#carlos fidgeting

[artemispt]

[f1-stuff]

I don't think I'll ever get used to the way Charles and Carlos look at each other, even in that new pennzoil reel (which was shot during the Canada gp if I'm not wrong), have you seen the way they were looking at each other at the beginning of the video? Insane…

Their eyes are magnetized to each other...

[leclercskiesahead]

Imagine getting to talk to Carlos when his sunglasses are on his hair like that (via Scuderia Ferrari)

[azzibueckers5]

take another drag (turn me to ashes)

synopsis: messy fwb pazzi, extremely unserious angst, alcohol usage, sexual content, situationship final bosses paige and azzi but they're like really really chill about it, um. the only hint that i'm giving in terms of the smut is possessiveness. enjoy!

wc: 6.5k (part 1/2)

a/n: title is from lana's diet mountain dew. you gay bitches won you get the first half tonight. enjoy the repercussions (sexual frustration). this was a tad rushed so i could get it out before the weekend so there's bound to be typos i am. Sorry. also roommate pairings are entirely made up #sorry

azzi tilts her head back against the couch cushions behind her and closes her eyes for a second, trying to assess what level of drunk she’s riding in their game of truth or drink in preparation for her next turn. 

her teammates are scattered precariously around the room, all twelve of them making themselves at home in evina, aubrey, and piath’s small living room, and the half full handle of titos sits in the middle of the lopsided circle like some sacrificial token, daring azzi to test it. 

she’s been spared from any truly invasive questions so far, only having to answer one about her first kiss (a random boy named carlos in the seventh grade after a movie date that had been nothing short of terrible) and what the most scandalous place she’d ever hooked up with someone was (she’d hesitated before answering this one, not because a hotel pool had been that embarrassing, but because her counterpart in that particular rendezvous was sitting directly next to her, fingers fidgeting in her lap and eyes refusing to make contact), so she hasn’t had to drink to avoid anything. 

this was a team bonding event though– and the last one before the season officially started– so naturally azzi had been coerced into doing two separate rounds of shots by nika, in addition to sipping on a drink with god knows how many more, and the buzz in her limbs was starting to make tipsy feel like a thing of the past. 

it was at least mildly reassuring that everyone around her also seemed to have reached that tipping point as well, and she could feel the atmosphere descending into that loose, rowdy environment that only happened on the rare nights when they didn’t have an early practice the next day.

amari is getting grilled about, like, her ex boyfriend’s dick size or something– azzi’s trying hard not to pay attention– which means azzi’s turn is next. she lifts her head up from the couch and ignores the slight dizziness that accompanies it, focusing instead on the feeling of paige’s hand repeatedly poking her thigh. 

she tilts her head towards the blonde lazily and sighs, exaggerating her exasperation, and catches paige's finger in her own, stilling her. 

“what.”

paige grins, crooked but blinding all the same, and azzi knows immediately that she is also hurtling towards drunk by the slightly dazed look on her face. she tries to smother the excitement that bubbles up at the idea of what usually happens when they get drunk together, and only halfway succeeds. 

“nothin,’” paige says, unashamedly fishing for attention. 

azzi rolls her eyes, and ignores the flutter in her chest when paige laces their fingers together instead of letting go. 

“you’re an attention whore,” she declares, trying to scrunch her face into something that resembles annoyance. 

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” paige drawls, and, yup. definitely a little drunk, because she’s slurring the end of her words a little, in a way that shouldn’t be endearing but always is anyways, and is flirting a little more brazenly than she otherwise would, especially in front of the team. 

azzi is spared from having to respond when dorka kicks her right leg that’s splayed out on the ground in front of her and informs her that it’s her turn. 

“you ready to drink, princess?”

she blinks away from paige’s face and scoffs, trying to catch up to the rest of the room. the last thing they need right now is for someone to accuse them of flirting again. 

she pulls her fingers out of paige’s with a squeeze and says, defiantly, “m’not drinking. hit me with your best, dorka.” 

the older girl smirks from across the circle, and anxiety pools in her stomach. she prays this question isn’t about her sex life. 

“last person you got with. out with it.” 

what a surprise. a sex question.

azzi internally sighs and tries to keep the panic off her face, tries to ignore the flash of memory at the question:

paige, kissing her in the dingy bathroom of ted’s, hands on the back of her thighs under her skirt; paige, dragging them stumbling back to azzi’s dorm, fingers tangled; paige, pressing azzi into her bedroom door, mouth moving down her neck; paige, fingers between her– she shoves the memory away, willing her face to stay unimpressed. 

her rescue comes in the form of paige herself, which is, admittedly, a little incriminating, but she’s grateful nonetheless. “ya’ll must be extra horny today. how bout you go get laid instead of interrogating all of us about our sex lives.”

azzi nudges their ankles together in thanks, just as christyn groans somewhere to her left and says “don’t be a loser paige. we tryna make it actually fun,” and piath throws a piece of popcorn at paige and says “of course paige is defending azzi.”

damn it. 

there’s a chorus of agreement from the girls around them, and azzi sighs, glaring at the glass handle in front of her and mentally prepping for the shot that’s going to curdle in her stomach. 

but then, evina, who’s already properly sloshed, calls out impatiently, “yeah, come on az, last guy you got with. not that hard,” and azzi smiles. 

blessed reprieve in the form of heteronormativity.  

before anyone can object to the question, she blurts out “last guy i got with was james,” and hopes everyone is too drunk to inquire further. 

got with is kind of an exaggeration– they’d kissed at the afterparty at prom and azzi had let it happen for approximately thirty seconds before his hands had started wandering and she’d broken away to run off and find her friends– but it's not her fault if people assume it was more than that. 

she knows paige is gonna be sulky about the mere mention of him anyways, but that’s her problem. they’ve agreed to stop the whole messy hook up thing, what with basketball really gearing up and the fear of making things complicated, and that includes getting jealous when other people are brought up. never mind the fact that they’ve been absolutely terrible at adhering to that new rule.  

christyn narrows her eyes suspiciously and asks “what do you mean by guy,” just as aaliyah says, rather shocked, “your prom date? as in not since may?” 

azzi takes a sip of her drink and smirks. she should probably be a little bit more careful at what she’s insinuating, but she’s giddy at getting away without having to take a shot for a third time and also definitely a little drunk.

“i haven’t hooked up with a guy since may. that’s what you asked. paige’s turn.”

but they aren't letting her off the hook so easy, and olivia’s voice rings out over the rest of them, loud and laced with disbelief. “you brought someone home last month after the bar. nika and i had to sleep with pillows over our heads.”

nika is one of the two other people in this room that knows that that had been paige. azzi expects her to help them out a little bit here. 

“yeah, azzi, what was that about?” she says instead, smarmy and annoying and so totally enjoying this. 

so much for assistance. 

dorka piles on with “liars have to take two shots to make up for it,” and azzi shoots a death glare at nika and sighs. 

“m’not lying. evina said who’s the last guy. i answered the question.” 

the room erupts again into shrieks of surprise and someone says “the princess is into women?”

azzi just takes a large gulp of her drink, pushes down the feeling of indignation at the thought that it's this shocking she’d be into women, and tries really hard not to look at paige. 

she fails. 

paige, for her part, is putting up a solidly mediocre performance on how to be nonchalant: lazy smirk, legs spread casually, and eyes refusing to look at azzi for too long. azzi knows her inside and out though, and can see the clench of her jaw and the shift of her fingers on the perimeter of her solo cup, the way her gaze is flitting around the room, cataloguing the different reactions to azzi’s sentence.

she pulls her eyes off paige’s silhouette before she gives them away and fixes her stare instead on aaliyah. “dunno why you assumed i’m straight, that’s your problem. somebody ask paige a question already. i answered mine.”

christyn makes a couple more attempts at getting azzi to spill on who this mystery woman is, but she refuses, and eventually the group moves on to start plotting on how to get paige to drink. 

tomorrow, azzi will worry about the consequences of inadvertently revealing that she’s into girls– both because it makes her rather intense friendship with paige that much more suspicious, and because coming out to some of her closest friends via a shitty question in truth or drink is a admittedly a little pathetic. she’s never exactly tried to hide her sexuality though, it just turned out that when you’d only ever kissed one girl and were also trying to keep the fact that you were kissing said girl a secret, things tended to stay under wraps. 

azzi breathes out a sigh of relief at her turn being over and shifts her thoughts to trying her best to prepare for paige’s interrogation, knowing that it’s fairly likely the question will pertain to her in some capacity, seeing as the team is hellbent on asking about sex escapades. 

honestly. you’d think they were at a sleepover with sixteen year olds.  

she hopes everyone around them is drunk enough to miss the tension in her shoulders, and the glances she keeps taking at paige’s face. she pointedly ignores caroline’s knowing gaze from the other across the circle, the only other one in the room besides nika who’s aware of the tangle of something more between them, and again, takes a rather large chug of her drink. 

the relief of being out of the hot seat does not last long. because somehow the question that’s almost unanimously decided upon for paige is, in azzi’s opinion, seventeen times worse.

“p, how many bodies you got by now?” calls aubrey from where she’s stretched out against the tv stand, glee evident in her voice, and azzi’s heart sinks into her stomach. 

she’s confident the answer is somewhere between three and five, but despite the fact that her and paige have never kept things from each other, azzi has made a point to actively avoid hearing about paige sleeping with other people. it was sort of an unspoken rule– they didn’t talk about the girls paige got with before azzi came to uconn, and they didn’t talk about the boys azzi had gotten with her senior year of high school. 

they had a lot of unspoken rules. 

they’d been each other's firsts (azzi stops herself from thinking too hard about the fact that she wants to be paige’s last, too), fumbling around in the dark of a hotel room (azzi reminds her self that that had meant more than any rushed hookup paige had sought out since), and though they’d maintained the conviction that the other was allowed to do whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted, they’d never been exactly good at sharing. 

as the group around her debates what, specifically, has to meet the requirements for a body when it comes to having sex with girls, azzi racks her brain and tries to remember the last time paige had hooked up with someone other than her. 

it had only been three weeks since she’d made one of her more terrible decisions to let the fear that paige had starting meaning more to her than basketball dictate the parameters of their relationship, and she’d initiated the rule that during basketball season (and the few weeks leading up to it), the two of them should halt the rather non-platonic aspects of their friendship for fear of making things too complicated. 

she’d been half expecting paige to push back, would have most likely caved with merely a few sentences and a makeout as a counter argument, but paige hadn’t argued whatsoever, and they’d since been mostly successful at pretending everything was fine. 

they’d only slipped up once since the implementation of the new rule– a rather heated makeout session in the locker room of all places when they’d been left alone post practice, sweaty and sports bra clad (they’d never stood a chance)– and they had somehow miraculously managed to spend just as much time together as they’d had before, so azzi doesn’t think paige has had time to add to her body count. 

(god help both of them if she had, because azzi’s crashout would probably cause world war three)

that left only the ones she’d accumulated over the course of her freshman year, because paige and azzi had been effectively inseparable (and effectively exclusive) since their arrival at summer session workouts in may. 

still, this doesn’t halt the twist in her stomach at the idea of paige with anyone else, and she fights the icky feeling in her stomach with a sip of her drink. 

but azzi can handle this, definitely, and she’s prepared for paige’s answer when she takes a lazy sip of her drink and drawls out “four.” 

what she’s not prepared for is the general disbelief that echoes around the circle, and the insufferable comments from various teammates about how “that can’t be true,” and “it’s gotta be more than that.”

azzi wants to hit someone. preferably all eleven other people in the room. 

and then, her irrational anger at the rest of the circle refocusses to just paige because she humors it, leaning back and smirking. “what can i say? i’m picky,” grinning at the comments about how much of a whore she was the pervious year. as if it’s funny. 

if azzi believed in things like auras and spiritual colors, hers would probably look like a christmas monstrosity right now– green for jealousy clashing with the crimson of her fury. 

she shifts over, removing her leg from where it had been subtly pressed up against paige’s, and tucks her glower into the rim of her cup, plotting several murders as the group around them howls with laughter and continues reminiscing on paige’s escapades like it was a hilarious, wonderful time, and not the root of many sleepless nights for azzi. 

she really has enough when evina giggles out something about how “paige needs to get back out there” and christyn agrees, slurring about how they miss “big daddy bueckers.” 

azzi coughs. hard. 

and then she finishes the rest of her drink in one swig, ignores paige’s searing gaze on the side of her face, and stands up rather aggressively to go fix herself another. if she subtly kicks paige’s foot on the way past, that’s nobody’s business but hers. she’s not doing a particularly terrific job of subtlety right now, but no one is sober enough to notice.

nika joins her in the kitchen, and bursts out laughing as soon as she sees the expression on azzi’s face, contorted into what is probably a rather hideous scowl. 

“someone’s jealous,” she taunts, as she watches azzi pour a healthy amount of vodka into her cup. 

“i’m not jealous,” azzi hisses. jealousy would imply azzi had a right to care about who paige gets with. which she does not. she adds another glug of tito’s for good measure.

nika eyes the amount of liquid in her cup and raises an eyebrow. “no?”

azzi glares. “nothing to be jealous over. paige can do whatever she wants.”

nika has the audacity to laugh at her. “ooookayy,” she drags out, hands raised beside her head like azzi is a feral animal. she sort of feels like it. “as someone who witnessed paige last year, it wasn’t nearly as crazy as they make it seem.”

azzi wishes this made her feel better, but in all honesty it’s information she already knows, which reminds her of how irrational she’s being, which in turn makes her more upset, at like, the world. 

she huffs. “that’s none of my business.” 

“uh huh. that’s why you were eye fucking eachother in the living room and are now pouring yourself a triple.”

nika muhl and her psychology degree can kick rocks. 

“we told you, we’re not doing that anymore,” azzi muttered, doing a terrifically bad job at keeping the contempt out of her voice. 

nika eyes her with exasperation. “and who’s fault is that.”

azzi’s frown somehow deepens at the accusation. “it’s no one’s fault. it’s just the right thing to do.”

nika blinks, disbelieving. “if you say so. when paige walks out of your room tomorrow morning with her hood up i’m going to say i told you so.” 

“not happening.” 

nika just raises her eyebrows. azzi decides she’d through with this conversation. 

drink made, she stalks back to the living room, nika following close behind with thinly veiled amusement. she’s officially been added to azzi’s shit list of the night, directly behind one paige bueckers. 

she plops back down next to the blonde, careful to keep the space between their bodies reasonable, and takes a sip of her drink, wincing at how strong she’d made it. 

paige looks inquisitively at her, and azzi tries to ignore it, but then her head tilts back against the base of the couch as she sideyes azzi, brows furrowed in an unspoken attempt at asking if she’s good, which exposes the long, pale, extremely biteable column of her throat, and azzi jerks her head away before she does something stupid like lick it in front of their entire team, and ignores her. 

she’s still mad at paige. not for having four bodies– that would be ridiculous. just for other, secret reasons. definitely. 

she listens intently as nika immediately gets interrogated about the football guy she’s down bad for instead– serves her right for accusing azzi of being jealous– and decides that if the next question she gets asked is about her sex life, she’s going to take the shot. paige doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of hearing an answer that’s probably about her. 

but then, when her turn rolls around and olivia’s nosy fucking question of “azzi who’s the best you’ve ever had and why” causes paige to smirk next to her, azzi decides that simply taking the shot would feed paige’s ego far too much. 

so, she lets a smirk of her own cross her face and slurs out a massive fucking lie: “this guy i got with last year- charlie- very talented with his tongue,” and lets the room erupt into madness. 

the look on paige’s face is delightful. 

paige is by far the best azzi’s ever had– by, like, a factor of ten– and charlie had only been a brief fling senior year to (unsuccessfully) distract azzi from paige. he’d been mediocre at best. by the look on the blonde’s, face she knows that too, so the offense and shock laced into the outrage of her expression is beautiful. her eyes bore into azzi’s, drunk and disbelieving and pissed, and azzi swallows at the intensity of her gaze.

serves her right. 

she’s forced to tear her eyes away when christyn calls out “i’m sorry, you got with a girl last month and you expect me to believe that the best you ever got was from a guy?”

azzi flushes, but she holds her gaz, shrugging, and then decides to pour metaphorical gasoline on the fire that is currently raging next to her. “wasn’t really impressed with her skills.”

paige honest to god chokes beside her, and the room erupts into hoots and hollers. 

azzi lets the drunk commotion roll off her back, and makes the mistake of turning back to paige, feeling heat pool in her belly at the intensity she finds. 

“i don’t believe you,” rasps the blonde into the admittedly small space between them, low enough that no one else can hear her over the chaos that’s taken over the room. 

azzi smiles sweetly. “too bad.”

paige scoffs, and opens her mouth to respond with something presumably filthy, but then it’s aubrey’s turn to throw popcorn at them, telling paige to “lock in” for her turn. 

paige’s anticipatory smile at aubrey is more of a pained grimace, and azzi lets satisfaction settle in her bones for now, knowing she’s gotten under her skin.

she knows better than to think this conversation is over. she’s rather excited about that fact. stupid stupid stupid alcohol. 

the older girls convene in front of them for a second whispering ideas, and then they all seemingly agree on one with a chorus of excited yeses and christyn spins back to the rest of the group and grins. 

azzi braces herself with a shaky inhale. 

“tell the class about your favorite sex position, paigey,” christyn singsongs, and azzi's mind goes blank for a second. 

she tries to stop herself from thinking about it, about what position paige might be thinking about, but fails miserably, and then a series of images are flashing through her brain:

perhaps how much paige loves to be between azzi’s thighs, used to beg the brunette to let paige go down on her, or even more so maybe how much she loves azzi between her legs, tongue tracing lines against her clit and fingers dancing inside, or maybe even that one time paige made azzi work herself back onto paige’s fingers, bent over the bed, and paige had come untouched just from watching her, or when they’d put the small bullet vibrator azzi had secretly bought between them, grinding on it and each other until they’d both fallen apart more than once, or when– jesus. 

she needs to chill the fuck out. 

azzi is not built for the sexually frustrated lifestyle. 

she takes a large, large chug of her drink, and tries to focus on the burn of vodka down her throat, and not her absolutely filthy thoughts, nor the flush that’s coursing through her veins and making her skin hot.

beside her, paige smirks– a daring, cocky thing that pulls at the inside of azzi’s stomach– and doesn’t even think about answering, instead pouring herself a hefty shot from the handle in front of them and ripping it back, clearly enjoying the group’s groans at her refusal to answer. 

azzi tries extremely hard to ignore the peek of her tongue as she licks the residual vodka off the rim of the shot glass, but her whole body feels hot anyways. she blames it on the mixture in her cup.

