#flat in Bahrain
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ishamishra234 · 8 months ago
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findyourbahrainhome · 1 year ago
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multicohn · 4 months ago
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summary: the rookies notice that their partner is missing from an important race and immediately thinks the worst
warnings: this took me DAYS to do 💀 some might be longer than others but keep in mind that i do like all the rookies and some were just easier to write for — ooc? since i don't know them that well, some might have similar situations but i tried to not have them as the same scenario — missing or misspelled words maybe? i might have missed it cause this is quite long — drivers wanting to die / thinking their s/o died ( jokingly ) — death jokes in general — just the rookies being dramatic and thinking the worse
pairing(s): gn! reader x jack doohan, gn! reader x isack hadjar, gn! reader x ollie bearman, gn! reader x kimi antonelli, gn! reader x gabriel bortoleto ( all written separately )
genre: fluff, dramtic drivers, established relationships
author note: lawson and alonso are not included
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jack doohan - australian grand prix
the first race of the season would be in jack’s home country. he felt excited, but also very nervous. jack wanted to prove that he deserves to be a main driver and that he can pull in results. sure, it’s only the first race, but if he doesn’t prove that he deserved that seat, he’ll be dropped quick.
jack bit his nails as he stood in the garage. he made it into the second round of qualifying, but was easily knocked down the longer it went.
was he upset? yes, but y/n made him see that it wasn't his fault.
now, however, jack hasn't seen y/n since that morning.
he's aware that they're most likely with pierre's girlfriend, kika, but they haven't answered any of his texts either. pierre wasn't worried, use to kika not coming until a few minutes before he had get in the car or she just came and go.
jack wasn't use to it though. y/n normally popped in to see him or at least texted him back.
did their phone die? break? is franco trying to steal them before stealing his seat? ARE THEY BEING THREATENED BY ESHAY'S?
"jack"
nevermind.
“y/n!” jack shouted in relief as they walked towards him
“sorry” they quickly kissed his cheek as kika walked away to do the same with pierre
“kika’s heel broke so we had to go get her a new pair of shoes and my phone went flat”
jack breathed out a sigh of relief before engulfing their partner in a hug.
"i thought i was going to die" y/n rolled their eyes
"i've always made it on time”
“yeah, well, i thought franco was trying something or that you were being threatened by an eshay” y/n nodded while trying not to laugh at the thought of jack thinking an eshay was trying to have a go at them
“i’ll make sure to remember to bring my portable” jack pouted at their words
“no. you’re not allowed to leave me at all on race days”
“what if i need to go toilet?"
"i'll stand outside"
"you can not be serious..."
jack placed his hands on their shoulders and stared right into their eyes.
"dead serious" y/n scoffed and started swatting him away.
"get in the car!"
"you haven't given me a good luck kiss yet!"
"you aren't getting one!"
"oh so you want me to crash?"
"jack!"
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isack hadjar - japanese grand prix
the sound of someone texting him made isack momentarily snap out of his trance and look down. a smile creeped onto his face as the familiar contact name of his partner sat at the top, but it slowly washed off his face as he read through their messages.
loml <3: baby im here!
loml <3: there’s lots of people
loml <3: they have ( favourite food )!
loml <3: hey so…
loml <3: i think im lost.
they hadn't been at the previous races due to conflicts with their own personal schedule, but had reassured him that they would be able to make it for this race and would be by his side for bahrain as well. isack had cheered when they revealed the news after friday's practice sessions ended.
y/n had landed a few hours ago, but isack was already making his way to the track when they did ( he had been dragged and strapped into the car by his manager because isack tried to run off to the airport ).
“isack?” his trainer knocked on the door and called out to him before opening it
“you good, mate?” isack only stared at his phone, his race suit still hanging around his waist
isack took a deep breath in and spun around.
his trainer blinked as he brushed past him, determination obvious. however, isack was walking away from the garage.
"wha — isack?! that's the wrong way!"
"no it isn't!"
the trainer quickly caught up to him and grabbed hold of isack's shoulder. the driver turned around, his determination had slipped and fear seemed to have consumed isack.
“what’s wrong?”
“my partner got lost"
"oh, well..." his trainer had no clue on how to comfort the driver who was trying to pull himself away
"at least they're here?" isack whipped around so fast that it startled his trainer
"that doesn't matter! they aren't with me! i can't race knowing they're not here waiting for me! what if they fell into a ditch and died or something!?"
he watched as his trainer opened his mouth to reply, but it fell on deaf ears as isack caught sight of y/n. he sprinted towards the garage, leaving his baffled trainer.
"y/n!" they didn't even have a chance to turn around before they felt isack crashing into their back, his arms tightly secured around them.
"i thought you fell into a ditch and died or something" y/n turned their head to stare at isack with an offended expression
"why was that your first thought?" isack didn't answer and continued to squeeze them tightly
( his trainer literally had to pull and carry him away from y/n so that he would get in the car )
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ollie bearman - british grand prix
despite their relationship still being relatively new, ollie found himself having "withdrawals" as kimi called it. he felt weird and itchy when y/n wasn’t by his side, but when they were ollie would just aimlessly follow them around. fans thought it was cute and started comparing him to a dog more than a bear.
however, ollie received devasting news on the day of the british grand prix.
they would be late.
ollie thought then and there that he should just die.
the young driver arrived at the paddock with sadness beneath his fake smile. he raced towards the garage, only gave short answers to those who questioned him about something or rushing through with signing something, barely having time for pictures. ollie didn't meant to come off as rude, but he really just wanted to curl up in his drivers room and wait for them, but he couldn't.
esteban who was hit with a sense of boredom wondered why he couldn't hear his teammate's usual chatter and when he peeked around the corner, all he saw is a pouting ollie.
"ollie? what's wrong?"
he mumbled an answer, but due to all the noise, esteban didn't hear a thing.
"what?" ollie huffed as he leaned closer to hear
"my partner isn't here"
he crossed his arms with an irritated expression while esteban glanced over at ollie's team who were all collectively ignoring the upset driver.
"they told me they were going to be late, but i didn't think it would be this late! what if they got into a car accident?!" he only had a few more minutes to spare before they would start forcing him into the car
esteban only nodded along as ollie continued to think the worse — he's certain he heard something about an alien abduction. the younger driver didn't even notice that his teammate had left halfway through until he spun around to see a tired looking y/n just walking in.
if ollie was a dog, his ears would’ve perked up and tail would be wagging.
“y/n!” he cheered before jumping them
thankfully, ollie had enough strength as to not let them fall over.
“ollie, you’re heavy, i can't breathe”
"you wouldn't be talking if you couldn't breathe" they groaned lightly as he pressed their bodies together
“why are you so late?”
“traffic”
“you should’ve ran” y/n scoffed
“yeah, don’t think so” ollie lifted his head from their ( neck / shoulder / chest — depends on height )
“do you… not love me enough?” his eyes widened at the thought while y/n stared silently at him, but that just made ollie grow even more nervous
“why aren’t you saying anything? do not love me anymore?!”
“ollie. get in the damn car”
“and now you’re trying to get rid of me?! y/n, i will cry”
“i don’t think your team will let me near you if you do”
“i’ll kill myself”
“ollie!”
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
kimi antonelli - italian grand prix
kimi dislikes the word “possessive”. he isn’t possessive, he just doesn’t trust anyone around partner so they should stay by his side until he’s in the car and then stay beside someone he trusts while he races. that person was george’s girlfriend — carmen, but kimi’s hasn’t been liking her recently since she always stole them away.
y/n is HIS partner. how dare she keep them away from him.
carmen would pop up out of nowhere and take y/n away while george held him back from chasing them down. his partner would be returned before he had to get in the car, but that didn't matter to kimi, y/n should be with him the entire time unless they aren't allowed ( like meetings, but he was able to convince toto to let them in ).
kimi impatiently tapped his foot while george hummed to himself. he didn't speak, but kimi knew the older man was amused by the situation. would it be bad if he took george out right now? toto does favour him and valtteri is here, so it should be fine, right?
an evil glint sparkled in kimi's eyes that george was unaware of since his back was now turned.
"it's his fault for letting his girlfriend take away my partner" kimi nodded to himself as he glared at the taller man
however, he never got to initiate his plan.
"kimi"
"my purpose in life has been restored"
he sprinted towards his partner and snatched them away from carmen ( yes, kimi did glare at her, but she only laughed before going to george ).
“i hate when she does that” he scoffed before wrapping them in a tight squeeze
y/n wondered if their boyfriend was a snake in his past life by the way he hugged them.
“we just lost track of time” they managed to say, but kimi wasn’t having any of it
“you were almost late. i’m going to tie us together whenever she comes”
“you still have ten minutes”
“it would’ve been a hour, but noooo” y/n laughed and kimi finally loosened his hold on them
“sorry, sorry, i know important this race is to you” they threaded their fingers through his hair before pressing a quick kiss to kimi’s cheek
“is that all?”
“you got to put the rest of your stuff on”
“i’ll put it on when you kiss me properly”
“everyone’s looking…”
“y/n. i will not get into that car unless you kiss me”
they felt toto turn towards them and they cursed kimi quietly before pressing their lips to his.
kimi smiled happily and skipped off to put on the rest of his race gear.
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gabriel bortoleto - brazilian grand prix
this particular race weekend had been a huge deal for gabi and y/n is well aware of it. the driver felt bad about not being able to spend much time with their partner, but y/n understood and was able to keep themselves entertained without gabi.
“where are they?” he tapped his foot impatiently while staring at the empty hallway
practice and qualifying has gone well, the crowd went absolutely wild when he managed to push the car to p6, but then a few other drivers managed to get better times and that knocked him down to p10. gabi wasn’t upset about that though, what he is upset about is how his partner has seemingly disappeared the moment they arrived at the track.
sure, gabi does blame himself since he was instantly swept up with journalists and fans that seemed to increase every time someone left. y/n had given him a quick kiss before making their way to the sauber hospitality. gabi didn’t get to check in on them, at least physically, since he had a meeting and other duties to attend to before changing into his race suit. gabi didn’t think anything of it; they might have gone to get food or needed the bathroom.
but, this long? something must have happened.
he didn’t want to think the worst, but he couldn’t help it.
“how likely do you think someone here would be a kidnapper?” nico slowly turned towards gabi who stared at the wall, no thoughts seemingly behind the younger driver’s eyes
“what?” gabi blinked
“nothing” he tried to brush it off, but nico wasn’t having it
gabi sighed and started explain.
“maybe they ate something bad? or lost track of time?”
yeah, that seemed more reasonable than them being lured away and stuffed into a random van.
gabi thanked nico before wondering off back to his side of the garage.
"it's fine. maybe they did eat something bad or didn't realise how close the start time is — it's happened before..." he sighed and crossed his arms before closing his eyes
gabi drowned out the noise and envisioned himself on the track. it calmed his mind, but only slightly.
he didn't know much time had passed since he entered his own head, but gabi instantly recongised y/n the moment they were close enough. they always wear a certain ( perfume / cologne / spray, etc ) that gabi is all too familiar with, it helped that y/n is the only person he knows to wear it.
their arms wrapped around his ( waist / mid-section / shoulders ) and gabi opened his eyes and turned around.
"where were you?"
"i think i ate something weird"
a sigh slipped past his lips while his shoulders sunk in relief.
"at least weren't lured to a van and almost kidnapped"
"what?" gabi shook his head
"don't worry about it"
he pressed a soft kiss to their ( neck / cheek / forehead ) before walking away to grab his helmet. y/n stared at their boyfriend's back, confusion washing over them as they replied his words in their head.
"by the way..." with his helmet now in his hands, gabi walked back over to stand in front of them
"i'm going to handcuff us together if you leave like that again"
"gabi —" he cut them off with a kiss on the lips before quickly making his way to his car while putting on his helmet
y/n only sighed and rubbed their forehead.
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gr4cier4cie · 3 months ago
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♡ i'm a shameless caller (she's a full machine) ♡
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or: a collection of lando's post-breakup voicemails (ones he knows he shouldn't be sending). he wonders if you listen to them. he wonders if you know how much he still loves you. fem!ex!reader x lando norris pt 2
warnings: someone tell the monster in my bed to stop making me write angst. the people deserve LOVE they deserve HAPPINESS they do not deserve this batshit crazy stuff i keep pulling out of my ass. somehow i feel like im always hormonal i don't know what it is ANYWAY XOXO
voicemail 1: — [00:44]
"hey, baby. i know it's been a while. just—just wanted to tell you we were in japan today. suzuka. i remembered you said the fans there had the best signs. this kid had one with my face on a cartoon frog. [laughs] felt like something you would've sent me. i... hope you're okay. i hope you're happy. anyways. see you when i see you."
voicemail 2: — [00:22]
"did you see the race in bahrain today? i waved at the camera on lap 23. don't know why i did it. just kinda felt like maybe you were watching. i dunno if you were. you probably weren't. anyway. that one was for you."
voicemail 3: — [00:42]
"hi, love. i, uh, saw the picture of you. with him at that cafe near your flat. you were wearing that blue scarf, the one my mum likes on you. you look happy. you should be. that's all i ever wanted for you. [pause] anyway. the hotel in jeddah had those tiny soap bars you used to steal. i took three out of habit. let me know if you want them."
voicemail 4: — [00.21]
"i keep telling myself i should stop calling. it's not fair to you. you don't listen to these, i know you don't. but he doesn't know you like i do. that's not jealousy, i swear. no one knows you like i do. no one can."
voicemail 5: — [00.11]
"okay, i know i said i would stop, but the guys asked if i still talk to you. i said no. lied through my teeth. guess that's just what i do, now."
voicemail 6: — [00.46]
"maybe he does listen to these. if he does, i hope he knows you sleep with socks on and hate being kissed before you brush your teeth. i hope he knows you hate sparkling water. been drinking a lot of that, actually. it sucks. [pause] i hope he's good to you. i hope he deserves you."
voicemail 7: — [00.30]
"i, uh, found this dinner place in the city. you'd love it. there's a whole wall of plants on one side. it's like a jungle in there. [laughs] miss going to dinner with you, baby. miss hearing your voice. please call me. please.
voicemail 8: — [00.33]
"i'm about to head into another press thing, but i just wanted to tell you you were on my mind today. yeah. just... hope you're doing okay. i saw your post on instagram this morning, and... and yeah. you look happy. i hope you are.
voicemail 9: — [00.34]
"hi, baby. i thought of you at the race last weekend. thought about how much i miss sharing that with you. it's lonely. really lonely. [pause] i'm, uh, still wearing that bracelet you made me. probably gonna be buried with it, at this point. anyway. miss you, baby."
voicemail 10: — [1.27]
"mum told me she saw you today. said she ran into you. apparently you're... engaged. that's... that's good. that's really good. [pause] i always thought... god, i had the ring for months, you know? kept it in my race suit pocket. was gonna ask after melbourne last year, make it special. [pause] i still have it. can't seem to leave it at home. like maybe if i... [pause] like maybe if i have it with me, i'll turn a corner and you'll be there, and everything will make sense again. fuck. i love you. i love you. i love you. please pick up. for me, baby."
note: OMG GOT MYSELF IN THE FEELS WRITING THIS!! thank you so so so much for all the support and love on my works you guys it means SO MUCH to me!! hope this can fill the hole that 'when it happened to me' left behind MWAH from gracie!!
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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago
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Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty
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, strong language, time-skips, the absolute shit-show that was the first half of the 2023 season.
Notes — Amelia being McLaren's literal saviour? IKTR
2023 (Saudi Arabia — Silverstone)
The paddock in Bahrain had started to quiet down after qualifying, the desert heat finally slipping away into a cooler breeze. Amelia was walking through the paddock, steps quick and stride polished, muttering statistics under her breath and trying to burn off some extra energy before debriefs were due to begin.
“Amelia.”
She turned. Adrian stood just outside Red Bull’s motorhome, hands in his pockets, watching her with a thoughtful expression.
“Hi, Adrian,” she greeted, smiling politely at the man she’d once idolised who had become something more reminiscent of a friend over the last two years.
“Do you have a minute?” He asked.
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Sure.”
He gestured for them to walk a little away from the thinning crowds. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you since testing, but I figured it was better in person rather than on the phone.”
Amelia waited, quiet.
Adrian glanced toward the Red Bull garage, then back at her. “You have done something incredible,” he said. “The car — it’s… brutally efficient. Elegant, even. It’s the cleanest thing I’ve seen come out of our CFD pipeline in five years. Maybe longer.”
Amelia’s brow ticked up. “Thank you.”
He studied her for a moment, brow furrowed slightly. “So why did you leave, Amelia? You could’ve ridden that thing straight through another championship with Max. Earned the credit. The spotlight. A long, solid legacy.”
“I didn’t need to,” she said simply.
He blinked, thrown off. “Didn’t need to… win?”
“I didn’t need credit,” she clarified. “That was never the point. Max knows that this years car is ours — mine and his, in a way. You know, too. That’s enough for me.”
“You designed one of the most dominant aero concepts I’ve seen in a decade,” Adrian said, still incredulous. “And walked away before it even hit the track?”
Amelia nodded. Shrugged. “I didn't build the car for glory. I built it because I knew what it could be. And then I gave my concepts to you, so that you would make them happen, and you did.” She pursed her lips. “Max didn’t need me anymore. He knows how to handle a championship. He’s done it twice, now.”
“And McLaren does need you?” Adrian pressed.
“Yes,” she said. Smiled. “They do. Oscar too.”
Adrian looked at her like he was trying to understand a language he didn’t speak. Slowly, he said, “You’ve created a car that will be remembered for generations.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t care that you won’t get the credit?”
“No,” she said. “Doesn’t change what I did.”
There was a long silence, the dusk settling over them in a soft hush.
Adrian let out a slow breath, almost reverent. “I admire it, you know. Even if I don’t understand it.”
Amelia gave him the faintest smirk. “That’s okay. I’m not an easy person to understand.”
“No,” Adrian agreed. “But you’re very, very good.” He paused. “God, sometimes, Amelia, I wonder if maybe you’re better than me.”
“I might be. One day,” she said, and turned to go.
The debrief room was quiet, too quiet.
Oscar sat back in his chair, legs outstretched, eyes on the floor. His race suit was half-unzipped, his undershirt sweat-darkened at the collar. Amelia sat at the head of the small conference table, her iPad flat in front of her, her stylus spinning slowly between her fingers.
