#what is GPS errors

[f1-the-real-housewives-of-monaco]

What I learnt abt Canada gp after reading articles on f1 app (for those still mentally living that weekend):-

acc to stella, in fp3, medium tires didn’t have an improvement on lap time, hence they stuck to softs for qualifying.

BUT thanks to track evolution, mediums responded better as the track cooled and improved grip so rip to mcl’s foresight

Lando worked used softs, oscar new; lando fastest in q1, close behind george in q2.

In q3 with new tires, lando glanced the turn 7 wall in his second run, which put him at p7.

Stella believes despite the disadvantage to Mercedes and redbull’s mediums, lando was on track for pole as the speed was there. But he tried too hard (remember spain🥲 quali), and lost the rhythm.

this being a circuit mcl struggles with, lando was impressive until the glance at turn 7. Again he was the fastest driver on sunday, catching up oscar until the crash.

THE NEW SUSPENSION- lando used it for quali + race, but oscar opted out

[So this year’s car has an ‘anti-dive’ front suspension, giving the car a flat aero platform. With less dive under braking, the ride height can be lower.

This anti- dive reduces the ‘feedback’ and feel received by the steering and brakes— Lando’s tools to get feedback from car and drive accordingly (hence his struggle this year). He describes this car as feeling numb to him.

So mcl brought a new front suspension which is so mildly tweaked, indistinguishable from its former and hidden from the car bodywork to make assumptions of it. ]

Tldr- it should improve the steering feel for lando but on interviews he said he didn’t help much and further improvements and tests on other tracks were needed. He described the friday as one of the worst ever in 2025 (maybe explains his sullen look on Saturday morning).

post race, lando said that he wasnt concerned after the crash because he was the fastest driver on Sunday (and basically looked v confident).

[il-predestinato]

well YOUR driver is just as bad as the rest sayin whats happening at red bull doesn't concern him

https://x.com/RTBFsport/status/1765638079698915645?s=20

bet you feel like an idiot for calling out daniel now

Um... I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you do not speak French and got duped by that tweet’s sensationalist headline. As it happens, I do - so let me help you out:

Interviewer: "There is another element that could play in your favour, which is the mood at Red Bull is deteriorating whether we want it or not. With everything that happened, [in Ferrari] you are more relaxed. At some point of the season, this can play a part?" Charles: "Yes, but it's not... I just want to win fair and square on the track and to reach that goal, we have to focus on ourselves and try to understand what are the things to improve on the car. On this, we are fully focused on what we need to do, on our weaknesses and the weaknesses of the car. But as I've already said in Bahrain, we are very clear on what we need to improve on the car, and we are in a positive spiral with the team these days. Since the second part of last season, we really identified where we need to work and we saw immediate improvements and we need to do the same now." 🎥: RTBF Sport

First of all, the question itself is pretty distasteful. Sexual harassment allegations and workplace safety for women shouldn't be parsed down to "hey, do you think you can take advantage of this to drive faster than Red Bull?!" What a terrible, insensitive way to frame this whole situation.

As for Charles' answer, I'm not going to say it's the best answer in the world. Could he have used the opportunity to acknowledge the greater problem of sexual harassment and the safety of women working in F1? Absolutely, he could have done better. But he answered the question that he was asked, which was does he think the controversy surrounding Red Bull can be used to his advantage. He essentially said "no, I'd rather beat them fair and square by being the best team." At no point did he actually say "that stuff doesn't concern me." Nor did he call it "a lot of noise and distractions" and wish for all of this to "slowly go away" and praise Red Bull for how they are handling it.

[bigshunt]

Danny Ric spotted in Melbourne!!? Manifestation works??!?!

[norristrii]

I KNOW LOVE (NOSTALGIA).

“We started off friends, how you end up here next to me?” — After eight years, your friendship with Lando felt the same—until the bet. Fake dating was just a game, but the feelings weren’t. Somewhere along the way, the truth surfaced. It was never just friendship.

pairing. Lando Norris x childhood friend! fem! reader.

warnings. fluff, angst if u squint, 12,5k words, friends to lovers, fake dating, lando being menace, drinking alcohol, monaco gp 2025, pet names (sweetheart, darling, baby), a lot of teasing, possible grammar errors. PART ONE — NOSTALGIA.

music. I Know Love by Tate Mcrae ft. The Kid LAROI // Carry You Home by Alex Warren.

─── ONE MONTH LATER , may 2025

A MONTH PASSED, AND SOMEHOW, it felt like time had folded in on itself—like the years apart had shrunk, like the gap between then and now had quietly disappeared.

Nothing had changed, not really. Lando still remembered your favorite movies—the ones you had obsessively rewatched, the ones whose quotes you could recite without thinking, the ones that had always stayed the same. He still knew the exact spot where you were ticklish, still knew the food you ordered without needing to ask. And despite everything, despite all the time lost, despite all the ways life had pulled you both in opposite directions, it felt easy.

He was in your space just as often as you were in his, your things scattered across his apartment like they had always belonged there, his hoodies ending up in your wardrobe without either of you really noticing. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t awkward, wasn’t something you had to think about—it just happened, naturally, effortlessly, like the years apart had only been a long, quiet pause instead of a full stop.

And one day, you realized—you weren’t bitter anymore.

───

The soft hum of the song filled the space between you, slipping into the quiet like an old friend, like something familiar, something undeniably yours. It took only a second for recognition to flicker in Lando’s eyes—a glint of understanding, a knowing look, a memory shared in silence.

Your childhood song.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You sat perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, watching the way his expression shifts—how nostalgia washed over him in waves, how all the years apart disappeared with the simple melody floating through the air. He leaned against the counter opposite you, arms folded, head tilting just slightly, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

Then, without warning, he moved.

His fingers wrap gently around your wrist, his grip warm, steady, certain—a pull that sent you forward, off the counter, into his space, into the rhythm of something you both remember but haven’t shared in years. He lead effortlessly, far too serious for something so simple, his movements deliberate like he’s guiding you through a real dance, like this isn’t just a moment caught between laughter and history.

“You’re ridiculous,” you breathed, smiling despite yourself, despite the way he’s taking every step too seriously, despite the way he spun you with exaggerated precision, despite the way the years apart seem to dissolve between the music, between the movement, between him and you.

Lando grinned, eyes bright, alive, holding onto this moment like it’s something worth keeping. “You love it,” he teased, pulling you closer, his voice low, warm, familiar.

“That’s surprisingly romantic coming from someone with a reputation like yours,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you can stop them, teasing but undeniably true.

Because yeah—he was a player. Or at least, that’s what the headlines said. Articles filled with speculation, blurry photos, flirty interviews that never seemed to lead to anything serious. A reputation built on fleeting moments and effortless charm, something you had never fully questioned but had always noticed.

Lando let out a scoff, shaking his head with that infuriating, reckless grin—the one that somehow manages to be both self-assured and unapologetically smug. “Please,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I could make anyone believe I’m the perfect boyfriend.”

Your brows lifted slightly, unimpressed. “No one would buy that.”

His smirk deepened—too confident, too knowing, too dangerous in the way only he can be. “Everyone would buy that.” He paused for half a second, just enough for the tension to shift, just enough for a challenge to settle between you. “You wanna bet?”

Your smirk deepened, curiosity flickering behind your eyes as you leaned in just slightly, watching the way Lando held himself—unshaken, confident, like he already knew you wouldn’t say no.

“Fake dating?” you echoed, pretending to consider it, dragging the words out just enough to tease him. “That’s what you’re suggesting?”

His grin only widened, too reckless, too assured, like he had already won before the game had even started. “Give me this weekend,” he repeated, tilting his head slightly, amusement dancing in his expression. “By the end of it, the whole world will think I am the best boyfriend to ever exist.”

There was something entirely too entertaining about the idea—about the way he said it so easily, about the way he looked at you like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And the worst part?

You were so in.

The list had come together surprisingly fast—far too fast, actually, considering the absurdity of the situation. You sat across from Lando, leaning over the kitchen island, scribbling rules onto a scrap piece of paper like this was some kind of business deal rather than a completely ridiculous, impulsive plan.

Lando, of course, was fully relaxed, arms folded, eyes bright with amusement as he watched you work, barely contributing, barely questioning anything you laid out. It was almost infuriating, how at ease he was about this.

Rule one: In public, yes—but absolutely no couple behavior when no one’s watching. This is a performance, not real life.

He smirked at that, drumming his fingers against the counter. “So no cute little moments when we’re alone?”

You shot him a look. “Absolutely not.”

Rule two: PDA is allowed, but keep it minimal. Holding hands? Fine. Kissing? Only if necessary.

Lando hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider. “Define ‘necessary.’”

“If someone asks us to prove it,” you reply instantly, not playing his game.

His grin widened, far too entertained. “Dramatic, public make-outs? Noted.”

You groaned. “That’s not what I said.”

Rule three: No backing out. Once you commit, you see it through. No half-measures, no suddenly deciding it’s too much.

Lando looked far too smug for his own good. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I never back out of a bet.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at that. Ignored it.

Rule four: Don’t make it weird. Light touches are fine, casual affection is fine—but don’t, under any circumstance, make it weird.

“Me?” Lando said, pressing a hand to his chest like he was offended. “Making things weird? Never.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

And finally, rule five—the most important one: No real feelings. Absolutely forbidden.

A moment of silence stretched between you as the final rule sat there, bold, unchallenged, unchangeable.

Lando tapped his fingers against the counter once, twice, then flashed you that too-sure, too-effortless grin. “Easy.”

Just three days to survive.

─── friday: day one

The chaos of the Monaco Grand Prix was already buzzing outside—the hum of engines, the flurry of people moving through the paddock, the cameras waiting to capture every moment. This was the race, the crown jewel of the season, the one weekend where everything felt bigger, louder, more intense.

Lando’s navy blue McLaren pulled to a stop, the sleek lines of the car reflecting the early morning sunlight. The moment his hand hovered over the door handle, you stopped him—a quick, pointed reminder before stepping into the world that would now be watching.

“Fake dating, Lando. Fake.” Your voice was firm, low enough that only he could hear, warning him, setting the boundary before the cameras were on you, before the articles wrote their own versions of whatever this weekend would bring.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t tease. He just nodded, lips twitching slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he stepped out onto the pavement.

Then, without hesitation, he stepped out, rounding the car with the kind of effortless confidence that came far too naturally to him. And when he opened the door for you, his hand was already waiting, palm up, steady, offering something that felt far too practiced to be anything but convincing.

“Yeah, fake,” he said, looking at you with that infuriating, too-sure smirk. “But real enough to make them believe it.”

The paddock was alive with movement—voices overlapping, the hum of engines in the background, cameras flashing, catching every moment. And right in the middle of it, you and Lando, walking hand in hand, stepping into a world that felt a little too aware of you.

You could feel the glances, the curiosity settling into the air, the way people stole quick looks before refocusing on whatever they were supposed to be doing. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there—the quiet stir of speculation, the beginnings of a story that hadn’t existed yesterday but suddenly seemed like something worth paying attention to.

Lando didn’t react, didn’t hesitate, didn’t even acknowledge the shift around you. He moved easily, the way he always did, his grip on your hand relaxed but firm guiding you through the maze of the paddock like he’d done a thousand times before—except this time, you were a part of it.

Then, just as effortlessly, he stepped into the McLaren garage, slipping into conversations with engineers, exchanging greetings like it was just another day. You barely had time to process it, barely had time to prepare before—

“This is my girlfriend, Y/n.”

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t exaggerated. It was smooth, delivered with zero hesitation, like it was simply fact, like it was something real.

“So you’re the Y/n?” one of the engineers asked, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of his lips. You blinked, caught off guard by the phrasing. The Y/n?

“The one he’s always talking about.”

Your stomach flipped. Always? Lando talked about you? To them? You turned to him instinctively, searching for some kind of reaction—some kind of explanation. But, of course, he was already smirking, leaning back with that effortless confidence that made it impossible to tell whether he was actually unfazed or just pretending to be.

“Oh, yeah,” he said casually, too smoothly, like he had been waiting for this conversation. “They probably got sick of hearing about you ages ago.”

The engineer chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not that bad.”

You went to his driver room with him, Lando moved with zero hesitation, pulling off his shirt and swapping it for the fireproof layer beneath his race suit like it was second nature—like you weren’t even there, like this wasn’t something to think twice about. And maybe that was the craziest part. Because for him, it was normal.

Unbothered, effortless, as if he had always changed in front of you, as if the past years apart had never actually happened. You leaned back against the wall, watching as he tugged up the sleeves of his suit, adjusting them, fixing the collar, smoothing out the fabric before finally meeting your gaze again—grinning like he had already planned whatever came next.

He stepped closer, voice too damn smug, too playful, too knowing, the kind of confidence that made it impossible to tell whether he was being serious or just testing his limits. The air between you shifted, charged with the same unspoken tension that had been building since the moment you set foot in the paddock. Then, with that infuriating smirk, he leaned in just a little too much, just enough for you to know exactly what was coming before he even said it.

“Kiss for good luck?” His tone was casual, teasing, like this wasn’t an outrageous request—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You scoffed, shaking your head, but the way your lips twitched betrayed you. You were already smiling, already seeing through the act, already ready to shut it down before he got even more confident. “Don’t even try.” Your hand moved without hesitation, pushing his face away, forcing him to stumble back a step, laughter bubbling between the both of you.

He recovered quickly—he always did—but the grin on his face was even wider now, even more annoyingly smug than before, like he had already won something. Because that was Lando. All confidence, all recklessness, all charm. And Monaco had only just begun.

You stood at the edge of the garage, arms loosely crossed, watching as Lando settled into his car with the same effortless confidence he always carried. There was no hesitation in his movements—just precision, familiarity, a routine he could probably do with his eyes closed.

A light nudge against your arm pulled you from your thoughts, one of the engineers grinning as he tilted his head toward you. “Nervous for your man?”

Your stomach flipped at the wording—your man—like the whole thing had already been bought into, like it wasn’t even a question anymore. They believed it.

You blinked but recovered quickly, shaking off the moment, keeping your expression cool, unreadable. “I’m not,” you said, voice steady, effortless. “He knows what he’s doing.”

The session was about to start, tension hanging in the air like the calm before a storm. Lando sat settled in his car, fingers flexing briefly around the steering wheel, every movement deliberate, controlled. You stepped closer, watching as he lifted his helmet, the smirk already tugging at his lips before he even spoke.

“Last chance for that good luck kiss,” he murmured, voice laced with teasing as he slowly pulled the helmet over his head, visor still slightly raised, leaving just enough room for you to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.

You didn’t hesitate, didn’t entertain it, just exhaled, shaking your head with a small laugh before reaching out and tapping the top of his helmet. “Go drive your car, Norris,” you said, your tone light but firm, cutting off whatever ridiculous response he was about to throw back.

He let out a muffled chuckle through the layers of his gear, adjusting his grip on the wheel, focus shifting as the reality of the session kicked in. And just like that, with a flick of his wrist and the hum of the engine, he rolled forward—onto the track, onto the moment where everything else disappeared except for the race ahead.

───

The sky had deepened into shades of orange and pink, Monaco settling into the golden haze of early evening. The day had slipped by faster than you realized—two practice sessions, hours spent lingering around the paddock, conversations blending into the hum of engines and movement. You hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until now, until the weight of the day finally began to settle in your bones.

You sat back in the chair, watching as Lando packed up his things, casual, effortless, like this was just another weekend. But then—without thinking, without any hesitation—he reached for your hand as he spoke, fingers brushing against yours, slipping into the space that had already begun to feel too familiar.

“We can go," he said, voice easy, steady, like nothing about the moment was unusual. And even more instinctively—almost like muscle memory—you let your fingers intertwine with his.

The realization hit after—after the warmth, after the quiet certainty of it, after the way neither of you acknowledged it outright. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t exaggerated. It was just natural.

The quiet ease between you should’ve felt normal, should’ve just been part of the act, but Lando? He wasn’t going to let it be simple.

As you both stepped further out of the paddock, fingers still loosely intertwined, he let out a casual hum, glancing over at you with way too much amusement in his eyes. “You’re getting really comfortable with this whole girlfriend thing,” he mused, the teasing lacing his tone clear as day.

You scoffed, giving his hand a pointed squeeze before swiftly pulling yours away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His grin widened instantly, like he had already won, like your reaction had just confirmed something for him. “You literally held my hand back,” he pointed out, tapping his temple as if he had just cracked some kind of secret formula. “Instinctively. No hesitation. Just—bam—right into it.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping ahead slightly to avoid the smugness radiating off of him. “Maybe I was just making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet,” you shot back.

Lando laughed, a full, unrestrained laugh, shaking his head as he jogged a few steps to catch up. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

The car hummed steadily as Monaco’s streets blurred past, the golden glow of streetlights flickering against the windshield, painting the inside of the car in fleeting shades of warm amber. The city had settled into the quiet hum of evening, the rush of the paddock fading into memory, replaced by the steady rhythm of the drive. It should’ve been a moment to breathe, to regroup, to let the day settle.

But then—his hand.

It landed on your thigh like it was meant to be there, like there wasn’t a single reason to hesitate, like he hadn’t just obliterated every rule you’d barely had time to set. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t tentative. It was casual, deliberate, the warmth of his palm sinking through the fabric of your pants, sending a sharp jolt of awareness straight through you.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs before your brain could fully process the moment, before you could convince yourself it wasn’t a big deal. But it was—because this was the first day, because you weren’t supposed to blur the lines, because this wasn’t supposed to feel as natural as it did.