“bruh, you just wanted to take a shot,” accuses evina, off to the left, as everyone watches paige wince and grab for a chaser. 

when she collects herself, she rasps out “yeah, or maybe i just think some things should stay private.” 

she says it to the broader room, refusing to look at azzi, but she knows the words are meant just for her anyways, and as anger rolls off of the set of paige's shoulders and curls in the now much wider space between their bodies, azzi juts her chin out in defiance.

whatever– let paige be mad. that is not azzi’s problem. 

she sees amari eyeing them warily, and caroline and nika have switched seats, no doubt so they can giggle to themselves about the tension they apparently think is hilarious, and azzi decides she needs a break. 

when the group conversation derails a bit, partly due to the collective level of hammered and partly due to the boredom of the game they’ve been playing for an hour now, azzi decides a pee break is in order, both because she actually has to pee, and because the heated glares paige is sending her from beside her are fucking with her head. 

she stands up off the floor– very wobbly mind you, the head rush at her upright position reminding her of the abundance of liquor in her cup– and stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom, trying to ignore how positively sloshed she feels. 

the silence of the bathroom is a welcome reprieve from the chaos on the other side of the door, and azzi takes a deep breath as soon as she closes it, leaning back against it and cursing herself for letting paige get under her skin. 

she knows she’s being unreasonable– that getting mad about the fact that paige has hooked up with people other than her is entirely ridiculous, one because it's information she already knows, and more importantly, two, because they're allowed to see other people– but she just looked so smug bringing it up. and the team thought it was so funny. and azzi wants to hit someone.  

lying as payback had been fun– the look on paige’s face absolutely worth it– but now azzi feels like she’s going to crawl out of her own skin at the tension between them and the inability to do something about it. 

she paces the small space for a second (noting in that slightly hysteric, satirical way that only come from drunkenness that evina’s bath mat is a hideous shade of orange), reeling with entirely unwarranted jealousy and fury and trying to pretend that the copious amounts of alcohol have not hit her bloodstream. 

she stops short when she catches her own eye in the mirror. she’s flushed, the range of feelings that aren’t hers to have painted across her face, and she looks exactly like a movie character in a melodramatic shitty pg-13 romcom who’s realizing she’s too drunk and too sad in a party bathroom. 

stupid stupid stupid stupid.

she spins away from her reflection, remembering that she does actually have to pee pretty bad, and plops down on the toilet, content to wallow in sexual frustration and misery for the remainder of the night. 

but then, while she’s washing her hands– rather aggressively scrubbing as if she can wipe away the itch in then that yearns to be on paige’s skin– azzi’s peace and quiet is shattered by the arrival of the one person she’s currently trying to convince herself she doesn’t care the whereabouts of. 

because of course paige had followed her.  

she doesn’t even knock– the audacity– just barges right in like azzi’s not having a private moment to herself (a mental break).

“paige!” she huffs out indignantly, moving out of the way of the door and doing her very best to glare menacingly. “get out- i could’ve been peeing or something.” 

paige looks entirely unbothered by that prospect. she closes the door behind her gently without turning around, arms crossed and jaw tipped down.

she looks infuriatingly good. azzi wants to hit her. like. with her mouth. 

“nothin’ i ain’t seen before.”  she pairs this aggravatingly calm sentence with a step into azzi’s personal space, and it's outrageous how affected azzi is by simply being in close proximity to her in private. 

and how pretty she is. god damn it. 

even with the edges of her vision blurring from the liquor, and the fact that her feet feel rather unsteady on the hideous bathmat below her, azzi can tell that paige is mad. 

that type of focussed, heated anger that very rarely laces their interactions, not just simple annoyance. it unnerves her as much as it excites her, which is surely another sign that she’s going insane. 

she chooses not to respond to the insinuation that paige has seen her in every state of undress, for her own sake, and tries not to think about her and paige in states of undress at all. which is actually a supremely difficult task, particularly when, again, they’re in such close proximity. 

she’s starting to deeply regret that last chug of her drink. 

the silence hangs around them, tense, and she suddenly realizes that somehow paige has backed her up into the sink. which is odd. considering last time azzi checked they weren’t merely inches apart. so that’s. concerning. or exhilarating. who’s to say? not azzi. 

paige’s smirk is a little mean on her face, eyes wild, and she tilts her head, using the measly one inch she has on azzi to try and make her feel small. azzi refuses to let her. 

“charlie?” she says, voice unimpressed. her hands coming up to rest on either sides of azzi on the sink, caging her in. “really?” 

they’re not touching– not yet– but azzi feels the ghost of her hands anyways. 

“what about ‘m,” she breathes. their faces are really close. and paige’s eyes are really blue. 

“you expect me to believe the best head you’ve ever received was from a guy named charlie?” the and not me is unspoken, but azzi hears it loud and clear. 

she scoffs, spurred on by the fire in paige’s eyes. she delights in this game. “why wouldn’t it be?”

paige’s eyes narrow. “i don’t know, maybe because last time i ate you out you came so hard you cried.” 

azzi’s blood gets impossibly hotter at the reminder, but she stays strong, lifting her chin even higher. “was faking it,” she breathes. “like i said earlier, i wasn’t impressed.”

“really,” is all paige drags out, low and dangerous, and azzi feels the tension crackle between them like a physical brand on her skin. they’re not even fucking touching yet, and she can already feel the lining of her underwear growing impossibly wet at paige’s anger. 

she refuses to contemplate the implications of that. 

she hums in agreement and doesn’t say anything else, and paige just looks at her, lets the weighted silence settle around them.

and. okay. azzi’s not proud of this necessarily, but paige is looking like that in front of her and her mouth is turned downwards because she’s jealous and trying to hide it, and her sweats are slung low enough on her hips for azzi to see the waistband of her boxers, and.

and then they’re kissing because azzi apparently has absolutely zero self control. 

her hands come up to grip paige’s shoulders, immediately opening for it, and though azzi was the one to close to gap between them, the one to tug paige down into a kiss, it’s paige that sets the pace, immediately rough and unforgiving, pining azzi hips against the counter with her own and nipping at her lips. 

and god is it good, and god has she missed this in the last few weeks. 

she’s vaguely aware of their new rules, that there are reasons they’re not supposed to be doing this whole kissing thing anymore, reasons she came up with, but she can’t for the life of her remember why she’s supposed to give a singular fuck about that right now when paige’s hands splay out across the skin of her sides underneath her shirt, and her hips are pressing into azzi’s, and her mouth is doing that delicious thing where she licks into azzi’s mouth and slide’s their tongues together, and. 

and azzi decides that this can be an exception. 

she groans into the kiss, tangling her fingers in paige’s hair, and lets her press closer, relishing in the feel of paige all over her for the first time in too long. 

the kiss is mean, claiming, and azzi knows without a doubt that paige is trying to remind her why she will always be the best azzi’s ever had. 

it makes liquid heat pool endlessly in her stomach, and she lets out a strangled cry when paige shifts to press her thigh between azzi’s legs, letting the taller girl swallow her sounds and somehow press impossibly closer. 

fuck. 

it’s always so, so good with paige. it almost makes azzi angrier, and she lets her hands tug at paige’s hair a little rougher, bites into the kiss a little meaner. 

paige must be aware that they’ve only got a few minutes before people get suspicious, because she’s sliding a hand under the waistband of azzi’s shorts and boxers after only a minute or two of making out. 

which makes the fact that azzi’s completely soaked all the more embarrassing. 

she breaks the kiss to gloat, rasping out “you get this wet for charlie?” against azzi’s lips, and. 

azzi’s completely forgotten about why he’s relevant. and then she’s yet again reminded of why paige is insufferable, because why did she have to bring that up. azzi figured the whole kissing furiously against a bathroom sink thing sort of implied charlie didn’t hold a candle. 

however. azzi would never be the one to back down from what was clearly some version of a competition, and despite the fact that, no, she’d gotten nowhere near close with him, azzi locks eyes and breathes “yeah, you’re not special.”

her voice gets choked up halfway through because paige decides to slide two fingers down and circle the entrance of her cunt, because she’s a smug bitch, and. jesus christ. azzi is criminally wet.

paige knows that they’re both aware of this. 

“is that right,” she taunts, the hand that’s not currently working lazy circles on azzi’s clit coming up to grip the base of the younger girls neck. 

self-assured prick. 

azzi only has the brain capacity to gasp out “uh huh” in response, and paige smiles at that, wicked and. pretty, actually, even though she’s an asshole. 

“want me to prove you wrong?” she pairs the question with the breach of a finger at azzi’s entrance, and. 

god help azzi. 

she whines out a “please,” before catching herself– this is a game, afterall– and adds “can’t hurt.”

somewhere in the back of azzi’s vodka-and-paige addled mind, it occurs to her that paige is being suspiciously forgiving, but she lets that thought go in favor of the approving kiss paige gives her, their mouths moving together in that delicious, all consuming way that quiets every part of her brain. 

she has half a mind to protest when paige pulls away, slipping her hand out of azzi’s shorts and tearing their mouths apart, but before she can, paige is sliding down her body to be eye level with the tops of azzi’s thighs, knees cushioned on that horrible bathmat.

god. 

azzi lets out a strangled whine when paige’s hands come up to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. the vision of paige below her is too much, and she has to close her eyes for a second.

“you wan’ it?” she asks, looking up at azzi like a fucking siren, eyes wide and pleading like she wants it just as bad. 

and. azzi should say no, considering their entire team is on the other side of what is surely a very flimsy door, and getting eaten out on a bathroom sink that isn’t hers is probably a little distasteful. 

unfortunately for said teammates, azzi is despicably wet and paige is between her legs looking like she’ll die if azzi doesn’t say yes, and, most of all, azzi is too drunk to give a single shit if someone hears them. 

she chokes out a “yeah, need it” and is too focussed on paige’s answering grin to care about how desperate she sounds. 

instead of tugging down her basketball shorts, paige rucks up the material around one of her thighs, and latches onto the inner most sensitive part, sucking hard. she’s merely inches away from where azzi desperately needs her, and the feeling lights azzi on fire, head thumping back against the mirror behind her as pleasure takes over. 

paige works on the mark, intent on claiming, biting the sensitive flesh and then laving her tongue over it to soothe, and azzi feels drunk on not only the vodka but the pleasure too, whining quietly when paige presses a kiss to the darkened skin and pulling back with a smile. 

and fucking then. 

paige breathes “too bad,” matter of fact and smug, into the mark.

azzi’s confused as fuck at her words, has forgotten what they were saying, and then. and then paige just. stands up. 

“should call charlie to deal with that, hmm?” she pouts, fake pity lacing her words, and then she fucking pats azzi’s thigh in mock consolidation and walks out of the bathroom. 

azzi’s disoriented wail of “wait,” is too late, paige already out the door like she hadn’t been on her knees seconds prior, and azzi is suddenly alone with her muddled thoughts once more, breathing uneven, skin flushed, and rage bubbling up inside of her. 

along with, like. intense sexual frustration.  

what the actual fuck.

azzi should’ve known paige would be too petty to let that go, and she’s both furious at the blonde for setting a fucking trap, and herself for falling into it. but what an fucking self-inflated egotistical asshole.

god. 

azzi wants to march right out of the bathroom, knee paige in the stomach, pour the remainder of her drink on top of her stupidly perfect head, and then maybe possibly lick off said drink from the dip in her collarbone. and the line between her breasts. and perhaps her bellybutton. 

being mad at and being attracted to paige were two sides of the same coin on a good day, but on a drunk one? azzi wanted to solve their issues with bitemarks and bruises. which was entirely stupid and counterproductive and irrational, three qualities that seemed to follow azzi around almost as much as paige did. 

she inhales, several times, trying to clear the fog from her brain and calm the racing of her heart, and tries to push away the lingering disappointment that she won’t be coming apart at the hands of paige tonight, or anytime in the future really, seeing as– due to most of their roommates not knowing and the fact that azzi was far too prideful– she couldn’t exactly drag paige back to her room and have her way with her. 

this, coupled with the fact that it wasn't like she could just stroll in to paige’s room in two days time when they both inevitably got sick of the fight and wanted make-up sex because of the stupid fucking rules, meant that not only was azzi angry at paige for her little stunt, but she was also a little annoyed at her apparent disregard for their limited opportunities to have sex.

paige was wasting extremely precious time in which they were alone and drunk, guards lowered, and neither of them had had a singular orgasm.  

what a fucking stupid bitch. 

azzi checks her phone, happy to see that it was already past 11:30, meaning an acceptable time for her to feign exhaustion, and, with renewed anger, pushes herself off the edge of the sink and stalks out of the bathroom, intent on socializing for maximum ten more minutes before retreating to the solitude of her bedroom and getting herself off. 

to the thought of paige. 

which was something she’d unfortunately become quite familiar with ever since she’d had her awful, horrible, no good very bad idea to stop letting paige get azzi off instead, the much preferred but decidedly unavailable option. 

whatever. at least paige would probably also die of sexual frustration, and then they could rot in hell together.

a/n: sorry to edge you (paige and i will make it up to you <3) as always pleaseeee tell me if you liked it and i will die of happiness and probably kiss you <3 i hope to have the second part put early next week!

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pushy reporters, Carlos Sainz Sr is a little bit of a villain in this chapter (sry).

Notes — I feel like so much happens in this chapter and I love it. Also: tysm for 500 followers!!🧡

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peacn x

2019

She hadn’t planned to cross through the garages; it just happened. Amelia was following a technician back from a briefing when she lost track of the conversation and the path, her thoughts spiralling through gearbox data and tyre deltas.

That’s when she heard it. Her name. Loud. Sharp. 

“Miss Brown.”

She stopped. Pivoted.

Carlos Sainz Sr. stood a few feet away, hands behind his back. 

He wasn’t smiling.

“You are the daughter of our team’s CEO, yes?” he asked.

Amelia nodded. “Yes.”

“You spend a lot of time in the garages,” he said. “Too much, I think.”

She frowned at him. “I— I help.” She told him. 

“Right,” he said, and his face did a strange twist. “But with Carlos, my son, it is important he has focus. Space.”

She stared at him, unsure what he was trying to imply. “Carlos told me that I was allowed in his garage as often as I like.”

“He would,” Sainz Sr. said. “He is polite. A respectful boy. But it is not always good to blur lines between personal and professional.” He paused. “It could cause problems.”

Amelia stood perfectly still.

“I’m not causing problems,” she said, a bit too flatly. 

Sainz Sr. regarded her a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Good. I hope it remains that way. Distance, por favor.”

He turned and walked off, leaving her standing in the middle of the paddock walkway, her yellow water bottle pressed tightly to the base of her stomach.

She didn’t move for a long moment.

Her chest felt tight, but not like sadness; not exactly. It was the feeling of a… system error. A mismatch. She couldn’t understand what she’d possibly done wrong.

Carlos hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with her presence. He asked her thoughts on setup changes. Let her hover near the monitors during debriefs. He’d even nudged her elbow pre-quali and whispered, “Wish me luck.”

That didn’t feel like someone who did not want her around. 

Swiftly, she made her way back to Lando’s garage. Slow and quiet, avoiding eye contact. Lando waved at her from where he was talking to Jon, but she didn’t wave back. Just sat down beside a stack of unused tyre blankets and stared at the concrete floor.

Her fingers fidgeted, tugged at her sleeves. She didn’t cry. She didn’t really feel anything, other than... a disorienting sense of being wrong.

She thought of the conversation on loop. Trying to decode it. Trying to figure out how she’d accidentally made an enemy out of Carlos Sainz Sr.

She couldn’t focus. Not on the setup sheets. Not on the chatter from the engineers. Not even on the low buzz of the paddock outside.

She started working hard to anchor herself to something familiar. The smell of tyre rubber. The click of Lando’s cooling fan. The buzz of telemetry feeds looping on a nearby monitor. Safe things.

“You hiding, or working?” came Will Joseph’s voice, low and even.

She glanced up. Lando’s race engineer stood a few feet away, clipboard in hand.

“Hiding,” she told him. That’s what it felt like she was doing, anyway. 

Will nodded. Then he crouched down in front of her, elbows on his knees. “Wanna talk about it?”

Amelia tugged the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. She hesitated. “I don’t think I did anything wrong. But… I think I have made somebody angry.”

His jaw jumped. “Yeah? Someone in the team?”

She gave a small nod.

Will glanced sideways. His voice stayed calm, but there was a weird tightness when he said, “If you want me to talk to them, I will.”

Amelia frowned. “It’s okay. I don’t want to… make it worse.”

“You sure?” He asked.

She looked away. “Yes.” She said, eventually. 

He paused, then stood, still watching her. “Okay. But if you change your mind… you know where I am.”

She nodded. Will turned as if to go, but then glanced back at her again.

“You want to look over brake traces with me?” he asked. 

She stood slowly, gripping her yellow water bottle. “Yes.”

Will gave a small smile. “Knew you would.”

--

It was Sunday, and her garage smelled like grease and old metal and comfort.

Amelia was elbow-deep in the engine bay of her BMW, sleeves rolled up and a thin streak of oil smudged across her cheek. Jazz played softly from the old radio by the workbench, and a fan hummed lazily in the corner, stirring the warm spring air. She was in her zone — focused, grounded, calm.

She didn’t hear the car pull up. But she did hear the familiar sound of her father’s golf shoes on the concrete. 

She turned just in time to see them step inside.

Her dad was in his usual race-less Sunday outfit, white sleeves shoved to the elbows, cap pushed back on his head. Beside him, Lando Norris stood in golf clothes; white polo, khaki trousers, hair a little messy. He looked slightly sunburned.

“Thought we’d swing by for dinner,” her dad told her, a big smile on his face. “We got finished up early today.”

Lando lifted a hand and waved at her. “Hey.”

Amelia stared at him. “You’re wearing real shoes,” she said.

Lando glanced down at his golf trainers. “Yeah. I know. Weird, right?”

Her dad ignored both of them, already wandering over to inspect the engine. “You’ve done the belts,” he noted.

“I did the belts yesterday,” Amelia told him, still staring at Lando.

Having him here felt… odd. This was her space, her house, her garage. The place where everything made sense, where she could retreat from the world and lose herself in the rhythm of machinery.

Then again, she considered, she was always in his garage. This was just the other way around, really.

Lando shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Your dad said dinner was happening. I didn’t really get a say.”

She shrugged. “You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” Lando agreed. He was smiling at her. “But then I wouldn’t get free food. And apparently your mum’s making roast potatoes.”

“She puts garlic in them,” Amelia told him. She turned back to watch her dad, making sure he wasn’t touching anything. Or worse, moving anything. 

“She sounds like a genius.” Lando said behind her. 