“Well,” Oscar said dryly. “That was shit.”
Amelia’s lips twitched. “You’re not wrong.”
He tilted his head. “Can I ask something?”
“Of course you can.” She frowned at him.
Oscar looked over at her, brow creased faintly. “You knew the car wasn’t going to be good this year. You warned me. So why did you still come back to McLaren?”
Amelia leaned back in her chair, thought about it, then shrugged. “Well, you were a big part of it.”
Oscar blinked at her.
“You needed somebody who was able to make the most of a bad situation,” she said. “Not someone who’d write it off before the lights went out. You’re better than the car right now. But the car won’t stay this way forever; I promise you that.”
Oscar was quiet for a moment. “Right. Thanks,” he said eventually, voice low.
“Don’t get sentimental,” Amelia said, flicking a button on her iPad. “We’re both going to be angry for a while, at least until I can fix this.”
He nodded, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders. “Fine by me.”
She tapped through to the race data, then looked up. “Okay. So. Let’s talk lap one.”
Oscar squinted. “What was wrong with lap one?”
“You braked late into Turn 10. Just like you did in qualifying.”
“Maybe the corner needs to come sooner,” he muttered, deadpan.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Maybe you just need more time in the sim.”
Oscar made a face. “If I spend any more time in it than you already make me do, I might merge with the chair.”
They dove into the telemetry together then — back and forth, sharp and focused, their language slowly becoming shorthand. She pointed out throttle traces, he challenged her on strategy calls. She fired back with sector deltas, he offered precise corner feedback.
By the time they were done, an hour had passed.
Oscar leaned back, drained but calmer. “You’re intense.”
“Yeah,” Amelia said, unapologetically. “I’m also right, most of the time.”
He nodded. “Yeah. You are.”
She packed up her iPad, stood, and gestured toward the door. “Come on, ducky,” she said. “My husband is probably pacing somewhere, lamenting about how shit his car is. We need to stop him before he spirals.”
Oscar made a face as he got to his feet. “I don’t like being ducky.”
Amelia shrugged, unconcerned. “Too bad. You are.”
He sighed. “Why can’t I just be Oscar?”
“You can,” she said simply. “But you’re ducky too. Both can be true.”
Oscar blinked at her, clearly expecting more of an explanation. Amelia paused in the doorway, tilting her head like she was debating whether to explain. Then she did — bluntly, honestly, in her Amelia way. “Nicknames are… structure,” she said. “They help me sort people. Feelings. Connections. If I nickname you, it means I’ve decided I trust you. It’s like… mental shorthand. Emotional filing.”
Oscar’s brow furrowed. “Like… categories?”
“Exactly,” she said, eyes lighting up slightly. “It’s not random. It means something. I call you ducky because you’re calm on the surface and all chaos underneath, and also because you look like someone who would fall asleep in a bathtub. And because I like you. You’ve earned it.”
He stared at her. “I… don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to do anything with it,” she said, already halfway down the hall. “Just know that it means I’ve put you in the ‘safe’ column.”
Oscar followed, a little dazed. “That’s a lot to attach to a duck.”
Amelia smiled to herself. “Also, my husband kept saying that I imprinted on you like a mother duck, so…”
They rounded the corner and found said husband, Lando, in the corridor, muttering to himself with a piece of tyre compound data pulled up on his phone.
Oscar pointed wordlessly.
Amelia just sighed. “See? Spiralling. I told you.” She stepped forward, nudged the phone down, and gently took her husband’s hand. “Hey,” she said. “You did well with what you had.”
Lando looked between the two of them, Amelia’s steady face, Oscar’s unreadable one, and let out a breath that was mostly a laugh. “We’re going to be fucking shit this year, aren’t we?” He asked.
Amelia sighed. “I hope not. I’m already trying to get my hands on the car, but the cost cap is preventing me from making any significant changes this early…”
Lando pouted at his wife.
“Pizza?” Oscar asked.
Amelia’s head snapped around in his direction. “Yes!”
Lando was still pouting when he said, “Sure. Yeah. Whatever. Depression pizza. Yay!”
The glass walls of the office reflected the glow of early evening. Outside, the MTC lake was still, pale with late-winter. Inside, Amelia sat at the head of the table with her knees drawn up in the chair, a pink, battered notebook open in front of her.
Andrea leaned in to look closer. “You did this all by hand?”
Amelia didn’t look up. “I think better with a pen and paper.”
Her dad, seated opposite her, turned a few pages. His brows rose as he scanned carefully drawn schematics, annotated calculations, wind tunnel projections, notes in tiny, slanted handwriting. Everything from ride height tweaks to theoretical suspension layouts to predicted competitor development trends.
“This is a full concept,” Andrea said, quietly impressed. “This is… years worth of work.”
“Just a few weeks,” Amelia said. “That’s not just theory in there, though. That’s a car.”
Zak sat back, flipping to the final page. It was labelled, in block capitals, with an underlined title.
PROJECT: MCL38-AN
Underneath, in her neat writing.
It’ll win if you trust it.
He looked up. “This will put us back on top?”
“I know it will,” Amelia said, finally meeting their eyes. “Everything I’ve learned — from Red Bull, from Max, from every telemetry graph and CFD failure and stupid porpoising issue in the last two years — I used it all. And not just to make something clever. To make something fast. Reliable. Adaptable.”
Andrea gently closed the notebook. “This is championship-level ambition.”
“It’s more than ambition,” Amelia said. “It’s your 2024 car. The notebook is yours now.”
Her dad raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to keep it?”
She shrugged. “No. I won’t need it, but you will. I’ve already made a million copies, but I’d like you to keep the original.”
Her dad looked at her and reached for the notebook again with something like reverence. “We’re going to need to start assembling a team around this immediately.” He said.
“I already started,” she told him. “Tom in aero’s got preliminary CFD models. Jordan’s been mocking up rear suspension geometry in CAD for two weeks.”
Andrea laughed softly, almost disbelieving. “You went over our heads?”
“I’m not very good at leaving things to chance,” she said. “And our car this year is awful. So bad. I needed to start making something happen, even if most of it will have to wait until next year.”
Her dad stood and leaned across the table, hand on the notebook. “Honey, this is…”
“Yours. Ours.” She said.
Andrea let out a breath.
Her dad stared at her for a beat, and then he was beaming.
It was nearly midnight, and the MTC was mostly dark — save for the soft hum of light in the engineering wing. Amelia sat on the floor of her office, legs crossed, iPad glowing in her lap.
Oscar lay stretched out on the rug in front of her, still in his training kit, a protein shake abandoned next to him. Lando was in her desk chair, spinning gently, half-asleep and barefoot.
“This is the weirdest sleepover I’ve ever been to,” Oscar muttered.
“You say that every time you hang out with us,” Lando replied, yawning.
“I mean it every time.” Oscar said.
Amelia didn’t look up. “Shut up. I’m trying to change the trajectory of your entire careers right now.”
That got their attention.
Lando leaned forward. “What are you doing, baby?”
Amelia turned the iPad so they could both see the screen. Her voice was calm, even, but there was a thread of something bright underneath it. “This is going to be your 2024 car.”
Oscar blinked. “You—what?”
She tapped through a few screens: 3D renders, rear suspension models, aero flow maps. “Codename MCL38-AN. I told you both that I already had it planned out, didn’t I?”
Oscar sat up straighter. “You really think that’ll put us at the front of the grid?”
“Yes,” she said. “You’re driving scrap metal right now, I won’t lie. It’s holding you both back. But this car—” she tapped the image again “—this is what we’re building toward. This is the one. The team just needs time. I need time.”
Oscar was staring at the iPad, wide eyed. “You’re sure.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything. All I need is for you to keep showing up. To keep believing. We’re not going to be at the back of the grid forever.”
Lando stood, walked over, and looked down at the designs for a long moment. “It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“Why are you showing us now?”
“Because,” she said, glancing between them, “I can’t ask you to keep suffering through this season unless you have a reason. A future. This is your future. You’ll win races in this car.”
Oscar laughed, breathless and stunned. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Amelia said, finally smiling. “Holy shit.”
Lando slid down onto the floor beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Us. This team. This sport.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Oscar pointed at the iPad again. “Can I name it?”
“No.” She said.
“Can I drive it now?” He asked.
“It doesn’t exist yet.” She told him.
“Then can I keep being your ducky?”
She looked at him, bemused. “You want to be ducky now?”
“I’m reconsidering my argument,” he muttered. “Out of loyalty…”
Lando was grinning. “We’re going to win championships, aren’t we?”
Amelia nodded. Smiled at her husband. Kissed him. “Yes. We are.”
They got back to Monaco well past midnight, Lando wordless beside her in the car. The race had been brutal. Another pointless race. Another weekend where the car hadn’t performed, and the looped back data had made her want to throw her laptop into the Red Sea.
But home was home.
Amelia dropped her bags in the entryway, kicked off her trainers, and walked straight to the kitchen, wordlessly opening the fridge. She fished out a can of Diet Coke and pressed it to her forehead.
Behind her, Lando wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"You gonna fire me?” He asked quietly.
She laughed despite the burning itch under her skin. “No. You did your best.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled against her neck.
They stood like that for a beat. Amelia breathed in the scent of his hoodie and let the familiar weight of him soothe the static in her chest. He was solid. Warm. Hers.
Finally, she turned around and kissed his jaw. “It’ll get better.”
Lando nodded. “Good. Because I’m getting real tired of seeing you more frustrated than smug.”
She cracked a smile. “I’m always smug.”
“There she is.”
Amelia didn’t cook often, but when she did, it was loud, chaotic, and always somewhat efficient.
Oscar sat at the breakfast bar, watching her with mild horror as she chopped onions at a blinding speed.
“You’re a very violent chef,” he observed.
“The quicker it’s done, the better,” she said. “Now pass me the basil, ducky.”
He handed it over. “Still don’t particularly like being called that.”
“Don’t care.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Do you want red or white wine?”
The living room was littered with discarded Uno cards, an empty pizza box, and the remains of someone’s sprite can that Max Fewtrell had been using as a drum for the last ten minutes.
“You are cheating,” Pietra said flatly, accusing Lando with a pointed look.
“I’m just playing strategically.”
Amelia, half-asleep on the sofa with her feet in Lando’s lap, mumbled, “Strategically being a little shit, yeah.”
“Don’t hate the player,” Lando shot back, tugging her ankle gently. “Hate the wife.”
“You’ll sleep on the couch for that,” she muttered, eyes still closed.
Max Verstappen arrived late, as usual. Amelia opened one eye when he collapsed beside her on the sofa and started picking at the leftover cold garlic bread.
“Missed you.” She told him sleepily.
“Missed you too, zusje.” He said.
She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder.
The Spanish GP had been marginally better than the ones that’d come before. Still not good. But better.
Back at the airport, Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, headphones in, while Amelia reviewed strategy notes and Lando bought three Snickers and two iced teas.
Lando dropped next to her with a huff, his arm winding around her waist, hand flexing before squeezing her hip. “I’m considering sabotage.”
“Of?”
“The car. I’m gonna drive it into a lake or something.”
Oscar pulled one headphone off. “Wouldn’t it sink?”
Lando stared at him. “That’s your concern?”
“Hydrodynamics are important.” Oscar smirked.
Amelia sighed. “You’re both ridiculous.”
Lando grinned. “You love it.”
She didn’t reply, just leaned closer, then passed him a highlighter. “Help me mark the wind tunnel data.”
They’d flown into Spielberg a little early to prep and decompress. Amelia had her notes. Lando had brought five pairs of sunglasses and absolutely no socks. Oscar was, predictably, already on his fifth stretch of the legs down the paddock.
The three of them walked the track together at sunset, shoes crunching against the gravel.
“You know,” Amelia said, glancing between the two drivers, “if either of you crashes this weekend, I won’t be happy.”
“Would you leave me for dead?” Oscar asked, deadpan.
“Yes.” She lied.
“She wouldn’t,” Lando said.
Amelia looked ahead, wind tugging at her hair, then back at the boys; her husband and her ducky.
This job was hell. The car was beyond flawed. The season wasn’t what they’d hoped.
But this, this team, this family, this effort, felt like something worth holding onto.
Silverstone came, and there was a shift.
It wasn’t everything. But it was something.
Amelia stood just outside the McLaren garage, arms crossed over her chest, watching the mechanics finish prepping the car for FP1.
The upgraded floor. The reshaped side-pods. The altered rear suspension geometry she’d argued over for weeks.
It was all here. On track. Real.
It wasn’t perfect — of course it wasn’t. The budget cap had demanded compromises. She hadn’t been able to implement the full package she’d thrown together back in March. That version of the MCL60 was meaner, leaner, cleverer — a little monster of a thing. A title fighter.
But this was the one they could afford. And she’d made it the best it could be.
Oscar stepped beside her, helmet tucked under his arm, race suit halfway unzipped. “Doesn’t look like a paper towel on wheels anymore.”
She hummed. “No. More like... a reinforced napkin. Maybe a placemat.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “How confident are you?”
She exhaled slowly. “Seventy percent we’re in the points. Fifty percent one of you surprises me. Zero percent we DNF. I’ve triple-checked the aero modelling. You’re safe.”
He nodded, quiet for a moment. Then, “I know it’s not what you wanted.”
“No,” she said honestly. “It’s not. But it’s what we’ve got. And it’s good enough to fight for points rather than the chequered flag.”
Oscar squeezed her shoulder. Tight. “I trust you.”
There was something boyish in the way he said it. Uncomplicated. She smiled and nudged him toward the car. “Go, ducky.”
“Still don’t like that.���
“Don’t care.”
By Sunday, the paddock was electric.
The buzz was real. The performance gains were visible. And people were talking.
After qualifying, someone from Sky asked Lando if he felt like McLaren were back in the fight for ‘best of the rest’.
He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. We’ve got Amelia Norris to thank for that.”
That one made her throat pinch.
Later, back in the garage, she caught Andrea’s eye as he leaned over the pit wall screens. He grinned, then gave her a thumbs-up.
Even her dad, who’d spent the last several months managing expectations to sponsors and shareholders, gave her a bear hug that nearly knocked her clipboard out of her hands.
“You’ve made believers out of us again, kiddo,” he said into her ear. “They’re already asking about 2024.”
Amelia stepped back and smiled tightly. “Let us get through this race first.”
Lando was flying. Oscar was right on his gearbox. And Amelia was vibrating in her seat, headset digging into her ears.
The car wasn’t just competitive; it was racy. Bold. Alive.
She and Will traded glances as they watched Lando chase down Lewis.
“This is all you,” Will said.
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her heart was somewhere near her throat.
Oscar’s voice crackled in her ear. “Is this what driving a real car feels like?”
Amelia couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Keep it clean, ducky. Still a few laps to go.”
“Is my wife crying tears of joy right now?” Lando asked over his radio. “I bet she is.”
“She is.” Will said.
“Liar.” Amelia laughed, and okay, maybe she did sound a bit choked up.
The crowd was still roaring and Amelia was frozen beside the pit wall, headset hair sticking out from under her cap, breathing like she’d just done the full length of the race herself.
It wasn’t a win.
But it was enough.
Lando ran up behind her and flung his arms around her shoulders, lifting her slightly off the ground as she shrieked.
“Put me down, you sweaty idiot—!”
“We did it!”
“You did it.”
“No,” Lando said, spinning her once before finally setting her down. “You did.”
He kissed her, quick and messy, and the cameras were definitely watching, but she didn’t care. She’d earned this moment.
Oscar wandered over and offered her a half-hearted fist bump.
“Better than a placemat,” he grinned lopsidedly.
“Almost a dinner plate,” she agreed.
He laughed, and then he took her to watch the podium.
Max on top. Lewis next. And then her Lando.
Her husband.
Beaming right at her.
She made Oscar hug her. Needed the deep-pressure to cut through the overwhelming joy coursing through her veins. Somebody took a picture and posted it on Twitter with the tag ‘Best racer/engineer duo EVER’.
Amelia was sitting cross-legged on their hotel bed, notebook open in her lap, notes scribbled in every margin.
Lando walked out of the shower, towel around his waist, hair damp.
“You’re still working?”
She looked up. “I’m trying to figure out how to sneak in another mini upgrade before Qatar.”
Lando crossed the room and kissed the top of her head. “You’re mad, you know.”
Amelia frowned. “I’m not.”
He slid into bed beside her. “C’mere. Work can wait till tomorrow.”
She paused, then closed the notebook and handed it to him. “Don’t lose it,” she warned. “That’s the future in your hands.”
He looked at the cover, scuffed, dented, covered in papaya and coffee stains, and held it like it was a sacred text.
“We’re going to have podium celebration sex now.” She told him. “I bought chequered flag lingerie.”
His eyes went wide. “Oh—Holy shit. You did?”
She smiled. 
NEXT CHAPTER
608 notes · View notes
satellite-evans · 3 months ago
Text
all of me (loves all of you)
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Pairing: Lando Norris x reader
Summary: When the podium isn’t enough to quiet his self-doubt, you remind Lando that love isn’t earned by perfection — it’s already his, always.
Word count: 2.7k+
Warnings: fluff, self doubt
A/N:
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
Bahrain was finally quiet. The grandstands, once alive with cheers and chants, had long fallen silent. The floodlights still burned bright against the ink-black sky, but the world beneath them felt hollow now — empty seats, scattered tire marbles littering the track, and the faint, lingering scent of burnt rubber riding on the dry desert breeze.
But none of that seemed to reach Lando. He sat slumped on the padded bench tucked into the far corner of the McLaren hospitality suite, as still as if the world had stopped moving around him. His race suit, half unzipped and limp around his waist, clung to him like the weight of the entire day had settled into the fabric. His hands rubbed over his face again and again, palms dragging slow and hard like he was trying to scrub away more than sweat — like he could erase the whole day if only he rubbed hard enough.
You stood by the door, frozen for a moment, watching the man you loved fall apart piece by piece in front of you. There was something especially painful in the quiet — no cameras, no interviews, no engineers offering consolation or stats. Just Lando and the crushing, invisible battle playing out in his head.
Slowly, you crossed the room. Your footsteps were soft, but the hush was so deep that even the sound of your breath felt too loud. You lowered yourself to your knees in front of him, placing a careful hand on his knee, your thumb brushing the edge of the scuffed fabric.
“Lando…” you tried, voice barely above a whisper.
