—everything is orange. [ iv ]
pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader
summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.
note: omg im so sorry for not being online lately. i got a writing part time job now so... i may not be as active as before. hope yall are having a great day! not edited. not beta read.
masterlist.
Everything inside your studio is gray. The walls, the couch, the floor, the instruments. It's the kind of room that will make a sad beige mom over the moon.
But when you open the door and the sight of one Lando Norris greets you, looking devilishly handsome in his dark blue button up shirt and black pants and Nike sneakers with his curls concealed underneath his dark blue bucket hat, the studio suddenly doesn't feel as gray as it usually is.
“Lando?” Your brows rise towards your hairline. Truthfully, he’s one of the last people you expected to see inside HAN Ent’s building, much less outside your studio.
“Hi,” he smiles charmingly at the shock in your voice, showing all teeth and smile lines. “Do you mind if I come in?”
You stammer, still not over your shock, “S-Sure.”
You step aside to grant him space and allow him to enter your magic shop. Lando’s eyes curiously roam around the studio and you close the door behind him, nudging the houseplant further to the wall using your foot to avoid getting tripped on it in the future.
“Take a seat. Please,” you invite, gesturing towards the couch. Lando takes the invitation and sits down. He looks too big on the couch, you note. He has long legs and an athletic build. Perhaps, it’s time to buy a bigger one.
“Nice place,” he compliments.
You want to snort out loud but refrain yourself from doing so.
Lando is saying things out of politeness.
Your studio is shit.
You know that.
It used to be a stock room that was converted into a studio when Yoon PD-nim offered you that deal, that's why the room is graciously small. They soundproofed the walls, painted everything gray, shoved in a few pieces of recording equipment and called it a day.
It's still quite nice of Lando to compliment the place though. You might hate this place but this is your wizard’s tower, your witch’s hut, your magic shop, and you feel pride swell in your chest when someone thinks your little corner is cool, even if you think he’s lying.
“Thanks,” you say sincerely. “How did you know I was…”
“I asked Jinnie,” he says simply.
“Ah,��� your tone falls flat.
A moment's pause.
“So this is where you’ve been working?”
You nod. Suddenly, you feel conscious.
Your studio isn't really in the best state right now. When you work in a creative fever, you tend to make a mess. Being messy enhances your creativity. The sprawled papers with lyrics, the empty styro cups of coffee lying around, numerous pens and pencils (you don't even know why you feel the need to bring a lot of them) and rubber erasers, and your snacks. There's a mountain of crumpled paper in your trash can.
“Sorry, the place isn't really….” you trail off, making vague gestures with your hand. “I didn't know you were coming.”
“It's okay,” he chuckles. “I called, you know. And texted. You didn’t return any of it.”
“Oh, my phone’s charging,” you say, beginning to feel bad that you accidentally ignored him. “And my notifs are silent.”
“That explains it.”
“Shouldn't you be resting?” you asked. “You have a flight tomorrow.”
It's currently the 19th. Lando is set to leave for Japan on the 20th. His team wants him in Suzuka by September 20 and not later than that. They already had a field day when Lando announced that he's flying with you. At first, he wanted it to be just you and him. His team wouldn't let him because he can be a PR nightmare if given enough freedom so they let his manager, Kyla, tag along.
You’ve mistaken Kyla as a member of the PR team. Turns out she’s his manager.
“Is it a sin to want to spend a few hours with my girlfriend before I go?” he flutters his eyes innocently. You snorted.
“Fake but okay.”
“I’m being sincere here, girlfriend,” he pushes his lips into a pout. “Did you eat already?”
“No,” you answer.
“Should we grab something together?”
“Should we?” you humor his suggestion. It's been a few hours since you’ve eaten. You’ve skipped both breakfast and lunch.
“I think I can call a restaurant and make a reservation.”
“It's near midnight,” you point out, glancing down at the Rolex decorating his wrist. Isn't he aware of how late it is?
“So?”
“Restaurants are closed by now,” you state.
Lando shrugs.
“I can make the effort of finding those seafood pasta you like.”
Your brows furrow.
“What do you mean like? I never said I like those.”
“But I thought…” Lando blinks. “I’ve read it somewhere…”
“Huh?”
“You're from Jeju, right? You grew up eating seafood so you like seafood and you once said you have a palate for Italian food. I tried…liking the pasta with seafood. I hated it but I ate it anyway.”
Your jaw hangs open at the revelation.
This is single-handedly the sweetest thing someone has ever done to you.