Her dad pushed the hood higher, eyes inspecting the wiring, and let out a low hum of approval. “Right. Dinner in twenty,” he said, glancing at both of them, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. “Lando, you coming inside?”

Lando wiped his hands on his trousers, then glanced back at Amelia, clearly unsure. “Might stay out here for a bit,” he said with a slight shrug.

He paused, eyes flicking between them. He seemed to weigh the situation for a second before speaking again, more slowly this time. “That okay with you, Amelia?” 

She looked over at him. Shrugged. “Fine.” 

Her dad nodded and gave them both one last look before walking out of the garage and toward the house. He started whistling somewhere along the way. Amelia grimaced, shoulders inching toward her ears. 

There was a beat of silence. Amelia crouched beside the car, fingers working a stubborn bolt. Lando just hovered. 

“This place is sick.” He said, eventually. 

She looked at him and then around the absolute chaos that was her workspace. “It’s a mess,” she said.

“Yeah, but like… a cool mess. Suits you.” He shrugged. 

She made a face, nose scrunching, eyebrows lowering. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” 

“It’s a compliment.” He said. “Like… you fit in here.” 

Oh. Well. That was nice of him to say. Fitting in wasn’t something she usual excelled at.  

The bolt finally gave way with a soft click, and she exhaled, satisfied.

Lando took a step closer, leaning in to peek at the engine. “So what are you working on now?”

She handed him the bolt without thinking. He closed his fist around it. “Timing chain.”

“Oh. Sick.”

“You keep saying that word.” She told him. 

“I’ve got a limited vocabulary,” he said with a half-smile, sliding the bolt into his pocket. She narrowed her eyes. “Mine now. Finders keepers.”

“I hate that saying.” She muttered, not asking for the bolt back. She didn’t need it. Maybe he did. “Do you like chicken?” she asked abruptly.

“Sure.” He nodded.

“Good.” She sighed. “It’s all my mom knows how to cook.”

“Mom,” he repeated, mimicking her accent.

She frowned. “You’re quite annoying.”

He grinned, the lines next to his eyes deepening. “I know. Want me to get you a drink or something?”

Her gaze flicked to her yellow water bottle, standing out like a warning sign against the cold steel of the garage. Then to him. Her mind caught on the image of him picking it up, his hand unscrewing the lid, closing it again. It wasn’t even anything weird. Just… she didn’t like it. Not today.

Her stomach did a small, unwelcome swoop.

“No,” she said, sharp. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he replied simply. 

She squinted at him. This would be the perfect moment to bring up his social media. She had a whole list saved in her notes app; bullet points and everything. Of things he could post that would improve long-term brand perception, boost fan engagement, attract sponsor interest. She’d even colour-coded it.

But then he leaned a little closer to the engine bay, poked a stray wire with the back of his finger, and asked, “What does that do?”

And instead of launching into a Twitter audit, she blinked. Then sighed. Then said, “That’s not a wire. It’s the gas belt.”

He just looked at her. “That sounds made up.”

“It isn’t.” She crouched beside him and pointed. “It’s part of the pressure regulation loop. If it’s too tight, the fuel intake timing offsets and we lose energy recovery.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at it. “I thought it was just a spare wire.”

“It’s never just a spare wire.” 

She didn’t plan to spend an hour explaining the entire energy recovery system to a man who literally drove race cars for a living. But she did. And he listened. Asked questions. Didn’t pretend to know more than he did.

Dinner came and went. Her mom popped her head in, said she’d keep their plates warm. Amelia didn’t even realise how long they’d been in the garage until her dad came to check if they were still alive.

“What’ve you two been up to?” He asked.

And Lando, still squatting beside the car with grease on his knuckles, said, “She taught me how a gas belt works.”

Amelia felt her lips twist into a smile before she could stop it.

Her dad laughed, loud and full of something Amelia couldn’t place. 

Lando’s cheeks went a bit pink. 

—

By the time the Spanish Grand Prix rolled around, one thing had become evident.

The Renault engine was going to be a problem.

It wasn’t just an occasional glitch or a minor calibration error — it was systemic. Structural. A pattern beginning to take shape. Carlos had already been forced to retire from the first two races. Lando hadn’t made it past lap twenty in China. And now, in Spain, he was pulling into the garage mid-race with smoke curling out from the rear. 

Amelia didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The telemetry screens told her more than enough — voltage spikes, temperature climbs, the dreaded red-highlighted warnings blinking across the console in angry bursts.

She watched from her usual spot, perched on the edge of the engineering desk with her notebook balanced on her knee. The frustration in the air was sticky. 

This was becoming predictable. Usually, she would like that — this was not one of those times.

After the race, she found herself lingering in the quiet corner of the garage, sketching out hypothetical flow improvements in the margins of her notebook. She didn’t work on the engines — not directly, not yet. But she could see the shape of the problem, the flaw in the systems approach. She could feel it humming under her fingertips like a code waiting to be cracked.

Across the paddock, celebrations echoed from the teams that had made it to the finish. The podium champagne had already been popped. But in Lando’s garage, it felt like they were all waiting out a storm that they already knew was coming.

She pressed her pen to the page and underlined a note she’d written hours ago, before the race had even started.

"Energy efficiency doesn’t matter if the engine won’t survive the lap."

She sighed and capped her pen. In the background, someone was wheeling the scorched power unit away for inspection.

Maybe she should’ve warned them louder.

— 

She found him in his driver’s room, slouched in a chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. His helmet was discarded on the floor, and he was still in his fireproof suit, half-zipped. Amelia hesitated outside the door for a second, wondering if she should just leave him alone. But Lando had left his water bottle in the garage, and Amelia wasn’t the best at letting things slide. She wasn’t sure why it felt important to bring it to him, but it did.

She knocked softly on the already-open door before walking in. Lando didn’t even look up. He was just staring at the wall. 

“I brought your water,” Amelia told him. 

He looked up at her then. “Thanks,” he muttered as he reached for the bottle, shoving the straw into his mouth and taking a long gulp. “Second DNF in five races,” he said, his voice rough. “Rookie season, and this is what I get.”

After a second of hesitation, Amelia sat on the beanbag chair across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She didn't say anything at first — just looked at him. She wasn’t sure how this worked, whether she needed to talk first or wait for him. 

Eventually, Lando exhaled through his nose and kept going, his words starting to pick up speed. “I don’t even know what went wrong this time. One minute, I’m fighting for position, and then it just… dies. The engine. The whole thing. It’s like I’m cursed, or something.”

“Curses aren’t real,” Amelia said, frowning. “Drink more water. I think you might be dehydrated.”

He laughed, but it was short, and it didn’t feel genuine. “Yeah, well. Maybe I deserve to be dehydrated.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she sighed, reaching up to itch her neck. She was pretty sure that she’d started to develop a stress rash somewhere around the tenth lap. 

“I know it doesn’t,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. “I just… I keep replaying it. I did everything right. I kept the pace, I managed the tyres, I even—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “I’m trying so hard. Every week. And it still ends the same way.”

Amelia tilted her head. “Trying hard doesn’t guarantee results. Statistically, a mechanical failure is not a reflection of your driving ability.”

“Yeah, but people don’t see it like that, do they? Sponsors don’t see it like that. Fans don’t see it like that. They see a DNF next to my name and think “Ah, that lad’s shit. Couldn’t even finish the race.”

“They’re wrong,” she said, voice steady. “You can’t control the engine.”

He looked at her, like he was searching for something on her face. “That’s not really comforting, you know.”

“I’m not trying to be comforting,” she shrugged. “I’m telling you the truth.”

A beat passed. Then he let out a breath and leaned his head back against the wall, his shoulders finally sagging a little. “Still… it sucks.”

She watched him for a moment, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I made a chart,” she told him. “About Renault’s historical DNF rates. You’re not even in the worst percentile.”

He blinked at her, and for the first time that day, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You made a chart?”

“I like charts,” she said. “They help me make sense of things. Maybe they’ll be able to help you too. I colour coded.”

Lando unfolded the paper and scanned it, a soft breath of laughter escaping him. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

Amelia blinked. “In what way?”

He didn’t answer that, just kept smiling at the paper like it had done something remarkable. Which it hadn’t. It was a simple data set, neatly formatted, with pink for DNF, green for points finishes, and orange for races affected by mechanical issues but still completed. She had used bold font for his name and added a tiny asterisk explaining why none of it was technically his fault.

“You should remember that every time your engine has survived, you have finished in the points,” she said, because facts were important when emotions got loud. “And the season’s not over yet.”

Lando looked up at her. “Thanks, Amelia.”

His voice was quiet, yes, but there was something else layered in the tone, something that made her chest feel tight in a way she couldn’t immediately categorise. She frowned, not at him, but at the sensation itself.

There were variables she didn’t have control over. Facial expressions. Tone. Context. She could usually work it out when someone was mad, or distracted, or lying. But fondness… that was harder. It was inconsistent. Often irrational. Frequently confusing.

She pointed at his water bottle because that was easy. “You should still drink the water.”

He smiled again, this time more to himself, and shook his head. Then he picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid, just like she knew he would.

As he drank, Amelia watched him carefully. Maybe, she thought, tucking her hands back into her lap, she just needed to collect more data in order to be able to fully understand Lando Norris.

— 

iMessage — 17:09pm

Max F. Sorry about the shit luck, mate. Engine again?

Lando Norris Yeah. Just shut off mid-corner. Didn’t even get a warning this time. Proper embarrassing.

Max F. Not your fault. That Renault engine’s a grenade with wires.

Lando Norris Yh that’s what Amelia said kinda She made a chart

Max F. A chart?

Lando Norris Yeah. With colours Fucking cute

Max F. Whipped. 

Lando Norris

Yh 

— 

She liked the Mercedes hospitality unit. Neutrally designed, air-conditioned, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus. She liked that a lot.

Amelia walked slowly, phone in hand. 

There was no sign of Lewis or Roscoe when she stepped inside, just the low hum of quiet conversations and the click of cutlery. She turned left, toward the usual corner where Roscoe liked to sleep in the sunbeam from the long vertical window.

She didn’t make it that far.

“Amelia.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

Toto Wolff stood halfway down the hallway. In a dark polo. Arms crossed. He was very tall. 

“Hello,” she said. She meant to say it with some level of confidence, but it came out more like a question.

“I was hoping we might speak.” His tone was hard for her to read. 

She tilted her head, a slight frown growing on her face. “I’m supposed to go and see Roscoe.”

“He will not mind waiting. I am told he is a very patient dog.” Toto said. 

She wasn’t sure what to say to that — Roscoe was not, in any sense of the word, a patient dog. She also didn’t really want to argue with Toto Wolff. 

So she just gave a small nod and followed him when he gestured to a nearby side room. It was empty. A single chair. A single table. It felt a bit like an interrogation room. 

Toto sat. Amelia did not. She hovered just near the wall and folded her arms tight against her chest.

“I understand,” he began, “that you have declined my offer. The junior engineering placement.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

There was a pause. His brow furrowed, just slightly. “You did not think it was a good opportunity?”

“I thought it was an excellent opportunity,” she said honestly. “But I already have a place at McLaren. The team like having my input.”

“That they do,” he said. He didn’t sound offended. He sounded like he was calibrating. “And Lando?”

She blinked. “What about him?”

“He seems to like having you around especially. I have noticed that you spent your time primarily on his side of the garage.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, so she didn’t respond. She could feel her fingers starting to curl in against her arms. She tightened her grip to stop it.

Toto exhaled through his nose. “I will not press. I simply wanted to say, the door is still open. Mercedes does not forget talent.”

“I know,” she said. “My dad doesn’t either.”

There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Possibly a smile. Possibly a tic.

“I see. Then I will stop trying to, how do you say in English… poach you.”

“That would be good,” she said. “My dad would get mad if he found out.” 

Toto raised an eyebrow. “You did not tell him?” 

She shook her head. “No. I need to go now. Lewis and Roscoe are waiting.”

“Of course,” Toto said, standing. He offered a handshake, which she pointedly ignored.

She left the room and continued on down the hallway until she found Roscoe, sprawled across the carpet like a throw rug.

She dropped to her knees and scratched behind his ears.

“Hello. I have missed you very much,” she whispered. Roscoe huffed, then rolled over.

Lewis rounded the corner a second later with two smoothies in hand. One was green, and the other was pink. She hoped that the pink one was for her. He glanced over her shoulder, where Toto was walking away, his phone pressed to his ear. “Oh dear. Did you get ambushed?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I escaped.”

— 

Two races later, she found herself in Canada.

She was en route to the Red Bull motorhome — they always had the best coffee vendor, and no one ever seemed to mind when she slipped in — when someone stepped into her path.

“Miss Brown? Amelia?”

She blinked. The man was tall, holding a Viaplay mic, all teeth and polished camera charm. 

“We’re doing some quick paddock interviews — would you mind answering a couple of questions?”

Amelia hesitated. She wasn’t in team kit. Just a plain black hoodie and her headphones around her neck, though the headphones did have the McLaren logo engraved onto them. She glanced over his shoulder. The cameraman was already adjusting focus.

“I’m not a driver,” she said, pushing the words out through a chest that suddenly felt tight.

He laughed, like she’d made a joke. “No, of course — we know. You’re Lando Norris’, uh, data engineer, right? And Zak Brown’s daughter?”

Her fingers tightened in her sleeves. “I’m only officially one of those things,” she replied. “I am not Lando’s data engineer.” 

“Still. Very involved in McLaren. We’d love a few thoughts on the upcoming qualifying session. From your perspective.” He was still smiling. 

Amelia’s teeth squeaked with the force that she was grinding them together. Her heart was ticking fast, too fast. She didn’t like being filmed. She didn’t like… whatever this was. 

She especially didn’t like when people used polite voices to try and back her into a corner.

“I didn’t say I’d do the interview.” She said, eventually. 

“Just one or two—”

“She said no.”

The voice came from behind her. Flat. No hesitation or inflect. 

Amelia turned her head. Max Verstappen was standing next to her, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. He wasn’t looking at her — his eyes were locked on the reporter.

“We’re just asking—”

“She doesn’t work for a team. She doesn’t have to answer your questions.”

“Ah, Max, come on, we’re live in—”

Max took one step forward. The cameraman slowly lowered the lens.

“I do not like to repeat myself.” He said. He didn’t sound angry, but there was nothing kind about the way he said it. 

The reporter faltered. “Right,” he muttered, stepping back. “We’ll… catch someone else.” They disappeared down the paddock, the cameraman not even bothering to stop the recording properly.

Amelia stared at Max.

He didn’t look at her right away. Just let out a breath through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. “They should not be bothering you. That was very shit of them.”

“I’m not very interesting,” she told him, her voice barely a mutter as she tried to collect herself. “There’s no point putting me on TV.”

“You’re on TV more than you think,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “Especially when Lando’s around. People are very interested in you both.”

She frowned. “What?”

Max looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

It sounded like it might matter, but if he said that it didn’t, then she wasn’t going to bother asking more about it.

Instead, she tilted her head upward in his direction. He was much taller than he looked when he was in his car. “You’re Max Verstappen.”

He squinted a little under the sun. “Yeah. I am.”

“Why did you help me?” She asked. 

He shrugged, like it was obvious. “Because I don’t like people getting cornered. And Dutch media are, ah—assholes, sometimes.” Then, his mouth curved slightly, something close to teasing. “And because Lando would kill me if I let someone mess with you.”

She just stared at him.

Her stomach did something strange and fluttery that she didn’t like at all.

Max must’ve caught the look on her face because he looked away immediately, regret passing across his features like a cloud. “Anyway,” he added, tone turning brisk, “don’t let them bother you. You’re not public property.”

“I know that,” she said, a little too fast. “I just… forget sometimes. That I’m allowed to say no.”

He nodded once. “You are.”

Then he gave her a brief, crooked grin. “I’ll see you around, Amelia.”

And with that, he disappeared into the Red Bull motorhome, as though nothing unusual had happened at all.

Amelia stood there for a few seconds, her skin still prickling from the confrontation, her thoughts spinning in all directions. The iced coffee no longer felt essential. She turned sharply on her heel and made her way back toward McLaren.

The motorhome wasn’t quiet, or even particularly peaceful; but it was familiar.

It was safe.

—

Lando’s garage was louder than usual.

Or maybe Amelia just wasn’t settled yet; her ears hadn’t quite adjusted, and everything felt like it was pressing in from too many angles. The buzz of the generators, the thud of tyres being stacked, the distant screech of an engine on an out-lap. None of it was new, but it all felt sharper today. She tugged her sleeves over her wrists and walked the perimeter of the garage, not because she needed to check anything, but just because she needed to walk.

Lando was leaning over the front wing of his car, talking to his race engineer. His voice had the kind of ease that came only after a good FP3. He glanced up when she approached.

“You okay?” he asked, brow ticking up.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t believe her. She could see it in the way he paused, fully paused, mid-sentence with Will, and turned his body slightly toward her.

“You sure?”

She considered lying. Or deflecting. She was usually very good at both.

Instead, she told him, “I ran into Max.”

Lando blinked. “Verstappen?”

“Yes.”

He looked vaguely alarmed. “Did he—? I mean, are you—what happened?”

Amelia folded her arms across her chest and looked past him, toward the pit lane. “Viaplay tried to interview me. I wasn’t wearing anything official. I said no, but they kept asking questions. Then Max showed up and made them leave.”

“Oh.” Lando’s face shifted, obvious concern first, then something much tighter. “That’s… are you okay?”

“Max said that Dutch media can sometimes be assholes,” she added matter-of-factly. “His words.”

“He’d know that better than any of us.” Lando said. 

She looked at his hands, noticing that his veins were very blue. “He also said you would kill him if he let them mess with me.”

Lando coughed, and Will made a choked sound somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Did he?” Lando asked, ears already pink.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Will looked like he was trying not to laugh, which was odd, because she hadn’t heard anyone make a joke. Lando gave a little shrug. Will nudged him with an elbow, and Lando muttered, “Fuck off, mate,” under his breath.

She sighed, looking off toward the data screens. “I didn’t even get my iced coffee.” She mentioned. 

Lando leaned a little closer to her. “You want one now? We can go get it together.”

She shook her head. “No. Just… I want to stay here. Until quali starts.”

His smile got softer. “Yeah. Okay. You can do that.”

So she stood there, adjacent to him, not speaking; just listening to the familiar rhythms of the garage. Tyres being moved. Headsets crackling. Mechanics calling out numbers and adjustments.

She watched Lando pick up his gloves and flex his fingers into them, testing the fit. Quiet. Focused.

And then she turned, and for a split second, panicked. Her water bottle had been moved. She looked around quickly, breath hitching.