But he didn’t lift his head. His eyes stayed locked on the floor, unfocused and distant, and when he spoke, his voice was low, flat, and bitter.
“I shouldn’t be happy about today. I don’t deserve to be.”
Your heart clenched at the sharp edges in his tone. You knew how hard he’d fought — you’d seen every lap, every desperate overtake, every second shaved from the gap on the timing screen. And yet here he sat, wrapped up in the belief that it wasn’t enough.
“You finished P3. You made the podium,” you said softly, your fingers curling around his knee, grounding him. “That’s not nothing, Lando.”
He let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound empty and sharp enough to cut through you.
“A podium because I got lucky with the safety car and half the grid got their strategy wrong,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “I couldn’t even nail the start. Simple thing. I messed that up too.”
You shifted closer, your hand moving up to trace the deep furrow that had carved its way between his brows. His skin was warm under your touch, but the tension there was iron-strong, unyielding.
“You fought your way through the field,” you whispered. “You didn’t give up. Not even with the penalty hanging over you. You drove your heart out today.”
His eyes flicked up at last, meeting yours, but there was a distance behind them — like he wasn’t really here, like his mind was still out there on the track, replaying every lap on loop, cataloging each mistake.
“It’s not enough,” he said, barely audible. “I’m not enough.”
Your throat tightened at the weight those words carried, the way he seemed to believe them so completely.
“Baby,” you murmured, sliding your hand into his, lacing your fingers through his even though his grip didn’t return the squeeze. “Why are you so hard on yourself?”
He leaned back against the cold wall, his head tipping back, exhaling the kind of breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for hours.
“Because I don’t feel like the guy people think I am,” he admitted quietly. “Everyone looks at me like I’m some future world champion. Like I’m supposed to be special. But every race I just... prove I’m not. I sit in the car and I tell myself I believe — I force myself to believe — but the second something goes wrong, it’s like... I can’t hold onto it. It slips away before I even cross the finish line.”
Your thumb brushed slow circles over the back of his hand, but his shoulders stayed rigid, braced against something you couldn’t fight for him.
“You know I see you, right?” you said after a long silence. “Really see you. Not the results. Not the press. Just you. And I’ve never thought you were anything less than enough.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second you thought the words might reach him, but he only shook his head, voice cracking as it spilled out.
“You see the best parts of me,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “But I don’t deserve it. I let everyone down. I let him down.”
You blinked, puzzled by the shift in his tone. “Who?”
There was a pause, and you watched him swallow hard, his throat working around the words.
“The kid I used to be,” he answered finally, his voice raw and unguarded. “The one who believed this was all going to be worth it.”
And in that moment, you understood. No amount of comfort, no perfectly chosen words, no pep talk could close the space between the boy who dreamed of this life and the man who now sat doubting it all.
Without another word, you stood and crossed the room, grabbing your phone from the side table. Your fingers scrolled through your gallery until you found it — a photo you’d saved long ago. Tiny Lando, crammed into his too-big karting suit, clutching his very first trophy with both hands. His smile stretched from ear to ear, eyes shining with pride and hope, completely untouched by the world that lay ahead.
You walked back to him and placed the phone in his lap, not forcing him to look, not saying a thing.
But when his eyes finally dropped to the screen, you saw the faintest shift in his expression — the crack in the wall he’d built around himself.
“Look at him,” you said softly, your voice steady but tender, anchoring him even as it wavered with your own emotion. “That’s who you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Lando’s fingers hovered above the screen, barely grazing the edges of the photo. His thumb traced the outline of the little boy — the oversized helmet cradled in his arm, the too-big karting suit swallowing his frame, and that impossibly bright smile stretching across his face. His throat worked around the lump that had lodged there, but the words never came. He just stared, like the past and present had collided in his hands.
“You’re tearing him apart,” you whispered, your voice cracking like your heart had. “Every time you talk like this, every time you convince yourself you’re not enough, you’re not just hurting you. You’re hurting him. That little boy didn’t grow up dreaming of being perfect, Lando. He didn’t care about mistakes or bad days or people doubting him. He just dreamed of racing. Of standing on that podium, wearing McLaren orange, fighting with everything he had until the very last lap.”
You watched his jaw tighten, his lips pressed into a thin, unsteady line, and his eyes glistened under the harsh fluorescent light. His whole body seemed trapped between holding it all in and letting it all go.
“He didn’t care about grid penalties, or if some commentator called it ‘luck’ on the broadcast,” you went on, your hand gently curling around his, grounding him. “All he wanted was to grow up and do the thing he loves. And today... you did that. You did it for him.”
The tear came quietly, slipping free before he could stop it, trailing down his cheek. His hands lifted to his face, palms pressed against his eyes, his voice breaking as it finally slipped free.
“I just...” His words crumbled around the edges. “I don’t feel like I’m good enough. Like, ever. Not on track. Not for the team. Not for you.”
Your chest ached at how raw he sounded, how honest. You reached for him, gently curling your hands around his face, guiding him to meet your eyes. You didn’t let him look away, not this time.
“Hey,” you whispered, your thumbs brushing away the tears as they came. “You are more than enough. For all of us. For me. I don’t love you because you stand on podiums, or because of the stats, or how many people believe in you on the good days. I love you because you’re you. Even the parts that don’t believe they’re worth loving.”
His lips quivered, his shoulders shaking under the weight of everything he’d carried alone for too long. He let out a fragile, unsteady breath, the faintest hint of a smile flickering through the sadness.
“You know...” he said, voice barely holding together, “even when I lose... I’m still winning. Because I’ve got you.”
You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss — not to erase the ache, not to fix what couldn’t be fixed in a night, but to remind him you were still here. That you always would be. The kiss was slow, steady, the kind that said more than words ever could. When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his.
“And you’ve got me,” you whispered against his skin. “Always.”
The room fell quiet again. The world outside the walls of the hospitality suite kept spinning — engineers packing up, transporters rumbling to life, the desert wind sweeping away the last traces of the night. But inside, the quiet was different. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, fingers holding on like he’d finally stopped freefalling, the photo of his younger self still glowing faintly on the phone screen beside him.
Eventually, his head tilted against your shoulder, the weight of the night catching up with him, exhaustion finally tugging at the frayed edges of his posture. His voice was quieter now, stripped of the sharpness from earlier, soft and almost childlike.
“Do you think... he’d be proud of me?” he asked, barely louder than the hum of the air conditioning.
You turned your head, resting your cheek against his hair.
“I know he would,” you murmured. “Because you’ve done everything he dreamed about. And you’re still the same kid at heart — still chasing it, even on the days it hurts.”
Lando’s exhale was slow, and for the first time all night, it wasn’t heavy. Just tired. Just human.
You sat there until the voices outside faded entirely, until only the night remained pressing against the windows, quiet and vast. It was you who finally shifted first, gently squeezing his hand.
“Come on,” you whispered. “Let’s get you out of this suit. You’ve done enough for one night.”
Reluctantly, he let you pull him up from the bench, his body stiff from sitting so long, but when he stood, it was like some invisible part of the weight had lifted. You helped peel the rest of his race suit off, folding it neatly and setting it aside, and he changed into the soft hoodie you’d brought — the one he always reached for when the world felt too loud.
As you both made your way back to the hotel, the silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. It was easy. His hand found yours again as you walked through the dim, empty corridors, and you could feel the difference in the way he held it — like he was no longer gripping to stay afloat, but just holding on. Because he wanted to.
Later, when the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t say much. Just dropped his bag on the floor and sat at the edge of the bed.
“Will you... stay with me a bit longer?” His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your side, almost like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t ask.
You leaned your head against his, answering without hesitation. “Always.”
A long pause followed, his breath steady but his body still tense, like sleep wasn’t ready to fully take him yet. After a while, his voice came again, quieter this time.
“Can we... I don’t know. Just—be close. I don’t wanna think. I just... need you.”
His honesty cracked something new and tender open inside your chest. You tilted your head, pressing a soft kiss against his temple.
“Let’s wash the day off, hm?” you murmured, running your fingers through his curls. “You’ll feel better.”
He nodded slowly, almost childlike in the way he let you guide him off the bed, his hand never leaving yours as you both padded toward the bathroom.
You turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm as the steam began to curl into the quiet space. When you glanced over your shoulder, Lando was still standing there, hoodie sleeves pushed up slightly, eyes flicking to you and then away like he was still stuck somewhere between the racetrack and the little boy in that photo.
You reached for him again.
“Come here,” you said softly.
He stepped closer, close enough that your hands could slide up beneath the hem of his hoodie, helping him peel it away, and then the rest — each layer like shedding a little more of the doubt clinging to his skin. You slipped out of your own clothes too, and when the water was ready, you guided him in first.
The heat wrapped around both of you, and for a long moment neither of you spoke. You stood chest-to-chest, the sound of the water filling the space, your arms sliding around his waist, holding him steady. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you felt the way his chest rose and fell, slow and deep.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered into the wet curls at the nape of his neck. “Not tonight.”
But after a few quiet beats, his voice broke through, hoarse but honest.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “You didn’t have to do anything to deserve me, Lando. You just have to be you. That’s enough. You’ve always been enough.”
His throat worked around another wave of emotion, and his arms slid around you, holding you tighter now, more grounded.
“You make it easier to believe,” he whispered.
You smiled, pressing a kiss against his damp shoulder. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
The rest of the shower passed like that — quiet, simple touches. Your fingers combed gently through his hair, rinsing the day’s sweat and grime away, while he let his hands trace slow, absent patterns along your back. Not rushed. Not complicated. Just the kind of closeness he’d been aching for, the kind that told him, without words, he wasn’t alone.
When you finally stepped out, you wrapped him in one of the oversized hotel towels, your hands smoothing it over his damp shoulders. He let out a soft, tired laugh under his breath — the kind that wasn’t about being fixed, but about finally breathing a little easier.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, voice scratchy but warm. “For all of this. For you.”
You cupped his face again, gently, looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me stop choosing you. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”
He leaned into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, and when he opened them again, the weight in them was still there — but softer, not so sharp.
You climbed into bed together after that, the covers pulled up, his body pressed close to yours, limbs tangled like he couldn’t quite bear to let the space grow between you. His head nestled into the crook of your neck, breath evening out little by little, and as the minutes passed, you felt the tension finally slip from his muscles.
Before sleep finally claimed him, he murmured one last thought against your skin.
“Maybe I’ll start trying to believe it. If you do.”
You smiled, holding him tighter. “I already do. And I’ll keep reminding you until you do too.”
The night settled fully around you both, and this time, it wasn’t silence filled with doubts — it was peace. And even if tomorrow brought the doubts back, for now, this was enough.
And for him, that meant everything.
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norrisjpg · 3 months ago
Text
a helping hand
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summary: in which, two best friends sharing an apartment finally get fed up of hearing the other's sexual endeavours - especially when one is struggling in that department.
content: fluff, softdom!lando, inability to orgasm, nsfw descriptions - mentions of sex toys & masturbation, oral sex, fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, crying, squirting - aftercare
pairing: lando norris x fem!oc
rora's thoughts: hi hi hi! this is the first of my original fic rewrites so i hope you enjoy ittt! i'm also a little terrified for bahrain this weekend, because i physically need lando to stay in the lead of the drivers' championship to function correctly. that's all, enjoy!
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HE HAD been eyeing her up all evening, leaning against the bar with a whiskey in his hand, swilling it as he watched lily and her friends on the dancefloor.
lando had opted to stay at home, claiming he was tired from the previous weekend's race in belgium, but had equally insisted that lily still go out and have fun with her girls. but honestly, the way she'd looked when she left their apartment had forced him wide awake.
she wore a miniscule black dress, thin straps holding her cleavage up as the hem clung to her ass for dear life. the elastic on the sides grabbing onto her waist, making it look like she was cinched into some sort of corset. the tiny black heels she was wearing accentuated the beauty of her tanned legs, and the cute little bag she held with her on nights like these just finished off the look.
she was an angel in the devil's cloak.
"that guy at the bar," kika began as she leant over the counter, fixing her lipstick from the ten minutes she'd spent outside with pierre. "he's been staring at you all night, lily."
"i don't know, he's not really my type." the italian shrugged, sighing softly as she smoothed down her hair, a little wild from the humidity of the club.
"but he's a body," the portuguese girl continued. "and you said it, you've gotten a decent fuck in months - he looks like one to me."
"we'll see," lily replied, adjusting the strap of her dress and picking her bag up. "maybe i'll give it a go, i don't know."
kika hummed knowingly in response, before the two girls re-emerged from the bright bathroom and back into the dark lights of the club.
the model didn't even have to try, because within an hour, she and the mystery man - who's name she had now learned was elliot - were outside of her apartment, lily fumbling with her keys to try and get in.
"you must be really-" lando said groggily as he opened the door, having heard the failed attempts of unlocking the door, eyes widening as his eyes fell on the taller man. "drunk."
"thanks lan." she giggled softly, patting his shoulder before grabbing elliot's hand and walking him through the flat and to her bedroom.
lando's gaze followed her as she lead the man away, and elliot didn't fail to notice, and he smirked at the british driver smugly, raising his eyebrows cockily.
well, it was going to be a long night for lando.
• • • •
A LONG NIGHT was an astronomical understatement, because elliot left thirty minutes later, and lando knew something was up.
they were adults, of course, so lily had heard lando and (sometimes multiple) other girls, and lando had heard lily with other men too - so this wasn't anything out of the ordinary for them. and the driver liked to think that he knew the difference between a real orgasm, and a fake one - not that he had ever had a girl experience the latter of the two with him anyway - and he was positive the noises he had just heard were that of a fake climax.
he’d actually only ever heard her really cum once - when he had quietly re-entered the apartment after forgetting his car keys on the kitchen side. her moans had echoed through the apartment, as did a faint buzzing sound. he'd only left a minute or so earlier, so she must have been desperate for a release before, or extremely turned on.
either way, lando had then been extremely turned on too, dick springing up in his loose joggers as the dirty image of her flooded his mind - legs spread wide, pussy glistening as she sunk two fingers deep inside of her, circling her clit with whatever small helper she had invested in.
it was a filthy thought, but he could have just burst in there, and gone feral.
god, he just wanted her on his lap, all wet and pretty, and he would sink himself nice and deep. he'd split her in half, make her forget her own name, make her only remember how he felt and how good she felt.
but he left their apartment, rock hard and panicking, praying no one would see him on the way back down to his mclaren - where he'd tried to get himself in check, but failed - so therefore turned to wrapping his hand around his thick member, tip leaking salty pre-cum, and having to relieve himself there and then.
lando had vowed never to stoop to that level again, but well, here he was, on the border of doing it again as his cock twitched in his boxers, half-hard at the moans that had been tumbling from her lips - albeit fake, she still sounded so hot.
clinging onto the little self-control he had left, he peeled himself from his sheets, and got into the shower, rotating the dial to the coldest setting.
meanwhile, lily was in her bedroom, frustrated and pissed off that she still hadn't orgasmed in around three months. deep in thought as to what she could do about her issue, when she heard the familiar splatter of water on the tiles - why on earth was lando having a cold shower at almost one in the morning?
oh.
oh.
• • • •
LANDO WAS so tired of hearing it, her soft moans resonating through their sleek apartment, all for nothing to amount of the whole experience - if anything he was having a better time than she was at this point.
"yeah, um... bye." lily bidded elliot goodbye, gently closing the door in front of her as he left her apartment with a quick kiss to her lips.
"frequent visitor, that one is." the driver had piped up from the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop in the morning light. "anything serious?"
he knew the answer to that question, they both knew it. "not really, he's okay in bed i guess."
"okay?" lando furrowed his eyebrows with a slight, almost innocent tilt of his head. "why isn't he great? you sound like you think he's great."
lily's eyes softly widened and the prettiest of pink blushes spread across her features, clearly flustered by lando's bold assumption.
she fumbled over her words briefly, before speaking quietly. "he um... he hasn't made me... you know."
"what?" he pressed, moving off the counter and stepping toward her. "he isn't making you what, lily?"
"he isn't making me cum." the girl whispered, avoiding eye contact in fear of the earth swallowing her up from sheer embarrassment. "and neither can i."
"oh pretty baby," lando cooed, one hand sliding to her throat, tilting her chin up so she'd actually look at him. "no one's making you feel good, are they?"
lily shook her head, catching her lower lip between her teeth gently.
"do you want me to help you?" he whispered lowly, thumb pushing on her chin so her lip came free.
"you'd do that?" her mouth parted a little, soft breaths leaving her.
"anything for you."
• • • •
THE ROOM was so hot, the scent of desire gathering as lando pinned her against his bedroom wall, lips desperately on her own.
she was pathetic, grabbing at him needily as his hands caged her waist to the wall, hungrily claiming her mouth. little breathless noises left her lips every few seconds, small hands tugging at the t-shirt that was tossed across the room only moments later.
as the fabric interrupted their intense make out, lando took the time to admire the look in her eyes, blown pupils and her irises gazing into his own for any sign of doubt - but it was a fruitless search.
soon enough, lily was wrapped around his waist, legs squeezing the muscles as he nipped at her lower lip, before sliding his tongue into her mouth with hardly any warning.
"lan," she moaned into his lips, pulling at the soft curls of his freshly-washed mullet.
"i know, baby, i know." he murmured against his lips. "gotta be patient, okay?"
the girl pulled away, "want you to fuck me already, please lando."
"lily," he groaned. "you can't say stuff like that, drives me mad."
she was about to speak again, but he continued. "gonna have to stretch you out a bit first, yeah? so it doesn't hurt."
"whatever you want." she hummed, pressing her lips to his again as he walked over to his bed, placing her down.
in a minute or so, lily was almost completely naked, clothes strewn across the bedroom like they were in a movie scene or something along those lines. all that was left, was her pretty lace underwear, soaked with slick, which was seeping onto her inner thighs.
on her back, with lando hovering over her, lily had her hands back in lando's brunette hair, scratching her fingers over his scalp and left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses to her skin, all the way from her collarbone, down the valley of her breasts, and to her lower abdomen.
his teeth sunk into the lace, eyes flicking upward to meet her own as he slowly dragged her panties down her thighs and to her ankles - she didn't think she'd ever witnessed something so hot.