You don't know whether to be touched about the sincerity or to cry because of his idiocy. You can definitely do both but you refuse to do both. You have an image to maintain.
“Didn't I tell you that the company manipulated my public information?” you ask incredulously. “Yes, I was from Jeju but I didn’t eat seafood much. I have a mild allergy—”
“In seafood?” you see his eyes widen into saucers. Oops, you shouldn't have said that. “Wait, you had an allergy attack, didn't you? On those lunch dates we had? Why didn't you tell me so early on?”
“I thought you liked it!” your voice raises slightly, panicked. You're caught. He isn't supposed to know about this.
“I didn't?! I loathe seafood but I ate a few bites because I thought you liked it!”
You blink at him. That is the sweetest while simultaneously the most stupid thing someone has ever done for you. You drag a hand across your face, a groan escaping your mouth and yet you’re smiling. You shake your head at him.
Points for Lando Norris for making you capable of feeling frustrated and another feeling you cannot name.
“We’re idiots.”
There is a stretch of silence before Lando speaks up.
“What do you want to eat? And please tell me the real one.”
You began listing the first three things that appeared inside your brain, “I like…. ramyeon, natto, and tteokbokki.”
You have a palate for convenience store food. Food that you can find in busy night markets. Food that is sold by street vendors. The kind of food that tastes like absolute shit if cold but tastes like home if microwaved into the right amount of temperature. If you venture in your imagination hard enough, you can taste your mother’s cooking after a few bites. But you don't tell Lando that.
“We can eat that.”
You raise a brow.
“The ramen, the chicken, and the tteokdokdok.”
“Tteokbokki,” you correct him gently.
“Tteoktokki,” he repeats.
“Tteok.”
“Tteok.”
“Bokki.”
“Bokki.”
“Tteokbokki.”
“Tteokdokki.”
You shake your head, “Tteok-Bo-Kki.”
“Tteok-Bo-Kki.”
You snap your fingers, nodding in approval, “Better.”
“I literally said the same thing.”
“You didn't.”
“Where will we eat this tteokbokki?” He says the tteokbokki slowly, careful with his pronunciation.
“There are night markets nearby,” you tell him. “It’s crowded though. I know a good convenience store that’s a good drive away. It’s usually empty. Do you go to convenience stores?”
You suddenly feel stupid for asking.
Do multi-millionaires like Lando Norris go to convenience stores? It’ll make much more sense if he books restaurants or employs a private chef to cook for him at home. Do they even have a palate for instant food? What do rich people snack on? You don't know. You're not rich. Even after becoming famous, you’re still not rich enough to live the life of luxury.
This just highlights the difference of the worlds you and Lando live in.
“I do. Just not frequently,” he shrugs. “We can go to the convenience store if you want. I don't mind.”
“No, it’s fine. We can eat anywhere you want. Jinnie might have a few hotel restaurants in mind.”
“But do you want to eat in hotel restaurants?”
His question makes you pause and Lando immediately takes your hesitation as a no.
“We can eat anything you want to eat. This is your place anyway. Show me around.”
You bite your lower lip as you contemplate. Should you or should you not? That is the question.
When your eyes drag themselves back to Lando’s face, you see that he’s already looking at you intently as he awaits your answer patiently. You want to shrink back at the intensity of his gaze.
“Well then, do you want to go on a convenience store date with me, boyfriend?”
Despite the hesitation he’s displayed earlier, Lando grins at your offer.
You take Lando to your favorite place in all of South Korea. Google Maps says it's a three hour drive away. You arrive there in two hours and a half.
Maybe it's a sign to change careers.
You used your Jeep Wrangler. Lando offered to drive but you shook your head and hopped on the driver’s seat, him taking the passenger seat.
You won't allow anyone to drive your car. It's a rule of yours.
The last time you allowed someone to drive your car, your Hyundai jumped over a sewage canal. Lando might be a professional race car driver and that alone spoke multitudes of his driving skills, but you're so traumatized with the incident with your Hyundai that you physically can't allow anyone, professional driver or not, to handle the steering wheel of any other cars you own.
Cars are expensive. You can't buy another car. You’ll bawl when you see the money departing your bank account.
You palm the steering-wheel with your right hand. Your left hand lays flat on the back of the passenger seat, behind Lando’s head. Your upper body is rotated towards the back, full focus activated as you reverse the car in expert ease. Lando is observing you, you can tell. You can feel his eyes burning holes in your side profile.
“You okay?” You ask Lando. The man has gone uncharacteristically silent when you’ve started reversing the car. You hear Lando let out a breath. Almost shakily. You cannot tell for sure.