But Lando cleared his throat and caught her attention. He walked over to the back of the garage and pulled it from underneath the counter. “Put it in the mini fridge,” he told her. “Didn’t want it getting warm.”

She took it from him, stared at it for a long time, and then smiled. 

— 

iMessage — 5:08pm

Mom Hello, darling! Just checking in. Hope everything went well today x

Amelia Hello, mom. I have a question. How do you know if you have a crush on somebody?

Mom I think this conversation would be much easier on FaceTime. Are you back at the hotel yet?

Amelia No. Lando asked me if I’d like to go get burgers after qualifying and I said yes. Dad was busy so I didn’t tell him. I texted him though.

Mom Is Lando driving you to get burgers?

Amelia Yes. He is a very safe driver in a normal car. He drives exactly at the speed limit. I was a bit worried that he would speed, but he doesn’t :)

Mom That’s very nice, honey x

—

iMessage — 5:12pm

Tracy Brown (Wife) Zak Brown. You have some explaining to do.

Zak Brown (Husband) What’s going on, honey?

Tracy Brown (Wife) You tell me! Your driver has taken our daughter out on a date and you’re none the wiser!

Zak Brown (Husband) What? Which driver?

Tracy Brown (Wife) He is driving her, Zak. To go and get burgers. She texted you.

Zak Brown (Husband) SHE TEXTED ME “ALL GOOD” I THOUGHT THAT MEANT SHE WAS SAFE IN HER HOTEL ROOM UNDER TEN BLANKETS WATCHING A BARBIE MOVIE 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Nope. She’s in a car. With LANDO NORRIS. They’re going for a burger date.

Zak Brown (Husband) I’m calling his father. That little shit head. 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Don’t be dramatic. They’re just getting food. I think she likes him. It’s cute.

Zak Brown (Husband) Cute? Are you serious? The media are going to be all over this. 

Tracy Brown (Wife) Have you seriously not noticed? They’ve been the talk of the paddock for weeks! They’re attached at the hip. I don’t know how we missed this 

Zak Brown (Husband) I think I’m having a heart attack And also a stroke. 

— 

Amelia had already deconstructed her burger; bun on one side, lettuce on the other, everything organised into neat piles. She wasn’t sure if that was weird or not, but Lando hadn’t commented, so she assumed it was fine.

She cleared her throat, tapping her straw against the side of her milkshake. “I’m sorry if I’m in your garage too much.”

Lando blinked at her mid-bite. “What?”

“I just… I know it might be annoying. I don’t want to get in the way. But since I’m not really allowed in Carlos’ anymore—”

“Wait. Hold on.” He put his burger down, brows pulling together. “What do you mean you’re not allowed in Carlos’ garage anymore?”

She picked up a fry, broke it in half, and frowned down at her tray. “Carlos’ dad told me, in China, that I wasn’t welcome in there. So I’ve just been staying in yours.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Fuck that.” Lando said. He was digging his phone out of his pocket. 

Amelia blinked at him, taken aback. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting Carlos.” He stared down at his phone, typing furiously. “That’s absolute bullshit. You’re not just allowed in my garage, Amelia, you’re wanted there. You practically run the place. I mean, I was wondering why you didn’t spend any time in Carlos’ anymore, and he’s been thinking this whole time that he did something wrong.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t run anything—”

“You do.” He cut her off, still a little frantic. She stared at him. He took a deep breath. “I’m serious, Amelia. Everyone listens to you. Even Will. Which is terrifying.”

She bit her lip, worrying as she glanced at his phone. “It’s okay, though. I like your garage better, anyway.”

Lando smiled at her. “Good. But still. He can’t just get away with that. Carlos appreciated your input — he told me so. And you belong wherever you want to be, yeah?”

Her face felt warm. She reached for another fry, more for something to do with her hands than out of hunger.

“Also,” he added, a little more casually than before — but she didn’t miss the way his jaw was set, or how his voice had tightened just slightly. “Next time someone tells you that you’re not welcome somewhere you want to be… just tell me, alright? I’ll handle it.”

She tilted her head, frowning slightly. “Handle it how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, grabbing another fry. “However I have to.”

— 

iMessage — 7:48pm

Lando Norris oye

Carlos Sainz qué pasa

Lando Norris did your dad seriously tell Amelia she wasn’t welcome in your garage?

Carlos Sainz ¿qué? when??

Lando Norris few races ago. bahrain she just told me she thinks you don’t want her around

Carlos Sainz no jodas I never said that I just thought she was busy I will talk to him. 

Lando Norris she didn’t wanna say anything

Carlos Sainz

I am glad that she did. 

tell her I never said that and that she is welcome any time

Lando Norris yh. already told her but yeah, sort your dad out mate 

Carlos Sainz voy a hacerlo ahora mismo this is nonsense

Lando Norris cheers mate

Carlos Sainz de nada are you with her right now?

Lando Norris we’re just getting burgers no biggie 

Carlos Sainz Liar.

NEXT CHAPTER

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hiii! Can I request one where Charles’s daughter has a boyfriend and they have been dating for a few months hut haven’t told Charles anything knowing how he would react due to how overprotective he is, but as Alex knew she encourages their their daughter to tell him and Charles gets to meet him at some point too xx

Sweet young love

The warm afternoon sun bathed the Leclerc family’s apartment in Monte-Carlo in golden light. The gentle sea breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying the soft hum of the city. Inside, Charles was lounging on the sofa, legs stretched out, finally enjoying a rare moment of relaxation. The season had been exhausting, and these small pockets of peace were something he cherished.

Alexandra sat beside him, her legs curled up under her as she scrolled through her phone. It was a quiet, comfortable moment between them—until their daughter, Yn, entered the living room.

Charles immediately noticed something was off.

Yn was fidgeting, a nervous energy surrounding her as she hesitated just inside the doorway. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, her green eyes flickering between her parents. That alone was enough to put Charles on high alert. His daughter had always been open with him, so seeing her so hesitant made his protective instincts flare.

"Chérie, what’s wrong?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

Yn inhaled deeply before stepping forward, perching on the edge of the wooden coffee table in front of them.

Alexandra reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Yn’s knee, giving her an encouraging smile. "It’s okay, mon amour," she said gently.

Charles glanced between them, his confusion growing. "Okay, what? Someone tell me what’s going on."

Yn swallowed hard and glanced at her mother again. Alex nodded, silently urging her to speak.

"Dad, I..." Yn started, hesitating again before finally exhaling. "I have a boyfriend."

Charles blinked. His brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment.

"You what?" His voice wasn’t angry, just surprised.

Yn bit her lip. "I have a boyfriend. His name is Theo. We met at school when he and his family moved here from Greece."

Charles turned to Alexandra, his expression shifting. "And you knew about this?"

Alexandra gave him a knowing smile. "Yes, I did. Yn tells me everything, Charles."

That stung a little. Charles prided himself on the fact that he and his daughter were close. But this—this was big. How could she have been hiding it from him?

"How long has this been going on?"

"A few months," Yn admitted, her voice small.

Charles inhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. "Months," he echoed, processing the information. His mind immediately went to a million different places—who was this boy? Was he good to her? Did he respect her? Did he deserve her?

"Dad, I didn’t keep it from you because I didn’t want you to know," Yn rushed to say. "I just... I know how protective you are. And having you plus all my uncles breathing down his neck didn’t seem like the best way to start a relationship."

That made Charles pause. She wasn’t wrong. His protective nature had been a running joke among his friends for years. Add in his teammates—who all considered Yn their honorary niece—and this Theo kid was probably safer in a lion’s den than in Charles’ world.

Still, it hurt a little.

"You should’ve told me, chérie," Charles said, his voice softer now. "I would have wanted to know."

"I know," Yn admitted. "That’s why I’m telling you now. And... I was hoping you’d meet him."

Charles sighed, rubbing his face. He felt Alexandra’s hand squeeze his arm, silently reminding him to be gentle.

"You want me to meet him?" he repeated.

"Yes," Yn nodded. "Both of you. He’s really sweet, I promise. And I just... I want you to like him."

Charles studied her face, seeing the nervous hope in her eyes.

Alexandra spoke up then, smiling. "I’d love to meet him too. She talks about him all the time, Charles. He must be special."

Charles exhaled and nodded slowly. "Alright. Let’s meet him."

Yn visibly relaxed, a bright smile breaking across her face. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Charles said, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet. "Call him."

Yn quickly pulled out her phone, stepping out of the room as she dialed Theo’s number.

As soon as she was gone, Charles turned to Alexandra with narrowed eyes.

"How long have you known?" he asked, his voice tinged with playful annoyance.

Alex laughed, shrugging. "Since the beginning."

Charles groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. "Unbelievable."

---

A few days later, Charles and Alexandra found themselves sitting at a quaint little café near the harbor. The weather was perfect, the Mediterranean sun casting a warm glow over the city.

Charles adjusted the sleeves of his linen shirt, his nerves disguised as casual indifference. Alexandra, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease as she sipped on her iced coffee.

Yn was buzzing with energy beside them, eyes scanning the street for Theo. And then, she saw him.

"There he is!" she said excitedly.

Charles followed her gaze, and his eyes landed on a tall young man approaching them.

Theo had dark curls, warm brown eyes, and an easy smile. He carried himself well—confident, but not arrogant. And Charles had to admit, he was a good-looking kid.

As they stood up, Theo approached with a polite smile.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc," he greeted, his voice steady but his hands gripping a small bouquet of flowers tightly. "It’s really nice to meet you."

Alexandra’s face lit up as she took the flowers. "Oh, how sweet! Thank you, Theo."

Charles watched closely as Theo turned to him and extended a hand. "Sir," he said respectfully.

Charles took it, testing the firmness of his handshake. Strong, but not overcompensating. Good.

"Nice to meet you, Theo," Charles said evenly.

They all sat down, and immediately, Charles could tell Theo was nervous. He wasn’t fidgeting, but there was a slight stiffness in his posture, a carefulness in his words. It was endearing, really.

"So, Theo," Alexandra started, smiling warmly. "Yn tells us you moved to Monaco recently?"

"Yes," Theo nodded. "My family is from Greece, but my father got a job opportunity here, so we moved last year."

"And how do you like it?"

"I love it," Theo admitted. "It’s beautiful here. And, well, meeting Yn made it even better."

Charles’ sharp eyes caught the way Theo glanced at Yn as he said that.

Yn blushed, looking down at her drink with a soft smile.

Alexandra chuckled. "That’s very sweet."

Charles cleared his throat. "And what are your intentions with my daughter?"

"Dad!" Yn groaned, covering her face.

Theo sat up a little straighter. "I care about Yn a lot, sir. I respect her, and I want to make her happy."

Charles studied him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch just enough to keep Theo on edge. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Good answer."

Yn let out a relieved breath, and Alexandra gave Charles an amused glance.

The conversation continued, and with each passing minute, Theo relaxed. Charles noticed the way Theo always let Yn speak, the way he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

By the end of the meeting, Charles found himself softening.

As they got up to leave, Theo turned to him once more.

"Thank you for meeting me, sir. It really means a lot."

Charles gave him a small nod, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You can call me Charles," he said.

Yn gasped dramatically. "That’s like... the highest honor."

Theo chuckled, glancing between them. "Thank you, Charles."

And just like that, Charles knew.

His daughter was in good hands.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[rose24207]

An angel

Summary: guilt eats Lando alive when he wants to come clean to you after dating you for a bet. What he didn’t expect was that you would be so understanding and calm about it.

Genre: angst, fluff

Lando x f!reader

TW: Carlos and max being assholes (sryy), Lando too

A/N: I genuinely think that I would also react like this and I think that’s pretty much sums up the person I am :(

Masterlist pt. 2

It was supposed to be a joke. That’s what Lando told himself when it all started. A stupid, harmless joke that spiraled so far out of control, he found himself falling in love with you—only to be crushed by the weight of his own lie.

The bet was Carlos’ idea, though Max quickly joined in. They were sitting together at a bar in Monaco after a long day of training, laughing and teasing each other like they always did. That’s when you walked in, a vision of effortless beauty, with a smile so captivating even the loud music seemed to fade into the background.

Carlos noticed the way Lando’s gaze lingered on you. “You’re staring, mate,” he teased, nudging him.

Max smirked. “Bet you couldn’t get her number.”

Lando rolled his eyes, feigning indifference. “Easy.”

But Carlos upped the stakes. “Forget her number—bet you can’t get her to date you. Three months, minimum. Make her fall for you.”

Lando hesitated, but Max chimed in, grinning. “If you win, we’ll cover your next holiday. Private jet, five-star everything.”

Fueled by bravado, ego, and the lingering effects of too many drinks, Lando shook their hands, sealing the deal.

The plan was simple: charm you, date you for a while, and win the bet. But nothing about you was simple.

When he approached you that night, he expected the same predictable reactions he always got—flustered stammering or overly enthusiastic flirting. Instead, you met him with warmth and genuine curiosity, treating him like a regular guy rather than the celebrity everyone else saw.

He was hooked.

Every date with you felt like uncharted territory. You laughed at his dumb jokes, shared your dreams with him, and listened intently as he opened up about his fears and insecurities. For the first time in his life, Lando felt truly seen.

What started as a game quickly became the most important thing in his life. But the secret of how it began loomed over him, a constant reminder of his betrayal. He told himself he’d find the right time to come clean, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

And now, three months in, he was drowning in guilt.

It was a quiet evening in his Monaco apartment. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through a magazine while he paced nervously in the kitchen. He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, but every scenario ended with you walking out the door.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice trembling.

You looked up, immediately sensing the tension. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?” he asked, his hands fidgeting.

You set the magazine aside, concern etching your features. “Of course. What’s going on?”

He sat down across from you, his heart pounding. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Your brows furrowed. “Okay…”

Lando took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you remember the night we met? At the bar?”

You nodded. “Of course. Why?”

“There’s… something I didn’t tell you about that night.” He hesitated, his stomach churning. “Carlos and Max… they made a bet with me. They bet I couldn’t get you to date me for three months. And I…” He swallowed hard, his eyes welling up. “I took the bet.”

Your expression froze, the weight of his words sinking in. “A bet?”

He nodded, his voice breaking. “At first, it was just stupid. I didn’t think it would matter. But then I got to know you, and everything changed. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. I swear, this—us—became real so quickly. But I lied to you, and I hate myself for it.”

Silence filled the room as you processed his confession. He braced himself for the anger, the heartbreak, the inevitable goodbye.

But what came next surprised him.

You reached out, taking his trembling hands in yours. “Lando,” you began gently, your voice calm but steady. “Thank you for telling me.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re not… angry?”

“I won’t lie,” you admitted. “It hurts to know how it started. But what matters more to me is that you told me the truth. You didn’t let me find out from someone else, and I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he shook his head. “It wasn’t. I’ve been so scared of losing you, Y/N. You’re everything to me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I had to tell you. You deserve better than this.”

You squeezed his hands, your own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Lando, everyone makes mistakes. What matters is what you do after. You could’ve kept lying, but you didn’t. You chose honesty, even though it scared you. That says a lot.”

“I love you,” he choked out, his voice raw. “I love you so much. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll let me.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his cheek, wiping away his tears. “I love you too. And I believe you. I believe in us.”

His breath hitched as he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like you were his lifeline. “You’re an angel,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re too good for me.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “I’m not an angel, Lando. I’m just someone who loves you enough to see the good in you, even when you make mistakes.”

From that moment on, things changed. Lando became a man on a mission, determined to show you how much he valued you. He went out of his way to make you feel loved and appreciated—surprising you with thoughtful gestures, supporting your dreams, and being more open and vulnerable than ever before.

The guilt still lingered, but your forgiveness gave him the strength to move forward. And as time passed, the scars of the bet faded, replaced by a love that was stronger than ever.

Because at the end of the day, love wasn’t about never making mistakes. It was about owning up to them, learning from them, and choosing each other—no matter what.

And as Lando held you close that night, he silently vowed to never take your love for granted again. You weren’t just the best thing that had ever happened to him—you were his everything.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[willowsnook]

Comfort

request from @itznotsophia

lando norris x sainz!reader

I’d be insane not to love you

—————————————————————-

Happy tears streamed down your face as you watched your brother cross the finish line in Mexico. He needed this. Your whole family had flown out to the race, and you celebrated together in the garage before heading out to watch him on the podium.

This was the first race you had attended this year due to your hectic work schedule. Honestly, ever since you graduated high school you had only been able to make it to one or two races a season due to school or work. Right after graduating college, you took a job in investment banking in London. Your friends claimed you were a workaholic, but you loved being busy. You were living the big city career girl dream that you had always had.

Because of all this, watching Carlos take the win while you were there was even more special. He spun you around after the podium, and you laughed in his arms.

“My good luck charm,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “I’m glad you could come for this weekend.”

“Me too,” you said, smiling widely. You were the baby of the family, being 6 years younger than Carlos and the two of you had always had a special relationship despite the age gap. He really was your best friend.

Everyone headed back to the hotel to change and then head out for dinner. You changed out of your Ferrari jacket into a cuter outfit for dinner and then for what you assumed would happen afterward. Once you had freshened up, you headed down to the lobby, not seeing any of your family.

You looked around but only saw your brother’s friend and fellow driver, Lando, walking towards you. It had been a long time since you had been around him, and he definitely grew into himself over the years. You remembered when Carlos was at McLaren, you found him funny but very immature, so you never really gave him the time of day even though he followed you around like a lost puppy. He was a boy back then, but this was a man.

“Carlos had to head over there early to make the reservation time, so he tasked me with taking you,” he said once he reached you, with an easy-going smile.

“Wow, my Uber driver is professional? Lucky me,” you teased, and he chuckled. He hovered nervously near you, and you could tell he was deciding whether or not to give you a hug, so you made the decision for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “It’s good to see you Lan.”

“You too, y/n,” he replied, stepping back with a tint of pink on his cheeks. “Shall we?”

You took his arm and followed him out the door and into his car that had been pulled up. You caught up over the car ride to dinner, and he peppered you with questions about your job and living in London.

“You should hit up Max and Pietra to hang out sometime,” he said and you shrugged, looking out the window.

“There your friends Lan,” you said. “Do you think I don’t have any friends?”

“I just know that you’d like them,” he defended. “I’m sure you are friends with everyone you meet.”

You smiled at the compliment and agreed to text Pietra when you were back to grab a coffee or something. You and Lando were the last to arrive, and he beat you to the seat next to Carlos, throwing you a cheeky smile over his shoulder. You rolled your eyes but sat beside him, across from Rebecca. Dinner was full of conversation and laughter, and your heart felt full.