"fuck," he breathed out, completely mesmerised by the glistening mess between her legs. "gotta taste you first, let me, yeah?"
she whined out a desperate 'yes', and that was it.
her legs were pinned up over her tummy with one of his arms, and his mouth was on her instantly. his lips lapped at her folds, before he slowly pushed his tongue in between them, all while his thumb toyed at her weeping entrance, threatening to push in but never quite breaching the soft flesh.
she was writhing, wriggling underneath him as soon as his lips wrapped around her clit. he sucked at it, swirling his tongue quickly in an effort to make her cum as intensely as she could - he was so desperate to be inside of her, but at the same time, he could spend hours in between her thighs and never get bored.
"lando—" lily gasped out, fingers finding home in his curls again. "fuck, right there— so fucking good."
she was about to praise him again, tell him how good he was doing and how good he was making her feel - when his thick middle finger pushed past her tight entrance and inside of her. he didn't both pumping it in and out, rather curling it to tap her g-spot with some force - a pornographic moan tumbling from her as her back arched up.
a second finger was quickly crammed inside of her tight hole, scissoring apart as he kept up the ministrations of sucking and licking at her clit, speed increasing with the volume of her moans.
"gonna cum—" she moaned, head tossed back against the pillow. "yes, lan, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
red hot colours flashed through her mind, like warning lights in a factory blaring inside of her brain. her velvety walls clenched around his digits, thighs squeezing around his head as she came, crying out while her legs started to shake. lily's eyes rolled back into her head, hands pulling at his hair a little harder, before relaxing completely, letting the warm waves of pleasure wash over her.
lando kitten-licked her through her orgasm, her hips bucking away from the warmth of his tongue as she became increasingly sensitive.
“you okay, darling?” the driver asked gently, letting her legs lie flat on the bed as he moved up to hover over her.
“that was— you are incredible.” she managed to muster, leaning up to peck his lips gently.
he chuckled softly, kissing her back affectionately, before sitting back on his knees and pulling his boxers off.
“think you can take one more for me, baby?”
a soft hum left her lips, legs subconsciously spreading wider for him. lando shifted to his bedside cabinet, quickly pulling out a condom and rolling it over his aching member.
“words, come on.” he prompted, grabbing his dick and running it through her folds.
“please fuck me.” lily practically begged, blinking at him.
“c’mere then,” he sat down next to her, his erection pressing against his abdomen as she shakily got up. “gonna sit on it, aren’t you, baby?”
the girl nodded, placing her hands on his shoulders as she swung her leg over his lap, the tip of his cock notching against her entrance and she settled on her knees over him.
“go on, fuck me, pretty.” he said lowly, nodding his head as the tip pressed into her.
lily’s breath hitched at the thickness of just the tip stretched her walls gently, the intensity of it increasing every time she relaxed her muscles to sink down on him. the head nestled comfortably against her cervix, crammed against her g-spot at the same time.
“shit,” lando groaned out in unison with her, tilting his head back against the headboard as she bottomed out.
even through the condom, she could feel every inch of him, every vein and ridge twitching inside of her as she got used to the feeling of her best friend’s bigger-than-average cock.
“good girl,” he praised, nodding his head and squeezing her hips. “so fucking tight.”
tears of fullness and pleasure welled in her eyes, threatening to spill as she slowly began to raise off of him a little, before going back down to meet warm embrace of his thighs.
“that’s it, just like that.” he encouraged, a groan bubbling in his throat behind his words. “that’s my girl.”
lando’s hands shifted down to her hips, helping her raise up and slide down - but soon enough she was in her own rhythm, bouncing up and down his cock deeply.
his gaze flitted south, attention captured by the small reappearing and disappearing bump of her lower tummy - and he whimpered.
“fuck, look at how deep i am, baby.” he groaned, tracing his fingers over it as she rode him. “taking me so well, such a good girl.”
the praise made her spiral, movements speeding up and the tears in her eyes spilling. lily leant in, pressing her lips to his as salty streams of water trickled down her cheeks.
her legs started to shake, body almost collapsing on top of his, sweaty and spent - but he helped her out, lifting her off and slamming her back down quickly.
lando was so close, determined to make her see stars before he even thought about finishing, so he leant back a little bit, thrusting up into her, slow and hard - slamming against her g-spot in a delicious rhythm.
their kiss deepened as he spread her open a little wider, so he could slip his fingers in between her legs and rub tight circles over her clit, and that was it.
the second her orgasm washed over her, everything was warm, and wet, and everywhere. a scream ripped through her as her pussy gushed all over him, coating his thighs and abdomen, as his eyes widened at the beautiful sight before him.
“shit, shit, shit— gonna cum—” lando groaned as she clenched so hard around him it felt as if he was stuck. “fuck, lily—”
hot ropes of sticky cum spilled into the condom, the warmth of the substance against the silicone making her hips buck up and away from the sensation, overly sensitive after the entire ordeal.
she had practically gone none-verbal, head buried into the crook of his neck from both pleasure, and embarrassment that she had just squirted all over her best friend the first time they’d had sex — she was mortified, because no one had ever made her do that before.
“you okay, darling?” lando asked gently, letting himself soften inside of her as she sat there, panting lowly.
“mhmmm,” she hummed quietly, “sorry.”
the brit furrowed his eyebrows, gently tugging on her hair so she’d look up at him - “sorry for what?”
“i.. you know, doing that.” lily gestured, looking down at the splatters on his abs and thighs.
“don’t apologise, baby, that was so fucking hot.” he reassured her, smoothing a hand over her lower back.
a blush spread across her cheeks and she pecked his lips - “thankyou, for um… helping me out.”
“you’re so welcome, but i should be thanking you.” lando smiled, kissing her back gently, mumbling against her lips. “fucking incredible.”
she giggled softly, before slowly raising her hips upward, letting him gently slip out of her. lily winced, feeling quite on the sore side and very empty now that he wasn’t stuffed balls-deep inside of her.
the way he was looking at her made her nervous, so much unspoken affection between the pair, so many things he wanted to do, but knew he couldn’t do when she was in this state - all blissed out and puffy.
“if you wanna go, i understand.” lily nodded, speaking quietly and looking away from him.
“do you want me to go?”
“if you want to leave—”
“—lily, do you want me to go?”
“…no.”
that settled it, lando smiled and kissed her gently, affectionately.
“okay, come on, let’s get you cleaned up, darling.”
• • • •
LATER IN THE MORNING, the two were entangled in each other’s embrace - lily on top of lando as his arms wrapped around her torso - both peacefully asleep.
lily was the first to awake, lando being anything if not dead to the world. she was in one of his shirts, and his hands were splayed across her ass, acting as a cover up alongside the white lace underwear lando had helped her put on an hour or so ago.
“lando,” she whispered softly, pressing gentle kisses to his neck, eliciting a quiet grumble from him. “wake up, lan.”
thud!
it wasn’t even the noise that awoke lando, it was the pillow to the tummy he received after.
in his sleepy haze, lando had rolled over and shoved whatever was trying to wake him up away, resulting in lily falling off of the bed onto the floor.
“you are a prick, you know that right?” she huffed, stood over him with her hands on her hips.
lando blinked, brain not quiet registering the words coming from her mouth, but recognising how delicious she looked in his quadrant jersey and nothing but underwear.
within moments, she was back where she belonged, on his lap with her hands in his hair, mouth moulded to his. his fingers squeezed her waist gently, the kiss staying delicate and gentle between the two.
“definitely not a one time thing, by the way.” he mumbled, eliciting a soft laugh from her.
“definitely not.”
• • • •
i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.
© norrisjpg 2025
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formulafanfics13 · 18 days ago
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Didn’t See It Until I Did - LN4 🔥
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Summary: What starts as a typical night between lifelong best friends erupts into years of pent-up lust, jealousy, and emotional explosion when Lando catches her watching him — not like a friend, but like a man she suddenly wants. A chance hallway encounter after he sleeps with someone else unleashes everything they've never said. She admits the truth. He claims her. And when it finally happens, it’s filthy, desperate, emotional, and years overdue.
Warnings: best friends to lovers, jealousy, explicit sex (oral and penetrative), hair pulling, face-fucking (implied), rough sex, spanking (implied), possessiveness, dirty talk, degradation/praise mix, crying during sex, orgasm control (not denial), implied prior emotional repression, slut shaming (minor, emotionally complex), highly emotional confrontation leading to sex, slight power imbalance due to shared emotional history. Consensual throughout
You never looked at Lando like that. Not when he helped you sneak vodka into your first house party. Not when he threw his hoodie over your crop top in year eleven because your dad would’ve lost it. Not even when he FaceTimed you from Bahrain just to show you the pre-grid chaos and told the whole fucking McLaren crew you were his girl, like it meant something.
It didn’t. Not to you. You’d always had men orbiting you. Tall, rich, older. Drivers. Actors. Models. You liked power. You liked control. You liked sex.
And Lando, sweet, annoying, dorky Lando, was just your best friend.
Until that day. The gym session. You weren’t even meant to be there. You were just killing time in Monaco before a dinner reservation, wandering into the private floor of the performance centre because you knew he wouldn’t care if you crashed.
What you didn’t expect was to walk in and find Lando shirtless. Sweat-slicked. Headphones in. Tank clinging to his back, biceps flexing, veins snaking down his forearms as he panted through a weighted set. His curls were damp and messy. His jaw was tight. And when he finished his last rep, he growled under his breath, low, primal, hot as fuck.
You froze. You’d seen him naked. Slept in the same bed. Watched him cry, laugh, burp, puke, grow up.
But you’d never seen this. Not until now. And your stomach flipped. Hard. He saw you. Pulled out an earbud. “Hey babe,” he said, breathless, wiping sweat from his collarbone. “What’s up?”
Nothing. Everything. You were fucking blushing. You waved it off and blamed the heat. But it didn’t leave your head. Not that night. Not the next. Not through your date with some tech guy from Madrid who had the nerve to text you “u up?” at 3AM when you were already back in bed, phone in hand, scrolling through Lando’s Instagram like a lunatic.
You even watched a tagged video of him working out again. Twice.
What the fuck was wrong with you? You tried to ignore it. Right up until that Friday night, two weeks later, when you showed up to his Monaco flat with wine and sushi, and walked straight in to the sound of moaning.
Not porn. Real moaning.
You stopped in the hallway, wine bottle in hand, eyes wide as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping and a girl's breathless “fuck yes, right there-” echoed from behind his cracked bedroom door.
You should’ve left. Instead, you froze. Stared. Listened. Felt something in your throat tighten.
When the girl came, loud and messy, your thighs clenched.
Then the bed creaked. A zip. Shuffling. You backed up a few steps. But the door opened before you could escape.
Lando stepped out. Shirtless. Sweaty again. Hair a mess. And when he saw you standing there, red-lipped, stunned, heart racing, his face went still. “Oh,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to be here yet.”
You blinked. Swallowed. “Apparently.”
He looked over his shoulder. “She’s leaving.”
“Clearly.” You turned. Marched straight to the kitchen. Opened the wine and poured a fucking glass like you weren’t spiralling.
He followed you. “Want me to ask her to leave faster?”
“Don’t care,” you said, sipping. “Why would I?”
He looked at you like he wanted to say something. Didn’t.
The girl emerged a minute later, mini dress, smug smile, hair tousled, and winked at you like she knew a secret. You didn’t look at Lando until the door clicked shut. Then you slammed your glass on the counter. “What the fuck was that?”
He raised his brows. “You said you didn’t care.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I lied.”
Silence. He crossed the kitchen slowly. “You’re jealous.”
“No.”
“You are.”
You glared. “You were the one with your dick in someone else.”
“And you’re the one acting like it should’ve been you.”
Your stomach flipped. “Fuck you.”
He stepped closer. Close enough to smell the sweat still drying on his chest. “You want to.”
You blinked.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you for years,” he said, voice low. “I’ve wanted to since you were eighteen and you told me no man would ever own you. I’ve wanted to since you called me your ‘safe place’ and then went and let every asshole in Europe fuck you instead.”
You gasped.
“You want to know why I brought her home?” he asked, stepping closer. “Because I couldn’t sleep. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you watching me in the gym like you wanted to suck my cock.”
You slapped him. He caught your wrist. And kissed you. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was teeth and tongue and desperation, years of repressed lust exploding like a fucking supernova in your chest.
He backed you up against the wall. Pinned your hands above your head. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you want me.”
You whimpered. “Lan-”
“Say it.”
“I want you.”
“Louder.”
“I want you-fuck-I want you.”
He dropped to his knees. Your skirt hit the floor. Your panties followed. And then Lando Norris, your best friend, licked you open like a man possessed, tongue flattening against your clit, fingers sliding into you with practiced, aching precision.
You sobbed. Shook. Came fast, too fast, with your fingers tangled in his hair and your thighs squeezing around his face.
He stood. Wiped his mouth. Smirked. “Taste better than she ever did.”
You didn’t even have time to respond before he spun you around, bent you over the couch, and shoved his cock inside you in one perfect, brutal thrust. You screamed. He was big. Thick. Harder than you’d ever imagined. And he didn’t wait, didn’t ask, just fucked, deep and rough, his fingers gripping your hips like he was scared you’d disappear.
“You gonna run back to one of your little boys after this?” he grunted. “Let them pretend they can fuck you like I do?”
You sobbed. “No-fuck-only you-”
“Say it again.”
“Only you-Lando-please-”
He grabbed your hair. Fucked harder. “You don’t get to look at anyone else,” he growled. “You’re fucking mine now. You got that?”
“Yes-fuck, yes-”
He pulled out. Flipped you. Fucked back in. You came again. And again. He didn’t stop. Not until you were crying, shaking, wrecked. Not until he kissed your forehead and whispered, “Took you long enough.”
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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 1 day ago
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Please can I request more mentor Vettel?? What if reader’s car begins to malfunction around a dangerous corner and she begins to panic, an Vettel gets on the radio trying to help her navigate the situation while trying to hide how scared he is for her? Thanks!
I'm Here, It's OK - Sebastian Vettel
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You couldn't tell if pre-season testing was your most or least favourite part of the season. It often gave a pretty good indicator of how the season was going to do and could either give you immense hope or dread. 
For the past few years, you had been driving some of the worst cars on the grid and testing was just another slap in the face. It was just a precursor of the horrific, sometimes point-less season that you had ahead of you. 
This year was finally different. After a miracle drive at Monza, getting a P4 in a car that was destined for P11 and below, Ferrari had seen something in you. Well, they had seen enough in you to want to put you in the HAAS. You had to prove yourself so that maybe, just maybe, they would want to put you in the Ferrari at some point in time. 
Being part of the Ferrari sphere had already been some of the best days in your career, even if the season hadn't already started. The team was lovely, the car was one of the better ones you had driven, and you often spent time with the Ferrari personnel since you drove with their engines. 
You also got to spend a lot of time with Kevin, Seb and Charles. Of course, you spent most of your time with Kevin since he was your teammate, but it was really Seb that you learned the most from. 
You had never had anyone that had such great knowledge of the sport and who was able to give you such useful advice. No matter what, Seb was always there for you. If you got a good time in the sim, he'd tell you what you'd done really well. If you didn't have a great run, then he'd still tell you what you did well and what you could do to improve on next time. 
He was often at the HAAS factory when you were testing the car at home, or when you were doing press over the winter. The guy was everywhere with you, but you were grateful for it. If he didn't help you out, you wouldn't have improved as much over you did over such a short amount of time. 
As usual, he had come to visit your garage before you went out to do some test laps. No one else was gearing up to go out onto the track yet, and the team wanted you to get some clean air and not have to worry about other cars around you. 
"Just get a feel for it, OK? Warm yourself up a bit, then go for some fast laps when you and the tyres are ready to go." he told you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. As you pulled your helmet on, Seb took it upon himself to fasten up the buckles for you. 
Hopping in the car, you quickly pulled out and took a few slow laps around the track. You let yourself just enjoy driving and have a few moments of peace. It was just you, the car and the tarmac under your wheels. 
It was times like these where you really loved your job. Even amongst the usual chaos and organised madness, there was still some respite in the mayhem. After two warm-up laps, you decided to try and put in a fast one. 
You were more careful on the corners than usual, just because you had been out of proper practice for a few months and you weren't sure what the car was like to handle going full throttle. You decelerated earlier than you normally would on the corners, but still went flat out down the long straights of the Bahrain circuit. 
 "That's a really good start, Y/N. Take a slow lap then go for it again." you heard your race engineer over the radio. It was small bits of encouragements like these that really made you feel at home in the team. 
As instructed, you took a slow lap then properly went for it. You drove that lap like you were fighting for pole position of the most important race of your life. You took the corners hard, you pushed the car to its limits down the straights, you took the tightest lines that you could possibly come up with. 
It was one of the best times that you had ever set in your career, even if you knew it would be easily outdone by one of the top teams. But, that didn't matter to you. This was the best that you and the car could do. "Now that's what I'm talking about! Absolutely smashed it. Just one more fast lap then you can come in, Y/N. We'll get you out with Seb so we can see how fast you'll go with a tow and see if you need any setup changes." your race engineer enthusiastically praised over the radio.
"Will do, but I don't know how much we can change. This setup is already pretty damn good," you beamed, rolling around the track. Both teams knew how well you and Seb got along. Little did you know, Seb was the one who suggested going out to give you a tow during the testing days. 
He knew that your confidence wasn't great after spending so long in bottom tier teams with little to no support, so he wanted to show that he was there 100% to help you through your journey. Even if you'd never get to be proper teammates, Seb was glad that you had a very high chance of getting a Ferrari seat one day.
And, if the Scuderia didn't want you, then he was certain that one of the other better teams would. You just needed an opportunity to show off your potential. He was grinning from ear to ear as he watched your fast lap, eagerly waiting for the next. 
The broadcast was purely focused on you since there were no other cars out on track, apart from flicking over to the McLarens that were getting ready to come out. You were hurtling down the main straight to pick up some speed for the start of the lap, and some of the sounds that the car was making were... questionable. 
There was some clinking and grinding, but you weren't seeing anything come up on your console, the performance wasn't noticeably changing and the team wasn't saying anything over the radio. So, you just assumed that everything was fine. 
But, it quickly became apparent that everything was not indeed fine. You went through the first 3 turns without a hitch, but down the next straight, things started changing. You put your foot down and went full throttle down the next straight, and the noises got even louder. 
"Guys? What is that?" you shouted through the radio, only to be met by silence. Going into turn 4, you found that you weren't able to slow down. You were pushing your brake pedal and nothing was happening. No matter how hard your foot pressed it, you didn't slow down. 