You turned toward him, brows furrowing, voice steady but pointed. “Lando.”

His smirk was already forming, the kind that told you he knew exactly what he was doing, that this wasn’t some absentminded action, that this was intentional.

“You’re breaking a rule,” you muttered, pulse uneven, fingers twitching by your side.

He glanced at you briefly, way too unbothered, before shifting his grip slightly on the wheel. And then—the audacity—he tilted his head, smirk deepening like he had already won whatever game had just begun.

“I’m not if you’re enjoying it too.”

The words sent heat straight to your cheeks, a reaction you despised, because there was zero chance he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t already clocked the way your breath hitched, the way you hadn’t immediately shoved his hand away.

You scoffed, finally snapping out of it, finally pushing his hand off your thigh with more force than necessary, shoving his arm like you were undoing whatever had just happened.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he settled both hands back onto the wheel, the smugness radiating off of him like he was thrilled with himself. “Alright, alright,” he mused, completely unfazed. “I’ll behave.”

The exhaustion from the day had settled deep in your bones, the weight of it pressing down as you stepped inside—his home, again. It wasn’t unfamiliar anymore. The way the lights spilled across the sleek countertops, the hum of the city just barely audible through the windows, the lingering scent of whatever ridiculous air freshener he had decided was the best option—it all felt far too normal now.

Lando wasted no time—dramatically collapsing onto the couch like he had just survived something traumatic, despite the fact that his day had mostly consisted of doing exactly what he loved. His limbs sprawled out lazily, head tilting back, an exaggerated sigh leaving his lips before he finally glanced over at you.

“I need cuddles from my girlfriend after a day like this,” he announced, stretching his arms toward you, voice half pleading, half teasing, the corners of his mouth twitching in barely restrained amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing instinctively. “You’re still playing it?”

The amusement sharpened in his gaze, flickering bright beneath the soft glow of the living room lights. He wasn’t just playing it. He was thriving off of it.

“We’re off duty now,” you reminded him, voice firm, pointed, like you were establishing a clear boundary—like you were reminding him that this had limits, that it wasn’t supposed to bleed into moments like this.

But Lando? Completely unfazed.

“I’m committed to the role of your perfect boyfriend,” he mused, settling deeper into the cushions, fully embracing his own ridiculousness “That’s what a lot of actors do.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, because of course he was framing it like this—as method acting, as if that excused the fact that he wasn’t dropping the act when he should have.

“I think you just like having an excuse to annoy me,” you muttered, eyeing him suspiciously, refusing to give in, refusing to entertain the idea of indulging him.

His grin widened, eyes glinting with pure mischief. “Maybe.”

Lando didn’t move from his spot on the couch, arms still outstretched, still fully committed to the bit, eyes watching you like he was waiting for you to give in.

You didn’t.

Instead, you crossed your arms, narrowing your gaze slightly, exhaling slowly. “You do realize you’re taking this way too seriously, right?”

He tilted his head, considering that for all of two seconds before smirking again. “Or, maybe, I’m just really dedicated to my role.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, shaking your head. “It’s fake, Norris.”

Lando gasped, hand clutching his chest like you had just mortally wounded him. “Darling,” he breathed, shaking his head, mock betrayal dripping from every syllable, “Don’t say such things. It’ll ruin my motivation.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way his lips twitched, the way pure amusement flickered behind his gaze, told you exactly what he was doing—pushing, testing, seeing how far he could take this before you finally caved.

But you weren’t losing this round.

“You need motivation?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. “Every great actor does.”

You scoffed, walking past him, pointedly ignoring the way his arms were still stretched toward you. “Then maybe go watch some method acting interviews instead of begging for cuddles.”

─── saturday: day two

The energy in the McLaren garage had become familiar now—less overwhelming, more comfortable, like you had started settling into the rhythm of it, the movement, the people. The engineers and mechanics no longer glanced at you with the casual curiosity of someone new; instead, they greeted you like you belonged there, like you had always been part of this world. Lando had mentioned it in passing the day before—how quickly you had blended in—but you hadn’t thought much of it until now, standing in the middle of it all, watching the final preparations unfold before qualifying.

Lando was focused, in full race mode, his demeanor shifting the moment he settled into pre-session rituals. His gloves tightened around his fingers as he flexed them, his visor propped up slightly as he scanned the monitors, listening to the soft murmur of his engineers running through the final details. He had been teasing, pushing the boundaries, finding every possible way to turn this into something more than just pretend. And if he could do it—if he could toe the line without hesitation—then so could you.

So, without warning, without thinking twice, you called for him. “Come here.” And the second the words left your lips, he obeyed, instantly, without hesitation, like it was instinct, like there wasn’t even a moment of questioning it. He stepped toward you, brows lifting slightly, almost amused, like he was waiting for whatever tease you had planned—but there was no tease. No build-up. No warning. Just action.

Your lips pressed against his, firm, decisive, deliberate, and for half a second, you felt him freeze—caught off guard. But only for that. Just half a second before he recovered, before he responded without hesitation, before he got away with it like he always did. His lips moved against yours with a practiced ease, like he had already anticipated how this was supposed to go, like he had already mastered playing this game. But this wasn’t just about the act anymore. At least—not to you.

You pulled away slowly, steady, keeping your expression unreadable as you exhaled, as you let the moment settle between you. “Good luck, baby.” The words left your lips with the same teasing confidence he had used so many times before—except now, you were the one in control. You were the one shifting the rules. You were the one pushing the boundaries.

His gaze lingered, flickering with something unreadable, something that wasn’t entirely just amusement, something more complicated. And that was the real problem. Because while Lando had spent the last two days playing games, teasing, testing, pushing—there was one crucial difference between you. You weren’t sure if any of this was real or fake.

Lando lingered for a second longer than necessary, eyes flickering with something undefined, something you couldn’t quite name. But then—like always—he recovered.

A slow, lazy smirk spread across his lips as he tilted his head slightly, like he was studying you, like he was dissecting the moment for every possible meaning. “Didn’t realize we were taking it to that level,” he murmured, voice just light enough to sound playful, but just sharp enough to suggest something deeper.

You shrugged, crossing your arms as the faint hum of the garage buzzed around you, voices calling out final adjustments, the tension of qualifying thick in the air. “Figured you needed the full boyfriend experience,” you mused, the edge of amusement curling around your words. “Besides, that’s how we do it, right?”

His smirk didn’t waver, but his gaze held yours—just slightly longer than it should have. Just long enough to make something settle in your chest.

“Right.”

The single word carried weight, wrapped itself around the space between you, settled into the air before he finally—finally—stepped back, tugging at his gloves, rolling his shoulders, slipping back into race mode.

“Guess I better win now,” he said casually, like the moment hadn’t just shifted something irreversibly, like none of it mattered more than the seconds ticking down to qualifying.

And dear God, that man set whole new track record a hour later.

The air around the McLaren garage was thick with energy, alive in a way that only happened when history had just been made. Engineers still stood frozen in front of monitors, eyes flickering over numbers that didn’t seem real, mechanics exchanged looks that held a mix of pride and awe, and team members clapped backs, shook hands, embraced like they had just pulled off something impossible. The roar of celebration spilled beyond the barriers, past the podium setup, past the paddock, into the entire racing world, because today—today, Lando Norris had done something unforgettable.

But through the chaos, through the wave of victory that swept over McLaren like an unstoppable force, he ran straight to you.

It wasn’t measured. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t wrapped in hesitation or second-guessing. It was pure instinct—fast, decisive, undeniable. His suit was still warm, damp with sweat, his body humming with the adrenaline he hadn’t come down from yet, and the second his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, holding you tight, it was impossible not to feel the sheer gravity of what had just happened.

His heartbeat was rapid, pounding against your own as the weight of the moment settled between you, as everything—the lap, the record, the significance of it all—pressed into your skin, wrapped around you like something you weren’t meant to forget.

“You are insane,” you muttered, voice barely audible over the cheers surrounding you, breath catching, arms curling around his back. Your grip tightened slightly, fingers clutching the fabric of his race suit, grounding yourself against the sheer scale of it all.

Lando pulled back just slightly, enough for his eyes to meet yours, his grin stretched wide, bright, undeniably victorious, the spark of triumph burning in his gaze. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but he was thriving, fully alive, standing there like he had just conquered everything.

“Fastest man in Monaco, baby,” he declared, voice charged, thrumming with adrenaline, so smug, but somehow—somehow—more real, more significant than ever before. His grip on you hadn’t loosened, not yet, not even as reporters hovered nearby, cameras flashing, microphones extending toward the newly crowned record-breaker.

And without thinking, without measuring your words, without checking if this was too far, the phrase slipped out—so natural, so easy, too easy.

“I love—”

The realization hit instantly, the weight of the words pressing down, and you pivoted quickly, mid-sentence, pulse hammering against your ribs. “I’m proud,” you corrected, shifting just enough to mask the slip, keeping your voice steady, controlled, pretending like it hadn’t happened.

Lando’s expression didn’t shift dramatically, but something flickered, something sharp, something you couldn’t quite read. His grip remained firm, his body still angled toward you, and though the podium ceremony was waiting, though interviews and celebrations were lined up, though the world was watching—he didn’t move.

The words barely reached you, his voice just a breath of sound against the chaos around you, but they landed sharply, unmistakably.

“I heard that.”

───

The intensity of the celebrations had finally settled into something quieter, something softer, but the energy of the victory still lingered in the air, wrapping around you both like it wasn’t quite ready to fade. Monaco had witnessed history today—McLaren had witnessed history today—and as the night stretched on, it was clear that no one wanted it to end just yet.

The podium had come and gone, the champagne had been spilled, and now, the final act of the night was unfolding: a team dinner, a moment to revel in what had just been achieved, one last chance to soak in the sheer gravity of setting a new track record in one of the most prestigious circuits in Formula 1.

Back at the apartment, you moved quickly, stripping away the remnants of the race weekend, replacing them with something sleeker, something more refined, something that suited the occasion.

Your mind was a whirlwind, flickering between thoughts too quickly to grasp—the record, the podium, the celebration, the kiss, the weight of Lando’s touch, the way something had shifted between you today. You hadn’t had time to process any of it yet—not fully—but the echoes of each moment still rang in the back of your mind, still lived in the spaces between each breath.

Now, standing by the elevator, waiting for the doors to open, you felt his presence—strong, grounding, undeniably familiar. Lando’s arm was draped easily over your shoulders, his grip loose but firm, his fingers brushing absently against the fabric of your dress, like the contact was thoughtless, instinctive. Maybe before today, it had been just that—just part of the act, just effortless banter, just teasing at the edge of something playful. But now? Now, you weren’t sure.

Tilting your head slightly, you glanced up at him, your voice carrying a teasing edge, but also something else—something that wasn’t quite light, wasn’t quite casual. “Don’t you think that celebration was too much?”

Lando chuckled, his body shifting slightly, adjusting his hold but not letting go, eyes flickering down toward you with amusement—predictable amusement, but something beneath it felt different.

“Baby, I just set a new record in Monaco,” he declared, tone confident, smooth, the smirk slipping effortlessly into place. “So no, I don’t think so.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head slightly. “And the kiss?”

There was the briefest hesitation, something unspoken curling at the edges of his expression. But before you could press him, before you could dissect the pause—he answered, simple, effortless.

“I was excited.”

The elevator doors slid open before you could respond, before the moment could linger too long, before you could ask the question you weren’t sure you wanted an answer to yet. The moment was broken—interrupted—but the thought remained, lingering in the back of your mind, refusing to let go.

Inside the apartment, Lando moved quickly—too quickly—changing into something equally polished but effortless in the way he always carried himself. Meanwhile, you stood in front of the mirror, fingers adjusting the fabric of your dress, smoothing over edges, trying to focus, trying to ground yourself in something other than the thoughts still spinning in your head.

Behind you, sprawled across the bed like he had no plans to move just yet, Lando lay there, watching you, gaze unwavering,

locked onto you in a way that made the air in the room shift slightly. The attention was undeniable, heavy, lingering, and you felt it fully—in the reflection, in the silence, in the way your pulse didn’t quite keep steady.

“You’re staring, my dear,” you mused, smirking into the mirror, your voice light, controlled, teasing even—but your pulse betrayed you.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

“Can’t I admire my beautiful girlfriend?” His voice was low, smooth, charged, carrying something deeper beneath the teasing edge, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

Lando’s words hung in the air, settling between you like a challenge, like an invitation, like something neither of you were entirely ready to define.

You held his gaze in the mirror, the corners of your lips curling into something amused, something teasing, something controlled—but your pulse betrayed you, beating just a little too fast, racing just a little too wildly.

“You’re really committing to this, huh?” you mused, shifting slightly, adjusting the strap of your dress, still watching him, still very aware of how his eyes hadn’t moved from you.

Lando chuckled, stretching lazily on the bed, but his smirk didn’t fade, didn’t waver, didn’t lose its edge. “What, admiring my girlfriend?” His voice was light, easy, but the weight beneath it was impossible to ignore.

You scoffed, shaking your head, turning slightly to face him. “You know, the more you push it, the harder it’s going to be for you to backtrack later.”

He hummed, considering that, tilting his head slightly. “You think I want to backtrack?”

───

The dinner had been nothing short of seamless, laughter spilling across the room, glasses clinking in celebration, conversations flowing effortlessly. McLaren’s team had bought into the dynamic between the two of you without hesitation—no skepticism, no questioning glances, just complete acceptance. In their eyes, you and Lando fit perfectly, a seamless pair that seemed to work as naturally as any other couple in the paddock. And that should have been comforting. That should have been proof that the game was working.

But the problem was—it wasn’t a game anymore.

Now, walking through Monaco’s streets, hand in hand, the city lights casting golden reflections against the pavement, the reality of the situation settled heavily between you. Lando’s grip wasn’t just for show, wasn’t just effortless muscle memory, wasn’t just playing pretend. No, his fingers curled around yours like he wanted to hold on, like it was instinctive, like it wasn’t something he had to think about anymore. Maybe there had been rules once—lines drawn, boundaries set, reminders that this was all part of something bigger than just the two of you.

But those rules?

Gone. Completely fucked. Every single one of them.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice cut through the quiet, casual but with a weight that hit you instantly.

“Y/n, you know you’re my type.”

You blinked, heart stumbling, stomach twisting into something dangerously close to real panic. No way. No way.

“I noticed, Lando,” you replied, keeping your voice even, steady, controlled—like you weren’t suddenly questioning everything.

But he shook his head, squeezing your hand just slightly, just enough for the warmth of his touch to register, just enough for you to realize that this wasn’t teasing, wasn’t banter, wasn’t pushing boundaries for the sake of the game.

This was real.

“No, I mean it, Y/n.” His voice was softer now, more deliberate, his gaze scanning your face, focused, serious, carrying an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “You grew up into such a beautiful woman.”

Your breath hitched, just slightly, just enough for him to notice.

You felt his gaze linger on you, felt the way his thumb absently brushed against your skin as he held your hand, as he walked beside you through the quiet streets of Monaco, effortlessly pulling old memories into the present like they had never faded.

“I still remember that little shy girl you were,” he murmured, voice low, edged with something gentle, something careful, something that made your stomach twist in a way you hadn’t expected.

You exhaled, slow, measured, letting the words settle, letting them sink into the space between you like something undeniably significant.

“That was a long time ago,” you finally muttered, tilting your head slightly, offering him a sideways glance, watching for whatever he wasn’t saying outright.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head slightly, squeezing your hand just enough for you to feel it. “Not that long,” he mused, his smirk flickering briefly before it softened, before it melted into something that wasn’t teasing anymore.

“I guess,” you finally muttered, glancing at him, eyes scanning his expression, searching for something—for confirmation, for meaning, for whatever the hell had just shifted in this dynamic that had once felt so predictable, so contained.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head slightly, and then—without hesitation, without pretense, without playing into the teasing rhythm you had both mastered—he said it.

“You were always beautiful.”

─── sunday: day three

The early morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel room, illuminating the undeniable reality of what had transpired in the past forty-eight hours. The energy of Monaco still lingered in the air, wrapping around the space between you both, pulling every moment from yesterday into sharp focus—the victory, the celebrations, the way things between you had shifted so irreversibly.

You stretched slightly, sinking deeper into the plush pillows, the warmth of sleep still clinging to your limbs, your thoughts slowly piecing together as the morning settled. But even through the haze of waking up, you felt it—his presence, the way Lando’s body rested beside yours, not hurried, not distant, not pretending that the closeness was something either of you needed to second-guess anymore.

And then, there was him—already awake, already invested in his phone, brows furrowed in that unmistakable way that meant he had discovered something worth dissecting. His focus was sharp, unwavering, and you couldn’t help but observe him for a moment, taking in the way his expression flickered through amusement and intrigue, the way he barely reacted to your movements as you shifted closer.

Finally, your voice broke the comfortable silence, soft, still tinged with sleep, but laced with curiosity. “What’s going on, baby?”

The term of endearment slipped out effortlessly, smoothly, like it had always been part of your vocabulary with him—like it wasn’t something you even thought about anymore.

Lando barely looked up, his grip on the phone firm, still immersed in whatever he was reading, his attention divided between scrolling through articles and listening to you. Then, with the simplest motion, he handed his phone over, lips curling into something amused but undeniably invested.

“Look at these articles,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, eyes flickering back toward you as you took the device. “We are everywhere.”