After everyone finished up, the group headed to a nearby club to actually start celebrating. There were tons of paparazzi at the entrance, and you fiddled anxiously with your hands. This is something you did not miss about being around your brother. Lando was sitting next to you in the car and grabbed your hand to make you stop fidgeting.

“Just stick to my side yeah?” He said, and you nodded. Pulling to the front, he got out and handed his keys off before coming to your door. You let him take your hand and move into his side, his arm holding you close as he shielded you from the flashes. You smiled appreciatively at him once you made it to the group.

“Thanks Lan,” you said and he smiled back. Your brother was watching this interaction like a hawk but you missed seeing Rebecca elbow him in the ribs to get him to stop. Grabbing her arm, you dragged her to the bar to get a drink.

“So Lando huh,” she teased and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hummed, refusing to look at her.

“Carlos said that he still looks at you like he did back when you were 19.”

“No he doesn’t,” you argued. “He is my brother’s best friend and that’s all.”

She gave you a small smirk, clearly not believing you, and you groaned before handing her a shot. “No more talking about him.”

An hour later you were very tipsy and jumping around dancing with your family. You were too drunk to notice that Lando had been watching you while sipping on his drink, half listening to Carlos. Carlos however, did notice.

“Are you serious mate?” He asked, and Lando’s attention snapped back to your brother, who was glaring at him. “Eye-fucking my sister in front of me?”

Lando’s face blushed a deep red. “I am not.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Right. And I'm not a Formula 1 driver."

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry. I know she's your sister. I just... I can't help it. She's amazing, Carlos. She always has been"

Carlos's expression softened slightly. "I know she is. But Lando, be careful. She's not just some girl you can mess around with. She's family."

"I would never hurt her," Lando said earnestly. "You know me better than that."

Just then, you stumbled over to them, giggling. "What are you boys talking about so seriously? It's a party!"

You threw your arms around both of their shoulders, oblivious to the tension. Carlos shot Lando a warning look over your head.

"Nothing important, hermanita," Carlos said, and you turned your attention to Lando.

"Dance with me?" you asked, holding out your hand. Lando hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting to Carlos, who just rolled his eyes and stalked away towards Rebecca.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he said, but you could see the longing in his eyes.

"Come on, Lan. It's just a dance," you insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the crowd.

As you moved together to the beat, you felt the heat between your bodies intensify. His hands reached your waist, and you turned around, leaning your back into his chest. Feeling his breath hot on your neck, you turned your head up to look at him. His pupils were blown wide with desire,e but you knew he was holding back.

“You are asking for your brother to literally rip my head off,” he complained and you laughed loudly.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” you said, turning your whole body back to face him.

“You know I do,” he said huskily. Moving on your tiptoes, you pressed your lips gently against his, and you smirked against his lips as you heard your name being angrily called out.

“I’d start running now,” you told Lando as his eyes widened seeing Carlos marching towards the two of you. He gave you one last kiss before peeling off.

“Dios mio y/n,” your brother said, putting both his arms on your shoulders to shake you. “Remember what I told you when you were 18? No F1 drivers!"

“I’m not 18 anymore Carlos,” you said in a singsong voice to him. “But don’t worry, we don’t even see each other outside of you.”

“Keep it that way,” he said sternly.

The next morning you woke up hungover and embarrassed. You dug Lando’s number out of your contacts list and shot him a quick text apologizing to which he replied you can kiss me anytime ;)

—————————————————————

Life went back to normal when you got back to London with the exception of talking to Lando more. You had been casually texting, and you started to look forward to the end of your workdays to hear about his day.

After the Brazil race he had been radio silent. You had sent him a text right after, telling him to keep his head up and that he still was amazing but he had only liked the message. Honestly, you didn’t think much about his silence; you had only just reconnected, so you were very used to life without Lando Norris in it.

The following week, you had finally texted Pietra and met up with her for happy hour. It had been a long time since you had seen her, having met her through Lando all those years ago. The two of you spent hours catching up before he came up.

“Have you heard from Lando?” She asked while you were getting out your purse to pay your tab.

“Not since before the Brazil race, why?” You asked, meeting her worried eyes.

“He had mentioned that you guys had been talking more after Mexico, so I hoped he would reach out to you after Brazil.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Pietra said, biting her lip. “He hasn’t really been responding to Max and hasn’t been on any of the games. Max is worried. Could you call him or something?”

“Why me?” You asked, surprised. Pietra didn’t say anything for a minute, clearly battling with something internally.

“He’s different around you,” she finally said. “I think he might actually answer if you call.”

Her words sat with you the rest of the night, and as you were getting ready for bed, you decided to give in. You leaned against your headboard and hit the Facetime button, prepared to be declined. Right at the last ring, Lando’s face filled your screen, and your heart sank. He looked terrible. Dark circles around his eyes and messy hair. He was also lying in bed, but you could tell you hadn’t woken him up.

“Hi Lan,” you said softly.

“What’s up?” He asked, tiredness evident in his voice.

“Just calling to check in with you,” you said.

“I’m fine.” He replied shortly.

“Try again," you countered. He didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes and you waited out the silence.

“Okay, I’m not fine,” he said sighing. “I haven’t been able to sleep or eat much really.”

“Did you have dinner?” You questioned and he shook his head.

“I don’t have an appetite. I don’t want to talk about Brazil. Can you just talk to me about your week?”

You nodded and started to fill him in on everything that happened the past week and getting to catch up with Pietra. While you were talking, you put in an UberEats order to his place after getting his address from Max. He listened intently to you, making more comments as time went on, and you were happy to be a distraction.

“Are you coming to Vegas?” He asked and you shook your head.

“No, I’ll be at Qatar though.”

“Okay,” he said pouting. You could hear his doorbell ring in the background and he excused himself for a minute. When he came back, there was an unrecognizable look on his face as he picked the phone back up. “Did you order me food?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, scrolling through social media on your phone. “You need to eat.”

“What’s next, going to stick Carlos on me to drag me out of my place?” He asked and you looked over at him.

“That’s not a bad idea,” you said and he groaned.

“I wish you were here,” he said quietly and you gave him a sad smile.

“Me too.”

——————————————————-

Qatar was very exciting for Ferrari, but your own celebrating was dulled because of what happened during Lando’s race. You followed Rebecca to your brother’s driver's room when he got back, and he was in mostly good spirits, but Carlos was usually positive about everything.

When the three of you were finally heading out, you ran into Oscar who was looking for Carlos. The two men talked quietly, and you were only able to pick up bits and pieces.

“…he won’t talk to anyone…could you try?”

“yeah…what hotel room is he in?”

Oscar said goodbye and you looked quizzically at Carlos.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lando is just being hard on himself as usual,” he replied casually but you could tell that it was worse than normal. The car ride to the hotel was silent, as your brother was worried about his friend. Once you go there, you started to head to your own room, but Carlos stopped you.

“Why don’t you just come with me?” He asked and you nodded, following him to the elevator.

Carlos knocked on Lando’s door, and you stood out of the way while trying to assess the situation.

“Hey man, I just wanted to check on you,” Carlos said.

“You didn’t need to, I’m fine,” Lando replied but the tremble in his voice told you otherwise. Carlos stepped to the side, and the second Lando saw you, his face crumpled.

“Oh Lan,” you murmured, closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around him. He buried his head into your neck, letting out small sobs and you felt your heart breaking.

“It’s all my fault,” he cried and you rubbed his back soothingly.

“It’s not your fault Lan,” you whispered. “It was just unlucky. The season isn’t over.”

“It feels like it is,” he said, holding on to you tightly. Carlos mouthed that he was going to go and you nodded a goodbye before gently guiding Lando back into his hotel room, closing the door behind you. He reluctantly let go of you, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. You took in his disheveled appearance - he was still in his race suit, hair messy, and eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" you said softly. Lando nodded, letting you lead him to the bathroom. You turned on the shower and helped him out of his race suit. Under normal circumstances, this level of intimacy might have felt awkward, but right now your only concern was taking care of him.

"I'll be right outside if you need anything," you told him. He gave you a small, grateful smile before stepping into the shower.

While Lando showered, you busied yourself tidying up the room and ordering room service. You knew he probably hadn't eaten anything, he clearly has gone straight from the debrief to here.

His phone rang, and you peeked to see that Max was calling. You answered, feeling like Lando wouldn’t mind.

“Hey Max, it’s y/n,” you greeted.

“Hey, how is he?” Max asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Not great but getting better,” you told him. “I just ordered room service and he’s getting cleaned up.”

“Good, try and get him to join me on Tarkov when he’s done, I think it might help,” he said.

“I can do that,” you replied.

“Thanks for being there y/n, you mean a lot to him,” Max said softly.

“Of course, I’ll talk to you later.”

It didn’t take much convincing to get Lando to join the stream, though he kept his camera off, which you appreciated. You sat on his bed behind him, reading a book you had gone to get from your own room. Every once in a while,e he would turn to look at you, a small smile gracing his face.

When it hit midnight you were dead tired and started to gather your things to leave.

“Can you stay?” Lando asked quietly.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing at his request. "Are you sure?" you asked softly.

Lando nodded, his eyes pleading. "Please. I just... I don't want to be alone right now."

You set your bag back down and gave him a small smile. "Okay, I'll stay."

Relief washed over his face as he turned back to his game. You settled back onto the bed, trying to get comfortable. After a while, Lando finally logged off and joined you on the bed, lying down next to you but keeping a respectful distance.

"Thank you," he murmured into the darkness. "For everything today."

You rolled onto your side to face him. "That's what friends are for, Lan."

He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Is that what we are? Just friends?"

Your breath caught in your throat at the question and his eyes bored into yours.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “Are we?”

“I’d be insane to not want more with you,” he admitted.

Your heart raced at Lando's admission. You reached out tentatively, gently cupping his cheek with your hand. "Lando, I..."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When he opened them again, they were filled with hope and vulnerability, making your chest tighten.

"I want more too," you whispered. "But I'm scared. This could complicate so many things - your friendship with Carlos, my relationship with my brother, your career..."

Lando nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about all of that. But y/n, being with you... it would be worth it. You're worth it."

He inched closer to you on the bed, your faces now just inches apart. "We could take it slow," he suggested. "Figure things out together. I need you by my side.”

Instead of answering with words, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft and tender at first, but soon grew more passionate as the two of you gave in to your feelings for each other.

“You have to tell Carlos though,” you said as you pulled back and Lando rested his forehead against yours groaning.

“You’re lucky I’ve been waiting for this,” he said pouting, pulling you into his chest. You enjoyed the peacefulness of the rest of the night before the inevitable chaos would occur the next day.

[lucy-literates]

Oh my I loved my request for Lewis, thank you 🤭

I got another idea :)

Like the reader is an actress and got invited by Ferrari and Lewis is kinda shy at first - unlike him, because he gets nervous around her :)

The whole grid teases him about it, because it is cute 😅

Smut, if you want, kinda like he shows her, he is not always shy 🤭

Have a nice day :)

A/N: ah yay, I'm so glad you like it! Ooo I like it, the usually confident Lewis, is nervous around the actress. Enjoy, inbox is open

Red Flags & Blushing Champions

You had no idea what to expect when Ferrari invited you to the Monaco Grand Prix.

It had started as a PR crossover — you were in Europe promoting your newest film, and your manager had a friend in Ferrari’s marketing department. Suddenly, there was a red pass in your hand and a custom jumpsuit with your name embroidered across the chest. You weren’t even sure how much of the race you'd understand, but when the invite included a yacht party, free champagne, and a spot on the grid… you weren’t saying no.

What you didn’t expect — couldn’t have expected — was Lewis Hamilton.

You knew who he was, of course. Everybody did. He wasn’t just a driver; he was an icon. All elegance and energy and control, the kind of man who seemed impossible to catch off-guard. Until you met him.

He said hello on your first day in the paddock — barely.

"Hey, I’m… uh. Hi." His voice caught halfway through, and he gave you a tight smile before looking down at his shoes. You blinked, confused. Then he looked up again, clearly flustered.

"Sorry, I—uh—Lewis." He offered his hand like he hadn’t won seven world championships. You shook it gently.

"I know who you are," you said, lips quirking. “I think the world knows who you are.”

His ears turned pink. And that was the beginning.

---

By day two, the grid had noticed.

You had barely walked into the hospitality suite before Charles Leclerc leaned over to George Russell and whispered something that made both of them laugh behind their drinks. Daniel Ricciardo gave Lewis a look that practically screamed, *just ask for her number already*.

Even Carlos Sainz, ever the quiet one, clapped Lewis on the back when you passed and said, "Mate, if you don’t say something, I will."

You played coy — not because you didn’t notice Lewis watching you, but because it was fun watching him try to act like he wasn’t. He’d glance up from his phone, then away. Pretend he was focused on the track. Fidget with his chain.

He was adorable.

And clearly not used to being the flustered one.

---

That night, the real fun began.

You found yourself in the Mercedes suite, sitting beside him on one of those sleek white couches that probably cost more than your apartment. There was a lull in conversation, and you were sipping something bubbly when you turned toward him.

"So," you said, voice deliberately light. “Do you always get shy around actresses, or is it just me?”

His jaw slackened for a moment. Then he laughed — quiet and sheepish — and ran a hand down his face.

"You noticed that, huh?"

"You’re not exactly subtle, Lewis."

He turned, propped an arm on the back of the couch. You could feel the warmth radiating off him. "I’m usually not like this," he admitted.

You grinned. "I know. That’s what makes it fun."

The air shifted. His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second too long.

"You like messing with me?"

"I like seeing which version of you is the real one."

He hummed. "Maybe both are."

You tilted your head, playful. "Which one would I get if I kissed you right now?"

His breath hitched — a tiny inhale, sharp and shallow.

And still, he didn’t move.

So you leaned in, not to kiss him, but just to whisper in his ear: “Thought so.”

---

The next few days blurred together in champagne toasts, camera flashes, and stolen glances. You’d lean into him just a little too close when the media was watching. He’d open doors for you, help you into cars, let his hand linger at your lower back for just a beat longer than necessary.

You started texting. Late-night voice notes turned into half-hour FaceTimes. On the final night in Monaco, he invited you up to his suite — just to talk, he said.

You didn’t believe that for a second.

---

**His Suite – Midnight**

The lights were low. Jazz filtered softly through the speakers, and Lewis was barefoot, shirt slightly unbuttoned, glass of wine in hand. You watched him from the couch, admiring the tattoos peeking out from under the fabric.

He handed you your drink and sat across from you. You sipped slowly, letting the silence stretch.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

“I like what I see.”

His brows lifted, a spark flickering in his dark eyes. “You’ve been teasing me all weekend.”

“You’ve been letting me.”

He laughed, deep and throaty now. No nerves left. Just that glint of confidence you knew had always been waiting underneath.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

You crossed one leg over the other, dress riding up just enough to make his gaze drop. “Only if you let me be.”

“I might.”

His voice had dropped — low, smooth, daring. He set his wine down and moved to sit beside you, thigh brushing yours. His hand found your knee, warm and steady.

You leaned into him, lips brushing his jaw.

"You’re not always shy, are you?"

His hand slid higher. “Not tonight.”

---

**Later**

He took his time.

Every glance, every touch, every kiss was deliberate. You could feel the tension unravel between you — all that pent-up teasing turning molten. He pressed you into the mattress with a kind of reverence, lips mapping out every inch of skin like he’d been dreaming about it.

You whispered things in his ear — soft, breathy encouragements that made him groan against your neck.

And when he finally had you, when the slow burn gave way to heat and rhythm and need, you realized something:

Shy Lewis was sweet.

But *this* Lewis — the one who held your hips like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, the one who whispered your name like a prayer — this Lewis?

Was completely, devastatingly yours.

---

**Morning After**

You were wrapped in hotel sheets, watching him pull a hoodie over his head. He glanced back at you, smirking.

"Still think I’m shy?"

You grinned. "Maybe a little."

He shook his head, biting back a laugh. “You're trouble.”

You just winked. “Told you.”

[colapoint]

alpha carlos this alpha oscar that yeah all very hot and fun but i need you guys to see my omega 4 omega carcar vision

↓ evidence below

pleading bottom eyes in the car:

baring their necks:

arms up in submission:

foldable:

fidgeting with their collar (in heat):

offering hole:

submissive:

and breedable:

omega tits:

slutty waist:

thirsty and greedy:

drenching themselves with water (heat behaviour):

bouncing on it:

mandated backshots from their teams:

whatever these faces are:

[artemispt]

[charlieluver]

shy

The air was crackling with tension, each point played meticulously by both players. First set, Carlos has advantage on a break point. He was at a comfortable lead, 4-2, but getting this game meant he was closer on winning the set without much pressure, just holding onto his serve. The purple shirt hung over his large frame perfectly, biceps flexing, the shorts revealing his toned thighs every time he slides. He looks a little too fine to be playing mercilessly like this. You glance at the stat, 7 minutes game. You eyes are back on him, that quick sprint towards the net, going in for a cross court drop shot which he rarely misses. You knew the game was his. Loud roar rippled through the stadium, while he fiercely screams Vamos as the ball remained unreturned. 5-2.

Sitting down on the cooling bench, you see his shoulders relax just a little, hand fidgeting with the water bottle, face full of concentration. His eyes scan through the crowd as he drinks, his gaze softening as he sees you. Raising an eyebrow, you mock a surprised expression, earning a smile from him, which he barely tries to hide. He places his bottle, shaking his head. Ha, got him He looks so adorable when he's shy You see the camera trying to find what made him laugh, perhaps the fan in a dog costume who jumps up and down, being on the big screen. But the world didn't know yet. You were just a random girl in the crowd who came to see her favourite player's match. The player whose prematch kiss in the hotel room still lingered on your lips, whose sweatshirt hangs over your frame at the moment. The player, who pulled you onto his lap while you tried to clip on his nose strip.

Your player, your man.

You see him giving a quick wink before jogging onto the other side, resuming the match. You knew his fan edits would go crazy, not like you didn't indulge in them when he is away. But you know the wink was for you, for his girl only.

i know i haven't written in a loong time so this is a lil something to keep yall busy 🤭 you could say this was very impulsive because carlos looks so smol here hehe i will be a little less active in the coming weeks but i do hope yall stick around! im working on the request anon i promise! (i don't even know how many ppl read these notes but I just love writing them 😌) divider: @enchanthings masterlist

[akawifeyy]

drive you crazy | fic (CS55)

description: short and sweet — you prank your boyfriend, carlos sainz jr.

tropes: lovers with secrets, he's absolutely obsessed with you, age gap (mid 20s and 30), girlfriend!fem!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: suggestive content, swearing

| note: hehehe i just know carlos would be adorable

You rolled over, facing your boyfriend, who was lying on the bed beside you. He was focused on a video that was playing on his phone, accompanied by an obnoxious laugh track. "Carlos," you whined softly.