“Yeah,” his voice breaks like a boy undergoing puberty and you have to thin your lips into a line to prevent yourself from laughing. “Nice parking skills.”
“Thanks,” you say nonchalantly. “You sure you're okay though?”
“Yeah, don’t worry,” you see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he rubs his throat. “I think the seatbelt’s a little too tight.”
Once the car’s perfectly parked, you kill the engine and exit the car. Lando follows suit.
“I don't know why you have to drive for almost three hours just to visit this place,” Lando gestures to the surroundings. “There's nothing here.”
“Exactly,” you say. “Come on, boyfriend.”
You pat his shoulder and lead the way. A bell chimes loudly as you push the door open. You step inside, the British racer only a few steps behind you. You tug down your mask.
“What's this place?” Lando questions.
“24-hour convenience store,” you answer. “But no staff.”
“No staff?” he asks. “So self service?”
“Ah yes, that’s the word. Self service,” You say. “Quite nice, right? We have complete privacy and good food. Two best things in the world.”
“Careful. Your introvert is showing.”
You snort, “First time coming to a place like this?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “No staff? Does nobody attempt to steal things?”
You shrug, “Probably not. Ramen is not worth going to jail for.”
“This shop will make a million dollar loss in an hour if it's in another country,” Lando says, his nose wrinkling. “Like in the UK or US or something.”
You beckon Lando to follow you through the aisles, “This way.”
“You even memorize the places of things,” he comments. “You come here often?”
You hum a yes. You stop in front of the freezer and open it, pulling out two plastic cups.
Lando’s forehead creases, “Just ice?”
“This is an ice cup,” you explain.
“Are we going to wait for the ice to melt before drinking it or….”
You stare at him incredulously before promptly bursting out in laughter.
“What's funny?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“Nothing, sorry,” you clear your throat. You don't know why you find that funny. Your humor is broken. “They sell pouches of juice or coffee and you pour it into the cup.”
Lando’s head tilts. He looks like a confused baby owl.
“Here, I’ll show you,” you walk up to a nearby shelf and grab a Kuromi pouch. It's peach-flavored. “This. You pour it here.”
You gesture to the ice cup. Lando’s mouth forms a circle in realization.
“Cool.”
“There are a lot of flavors,” you add, gesturing to the shelf. “Peach, apple, mango, strawberry, orange…”
You read out the flavors for Lando because you know he can't read Hangul. Lando wordlessly picks a grapefruit-flavored pouch. You nod.
“Good choice. Oh wait, we forgot to get a basket. Can you?”
Lando nods and leaves. When he comes back, now with a yellow basket, the two of you continue to browse down the entire store. You explain each of the food. He said no to most of them. Lando is a picky eater, you learn.
The two of you fill the basket near to the brim. You pay for each item, even though Lando insisted that he do it, and you occupy the table that faces that floor-to-ceiling glass window, overlooking the darkness of the night outside.
“Here,” you hand him a plastic fork. Lando accepts it, his brows furrowed. “You were struggling with the chopsticks.”
A shy smile makes its way to his face, “Sorry.”
You wave your hand as if to say it's no problem and plop down on the chair beside him. Lando digs in with his Buldak Samyang carbonara while you stir your Yoppoki Tteokbokki with yours before taking your first bite. You immediately let out a moan of pleasure.
“Is it delicious?” he asked.
“Very.”
You eat until your cheeks fill, chewing slowly.
“Oh wait, you should post something.”
“Now?”
“You took pictures of me earlier, right?” you know he did. He tried to be slick about it but you’d know if someone is taking a picture of you. “Put it on your story.”
“And delete it?”
“No. The world already knows we're dating anyway. Well, fake dating.”
Lando pulls out his phone and shows you the pictures in his gallery. There are aare a total of four pictures. Three are blurry. The other one is blocked by his finger.
“That one is good.”
“What do you mean good? It's blurry.”
“Blurry is an aesthetic.”
Lando shakes his head but opens his Instagram and begins to edit the photo you’ve chosen, “Help me with the caption?”
“I’m not good with them.”
“Me neither.”
“Your first caption was pretty good.”
“You think so?” he sounds hopeful.
You shrug your shoulders.
“Just say something like ‘her’ then put a period.”
That's the limit of your creative powers for the day.
Lando nods and begins typing. He’s typing quite long for a word with three letters and a single punctuation mark. He shows you the caption.
Your brows furrow.