You blinked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you scrolled through the articles, headlines spilling across the screen in bold, dramatic fonts—each one dissecting every single detail of yesterday, of the celebrations, of the way the two of you had looked at each other like no one else mattered.

Lando chuckled beside you, stretching lazily, the smirk still resting on his lips, entirely unbothered by the attention, by the assumptions, by the fact that the internet had officially lost its mind over whatever the hell was happening between you.

“From fuckboy to wholesome boyfriend,” you muttered, shaking your head slightly, glancing over at him. “That’s quite the transformation, Norris.”

He grinned, eyes still flickering toward the screen, fully enjoying every moment of this chaos. “Well, I do pride myself on character development.”

You scoffed, scrolling further, your brows raising slightly as you read aloud another headline. “Lando Norris loves his girlfriend too much for love to be real.”

That earned a full laugh from him, deep and genuine, ringing through the hotel room, unfiltered in a way that made your chest tighten just slightly.

“You’re so fucked up falling for me, my dear,” you murmured, the words slipping out effortlessly, carrying that teasing edge—but this time, it wasn’t fully teasing.

It should have been simple—just another joke, just another throwaway comment to keep the rhythm going, to keep the tension wrapped neatly in the same playful game you had both mastered so well. But it didn’t feel like that anymore. Not when the air around you felt thicker, denser, charged with something undeniable. Not when Lando was watching you like this, like he was seeing something more, like he wasn’t about to laugh this off like every moment before it.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head just slightly, but the way he reacted—it wasn’t the usual deflection, wasn’t the expected brush-off, wasn’t him pulling back into safe territory. If anything, it was confirmation, quiet but certain, settling into the space between you with weight.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, voice low, smooth, deliberate—undeniably real.

───

The paddock was alive with movement—mechanics darting from one side of the garage to the other, voices overlapping, data streaming across telemetry screens, the unmistakable hum of final race preparations filling the air. The energy was palpable, the kind of intensity that only race day could bring, where every second mattered, where every detail could be the difference between victory and disappointment.

But you and Lando? Utterly unbothered.

He sat casually on the counter, fingers lazily drumming against the smooth metal surface, his race suit hanging loosely around his frame, only partially zipped, the edges of his fireproof undershirt peeking through. There was no tension in his body, no hint of nerves, just that familiar ease—that infuriating confidence that made it seem like he had already won before the lights had even gone out.

“You should go,” you told him, nodding toward the car waiting in the garage, the vehicle that would soon carry him to the grid, to the battle, to the chaos that was about to unfold.

But Lando didn’t move.

Instead, he turned to look at you, his expression shifting, amusement glinting in his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly, just enough to tell you that he had already decided something before you even realized the conversation was happening.

“Not getting into that car without my good luck kiss.”

The words landed effortlessly, smooth, casual, like they had always belonged here, like this was just a normal part of his pre-race routine now.

Your breath hitched, just slightly, stomach twisting with something you weren’t quite ready to name, something that sat just beneath the surface of your amusement, something that made the air thicker between you.

You scoffed, shaking your head, crossing your arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

Lando grinned, shifting slightly, feet swinging as he leaned back against the counter, completely at ease. “I’m serious.”

You arched a brow, stepping closer, tilting your head just slightly, watching him carefully. “Since when do you need a good luck kiss?”

His smirk widened just a little, and for a second, you could swear his gaze flickered toward your lips.

“Since now,” he said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like this moment, this request, was completely normal—even though you both knew it wasn’t.

You knew—without a doubt—that this wasn’t something Lando was going to let you forget.

For the rest of your life, he would bring it up at the most ridiculous moments, reminding you, teasing you, dragging it out for dramatic effect, making sure that no matter how much time passed, you’d still hear about this exact second when he finally got what he wanted.

So you kissed him.

Lips on lips, soft, deliberate, careful yet certain, the kind of kiss that settled deep, the kind that meant something, the kind neither of you could brush off anymore.

And that bastard?

He was enjoying every second of it.

His hand stayed firm on your waist, fingers curling just slightly, grounding you, keeping you close, like pulling away wasn’t even an option anymore.

When you finally parted—when the moment lingered, stretched between you like something irrevocable—his lips curled into that familiar smirk, lazy, satisfied, completely pleased with himself.

“Thank you, darling,” he murmured, voice low, edged with amusement, with something else entirely.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head, knowing—without a doubt—that he was going to be insufferable about this for the rest of your life.

Lando stood before you, his race suit fully zipped, gloves secured, and helmet cradled between his hands. The usual pre-race energy buzzed around the garage—mechanics making last-minute adjustments, engineers scanning data, the hum of voices layered over the sound of engines roaring to life. Everything was moving fast, everything was precise, everyone had a job to do.

And yet—amidst all of that—he came to you.

“Is it good?” he asked, referring to the fit his helmet already sitting on his head. His voice was smooth, steady, but there was something underneath it, something unspoken, something that made you realize he wanted your reassurance more than he was willing to admit.

You didn’t hesitate.

With gentle hands, you reached for the collar of his suit, adjusting it just slightly, making sure everything sat perfectly. Your fingers brushed against the edges of his helmet, tilting it just right, securing it with the kind of precision that wasn’t just about racing—it was about him, about making sure he walked out onto that track with nothing on his mind except the drive.

“Perfect,” you murmured, the word carrying weight, carrying meaning, carrying something undeniably proud.

Lando grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching with something warm, something easy, something that told you this wasn’t just about the race anymore—this was about you, too.

───

Lando had always had a way of turning moments into something unforgettable, of making sure every victory, every achievement, felt bigger than just a race—and today was no exception.

Two hours later, he stood on the top step of the podium, his race suit clinging to him, still damp with sweat and adrenaline, his helmet long discarded, curls slightly tousled from the rush of celebration. The sun reflected off the trophy in his hands, casting shimmering highlights over the podium, catching on the beads of champagne that had started to drip onto the cool metal surface beneath his feet. He was at the center of it all, the cameras flashing, the crowd erupting, the emotion surging through the circuit like an unstoppable wave.

The champagne bottles sat idly, waiting for their turn, for the explosion of joy that would come as soon as the formalities ended. But now? Now, the moment belonged to him—the British anthem playing through the circuit, the crowd roaring, every camera, every fan, every voice locked onto the driver who had just dominated the race. His team stood beside him on the lower steps, hands clasped in triumph, their faces painted with the sheer joy of seeing their hard work turn into something real, something victorious.

And you? Standing beneath the podium once again, surrounded by his team, the sea of orange alive with pure exhilaration, shouts of triumph echoing in the air. The energy was infectious, buzzing in your chest, pushing through your veins, filling you with something electric. But none of it truly registered—not the voices, not the clapping, not the flashing cameras. It was all just background noise to the one person you were focused on.

Lando’s gaze swept over the crowd briefly, soaking in the scene, reveling in the energy, before his eyes found yours—steady, certain, glinting with something smug, something so undeniably him. The slow curl of his lips sent warmth spreading through your chest, a reaction you weren’t prepared to admit, and yet, there it was. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly the effect he had, exactly how this moment would settle into something neither of you could forget.

Then, effortlessly, he winked.

A smirk followed, stretching across his lips, settling into something infuriatingly triumphant, the kind of expression that said, I told you so without needing a single word. You could already hear the teasing that would come later, the way he would remind you of this moment, the way he would make sure it stayed with you longer than just today.

Your stomach twisted, a warmth settling deep in your chest, a realization creeping up that you had been right earlier—he wasn’t getting into that car without his good luck kiss, and now? Now, he was standing up there, watching you from the top step, knowing, without a doubt, that it had worked.

The champagne sprayed across the podium, shimmering under the bright circuit lights, cascading down the suits of the top three drivers as they reveled in the moment, in the victory, in the culmination of everything that had brought them to this point. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a mixture of cheers, applause, and celebratory shouts that echoed across the circuit, wrapping itself around the podium like a living, breathing force. The atmosphere was electric, buzzing with the kind of energy that only came with a moment like this—a victory earned, a dream realized, a legacy cemented in history.

Lando stood at the center of it all, completely unguarded, beaming, laughing as he turned the bottle in his hands, directing the spray toward his team below, toward the crowd, toward the chaos that had erupted around him. His eyes sparkled with something raw, something pure, something that hadn’t been clouded by doubt or pressure or expectation. It was just joy—unfiltered, unrestrained, the kind that made everything else disappear. The way he smiled, the way his laughter rang out, the way he held himself with that effortless confidence—it was something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

And that was when it hit you.

The tear slipped free, unplanned, unexpected, but undeniable. It wasn’t sadness, wasn’t regret—it was something deeper, something softer, something whole. Because watching him like this, seeing him in his moment, seeing him where he was always meant to be—it stirred something in you that you hadn’t fully processed before.

You had missed this version of him—the one who radiated joy, the one who didn’t overthink, the one who belonged here, on the top step of the most iconic race in the world. For so long, there had been questions, uncertainties, lingering thoughts about what could’ve been, what should’ve been. But now? Now, looking at him standing there, looking at the way victory settled around him so naturally, you realized something with absolute clarity.

Maybe, in some strange, bittersweet way, you were glad he had left all those years ago.

Because if he hadn’t—if things had unfolded any other way—he wouldn’t be standing here now. He wouldn’t be soaking in this moment, wouldn’t be gripping the trophy with hands that had fought so hard for it, wouldn’t be surrounded by the kind of triumph that had been years in the making.

And watching him up there, soaking in his moment, drenched in triumph, surrounded by everything he had worked for?

You wouldn’t change a single thing.

After the podium celebrations had settled, you found yourself tucked away in McLaren’s hospitality lounge, waiting for Lando to finish the rounds of interviews. The hum of conversation filled the space, mechanics and engineers drifting in and out, the scent of victory still lingering in the air.

With your phone in hand, you watched the interviews unfold, scrolling through clips as they surfaced, catching bits and pieces of his words between questions about tire strategy, race pace, and overtakes. But then—one particular question caught your attention.

“We’ve seen you and your girlfriend together in the paddock all weekend,” the reporter noted, voice smooth, curious, leaning in slightly. “Do you think she was the key to your success today?”

Your brows lifted slightly, interest piqued, your full attention now locked on the screen.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

His grin spread, easy and confident, amusement flickering in his eyes as he replied, “You mean my girlfriend was the key to my success?” He paused just slightly, enough to let the words settle before he nodded once, firm, certain. “Definitely. She’s my lucky charm.”

And just like that, your stomach twisted, a warmth settling deep in your chest—because he said it like he meant it.

The reporter’s question had been straightforward, part of the usual post-race inquiries about what contributed to Lando’s success, but the weight of his answer settled into something deeper—something personal, something real.

His smirk softened, the usual post-race adrenaline still coursing through him, but now edged with something sincere. His posture remained relaxed, but there was a shift—a quiet moment of recognition in his expression, as if he was fully aware of the gravity of what he was about to say. He exhaled slightly, rolling his shoulders back before speaking, his voice steady and undeniably certain.

"I'm glad my Y/n is here with me," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his gaze flickering toward the camera, as if the words weren’t just meant for the reporter or the audience—but for you, wherever you were, watching. "This win is for her."

The atmosphere in the room shifted just slightly, the laughter and chatter quieting for a beat, letting the words settle. His team, the journalists, the PR staff—they all carried on around him, but for that fleeting moment, none of them mattered.

Because it was about you.

And then, as if to cement the moment in history, as if to ensure you knew exactly what he meant, Lando’s smile widened, his fingers lifted in a small, casual wave, his expression holding that distinct mix of amusement and complete sincerity.

"I love you, baby," he added, voice light, but his gaze unwavering.

And somewhere—perhaps in the middle of the paddock, or tucked away in the McLaren lounge, or still watching through the glowing screen of your phone—you felt it.

The warmth.

It was ridiculous, really—how much he loved you. How much you lingered in his mind, how much the thought of you had settled into his bones like something he couldn’t shake, couldn’t ignore, couldn’t turn off even if he wanted to.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to.

Not even a little.

Because there you were, always, in the back of his thoughts, in the quiet moments between races, in the adrenaline-fueled highs and the exhausted lows, in the way his hands absentmindedly reached for his phone just to see if you had messaged, even when he knew you hadn’t.

He was so fucked.

But then again—so were you.

Because for all the ways he thought about you, all the ways you ran through his mind like an unstoppable force—you were doing the exact same thing.

───

The music pulsed through the crowded room, a steady beat that seemed to sync with the rhythm of Monaco itself—an endless celebration, a city that never truly slept, especially not on a night like this. The race had come and gone, the results were final, but none of it mattered now. Here, in the heart of the victory party, the lines between triumph and defeat blurred into nothing.

Monaco was different from any other race on the calendar. Here, everyone celebrated. Whether they had stood on the podium, missed out by fractions of a second, or endured the brutal reality of a retirement, it didn’t matter. The atmosphere was infectious, drowning out thoughts of past regrets or future pressures, replacing them with nothing but laughter, music, and the electricity of the night.

And in the center of it all, there was you and Lando.

His hand found yours effortlessly, fingers curling around your wrist as he twirled you, spinning you into the sea of people before catching you again—firm, steady, his. His grip was easy, natural, and the way he pulled you back to him was completely unguarded, like holding onto you was as instinctive as breathing.

The flickering lights overhead bathed his features in golden hues, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw, illuminating the curve of his grin, the familiar spark in his eyes. He was glowing, alive, moving with an energy that wasn’t just post-race adrenaline—it was something else entirely. Something lighter. Something real.

And as the music swelled, as the world blurred around you, as his arms tightened around you just slightly, grounding you in this moment, in him, you realized something with absolute certainty.

This—this exact moment—was his favorite kind of win.

The music was loud, the air thick with celebration, bodies moving in every direction, laughter spilling into the night. Monaco had wrapped itself around you both, drawing you into the pulse of it, into the warmth, into the chaos that was somehow so perfectly right.

Lando’s hands were on you, strong and steady despite the way the champagne had settled into his veins, making everything feel just a little lighter, just a little easier, just a little too honest. His grip was firm around your waist as he swayed with you, his laughter bubbling up, uninhibited, raw, completely unfiltered.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice barely above the music, but close enough—close enough that it sank into you the way his touch did. “I think I might be a little bit in love with you.”

You laughed, shaking your head, because this was Lando—your Lando, messy and drunk and unbelievably obvious.

“A little bit?” you teased, tilting your head, amusement dancing in your tone.

His grip tightened as he pulled you in, so close you could see the way his pupils were blown wide, the way his expression softened just slightly, just enough to be real.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, his voice lower now, heavier. “A lot Like, stupidly, annoyingly, completely, all-the-way in love with you.”

You didn’t have time to react before he spun you again, pulling you back just as fast, his grin unapologetic, his hands never leaving yours.

You shook your head, amusement flickering in your eyes, though the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed you. "You're drunk, Lando," you teased, brushing off the weight of his words, the confession woven into them.

But he wasn’t having it.

Without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his grip firm, his fingers pressing into your skin like he needed you to listen, like he needed you to believe him. His breath was warm against your cheek, his voice softer now, rougher, laced with something too real to be ignored.

“I mean it, Y/n."

He hesitated, his eyes searching yours, lingering for half a second longer than they should have, like he was waiting for something—some kind of reaction, some kind of reassurance, some kind of anything that told him he wasn’t just saying this into the night.

His fingers curled slightly against your waist.

"I don’t want this to end."

Your stomach twisted, your pulse stuttering as the meaning settled between you, hanging in the space neither of you had dared to touch before. But still, you asked, because you had to, because you needed to hear him say it even though you already knew.

"What?"

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking his head, his hold tightening as he finally let the words fall.

"This," he murmured, his voice lower now, heavier. "The bet or whatever it is. Us."

You took his hand, fingers lacing through his without hesitation, and guided him away from the crowd, weaving past the swirling bodies, past the laughter, past the electricity of Monaco’s endless celebration. The music pulsed behind you, but the further you walked, the quieter it became, the lights dimming, the chaos settling into the background until it was just the two of you, standing in the shadowed corner of the venue.

He let you lead him, no resistance, no questions—just quiet curiosity, just the steady grip of his hand holding onto yours like he wasn’t willing to let go. And then you stopped, turning to face him, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart pounding, your thoughts tangled, every word you wanted to say sitting on the tip of your tongue but refusing to fall into place.

“I don’t know what’s real and what’s just pretending, Lan,” you finally admitted, your voice softer now, rawer, laced with something too heavy for the moment, something too real. You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against his, unable to look away, unable to pull back, unable to escape the way his gaze searched yours with that same intensity, the same depth, the same knowing. Because deep down, you already had your answer—you just wanted to hear him say it.

Lando’s expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker with hesitation or uncertainty. If anything, he looked like he had been waiting for this conversation, waiting for you to bring it up, waiting for the chance to say what had already been sitting between you for far too long.

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, grounding you, steadying you, keeping you present when your instinct begged you to run from whatever this was. “I don’t pretend anything since the first day, love,” he murmured, his voice carrying something firm yet gentle, something sure, something that left no room for doubt. The way he said it, the way the words fell effortlessly from his lips, sent something rushing through you—a realization, a truth, a confirmation of everything you had already known but refused to acknowledge.

Then, his thumb brushed against your skin, slow, deliberate, and he went further. “I mean, I want you to be mine,” he continued, his voice dropping just slightly, almost careful, as if it carried more weight than he knew how to hold.