He looked at you, pausing the reel, concern marring his beautiful features. "¿Sí?"

A half-formed plan embedded itself in your mind, and a small smirk grew on your lips. Carlos hadn't been very attentive to you all evening, which was understandable because of his enormous workload, but you were still frustrated, in more ways than one. And you knew just the way to pay him back.

"I was at the paddock yesterday and..." you huffed, hesitating for dramatic effect, twirling a strand of your hair in mock-agitation. "Don't kill either one of us." Carlos's eyebrows shot up like twin rockets shooting to space. "Uh, Lando asked me out on a date."

Carlos' face shuttered, his jaw clenching and his eyes turning into flint. "Lando asked you out..." he said, testing the words out and uttering them like they were poisonous. "Even though he knows you're in a relationship with me? Why? What did you say?" His questions were slow, betrayal and hurt shining through his words.

You averted your gaze, heat flooding your cheeks as you fidgeted with your fingers. "I don't know. I just thought it might be nice to see how other guys are, because I've only ever been with you."

"So you want to be with Lando?" Carlos laughed derisively. "Mi amor, he's been with so many women. He won't make you feel special, not like I do."

You shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "At least he has experience."

"Princesa, why are you telling me this? Do I not pamper you enough?" Carlos pouted, confused. "I bought you that necklace you wanted, and as many books as you could wish for. What am I doing wrong? Why do you want to go to another man?"

The whole time you were holding onto the prank, adding more fuel to the fire, guilt had been building up in your stomach. Unable to hold it back any longer, you blurted, "This was a prank. I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry."

Carlos made a choking sound, his eyes widening. "You were joking? ¿Qué carajo? Why would you do that?"

"I know it was a horrible thing for me to do, I just feel super neglected," you confessed, shame sucker-punching you in the gut. "I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you."

Carlos shoved off the bedsheet covers, suddenly stalking to the other side of the room. "I need space."

"What?" Horror sunk its claws into you, flooding with you with fear.

"I thought I lost you, princesa. To Lando, of all people. My best friend." Carlos winced, his pain evident. "You're the love of my life. I thought you didn't want me anymore and... I..."

You covered your mouth with your hands. "I'm really sorry. I do want you." You got up from where you were lying, walking to Carlos with shaky feet, and tugging him to your level so you could kiss him. "I love you, Carlos."

"Mhm," he murmured, deepening the kiss, all anger dissipated at the first second of your touch.

"I mean it. I won't ever abandon you, not for anyone or anything."

"Good. Somos solo tu y yo, por el infinito."

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[kathlare]

forever & always

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando reunite in Monaco as she arrives to start a new chapter of her life.

Wordcount: 7.2 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

May 21st, 2025 - Monte Carlo, Monaco

The Nice Côte d’Azur Airport buzzed with the usual afternoon chaos—trolleys squeaking, voices layered over loudspeaker announcements, families arguing over luggage weight limits. But Amelie barely noticed any of it. She stood near baggage claim, five suitcases stacked like a tower beside her, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, and Björn howling dramatically from his carrier slung over her shoulder. Benny was curled up calmly in his, snoozing like they weren’t in the middle of an international relocation.

She looked around casually, scanning the arrivals area.

And then she saw him.

Or more accurately—he saw her first.

Across the crowd, past a row of confused tourists and a woman dragging three screaming toddlers, Lando Norris bolted. Literally dropped the sunglasses he had been fidgeting with and ran.

—Amelie!—

The shout cracked through the air like thunder, drawing more than a few startled glances from nearby travelers, but she barely noticed. One second, Lando was just a blur in the distance—hoodie half-on, curls bouncing, wearing the most ridiculous grin she’d ever seen—and the next, he was barreling toward her like a damn freight train.

She barely had time to brace herself.

—Oh, my fucking God, Ames.—

He crashed into her with a force that nearly knocked her flat, arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her clean off the ground. Her sunglasses went askew as she squealed, laughing into his shoulder, arms flung around his neck.

—You’re gonna break my spine, Lan.— she giggled, voice muffled in his hoodie.

—I haven’t seen you in years.— he breathed dramatically, already pressing kisses all over her face. Her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, even the corner of her mouth. —Literal decades. I thought I was hallucinating you. Jesus fucking Christ, you’re real. You’re here.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, smiling so wide her cheeks ached. —It’s been a week.—

—A week is too fucking long.—

Lando spun her once like he was in some cheesy rom-com, causing a very offended Björn to screech inside his carrier. Benny stirred in his, stretching like he didn’t just wake up in a European airport.

He finally set her down, but didn’t let go. His hands slid to her face, holding her gently, eyes roaming like he didn’t know where to look first.

Lando leaned in, pressing a kiss just under her jaw, then another at her temple, then right between her eyebrows. —God, I missed you.—

—Missed you too, Lan.—

—No, like... actually. I didn’t sleep properly. I’ve been lying there in our bed like a freak. You weren’t hogging the duvet. It felt wrong.—

Amelie snorted, eyes dancing. —You’re ridiculous.—

—And in love with you.— he said matter-of-factly, arms still wrapped tight around her waist. —But mostly ridiculous.—

—You’re so dramatic. Do you greet all your girlfriends this way?— she teased, nose brushing against his.

He grinned, eyes shining. —Only the ones moving in with me.—

That made something in her chest flutter. The realness of it. The fact that she wasn’t just here for a visit—this was her life now. Their life. In Monaco. With their cats and their chaos and their shared closet space.

—Fuck, I love you.— she murmured, brushing her lips lightly over his.

Lando kissed her slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Like no one was watching them in the middle of a busy airport.

Then, as if remembering where they were, he stepped back with a sudden gasp and threw a hand over his heart.

—Wait. What the hell did you pack? The entire contents of Los Angeles?—

Amelie laughed, flipping her sunglasses back up onto her head. —I panicked, okay? And Minnie kept saying “bring that, what if it gets cold at night?” and then Alex convinced me I needed three different types of coats. Don’t look at me like that.—

—Five suitcases, Ames.— He glanced at the towering stack. —I genuinely don’t think I even own five suitcases.—

—You’re gonna love unpacking them with me.— she said sweetly.

He groaned, but he was still smiling like an idiot. —You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.—

She leaned in close, brushing her lips against his cheek. —You are.—

Lando grabbed two of the suitcases and Björn’s carrier like they weighed nothing, ignoring the cat’s angry screech. —You know he’s plotting my death now, right?—

—He plots everyone's death. You’re special because he doesn’t hiss when you enter the room anymore.—

—That's the bar? Seriously? Amazing.—

Amelie trailed beside him, Benny’s carrier slung over her shoulder as he dragged the luggage toward the car park. Her heart felt like it might burst from how stupidly happy she was. Jetlagged and sweaty and overloaded, and yet, everything felt perfect.

—Hey, Ames?— Lando said suddenly as they reached the car.

—Yeah?—

He turned, arms full of suitcases and cat carrier dangling off one wrist, looking at her with that same dumb-in-love expression.

—You know you’re never getting rid of me now, right? Like, it’s done. I’m in this for good. You’re stuck with me.—

She smiled, slow and warm, reaching out to brush his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

—Good.— she whispered. —I’m in this too.—

He kissed her again, and if the kiss was a little too long and way too sweet for an airport parking lot, neither of them cared.

Björn screamed in protest.

—Welcome home, baby.— Lando grinned.

And just like that, she was.

-------------

liked by lanmelieupdates, ferrarigirlieee, and others

f1wagsdaily: 🚨 SPOTTED: Amelie Dayman at Nice Airport this morning 👀✨ Could she be heading to Monaco ahead of race week? 👑 No official word yet, but the Lanmelie stans are already manifesting a grid appearance 😭❤️

View all 96,728 comments

f1babezzz: she’s on her way to monaco and i just KNOW lando’s about to act right 😭 → lanmelieloverrr: @f1babezzz his girlfriend buff gets activated as soon as she lands

gridgirlie: is that BROWN HAIR under the cap or am i delulu → lanmellife: @gridgirlie if she went brunette again i’m shaving my head in solidarity

wagscentral: monaco gp + amelie = red carpet vibes incoming → lan4life: @wagscentral we’re getting lanmelie yacht pics and i’m not emotionally ready

helmetandheels: imagine flying to monaco just to boost your man’s quali pace → drsdiva: @helmetandheels wag behavior we should all aspire to

lanmelieedits: girl packed like she's moving to monaco permanently 😭 → wagsonwags: @lanmelieedits be fr she’s bringing a different outfit for every hour

ferrarigirlieee: she’s not even there yet and charles already flinching knowing lando gonna turn into loverboy mode → amsdaisy: @ferrarigirlieee protect him at all costs 😭

brunchwiththegrid: nah she got 5 suitcases for 3 days i KNOW a serve is brewing → maxyspov: @brunchwiththegrid the outfits about to outqualify half the grid

lanmelieupdates: THEY’RE GONNA BE IN MONACO TOGETHER AGAIN WE’RE SO BACK → gridgossipqueen: @lanmelieupdates monaco 2024 was for the enemies, 2025 is for the lovers 🫡

amelieswardrobe: i fear the slay this weekend will be historic → chaoticwags: @amelieswardrobe i’m already crying and she hasn’t even posted yet

f1stylequeen: Amelie out here with like 5 suitcases for a weekend stay 😭 what she packing? Her whole closet? → glamgod: @f1stylequeen gotta bring the whole runway to the race track, sis

gridgirly: she landed in nice and immediately raised the airport's average beauty score by 2849% → dramainsector3: @gridgirly they had to delay 3 flights bc pilots got distracted

ameliearchives: if we don’t get a yacht outfit + a cheek kiss on the grid combo this weekend i’m suing → wagwatcher: @ameliearchives AND a story post from her w lando’s tag hidden in the corner i need it all

wagscentral: she’s in her wag era but still giving main character → lanfan97: @wagscentral she’s not a wag she’s THE wag

pitlaneprincess: monaco? amelie? yachts? chaos is coming

lanmelieburner: LANDO’S GONNA BE UNBEARABLE WHEN HE SEES HER → f1dramagf: @lanmelieburner i give him 2 mins before he posts a blurry pic of her with heart emojis

-------------

By the time they reached the apartment building, Amelie was exhausted. Between the jetlag, wrangling two cats, and the small matter of having packed half of Los Angeles into five suitcases, her body felt like it had run a marathon in platform boots. But none of it mattered—not really. Not with Lando grinning like a madman beside her, not with Monaco glowing gold under the late afternoon sun, and not with every elevator chime bringing her one floor closer to home.

Their home.

That thought alone made her heart thud against her ribs.

Lando had insisted on carrying most of the load—dragging suitcases, managing a howling Björn with one hand and swiping the keycard to the private penthouse elevator with the other. Amelie followed behind, Benny’s carrier slung over her shoulder and her eyes on him the whole way up, amused at the way he muttered loving threats at Björn under his breath.

—One day,— he grumbled, shifting the bag as the cat yowled in protest, —I’m going to win you over, and it’s going to be my greatest achievement.—

—Right after becoming a World Champion and marrying me,— Amelie quipped, voice light.

Lando smirked. —Exactly. Top three life goals. Not necessarily in that order.—

The elevator dinged.

And her stomach flipped.

Because the last time she was here, this place had screamed Lando. Like, in all caps. Bachelor pad levels of Lando. F1 art covering every surface. Helmets displayed like priceless artifacts. Three—three—photos of himself on the same wall. One of which was shirtless.

There’d been a mini-fridge full of Monsters and nothing in the actual kitchen. The vibe was very frat boy with money who got too excited on Etsy.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding, and Lando stepped out first, wheeling two suitcases behind him and nudging the door to the penthouse with his shoulder. He turned, grinning boyishly as he gestured dramatically.

—Milady,— he said in a terrible accent, —may I present to you… the humble Norris residence.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, shifting Benny’s carrier on her shoulder. —If I see one more poster of your shirtless self, I’m turning around.—

But he didn’t answer with a comeback this time. He just smiled. That soft, secret smile he saved for moments he cared about. And then he reached for the doorknob, pausing only to say:

—Ready?—

She nodded.

The door swung open.

And holy fuck.

Amelie froze in the doorway.

Her jaw dropped, eyes wide as they slowly scanned the space in front of her. This… this wasn’t what she remembered. It wasn’t even in the same universe.

Gone were the man cave vibes. The F1 shrine. The unused, cold kitchen. The crash of clashing bachelor furniture and stark white walls.

Instead, the space was warm. Thoughtful. Stunning.

Soft golden light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a glow across warm wood floors and low cream couches that looked stupidly comfortable. Plants—real ones—draped from hanging pots and corners of bookshelves. There was a muted palette of warm neutrals, with soft textures and little bursts of color: burnt orange throw pillows, sage green accents, and a deep navy velvet chair that practically begged for her to curl up with a book.

The dining table wasn’t cluttered with unopened Amazon boxes anymore—it was set with candles in minimalist holders and a vase of fresh flowers.

And the art—God, the art. Tasteful prints now lined the walls. Not a single shirtless photo of Lando in sight. Instead, there were framed photos of them. Her and Lando in blurry Polaroids, one of her laughing with Minnie in Italy, another of him with his arms thrown around Max and George. A shot from one of her concerts. A candid of her in the kitchen, biting into a croissant with powdered sugar on her nose. It felt lived in. Loved.

Amelie stepped inside slowly, stunned into silence.

And then she noticed the kitchen.

She gasped.

—Oh my God.—

The kitchen was gorgeous. Marble counters, brass fixtures, and shelves with neatly labeled glass jars. There were cookbooks—actual cookbooks—and a matcha station that made her knees go weak. And her pastel pink KitchenAid mixer—the one she left behind in LA—was on the counter, next to a fruit bowl and a little post-it with her handwriting on it from months ago.

—Lan…— she whispered.

He dropped the suitcase handles, stepping up behind her. His voice was soft, nervous. —You like it?—

—Like it? I... Lando, it’s perfect. I feel like I just walked into a Pinterest board. Holy shit.—

He laughed, half-relieved. —That’s kind of what I was going for.—

Amelie turned to look at him, heart hammering against her ribs. —You did all this?—

—Well, I supervised,— he said sheepishly. —I might’ve had a little help. Minnie, Lily, Alex, Carmen… even Elysia came out for a weekend. I didn’t really know what the fuck I was doing, but I just— I wanted it to feel like you. Like us.—

She stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

—There’s no Monsters fridge.—

He smiled. —Sold it on Facebook Marketplace.—

—The shirtless photos?—

—Burned them in a ritual fire with Alex Albon.—

She snorted, blinking quickly. —You kept the helmets though.—

—Of course. But they’re in the office now. Tamed. You won’t be waking up next to my 2021 crash visor anymore.—

Amelie stepped further into the apartment, drinking in every detail. The rugs, the soft lighting, the framed artwork of Japanese landscapes—one she recognized from the Quadrant shoot. The cats’ new scratching post in the corner, big enough for Björn to conquer like a little tyrant. The record player. Her books on the shelves.

And then she turned the corner and saw the bedroom.

She covered her mouth.

It was everything she didn’t know she’d wanted.

A soft canopy framed the bed, white linen curtains tied back with velvet ribbons. The duvet was fluffy and inviting, topped with pillows in varying shades of cream and dusty rose. A bench sat at the foot of the bed, draped with one of her favorite throws—the one she always stole from Lando’s couch in LA. Fairy lights curled around the curtain rod, and a candle flickered gently on the bedside table.

A stack of her favorite books sat beside it.

Her framed Vogue cover leaned against the wall.

And on the far dresser—next to a ceramic dish filled with her rings and bracelets—stood a picture of them at the lake house in Como. She was wearing one of his hoodies, her hair wet from the water, laughing at something off camera. He was looking at her, not the lens. Just looking.

—Oh, Lan…— she whispered again, her voice cracking.

He stepped into the room behind her, arms loose at his sides. Quiet. Not cocky or smug or teasing—just... waiting. Watching her with soft eyes.

—Do you really like it?— he asked, almost afraid.

Amelie turned to face him fully, blinking through the tears that threatened to spill over. She didn’t just like it. She felt it. In every little choice. Every detail. It was her. It was him. It was them.

She took a slow step forward and pressed both hands to his chest, curling her fingers into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

—You made a home for us,— she murmured.

Lando’s breath hitched. —Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.—

She leaned up and kissed him—softly at first, then again, harder. One hand slid to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his hoodie like she couldn’t bear to let him go. And he kissed her back like he’d been waiting for this exact moment since the second she left LA.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Amelie rested her forehead against his.

—You didn’t have to do all this, you know.—

—I wanted to.— His fingers curled around her waist, pulling her even closer. —I just kept thinking... if this is gonna be our place, it needs to feel like you. Not just me and my tragic obsession with carbon fiber and energy drinks.—

Amelie laughed, the sound watery and soft.

—You succeeded. God, Lando… You really fucking succeeded.—

He smiled then. Wide and unguarded, the kind of smile that made her stomach somersault and her knees go a little weak. The kind of smile that told her he would do it all over again in a heartbeat just to see that look on her face.

—Okay,— he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish shrug, —enough standing around looking emotional. We still have, like, a thousand suitcases to unpack. And two very judgmental cats trying to pretend they don’t live here now.—

Almost on cue, a low yowl came from the living room.

Amelie leaned past him to peek.

Björn was sitting on the new cream rug, his fur puffed up and tail twitching like he was planning a full military invasion. Benny had already claimed the velvet chair, curled up like a prince, as if he’d lived there for years.

Almost on cue, a low yowl came from the living room.

Amelie leaned past him to peek.

Björn was sitting on the new cream rug, his fur puffed up and tail twitching like he was planning a full military invasion. Benny had already claimed the velvet chair, curled up like a prince, as if he’d lived there for years.

Lando bent down to Björn’s level, voice gentle and coaxing. —Hey, little dude. This place is new, yeah? You’re gonna be okay. I promise.—

Björn narrowed his eyes but didn’t bolt, just flicked his tail once and settled into a less aggressive posture.

Amelie chuckled, kneeling beside Lando. —Looks like Benny’s already giving the place his royal seal of approval.—

Lando grabbed a suitcase and opened it, handing her some carefully folded clothes. —Let’s get you settled. Then we have exactly two hours to get ready before the F1 movie private screening.—

Amelie sighed but smiled, energized by the love and care poured into every corner of this apartment. —Two hours. No pressure.—

They moved through the rooms in easy rhythm—Lando unpacking shoes while Amelie folded shirts, cat carriers now empty as Benny batted at a dangling fern and Björn tentatively sniffed a new scratching post.