He laughs, “I’m funny.”
“You’re really not,” you shake your head. “Put it in your drafts.”
“So I’m not posting it now?”
“You post it after we leave the place,” you say. “So we’ll be gone by the time the fans see it and decide they’ll come here.”
“That's very smart.”
“That's not being smart. That’s just common sense,” you state flatly.
“You know, I always thought you'd be a cold person.”
You raise a brow, not entirely sure if you're understanding him correctly. Cold is an adjective. It's used to describe temperature. You're uncertain if it can be applied to use as an adjective to describe a person.
Lando must have sensed your confusion that he adds, “Ice queen.”
Oh.
Yeah.
Okay. You understand it now.
“You used to look so cold and cool,” Lando says. “Ice queen. But also an IDGAF attitude. Very intimidating.”
You have no idea what IDGAF means but you nod your head and act like you understand him anyway. You make a mental note to search it up on the internet later.
“But you’re not.”
“I’m not,” you echo.
“You’re actually pretty sweet,” he adds.
“I’m trying to be kind.”
“You don't have to try. You already are.”
“The companies make us act sometimes.”
“What?”
“Like, before debut,” you begin. “There are companies that assign certain images to their idols. They give them parts to play like directors do to actors in movies. Like, oh, you look like this kind of person so you have to act like this kind of person. They take a look at your visuals and decide what role you’ll have. They took one look at my face and told me that I have to be a strict and serious person who is scary and cold and unbothered. I didn't want to do it because I tend to smile really easily before and I just wanted to have a lot of friends, you know?”
You shrug your shoulders.
“When you’re intimidating, you tend to not have a lot of them. Despite that, I followed the role. Many praised me for it and others just….well, they didn't like it. The company was happy, though. They told me I was good at acting. But it's just…sad that the person I am on the screen is not real.”
“Yeah, that's honestly sad. I can't imagine doing that for my team. I’ll suck at it. Imagine me cold and serious,” Lando makes a serious face but he ends up doing a The Rock Smoulder. You have to stop yourself from laughing out loud by thinning your lips and twisting it.
“You're doing it, though. For the team. This whole fake dating thing,” you gesture to yourselves.
Lando mutters something under his breath while stroking his chin. You don't catch it.
“Hm?”
“Nothing. I think your eyes are pretty.”
He's changing the subject. He does it so swiftly, too.
“I know, I thank my mother every day for it,” you joke and Lando chuckles softly. “But don't be jealous, you have pretty eyes yourself.”
He turns into a lovely shade of pink. You can see it. You don't speak of it.
“It changes colors sometimes,” you continue, pointing at your eyes. “Like, it’s kind of gray in the dark. But if the sun shines on it, it has three colors.”
“You stare at my eyes a lot, do you?”
“Well, if a certain thing is pretty, you can't help but stare, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess that's why I stare at you a lot, too.”
You laugh, the sound airy, shaking your head. What a flirt. The cute kind.
“I’m quite the head turner, aren't I?”
“You are,” he agrees seriously.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He smirks, confident.
“Careful, you might fall for me, fake girlfriend,” he says cheekily. You have the desire to shatter his ego so you did.
“You're handsome but you're not my type.”
His smirk falters. You give a chortle.
“What's your type then?” he asks, leaning slightly forward. His eyes reflect anticipation.
You fall into a momentary thoughtful silence, “For starters, attractive men who can drive very fast cars. With a racing license this time. Not like me.”
Lando smiles at your light attempt at a joke. Good to know that he finds the dark humor surrounding your career-ending scandal funny.
“I am an attractive man,” he gestures to his face. “With a priceless face and I drive a very fast car. Formula one or sports cars. Oh and would you look at that? I have a racing license and a regular driving license.”
“You are an attractive man,” you agree. “But again, not my type.”
Lando dramatically puts his hand against his chest, right above where his heart lies and acts like you just shot him dead on the spot.
“Hmm, what else? Ah, plays golf,” you list another trait of your ideal man.
“I play golf,” he crosses his arms, leans back against the back of his seat, and lifts his hips a little as he adjusts his sitting position on the chair, manspreading a little. This is one of the subtle things men do that women cannot help but find attractive. You’re also a woman. Of course, you find that attractive.
You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. Lando laughs at you.
“A few years older than me.”
When Lando opens his mouth, you cut him off, holding up a finger, “I’m older than you.”
By months only but still.
“In the standards of your fake birthday, I am older than you.”
You huff, shaking your head. He is right, to some degree. The world thinks he is older than you because HAN Entertainment decided to lie about your birthday.