His eyes searched yours again, not for permission, not for reassurance—just for the moment, just for you, just for the understanding that this wasn’t a joke, that this wasn’t something fleeting, that this wasn’t just part of the game. “Truly mine.”

Lando’s voice was lower now, rougher, heavy with something undeniable. The distance between you had disappeared, the warmth of him wrapping around you, drowning out the rest of the world, pressing into something real. His fingers curled against your waist, slow, deliberate, his grip not demanding but certain, like he was holding onto the truth of his words as much as he was holding onto you.

“I’ve never wanted someone so badly the way I want you, Y/n,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any sign of doubt, any hint that you might pull away, might retreat into excuses, into hesitation.

The weight of the night pressed against your skin—the heat of Monaco’s endless celebration, the pulse of music vibrating through the walls, the distant roar of voices spilling over in laughter, in cheers, in pure adrenaline-fueled revelry. But none of it mattered. Not the party, not the race, not the noise—because here, in this quiet corner, tucked away from the chaos, it was just you and him.

Lando’s grip was firm, grounding you, steadying himself, his fingers curling against your waist like he was afraid the second he let go, this moment might slip away. His breath was uneven, his pupils blown wide, the remnants of champagne and excitement lingering in the way his chest rose and fell in shallow movements, in the way his lips parted slightly like he had more to say but wasn’t sure how to say it.

He wanted you. Needed you. Craved you in ways he hadn’t fully realized until now.

And you?

You were just as gone for him.

Everything—every single thing—had changed this weekend. What started as something simple, something playful, something undefined had shifted into this, into something so much heavier, so much more real than either of you had been prepared for. Every moment spent together had turned into something impossible to ignore, every fleeting glance now carried meaning, every touch lingered longer than it should.

All the years of pain, of hesitation, of uncertainty didn’t matter anymore.

He had changed. You had changed. But in a way, he was still the same. Still Lando, still the boy with the teasing smirk, with the wild energy, with the unfiltered laughter that had always drawn you in. But now, that same boy was standing in front of you, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world, like you were his like this moment meant more than any podium finish ever could.

Your chest tightened, breath shaky, fingers twitching slightly against his as you finally let the words slip, raw and completely unguarded.

“I’m yours, Lando.”

─── monday: the end ??

The headache was manageable. The weight pressing against your chest? Not so much.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room, painting everything in muted tones of reality that you weren’t entirely ready to face. The warmth of sleep still clung to your body, but it wasn’t enough to keep the creeping thoughts at bay. Not today. Not when everything felt different, when the ease of last night had been replaced with something heavier, something impossible to ignore.

Beside you, Lando stirred. Shirtless, tangled in the sheets, limbs sprawled across the bed like he hadn’t quite processed the morning yet, like he was still lost somewhere between last night’s celebration and the reality waiting outside these walls. His breathing was slow, steady, rhythmic in a way that should’ve been comforting—but instead, it gnawed at something inside you, pulling at the edges of a thought you weren’t quite ready to examine.

You could get used to this.

The sight of him, the warmth of him, the way everything about this felt natural, like it belonged. But at the same time, something inside you hesitated, wavered, pressed against the weight of knowing this wasn’t supposed to be real, wasn’t supposed to last.

You sighed, reaching for your phone, fingers fumbling across the screen as the device lit up, notifications flooding in like a wave crashing against the shore. And the second your browser opened, the world greeted you with stark reality.

Photos.

Everywhere.

You and Lando, caught in flashes, frozen in moments that weren’t meant to be dissected by the rest of the world, splashed across headlines with catchy phrases that barely scratched the surface of what really happened. But that wasn’t the worst part.

It was the interview.

It was the way he had said all the right things, played the perfect role, made everyone believe what they wanted to believe.

It was proof that the bet was over.

And that Lando had won.

He had convinced the world that he was the perfect boyfriend. Charming, devoted, unbelievably convincing. And maybe, just maybe, he had convinced you, too.

The thought twisted deep in your stomach, tangled in something uncomfortable, something terrifying, something you weren’t ready to unpack. Because if this was over—if this was all just part of the game, part of something meant to end—then what happened now?

Were you supposed to go back to being friends?

And if so…

Why did that feel like the last thing you wanted?

You moved slowly, almost too slowly, as if the weight pressing down on you made it harder to go through the motions. Packing your things should’ve been easy, mindless, routine—but instead, every item you folded, every piece of clothing you shoved into your bag felt heavier than it should. Like somehow, leaving this room, leaving him, leaving this entire weekend behind, was more than just the end of a bet.

Was it really over?

Was it supposed to be?

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the fabric in your hands, thoughts swirling faster than you could process them. After everything—the teasing, the lingering touches, the way his gaze had held onto yours like it meant something, like it was more. After last night, after his confession, after the way he had needed you.

But maybe that was all it had been—a moment fueled by champagne and adrenaline, by the high of the night, by the fleeting rush of Monaco’s magic.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly, convincing yourself that it was just that. Just drunk words. Just impulse. Just Lando being Lando. Just something temporary—something that shouldn’t matter as much as it did.

Just as your fingers brushed against the door handle, a firm grip wrapped around your wrist, halting your movement, pulling you back before you could take that final step. The warmth of his touch was steady, solid, anchoring you to the moment before you could slip away from it. Your pulse stumbled, your breath hitching as his fingers tightened, not harshly, not demandingly, but deliberately—as if he knew that if he didn’t stop you now, you might never stop yourself.

“Where are you going?” Lando’s voice, rough from sleep, carried a quiet intensity, a gravity that settled in your chest, made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to acknowledge. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t making light of the situation. He was serious.

You swallowed, eyes flickering over his face, searching for something—an escape, an easy answer, anything that would make this moment less real. But nothing came. No excuses, no rehearsed responses, nothing to fill the space between you except the raw truth you had been trying to avoid since the second you woke up. “Home?” you answered, though it came out more like a question, uncertain, fragile, like the word didn’t belong to you anymore.

But Lando didn’t waver.

His grip tightened just slightly, his gaze steady, unwavering, knowing. There was no hesitation in his expression, no uncertainty in his stance, no doubt in the way he looked at you like he had already decided what this was, what this meant.

“But you are home,” he said, and the conviction in his voice hit something deep inside you, something you had tried so hard to ignore, something you weren’t sure you could fight anymore.

Because deep down, you knew the truth—you were home. After eight long years, after everything, after all the hesitation and uncertainty, you had finally found your way back. And it wasn’t just Monaco, wasn’t just the comfort of familiar places or the rush of the weekend—it was him. He was your home.

But admitting that felt too big, too terrifying, too final. So instead, you let the words slip out, sharp and deliberate, forcing a distance between you both before the moment swallowed you whole.

“You won the bet, remember?”

Lando’s expression shifted, the certainty in his eyes flickering just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. His grip didn’t loosen, but something in his stance changed—a subtle hesitation, a brief flicker of something uncertain, something vulnerable.

“I don’t care about the bet,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, rougher, edged with something too real to be ignored.

You exhaled slowly, heart pounding in your chest, fingers twitching where his held onto yours. You wanted to believe him, wanted to lean into the warmth of his words, into the comfort of the truth they carried—but it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple.

“Lando…” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

“I didn’t win anything,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. His fingers slid down to lace with yours, gripping tighter, like he needed you to understand—really understand. His lips parted, breath uneven, his gaze locked onto yours like he was afraid you were going to slip away, like if he let go, you would vanish completely. “Not if you walk out that door.”

And suddenly, the bet—the thing that had started all of this, the game that had set everything in motion—felt so insignificant compared to what this had become.

For eight years, you convinced yourself that losing him was inevitable—that people came and went, that feelings faded, that memories blurred into nothing more than passing thoughts that didn’t carry weight anymore. You had spent years learning how to live without him, how to ignore the way his name still tugged at something deep in your chest, how to pretend the absence didn’t feel so vast.

But standing here now, feeling the warmth of his grip against your wrist, hearing the quiet certainty in his voice, all of that fell apart. Because the truth was—you never really let him go.

“I let you go eight years ago,” Lando said, his voice low, rough around the edges, laced with something unshakable. His fingers curled tighter, grounding himself in the moment, in you, in everything that had come rushing back between you like time had never passed at all. “And I’m not letting that happen again.”

The words sat heavy between you, lingering in the space where doubt had once lived, where hesitation had once thrived, where every unspoken fear had kept you both apart for far too long. They pressed into the silence, into the quiet moment that felt too fragile, too raw, like any wrong movement might shatter the certainty building between you.

“I can’t lose you again, Y/n.”

But now?

Now, none of that mattered.

Because when he said it—when you felt it—it wasn’t just something fleeting, wasn’t just words tossed carelessly into the air. It was a truth, a choice, an impossible confession wrapped in quiet certainty, in undeniable finality. And that changed everything.

“I can’t lose you again,” he repeated, softer this time, voice dipping into something rough, something raw, something undeniable. The words were meant for you, meant to wrap around the air between you, meant to stay. He wasn’t just saying it for the sake of it—he needed you to hear it, needed you to understand that this wasn’t just impulse, wasn’t just adrenaline, wasn’t just the remnants of the night clinging to him.

He meant it.

And you did, too.

Because deep down, you felt the same.

You couldn’t lose him again. Not after eight years of silence. Not after everything. Not after the way this weekend had torn down every last wall between you, had stripped away the hesitations, had forced you to see what had been there all along.

Not when he was standing here, holding onto you, refusing to let go, refusing to let you slip away the way you had once before. Not when his fingers curled against your skin like he was terrified of losing this moment, of losing you, of losing everything all over again. Not when his presence swallowed you whole, when his warmth seeped into you, when every racing thought screeched to a halt under the weight of this moment, of him, of the realization that maybe—just maybe—this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The words sat on the edge of your tongue, lingering, heavy, tangled with years of emotions too vast to contain, too powerful to ignore. You had spent so long convincing yourself that time had changed things—that the anger, the frustration, the ache of his absence had chipped away at everything else, had left you with nothing more than resentment and a hollow space where love used to live.

But standing here, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapped around your wrist, seeing the way his eyes searched yours, the way he held onto you like he wasn’t willing to let go, everything you had buried came rushing back.

Because despite everything—despite the years apart, despite the walls you had built, despite the way you had once convinced yourself you could live without him—you still loved him.

And when the words finally escaped, they carried more weight than you ever thought possible.

“I love you, Norris.”

© norristrii 2025

babsie radio ! Thank you for the positive feedback on nostalgia, I’m so glad you liked it as much as I did! I know you guys wanted slowburn but I just don’t know how to write it haha, but I tried, hope it’s slowburn enough and you’ll enjoy it <3

taglist ! @haniette @hazzasmunchkin @stilesks @freyathehuntress @fictionalfanatic123 @evilive

[hs-is-loml]

He's My Favorite. (ln4)

Pairing: Lando Norris x Sainz!Actress!Reader

Summary: fans are speculating who y/n might be dating but it turns out it was in front of their faces the whole time. or y/n and lando are mistakenly considered to only be best friends and people are in for a surprise.

Type: Social Media AU! face claim is Bruna Marquezine!

Warnings: probably a few grammar errors. lots of fluff. drivers standing their ground against neymar jr. because he deserves his own warning. inaccurate timelines but then again this is a fictional smau! UNEDITED

a/n: i'm on a kick rn. nothing can stop me.

all translations come from google! english translations are in parentheses!!

masterlist

twitter

instagram

carlossainz55 just made a post

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 1,560,937 others

carlossainz55 so proud of this one! but papa did say your head is growing too big after you saw yourself on the billboard...and i agree with him. anyways, go support y/n by watching her new movie Blue Beetle now in theaters!

tagged yourusername

view all 117,342 comments

sainzforlife this family is too talented for their own good-

yourusername papa did not say that.

→ carlossainz55 just ask him then @/carlossainzoficial

→ carlossainzoficial mija, es de lo único que has estado hablando desde que lo viste. (daughter, that's all you've been talking about since you saw it.)

→ yourusername papa, that's not very nice. don't try to pretend like i didn't catch you sending the trailer to all your friends last week...

iamrebeccad beautiful girl and amazing movie!

→ yourusername i love you more than my brother.

→ liked by iamrebeccad and 217 others

xolo_mariduena at least you didn't see her crying when she first saw the billboard

→ yourusername XOLO, NO ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT

→ landonorris send the video.

→ yourusername now, look what you've done. all the drivers are going to see me crying now-

→ xolo_mariduena you'll still take me to the next gp right...?

landonorris just to let you guys know she cried after this photo was taken too

→ carlando4life does this mean lando was with the family for the private screening??

→ 4papaya lando is a part of their family so probably😭

instagram

landonorris just made a post

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, mclaren, and 1,860,657 others

landonorris can't believe this girl is going to be blown up on the big screen coming to theaters near you. jokes aside proud of you and everything you do.

tagged yourusername

view all 99,342 comments

thatonebakucorner this post is so sweet!

yourusername thank you, lan🫶🏻

→ carlossainz55 why did you send him a heart?

→ charles_leclerc yeah, what's that about?🤨

→ yourusername carlos, you're just jealous you didn't get a post from lando

georgerussell63 i never get appreciation posts like this

→ landonorris what do you want me to post about your slideshows?

→ alex_albon it's because you're not y/n

welovey/n LOL not the drivers grilling lando about this post

ln4csforever "proud of you and everything you do" LANDO JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER ALREADY

→ paddockfashion please- like lando could pull someone like y/n

twitter

instagram

yourusername just made a post

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, neymarjr, and 1,341,972 others

yourusername such a crazy week but glad i got to spend it with some of my favorite people. thank you for all the love and support you guys have given to Blue Beetle!

tagged carlossainz55 and landonorris

view all 117,593 comments

worldchampionsisaid what is neymar doing here?!?

→ neymarandy/n they need to get back together asap!

→ mywifeisy/n yes because that would be such a good idea even though he cheated on his baby mama while she was pregnant??

oscarpiastri lando is asking if you're serious with the guy in the third photo

→ oscarpiastri apparently, i wasn't supposed to ask you on here so now lando is yelling at me.

carmenmmundt proud of you, love! ❤️

→ yourusername love you, carmen! 🤎

ferraricountyourdays the third pic?? Y/N, WHO IS THAT MAN??

→ y/nismilf she needs to hard launch him already!

neymarjr linda como sempre, amor. (beautiful as always, love.)

→ carlossainz55 no, go away.

→ charles_leclerc wrong post, buddy.

→ georgerussell63 abosolutely not-

→ danielricciardo don't forget what happened last time you tried to contact her.

→ maxverstappen1 move along.

→ fifaandf1crossover do you know you have 30 minutes?

→ y/npleasemarryme love that they always protect her!

shesmyfavactress weird she posted picture with her bf along with one of lando and carlos

→ f1girlies maybe because she's an adult and allowed to be friends with her brother's ex teammate?

fernandoalo_oficial i remember when i used to be your favorite driver

→ carlossainzoficial those were the days

→ yourusername you two are still my favorite of all time.

→ carlossainz55 i'm hurt, y/n.

→ landonorris so was your caption meaningless?

→ yourusername i can't win.

whatacrossover oh, lando and y/n are definitely dating.

yourusername just added to their story

shared post by yourusername and landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, anasainzvdec, and 2,493,968 others

yourusername and landonorris just kidding, he's my favorite.

view all 136,975 comments

carlossainz55 that hand is getting a bit low, don't you think?

→ yourusername get over it. you've had years to get used to this already.

→ inmyf1era YEARS you say?

landonorris i get to be with you every day. what a life.

→ yourusername i love you.

→ oscarpiastri you're ridiculous

→ charles_leclerc mate, look what she has turned you into

→ yourusername charles, i will tell alex about this.

→ charles_leclerc I WAS JUST KIDDING. PLEASE NO

lilymhe was waiting for this hard launch!

→ alex_albon i thought lando was going to spill before they could even do one

carlossainzoficial what can i say i love my son so i approve

→ yourusername could've said that you love and care for your daughter's happiness

sebastianvettel actually, y/n forgot who her real favorite is

→ yourusername love you, seb!

→ landonorris back off, old man.

[cressidagrey]

Brilliant

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:   Lando Norris figures out that Felicity is not the only genius in the family. 

Warnings and Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

Lando Norris had been lulled into a false sense of security.

The first time he’d come over to have dinner with Oscar and his secret wife and daughter, it had been all banana bread, fairy lights, a farmhouse and chickens. 

He’d left thinking, Wow, wholesome. Lovely. What a nice normal family.

He should’ve known better.

It started fine.

Felicity answered the door with her hair in a braid and Bee on her hip, wearing a linen apron. Later she started chopping parsley like she had a Michelin star. 

Oscar was still in socks and a McLaren hoodie, casually setting the table. Brownies were cooling on the counter. It all felt aggressively wholesome.

Domestic. Wholesome. Normal.

And then things started to shift.

It began when Bee asked Lando if he wanted to see her “new diagrams.”

“Sure,” Lando said, immediately charmed. “What are we diagramming?”

Bee dragged a whiteboard the size of a refrigerator into the living room. It was already covered in rainbow-colored equations, scatter plots, and aerodynamic schematics. Some of it… looked familiar.

“This is what I think happened to you in Canada,” she chirped. “Your rear tyre temps didn’t match your front entry load.”

Lando blinked. “I—I’m sorry?”

“Don’t worry,” Bee said sweetly. “I made notes.”

Oscar, leaning against the counter like a man watching a nature documentary, just said, “She was bored yesterday.”

Lando turned slowly. “Did you… help her with this?”