The place wasn’t just a penthouse anymore.

It was home.

And tonight, they’d celebrate it.

-------------

liked by melieposting, gridgossipgirl, and others

lanmelieupdates: Lando and Amelie were spotted driving around Monaco after the private screening of the F1 movie 😭🎬🚗 not a single paparazzi car could catch them but love sure did.

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amelieupdates: HE LOOKS SO GOOD IT’S UNFAIR 😭 amelie’s taste is elite → queenmelie: @amelieupdates he’s literally her best accessory at this point → sundayswithlan: @amelieupdates i need a pic of them together asap or i will sue

f1hotgirlsummer: monaco lando hits DIFFERENT like he knows the camera’s on → meliezone: @f1hotgirlsummer amelie trained him well what can i say 😌 → pitlaneprincess: @f1hotgirlsummer she really upgraded his entire aura lbr

lanmelieslut69: why is lando there alone??? where’s OUR girl amelie 😭 → mclanmelie: @lanmelieslut69 fr it’s not a red carpet unless she’s there to serve → vroomvroomval: @lanmelieslut69 justice for the plus one 😤

melieposting: lando looks GOOD but the vibes are off without miss amelie there → softgridgirl: @melieposting like he’s smiling but you can tell he’s thinking about her → lanfluffies: @melieposting he's just waiting to FaceTime her after 😭

lanleaks: nah i need an IG story of them in the theater cuddling or what was the point → melieuniverse: @lanleaks bro dropped his gf and still brought couple energy

pitlaneloveletter: he needs her there to complete the power couple formation 😩 → meliehive: @pitlaneloveletter this is like batman without robin → tifosixoxo: @pitlaneloveletter let’s hope she’s flying in secret 👀

lanmelie4eva: lando babe you looked amazing but it’s a little lonely without your girl 😭

melieinmonaco: i’m not saying i need lanmelie red carpet content… but i do → gridgossipgirl: @melieinmonaco they would shut that whole screening DOWN → lanmelieburner: @melieinmonaco we’ve been so well fed lately pls let the streak continue 😭

-------------

The energy inside the venue buzzed with anticipation, a mixture of engine-rev excitement and Hollywood glitz. Lando stood near the side of the velvet ropes inside the lobby of the private cinema, dressed in his team polo and black trousers, the McLaren logo sitting crisp against the orange fabric. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he spoke with Charles and Alexandra, occasionally glancing at the entrance as more people filtered in.

Charles looked unbothered, chewing on some gum while adjusting the collar of his shirt. Alexandra looked stunning in a silky black dress, hair pinned back in a sleek low bun, diamonds glittering at her ears.

—Where is she?— Alexandra asked with a small smile, nudging Lando’s arm. —Everyone keeps asking me when she’s getting here. You didn’t come with her?—

Lando shrugged, trying to keep it casual, but the truth was he hadn’t seen Amelie in hours. He’d had to do a bunch of press stuff for McLaren earlier in the day—photos, interviews, a roundtable that felt like it’d never end. They were supposed to meet here, and she'd texted a vague “be there soon x” about twenty minutes ago.

—She said she’d meet me here,— he replied, tapping his phone screen for the millionth time, even though there were no new messages. —Probably stuck getting her hair done or something. You know her.—

Charles smirked. —I hope she brings Björn as a plus one. I’d like to see him launch himself at Christian Horner.—

Lando snorted, but before he could respond, the energy in the room shifted.

It was almost imperceptible at first—like the air had thinned or turned warmer. Conversations paused. Heads turned. Whispers spread in waves across the room.

And then the doors opened.

And there she was.

Amelie walked in like she owned the damn city. And maybe she did. Her long dark hair was swept back in a high ponytail. She wore a floor-length brown gown, backless and sleek, with an asymmetrical neckline that showed off her collarbones and a single shoulder. It was elegant and bold, just like her, the fabric catching every light as she moved.

She looked fucking breathtaking.

Lando felt it in his chest, in his gut, in the way every nerve in his body lit up at once. Like the world just tilted slightly to follow her entrance.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, unfazed by the attention, like she was used to it. Which, to be fair, she was. She gave a couple of waves to people she knew, a smile playing on her lips, before her gaze locked onto him.

Lando didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until she was walking over.

—You were just saying you missed her,— Alexandra teased under her breath, and Lando nudged her lightly without breaking his stare.

Amelie reached them with that signature smile of hers—confident and warm and just a little cheeky. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, and when she reached them, Alexandra stepped forward and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

—You look incredible. God, your hair? How is it that shiny? What shampoo do you use? Magic?—

Amelie laughed, voice light. —A mixture of black magic, tears, and overpriced conditioner from Tokyo. You look unreal too, Alex. I almost didn’t recognize Charles with a shirt on.—

Charles grinned. —You wound me.—

But Lando wasn’t listening anymore. She turned to him next, her eyes softening when they met his. He was still stuck in place, watching her like she’d just stepped off a movie screen and into his life. Which, honestly, she kinda had.

—Hi, Lan,— she said, soft, stepping in close.

—Hi, Ames,— he breathed, and then he smiled, unable to help it. —Jesus. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.—

—That’s the plan,— she whispered back with a wink, before sliding her hand into his.

The warmth of her fingers calmed something tight in his chest. It always did.

They moved slightly to the side as the rest of the crowd continued buzzing behind them, the other drivers posing for photos, teams mingling, more WAGs arriving in clusters. Lando leaned closer, brushing his nose against her temple as he asked:

—Where were you? I was starting to think you bailed.—

Amelie sighed. —Benny didn’t want me to leave. He literally sat on my dress while I was trying to put it on. It was a whole negotiation.—

—So what you’re saying is I’m fighting for your attention with a clingy cat.—

—You’re second in command after him. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.—

He chuckled, eyes scanning her face. —I would’ve preferred staying in tonight. Just us. No media. No chaos. Just… our place.—

She leaned her head on his shoulder for a second. —Me too. But being with you? Even here? Still the better option.—

He kissed the top of her head.

They stood like that for a moment, their hands linked, half-tucked away from the spotlight but still drawing glances from almost everyone in the room. There was something magnetic about them—maybe because people remembered when they were just friends, when it was all jokes and streams and pandemic chaos. Or maybe because they'd always looked at each other like this, even before they could admit why.

Amelie was glowing. Not just because of the dress or the hair or the makeup—but because she was comfortable now. Safe in her own skin in a way she hadn’t always been. There’d been years where food was a battle and mirrors were cruel and life felt like a test she kept failing. But now… now she stood taller. Softer. Stronger. Her recovery wasn’t perfect—he knew that. There were still days where things got hard. But she was better. She was okay. And Lando was proud of her in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain.

—You good?— she asked, tilting her head to look at him.

He nodded, squeezing her hand. —Yeah. Better now that you’re here.—

—You’re such a sap tonight.—

—You love it.—

—Unfortunately for my sanity, yeah, I do.—

He grinned, leaning in close to her ear. —You coming back to mine after this? We can open a bottle, cuddle Benny, pretend Björn doesn’t exist.—

Amelie smiled, amused. —You mean our place?—

He paused, letting the words settle in his chest. Our place.

God, he loved her.

—Yeah. Ours.—

They stayed like that until they were called in to find their seats, still hand-in-hand, still in their own little world despite the cameras and murmurs around them. As the lights dimmed and the F1 logos appeared on screen, Lando turned to look at her one last time.

Her eyes were already on him.

And yeah. He could’ve stayed home tonight.

But there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than next to her.

-------------

liked by wagswithattitude, sainzyslut, and others

landoarchives: Lando looking fresh as ever in Monaco today for the private screening of the F1 movie 🎬🏁🍿

View all 92,099 comments

lanmeliecarats: he’s literally in his romcom era and i’m just watching it play out in 4k → pitlaneprincess: @lanmeliecarats bro thinks he’s in a Nicholas Sparks movie and honestly? he is

ameliespinklighter: they’re just driving around monaco like a james bond couple… → wifeymelie: @ameliespinklighter lando is so the getaway driver and she’s the mastermind

chaoticwags: this man got p1 in life when she said yes 😭 → norisimp: @chaoticwags i fear he hasn’t stopped smiling since

lanlorenzo: not him doing victory laps with her post-screening 😭 → ameliesbarbie: @lanlorenzo his prize is literally in the passenger seat LMAO

f1gfthings: she probably let him drive just so she could play with the aux 😭

wagswithattitude: lanmelie spotted in monaco is my new religion → melieonpole: @wagswithattitude bible rewritten. commandments updated.

gridgirlboss: lando driving around monaco like he doesn’t got the baddest girl alive in the passenger seat 😭 → lanmeliesmutbrain: @gridgirlboss the way he’s clutching that steering wheel like it’s her thigh LMAO

lanlust: if i was Lando and Amelie said “let’s go for a drive” i would simply black out from happiness → ameliedaydreams: @lanlust you just KNOW he was speeding up every time she laughed

paddockpetty: she’s playing co-pilot, spotify DJ, and main character all at once → f1sundays: @paddockpetty multitasking queen i fear

lanf1rthirst: no one talk to me unless you’re them. or driving through monaco with your soulmate → chaoticwags: @lanf1rthirst they make monaco feel like a cozy lil small town

lanmelie4everrr: this is better than the F1 movie i fear → paddockchronicles: @lanmelie4everrr and we get sequels every week?? we WON

ameliecore: she’s giving "i stole the rich boy’s heart and his mclaren"

sainzyslut: raise your hand if you wanna be in the backseat just vibing while they flirt up front 🙋‍♀️ → throttlechokers: @sainzyslut girl i’ll sit in the trunk if i have to

lanmelieupdates: they’re not even driving... they’re FLOATING. on ✨vibes✨ → norrisnation: @lanmelieupdates lando’s foot isn’t on the gas it’s on the gaslight gatekeep girlboss

meliecore: this is giving honeymoon soft launch and i’m NOT OKAY

ameliescurls: this is the calm before the Monaco chaos and i love it → softlan: @ameliescurls she’s his pre-race meditation and his post-race celebration 😭

wagsupreme: lanmelie doing casual PDA in monaco like the whole world isn’t obsessed with them

tiresoftlove: lando’s biggest win is dating someone hotter than his car 😭 → meliespitcrew: @tiresoftlove the MCL60 could NEVER compete

-------------

The night air in Monaco was warm and soft, like silk against skin. After the F1 movie screening wrapped, the streets glimmered under gold-tinted lights, casting a cinematic glow over the harbor and the winding hills above. It was the kind of night that felt like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting over Amelie’s thigh, the McLaren courtesy car weaving its way up toward the restaurant where the Meshki x Alexandra Saint Mleux event was taking place. She sat beside him in the passenger seat, her brown gown draped elegantly around her legs, heels kicked off for the short drive.

He pulled up a few meters from the venue, just where the crowd hadn't gathered yet but where the lights from the restaurant flickered against the car windows.

—You really have to go?— he murmured, turning toward her.

Amelie smiled, already reaching for her heels. —Lan, I promised Alex I’d show up. You’ll survive an hour without me.—

He leaned closer, lips brushing her shoulder. —I’m not so sure about that.—

She slipped her shoes on, hair still in its perfect ponytail, though a few strands had fallen from the sides with the breeze and the movement. God, she looked unreal. But more than that—she looked happy. Comfortable. Lit up from inside.

He sighed. —If you're not having fun, just call me, okay? I’ll come get you. I mean it. I don't care if it’s been five minutes. I’ll be here.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, a teasing smile tugging at her mouth. —Lan. Relax. It’s not a battlefield. It’s a dinner with girls who know how to contour and say “ciao” without sounding like tourists.—

—That sounds worse than a battlefield,— he deadpanned, and she laughed, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

—Go home. Cuddle Benny. Try to bond with Björn again. I’ll text you when I’m done.—

—You’re ditching me for beauty gurus. Rude.—

She kissed him again, softer this time. —You’re the one who dropped me off. Enabler behavior.—

Outside, the cameras had started flashing a few paces away, people recognizing the car. Amelie reached for the door handle but glanced at him one last time.

—Have fun with the cats.—

Lando flipped her off.

She just blew him a kiss, grinning as she stepped out into the night.

The second she stood up, the attention shifted. Phones lifted. People whispered. Someone called her name. And still, she didn’t falter—just adjusted her posture, tossed her hair over one shoulder, and walked toward the entrance like she belonged there.

And she did.

Lando watched until she disappeared through the doors, his chest warm and aching in the best way.

The restaurant was candlelit, modern yet romantic, tucked into a quiet corner of Monaco’s old district. The Meshki x Alexandra Saint Mleux banner hung in soft ivory tones near the entrance, the venue transformed with blush-colored roses, silk curtains, and long marble tables set with gold cutlery.

Amelie stepped inside and was immediately greeted by Alexandra, who looked like a dream in a black mesh slip dress, her cheeks flushed with champagne and laughter.

—Finally!— Alex said, pulling her into a hug. —You’re the only person whose entrance rivals mine tonight.—

—Please. You’ve always been the main event,— Amelie teased.

Alexandra grinned and linked their arms, guiding her further inside. The place was gorgeous—elegant but with a soft, lived-in glamour. Candlelight danced off mirrored accents, and soft music played in the background, setting a warm, easy tone. It was the kind of event that felt carefully curated—down to the scent of fresh peonies in the air.

The room was filled with Monaco’s elite and international beauty influencers flown in for the occasion: sleek blowouts, glassy skin, barely-there gowns that cost more than most apartments. Amelie recognized a few faces from Instagram—Rebecca was already by the bar, talking to someone from Vogue Italia, her signature glow and effortless confidence radiating even across the room.

Amelie instinctively straightened her back.

Alex noticed. —You okay?—

Amelie nodded quickly. —Yeah, yeah. Just… not used to this kinda crowd.—

Alex gave her arm a squeeze. —That’s why you’re here with me. And anyway, they’re probably all too intimidated by how annoyingly perfect your ponytail is.—

That made Amelie laugh, and she let herself relax a little.

As they approached the table, Rebecca turned and lit up when she saw her. —You made it! God, you look stunning. I was about to send a search party.—

Amelie kissed her cheek and smiled. —I needed a driver-slash-boyfriend to drop me off. Priorities.—

—Ugh, Lando. He’s obsessed with you. It’s so cute it’s gross,— Rebecca teased, looping her arm through Amelie’s and dragging her toward the champagne cart.

Amelie glanced around as glasses were filled and tiny hors d’oeuvres were passed on crystal trays. There were cameras, yes, and whispers here and there—some people definitely looking at her longer than others, the way people do when someone “famous adjacent” walks into their niche. She felt the weight of it pressing softly on her shoulders. Not cruel, just… curious. A mix of admiration and speculation, some people maybe wondering why she was here at all.

—So,— Alexandra whispered, glancing around with a sly smile, —you’re really moving here? Like, to Monaco proper?—

—Yeah, I’m starting to move in properly soon. I figured it’s about time, right? With everything going on, it just makes sense to have a home base here. Plus, I want to stop playing musical chairs between Monaco, LA, and the circuit.—

Rebecca’s eyes sparkled with excitement. —Oh my god, that’s huge! You have no idea how many times I’ve thought, “Why don’t we have a proper girls’ night here?” This is perfect! We can finally do that.—

Alexandra squeezed Amelie’s hand. —Shopping trips, spa days, fashion events every weekend… The dream. You have no idea how much easier life is when your besties are just a short drive away.—

Amelie laughed, swirling the champagne in her glass. —I can already feel the chaos and the fun coming. I’m definitely going to need some pro guidance on how to survive the Monaco social scene, though.—

Rebecca gave her a knowing smirk. —We’ve got you. Consider us your official welcome committee. And yes, you’ll want to stock up on those little perfume vials—there’s a serious beauty black market for those around here.—

The warmth of their excitement settled around Amelie like a comforting hug. For someone who was still new to this side of glamour—one where she wasn’t performing or hiding behind a persona—it felt good. Real. Like a fresh start without all the pressure.

As the night deepened, Amelie found herself laughing more freely than she had in weeks. The conversations flowed from the latest beauty hacks to the best restaurants in town, with Rebecca sharing funny stories about sneaking around paparazzi to Alexandra teasingly critiquing Amelie’s next potential look for the AMAs.

Occasionally, Amelie caught snippets of sideways glances from some guests—those subtle “checking her out” moments that felt like a silent question: What’s she doing here? Does she belong? But instead of shrinking from it, Amelie met those gazes with a steady calm. She belonged. Tonight was hers.

The night wound down with champagne refills and a spontaneous photo session by the waterfront, the glittering lights of Monaco’s harbor casting a magical backdrop. Alexandra pulled Amelie close.

—This is just the beginning, Ames. You’re officially a local now.—

Amelie smiled, heart full. —Feels like home already. And it’s only the start of the fun.—

Rebecca raised her glass. —To new beginnings, late nights, and the best damn girls’ nights Monaco’s ever seen.—

Amelie clinked her glass with theirs, already imagining all the memories waiting to be made.

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liked by voguewannabe, lanmeliesupremacy, and others

f1wagsupdates: Spotted ✨ Amelie Dayman & Alexandra Saint Mleux holding it down at the Meshki event in Monaco today — serving looks and stealing hearts 💥🔥

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sleekshadewatch: ames back to brunette? yess queen 🙌 → lanmelie4life: @sleekshadewatch lando be like "finally, my girl’s glow up is complete" 😂

monacostyle: amelie & alex flexin together, iconic duo alert 🔥

chaoticwags: lando locking in p1 just bc he saw her walk in like that 😭 → norisimp: @chaoticwags he’s manifesting podium kisses and i support him

browngirlvibes: brunette ames is the ultimate mood switch 💁🏽‍♀️ → lanmeliefanatic: @browngirlvibes agreed, lando better appreciate the upgrade 😎

voguewannabe: if this is a sign of ames doubling down on lan, i stan 😍 → lanmeliefangirl: @voguewannabe he’s already got her heart, now the whole world too 💘

tracksidevibes: honestly ames in brown hair is peak lanmelie energy 🥹💯 → lanmeliefanatic: @tracksidevibes true that, they’re the ultimate power couple rn

f1wagscentral: brunette Amelie is back and Monaco might not survive 😵‍💫 → lanmelieslutclub: @f1wagscentral LANDO. WON’T. SURVIVE.

lanfan88: brunette era Amelie + Meshki = danger to society → chaoticwags: @lanfan88 lando probably had to sit down after seeing her 💀

meliebaby_: brunette Amelie supremacy is back and i fear for every man on the grid → padockrat: @meliebaby_ esp lando who’s holding onto her like she’s pole position 😭

softwagszn: they said “glam + girlfriend duties” and made it fashion

glamgridgirl: she’s brunette again??? oh lando is NOT making it out alive → lanmeliehearts: @glamgridgirl he’s 100% somewhere in a corner giggling and kicking his feet rn 😭 → f1simpnation: @glamgridgirl this man gonna propose before quali watch 💅

tracksideangel: brunette amelie era unlocked 🔓 world domination imminent → alexazoom: @tracksideangel lando better PRAY she lets him breathe this weekend → pitlanepoet: @tracksideangel man’s grip on her finna get tighter than his tire strategy

lanmeliesupremacy: the wag of all wags is BACK and brunette-coded 😮‍💨 → maxsfuel: @lanmeliesupremacy lando seeing her walk into meshki like “we’re leaving NOW”

-------------

The apartment was quiet when Amelie returned.