“Looks good in red.”
“You know, orange is a mixture of red and yellow. Technically, it's still red. So I look good in red. One plus one equals two. I am connecting shit.”
He raises two index fingers in the air and connects them together to put further emphasis on the words he imparted in a sage-like manner.
“You're not connecting anything.”
“Hell yeah, I am. I am so smart, I should just be McLaren’s chief strategist. Maybe then I can finally get my first win.”
You cannot help but raise an amused brow.
“Fine, if you're so smart Mr. Strategist, what's plan A to your victory?”
His answer comes immediately, no hesitation and he utters it with so much confidence in his chest: “Sneak into Red Bull and steal their car.”
You abruptly burst out laughing, the sound filling up the entire convenience store. You cannot hold it in anymore. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself down.
You don't laugh pretty. You're very much aware of that. You sound like a dolphin when you do. But Lando is so funny that you forget to feel conscious of the weird sound that leaves your mouth for a whole five seconds before you remember to compose yourself and stop.
“You don't have to cover your mouth when you laugh, you know?” he says. “Or try to stop yourself from laughing. Just laugh if you want.”
You give him a look. Why is he turning serious all of a sudden?
“Wait, red?” Lando does a double take once you’ve composed yourself. “Don’t tell me your ideal type is….”
His forehead creases. You nod.
He says, “Carlos?!” the same time you say, “It’s Kim Mingyu.” How did he even come to that conclusion?
Oh wait. Red. Older than you. Drives fast cars. Racing license. Makes sense.
You blink at each other.
“Who the hell is Kim Mingyu?”
“You don't know Kim Mingyu?” you pull out your phone, open Google Photos, and search for the folder named: 민규❤️❤️❤️. The folder contains 7659 photos of Kim Mingyu.
“Fake boyfriend, let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Kim Mingyu,” you show your favorite Mingyu photo.
The one where he’s wearing a black fitted shirt, his cheek against the back of his hand, and the veins in his arms bulging. He’s serving major boyfriend vibes.
Lando rolls his eyes.
“He doesn’t look that good.”
“No, Lando, you are not seeing it,” you hold the phone closer to his face.
“I am seeing it and I am saying he’s not good looking.”
“Lies.”
“I'm not lying.”
“It's Kim Mingyu.”
“And?”
You pull a face, retracting your phone. “Come on, he’s quite good looking. And tall. Very tall.”
You once have to stand beside him in an ending ceremony in Inkigayo. You barely even come up to his chest.
“I’m tall.”
“You’re shorter than him.”
“You're killing me here.”
You chuckle. You pat his shoulder in faux sympathy.
“There, there. That's okay. You're my boyfriend anyway. Don't be jealous.”
“Damn right, I am.”
You snort.
“But you have to stan Seventeen though. After your race in Suzuka, we’ll try to binge GoSe.”
When you’re too full to finish the rest of your tteokbokki, you drag Lando outside the convenience store.
“Sand?” he questions.
“Sand,” you state.
“There's sand in my shoes,” Lando complains.
“Take it off and like,” you make the motion of flipping your shoes upside down to remove the sand inside. He does as you’ve told him but he seems to be not fully satisfied with it. There is still sand inside his shoe.
“This won't do,” he says. “I should have brought flip flops.”
“Let's go barefoot,” you kick off your shoes and neatly place them on the foot of a nearby coconut tree. You motion for Lando to do the same, but you’re met with hesitance.
“What if someone steals them?”
It's a valid concern to have, you suppose. You look around you. Darkness is all that can be perceived.
“Who’d steal them? Cheonyeogwisin?”
“I don't even know what that is.”
“Just leave the shoes here, Lando.”
The sand feels good underneath your feet. A bit ticklish. A little too familiar. You turn on the flashlight of your phone and jog up to the shore.
“Wait for me!” you hear Lando scream from behind you.
“Palli!” you yell back, voice almost drowning in the wind.
“I am palli-ing!”
You roll your pants up to your knees and soak your feet in the cold waves, shivering. You turn around just as Lando body slams you and the two of you fall into the ice-cold waves. Your jaw comes slack, eyes wide. The two of you are now drenched from head to toe.
Lando bashfully smiles, “Sorry.”
“Lando!” you splash him in his face.
Lively shrieks fill the silent night sky. The stars twinkle with mirth at the two of you, the line between fake and real blurring.
Lando flies out just four hours after you arrive in Seoul proper. You feel bad for bringing him somewhere far and not giving him enough hours to rest. Then, he tells you: "It's one of the best nights I've ever had."