Felicity didn’t even look up from the salad she was tossing. “Nope. But she did ask me how to pull GPS overlays from the broadcast feed. I think she reverse-engineered it.”

“She’s three,” Lando said, horrified.

“She’ll be four next month,” Felicity replied, like that clarified anything.

Oscar handed Lando a glass of water with the casual air of a man offering a lifeline. “She’s always like this. Felicity taught her indexing when she was two. They do Sudoku before bed. Last week she asked if brake bias feels different when I haven’t slept.”

Lando opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Bee, very seriously: “Do you think you overcorrected in Q2, or was your setup just inefficient?”

Felicity, completely deadpan: “You should’ve requested a suspension change after FP2. I told Oscar you’d feel the oversteer.”

Oscar nodded. “She called it Wednesday night.”

Lando looked down at his mashed potatoes like they might hold the answers.

“Am I being… debriefed?” he asked weakly.

Felicity gave him a sunny smile. “Consider it peer review.”

Bee handed him a drawing. It was a near perfect drawing of the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. Labeled.

“You missed apexes here,” she said, pointing, “and your throttle trace gets nervous here. But you did very well on Sunday. Mama said your interview was mature.”

Lando took a long sip of water.

He had no idea how to respond to that.

Oscar just smiled, like this was completely normal.

***

Dinner was over.

Bee had fallen asleep halfway through explaining tyre conservation during variable track temp. Her whiteboard stood like a shrine to chaos in the corner, still covered in formulas and glittery annotations. Felicity was upstairs putting her to bed.

Oscar was stacking plates by the sink when Lando, quiet and still visibly rattled, came to stand beside him.

“Mate,” he said, softly. “This isn’t normal.”

Oscar glanced at him, then raised an eyebrow. “What part?”

“All of it. The tyre graphs. The whiteboard that’s bigger than she is. The fact that Bee casually says the phrase ‘aerodynamic turbulence modeling error margin.’ She’s three.”

Oscar shrugged, drying a plate. “It’s normal for Felicity.”

Lando frowned. “What do you mean?”

Oscar leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely, voice low with affection. “She’s the one who set the tone. Bee was never going to grow up in a house where questions got shrugged off or answers got dumbed down. That’s Felicity’s doing.”

Lando hesitated. Then, a little cautiously, “Okay, but like… how smart is Felicity, actually?”

Oscar sighed. Then exhaled. “She hates the word genius.”

“But…”

“She took multiple tests when she was a kid,” Oscar said. “Different versions. Different formats. She only ever mentions the lowest score she got.”

Lando waited.

Oscar glanced over. “One-sixty.”

Lando choked. “That’s the lowest?”

Oscar nodded, like he’d just said, ‘she bakes good muffins.’

“She rounds it down when people ask,” he added. “Doesn’t want anyone treating her differently.  She never tells people the others. Said it felt gross. Said it made people expect her to be perfect instead of human.”

“Mate,” Lando whispered. “That’s, like… Einstein numbers.”

Oscar shrugged. “I know.”

“She could be running a think tank.”

“She’d rather raise our daughter,” Oscar said simply. “And tile bathrooms. And fix old engines. And make bread.”

“She’s been raising a kid, tiling bathrooms, baking bread, writing a doctoral thesis and telling me my tyre strategy’s garbage—and she’s out here pretending to be a normal person?”

“She is a normal person,” Oscar said with a smile. “She just happens to be the smartest one in most rooms.” Oscar looked fondly toward the staircase. “She’s brilliant. Not just smart—brilliant. But she’d rather teach Bee how to mix concrete than talk about test scores.”

“...She terrifies me.”

Oscar grinned. “She terrifies everyone.”

A pause.

“Except you,” Lando said quietly.

Oscar shrugged. “She’s my wife.”

Lando shook his head. “You’re not even the smartest one in your own house.”

Oscar just shrugged. “Never claimed I was.”

“So… she’s a doctor,” Lando finally managed.

Oscar glanced up. “Technically, yeah.”

“Technically?!” Lando spluttered. “She has a PhD in mechanical engineering from Oxford. That’s not ‘technically.’ That’s Doctor Piastri.”

Oscar’s smile widened. “She doesn’t use the title.”

Lando blinked. “Why not?”

Oscar shrugged. “Says it either puts her on a pedestal or paints a target on her back. She earned it. But she doesn’t want it to be a wall between her and other people. So she leaves it off.”

Lando was quiet for a second. “She got a doctorate while raising a toddler. And doesn’t even use the title.”

“Because that was never the point,” Oscar said softly.

“Then what was the point?”

Oscar glanced toward the stairs. “Proving she could. Making sense of the chaos. Showing Bee what it means to finish something—even when it’s hard.”

Lando’s voice dropped. “What about Bee?”

Oscar stilled. “What about her?”

“Have you… tested her? For IQ or anything?”

Oscar shook his head. “No. Felicity doesn’t want to.”

Lando frowned. “But why?”

“Because when Fliss was a kid, that number became her whole identity,” Oscar said. “Her parents had her tested. A lot. Every number came back sky-high. Her family turned it into her whole identity. She stopped being a person and started being a benchmark. They gave her a number. A label. ‘Gifted.’ ‘Advanced.’ ‘Exceptionally high functioning.’ You’d be amazed how fast people stop treating their child like a child once that happens—and start treating the child like a product.”

Lando’s brows furrowed.

Oscar kept going. “Every teacher expected brilliance. Every mistake was a crisis. Every success wasn’t surprising—it was required. And every time she tried to be a kid, or just… ordinary for a second, someone reminded her what her number was. What it meant she should be doing.”

A pause.

“She doesn’t want that for Bee,” Oscar went on. “She wants her to love learning. To be curious because it’s fun, not because someone told her she’s supposed to be special.”

Lando was quiet for a long moment.

And then, finally: “That’s… actually really beautiful.”

Oscar gave a small smile. “Yeah. It is.”

“Don’t you ever want to know? Like, just out of curiosity.” Lando asked curiously. 

Oscar smiled faintly. “We already do know. We live with her.”

“Mate,” Lando said again, more quietly this time. “You live with two terrifyingly brilliant people.”

Oscar smiled, easy and proud. “I know.”

***

GRID GROUP CHAT

Lando: guys guys guys.

Charles: what did you do

Lando: i just had dinner at oscar’s place again his daughter. she has a whiteboard. bigger than her.

Esteban: cute 🥹

Lando: NO NOT CUTE IT HAD EQUATIONS ABOUT MY TYRE PERFORMANCE IN CANADA

Pierre: wait what

Lando: she told me i should’ve requested a suspension change after FP2 and then GAVE ME A DIAGRAM

Oscar: Be grateful It had glitter

Lando: you’re TOO CALM about this your child is a genius your wife is a genius and you’re like “haha brownies?”

Max: this is the best thing I’ve read all day Lando is actually spiraling

Alex: wait Bee is THREE right??

Lando: YES THREE AND A HALF AND SHE SAID “AERODYNAMIC TURBULENCE MODELING ERROR MARGIN” OUT LOUD WITHOUT BLINKING

Lando: you know what max i want you to meet oscar’s daughter i just think it would be extremely funny for someone other than me to be told their apex was emotionally insecure

Charles: what

George: her what was

Oscar: it made sense in context

Lando: SHE SAID MY THROTTLE TRACE WAS NERVOUS AND THAT I WAS DRIVING LIKE I HAD COMMITMENT ISSUES

Carlos: and she’s… how old?

Oscar: 3 (nearly 4)

Alex: i’m sorry, are we skipping over the fact that your daughter has stronger analytical skills than half the grid

Fernando Alonso: she’s a visionary

Lando: she said my “driver confidence curve was showing signs of emotional fatigue” and then offered me a drawing of the circuit with my insecurities highlighted in glitter marker

George: she gave you therapy. that’s not an insult. that’s a gift.

Lance: i would like to respectfully not be perceived by oscar’s child

Logan: wait does she do like feedback for everyone now? Not just Oscar? could she maybe help me

Lando: i want you to sit across from her, max and watch her diagnose your lift-off timing while hugging a frog plushie

Oscar: Button the frog. He’s essential to the process.

Charles: i would pay money to watch this

Lando: this is pay-per-view content max verstappen vs oscar’s toddler loser has to do arts and crafts and reflect on their driving flaws

Max: fine bring her but if she mentions my 2021 turn-in angles I’m leaving

Oscar: she already has opinions just so you know

Lando: i need to see Max get peer-reviewed by a preschooler.

Oscar: She is very thorough.

Daniel: bro why didn’t you warn us your kid was a data analyst in disguise

Oscar: You didn’t ask.

Lando: @everyone also HIS WIFE SHE HAS A DOCTORATE IN MECHANICAL ENGINEERING FROM OXFORD AND JUST. DOESN’T. MENTION IT

Charles: Pardon?

Alex: WHAT IS HAPPENING

Lewis: Hold on. Hold on. She has a PhD?

Oscar: Technically yes. She doesn’t use the title.

Max: Of course she doesn’t Of course you married someone terrifying and secretly brilliant This explains… everything

Alex: so you’re telling me Oscar lives with TWO geniuses and is just…vibing???

Oscar: I bring snacks. That’s my role.

Lando: She reverse-engineered my Q2 data for fun FOR FUN While making dinner!!

George: That’s love. Or war. Possibly both.

Carlos: Honestly sounds like Oscar’s entire household is smarter than the entire paddock combined

Yuki: Do the chickens also do calculus or

Oscar: No comment.

Fernando: i want to meet the wife.

Lewis: me too actually.

Lando: good luck she’ll probably fix your floor issues and then critique your suspension setup while baking a pie

Yuki: can she bake for us also???

Oscar: Yes. She bakes. Also she tiled our bathroom. And wrote a thesis while Bee was napping.

Lance: I feel like a potato.

Lando: i need a nap just from being in their house

Carlos: can she also explain ferrari strategy to ferrari

Carlos: no one can do that. not even god.

[itsnesss]

Could you please write something Angsty with Ollie when you always made sure to use double protection when you sleep together as you both only turned 20 and he’s busy with F1 and you with you’re study with university you know how privileged you are to be able too travel the world in you’re early twenties and to be a part of Ollie’s journey but it all changes at the Monaco GP when you realize that you’re period is late and you can’t help but start to panic and decide to take a test when Ollie has a team meeting but he comes back earlier than expected and finds you crying on the bathroom floor and you explain it to him with tear choked voice. Much Love❤️

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭? | ollie bearman × fem!reader

summary | at 20, both careful, everything changes at the monaco gp when the period is late

warnings | gf!reader, angst, anxiety, pregnancy-related panic

word count | 1.4 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

Traveling the world with Ollie is a dream. You know it. You repeat it like a mantra every time you juggle online classes and connecting flights.

You’re in your twenties, still figuring out who you are, while you watch him shine under the lights of every paddock, every podium, every interview.

And even though the noise of his world sometimes overwhelms you, you chose him. You choose him, again and again.

And you were both always careful.

You both knew you weren’t ready. That your lives were too unstable, too fast—like the cars he drives. Always double protection. Always.

And yet…

You’re in Monaco. The sun shines over the Mediterranean like nothing could possibly go wrong. The air smells of luxury, sea, and gasoline. You've been distracted the past few days, maybe because of jet lag, maybe because of the pressure of an important online exam you just took. But this morning, while you were getting ready to go with him to the track, something clicked in your head. And it wasn’t just any thought.

It was a cold, dry, silent realization.

Your period.

It was supposed to come ten days ago.

Ten.

Not one. Not two. Ten.

You start doing the math. You mentally review everything again. The pills. The condoms. Human error? Did something happen? A mistake in the middle of exhaustion? Of alcohol? No, no… no!

But the panic settles in your chest like a soaked brick.

Ollie leaves early for a team meeting. He kisses your forehead goodbye, not noticing how your hands tremble slightly when you hold onto his arm a second longer than necessary. He smiles. "I’ll see you later, okay?" You just nod. You can’t speak.

As soon as the door closes, you run.

You head to the nearest pharmacy, wearing a hoodie and oversized sunglasses as if they could hide the storm brewing inside you. You buy one test. Two. You don’t want to leave room for error.

The hotel room is silent when you return. Only your uneven breathing can be heard.

The clock on the wall seems to mock the time you can’t control.

You go to the bathroom. Read the instructions three times. Do what you need to. Leave the test on the sink. Sit on the floor, legs crossed, hugging your knees.

One minute passes.

Two.

Three.

Your eyes fill with tears before you even look.

And when you finally do, you see it.

Two lines.

Clear as day.

The air leaves your lungs as if you’ve slammed into an invisible wall. The world tilts, spins, collapses. You start to cry. Not a soft cry. No. A broken, overflowing cry, silent on the outside but deafening inside.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear the door open.

You didn’t hear him come in.

"Hey, I forgot my—" Ollie’s voice cuts off abruptly.

Your eyes meet in the mirror. He’s standing in the doorway. You’re on the bathroom floor. The test in front of you. The disaster, exposed.

"… What’s going on?"

You struggle to speak, to say something. But your throat closes up. Your voice comes out hoarse, cracked, barely a whisper:

"I think… I think I’m pregnant."

Ollie’s expression changes in a second. His face shifts from confusion to shock, and from shock to a tense kind of stillness that makes you want to throw up.

He stays there, frozen in the doorway. As if he doesn’t know whether to come in or run. As if his mind is trying to process something that just doesn’t fit into his reality.

You don’t know how to say anything else. There’s no script for this. No one prepared you for this moment.

"We used protection," he finally mutters, like he’s talking to himself, like if he repeats it, he can make it all a misunderstanding. "We were always careful. Always."

You nod, tears still running down your face, with the positive test still on the sink, cruel and definitive.

"I don’t know what happened," you whisper, your voice shaking like a string about to snap. "I thought everything was fine. I didn’t feel different. I didn’t have symptoms. And… it just didn’t come."

He kneels in front of you, finally moving closer. He’s no longer frozen. Now he looks like something else. Something more human. More vulnerable. He leans in and cups your face with his hands—soft but firm.

"Are you sure?" he asks, even though he knows the answer is in plain sight.

"I took two tests," you confess, a lump in your throat. "Both came out positive."

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to say something. Something big. Something that could fix the disaster unraveling between you. But he doesn’t. Instead, he hugs you.

And you break.

You sob into his chest, feeling him tremble a little too. You don’t know if it’s from fear, from anger, or simply because it’s all too much. The sound of your tears filling the silence of the bathroom mixes with his shaky breathing.

"I’m so sorry," you say, not even knowing why, not knowing if it’s your fault. But you need to say it. You need to let it out.

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just holds you tighter.

"It’s not your fault," he says at last. His voice is low, hoarse, filled with emotional exhaustion you’ve rarely heard from him. "It’s nobody’s. But, fuck… I don’t know what to do."

Your tears pause for a moment. You look at him.

"Me neither."

That’s the scariest part. That you have no answers. That you’re alone in this. That your world—the one of travel, circuits, goals, youthful dreams—just cracked in a way neither of you saw coming.

And what hurts most… is that you’re not even sure you’ll be able to hold it together.

Now you’re sitting on the edge of the bed in a hotel robe with your knees pulled to your chest, while Ollie paces back and forth, as if he needs to move so his thoughts don’t drown him.

"I have to race tomorrow," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "And next week is Spain. Then Canada. Austria…"

His voice trails off, and you lower your gaze. Not because it bothers you that he said it, but because you understand. His life doesn’t stop. It never stops.

"And I have a final paper due Monday," you reply, your voice still broken but trying to sound sane. "After that… exams. And internship hours. I can’t fail this semester."

And there it is. The abyss. The two lives you built so carefully… on the brink of collapse over something as unexpected as two pink lines on a cheap test.

Ollie stops in front of you.

"I don’t want you to think I’m going to leave," he says suddenly. "I’m not that kind of person. I couldn’t."

You look at him. And while part of you feels relief hearing it, another part still doubts. Not him. The world you live in.

"It’s not just about whether you stay or not, Ollie. It’s about what we’re going to do with this. With everything. With… a life."

The word hangs in the air like undetonated dynamite.

He sits beside you, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Several seconds pass in silence before he speaks:

"I don’t know if I can be a dad right now."

Your throat tightens. Not because you didn’t know. But because hearing it out loud hurts more than you expected.

"I don’t know if I can be a mom either," you admit. "I don’t even know if… if I want to be. At least not now. And I feel horrible for thinking that."

He lifts his head. Looks at you with a mix of pain, fear, and something else you can’t quite decipher.

"You’re not horrible," he says with a sincerity that nearly breaks you. "You’re human. And brave for saying it."

You look at him. You want to believe him. But right now, you feel anything but brave.

You lean back, staring at the ceiling. You feel the weight of the future crushing your chest.

"What do we do, Ollie?"

Silence.

He turns his face toward you, and though his voice is low, firm, almost trembling, there’s something in it that sounds like a decision:

"Whatever you decide, I’m going to be with you. I’m not going to let you go through this alone. No matter what you choose."

Your bottom lip quivers. You try to hold back another wave of tears, but it’s useless. Because in that moment, even though the fear is still there, you feel a spark of something else.

[bytemee]

RECOVERY — YU JIMIN.