"Guys what the fuck is happening?!" you shouted again, and finally, someone replied.
"Your brakes have failed," they said, and it was far too calmly for your liking. 
"What do you mean my brakes have fucking failed?!" you yelled, the panic surging through you. How the hell were you going to slow the car down? You had turn 4, then the sloping curves of 5, 6 and 7, and then one of the tightest turns on track: turn 8. 
As Seb watched on the TV and heard you through his headphones, his heart sunk. Never in his entire career had his brakes failed, and he could only imagine how scared you were. You were going hundreds of kilometers an hour and had no way of slowing down while going into sharp turns. 
He had to do something. There was no way in hell that he was just going to sit by and watch this happen. He was scared as hell and he wouldn't ever forgive himself if he didn't at least try to do something to help you. 
He ran out to the pit wall, plucking the headphones with the microphone off of someone sitting there and placing them over his own ears. "Y/N? Sweetheart, it's me, OK? You're fine," he said over the radio, not believing a word he had said. This was far from fine. 
"This isn't fine, Seb!" you shouted back, taking the outermost line you could and throwing the car around turn 4 at a speed that no one ever should. You were centimetres away from the wall, barely slowing down. This wasn't going to end well. 
"I know, I know. Just listen to me. Your front brakes are still working, even if your brakes feel spongy. There's a small incline round 5, 6 and 7, so you should slow down from there. It might not feel like it's working, but keep your foot on the break, OK?" he tried to explain calmly, not wanting to panic you even more than he was by showing that he was worried.
If he seemed like it was all going to be fine, then it might help you have some faith. "OK," you agreed, your voice cracking as you barreled around the shallow curves. Seb was beyond terrified for you, but he was going to make sure that you were OK. He had to make sure that you were. 
"You're doing really well, liebling. You're doing so so well," he rambled, trying to find any way that he could keep you calm while you were going through the ordeal. It felt like there was no way out as you were approaching turn 8. You had slowed down, but not by a lot. 
The hydraulic system that was supposed to kick in when events like this happened weren't for whatever soul destroying reason, and your front brakes were also faulty in some regards. Hearing Seb's voice through the chaos was like a beacon of hope through the darkness, even if there didn't seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel. 
"Y/N, take your foot off the brake and slam it back down for me, OK?" he asked. This was his last resort as everyone was stilled and watching the monitors in horror. The engineers were visibly calculating every last part that they had built on the car, wondering how it had gone so wrong. 
The car had passed all of the necessary safety testing, so how the hell had it failed the second that you had gotten in the cockpit? The entire pitlane of the Bahrain circuit was silent, everyone from drivers to media personnel watching the TV screens with baited breath. This could be one of the worst accidents in motorsport, and you were at the heart of it. 
"Seb... I can't... I fucking can't..." you sobbed, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks through your helmet. Your life was flashing before your eyes, everything you could have done different all coming to the fore as the corner approached. It felt like there was a hand around your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you could barely breathe. 
"Sweetheart, listen to me. You can, OK? It's OK, I'm here, you're going to be OK. Trust me," he said, and you didn't have anything left to lose. Taking your foot up, you slammed it back down on the brake pedal as you started to turn around corner number 8. 
Your front tyres locked up due to the sudden braking force, the back ones squealing against the tarmac as they still tried to move with the momentum that they had mustered. Before you knew it, you were spinning down the track and had no idea where you were going. You had no control as you tried to turn into the spin, as if that would give you any sort of help. 
You saw the smoke from the friction between the tyres and the track as you span around and around for what felt like hours, even when it was only a few seconds in reality. Suddenly, the world stopped with a sudden and forceful jolt as you heard metal crack and bend as you hit something. 
It was more than likely to be the barrier, but you felt pretty trapped in. As per your training, you turned the engine off and sat there, winded. You were finding it hard to catch your breath, but you were sure that that was on account of being winded as well as nearly suffering a panic attack. That was when everything went dark and your neck went limp, your head lolling over to the side as your body succumbed to the sudden spike in adrenaline. 
Seb watched as your car spun out until it collided with the barrier, and he couldn't see you through the smoke. As it cleared, he just saw your helmet. There was no movement, no sign that you were conscious. "Talk to me, tell me you're alright," he said through the radio. He was met with no response, and his heart rate spiked. 
"Liebling, come on. Talk to me. Are you hurt?" he near on pleaded, begging the universe for any sort of sign that you were OK. If you were hurt, then you could deal with it together. "Please..." he whispered. 
You didn't know how long you were out for, but you assumed that it wasn't long. When you awoke, you were still sitting in your car. The dust had cleared, and you could quite clearly see that you were in the barrier, even if your vision was blurry with a probable concussion. 
"C'mon, sweetheart, you've gotta be fine." you heard in your ears, and it took your groggy brain a few moments to piece together who it was. 
"Seb?" you hoarsely said, unsure of whether he could even hear you due to how weak your voice was.
"I'm here, yeah, it's me. Medical are right with you, I'll be right there." he told you. "Are you hurt?"
There was a dull throbbing in your head, and a lot of sharp pain whenever you moved your left arm. "Yeah..." you mumbled out, the mixture of the pain and exhaustion in your body making it hard to stay awake. 
"Stay with me, medical is nearly there." Seb urged, hearing the faintness in your voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can." he told you as he saw medical arrive to your location on the broadcast. The second they had gotten you out of the car, he hopped in the usual medical car and demanded that he rode with them.
They didn't have time to kick him out, so they brought him with them. The medical team had extracted you, as well as taken your helmet off. Seeing you lying on the stretcher while you struggled to keep your eyes open absolutely broke his heart, and he was going to be there every step of the way through your recovery. 
Someone so young with so much potential shouldn't have gone through an accident that was completely unavoidable. Accidents like this could ruin careers and take lives, and no driver should ever have to suffer through that like you had. You were unbelievably lucky. 
As Seb reached your side, he heard you complaining to the medics about dizziness and a lot of pain, so they decided it would be better to put you under while they got you to hospital. Seb was forced to wait in the waiting room while they diagnosed you with multiple cracked ribs, a broken arm a fractured collar bone and a concussion. 
Once they had bandaged you up and given you a lot of time to rest, Seb was finally allowed in. It had taken hospital security to shoo away reporters, as well as the team getting mad at Sebastian for refusing to go back to the track for testing. There was no way that he was driving while he was waiting to know if you were alright. 
It had taken them a long time to clean up the track, and the FIA had been forced to extend testing by a day due to how much time had been lost from the crash. There was 1 hour worth of testing for the rest of the day, and your time was still number 2 on the leaderboard from before the accident. 
He walked into the room, taking in your hospital room. The curtains and blinds were drawn, and you had casts on pretty much the entirety of your left side that he could see. Seb sat down beside your bed, running a hand over his face. 
"Seb?" a quiet voice said, and he couldn't help but smile as he heard your voice.
"Hey, liebling. How are you feeling?" he asked, knowing it was a pretty silly question. He gently took your hand, not wanting to hurt you any further. 
"Groggy. Not too sore though, drugged up on painkillers," you chuckled before wincing, forgetting about your broken ribs. 
"You were really brave out there," Seb praised, swiping his thumb over the back of your hand.
"No I wasn't. I would have died if it weren't for you." you countered. If Seb hadn't been there to tell you what to do, you were certain that this would have been a hell of a lot worse than just a few broken bones and a concussion. 
"I don't care about that, I'm just glad that you're OK." Seb said, and there was pause in the conversation. Sebastian didn't let go of your hand like he feared that you'd slip away if he broke the contact. 
"That's me out for the season..." you trailed off, trying to stop the tears welling up in your eyes. Just when you had gotten a decent drive and the car was feeling good, it had all been ripped away from you like a rug from under your feet. 
"I know, sweetheart. I know. But, it'll be fine. You just need to focus on recovering." he told you, not wanting you to dwell on the fact that your season was over. "You did so so so well. I am so proud of you," he praised again.
He would never forget what happened today, and neither would you. But you were so grateful for having Seb there to save your life, and he was glad that he knew someone so courageous.  The road ahead looked rocky, but Sebastian would be there every step of the way for you, no matter what. 
A/N - Definitely not sure that I can get the Lando thing out for Friday, but I have started it! Suggestions are open, love this one! 💖
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ishamishra234 · 9 months ago
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loricciardo · 9 days ago
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CHAPTER FIVE | JUST A GIRL
tags. original female character, max’s POV sorta, misogyny, objectification, max is a dick (as usual), christian horner, mentions of grid girls, cussing, media scrutiny, max is a dick. let me know if there’s more to be added!
a/n. this chapter is iffy to me. next week’s is really juicy, and honestly might be my favorite so far!! the first race!!! also wanted to note that natalie’s abbreviation on the time screen is NSC - not SCH because of mick/michael, who was MSC. and ‘bru’ is short for bro in german. :)
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The Bahrain sun hung oppressively above the paddock yet again, high and merciless, melting into the asphalt beneath their feet. Even inside the garages with the huge industrial fans blasting and engineers moving like shadows through the heat, the air remained thick and still. Sweat clung to Max Verstappen’s back the moment he stepped outside, his fireproofs sticking uncomfortably against his skin. It was qualifying day, and the entire track was beaming with focus.
Then came.. laughter? It was bright and bubbly, threading through the air like a switchblade. And undoubtedly high pitched, which could mean only one clear thing.
Max’s eyes snapped toward the noise, and sure enough, there she was: Natalie Schumacher. Half hidden behind one of the taller telemetry cabinets, chatting with one of the engineers, a Red Bull cap with her number embroidered on and her fire suit hanging loose around her waist. She looked relaxed. Far too relaxed for someone’s first ever official Formula 1 race as a driver for such a prestigious team.
Honestly? It had surprised Max.
He’d seen the timing sheets, and she was quick. Quicker than she had any right to be in that second Red Bull seat. When the screens in the garage lit up with her lap time, he’d let a curse slip under his breath, one sharp enough to earn a pointed look from Christian Horner.
And that only made it worse! Because Christian was the one who’d once told him, not too long ago behind closed doors, that if Red Bull could run only one driver, it would be Max. Always Max. Now, that same team principal stood proudly at the helm while Natalie Schumacher, the media’s wet dream and this so-called ‘rookie prodigy’ came within tenths of his time. She just grinned from her side of the garage just like someone who knew exactly what kind of shit she was stirring, then went off to praise the team in her interviews like a picture perfect pilot.
And Max would be damned. He didn’t buy it one bit.
Now, she was laughing again! At what? He didn’t care to know, but it cut through the whir of equipment and movement like it was meant to bother him. She didn’t belong here. Not in that car. Not in his garage. And today, he was going to prove it.
The man was halfway through stuffing his gloves into his pockets, the snug Nomex material catching slightly on the edge of the hole when her voice rang out behind him.
“Hey, Max! Good luck out there.”
How dare she speak to him like they were equals? How dare she insinuate that he needs luck?
His shoulders stiffened for a beat before he turned to face Natalie fully. She stood a few feet away and her Red Bull water bottle was in one hand, making Max deliberately hold back a scoff. The corners of her lips were curved up just enough to pass for friendly.
Max didn’t return the expression. “I don’t need it.” The words landed flat, heavy with obvious disdain.
Natalie’s smile slightly faltered. Not enough for the average person to notice, but he saw it. The subtle twitch of muscle at her jaw, the tightening around her eyes. She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, dry and unimpressed.
“Okay,” she pursed her lips, head tilting slightly. “Sue me for trying to be nice.” Her tone was laced with irritation now, something rawer underneath the surface. She tutted and turned her back to him, muttering something low in German as she walked away. He didn’t quite catch it but the edge in her voice said enough.
Her long blonde hair swung behind her as she moved, a loose, defiant wave against the pristine backdrop of the garage. Max shook his head once and went back to pulling on his gloves. He wasn’t going to let her get in his head. Not today.
But little did he know she already had.
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The prep went by in a blur after that. Max stood in his corner, arms crossed over his chest as GP ran through final notes. Sector deltas, track evolution, wind direction, blahblah. Max caught every other word, just enough to nod at the right times.
Across the garage, in his peripheral vision, Natalie sat calmly beside her own race engineer, Hugh, her fireproofs now zipped up to her neck. Her helmet rested in her lap, bright red and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Tiny lightning bolts shimmered along the sides, sharp and almost cartoonish, curling just below where her ears would be. Of course she’d have a flashy helmet.
Max rolled his eyes behind the brim of his cap, adjusting it slightly. He fully watched her only for a second. Her fingers drumming on the chin of her helmet as she nodded along to whatever strategy was being explained to her. She didn’t look nervous and she didn’t even look fazed. That bothered him a lot, especially since the team had been tense since her announcement. After two seasons of relative stability with Checo, the arrival of a rookie, even one with a Schumacher surname, rattled the team. She didn’t come through the Red Bull junior academy either, so she was still a bit of a newer face to all the guys.
All 20 drivers were called to the cars soon after. The mechanics had already rolled the machines into place with tires wrapped in blankets. Max moved first, slipping behind the wheel with practiced ease. He clicked the belt straps into place, every motion automatic and familiar. The cockpit swallowed him up, and suddenly the garage noise dulled to a manageable hum. He exhaled once through his nose and settled inside his car.
Next door, Natalie climbed into her seat, pulling her helmet on and buckling up just as smoothly. A crew member leaned in, making a small adjustment to her radio connector, and she nodded in response, adjusting her gloves. Through the narrow gap in the divider wall, Max could just make out the edge of her bright red helmet again. What a copier!
“Alright,” Christian muffled through the comms, “Natalie, you’re heading out first. Max, you’ll follow approximately sixty seconds later.”
Max watched as she pulled out of the garage, smoothly joining the line at pit exit, as if she’d done it just as much as he had. He waited, engine humming low, watching the clock.
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By the end of Q2, Max was where he needed to be. Within reach of provisional pole. Estaban Ocon had triggered a red flag early on, but that was expected from Ocon, in Max’s opinion. What wasn’t expected was Natalie.
“NSC” right beneath “VER” on the leaderboard. They’d both made it into the third session.
“Alright, Max,” GP cleared over the radio. “You’re about a tenth off provisional pole. Schumacher’s two thousandths behind you.”
Max scoffed, tightening his grip on the wheel. “If I cared where she was, I’d ask.”
“Copy.” GP’s voice dropped, and the line clicked off.
Max’s final flying lap wasn’t flawless, but it was clean enough to secure pole position, as planned. As he climbed out of the car, cameras flashed, and the crowd roared. His name was on top. Just where it belonged.
He barely had time to absorb it before he heard the second driver pull into parc fermé. Then eventually the third car behind it. Max turned, expecting to see a Ferrari or maybe Norris’ McLaren in P2. They had been doing better this year, he noted.
But it was her! Natalie Schumacher, wiggling out of the buckle, stepping out of the car with a grin and waving to the fans like she was Princess Diana. Charles Leclerc reached her first, congratulating her with a brief handshake before crossing over to Max.
“Congrats, mate,” Charles smacked Max’s shoulder with a brief smile. “Looks like you got a huge storm behind you.”
Max didn’t answer. He pulled off his helmet and headed toward the staging area. Natalie followed, a step behind, pace matching his.
“So… this is how it’s going to be?” Her voice was quiet but deliberate. And the smile she wore didn’t reach her eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Max replied, eyes forward.
The media interviews started. Charles answered first, good natured and PR practiced.
“Well, we would’ve love to start P1, obviously,” the Ferrari driver chuckled. “But it’s a great spot to begin the season.”
Then it was Natalie’s turn.
“Natalie! P2 on your first qualifying session with Red Bull, just roughly 100 milliseconds off pole. What a debut!”
She smiled for the cameras. “Yeah, it all came together today. The team’s done a fantastic job getting me comfortable in the car. I’m really, really grateful.”
The questions started circling closer. “You’re starting right behind Max. How does that feel?”
Natalie didn’t hesitate, nodding with the interviewer’s words. “It’s no different than starting behind anyone else. So I’m ready for tomorrow.”
Her words were perfectly balanced. Nonchalant, diplomatic, and just slightly enough to dodge anything inflammatory. No praise, no critique. Max watched her walk away from the mic to a roar of applause. The fans were eating it up and it made him sick to his stomach.
Max stepped forward, adjusting the cap pulled down over his sweat damp curls.
“Max Verstappen,” the reporter beamed. “First pole sitter of the season. How are you feeling?”
“Yeah, it feels good. We knew we had pace here, but the job’s not finished yet.”
“Looking ahead to Turn 1, what do you expect from the pack behind you?”
He offered a short chuckle. “Honestly? I expected Leclerc or maybe Norris to be right behind.”
There was a pause before the reporter asked, “So you don’t expect Schumacher to keep her place?”
Max stared into the camera lens. “No comment. Let’s just see how the team does tomorrow, thanks.” He turned away before they could press further. The applause dulled in his ears, but he could feel her watching him from the sidelines.
Their eyes locked for the briefest moment. Her hazel eyes dark and unreadable beneath the brim of her Red Bull cap. She didn’t flinch or look away. The smirk she offered was small, defiant.
Max was the one to look away first.
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“What the hell is his problem?” Natalie’s voice filled the car before Mick even made it to second gear.
“Good morning to you too,” he replied dryly, eyes flicking to her before returning to the road. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you decided to ride with me today. But do you talk this much with George and Alex? Because I’m starting to think I did them a favor.”
“Mick,” she scoffed, lightly smacking his arm. “you’re so dramatic!”
“I’m serious,” Mick chuckled with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe there’s no explanation. Sometimes people are just arseholes.”
Natalie slumped back in the seat and crossed her arms. Her Red Bull jacket was too warm, and the sun was already pressing in through the windshield. “I haven’t done anything to that man. I’ve tried to be professional. I’ve tried to be nice.”
“And it’s been killing you,” Mick summed up.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled despite herself. Mick always had a way of diffusing her temper before it could boil over. Maybe that’s why she’d opted to ride with him this morning instead of jumping in with George and Alex, who also didn’t particularly care for Max. In fact, they egged her on. With Mick, she could breathe with a level head. Even if it meant swallowing his brutal honesty along with it.
The paddock was already super busy when Mick’s car pulled in. Security waved them through the gate as a knot of reporters stood waiting near the garage lot, cameras slung low but ready. He parked without comment and shut off the engine.