He sounds so sincere that you have to stop yourself from blushing red.
In the schedule Jinnie gave you, you are only required to make an appearance in the race proper on the 24th. You have the 20th, 21st, and 22nd to work on your single before having to fly out on the 23rd. Regardless, you fly to Japan on the 21st with Jinnie in tow, two days earlier than your original schedule.
Jinnie doesn't question nor protest against your obvious disobedience on the appointed schedule. You're glad she didn't.
"Lando?" you question after seeing the man standing behind your hotel door. It's nearly twelve and you've just checked in the hotel with Jinnie. "What are you..."
"Just checking in," he smiles. "Do you mind if I come in?"
"Don't you have a race tomorrow?" Despite your question, you sidestep to let him inside your hotel room. "You should be resting."
"That's okay. I'm well rested. Are you going to watch the FP1 tomorrow?"
You shake your head, "I'm going to work on my song."
"Oh," his face falls. "Why'd you fly in early then?"
You shrug.
Honestly, you don't know either.
It's an act based purely on impulse. Not your finest moments.
"Maybe I can watch?" you say. "I'm not really sure."
You don't want to get mobbed again.
ORACLE has a rather large fanbase in Japan. You know there will be curious fans who'll await your appearance in the race. And while you're glad that your PR relationship with Lando is receiving the right type of attention from the public, you still hate having this much attention on you.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Lando says.
"I'll go," you decide with finality. "I mean this is why we're doing this in the first place, right? Make people believe that we're real."
Lando's lips form a line.
"I suppose."
"Then, I'll be there."
The song making can wait.
Once again, Jinnie takes charge in deciding your clothing. You’ve long since given up on protesting or even suggesting your ideas. You have to get used to it again. Wearing whatever is given to you like a doll. After all, you are to return to the stage of KPop again.
Today’s WAG OOTD is a Miu Miu black dress, a black leather jacket, and Gianvito Rossi strappy sandals. Nothing too impressive. It's just the free practice sessions after all.
Jinnie hands you the McLaren ball cap and you grimace.
“How's the song coming up?”
“I’ve been trying to combine my demos and see how it sounds,” you reply. “But I have a concept in mind and I jotted down a few phrases for the lyrics.”
“I got an email from Yoon PD-nim today. He’s strongly suggesting you use a racing concept for your single.”
Strongly suggesting.
Translation: commanding.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Fuck it.
He’s really going to use the scandal and hope it’ll make you rise from the ashes like a phoenix reborn. The problem is that you're far from a phoenix. You’re human. As disappointing that may be but that is the cold truth. You're uncertain how people will react if you use a racing concept. You cannot afford to risk this over something like this.
You have one chance. And if KNetz reacts badly on your song and your MV, you’re never going to have another chance to go back on stage, to go back home.
Yoon PD-nim is too thoughtless at times. You want to shake him.
Jinnie drives you to the paddock and drops you to the parking lot. You expect that you’ll have to find your way to the garage again alone. Your knees are trembling as you step out of the car.
To your surprise, a staff member of the McLaren team—you assume he works for the team because of the orange polo shirt—approaches you as you exit the car.
“[Name]?”
“Hi,” you offer a polite smile.
“I’m Rick, I’m one of Lando’s mechanics, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces.
“Pleasure is all mine, Sir,” you say, dipping your chin into a small bow.
“Come this way,” he beckons. You follow him.
“Did Lando ask you to pick me up?”
“Well, he insisted on picking you up but the race was about to start so we had to force him to stay put in the livery and he wouldn't stay put until we said we’ll pick you up. Said people might flock over you and you don't like it when it happens.”
Your heart warms.
“That's very thoughtful of him. And sweet.”
“That's Lando Norris for you,” he says. “He’s always treating all the people he’s working with kindly. He only has to be polite but he even exerts effort in helping and making our work easier.”
“That's true,” you agree. “I can attest to that, as his fake girlfriend. He only has to treat me well when there's a camera but he’s even going as far as offering friendship.”
The rest of the walk to McLaren was peaceful. Or at least as peaceful as you hope it can be.
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Hey can you do one where reader (reader is Nyla rookie) is secretly engaged to Tim and Nyla starts to ask the reader questions about who she’s engaged to because the reader forgot to take her ring off before she got to work, and it’s plain clothes day and reader pulls Tim over on his day off because he was speeding ( he was doing something for his sister) and Nyla doesn’t know that is was Tim in the car until the next day when he comes back to work and Nyla and Angela starts to put two and two together
Elephant in the room
Tim Bradford x fiance!reader
Warnings/Tags: fluff, a little angst
Word count: tba
Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! It was really fun to write and I hope you'll like it!