The soft click of the door echoed faintly as she stepped inside, heels in one hand, her clutch tucked under the other arm. She slipped the door shut behind her and paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. All the lights in the common areas were off except for the faint glow of the hallway lamp they always left on for ambiance—well, more so Lando didn’t trip over the cats at night.

She padded softly across the polished floor, bare feet silent against the cool marble. Her gown whispered around her legs with each step, her hair slightly undone from the breeze and laughter of the night. There was no sound from the kitchen, no signs of movement from anywhere. She figured he must have gone to bed not long after dropping her off.

With gentle fingers, she twisted open the bedroom door.

And then she stopped.

Her heart swelled instantly.

The room was lit only by the soft, flickering glow of the TV—muted, casting a blue-tinted haze across the bed. Lando was fast asleep on his side of the mattress, arm cradled loosely under his head, curls messy from whatever halfhearted attempt he’d made at drying off after his shower.

Benny was curled tightly against his chest, nestled like a little cinnamon roll of fluff, his head resting over Lando’s heart. At the foot of the bed, Björn was sprawled out on his back, one paw twitching every so often in a dream. The duvet was bunched around Lando’s waist, exposing his bare shoulders and the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

Amelie stood in the doorway for a long second, lips parted slightly, the sight rooting her in place. Her chest ached with the warmth of it.

This. This was home.

She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone as quietly as she could, holding it up to capture the moment. The flash was off. The frame caught Lando, Benny, and Björn in perfect harmony—peaceful, safe, theirs. She snapped the photo, smiling to herself.

Then, careful not to disturb the trio, she tiptoed into the ensuite. The faint whir of the ceiling fan hummed above her as she began to unwind.

She peeled off the gown slowly, folding it over the stool by the sink, then twisted her hair out of the ponytail, shaking it free with a sigh. The tightness around her scalp eased. She wiped off her makeup, washed her face, brushed her teeth, then changed into one of Lando’s oversized t-shirts from the drawer they’d already half-merged together. She didn’t even check if it was clean. It smelled like him. That was enough.

When she finally crept back into the bedroom, the TV still glowed faintly, playing a re-run of some old F1 documentary they’d half-watched before. Lando hadn’t moved, still curled on his side, Benny now buried deeper against him.

Amelie slid into the bed slowly, easing herself under the covers with the care of someone sneaking into a sacred space. The sheets were cool against her legs, and as she adjusted her body to curl up beside him, the mattress shifted slightly.

Lando stirred.

His brow furrowed faintly as his eyes blinked open, dazed and half-lidded. —Mmmh… Ames?—

She smiled softly, brushing her fingers along his hairline. —Hey. Go back to sleep, baby.—

But he reached for her, instinctively. His hand found her waist beneath the blanket and tugged her closer.

Amelie laughed quietly, then shifted up to gently scoop Benny away from his spot against Lando’s chest. The cat made a faint sound of protest but didn’t wake. She placed him carefully at the foot of the bed next to Björn, who twitched again but didn’t stir.

—Traitors,— she whispered teasingly to them, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Lando’s nose. —Good night, Lan.—

With one hand, she reached over and clicked off the TV. The room was dipped into darkness, only the sound of the distant harbor outside and the steady beat of Lando’s breathing.

He was already halfway asleep again, arms pulling her in without a word.

Amelie settled into him, their legs tangled, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, her body melting into the familiar safety of him.

Their first night in their apartment.

And it felt like forever and always all at once.

[pha55ed]

I'll Be Home || F1/F2

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, ollie, paul, pepe

summary :: you introduce him to your family, he's terrified by he still pulls through

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

Carlos Sainz | 55

When you told Carlos to come to your family's party, he instantly accepted with glee. Except, right after he began to panic and process the preparation needed to go into this. It was sweet to see his smile drop so quickly, meaning he put his thinking mode on.

Despite Carlos being loved by so many, he's still so nervous. You both sit in the car for almost 5 minutes just chatting to help calm him down. He's fidgeting with his hands, pushing his hair back and forth to perfect it, and he's doing his best to remember the ice-breakers he learned online.

"I promise, they'll love you no matter what." You say, grabbing his hands to stop his constant fidgeting. "You're going to do great!"

You knew he was going to try and "but" you so you quickly jumped outside the car. Which made his jaw drop, since he swore to forever open every door for you, no matter what. Instantly, he runs outside of the car and before you can even step 2 feet away from the car, he gently pushes you back into the car and shut the door.

He's saying something outside of the door, definitely complaining about losing his streak. By the time he opens the door for you, gently reaching for your hand to bring you inside, you can see most of your family outside ready to greet you.

Carlos is embarrassed, terrified that he just seemed like a controlling monster. But you knew your family, and you knew they would have adored his commitment to treating you like a princess. And you were right, they greeted him with welcome arms and loved his gesture.

Charles Leclerc | 16

He was well prepared for this day. It was like he was training to be in the military. The day you invited him to your family dinner, he's been grinding day and night to create the most perfect answers and conversation starters. He had his outfit ready and steamed, shoes cleaned, and even did an intense night routine to prepare.

So when he comes to your family's house, he's well prepared. You can't help but try to hold your laugh back at how serious he's taking this all. All your effort to hold back the laugh instantly comes out the second Charles begin to speak to them, because his chill-rich-nonchalant act came apart so quickly.

Your family brings up anything and instantly Charles is unable to hold back a fun fact he knows. Even something as random as a bananas then turned into: "Did you know if you add them to smoothies, it actually ruins the vitamins of the other fruits? I also dressed up as one on stream haha! Look!"

He's also unable to hold the touch guy persona with the kids. They instantly melt him, making stupid jokes with them. He's severely behind on trends though... Mentioning whips and nae-naes, the troll face, and G-mod. But that's fine, it makes the kids giggle at his old knowledge.

He's even acting like a fool with the dog. Trying to get the dogs to sit, roll over, and failing miserably. It makes everyone laugh and chuckle at him. But it's not at his expense, but instead at the pure energy he has to become part of this family. Which makes him instantly accepted by everyone in your family, including the dogs.

Lando Norris | 04

Before his fuck-boy reputation, there was rookie-Lando. The sweet boy who didn't grow pubes yet,,, somehow... And although you met Lando in his new era, filled with confidence and sass, you saw the real him behind his persona.

His palms were sweating, his voice was slightly higher, and his smile was flashing every second out of nerves. Anyone could tell he was nervous, he looked like a high schooler about to give a presentation. You two sat in the car, about to leave but he gently asked you:

"Can we stay in here for a minute?" He asks, turning to you as he fixes his sweater.

You were confused slightly. It was normal when you asked to stay in the car for a minute to redo your lip combo, since he usually ate it off of you. But Lando doesn't have a lip combo, or any makeup at all.

"I'm just," He could tell you were puzzled, "Nervous.. I wanna just talk to you, get the nerves out."

You smile at his words, he looked so cute being so nervous to meet your family of weirdos. "Lando, you'll do great! I know for a fact that they're going to love-"

"No no. I don't need reassurance or anything, thank you though love." He cuts you off. "I just, jus' want to talk to you. You calm me down."

"Talk about what?" You ask.

"Anything." He shrugs. "You just, calm me down." He says, making you smile from his simple yet impactful words. "You're like a walking vape."

"Oh shut up!" You smack him playfully, "You ruined a good moment!" Chuckling at his comment. But your chuckle brought a smile to his face, but this time it was a genuine smile.

Not out of nervousness or fear, but a real smile. Your laugh was able to brighten him up within a split second. And that's all he needed. Because truthfully, he didn't care too much of what your family thought of him. Of course he wanted them to like him, but he's able to accept other's opinions. All he really cared for was that you loved him, and he knew you did.

Oscar Piastri | 81

"Should I wear my midnight blue tie or navy blue tie?" Oscar asks, holding both up for you to look at. He was sweating bullets at the idea of meeting your entire family for the first time. Even though you reassured him endlessly that your family would love him, he wasn't certain on it.

"Either works, love" You say, trying your best to multi-task answering his stupid questions while getting ready yourself. You knew he wasn't trying to be annoying. It was cute to you that he was so nervous, despite him being on the verge of a breakdown.

"Okay what about white or black socks?" You told him white. "What length though? Above or below the ankle???" You told him above. "Okay, but should I pick the ones with a logo or no logo-"

"Oscar." You said firmly. He gulped, he knew he should have picked the no logo socks, what a stupid question! But that wasn't what you were going to say. "I promise you'll be perfectly fine. They don't care what you wear, how you sound, or even what you like."

"I know, I know, but I don't want to disappoint them." He says before remembering, "Oh shit! We need to leave soon! I need to pick up the bouquets I ordered for your family on the way there-"

You couldn't help but laugh at him. Every question he asked was just further proof that would be perfectly fine meeting them all. You had no doubts that your family would adore him: which they did.

Oliver Bearman | 87

The second Ollie stepped foot into your family's party, he was bombarded with questions. Bringing a tall, handsome, and talented young man into your family automatically made him lovable. They almost forgot about the fact that the only reason he was there was because of you.

He can't escape the grandmas and aunties fawning over how cute he is and all the uncles can't stop bothering him with questions about cars. Even your little cousins love him, asking him annoying questions that he handled really well.

Before you know it, he's carrying your baby cousin in one arm, holding a paper plate filled to the brim with food, wearing your uncle's hat that he insisted suited Ollie more, and being forced to tell everyone his facebook so they can stalk him.

The night lasted hours, but thankfully all your family got drunk or sleepy. Meaning you two were able to escape from the party. The second you're in the car, he sighs. It confused you, was he tired? Relieved to leave? Sad???

"Do you think they liked me?" He asks you. Which you instantly want to slam his head into the window.

"Yes Ollie, they liked you." You say with a smile, giving him a kiss on his cheek. "They loved you."

Paul Aron | 17

You've met Paul's family many times due to them being extremely present in his life. His sister always makes sure to check on him, taking you out for little gossip coffee dates. His brother is constantly calling Paul, making sure to tease him endlessly. And his parents are always there to encourage you two and take you on their family vacations.

So now that it's Paul's turn to be part of your family, he feels so nervous. He's ruffling up his hair for the 100th time, mumbling the lines he practiced to say. It's just a small get together for the holiday season, but Paul insisted that he should still be dressed nicely.

Once you arrive, you're on time... By 10 minutes. Despite you insisting that no one ever comes early to a family party, he doesn't care. He'd much rather be early and help set up than be late and risk ruining his first impression. Besides, if there's less people, then he can make sure he talks to every single family member.

And his plan worked really well. He's helping set up the plates and utensils while chatting with your aunt about how he loves her decor. Making her feel appreciated, finally someone saw the effort she put into picking the perfect width of a fork handle!

He helps your uncle prepare the back yard by opening all the lounge chairs. Which lets him make small talk with him, where they both find out that they love Star Wars. Now your uncle loves him because he can finally talk to someone who's as passionate as him.

Paul keeps doing this with every family member that arrives, being able to talk to them each one on one in order to create a bond. Because in group settings, Paul tends to get a tad bit nervous. He doesn't know when to jump in or what to say instantly.

By doing this, you both return home with every single family member loving him. And each of them remembering him from the little facts he shared with them. He was so respectful, engaged, and sweet the entire day. You couldn't help but just want to shower him in kisses for putting in so much effort and energy into your family.

Pepe Marti | 21

"Tall and tan and young and lovely," are lyrics dedicated to a girl but they perfectly fit Pepe. Because he instantly charms the entire family with his sweet smile and handsome looks. You're worried that he might get stolen from you by the end of the night.

He's just a future uncle in training. Making all the aunts laugh with quick jokes and then heading outside to sip on a beer while helping light a fire. He's even forced to help clean the grill and get a new gas tank to light it up.

You feel so much more mature now, no longer feeling part of the cousin crew but instead a future auntie in the making. He makes you feel so domestic, so warm and nurtured that the only thing you want to do is share the love of being cared for.

And you can't help but just fall for him deeper. And the same goes for him.

Despite being assigned random tasks to complete, he always makes sure to check up on you. Giving you a quick peck on the cheek as he walks back and forth from the kitchen to the yard. Making sure to shut down any rude comments from your aunts by turning it into a joke. Squeezing your hand three times under the dinner table to remind you that he loves you.

He couldn't have been more perfect.

[loafysainz]

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction, remake, and this chapter lil bit longer

chap 1, chap 2, chap 3, chap 4, chap 5

PART 4 THE RIPPED PHOTO

All the campers marched like soldiers along the long forest path. Matheo and Mattia, the two boys facing “punishment,” trudged behind, clearly over it. At least the sun wasn’t blazing through the pine trees.

“Alright, everyone else can get back to your activities!” Mr. Hamilton yelled into his megaphone.

The campers cheered and bolted down the road. Mattia and Matheo stayed behind, exchanging annoyed looks as Mr. Hamilton pointed to their destination: a creaky old cabin that looked one strong wind away from collapse.

“Isolation cabin,” Mr. Hamilton declared.

“This place better not have ghosts,” Mattia muttered, adjusting his sunglasses.

Matheo rolled his eyes. “If there are ghosts, they’ll probably be more fun than you.”

***

The cabin creaked ominously as the boys settled in. Matheo unpacked with exaggerated flair, sticking Real Madrid posters on the walls. Mattia ignored him, focused on his card game.

“What are you even playing?” Matheo asked, squinting at the cards.

“Uno. Against myself. I’m winning,” Mattia replied without looking up.

Matheo rolled his eyes, then moved to open the window. A strong wind blew in, scattering his posters everywhere.

“Ugh, help me close this!” Matheo groaned.

Mattia stood, reluctantly helping. Together, they managed to shut the window.

“Thanks,” Matheo mumbled.

“No problem,” Mattia replied, sitting back down.

As they gathered Matheo’s scattered posters, Mattia raised an eyebrow at a particular one.

“What is that?”

“It’s Real Madrid merch,” Matheo said, clutching the poster protectively. “And this guy is Kylian Mbappe. He is my favorite player. Don’t judge.”

Mattia smirked. “Whatever makes you happy, buddy.”

Later, Matheo rummaged through his bag and pulled out a snack.

“Want some chips?”

Mattia shook his head. “I only eat chips with Nutella. You wouldn’t understand.”

Matheo froze. “Excuse me? I eat everything with Nutella. Even fries.”

“No way,” Mattia said, his jaw dropping.

Matheo grabbed a jar from his drawer triumphantly. “Believe it.”

Mattia stared. “Okay, now I trust you a little more. Just a little.”

The two laughed, dunking chips into Nutella like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Whats your dad like? I mean, is he the kind of father you can talk to or is he one of those workaholic types, who says I'll talk to you later, honey. But you know never really does. Well i hate that" Matheo asked casually with his expressive face and eating his chip.

Mattia chuckle a bit seeing Matheo face,

"I don't have a father, actually." he said with a bit bitter face.

"I mean, I had one once, I suppose. But my parents divorce since I was baby. My mom never even mentioned it. It's like he evaporated into thin air or something." Mattia said it with his voice getting quieter.

Matheo face shocked, his eyes widen, and his posture straightening, "Scary the way nobody stays together anymore."

"Tell me about it."

"How old are you?" Matheo asked.

“I'll be 10 on December 15th,” Mattia replied. “Why?”

Matheo froze. “That’s my birthday.”

Mattia raised an eyebrow. “Weird.”

***

The rain finally stopped, leaving behind that fresh, post-storm vibe. Matheo leaned against the cabin door, his hair slightly damp from the drizzle earlier. “Oh, hey, it stopped raining. Want to get a popsicle or something?” he asked casually, glancing at Mattia, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, lost in thought.

“What’s the matter?” Matheo pressed, noticing the faraway look in Mattia’s eyes.

Mattia sighed, tilting her head back. “What’s your mother like?” he asked suddenly.

Matheo blinked, caught off guard. “I never met her. She and my dad split up when I was a baby. Maybe even before—I’m not sure. He doesn’t like to talk about her.” He paused, fidgeting with his hands. “But I know she was really, really beautiful.”

Mattia squinted at him. “How do you know that?”

“Well,” Matheo said with a sheepish smile, “my dad had old picture of her hidden on his room. I’d always look at it, like, all the time. He finally caught me and just gave it to me.”

"Look, I’m thirsty. Sure you don’t want to hit the mess hall and grab something to drink?”

Mattia frowned, folding his arms. “Will you stop thinking about your stomach at a time like this?”

Matheo scoffed, hands on his hips. “A time like what?”

Matheo’s eyes widened. “Don’t you realize what’s happening?”

Matheo rolled his eyes dramatically. “No, Mattia, please tell me.”

Matheo hesitated, then shook his head, changing the subject. "Listen, I only have a mother, and you only have a father. You've never seen your mom, and I've never seen my dad. You have one old picture of your mom, and I have one old picture of my dad. But at least yours is probably a whole picture. Mine's a pathetic little thing, all crinkled and ripped right down the middle, and...

Matheo stood in stunned silence, the coincidence weighing heavily in the air.

“What are you doing in your trunk for?” Mattia asked, voice curious but edged with disbelief.

Wordlessly, the other pulled out a crinkled photograph, holding it up with trembling hands. “This... it’s a picture of my mum. And it’s ripped, too. Right down the middle.”

The first stared at the photo, their breath catching in their throat. Their voice was a whisper now. “Right down the middle.”

“Okay, this is freaky,” they said, their tone shaky. “On the count of three, we’ll hold them together. Deal?”

The other nodded, their hands still trembling. “Deal.”

“One... two... three.”

As the halves of the photos came together, the ripped edges fit perfectly. The faded image revealed a couple smiling brightly—Matheo’s father and Mattia’s mother. The realization hit them like a thunderbolt.

“That’s... my mom,” Mattia said, his voice barely audible.

“And thats my old man,” Mattia replied, unable to look away.

Their eyes locked, the truth settling in like a jigsaw finally completed.