“learned a lot through trial and error, tryna make it right.”

synopsis. karina’s been holding onto her pride for so long, but seeing you with someone else? it hits hard. and she doesn’t know how to handle it.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). angst, jealous!karina, she's very toxic, miscommunication, mentions of drinking, and um let me know if there's more

words. 3.6k

authors note. jealous karina!!! everyone celebrates in sync while jumping up and down

navigation. main masterlist. series masterlist. prev. next.

being wrong? yeah, karina would never admit it. she always had to be right, even when the evidence clearly proved otherwise. it was frustrating trying to have a rational conversation with her because she would never back down from her stance, no matter how illogical it seemed.

it was the way she crossed her arms and set her jaw like a locked safe. or the way her eyes narrowed into slits and her nostrils flared. it was the way her lips pursed and the way her body stiffened, like she was preparing for a fight.

but with you? you were different. you didn’t argue for the sake of winning. you wanted understanding, compromise. that’s what made it all worse. you had been patient with karina for so long, more patient than she ever deserved. and now, after everything, after all that patience, she had finally managed to chase you away.

who she chased you away to? that was the worst part.

karina saw you walking into the sorority house after months of silence. her heart nearly stopped. you hadn’t been back here since the last fight—the one where everything between you had shattered.

but now you were back for her, right? obviously.

karina’s lips twitched into a smug smile. you finally came to your senses. you must have realized you’d overreacted, that you couldn’t stay away forever. maybe you were here to apologize. maybe you were here to grovel.

her chest filled with anticipation when your eyes locked across the crowded room. that familiar ache bloomed inside her chest—the look you used to give her, the one that made her feel like the only person in the world. she felt her confidence returning.

but then, just as quickly, the air brushed past her.

wonyoung’s dark hair bounced as she skipped up to you, throwing her arms around your neck. she laughed before her lips pressed against your cheek in a kiss that karina felt like a dagger in her chest.

you didn’t pull away. instead, your eyes softened, and your hands came to rest on wonyoung's hips, pulling her close. you spoke, but the music and the distance were too loud for karina to hear what was said. all she could do was watch, helpless, as she laced her fingers with yours before leading you down the hall.

now wonyoung had you.

karina’s sorority sister. the same wonyoung who had run against her for president last year, who always seemed to be just one step behind her—or, depending on the day, ahead. they’d made peace for the sake of appearances, for the sake of the sorority. but there was always an underlying tension. a competition.

you had been karina's loyal puppy for quite a while, and she'd thrown it all away. she was too stubborn to realize what she'd had until it was too late. and now, as karina watched you and wonyoung together from afar, her heart twisted in her chest.

she missed you. she was furious at you. but more than anything, she was jealous. jealous that wonyoung had been the one to steal you away. jealous that wonyoung would be the one who got to keep you.

karina hated feeling out of control. and jealousy? that was the worst kind of chaos.

the next morning, she walked into the kitchen of the sorority house to find you standing at the counter with wonyoung.

you were chopping fruit—distracted, slow, like your thoughts were somewhere else. wonyoung stood beside you, leaning against the counter with her head tilted, watching you with a lazy, amused smile. she kept nudging you with her shoulder every few moments, drawing small chuckles from you.

karina's heart squeezed in her chest. this wasn't fair.

her gaze darkened when wonyoung reached out, snagging a strawberry from the bowl you’d just filled. “hey!” you protested, but she simply grinned before popping it in her mouth. “i spent, like, a whole minute cutting that.”

“and you can cut another,” wonyoung teased.

“morning.” she didn’t mean to sound curt, but the word came out harsh. your eyes lifted, and her heart stopped. you looked good. really good. like the months away from her had done you some good.

then, you went back to cutting fruit like she didn't even exist.

that hurt more than she expected.

“hope you didn’t ruin the kitchen,” karina said tightly, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and leaning into your personal space. your shoulders were tense, your eyes were focused on the cutting board, and your mouth was pressed into a thin line.

wonyoung arched a brow. “you mean we’re not allowed to eat strawberries in here? i must’ve missed the rule.”

the two locked eyes for a long, tense beat.

“i don’t remember anyone asking you to be part of this conversation,” karina shot back.

your brows furrowed, and you turned to wonyoung.

a smirk twisted her lips. the brunette took a step closer to you, her hand coming up to play with a strand of your hair. her voice was light and playful. "do i need permission from the president?"

karina’s eyes narrowed. she had no time for this little game. not today. not ever.

karina turned her gaze back to the fridge, grabbing the juice and pouring herself a glass. then, without a word, she swept past the two of you, leaving the kitchen.

later that week, karina saw you again. this time, you were sitting on the sorority house’s front porch, stretched out on the bench swing with your laptop open. wonyoung sat next to you, head resting on your shoulder while you scrolled through whatever was on the screen.

karina tried not to look. she really did. but her feet refused to keep moving, and her eyes refused to leave the sight of you.

it was supposed to be her sitting beside you.

supposed to be her fingers brushing against yours as you scrolled through playlists, talking about which songs to add to your shared playlist.

wonyoung wasn’t part of the picture. she shouldn’t be.

her fists clenched again, and before she could stop herself, karina stormed over.

"what the hell are you doing?"

you glanced up, confused."i'm not supposed to use the front porch?"

"don’t play dumb," karina snapped, her eyes darting between you and wonyoung. "i’m talking about this."

wonyoung slowly lifted her head from your shoulder, arching a brow. “last i checked, we don’t need your permission to sit here.”

you looked between them, clearly confused.

karina didn't care.

"well, this is the official property of our sorority. and i'm the president. so, if i say no, no one gets to sit here. not even you."

wonyoung leaned back, rolling her eyes. "so, you're the president, and therefore the dictator. is that how it works?"

karina ignored her, crossing her arms over her chest. her eyes landed on you, and her throat tightened. "get up."

you blinked.

"excuse me?"

"did i stutter? i said get up. you're not supposed to be here."

you exchanged a glance with wonyoung. a look that said, what's gotten into her? she knew that look. she'd seen it a thousand times before.

"this is the best spot for wi-fi," you argued, closing your laptop and rising to your feet. "and no one said we can't be here."

"well, i'm saying it now," karina bit back.

"oh, come on."

"i'm serious."

wonyoung rose too, taking a step toward karina. "no one's making you stay. go be the president somewhere else. you're ruining the mood."

karina's lips curled into a smile. "that's cute, that you think you can tell me what to do."

you stepped between them. "look, let's not do this. i'll go inside, okay?"

"no," wonyoung cut in. "i'm not letting her walk all over us like that. why are you letting her tell you what to do? the way she’s bothered is so pathetic.”

your eyes widened.

"pathetic? you have no idea what pathetic is. you've had your foot on my back since the day we met, and now that you finally got the upper hand, you can't stop gloating." karina snapped back.

wonyoung tilted her chin up, defiant. "if i'm so far below you, then why can't you just let us be?"

the words caught in her throat. she didn't have an answer. she wanted an excuse. an explanation.

because this isn't fair.

because y/n’s mine.

but the words never came.

instead, karina felt her cheeks burn. she was humiliated. again. in front of the one person she couldn't afford to look weak in front of.

karina’s silence was louder than any retort she could have thrown back. wonyoung’s question hung heavy in the air, the weight of it pressing down on all of you.

you shifted uncomfortably, watching karina’s face twist with emotions she couldn’t seem to hide. for once, the perfectly composed, untouchable sorority president looked completely lost.

“karina—” you started softly, but she cut you off with a sharp shake of her head.

“don’t,” she said, her voice raw.

before you could say another word, she turned and stalked away, disappearing back into the sorority house. the slam of the door echoed across the front lawn.

“she’s used to getting what she wants,” wonyoung muttered. “let her walk away.”

but you weren’t sure it was that simple. you weren’t sure karina wanted to walk away at all.

the confrontation came two days later.

the study lounge was quiet, save for the soft hum of music in your earbuds. you sat at a small table, flipping through notes and tapping your pen rhythmically on the edge of your notebook. occasionally, you hummed along, lost in thought.

that is, until the chair across from you scraped against the floor. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

karina settled down in the chair, tossing her bag on the table. you kept your gaze on the papers spread out in front of you. you couldn't avoid this forever. you didn't look up or say anything.

but she did.

"i thought you were better than this."

her words were sharp enough to pierce through your focus, but you didn’t react right away. instead, you finished writing the sentence you were on, letting the silence stretch out.

"better than what?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.

"wonyoung." karina’s tone turned brittle. “why are you still hanging around her?”

you finally looked up, your brows knitting together. “not that it’s any of your business, but we’re hanging out.”

karina’s eyes narrowed. her leg bounced under the table, restless and agitated. “you think i don’t see what you’re doing?”

your head tilted slightly, incredulity rising. “what i’m doing?”

“yes.” her jaw tightened as if holding back something explosive. “you’re parading around with her like—like—”

your expression flattened, unimpressed. “like what, karina? just say it.”

karina was quiet for a moment. it wasn't like her to hold her tongue. when she spoke, her voice was low, and her eyes flashed dark. "you're trying to get back at me."

it’s funny, you said the same thing to her on that fateful night. and she’s finally beginning to understand how you felt.

“unbelievable,” you muttered. “you can’t stand the idea of not being in control, can you? you pushed me away, karina. you didn’t want me—”

she scoffed, but you continued before she could interrupt.

“—and now, just because someone else might actually give me the time of day, you’re throwing a fit.”

her face twisted. “it’s not like that.”

“then what is it like?” you challenged. “explain it to me.”

karina paused, her hands curling into fists. she looked conflicted. like she wanted to say something but was struggling to get the words out. finally, her gaze dropped, and her voice softened. "i miss you."

you froze, eyes widening. that was not what you expected to hear.

"i miss you, and i want you back." this was the closest karina had ever come to admitting that she'd made a mistake. her confession hung heavy in the air, waiting for a response.

you stared at her.

"oh, you miss me? how long did it take for you to finally admit that?"

karina's expression hardened.

"are you still mad about the videos?"

"how could i not be?"

"it's not like it meant anything," karina snapped.

"it was humiliating," you shot back.

"i was drunk."

"no excuse."

"you disappeared," karina retorted, her eyes narrowing. "you left without a word. i needed you, and you weren't there. what did you expect me to do?"

your throat tightened. "i told you it was a family emergency. i thought—" you stopped, shaking your head. "it doesn't matter. we're done, karina. you made sure of that."

karina's nostrils flared. "don't act like you're the victim. if anyone's the victim here, it's me."

"you're unbelievable."

"i'm the victim," karina insisted, her voice rising. "you're the one who abandoned me when i needed you the most. you're the one who walked away and decided to start over with someone else. i never asked for any of this."

your anger faded, replaced by a heavy, tired sadness. “you treated me like a toy, karina. i was always there when you needed something. and when you didn’t, i was discarded like trash.”

“you were never trash,” karina said through gritted teeth.

“yeah? well, you made me feel like it.”

karina’s anger simmered, but there was something else beneath it now—hurt. “how dare you say that. i never treated you like trash. you’re the one who left me. you’re the one who chose wonyoung.”

“i didn’t choose anyone,” you shot back, slamming your hand on the table. “i left because i was hurt. i’m not going to take responsibility for your decisions. i was done being treated like shit. you have no idea how much it hurts to love someone who turns their back on you.”

you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. “i’m done with this conversation.”

she stared at you, speechless.

the valentine’s day movie night was supposed to be a tradition. last year, it was one of karina’s favorite memories—the two of you sharing a blanket, fingers laced under the covers, sneaking kisses when no one was looking. now she was walking into the same room alone; well, she had a bottle of wine in hand to keep her company.

when she spotted you walking in with wonyoung, something inside her cracked. wonyoung was practically glued to your side, her arm looped through yours and her head resting on your shoulder.

she couldn’t even focus on the movie.

all she could see was the way wonyoung snuggled into your side, the way you whispered in her ear and brushed a strand of hair from her face. the way wonyoung reached out, tracing a fingertip over your jawline, drawing a small, private smile from you.

it was almost too much. so she drank.

one glass. two. three.

by the time the movie ended, wonyoung leaned over to yujin, murmuring something about their plans for the next day. the crowd thinned out, but karina stayed glued to her seat, her eyes fixed on the paused ending credits. she stared, unmoving, lost in thought, her shoulders drooping, and her cheeks and glassy eyes made it clear she’d had too much.

it didn't take long for someone to notice.

“karina.” you approached cautiously, your eyes lingering on the empty wine bottle. you didn’t mean to stare, but it was a stark contrast to the poised, controlled karina that everyone else knew. the sorority president blinked, raising her gaze. it took her a moment to recognize you. she didn’t respond.

you stood in front of her, studying her face. your expression was unreadable. she tried not to wince.

karina cleared her throat, straightening up.

"what?" she croaked, her voice rough from disuse.

"you look like you could use some help," you said, reaching a hand out. she didn’t know why, but the gesture felt like an olive branch. her eyes darted between your face and your hand. she hesitated, then nodded, taking your hand.

her body felt heavy, but the touch sent sparks up her arm. your skin was warm—soft, familiar. karina stumbled slightly, and your other hand instinctively wrapped around her waist, steadying her.

her breath hitched.

you guided her to her room, careful to avoid the rest of the girls scattered throughout the house, drinking and celebrating. the lights were off, the room shrouded in silence. karina sank onto the bed, her body slumping as exhaustion weighed her down.

without a word, she reached out and grabbed your hand, her fingers trembling. then the tears came.

“i’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “i—i’m so sorry. i was wrong.”

her sobs wracked her small frame as she clung to your hand. “i was selfish. i pushed you away because i didn’t know how to handle how much i needed you. and then i saw you with her, and it hurt so much, but it was my fault.”

you sighed again, softer this time. “karina—”

“please,” she interrupted, her eyes pleading. “please forgive me. i know i messed everything up, but i can’t stand this anymore. i miss you. i miss us.”

before you could even think about leaving, she stood up and buried her face in your shoulder, her sobs muffled by the fabric of your hoodie. your hand instinctively found her back, rubbing slow circles as she tried to steady her breathing.

"please don't go," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. the silence stretched out, and for a moment, you were tempted to pull away and leave her. it would be easier that way. but when you looked at her face, her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes, you couldn't find the will to walk away. “come on,” you murmured gently. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

leading her to the bathroom, you turned on the tap, letting her wash her tear-streaked face. she winced at her reflection in the mirror, eyes swollen and red, but didn’t say anything as you handed her a towel. you stayed beside her while she brushed her teeth, holding her steady when she swayed slightly.

when she finished, you helped her sit down on the edge of the sink counter. for a moment, neither of you spoke. karina stared at her hands. her throat was dry, and her head was still fuzzy from the wine.

“i’m not…with wonyoung,” you said finally, breaking the quiet. “we’re just two people who happen to spend time together. there’s nothing romantic going on.”

karina’s head snapped up, her eyes filled with both surprise and relief. “but you—”

“she’s a friend,” you cut in firmly. “that’s all. no one ever took your place.”

her lips trembled, but she didn’t cry again. instead, she reached for your hand once more. “i’m sorry i hurt you. i never meant to do that. i was scared. i am scared. i don't want to lose you. not to anyone else."

"karina—"

"i'm serious."

"i know."

she squeezed her eyes shut. "i'm so stupid."

"yes, you are." you nodded slowly, if karina wasn’t so tipsy she would’ve shot a glare your way. then you exhaled, “i left because i was hurt. i needed space to figure things out. and i still need time, okay? but… i'm not going anywhere."

her shoulders slumped. "promise?"

"promise." you leaned forward, brushing her hair behind her ear. your thumb caressed her cheek. her heart fluttered. "you're too pretty to cry."

her face flushed. she couldn’t meet your eyes, but she didn't pull away. her gaze dropped to your lips. you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"come here." you reached out and wrapped her arms around your neck.

"what are you doing?"

"putting you to bed. you need to sleep off the wine."

"but i don't want to sleep," she whispered. her hands slid under your jacket, her fingertips trailing along the bare skin of your lower back. the feeling sent a shiver down your spine. "what do you want?" you asked softly.

"for you to stay," she murmured.

your eyes fluttered closed. "i can't."

"why?"

"because it's not a good idea."

"it's always been a good idea."

you chuckled lightly, opening your eyes to meet hers. they were wide and pleading, and she couldn't hide the hope in them. her gaze softened, but you stayed firm. "sleep first, karina. we'll talk more when you wake up."

reluctantly, she nodded. you helped her lie down, pulling the blanket over her. she shifted slightly, watching you as you slid into the bed beside her. without a word, she scooted closer, resting her head against your chest. her hair tickled your skin.

"this is what you want, right?"

"yes," she murmured, closing her eyes. she snuggled into your side. her body was inviting and light. her fingers trailed lazily across your stomach, drawing patterns on the fabric of your shirt. "can you hold me, please?"

your hand traced along the curve of her spine, coming to rest on her hip. she hummed quietly, nuzzling her cheek against your chest. your heart pounded. her breathing slowed, evening out as sleep finally claimed her. you stayed there, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her skin, until the softness of her body against yours and the rhythmic sound of her breathing lulled you to sleep.

when karina woke up, the sunlight streaming through the window made her squint. she reached out, but her hand met an empty space. her heart dropped for a moment, panic settling in—until the door creaked open.

you walked in, hair messy from sleep, wearing a loose shirt and boxers, two steaming cups of coffee in hand. "morning," you greeted softly.

she sat up, pushing her hair back. "you stayed?"

"of course i did." you handed her a cup, settling on the edge of the bed. she took a sip, her hands still a little shaky.

“wonyoung texted you,” you mentioned casually, setting your coffee down on the nightstand.

her brow furrowed. she grabbed her phone. sure enough, there was a new text waiting for her.

wonyoung: she was my stray :(

karina: you must’ve been feeding her cheap treats. she’s back where she belongs. hope you’re doing well!

she rolled her eyes. "stupid."