Enjoy!
She just wouldn't stop.
Ever since she saw the glittery and shiny engagement ring on your finger - of course it had to be one, 'cause it was just so shiny - she wouldn't stop asking questions.
Asking questions was an understatement, though - for someone who barely talked about her private life herself, she was really good at squeezing every bit of information out of you.
You had forgotten to take if off before heading to work, not even noticing until it was too late.
It was plain clothes day, she wasn't even supposed to talk, yet Nyla freakin' Harper wouldn't shut up.
Jaw clenched you tried to ignore her, until she threatened to make you fail.
"Wait what?" you almost screeched, parking at a sidewalk to turn towards her in your seat. She was smirking to herself, a shit eating grin that told you 'I have your future in my hands'.
And damn it, she had.
"I'm engaged." you pressed out through clenched teeth, trying to act nonchalant about it with a shrug of your shoulders.
"Do I know him?" she pressed further, and you bit your cheek.
She in fact did know him, but you would never tell her. At least not now, not when you were still her rookie, having promised Grey and Tim not to talk about it, until your training was done.
Which it would be in two weeks.
But the look she was giving you, gave you the sense of feeling that she'd give you a hard time, until you'd finally crack and tell her.
Which you couldn't.
Damn it.
Her brows rose, urging you to answer her question.
"No...?" you answered vaguely, and her head tilted with a pointed look. She didn't believe you for a second.
To be honest, you wouldn't have either.
"Do I?" she questioned, leaning closer. She tried to analyze you, see if you were lying to her.
"I mean, maybe you've met him at a grocery store, who knows?" you tried to shrug it off, heart racing in your chest, threatening to burst out of it any moment, at the look she was giving you.
If she wouldn't have been your TO, she would have made a good friend - whom you might have told, but she wasn't.
Yet, you hoped. She was a great person, and you could only hope to stay on her good side for the rest of your days.
"Mhhmmm..." she made, the sound drawn out, as she leaned back in her seat. "Maybe."
You breathed a sigh of relief inwardly, as someone sped past you on the otherwise quiet street.
Huffing to yourself, you turned on the siren, following the car as you motioned for them to turn over, though thankful for the distraction.
Only then did you notice what car it was - or rather whose.
Cursing under your breath, you had no other choice than to get out of the car now.
Approaching the car you were grateful it was plain clothes day, which meant that Nyla was staying near the shop, not having any sight into the car.
"Hello, do you know why I pulled you over?" you greeted, silently pleading he wouldn't act strange now.
"Driving too fast?" he guessed and you huffed to yourself again, biting your lip to stifle a laugh.
Never would you have thought you'd pull your own fiancé over.
Nodding, you took a step closer, almost crossing the line of getting too close; trying to ignore Nyla's boring gaze for the moment.
"Where are you heading to?" you asked, brows furrowed. "Everything okay?" He nodded at your second question, sending you a reassuring smile.
"I'm fine, baby. Was heading to my sister's, she needs something done in her new house, but she has to work in an hour." he explained, biting his lip.
His sister had just recently moved to LA, after divorcing her now ex-husband.
"Tim, you know you should stick to the speed limit, even if you're late!" you quietly scolded him, brows drawn together. "What about being a good cop and all?"
He sighed, chuckling under his breath at your words and you couldn't help but split a smile as well, before clearing your throat, suddenly aware again, that Nyla was watching you.
"I'll let you go this time, sir, but please try and not drive too fast again." you spoke louder, knowing she'd hear.
He laughed quietly at that, blowing you a kiss.
"I love you." he told you, sending you a smile. "Thank you."
You nodded, smiling back. "Love you too. See you later."
Patting the rolled down window, you bid him goodbye, watching as he drove away.
When you returned, Nyla looked at you suspiciously. She knew the car, it seemed oddly familar, but she just couldn't place where from. Your behavior though, she was able to place.
"That your fiancé?" she shot straight to the point, as you two climbed back into the shop. Swallowing, you took a deep breath, stalling.
"Yep." you then announced, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel. She hummed, nodding. "Well then, good you didn't give him a ticket." she mused, brows wiggling. "Who knows, maybe he wouldn't want to marry you anymore if you did?"
Rolling your eyes, you started the shop, shaking your head with a smile.
She really was one of a kind.