Mick turned toward her. “Ready-o?”
“Nope.” Natalie hesitated.
“Well.. at least you’re honest.” He grinned and pushed his door open. They walked side by side toward the paddock entrance, helmet bags in hand, trying to keep their heads down as questions began flying from every direction.
“Natalie! Mick! Just one question!”
“Natalie, is it true Max refused to debrief with you yesterday?”
“Natalie, any truth to the rumors you only got the seat because of your last name?”
Inside the gate, the rowdiness dulled slightly. Natalie exhaled slowly, tension leaking from her shoulders.
“We made it,” she muttered and exhaled breathlessly.
“Ah, ah, ah. You spoke too soon,” Mick clicked his tongue, catching sight of a familiar voice jogging toward them.
“Oh,” Natalie sighed under her breath. “Of course…”
“Hey, you two!” Ted beamed, breathless and far too eager. “Do you have a moment for Sky?”
Natalie exchanged a look with Mick, who just shrugged. “Sure, Ted. What’s up?”
“Well first off. How does it feel being here together? It’s been a couple years since you’ve raced in the same series, hasn’t it?”
Mick answered first, per usual. “I’m just excited to see what Nat can do. She’s been in my corner for years, even when I was struggling. It’s my turn to be a proper big brother now.”
Natalie smiled at him, her throat tightening at the sincerity in Mick’s voice.
“And Natalie. Your family’s been linked to Ferrari and Mercedes for decades. Was there hesitation when signing with Red Bull?”
The warmth from Mick’s sweet reply slowly drained. God, why must she always be asked the hard questions? Natalie kept her voice measured. “Of course we had conversations, but at the end of the day, Red Bull offered me the seat. It didn’t make any sense to turn down the best car on the grid.”
Ted nodded too eagerly and kept going. “I see. But in terms of viewership, you’ve done amazing things already. The numbers show an increase in male fans, and, well, there’s definitely been talks about you.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow and chuckled uneasily.
“Some people online are calling you the ‘Grid Girl of F1,’” Ted continued, smiling like he was relaying a compliment. “Like how they used to have those beautiful models on the track before a race. Do you like that nickname?”
Her smile froze and her stomach twisted in knots. “Grid.. Girl?” Natalie echoed.
“I mean, it’s cheeky, right? You’re the first woman to race fulltime in F1 and—”
“And this is what people are saying about me?” she interrupted. “That I’m a grid girl?”
Mick shifted beside her, blue eyes narrowing at his sister. He knew shit was about to hit the fan but before he was able to stop her, Ted continued.
“I’m just reporting what’s being said on social—”
“Did you ask Max how he feels being called attractive?” Her tone stayed level, but her gaze burned. “Did you ask Charles what it’s like to be considered ‘eye candy’? Or George, since he actually models for IWC?”
Ted’s mouth opened but nothing came out.
“No? Just me? Ha, funny,” she shook her head. “I’m just here to do my job. And as I’ve said before, that is to race. I don’t want to hear any kind of shit like that again. Especially from you, Ted.” Natalie spun around on her heel and stomped away, down the paddock.
“Uh… Sorry, Ted,” Mick stammered slowly, clearly choosing his words with care. “She has a race to win.”
Before the reporter could blurt out a response, Mick was already backing away, quickening his stride to catch up with his sister, who was already halfway down the paved road and showing no signs of slowing.
“You really went for it Nat,” Mick mumbled once he fell into stride beside her, breath puffing out with a low whistle.
Natalie didn’t look at her brother. “Was I wrong?”
“No, no, not at all,” Mick answered quickly and glanced over at her. “But you.. definitely didn’t leave room for interpretation.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Good.”
There was a long pause as they walked, the Red Bull and Haas hospitality areas looming ahead. Crew members and paid influencers moved briskly around them, but Mick kept his sole attention on her.
“You know they’re going to spin that, right?” the older boy added gently. “I just.. I don’t know if you should’ve handled it like that...”
Natalie sighed, slowing down just enough to dig her phone out of her pocket. “Then that’s on them,” she remarked. “I’m not going to smile and nod when someone calls me a glorified object. I plan to be completely honest to everyone.”
Mick didn’t argue with her. Not because he agreed with how Natalie handled it, but because he knew it wouldn’t matter. There was no convincing Natalie to back down once her mind was made up. She was like their father that way, stubborn to the core. And far too proud. Never ever apologized just to keep the peace. Michael had always said defeat wasn’t just about losing a race, it was about compromising yourself. And Natalie? She couldn’t stomach it either. Whether she was right or wrong, once she locked into her principles, that was it. She was unshakable. And Mick, despite every brotherly instinct to protect his sister from the backlash he knew would inevitably come, understood that trying to stop her now would be a fruitless endeavor.
“‘Grid Girl,’” Mick echoed, tone sour. “What a load of shit.”
The siblings stopped just outside the Red Bull garage, a mechanic giving her a quick nod as he passed with a tire trolley.
Natalie turned to face her brother. “Mick, do you remember what Pa used to say? About people underestimating you?”
Mick tilted his head, puzzled. “I do… He said it was better when they did.”
Natalie nodded once, eyes sharpening. “Good. Because I think most of them still do.”
Mick was quiet for a moment. Then, with a small smile, he reached into the sleeve of his Haas pullover and pulled out a black hair tie. “You just have to show them they’re all wrong.”
Natalie reached up, tightening her ponytail with the band he’d given her. “That’s the plan, bru.”
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“Well, well. The Princess finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Max tutted without lifting his eyes from his ever so interesting thighs as Natalie arrived at the Red Bull garage.
Natalie didn’t bother slowing her brisk stride. “Christian told me nine. And it’s nine o’clock.” She tossed the words over her shoulder and kept walking toward the back rooms, where her race suit was already laid out.
“If you’re not fifteen minutes early, Schumacher, you’re late,” Max called after her. She raised her hand in a lazy wave, her middle finger pointed behind her. Hypocrite.
By the time she reemerged, suited up and hair tied tight, Max was already standing with Christian at the strategy table. She crossed the garage with calm purpose, pretending not to notice the side eyes from a few crew members as she joined them.
Christian looked up, barely hiding his exhaustion. “Alright. You two know the drill. We’ve got a real shot at a 1-2 today if we stay clean off the line, nail the stops, and don’t do anything stupid.”
Max huffed a quiet laugh, tapping his fingers against the table like he couldn’t be bothered to hold it in.
Christian’s brows twitched. “Is there something funny?”
“No, nothing,” Max waved his head, eyes still locked on the computer screen. “Just admiring your optimism.”
Natalie’s gaze narrowed. “You got something you want to say, Verstappen?”
“Ah, it’s nothing new,” Max replied flatly, not even sparing the woman a glance.
Christian sighed, clearly weighing his patience against the likelihood of throwing his fist into the nearest wall. “I swear to God, you two need to cut the pettiness out—”
“Hey. You won’t hear a peep from me,” Natalie cut in, offering the most neutral smile she could muster.
Max nodded once. “When it comes to actual racing.. you know you don’t have to worry about me, Christian.”
Natalie leaned forward, palms braced on the edge of the table. “It would be a real shame if your front wing went missing, huh?”
“Alright, both of you. Stop,” Christian snapped, before Max could respond. “This is not helpful. This is not clever. This isn’t cute. This is why I have a migraine.”
Natalie raised both hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. I’m focused on the team. Not my ego.”
Max finally looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Just a sidelong glance that said more than words ever could. “We’ll see, Schumacher.”
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lovemly4 · 1 year ago
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Hi there! Not sure if you're open for request but if you dont, feel free to ignore 😅 my request will be lando x reader, whereby he's dating a very shy reader so its normal for her to want to keep their relationship very private. However, one day, reader told lando that she's ready to watch him race and support him irl and it makes him so so happy and both of them were smiley and giggly while walking on the paddock. Hope that's okay!
I’m here with you - Lando Norris
word count: 841 ; genre: fluff ; pairing: Lando Norris x reader ; warnings: none, just teeth rotting fluff ☆
Note: Hii, of course requests are open!! And this is so cute omfg, i feel like Lando would be super respectful of you boundaries, but his eyes would light up when you tell him that you’re ready to support him in person to his races.
Wednesday, Nov 29th, 2023
My heart jumped at the sound of the front door opening. It had been three days since the Abu Dhabi GP, and during our time apart we tried to contact each other every time we could.
“My darling, i missed you so much” he exclaimed against my shoulder as I hugged him, inhaling his familiar perfume. I felt a little bad at his words, a little thunder striking through my heart.
Despite being in a relationship with him for four months already, I’ve never felt ready enough to make it public; but what was I so afraid of? I didn’t really know, actually.
I feared that people would come at me, telling me that I wasn’t enough, that he deserved someone better, maybe? Yes, most definitely.
Something held me back, despite my wish to make him the happiest man in the world.
“I missed you too Lan, I’m sorry i wasn’t able to be there with you” I apologized, my hand making its way to his cheek.
He smiled comprehensively.
“You don’t need to apologize love, I know. I would never force you into something you don’t feel comfortable doing” He said in a tone a little louder than just a whisper.
I placed a little peck on his lips, and reached out to help him with his luggages.
Friday, Feb 23rd, 2024
I looked at the tallest shelf in our shared walk-in closet, carefully choosing Lando’s shirts.
My face assumed a concentrated look, as the man walked in behind me placing his hand on my waist.
“Sweetheart, we don’t need to put so much effort in choosing my clothes, you know? I’ll probably be wearing my suit most of the time, anyway” he chuckled, stroking my side.
“I know Lan, but it’s the first race of the season! You must look good!” I talked back, reaching for the Quadrant shirt.
I followed him out of the closet, laying his shirt flat beside his joggers.
I studied him silently as he was organizing the space in his bag.
“…Lando, will you be alone in Bahrain?” i asked hesitantly, nervously playing with the hem of my sleeve.
“Oh no, my team will be there, of course. Zack will arrive two days later than me, he mentioned a problem with his son or something. I’ll meet Oscar outside the airport there.”
I stayed hushed, quietly working out my thoughts as he locked the luggage.
“What if… What if i come with you? To Bahrain. To the race.” i tried to ask, timidly hiding my hands in my pockets.
He turned to me all of a sudden, eyes wide open like a deer caught in headlights.
“Did i heard that right? You’re not joking, are you? Are you serious?” he spoke quickly, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of what he had just heard.
I laughed at his reaction as he took my hands in his.
“Are you really sure y/n? I don’t want you to regret this. I won’t complain if you change your mind.” he sat me on the edge of our shared bed, reassuring me with kind words.
“I’ve never been so sure, Lan. I think it’s about time, i want to cheer you in person and show you all my support” i warmly smiled, and he started bouncing like a little boy. He bursted out of the room before i could process something to say.
“Where are you going?” i shouted, keeping an ear out to detect his distant voice.
“To take your bags!”
Saturday, Mar 2nd, 2024, present day.
A light breeze sways my dress, as I hold Lando’s hand through the paddock.
He never stopped chuckling like a baby since we’ve landed, and now he’s introducing me to every soul on the track.
He walks me to the garage, running to his car and patting the big “4” in the front.
“This is her. Isn’t she beautiful? Hopefully she’ll be a good girl on the track.” I laugh at his seriousness and he copies me, placing his arm around my waist.
“Look, this is where you’re going to sit during the race. You can hear me through the headset. Those are all the monitors through which you can see me. If you need something, let the guys know ok?”
I squeeze his hand reassuringly, and his mind seems to stop wandering for a moment. He has always been so good at hiding his thoughts and feelings, but the quick rise and fall of his chest betrays his calmness.
“Lan, breathe. I’m fine, you’re fine. We’re fine. And most importantly, we’re here together.”
One of the engineers calls for Lando and Oscar, but the light in his eyes is peaceful now.
“I love you. Thank you for being here with me”
I kiss him deeply, and watch him run away with his teammate.
The red lights go out.
The race finally begins, and he couldn’t be happier. He feels safe, and he’s so grateful to have by his side someone so brave and caring.
No matter how it goes, the only thing he cares to win is your heart.
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mxstellatayte · 1 year ago
Text
fuck me up, florida.
warnings: angst for the majority of it, sex at the end though, legal use of alcohol (reader and logan are both 23,) mentions of gunshot wounds, minor character death, based on a taylor swift song, childhood (middle/high school) friends to lovers, idiots in love, "you came" "you called," reader is half mexican (mom's side), slightly inaccurate bc i know carola wasn't at the miami gp but just go with it for the plot, reader's last name is rodriguez,
author's note: y'all i apologize if any of the spanish grammar is a little weird. my spanish is rusty, pls don't hate me for it
logan sargeant x female reader
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i need to forget so
tuesday, april 30th.
you scan your ticket, the screen displaying your name and seat number. 12A. at least it'll be easy to sleep, you think.
after shoving your suitcase above your seat, you shuffle your way to the window and buckle yourself in.
are you really doing this? flying a couple thousand miles to visit your childhood best friend who, up until recently, had you convinced that his newfound fame that he'd gathered by announcing his enrollment in the williams driver's academy made him too good for you.
the only thing that made you think otherwise was the instagram dm he'd sent you five weeks prior, asking if you'd be able to make it to the miami grand prix. instead of a simple yes or no, you responded with the heaviest three words you've ever seen in order.
can we call?
logan picked up on the second ring.
"hey."
"hey."
"how's texas?"
you smile. "hot. sunny. flat. beachless."
"so... it's good?" you hate that you can still picture his facial expressions even after not seeing him for years except for on tv.
"'s okay, but it's not home, y'know?"
"definitely. it doesn't matter how much i decorate my place in england, it's never florida."
"nothing besides florida is ever florida," you sigh, looking out the window of your apartment. "how's the season been?" you don't exactly know why you're asking. you know exactly how his season's gone. you keep every single detail of every single race weekend meticulously catalogued in a journal that you take everywhere with you. no matter what, you've stayed up late or woken up early to watch every race, as if your hopeful energy would make its way across the world to him in time.
"honestly? it's been pretty shit. the car handles really badly and wasn't really even ready for the first few hours of testing in bahrain. i can't get it to perform and maybe that's just because i haven't linked with the car yet, but it still really sucks."
you sigh, hoping logan can't tell how disappointed you are with his team and engineers. "you need a better team, lo."
"i know." there's silence between you for a few moments, and every second that passes makes it grow heavier on your chest. "will you come to miami?"
there it is. the reason you called him.
"i don't know, lo. don't get me wrong, i'd love to, but it's really short notice and i don't know if i could afford the trip. i might be able to make it to austin, but i'll need the time to save the money for the trip."
"i'll fly you out," logan immediately says, his tone almost desperate. longing. "i'll pay for your flight, your hotel, everything. please?"
that last word hit you like a punch in the gut. you only had one more reason to not go and you weren't about to tell him that reason. it was a shitty excuse anyways.
you're not about to tell him that the reason you moved to texas was to give him the space he needed to be able to succeed in his career and for you to succeed in yours.
take me to florida
you're jolted awake by the force of the plane landing, if you can call the awkward limbo you were stuck in sleep. immediately, your stomach twists with anxiety. logan had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you refused.
"i'll just take an uber," you'd said. "i'm gonna want to relax a bit after the flight, y'know?"
his only trade-off? you met him for dinner. simple enough, right?
in theory.
now, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel room, you debate between a floral sundress and a pair of denim shorts, a tank top, and a white button-up t-shirt with a colorful inkblot pattern.
you decide on the sundress.
fifteen minutes later, you're pushing earrings through your piercings, silver abstract shapes you'd bought on a trip to europe with your mother. you have to leave, but the situation you're in sucks. your hair won't sit right on your head, either being too frizzy from the humidity or losing any and all volume, and your makeup just doesn't seem like it'll last in the miami heat.
fuck it.
who are you dressing for, anyways?
logan's seen you at your absolute worst. he was the only one you let yourself cry in front of after your father died. he was the one that held you for what seemed like hours while you sobbed into his chest and he told you that none of it was your fault- that you never could have known that, when you hugged him before he left for the police station, told him you loved him, and slipped a note into his lunch box, the next time you would see him, he would be laying in a casket. he was the only one that could make you smile in the weeks following his funeral, dropping his entire schedule if you simply sent him a text that said "can you come over?"
the restaurant logan found isn't too far from your hotel, so you ultimately decide to walk. your walk is over before you're able to process that it even started and you're taking out your earbuds and putting them in your bag, taking out your phone instead to text logan.
i'm here.
i've got some regrets
were you always this breathtakingly beautiful?
logan's phone buzzes in his front pocket, but he knows it's you texting him. he doesn't even bother taking it out of his pocket before standing up from his seat at the bar and walking over to you, and when you see him, your smile almost makes his heart melt.
"hey," he says, and he hopes his voice doesn't waver from how nervous he is.
"hey. i missed you," you respond, dodging the hand he holds out and going in for a hug. "i've known you since middle school, logan, i'm not shaking your hand."
your arms around him and your body pressed against his almost makes logan short circuit. thankfully, he's able to regain control of his brain and hug you back, hopefully before you realize he isn't hugging you back.
when you pull back, the hug seeming way too brief for logan's preference, you're looking up and smiling with a sparkle in your eyes that makes him regret not making enough time for you. "thanks for bringing me out here."
"thanks for coming. do you want a drink?"
"sure. do you have a table yet?"
"i was waiting for you."
"in that case, lead the way." you gesture towards the restaurant, and logan shows you to a booth in the corner. soon enough, a waiter comes over to you and sets down two glasses of water and two menus.
"welcome in, y'all. do we need a bit of time to look at the menu or do we know what we want to get started?" his southern drawl is thick, and it reminds you of texas. but you're in florida now.