"hey."

"not you." she smiled at you.

you stared at her for a few moments before humming. “so…we should talk."

she nodded.

taglist - @brocoliisscared @spidrgamer @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje @kyakpack @snsgf @sscieloz @fruityg0rl

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[parasolemn]

X7 Acts 4-5 Summaries Transcription

Acts 4 and 5 (mostly 4) are the most likely to have errors since they're never completely clear, so please take this with a grain of salt! Suggested edits are appreciated.

I've already transcribed acts 1-3 here. Double check that the version you're reading is the most up-to-date one. :-)

(Updated as at 13/04/2025 at 2PM AEST)

Act 4 - The Doubt

Summary

Size: Large Playtime: ~5 hours Energy: Medium Emotional tone: Creeping doubt & feeling like an Outsider 70% Talking; 30% Action 50% Comedy; 50% Darkness

"Arriving in the Fourth Act, Cuno is officially furthest from his home that he's ever been, while Cunoesse is coming nearer to hers than she has been in the years after she escaped, and this [distinction?] is starting to get difficult to ignore. The presence of Hämärä Maa looms over them both, as the fabled archipelago lies just across the bay, across the [...]. Having disembarked from the Train virtually in the middle of nowhere, Cuno and Cunoesse come upon the Rhöne-Tréville (Royal) Penal Colony or the Tréville, but most people call it: a [...] centred around a former Royalist prison-labor camp. Being that geographically [...] to Hämärä Maa, the small community represents the closest point of contact between the archipelago and the world, participating in the trade of goods, legends and the profitable psychedelic marrow of an endemic cave fish. Meeting the locals, the kids will learn about the impending relocation of the surprisingly harmonious community-sustaining prison complex, and the complicated [...] between the coordinate [...] of freedom, imprisonment, community and [reunion? tension?]. They will also begin on their [...] is a growing sense of dread that Cunoesse got herself into something that is much darker and more morbid than he could have expected. In order to progress to Hämärä Maa to find out for themselves, the kids must [...]. [...] they must [...] Cunoesse's half remembered [...] family connections among the marrow traders, some of whom are now in the prison, or they might win their way forward with [...] and sneers, stealing a toy raft from a gang of violent girl children."

Player experience

[...] begin to suspect we are approaching a sinister [...] with the things we've been avoiding all along.

[...] more and more about Hämärä Maa [...] borders of a bad neighbourhood, like walking alone at [...] realising your GPS is leading you in the direction of [...] you've realised way too late to do anything about it.

[...] are more frightening if they are unseen. Hearing [...] tales about Hämärä Maa before we've had [...] establish what's there will build up the sense of dread [...] for the game's climax location.

[...] for the later endgame where Cuno breaks free of the bond.

The power balance between Cuno, Cunoesse and the player's conscience will again be tested as Cunoesse urges Cuno to brutally fight one of the Tréville girls in order to steal her raft.

The small self-sustaining community will present the player with the opportunity to engage with the full set of game systems, including game economy, Thoughts, substances, exploration and multiple-approach problem-solving.

Act 5 - The Arrival

Summary

Size: Medium Playtime: ~2 hrs Energy: High Emotional tone: [...] & Reality-Twisting 60% Talking; 40% Action 30% Comedy; 70% Darkness

"After all the fear and the mayhem, Cuno and Cunoesse are finally there: landing on the shores of Hämärä Maa, their promised shadow-land. Greeted with the sounds of shamanic singing and solemn drums, the kids will catch the locals in the midst of a funeral ceremony, gaining a glimpse into both the cultural practices of the Näkki and the strange and colorful faces of the island's population. The island has changed since Cunoesse has last called it home. Only her impossibly old grandfather remains, and her [sins?]. She knows she must do one last thing before she can plead to be readmitted into her tribe. Under the pretense of a Hämärän naming ceremony, Cunoesse pressures Cuno into ingesting the bone marrow of the psychedelic cave fish. As Cunoesse takes on the role of his fucked-up trip shaman, Cuno grapples with the growing clarity that her goal is deeply sinister: to bind him to herself, or kill them both trying. Cunoesse embraces him and throws them both off a pier, pulling him deep under water, triggering the stylish climax sequence of the game: the Underwater Psychedelic Trip. Reality will [...] as you seemingly sink for an eternity, fighting for your life and your identity as Cunoesse's true intentions come to light - to use the drug to manipulate Cuno into total and irrevocable ego death, and make him believe that he is Jaakko, the boy Cunoesse killed in the caves three years prior. That was her plan all along: to bring Cuno all the way from Martinaise to buy herself passage back into her community by replacing what she has broken. All she needs him to do now in order for her plan to work is to play along, *really* play along, so deeply that he will never recall being someone else ever again. Their showdown under water will determine whether Cuno will let go of his identity in one [...], or if he is willing to kill his other half in order to remain who he is. The Act spins off into up to five possible endings, depending on which one of the kids lives, dies or is brainwashed."

Player experience

We want a sense of culmination in every way -- the culmination the journey, of finally getting to see what Hämärä Maa is truly like and what Cunoesse truly is.

This should be a streamlined sequence, funneling the player [seamlessly] towards the end. We want the player to be unable to [...] the game once they've landed on Hämärä Maa, similarly to how Harry's story spirals tighter and tighter towards its resolution from the moment he steps onto the Deserter's Island.

We want the player to feel as if they are performing cultural [contact?] with an ominous insular community, something like Midsommar but with degenerate alcoholics instead of tradwives.

This is where everything we've tried to do over the course of the game comes to count. All the dual-character systems that make the player roleplay as both Cuno & Cunoesse, all the story beats that make the player internalise their respective stakes, all the emotional connection to this feral superorganism, if we can make the player feel like we're making them choose between two halves of themselves, we've achieved what we set out to do. If they feel torn apart, agonized over their choices, we've won.

[foone]

Have you heard about the Polish Train company, Newag, and the bullshit it turns out they got up to?

So, the regional rail operator Koleje Dolnośląskie bought some Newag Impuls back in 2016 . In late 2021, some of them need to have major maintenance done, as they've been in service a while. So the company SPS (Serwis Pojazdów Szynowych) gets the contract to fix them. They basically take the train apart, replace a bunch of it, following all the rules in the documentation Newag gave them, and... it won't move. The train says everything is fine, the brakes are off, there's plenty of power, but you push the throttle up and it won't move.

SPS spends a while trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong, with no luck. So they hire some hackers from the Polish security group Dragon Sector. Dragon Sector figures out how to get into the code of the computer system that runs the train, and OH MY GOD.

So it turns out there's a secret train-lock system. If it's on, the train won't move. This will be triggered in some situations you might think are normal: the clocks are wrong, the serial numbers of the various parts have changed, and a firmware mismatch between the main computer and the power system. Now, the fact that it makes sense to not run the train in these situations until someone can check it? that doesn't extend to the fact the train uses a SECRET lock system, rather than just popping up an error message telling you what's wrong. There's also the problem that while these are all potential error problems, they can't be cleared by anyone with the technical manuals, which are supposed to cover everything about how to run these trains. Only Newag themselves can reset this system.

Which, you know, keeps SPS from properly fixing them. Only Newag can fix them now, but not because SPS lacks any technical ability, but because Newag sabotaged their own trains. But don't worry: it gets worse.

So now that Dragon Sector knows what's happening, they get to look at other trains. It turns out the trains aren't all running the same software, and there are other tricks in there.

One of them is a "how long has the train been stopped?" check. If the train hasn't hit 60 km/h in 10 days, the train locks itself and won't move until Newag can clear it. So, like, if a train is ever out of service, like it's going to a repair place... it'll break itself. Unless the repair place is owned by Newag.

But two of the trains go further: See, these trains have GPS built in, right? You may be able to guess where this is going...

THEY JUST MAKE THE TRAIN CHECK IF IT IS PARKED AT THEIR COMPETITORS' REPAIR YARD AND BREAK ITSELF IF IT WAS.

The sheer audacity of this move. This is frighteningly bullshit anti-competition self-sabotage.

This has, obviously, made some parts of the Polish government to start investigating this. Newag may be (and hopefully will be) in a lot of trouble.

For more info, there's a great video of a presentation by the three people from Dragon Sector who did the hacking, which was presented at the 37th Chaos Communication Congress in Germany.

Ars Technica also has an article on it, but it predates the presentation so it doesn't have some of the later details.

Anyway, the good news is that in the end the hackers at Dragon Sector were able to unlock most of the trains: A few had additional trickery that they didn't want to hack around, because it might break the train's certification. For the others, they discovered undocumented "cheat codes" in the software that they could use to bypass the secret lockouts... presumably the same ones that Newag would have used when they "repaired" trains.

[hiddenlife-manager]

you should totally write a one shot about ollie bearman x reader celebrating the jeddah gp (smut)

Oliver Bearman x Fem Reader

cw... blowjob, jerking him off, whimpering ollie, slight sub ollie, slight dom reader, best friends, plot, etc...

notepad... WELL I finally finished this there are a lot of errors but oh well. I have been stuck on this for a while so thank god it is done. Amen to me hehe.

You two were sitting on the floor of his room; it was an abnormally big room. He was used to small hotel rooms, yet here you two were eating at a coffee table on the floor since you refused to sit on a chair. His hands rested on his neck as he felt nothing but pure soreness from the race. He acted like it didn’t bother him during his post-interviews; it was clear he was worn down from the race.

“If you are sore, you should lay down on the bed.” You were calmly speaking to him, eating Dajaj Mashwi with manakeesh, as it was what he ordered. It seemed to be his favorite meal here; you were unsure if you were supposed to eat it with manakeesh. "Besides, having to face an average of 4.5 g per turn is difficult on the neck. Saudi Arabia is considered a hard circuit to race in Formula 1. You should rest.”

“I should eat… ugh.” His deep voice stated that he was trying to eat, but it was clear that he struggled to move his body. He was extremely sore; you saw this and crawled to him on all fours. The sight of you crawling toward him made his face suddenly go red. You were breathtaking to him, but he knew it was wrong to think so.

"Here, let me help.” You offered, you brought food to his mouth, and he was left in shock that you were trying to feed him. He took a deep breath and looked at you. “I'm your best friend; this is the least I can do. Consider it a gesture of congratulations.” He couldn’t help but hold a rosiness to his cheek, as you wanted to feed him. He opened his mouth and looked at you. He noticed your breast slightly peeking out of your top, and he gulped with food in his mouth. He suddenly choked and coughed, and you were shocked. “How do you choke so easily?” You handed him a bottle of water while he coughed.

“I d-don’t” He stuttered out and sipped the water. He looked at you and went back to the food. Why was he holding such feelings for you right now? You two should be celebrating his debut, and yet here he was nervous, unable to look you in the eye. “My neck is just sore.”

“Hmm, okay. Are you sure it is just your neck that has you all worked up?” He tried to crawl away from you casually so you wouldn’t notice his awkwardness. As he used his hands to scoot away from you, he realized how much it hurt. 

“Did you hear a knock at the door?” He attempted to distract you from seeing his boner in his pants. You turned your head, and as you did, his hands flew, grabbing onto a pillow and placing it on his lap. You shook your head, sure that you didn’t hear a knock. “I guess my head is playing games with me.” He laughed awkwardly, his hands at the collar of his shirt, pulling it a bit as the pillow continued to sit on his lap. 

"Oh, really, are you okay? Let me check your temperature.” You got closer and leaned toward him with your hand, and his face got redder. “You are red as a tomato.” You state that right as you were about to land your hand on his forehead, he shifted. You fell on top of him. The moment you did, you felt something poking at your ass. 

“Mhm…” You froze, and that was the moment your face got super hot. 

“I am so sorry.” You said you tried to crawl off his lap and managed to pull another moan out of him. You were hot; the sound was so sudden, and you were unaware that you had that effect on him. 

“No, it's my fault.” He tried to hide his red face, and you were hot to the touch. Staring at your best friend, you realized he had some sort of attraction to you. He shifted uncomfortably, and you wanted to help, maybe out of your own disgusting fantasy or maybe to show him it wasn’t wrong.

“I can help.” He suddenly fell back as he was scooting away. He started to stutter. You crawled to him and placed your hands on his jeans. You always told him to wear better pants. “Is it okay if I can?” He was silent for a bit while you froze, waiting for his response, and in a few seconds, he nodded sheepishly, unable to look you in the eye. 

You unzipped his pants, your hands working quick wonders; it was no secret you knew what to do. At the same time, you two were grown adults with significant others. You gulped as you moved his cock to the side of his boxers through the hole. He was hard, and it was very evident. Ollie was trying so hard to hold back small whimpers of pleasure as your cold hands touched his bare cock. 

“Can I?” He nodded quickly, and you began to go up and down his cock, using his pre-cum to slightly get his cock a bit moist. After you went up and down from the base, you gently spit on his cock and smiled up at him. Your mouth got close, and you licked the tip as you heard him moan and slightly shifted away from the pleasure. He was embarrassed but wanted you to continue. 

“You can put it in your mouth.” He whimpered out, and all you did was smile so much as you opened your mouth and let him inside your mouth only a little at a time as you went up and down, inching his cock slowly down your throat. The view left Ollie winded; he thought you were the most beautiful person to ever exist, and you were his best friend. 

Slowly but surely, you began to suck at his cock, your tongue swirling around it as you saw and heard him whimpering. Attempting not to put his hands on you. He was unsure what to do with his hands, as he almost had to put them anywhere but you. Sucking him while bobbing your head up and down, you used your free hand and grabbed it, holding it as you continued to pleasure him. He was clearly nervous, and you knew he needed comfort. The feeling in your mouth was becoming too much. 

He began to thrust up into your mouth; doing so, he ended up thrusting into the back of your throat, causing you to gag, and he began to get nervous, but you shook your head and continued to swirl your tongue and go up and down. As you removed yourself from his cock, a pop could be heard, and you let go of his hand, staring up at him. Your hands wrapped around the base of his cock and pumped him. 

“You can cum on my face, Ollie; I don't mind.” You said it softly, with a smile brighter than the sun staring right at him. He was weak and could barely utter a word, but he wanted so badly to cough. His cock thrust into your hands as they felt so perfect. All he did was hum with a whimpering undertone. You continued to go up and down with your hands, quickening the pace as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. 

“Ah, close, too close." He moaned out, and right when he let the last moan out, a long whimper could be heard, and white strings up and down hit your face and tongue. You didn’t stop pumping his cock; his body tensed while he was cumming. You were smiling and licking at the tip of his cock. 

“Congratulations in Saudi Arabia; a gift to you from me, Ollie.”

[quill-vy]

UNDER THE RADAR

warnings: angst, fluff, use of y/n.

a/n: surprise! just something to read before MARGIN OF ERROR (not linked)

hope you guys enjoy,

lots of love! ❤️

IN WHICH

Lando Norris is your boyfriend best friend. (there was definitely more going on)

secret handshakes and stolen kisses

you and lando had mastered the art of hiding in plain sight.

it helped that you’d been friends for nearly two decades—no one batted an eye when you sat together in the mclaren garage, or when he slung an arm over your shoulder in group photos. best friends did that. best friends definitely didn’t sneak kisses in elevator corners or trace promises onto each other’s skin in hotel rooms, but hey. details.

"you’re staring," lando murmured, nudging your foot under the table in the paddock cafeteria.

“uh, no," you lied, popping a grape into your mouth.

he grinned, that stupid, lopsided smile that made your stomach flip. "liar. you’re thinking about last night."

"shut up," you hissed, kicking him as your face burned. a mechanic walked past, and you immediately schooled your expression into something neutral.

lando just laughed, low and warm, before leaning in like he was telling a secret. "miss me already?"

"miss your ego, more like."

"ouch." he pressed a hand to his chest, but his eyes sparkled. "you love me."

you did. god, you did.

———

the cracks in the facade

the problem with secrets is they start to feel heavy.

it happened slowly—lando canceling plans last-minute because his pr team wanted him at some influencer event. "just go with me," you’d pleaded. "say i’m your plus-one." "you know i can’t," he’d sighed. then came the tabloid photos of him laughing with some model in monaco, her hand on his arm. harmless, but it stung.

the final straw was silverstone.

"you’re what?" you stared at him from across his hotel room.

lando ran a hand through his hair. "they want me to do this stupid ‘fake relationship’ promo thing with some tv host. for the british gp. it’s just—"

"just business?" you finished, voice brittle. "right. of course."

"y/n—"

"no, i get it." you turned toward the window, watching the sunset paint the track orange. "i just… i don’t know how much longer i can do this, lan. pretending you’re not mine."

the silence that followed was suffocating.

———

it exploded two days later.

"you knew this was part of the job," lando said, pacing. "the pr stunts, the rumors—"

"i knew," you interrupted. "but i didn’t know it would feel like this. watching you play boyfriend for the cameras while i’m just… your friend in the background."

"you’re not just anything—"

"then act like it!"

he froze. for the first time in years, you saw fear in his eyes. "what are you saying?"

you swallowed hard. "i’m saying i need more. or i need to walk away."

———

resolution

lando showed up at your flat at 3am.

he looked wrecked—hair messy, eyes red-rimmed, still in his team kit from the day’s promo events. without a word, he pulled out his phone, opened instagram, and handed it to you.

on the screen: a draft post. a photo of your intertwined hands on his knee, his thumb brushing your knuckles. the caption read: "told you i’d keep you."

