t go three days without flirting with someone. bare minimum!”

that shut him up.

max cracked up, half-snorting as he leaned over to fist-bump you. “she’s got a point, mate.”

lando’s mouth fell open in exaggerated offense. “i am not that bad.”

you raised your eyebrows. “lando, last week you tried to flirt with a flight attendant and the woman sitting in the exit row. within twenty minutes of each other.”

“that was just being friendly!”

“sure,” max said, still laughing. “real friendly.”

lando crossed his arms over his chest, clearly pretending not to be flustered. “fine. you want proof? let’s make it a challenge.”

“i already made it a challenge,” you said, sitting up straighter. “one week. no flirting, no hookups, nothing. just wholesome, monk-level celibacy.”

lando tilted his head, considering. “and if i make it?”

you paused. “then i’ll…” you tried to think of something suitably embarrassing, something that would annoy you enough to make the bet mean something. before you could speak, lando grinned.

“you’ll be my personal assistant for a race weekend,” he declared triumphantly. “full service. wake-up calls, coffee orders, dealing with media — everything.”

you groaned. “no way. that’s evil.”

“scared?”

his tone was maddeningly smug, and the worst part was that it worked. you felt your heart kick up a little at the challenge, at the way his eyes danced with amusement like he already thought he’d won.

“fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way your skin was suddenly very aware of his proximity. “but if you lose, you have to wear that godawful neon orange suit to the next gala.”

max nearly fell off the couch. “oh, yes. this i need in my life.”

lando wrinkled his nose. “that thing? the one with the rhinestones?”

“and the matching shoes,” you added sweetly.

he hesitated for a moment, weighing his pride against the sheer horror of that suit. then, with a resigned sigh, he stuck out his hand.

“deal.”

you took it, your fingers brushing his as you shook. his skin was warm, his grip firm, and you told yourself not to read into the way he held on for just a beat longer than necessary.

this was fine.

this was totally, absolutely fine.

except it wasn’t. not even a little.

---

you didn’t think lando would actually take the bet seriously.

but then he showed up at your hotel room the next morning, sunglasses perched on his head and a ridiculous grin on his face. "ready to babysit?"

you blinked. "what?"

"the bet," he said, like it was obvious. "if i'm not allowed to flirt, someone's gotta make sure i don't accidentally break the rules." he wiggled his eyebrows. "that's you."

you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "no way."

"scared i'll win?"

"scared i'll strangle you before the week's over," you muttered, but you grabbed your jacket anyway.

it became a routine after that. lando dragged you everywhere—paddock interviews, sponsor events, even team meetings. you sat through endless debriefs, biting back laughter as he shot you desperate looks every time a journalist or fan got a little too friendly.

"you're enjoying this," he accused after one particularly brutal press session where a reporter had spent the entire time batting her eyelashes at him.

you smirked. "immensely."

lando groaned, slumping against the wall. "this is torture."

"poor baby," you cooed, patting his cheek. "can't handle not being able to charm everyone you meet?"

he caught your wrist before you could pull away, his grip gentle but firm. "maybe i only wanna charm one person," he murmured.

your breath hitched.

then he winked and let you go, strolling off like he hadn't just short-circuited your brain.

asshole.

---

the problem was, the more time you spent together, the harder it got to ignore the things you'd spent years burying.

it started off as something light, something stupid, it was just a bet, a game between friends who should’ve known better. but somewhere between the endless days of lando dragging you around like his emotional support human and the quiet nights in hotel rooms where the only light came from the glow of the tv, something shifted. something you couldn’t name without making it real.

like the way his laugh always came a half-second after yours, as if he was listening for it. the way he started leaning into your space without thinking, shoulder pressed to yours during long meetings, fingers brushing yours during lunch like it was instinct. the way his gaze lingered a little too long, soft around the edges, like you were something fragile he was afraid to break.

he never said anything, not directly. but he didn’t have to.

it was in the way he waited for you after interviews. in the way he stood between you and the occasional overeager fan, not possessive but protective. it was in the way he started bringing you coffee in the mornings, always exactly how you liked it, always with a quiet smile that said he’d been paying attention for a lot longer than you thought.

and you, well, you were screwed.

you tried to act normal. kept telling yourself it was just the bet, just lando being dramatic. but deep down, you knew better. because every time he touched you, even casually, your skin burned. every time he smiled at you across a crowded room, you felt like the only person in the world. and every time he looked at you like that—like you mattered, you had to fight the urge to fall to your knees.

one night, after a long day of travel and too many media obligations, you both collapsed onto his hotel bed without even thinking about it. some terrible movie played in the background, neither of you really watching it. your legs were tangled loosely, your head resting against the pillows as lando scrolled aimlessly on his phone.

you glanced over at him and caught him staring.

“you’re staring,” you said, nudging him lightly with your foot.

he didn’t even pretend to be guilty. just hummed and tossed his phone aside, shifting onto his side so he could face you properly. “can’t help it.”

you tried to play it cool, tried not to let your heart give you away. “why?”

“you’re pretty,” he said, so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you rolled your eyes, even though you felt your whole body react—an involuntary tightening in your chest, your fingers twitching like they wanted to reach for him. “you’re losing the bet.”

“don’t care.”