"i think we'll look at the menu for a minute, thanks," logan says, and the waiter nods and walks away. as you open the menu and begin looking, logan points out something you might like and you do the same for him. conversation begins to flow freely between you, and it reminds you of the times in high school when you would go out with friends.
eventually, you decide on a plate of nachos and logan gets a plate of wings. as you wait for your food, you catch up on everything: your move to texas, logan's racing career, your work volunteering with the austin philharmonic, his homesickness from living in england, and everything in between. you crack stupid jokes, share bites of food, and steal sips of each other's drinks.
it's like old times.
i'll bury them in florida
on wednesday, you and logan drive up to visit your father's headstone. it's difficult. it's only the third time you've visited him since he was buried three years ago. the first time you visited him was a year after he died. even a year later, you still carried so much anger and hatred towards the doctors and nurses that were operating on him, trying desperately to save his life after two bullets hit him- one in his leg, one in his torso.
he died on the table.
the second time was just a few months after, and you were still wearing your cap, gown, and stole from your graduation ceremony. by then, you had been able to forgive the doctors and had graduated in the top 10% of your class. four years of hell had finally rewarded you with a degree in instrumental performance and an internship at the south florida symphony orchestra.
now, the third time, you have a picnic blanket and lunch packed into the backseat of logan's car, the windows are rolled down, and your favorite playlist is shuffled on the aux. it's a beautiful day, too; it isn't too hot (even with the humidity,) there's a gentle breeze in the air, and clouds occasionally cover the sun. when logan pulls into the parking lot of the cemetery and you sling your tote bag full of food over your shoulder, your hands start shaking.
of course, logan notices.
his hand slides into your own, and you look up at him. his eyes meet yours and you smile. "thank you for coming with me," you say.
"of course. i didn't want you to have to do this alone."
you look back at the gate into the cemetery, the black bars menacingly sleek and very, very terrifying. you chew your lower lip in anxiety. "i don't know if i can do it, logan."
"i'm here with you. i know you. you're strong. you aren't the kind of person to let a gate scare you." you laugh lightly, looking down at the ground. the gravel of the parking lot, your scuffed, beat-up high top purple converse, and logan's nike dunks make up what you have to describe as a perfect picture. your phone is in your free hand before you know it, and you're lining up the shot. "still into photography, huh?"
"yep. i have some cameras in my suitcase at the hotel." when you pocket your phone and look back up at him, logan's heart melts. the shine in your eyes and the passion in your smile is enough to soften anyone's heart, but for him, as someone who's known you for years and has been there for you through thick and thin, it touches him in such a special way. "i'm hoping to get some good photos of the races. but enough delaying. let's go visit my dad."
the creak of the gates opening makes your ears bleed, and you laugh at how logan is making the exact same face as you in reaction to such a shrill sound. despite only having visited his headstone twice before, you remember exactly where in the cemetery it is and are able to find it within five minutes.
"hi, dad," you begin, your voice already wavering just the slightest and tears beginning to well in your eyes. logan's hand squeezes yours, though, and you're reminded that he's right there. he always will be. you take a deep breath and continue. "i miss you. we all do. i know i haven't visited you in a while, and i'm sorry about that. i really do have to come stop by every now and then. i moved to austin and have a volunteering gig with the austin philharmonic at almost every show and i have a job at a company that helps students with learning disabilities learn instruments. it's really fun." you pause to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, your nose beginning to drip. "sam is in his junior year of college, and he's majoring in engineering. he flew the coop, but he still comes home for the summers. he, uh, he actually got in to c.u. boulder, like he always talked about. that kid was always thinking about college, even in middle school.
"i'm actually here with logan, too, if you hadn't noticed. do you, uh, do you want to fill him in on what's going on with you, or should i keep going?"
"whatever you prefer."
"okay, i'm going to keep talking, because i think if i don't, i'm going to completely break down. logan finally signed with williams to drive on their formula 1 team last year, like i always said he would. i'm really proud of him and really regret not telling him that more, and now that i'm saying it out loud i'm promising both you and him that i'll tell him that more often. the race this weekend is actually here, in florida. miami, specifically. it's always a celebrity shit show that no one really wants to see, but it's the main opportunity for the celebrity sponsors to actually go to a race.
"what else has been going on? oh, mom is still a therapist. i can't tell you much about that because of hipaa, but she always comes home saying that she's glad that she could help someone. i'm gonna have dinner with her tomorrow night, and then i'm going back into miami to watch logan's practice sessions."
you pause your rambling, thinking about what there is to say next, but your thought is interrupted by your stomach grumbling. loud. you and logan laugh just as loudly, the sound echoing through the grass field and stone gravesites. "oh, yeah, that's another thing. we brought lunch. i also got you pink tulips, because i know they're your favorite." you delicately rest the bouquet on your father's headstone as you sit down, then pull out the different plastic containers filled with food you'd stolen from the williams hospitality. "you'd be proud of me, dad. i smuggled this entire picnic out of the wiliams motorhome without a hiccup. robin hood style."
logan laughs, and you turn to him. he's mirrored your position, sitting cross-legged on the grass. "apple?"
"nah, i'm gonna start with my sandwich. i did grab you some of the salt and vinegar chips i know you like."
the look logan gives you can only be described as pure adoration. "you," he says, pointing a finger at you in an incredibly sassy manner, "are an absolute goddess."
"i know," you respond cheekily, tossing some hair over your shoulder.
the banter between the two of you continues through your picnic, laughter and smiles erasing the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks and on logan's. you're almost able to forget where you are.
tell me i'm despicable
almost two hours later, the two of you are laying in a nearby park underneath a tree, peacefully observing the clouds that pass overhead and talking even more about any topic that comes to your mind. the question that's been gnawing at you since your plane landed in miami eventually bubbles to the surface, and it tumbles past your lips before you can stop it.
"did you ever wonder why i moved to texas?" you look to your left where logan rests, but he keeps looking up at the sky. you mirror him.
"i always assumed it was just because you needed a change of scenery. after everything that happened and your music career taking off, it would make sense that you would relocate to somewhere better suited for you."
"that's the thing, though. if i'm being entirely honest with you, lo, i hate texas. i hate the whole state. i hate how hot it is all the time without even being humid, i hate not being able to go to the beach. i hate how dry it is. i hate how flat it is. i hate the monotony of it. i hate not being here."
logan hesitates for a moment before speaking, and it's the longest moment you've ever experienced. "why did you move to austin, then?"
when he looks over at you, you're chewing your lower lip. it's a nervous tic, logan's noticed. he's not even sure if you know you do it. "honestly? i thought you moved on from our friendship. i thought everything with f1 suddenly got so big and important and famous that maybe i wasn't... enough? i thought that being a police officer's daughter from the same town as you that was studying to teach people how to understand and play music maybe just wasn't cool enough to be friends with a world-renowned formula 1 driver."
logan's heart almost shatters when he hears the weakness in your voice. you sound so broken and so alone. he knew that, when you lost your father, you isolated yourself from a lot of people, even your best friend from high school and through your first year of college. he was the only person outside of your immediate family that you spent a decent amount of time with, but when he was admitted to the driver's academy he had to move to england. he abandoned you.
"i didn't. i never forgot about you. sometimes i still look through the photos we have together because i miss you that much."
you sit up, tears pricking your eyes for the second time that day. "really?"
"yeah. maybe once a week?"
when you look down at logan, you're suddenly starstruck. you can't help but notice all of his little features that you wouldn't see if you didn't know to look for them. his freckles that are so light you'd have to squint to see them if you didn't know them like the back of your hand. the mole on his chin that he'd always been self-conscious about but you've always seen it as beautiful. the lines from where his eyes crinkle when he smiles. the annoyingly perfect flop of his hair that he's styled almost the exact same way since you started high school together. an urge you haven't felt in years suddenly bubbles, white-hot in the pit of your stomach, and it's boiling over before you can stop it. your eyes are closed and your lips are on his. finally. after years of wanting, of stares that lasted just a bit too long to be just friendly, of flushed faces and nervous excuses, you're finally kissing him.
but he's not kissing you back.
you pull back immediately, panicked that you read something wrong. you turn away, hiding your face in your hands out of shame. "shit, logan, i'm so sorry. i thought-"
"kiss me again." logan sits up, and when you turn around, the look he's giving you can only be described as completely and entirely fucked. you don't question his statement, just lean forward, placing your lips on his, and letting yourself melt. he moans softly into the kiss, his right arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. when you pull away and open your eyes, your breath catches in your throat. he looks beautiful. his eyes remain closed, but when they flutter open, you see colors in them that you've never seen before. sure, you've always seen the darker rim of blue that outlines his irises, but now that you're so close to him, you can see the flecks of green and grey in them. it's the most stunning thing you've ever seen.
eventually, you break the silence between the two of you. "i've wanted to kiss you for so long," you whisper, so quiet you're not sure logan heard it.
but he did.
"me, too," he says, and after a beat of silence between you two, you both burst out laughing. the laugh he hears from you is the pure, bright laugh that logan's missed so dearly, the laugh that you only really let him hear. the laugh that has tears in your eyes and makes you snort because you're laughing so hard you can't even breathe properly.
eventually, when you're able to calm down, your head resting on logan's shoulder, your hand holding his, you're able to process what just happened. you just hope logan is processing it, too.
"we just kissed."
"yes. we did."
"how long have you held out on me?"
"since christmas of sophomore year. when you made me the chevron bracelet with my favorite colors."
you laugh, then lift your head to look at him. "i fell for you in october of that year. when you convinced your mom to drive two and a half hours for the marching band state finals. just so you could be there with me."
"god, we're idiots," logan laughs. you can't help but lean forward and press another kiss to his lips, lingering there and just breathing him in.
existing.
say it's unforgivable
the next two days fly by. thursday, you spend the day with your mother. she asks all sorts of questions as if she doesn't know the answers, and you answer each one with a smile on your face. when she asks about logan, you smile sheepishly. she figures out what the smile means.
"took you two long enough."
normally you'd still be in bed at 9:30 am on a friday, but today, you walk into the miami paddock clutching logan's hand for dear life. your neon green pass hangs from your neck, a white williams cap atop your head. you can't help but feel out of place, but someone calls logan's name and you both turn. your stomach drops when you see who's called his name. his hair is styled similarly to logan's, and he sports a papaya polo.
you'd know him anywhere. it's oscar piastri.
you're standing there a bit awkwardly as logan greets his friend, but your heart stops when oscar turns to you. "oscar, this is my girlfriend." he introduces you by your name to the mclaren driver and you wipe your hands on your denim shorts before shaking his hand firmly, exchanging "nice to meet you"s. the three of you chat for a few minutes before oscar is summoned by his pr manager.
"girlfriend, huh?" you look up at logan with a smile on your face, lacing his fingers with yours.
"i didn't mean to overstep, but i kind of assumed that's what this is now. is it?" he looks a bit nervous asking that, and if you thought your love for him couldn't grow any more, you thought wrong.
"that's absolutely what we are, lo. you're my boyfriend. i'm your girlfriend." you can tell just how hard logan's trying to not let the smile on his face show just how happy he is to hear you say that, and you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips briefly. "you have a prep meeting to get to, don't you?"
"i do. come with me, though. i need to introduce you to alex and lily. she can show you around."
"sounds like a plan. i need to learn how to do all of..." you gesture around you, the white tents and media carts all seeming suddenly too intimidating. "...this."
logan laughs, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the williams hospitality. when you're next to him, though, despite the cameras around you and your proximity to some of the world's biggest stars, you feel safe and protected.
after meeting logan's teammate and the thai driver's girlfriend, who you quickly realize is one of the sweetest people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting, you're shown around the williams hospitality and, eventually, the paddock. lily introduces you to the other drivers' wives and girlfriends that have made it to the weekend, and when you hear a certain last name, your ears perk up.
"martinez? is she latina?"
"yeah," kika, pierre's girlfriend, says. "she's checo's wife. i'm pretty sure she's in the red bull hospitality right now, though."
"ah, speak of the devil," lily says. you see carola walking up to the five of you, alexandra ("please, honey, call me alex," she'd said, bringing you in for a kiss on your cheek,) having walked away to get a drink and escape into the sweet air conditioning. "carola, there's a new couple on the paddock."
"you're kidding," the latina answers, her accent apparent. "who?"
"logan found himself a girlfriend. allow me to introduce her." lily turns to you and introduces you by your full name, last name and all. it seems that carola has a similar reaction to your last name as you did to hers, and her head tilts to the side.
"ya no eres la única mexicana aquí," you say, and her eyebrows raise. (you aren't the only mexican here anymore.)
"hablas español, también?" (you speak spanish, too?) when you nod, her smile brightens. "hay, chica, creo que nosotras dos nos vamos a llevar muy bien." (oh, girl, i think we're going to get along very well.)
on saturday, you find yourself back in the williams motorhome, except this time, you wear a second badge, the neon green lanyard reading grid access in bold black lettering. like the day before, you clutch logan's hand for your own comfort until, much to your dismay, he's summoned for driver duties. you place a quick kiss on his cheek, and when you pull back, you aren't sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the affection or the miami heat. probably both.
"in case i don't see you before sprint. for luck."
"oh, you'll be in the garage. that's what this pass is for," logan says, holding your second badge in front of your face. "lily will show you where to go. i'll take a kiss anyways, though." you smile, stand on your toes, and kiss him, pulling back before he can wrap an arm around your waist. (that was a trick he very much enjoyed, as you'd learned the night before. there was something in him that needed you as close to him as possible, and it covered every nerve ending in your body in liquid fire.)
"off you go. you need to get race ready. i'll see you before you go out on the grid. don't worry." you gently shove him away with a smile, and you'd stare at him longer if your ankles weren't suddenly being attacked. you look down and squeal. "hi, leo! did your dad let you run free?" you squat down and scratch the mini daschund behind his disproportionally large ears, and he barks excitedly.
someone curses in french to your right, and you look up from the little golden ball of energy to see none other than charles leclerc frantically searching around. leo barks again, and the monégasque whips around, then locks eyes on you first, then his dog.
"merde, leo. you have too much energy for it being this early in the morning," he laughs as he walks over to you.
"i apologize, it appears i've unintentionally kidnapped your dog." you stand, and leo jumps at your calves again.
"ah, no harm, no foul," charles replies, picking up his dog and holding him close to his chest. "i will say, though, you look strangely familiar. have we met? my name is charles."
"we have not." you extend your hand and offer your name, and, when charles' eyebrows furrow and his head tilts in confusion, you realize that means nothing to him. "i'm logan's girlfriend."
"ah! yes, of course! he has a photo of the two of you at your high school graduation in his wallet. that's where i knew you from. well, it's nice to meet you!" that was news to you. logan has a picture of you in his wallet? either way, you just casually met one of the most famous people in the world like it was a standard tuesday.
if this is what i signed up for by being logan's girlfriend, then it is absolutely wild.
you're able to catch another good luck kiss with logan as he's almost fully suited up, and fuck, does he look good. his fireproof suit hangs low on his hips, the arms tied together in front of him. dark blue is a good color on him, and his facial hair is grown out in just the slightest. you can't lie, he looks hot as hell.
you cross your legs in an attempt to curb the heat that creeps down your tummy and between them. it doesn't work.
you amend it that night in logan's hotel room following his p10 in the sprint.
on sunday, you try to avoid thinking about the night before as you follow the same routine as the two days before- arriving early in the day, checking in at the williams motorhome, and then killing time until the driver's parade at 2:00 PM. you spend time with your new group of friends, spending the three remaining hours before the parade in the paddock club. rebecca, carlos' girlfriend, snickers at your shocked face when you see some of your idols and favorite celebrities casually walking around, gladly taking some photos for you as you're practically buzzing with excitement.
after the driver's parade, it's a whirlwind. you're swept back into the williams garage and find logan's driver's room relatively easily thanks to the help of some of the engineers and mechanics, but one of them stops you before you can venture too far into the depths of the hallways.
"could you tell him we have the pre-race strategy meeting in twenty minutes?"
"yeah, for sure." as you approach logan's door, you have to bite down on your lower lip to stifle the grin that wants to split your face. you knock on his door, and when he opens it, you know something's wrong. "lo, are you okay?" his eyes are red and his hand shakes on the doorknob. instead of a verbal response, he just opens the door a bit further to let you in, and, as soon as it shuts behind you, he sobs, and your heart shatters.
"i'm so scared. i'm so scared that something's going to happen and i'm going to let all of these people down and-" you gather him into your arms and he cries into the crook of your neck, your williams crewneck shirt now damp with his tears. you couldn't care less.
"you're going to do amazing, logie. i know you will." with your arms wrapped around him, it's almost like a weighted blanket of safety has encompassed him, and his sobs slow, his breaths growing deeper and more even. you continue murmuring words of confidence into his shoulder, and not a single word you say is empty.
"hey. look at me." you lean back and gently cup his cheek with your right palm, and when his eyes meet yours, you know that he needed to cry that one out. "do you feel a little bit better?" logan nods, tilting his head ever so slightly to kiss your palm, his own hand coming up to rest over yours. it's a cute, sappy, stupidly romantic moment that you from three weeks ago would've probably thought was the grossest thing known to mankind, but you can't help but bask in the moment. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better right now?" your voice is a soothing balm over logan's agitated nerves, and he slowly untangles himself from you and guides you over to the couch that's against the back wall, where he sits down and you curl up to his left side.
"can you just... talk? about anything?"
"are you seriously asking if me, the person with the most rampant adhd you've ever met, can talk about something? yes, logan, i absolutely can. what to talk about, though?"
as you talk, deciding to info dump about your favorite classical music piece, logan can't help but watch it unfold. he doesn't know jack shit about music theory, but listening to you ramble about something you're passionate about brings him so much peace. you're disturbed about fifteen minutes later by a knock at the door, promptly followed by a disembodied voice telling logan that it was time for the strategy meeting.
"aw, shit," he says, leaning his head back and rubbing at his eyes. "i have that to go to now."
"yeah, sorry. i was supposed to tell you about that but we had a bigger problem on our hands." your voice is sheepish now that your info dump has been cut short, but logan leans over to you and kisses you, soft and slow, just like the first time he kissed you properly in the park. when he pulls away, he looks so much calmer than he was twenty minutes before. "is there anything else i can do?"
"go have some fun in the paddock. and please drink some water." you roll your eyes and stand, bringing him in for another hug before you slip out of the door.
almost two hours later, you're back in the williams garage with a guest headset over your ears. your stomach twists with nerves as the national anthem concludes. lily's hand is clasped with yours.
"the first lap is the worst. after that, you lose a lot of the anxiety," she assures you, noticing how you chew your lower lip.
"thanks." you pause for a moment, contemplating another question. "does it ever get easier? seeing how they go out there and drive like absolute maniacs for fun?"