"i was gonna post it after silverstone," he admitted, voice rough. "but then we fought, and i—" his breath hitched. "i don’t want to lose you. so if you’re ready, i’m ready."

you stared at him. "your team—"

"can deal." he stepped closer, cupping your face. "you’re my priority. always have been."

when you kissed him, it tasted like salt and relief.

———

australia, one year later

the crowd roared as lando crossed the line in p1. you were on your feet before his car even stopped, shoving past the team to reach him first.

he ripped off his helmet, eyes wild with joy, and before anyone could stop him—before pr could intervene—he grabbed your face and kissed you, hard and desperate, in front of 200,000 people and the f1 world feed.

max’s voice crackled over the radio: "fucking finally."

lando just grinned against your lips. "worth the wait."

[katiascraft]

"If nothing else gets you through. Then darling, i'll cry with you" | LN4

parings: Lando Norris x reader.

Summary: after the chaotic Brazilian GP, you know Lando is verygood at lying that he is alright and nothing can move him. But with you he can't pretend.

Now playing: "Cry with you" by Jeremy Zucker.

Word count: +1,2k.

Warnings: I think none. A few cursed words I guess and mentions of anxiety. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author's note: so today was the shittiest day at the office y’all! I still feel like shit but I needed to write something about this. Why is Lando so hated??? You need to check yourselves!! Don’t forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

The Brazil GP it’s been the toughest so far. The Championship of drivers was also kind of defined. Of course Max was gonna win. He wasn't a three time world champion by luck. He is really one of the best drivers this sport has ever seen in history along with Senna, Prost, Lewis and Schumacher. But all of that indicated that your boyfriend was not gonna win the championship this year and that shuttered your heart.

You knew how hard Lando worked on that. All of the media attacked him. Social media twisting his words in a really cruel way. It was all too much noise and you perfectly knew how hard it was for him. How much anxiety he was handling and all of the pressure he was putting on himself. The pressure and illusion of the team to be back at the top after so many years decided it was gonna be Lando the one who did that. And that was a correct choice, lando was more than capable of winning the championship. But at some point it all happened so fast the pressure was descomunal.

You knew your boyfriend. You know how hard he’s worked all year. How much this all meant to him. You didn’t have holidays this year because he really wanted to fight. Train. And attack. Or at least that’s what he wanted to do.

You knew he was really good at pretending and playing it cool so people won’t ever know how much hurt his carrying. He could play the super hero indestructible for all the camaras. You won’t see him shattered right then and there. But you knew him too damn well to know he was broken. He hoped to be the winner. He dreamed about it his whole life. And this magical year was finally the one who gave him the chance to almost be it. This race was the hardest. It was luck and skills to the limit. A lot of crashes. The rain was irritating at one point. You almost didn't want to keep watching. When Lando got off track and went down to P6, you knew. He didn’t reply to any message through the radio. You cried, of course you did. You were on this as much as he was in it. You cried out of frustration. This year was a rollercoaster for you. You also dreamed of the day Lando won. You wanted that to happen even more than he wanted to. He deserved it. For how hard he works. How hard he is on himself when something out of his hands happens. Or when he made a mistake. How hard was all of that on his mental health. How obsessed he could get. And how that could send him into a spiral. You knew this was the best year at the same time it was the worst one.

When you watched him walk into the garage where you were. Your heart broke. Not because he was angry or even sad. He was playing it cool like it was not a big deal at all. So you knew how much pain he was handling.

Your eyes met after he talked to his engineers and mechanics. You were so sad this weekend. So good yet forgettable.

“Hey” he said walking to you and you just couldn’t help but dropped a few tears hugging him so tightly. You were squeezing him at some point. He let you do it. And rested his head on your neck. He fought the tears in his eyes so hard in that moment.

“I’m so proud of you. You are so strong Lando. So talented” you said now looking at him trying to repair something with your thoughts on him but knowing it won’t change anything. But you just wanted him to know he was all of that and the greatest person alive you knew. He kissed you gently.

“I love you y/n. Thank you for always supporting me” he said and gave you a kiss on the cheek giving you another hug. You didn’t say anything but hugged him tightly. After a few seconds another person joined and by the giggles he left out, you both knew it was Oscar. You two giggled a little. It was a family hug.

After that intimate little moment, the media had to be done so you had to say goodbye for a while.

(…)

After dinner with the papaya family you decided it was night in. Lando showered again because he said he had a headache. You haven’t talked about how he feels yet. You didn’t want to be invasive and more because this was a very sensitive topic to discuss. You knew he would eventually crack and talk to you. Like he always did.

You put on your pajamas and waited for him by just looking out the window at the city of São Paulo. After a few minutes la do was out. You turned to look at him. He was by his luggage wearing only a towel looking for a boxer and T-shirt. You could see his whole back. He took off the towel and put the clothes on. You looked to the bed and climbed in it waiting for him. You analyzed him one more time while he got cozy on the bed with you.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m okay babe” he said, like reading your mind. You gave him a half smile.

“You sure? We can talk about it baby” you said softly and got closer to him so you could stroke his hair sweetly. He looked at you and nodded. But then his eyes were full of tears so he denied. Your heart sinks. “Come here my love” you said, bringing me to your chest and hugging him in a way for him to find comfort somehow. He hugged you and hid his face in your neck so you couldn’t see him. “It’s okay baby. I know it was q fucking shitty day at the office. I know how much you wanted it. And you deserve it still, baby. But life is sometimes a bitch you know? I mean the alpines got the podium” you said trying to make him feel better. He was still crying and all you could read was he tigherter his grip. “Sometimes life is a bitch to the people that don't deserve it. Amazing people who are good and so no harm but somehow get the harder life mode now and then. This makes you stronger, Lando. I know next years gonna be. You will do it. Because you can and because you want to. And that more than enough because talent you already have babe” he moved a little under your hug. You heard him giggle a little. That makes you smile a little too.

You stoked his curls gently and kissed his forehead.

“I love you and admire you so fucking much. You deserve the world and I know you will eventually get it” you told him now looking into his eyes holding his face between your hands. His face was wet and his eyes teary. Seeing him like this broke your heart in so Many pieces. But you knew he was gonna be okay. He was gonna be world champion one day.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I love you” he said with a shaky voice and you gave him a little kiss.

“You just did you landinho” you said sweetly making him smile and you gave him another million kisses.

——————————————————————————————-

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

[nasa]

Student Experiments Soar!

Have you ever wondered what it takes to get a technology ready for space? The NASA TechRise Student Challenge gives middle and high school students a chance to do just that – team up with their classmates to design an original science or technology project and bring that idea to life as a payload on a suborbital vehicle.

Since March 2021, with the help of teachers and technical advisors, students across the country have dreamed up experiments with the potential to impact space exploration and collect data about our planet.

So far, more than 180 TechRise experiments have flown on suborbital vehicles that expose them to the conditions of space. Flight testing is a big step along the path of space technology development and scientific discovery.

The 2023-2024 TechRise Challenge flight tests took place this summer, with 60 student teams selected to fly their experiments on one of two commercial suborbital flight platforms: a high-altitude balloon operated by World View, or the Xodiac rocket-powered lander operated by Astrobotic. Xodiac flew over the company’s Lunar Surface Proving Ground — a test field designed to simulate the Moon’s surface — in Mojave, California, while World View’s high-altitude balloon launched out of Page, Arizona.

Here are four innovative TechRise experiments built by students and tested aboard NASA-supported flights this summer:

1. Oobleck Reaches the Skies

Oobleck, which gets its name from Dr. Seuss, is a mixture of cornstarch and water that behaves as both a liquid and a solid. Inspired by in-class science experiments, high school students at Colegio Otoqui in Bayomón, Puerto Rico, tested how Oobleck’s properties at 80,000 feet aboard a high-altitude balloon are different from those on Earth’s surface. Using sensors and the organic elements to create Oobleck, students aimed to collect data on the fluid under different conditions to determine if it could be used as a system for impact absorption.

2. Terrestrial Magnetic Field

Middle school students at Phillips Academy International Baccalaureate School in Birmingham, Alabama, tested the Earth’s magnetic field strength during the ascent, float, and descent of the high-altitude balloon. The team hypothesized the magnetic field strength decreases as the distance from Earth’s surface increases.

3. Rocket Lander Flame Experiment

To understand the impact of dust, rocks, and other materials kicked up by a rocket plume when landing on the Moon, middle school students at Cliff Valley School in Atlanta, Georgia, tested the vibrations of the Xodiac rocket-powered lander using CO2 and vibration sensors. The team also used infrared (thermal) and visual light cameras to attempt to detect the hazards produced by the rocket plume on the simulated lunar surface, which is important to ensure a safe landing.

4. Rocket Navigation

Middle and high school students at Tiospaye Topa School in LaPlant, South Dakota, developed an experiment to track motion data with the help of a GPS tracker and magnetic radar. Using data from the rocket-powered lander flight, the team will create a map of the flight path as well as the magnetic field of the terrain. The students plan to use their map to explore developing their own rocket navigation system.

The 2024-2025 TechRise Challenge is now accepting proposals for technology and science to be tested on a high-altitude balloon! Not only does TechRise offer hands-on experience in a live testing scenario, but it also provides an opportunity to learn about teamwork, project management, and other real-world skills.

“The TechRise Challenge was a truly remarkable journey for our team,” said Roshni Ismail, the team lead and educator at Cliff Valley School. “Watching them transform through the discovery of new skills, problem-solving together while being driven by the chance of flying their creation on a [rocket-powered lander] with NASA has been exhilarating. They challenged themselves to learn through trial and error and worked long hours to overcome every obstacle. We are very grateful for this opportunity.”

Are you ready to bring your experiment design to the launchpad? If you are a sixth to 12th grade student, you can make a team under the guidance of an educator and submit your experiment ideas by November 1. Get ready to create!

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[embrosegraves]

ℙ𝕣𝕖-𝕤𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝔹𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘

Oscar Piastri x Horner!Reader Where teams are announced, dinners are held and Oscar finds himself surrounded by people who are determined to help him on his way to greatness.

Warnings: As per, explicit language and grammatical errors. Adelaide Kane is used for one image depicting the reader.

Again, I plead that you ignore the dates on the tweets, the storyline is like 1-2 weeks behind present.

series masterlist | previous part | next part

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liked by yn.horner, danielricciardo and others

oscarpiastri dinner with the team (2nd 📸: yn.horner) tagged: gerihalliwellhorner, christianhorner, redbullracing

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gerihalliwellhorner It was a pleasure having you over ❤️ -> oscarpiastri The pleasure was mine, Mrs Horner -> gerihalliwellhorner Oh call me Geri, sweetheart! -> yn.horner or better yet! call her Mother Spice!!

fan1 his first team dinner 🥹🥹

fan2 forget abt dinner, oscar's outfit slayed 🔥 -> danielricciardo he called me an hour before dinner asking if the "fit was good enough" -> oscarpiastri It was a valid question and I was nervous! -> fan3 girl you won fan2

youtube.com/mattp1tommy Exclusive Interview with Oscar Piastri!

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yn.horner A lil bit of this, a lil bit of that (GP and I are the only ones who know how to cook 😭😭) tagged: danielricciardo, oscarpiastri, gplambiase, maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 Lies and slander, I know how to cook -> yn.horner you know how to make a sandwich at best -> danielricciardo she really came for your throat -> oscarpiastri you and I aren't any better danielricciardo -> danielricciardo why are you on her side??? -> yn.horner because he's actually using his brain

christianhorner All my adult-ish children in one place. Good. -> yn.horner now whyd you call us adult-ish?? 🤔 -> christianhorner You know why

fan1 they have matching hoodies- i'm not stable enough for this -> fan2 SAME 😭😭😭

fan3 what I wanna know is who was in that dogpile??? -> yn.horner On the bottom is gplambiase then its maxverstappen1 and danielricciardo -> fan4 where was oscarpiastri ?? -> oscarpiastri a safe distance away, i assure you

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I was originally gonna post this BEFORE the race but I completly forgot I was going to a music festival and I didn't end up getting home until 1 in the morning.

I woke up 30 minutes ago, quickly fixed some things with the texts and now I'm posting it. I still haven't watched the race, so I'm gonna go do that now and then I'll start planning for the next chapter

I hope you enjoyed!

likes replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[jo-com]

can you do a carlos x reader x charles

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐚 ೀ ➛ Two sides

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader x Carlos Sainz

Summary: The three of you are having a baby together—Charles being the nonchalant one while Carlos is the overreacting half.

Genre: Fluff, established relationship!, pregnancy, poly relationship, Nonchalant!Charles x Oa!reader x Oa!Carlos

Note: There are grammatical error and this is not proofread!!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ˚⋆౨ৎ˚🌷⋅₊⋅─ ───────

Ever since you guys decided to have a baby—the two have been nothing, but ecstatic and over the moon with joy.

Their hearts gushed with excitement as they dread the day your little one will be born. Your once barely seen bump was now the size of a melon; making you go tired even after just standing up or even sitting on a chair.

Nonetheless the two boys were there, helping you throughout the whole process. One being overreacting while the other was nonchalant; though they acted differently, they still are the same when it comes to your needs and safety.

…

Of course Carlos being himself— he handled you with the outmost care, as if you were a porcelain doll that is so fragile one wrong move could crack.

On the other hand. Charles acts nonchalantly calm about any situation; He’s like the adult in the relationship— taking care of three kids at the same time.

…

“Mi amor, are you sure you don’t need extra pillows?” Carlos asked, his tone dripped with concern as he frantically circles around your chair.

Before you could answer your husband, Charles was quick to retaliate along with his signature eye roll, ”Carlos stop that, you’ll make her nauseous.”

Carlos lets out an exaggerated gasp, his eyes flickering from Charles to yours and automatically pouting his plump lips, “do you really feel that mi vida?, am i making our baby sick too?.”

You let a soft giggle and patted the head of the man in front of you, “baby no, what Charles mean is that i might puke from all your movements.”

“I am sorry, my love” he mumbled.

Carlos then drooped down your side, his head rested in your shoulder as he moped around.

Whilst consoling Carlos you could see from your peripheral that Charles was leaning on the wall and was looking at you two with pure love. His eyes filled with adoration and heart full of happiness.

You gestured for him to come and join you guys to which he happily obliged. Hugging you two and tightening his hold, making the three of you feel closer to one another.

…

You were now 6 months in the pregnancy— your bump was now more evident than before, making your two husband grow protective. Watching your every move like a hawk.

It got worse when Charles’ home Gp came around the corner. You wanted to go with and support them, but they refused to let you participate in anything that will harm your guys’ baby.

“I’ll be fine guys, i swear” you spoke, your voice a little strain from being tired.

Charles sighed heavily and stared back at you, his brows knitted in concern, “mon amour, we just don’t want you to feel tired.”

From the side, Carlos shook his head vigorously in agreement and grasping your hands in his. “Yes, we don’t want the baby to also feel tired.”

You lowered your head and sighed defeatedly, earning an eyebrow raise from the two.

If they won’t let you go, you’ll have no choice, but to use your secret weapon.

You looked back at them— your eyes curled into doe ones and your lips pulled into a pout. “But, I want to support you guys” you said imitating a baby’s voice.

Carlos’ heart ache from your puppy dog eyes and was easily wrapped around your finger. He glanced back at his other lover and looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Maybe it’s not a bad idea, right Charles?” Carlos asked.

Charles looked at the two in disbelief, especially with Carlos. How could he give in easily.

But with the two of you combine, how the hell could he say no himself?

The two of you looked at him with sparkling eyes— drawing him over to your side. Sad to say that Charles didn’t make it and after about one minute in, he finally agreed.

…

“You ready baby?” Carlos asked, his hand softly caressing your bump.

You smiled back at him and nodded in response. “We’re here” Charles spoke, peeping in the window and checking the surrounding for your safety.

The entrance of the Paddock were bombarded by lots and lots of fan— waiting for the two drivers to appear in front of them.

Their chants of excitement and praise were heard from the inside your vehicle, making you feel a little bit uneasy.

As soon as you guys moved out of the car, Charles and Carlos instinctively covered you from all of the paparazzi and fans that were getting close. Their bodies towering over your meek ones— the uneasy feeling from earlier slowly left your mind as your two husband made sure you were safe and protected.

After walking down different garages, you guys were about to reach the hospice when one of the McLaren driver stood in your way. “Y/NNNNN” Lando yelled happily.

He was about to run in and hug you but was abruptly stopped by Charles’ broad chest.

“No can do muppet, can’t you see she’s pregnant”

Lando rolled his eyes and peered from Charles’ side. There you were, standing besides an overprotective Carlos— his hand moved you closer to his side. His eye’s laced with annoyance as he glared back at the other driver.

“Chill guys, i just want to greet my best friend” he spoke, walking pass by Charles and carefully taking you to his embrace.

With a smugish look, he hugged you tightly; not so tight that could hurt the baby but was enough to piss the two off.

Out of sheer anger, Charles quickly grabbed his collar and moved him to the side. “What the hell man, i swear if you ever do that again I’ll kill you.”

Meanwhile, Carlos softly led your figure to his and checked if you got hurt somewhere, his eyes were teary from the stupid move Lando just did. “Are you hurt any where my love? What about here?

…

The day lasted like that, where each of them had one role— Carlos would be the overreacting one who checks on you but will get teary from the slightest thing and Charles would be the nonchalant one with anger issues.

Now that’s what i call, happy family.

…