“you literally made a deal—”

“i know what i said,” he cut in, his voice quieter now. he sat up slowly, his eyes locked on yours. “but i don’t wanna flirt with anyone else. just you.”

you sat up too, back resting against the headboard, arms crossed like that could protect you from whatever this was quickly becoming. “what?”

lando exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. maybe years. he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than usual. “i think i lost the bet the second you made it.”

you shook your head, not trusting your voice. “that doesn’t make sense.”

“doesn’t it?” he asked, leaning in closer, like he was trying to force you to see it. “you really think i haven’t been trying to get your attention for years? why do you think i flirt with everyone else? why do you think i annoy you so much? you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me and seen more than the driver, more than the jokes. you make me feel like… like i’m not faking it all the time.”

you blinked, because he never talked like this. lando was all charm and noise, a hurricane of energy and sarcasm. but this—this was real. raw. and terrifying.

he was still watching you, eyes searching, waiting.

you didn’t know who moved first.

maybe it was him. maybe it was you. maybe it didn’t matter.

because one second there was space between you, and the next there wasn’t. his hand found your cheek, yours fisted in the front of his hoodie, and then you were kissing him.

soft at first. hesitant. like neither of you wanted to admit how long you’d been waiting for this.

but it didn’t stay soft for long.

because once the floodgates opened, everything poured out. all the stolen glances, all the almosts, all the things neither of you had ever said. his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. your lips parted under his, breath catching in your throat as the weight of it all hit you at once.

and when you finally broke apart, just enough to breathe, you stayed there—foreheads touching, hearts racing.

“so,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “what now?”

lando smiled, thumb tracing your jaw. “now we stop pretending it was just a bet.”

---

"i lost," lando announced the next morning, voice far too cheerful for someone who’d just admitted defeat. he walked into the hospitality suite like he owned the place, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, grin bright and unapologetic.

max choked mid-sip, spraying coffee across the table. “what?”

lando dropped into the seat next to you, his thigh pressing against yours with casual ease, like he belonged there. like he'd always belonged there. “the bet,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “i lost.”

you didn’t look at him. you couldn’t. not with the way your cheeks were burning and your heart was still somewhere up in your throat from the night before. instead, you focused very intently on stirring your tea, like it held the answers to all your problems.

max’s eyes darted between the two of you. then narrowed. “what did you do?”

“nothing,” you said quickly, a little too quickly.

lando didn’t even try to hide the smugness in his voice. “absolutely nothing.”

“that’s a lie if i’ve ever heard one,” max muttered, leaning back in his chair with a groan. he rubbed a hand over his face, like he was regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. “jesus. i don’t wanna know. seriously. whatever happened, you can both take it to your graves.”

you kicked lando under the table, partly for being so obvious, partly because you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.

he didn’t flinch. just grabbed your hand where it rested in your lap, lacing his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you finally looked at him.

his grin softened a little when your eyes met. less cocky, more sincere. like the truth of it was settling in for both of you. the bet was over. the game had ended. and what was left now—this quiet, aching warmth between you—was real.

max muttered something under his breath about needing stronger coffee and stood up, taking his mug with him.

lando leaned over slightly, voice low. “worth it.”

you rolled your eyes, but your thumb brushed across the back of his hand anyway, slow and deliberate.

yeah. it really, really was.

---

lando showed up to the next gala in the neon orange suit.

not just any orange. it was loud, blinding, highlighter-bright—complete with rhinestone lapels, matching shoes, and a pair of tinted sunglasses he absolutely did not need but wore anyway like he was on the cover of a fashion magazine that catered exclusively to chaos. it was objectively terrible. a crime against fabric. and he looked so smug about it that you almost forgot how bad it really was.

almost.

you burst out laughing the second you saw him. not a polite giggle. not a subtle laugh behind your hand. full, unfiltered, chest-aching laughter. you nearly doubled over, clutching your stomach as he strutted toward you like he was on a runway.

“you didn’t have to—” you started, still laughing, wiping at the corners of your eyes.

“i lost the bet,” lando said simply, with a shrug that was far too casual for someone dressed like a traffic cone. “deal’s a deal.”

you opened your mouth to tease him further, but then he was pulling you in by the waist, his hand warm against the small of your back, the other adjusting the fabric of your dress like he had every right to touch you that way. and maybe now, he did.

“besides,” he murmured, ignoring the flashes of cameras and the curious glances from people around you. “i might’ve lost the bet, but i got you. so i’d say i won.”

your heart did that stupid fluttering thing again, the one it had started doing every time he looked at you like you were something he wanted to hold onto. and you knew he meant it. knew it wasn’t just a line, wasn’t just lando being lando. it was real. and god, you were in trouble.

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. it was quick, barely more than a second, but it was enough to make the photographers start snapping faster and lando’s fingers tighten just slightly at your waist.

from somewhere behind you, max groaned loudly.

“finally,” he muttered, walking past with a drink in hand. “took you two long enough. honestly, the sexual tension was becoming a health hazard.”

lando grinned against your temple as you laughed again, the kind of laugh that came from somewhere deep in your chest.

you leaned into him a little more, letting him hold you, letting yourself enjoy it—him, this, all of it.

because somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about bets and dares and pretending not to care.

somewhere along the way, you'd stopped pretending at all.

a/n: what do you think? ❤️

UNFORTUNATELY not an enemies to lovers, but i reckon this is kind of solid, honestly—as compared to my other stuff, of course 😗