_____
"Oh my freakin' sweet Jesus!" Nyla exclaimed quietly, eyes wide as she stared at the car that was parked a few feet away.
It was the same you had pulled over yesterday.
Angela, who was walking beside her, stopped as Nyla did, confusion etched into her features.
"What's up with you?" she wanted to know, stiffling a yawn, not feeling quiet ready for a demanding conversation at this unholy hour in the morning.
"When I was on shift with Y/L/N yesterday, she told me she's engaged. Pulled that car over and guess what: it was the fiancé she refuses to tell me the identity off!"
Angela's eyes widened, nearly dropping her coffee as she stared at Nyla, who's brows knitted together at her look.
"That's Bradford's car!" Angela exclaimed in a hushed whisper, suddenly wide awake. Nyla's eyes could have competed with dinner plates at the size they became at the information.
And realization.
Tim Bradford was your fiancé.
Your fiancé was Tim motherfucking Bradford.
Nyla's mouth opened and closed like a fish's, not quiet grasping the words she was searching for, as her eyes went back to the truck.
No fucking way.
"That little-!" she exclaimed, staring at Angela in shock.
She was as equally as shocked as her friend, though she soon started to grin. "Who would have imagined?" she quipped, taking a sip of her coffee.
Nyla's head shook, still trying to wrap her mind around the information.
Oh, you were definitely in for something.
And you were.
You should have known something was up, when Nyla brought you a coffee, even smiling at you like she did when she was pregnant and couldn't control her hormones, scaring everyone.
You really should have known.
Especially when she offered to drive.
"Had a nice evening yesterday?" she asked with a smile. "After pulling over your own fiancé?"
She chuckled heartily at that, and that's what should have made you jump out of the shop, take your legs in your hands and run for your dear life.
Yet you were dumb enough to step right into her trap.
"Yeah, he wasn't mad, said he was glad I didn't spare him just because he was my fiancé and pulled him over nonetheless."
She hummed to herself in agreement, nodding along to it.
"And what did he say was the reason he was breaking the speed limit?"
Your brows furrowed, but you didn't question her. "Wanted to help his sister fix something over at her new house. She just moved here."
Nyla nodded again, lips pursed.
"Bradford's nice to help his little sister that much."
You stiffened at her words, thoughts crashing to a halt. She caught you - but how?
She smirked to herself, a dangerous one that told you not to lie to her now, or else you would regret it for the rest of your life.
Biting your lip, you sank further into your seat with your cheeks ablaze, praying the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
"I mean I get it." she spoke, eyes fixed on the street. "But lying to your TO? Nuh-uh."
"I'm sorry." you apologized, gaze fixed on your entwined hands, that started to sweat profusely. "But I had to promise Tim and Grey not to tell anyone."
She huffed, chuckling under her breath.
"Well, I'm a detective - and a good one." she told you, sending you a pointed look. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
That she only did with Angela's help, she didn't mention. She wanted to see you suffer, at least a little bit. That didn't mean she wasn't happy for you, though.
You were a lucky one with Tim Bradford as your soon to be husband.
"I expect an invitation for the wedding, of course."
Rolling your eyes, you huffed.
"Please, as if you wouldn't have been invited anyways." you retorted, sending her a pointed look.
She smiled at that, failing to hide it.
"Good."
_____
"Harper knows."
"Angela knows."
"Wait, what?" you both made, brows furrowed.
"Oh my, really should have expected it." you sighed, shaking your head. "Somehow, Nyla found out about it. I bet her and Angela did together."
Tim nodded at that, biting his lip. "Figured."
Sighing, you took off your jacket, before hanging it on the clothing rack. You didn't even get to greet him properly, having to get the news off your chest first.
He crossed the distance, wrapping his arms around you as his eyes met yours. "Should have expected that to happen." he said, lips pursed and you nodded.
"Yeah, they're detectives - and they're good at it." you repeated what Nyla had said earlier, causing Tim to chuckle. "Yeah, 'course she said that."
He leaned down and kissed you, tongue brushing yours, as your hands locked behind his neck.
"Not long and we can tell everyone." he promised, forehead leaning against yours. "And I'm glad when they finally know. Hate lying to them."
You nodded in agreement, pecking his lips again. "Me too."
He walked you backwards, lips brushing yours. "I love you." he murmured, blindly navigating you, and you sighed happily. It still felt like the first time, whenever he said it.
"I love you, too."
Tag List
@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm
@augustvandyne @RookieTrek
@dhunhdchrih @nachofriess
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