"it does. it took me a couple of months, but after alex showed me all of the safety features in the car and in his fireproofs, it definitely helped."
it's the moment you've been dreading.
one red light.
two.
three.
four.
five.
and then none.
the engines roar and the race has begun. lily didn't lie to you- the first lap is excruciatingly long, but when everyone's completed their first loop around the circuit, you let yourself breathe. your eyes are trained on the screen above you, and the laps are flying by so quickly that you barely process that the race is nearly halfway over.
but then logan's car is in the wall. fuck.
as you watch the replay of his crash, you can feel white-hot rage burning in your body. after the race stewards only declare a ten-second penalty and two super license points, though, you're fuming. "two penalty points and a ten-second penalty? magnussen caused logan's race to end, and they just let him go? they just forgive him and move on? how can he get away with that? this is bullshit!"
what a crash, what a rush
the first person logan looks for when he walks back into the williams garage, his visor still low over his eyes in shame, is you. when you see him walking towards the room where you and lily watch the race, you tear the headset off of your ears and run to him. the feeling of his arms wrapping around your shoulders and hearing his heartbeat even through your musician's earplugs soothes your agitated nerves. he's okay. he's alive. he isn't hurt. "thank fuck you're okay," you say, even though he definitely can't hear you through his helmet and over the roar of passing engines. when you pull away, you press a kiss to his knuckles and hope he understands how much love you're trying to convey through such a small gesture.
fuck me up, florida!
one of logan's best friends on the grid is oscar. oscar's teammate got his maiden win after almost five years of waiting in miami.
like any sensible person, you celebrate with him.
you have no idea what the name of the club is, much less how many drinks you've had so far, but what you do know is that lando has commandeered the dj station and logan is pressed against your back, his hands resting on your hips. the air is hot and thick, your heartbeat pounds in your head. the opening notes of bad bunny's tití me preguntó begin playing through the massive speakers, and you shoot a glare up to lando that he doesn't see, his focus instead on the equipment in front of him. when the bass hits, though, you let all apprehensiveness go and your genetics take the reins. your hips sway and swing to the beat, your hands wander up and down your torso, and logan simply follows your lead. it takes you a moment to realize that, if you want to get a rise out of him, you're going to have to spin around and face him.
with your hips swaying against his and how unbearably beautiful you look in the dim light, your skin glowing with sweat and your hair up in a high ponytail, logan can't help but lean down and kiss you when you finally turn around. you reciprocate gladly, your right leg slotting between both of his, and...
oh.
oh.
he's hard.
you pull away slightly, barely an inch between your lips. "slow your roll there, tiger."
"i don't want to." fire zips down your spine at the sound of his voice, low and breathy and so, so desperate. "need to fuck you."
"should we get outta here, then?"
"i thought you'd never ask." you smile and kiss him quickly, then take his hand and weave your way through the crowded dance floor. as the miami night air hits your face, you immediately feel cooler. you sigh, taking a moment to breathe and regulate your heart rate and body temperature, but you can't breathe for that long before logan wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him and kissing your neck. you laugh, running your hands along his forearms.
"logan, not here. the hotel is two blocks away."
"i can't help it, baby, you just look so pretty," he hums, kissing the back of your neck once more before pulling away and stepping around to face you. "you look so pretty, and you're mine."
his possessiveness of you makes more heat zip down your spine, and you almost drool at how he's looking at you. his eyes, normally a beautiful mix between the blues of the sky and sea, ar"e almost completely dark, only a small sliver of his irises remaining, and the muscles in his jaw tick. "hotel. now."
by the time you reach the door to logan's hotel room, you're both out of breath from how hard he kissed you in the elevator and the arousal and need between your legs won't be stopped unless he replaces it. you stumble through the door and try to kiss logan again, matching the vigor he showed you in the elevator, but he stops you. "wanna take my time with you tonight."
"yeah?" you raise an eyebrow and inspect his face. the blinds are open but no lights are on, so all you can see is the side of his face that's illuminated by the lights from the streets of miami. it's an unusually beautiful sight.
"yeah. nothing about what i'm about to do to you is going to be fast. i'm gonna make you feel good tonight. how's that sound?"
"that sounds amazing, logan." you lean forward and kiss him gently, your lips slotting together as if you were made for each other. who knows, maybe you were. the next five minutes are a blur, but before you know it, you're laying back against the pillows on logan's bed and his face is buried between your thighs, his tongue working magic on your clit. the air in the hotel room is filled with your moans and the sounds of logan devouring you like a man starved, and it's the most beautiful mix of sounds you've ever heard. when he flicks his tongue oh-so-perfectly against your entrance, his nose brushing over your clit, you moan and pull his hair hard, which, in turn, makes him moan against you.
you aren't sure how much time passes or how many orgasms logan pulls from you with just his tongue and his fingers, but when you feel completely and entirely spent, your chest heaving and your hairline sparkling with tiny beads of sweat, you pull logan up to you by his shoulders, and he looks completely and entirely fucked. "need you inside of me," you mumble, wiping at the mix of spit and cum that coats the entire bottom half of his face with your thumbs. as if on instinct, you bring your hands to your mouth and lick them clean, and logan groans at the sight. "inside. now."
"as you wish, baby." logan's hands fumble at his boxers, the only item of clothing he was left wearing, and when he finally, finally pushes himself into you, you both moan. your hands scrabble at his shoulders and back, most definitely leaving red marks that will raise later, and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down and then gently kissing over the red spot.
"nngh, lo-" your brain is short circuiting, logan's cock filling you up so perfectly and absolutely ruining you for any other man ever.
"yeah? you okay, baby?" he pulls back from your neck and scans your face for any sign of discomfort of pain, his sky blue eyes searching your own. the feeling of safety you get from just that one action is almost enough to make you sob from how good you feel because of him, both physically and emotionally.
"feels so good, lo. j'st... move, please."
"you sure? i don't wanna hurt you."
"positive. now please." you reach a hand up and pull him down towards you by the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard. "fuck me properly." without wasting a second, logan reaches a hand down and hooks it under your left thigh, bringing your leg up to rest around his waist, then pulling back and thrusting back in fast. the moan that rips itself from your throat is sinful, and your breath is being punched from your lungs at the downright brutal pace logan's setting. your right leg finds itself locking around his waist, only bringing him infinitely closer, and now, each time he thrusts back into you, your clit bumps against his pelvis. within minutes, you're embarrassingly close to cumming again, and through your garbled mumbling and clawing at his shoulders, he understands, reaching his right hand down to gently press against your clit.
"cum for me, baby, please, need to feel you cum for me just one more time, just let go, i've got you." it's logan's voice that ultimately sends you pummelling over the edge into an orgasm that makes your back arch and your vision fuzz at the edges, and you cum with a cry of his name. his hips slow and his fingers maintain a steady rhythm on your clit, but you can tell it's taking its toll on him. "where- where do you want me to cum?"
"i'm on the pill, lo. inside, baby, please," you whine, and it takes two more thrusts before logan groans, his hips coming to a shuddering halt as he cums inside of you. it's a beautiful sight, too- his eyes scrunched closed and his eyebrows drawn together, his hair a complete mess from where your hands had pulled at it. your hands run through his hair and along his back, and you patiently wait as he comes back to earth.
"hi," he murmurs, opening his eyes and smiling down at you.
"hi," you respond.
no other words need to be said. you know you love him, and he knows he loves you.
and you're both okay with that.
this took me way longer to write than i thought it would, but i absolutely love it! reminder that my asks and requests are open, and i always get excited when i get feedback! take care of urselves lovies <3
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imagine-it-was-us · 3 months ago
Text
love me not pt.3 || Carlos Sainz
Inspiration: Ravyn Lenae x Rex Orange County "Love me not"
Author's note: And here it ends. Wel, I loved writing this one! I will sound like an absolute idiot, but it makes me crave the chaotic relationship I never had, if it means you're getting your happy ending. Please, share your thoughts, the feedback is everything 🥺
Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x female reader
Warnings: toxic relationship, mentions of pregnancy, time jumps.
Summary: They started as a spark – fast, reckless, impossible to ignore. One night turned into something more. But when love feels like a push and pull, when you only know how to leave before you're left… how do you stay?
Word count: 3.5k+
part1 part2
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The best thing that could’ve happened to their relationship was the winter break.
Even with Carlos in the midst of switching teams – juggling meetings and a never-ending string of training sessions and briefings – there was still room for her. And he took his time with it, without hesitation, like he’d already learned the hard way what happens when you don’t make time for the things that matter.
They say that in the beginning, love is all pink glasses and soft focus, where even the flaws look charming and the fights feel like flirtation. Maybe that was true for them, too. Or maybe, after all the turbulence, the thing they needed most was stillness. A kind of gentle recalibration. Whatever it was, the chaos slowed. And in its place came something that looked a lot like peace.
There were quiet mornings that turned into rituals – her brushing her teeth in nothing but one of his hoodies, sleeves too long and neckline stretched from wear. He’d already be in the kitchen, brewing coffee the way she liked it: milk, just a splash, and a swirl of honey. No need to ask, he just knew.
Sometimes they moved around the flat without speaking, music humming low in the background, caught in their own thoughts but still orbiting each other. He’d pass her a mug without a word, and she’d curl her hand around it like it was his hand she was holding. Other days, they cooked dinner together, him stirring pasta, her dancing barefoot around the kitchen to some old R&B track, occasionally dropping a kiss to his shoulder just because she could. It wasn’t loud love. It wasn’t performative. But it allowed them to be their true authentic selves without any reservations. 
One time, Carlos came home late (again). The weeks leading up to the Bahrain testing had been relentless, every day packed with meetings, sim sessions, and adjusting to the new rhythm with Williams. He was used to returning to a quiet, dim apartment after long days like this. But not anymore. Now, home smelled like grilled vegetables and sounded like whatever low-stakes show she had playing on the TV. Warmth clung to the air like something he could wrap himself in.
She was curled up on the couch, wearing her pajamas, legs tucked beneath her and a blanket thrown haphazardly across her lap.
“There are freshly made burgers in the oven,” she called out without even looking away from the screen. “I tried to set the oven timer so they’d still be warm.”
That one simple sentence nearly knocked the air out of him. It wasn’t just thoughtfulness. It was the casual way she did things like that. As if it was second nature to care for him. As if she belonged here, with him. A grin stretched across his face before he even realized it. 
When he finally dropped down beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions and his exhaustion fade just a little, the words slipped out before he could stop them.
“God, I love you.”
The silence that followed hit him like a slap. He froze, realizing what he’d said. Too fast? Too soon? A couple of months had passed since Monte Carlo, since they’d finally put a name on what they were. Things had been good, but he hadn’t planned to say it. Not yet. Maybe not like this. 
For a split second, fear bubbled up in his chest. Then she turned to him, smiling lazy and eyes full of that impossible softness that always seemed to undo him.
“I don’t know if you’re being religious or calling me God,” she said, head tilting just a little, “but either way, I love you more.”
His heart stuttered, just once. Relief flooding in, knocking the wind out of him all over again. There were still ghosts haunting the edges of what they were building, but right now, the feelings were growing fonder. And for the first time in a long time, Carlos believed it would last.
But sometimes, she’d linger in the bathroom longer than she meant to, just to shake off the overthinking about some words he said. Sometimes, he’d watch her while she slept and wonder how someone could look so calm next to him when he was still learning how not to self-destruct. There were those moments. Fleeting, barely-there pauses in their routine. Glances that didn’t land. Words half-said, then swallowed. Not arguments, just tension, subtle but present, like a crack forming in a foundation no one wanted to acknowledge.
They laughed a lot. They kissed even more. But every now and then, one of them would say something too sharply. He’d shut down without meaning to. She’d withdraw with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
As the time passed and their relationship grew and deepened, disagreements were no longer a question of if, but when. It was natural – a sign that they were both real, both human, both still learning how to love and be loved the right way. What mattered wasn’t the presence of conflict, but how they navigated it. How they circled back to each other after the storm. But the truth was, no matter how far they’d come, every fight still stung just as badly as the first. Maybe even more. Because now, there was more to lose. Now, the silences hit harder. The words, when they came, cut deeper.
And the worst part? Carlos still hadn’t learned how to stay. He didn’t know how to sit with discomfort, to hold space for pain without retreating from it. In the heat of the moment, his instinct never wavered: he walked away. Not because he didn’t care – but because he cared so much he didn’t know what to do with all the emotions.
She’d wait, every time. But even the strongest hearts can only take so much waiting.
As summer edged closer, the calendar finally loosened its chokehold – at least on paper. The races came a little slower now, the travel days stretched out with just enough space to pretend things were easier. But breathing room didn’t mean peace.
Not for them.
The cracks they’d carefully papered over all winter were starting to split wider under the weight of everything unsaid. Carlos was still carrying the bruises from his rough start with Williams, frustrated, tense, never really able to leave the pressure at the track. And her moods, usually so even, had been swinging unpredictably for weeks now, leaving both of them confused and defensive.
It didn’t take much to spark a fire anymore. The argument that night started, ironically, with nothing more than a photo.She was scrolling through her phone, mindless, half-watching the muted TV, when the image popped up: Carlos, earlier at an event, arm slung around a girl whose smile was a little too wide, whose body leaned a little too close.
It shouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t anything new. Fans adored him, he adored them back in that polite, easy way that made him Carlos. But tonight, it hit differently. Maybe because she already felt like she was losing pieces of him, one laugh and one late night at a time. Or maybe because for weeks she hadn't been able to look in the mirror without seeing someone unrecognizable and because hormones made everything a little more raw, a little more breakable.
When she heard his footsteps approaching from their bedroom, she didn’t even think before she spoke.
“Did you have fun today?”, voice light but slicing. Carlos immediately caught the off tone.
“What’s that supposed to mean?’ he sat next to her on the sofa, visible confusion on his face. 
“Nothing,” she shrugged, tossing the phone to him. “Just… nice to see you enjoying yourself, that’s all.”
It didn’t take him more than a glance to see what had set her off.
“It was a fan. Jesus, you’re making something out of nothing again.”
Again. The word landed like a slap.
“Maybe if you still looked at me the way you looked at her, I wouldn’t have to,” she said, voice dripping with envy, her eyes never meeting his gaze.
Carlos’s mouth twisted. Frustration boiled up the way it always did when he didn’t have the words to fix it.
“This is what you do,” he bit out. “Pick a fight because you’re in a bad mood. Blame me for it.”
“Yeah, because I’m the problem. And God forbid I dare to voice my feelings out,” she threw back, folding her arms tight across her chest like armor.
Carlos’s jaw tensed; his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He took a deep breath and stood up, realizing that whatever he said now would only make her spiral further.
“You know what?” he said, voice sharp. “I’m not doing this tonight. I’m going to Charles’.”
He turned around, already heading to grab his keys. Maybe if she wasn’t so tired, so worn down, she would’ve let him go. But not tonight.
“Sure,” she snapped, her voice cracking despite her best efforts, “go ahead. Leave. Like you always do. Leave us.”
The word hung there, thick and heavy, an earthquake in a single syllable.
Carlos froze. And she kept going.
“It’s the only way you know how to deal with situations like this, isn’t it? Always leaving. Always making me deal with my feelings alone, wondering if this is the time you're done with me for good.”
Her voice shook, but she pushed through it. “I can’t do this. This–”
“What do you mean, ‘us’?” he interrupted, voice low and shaky, like he wasn’t sure he heard her right.
Her throat burned. She didn’t want to say it like this. She didn’t want this to be the moment. But she couldn’t un-say it now.
“I’m pregnant, Carlos,” she whispered, voice breaking. “And I can’t– I can’t do this with someone who’s always halfway out the door. I can’t raise a kid wondering if you’re going to leave the second it gets hard.”
Carlos didn’t move for a second. Then, slowly, he came back, sinking down onto the edge of the bed like his legs didn’t know how to hold him up anymore.
His hands ran down his face, breathing shaky, but not because he was doubting it, not because he didn’t want it.
Family. With her. Not something he ever thought he’d deserve. But now that it was real, sitting between them like a live wire… There wasn’t a single part of him that regretted it.
“How long have you known?” he asked, voice hoarse, almost afraid to break whatever fragile thread was holding them together.
She twisted the hem of her sweatshirt around her fingers, not meeting his eyes.
“A month,” she said quietly. ”I’m... eleven weeks now.”
Something clicked sharply into place in Carlos’s mind. The flashes he hadn’t pieced together before.
The night she refused to come to the drivers’ dinner, claiming she was sick. How he got frustrated with her, accused her of blowing him off. Left her to deal with it alone. The way her moods had swung wildly some days, and instead of asking, he’d pulled back, snapping instead of supporting. The fights. The cracks. All the moments he could have held her closer, but didn’t. His chest tightened with regret so fierce it nearly knocked him over.
Meanwhile, she kept talking, voice trembling slightly like she couldn’t stop herself even if she tried.
“It’s been rough. The first trimester has been…” she shook her head, searching for the right word. “Hard. And with all the tension between us, I–” she swallowed, the confession threatening to strangle her, “I thought about leaving. About raising it alone.”
Carlos looked at her then, staring deep into her soul. The anger from earlier, the fear clouding everything between them – it was all gone. He only saw her – raw and scared and still so fiercely strong. Carrying not just his child, but the weight of every unspoken thing between them.
He slid across the couch until he was close enough to touch her, but didn’t, not yet. Not until she wanted him to.
“I don’t want you to do this alone,” he said quietly, fiercely. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to.”
Her eyes finally met his, guarded, shining with unshed tears.
“I mean it,” Carlos whispered, like a vow. “We can do this. We’re going to be better for them.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat. Two. Then, like a dam breaking, she leaned into him. He caught her instantly, pulling her into his arms, cradling the back of her head, anchoring her against him like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.
She knew things weren’t magically fixed, that the doubt would still curl around the edges of her mind, whispering that maybe he was staying because of the baby, not because of her.
But here he was. Still here. Holding her like he meant it. And for now, that was enough.
Silent tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into his shirt where her face was pressed against him. Carlos felt the dampness, the shudder of her breath against his chest, and somehow he knew – he just knew – what was running through her head.
His hand found the back of her neck, thumb brushing soothingly over her skin, grounding her.
“Cariño,” he murmured against her hair, voice low and steady. “When things get hard... when your mind starts telling you all the wrong things... don’t shut me out, okay? Don’t let me walk out on you. I know that I’m not the easiest person to be with, but you are the only one who can hold me down. So please, talk to me.”
He pulled her tighter against him, feeling the damp warmth of her tears soak through his shirt. His own chest ached with the weight of it – the mistakes he’d made, the fear she still carried, the trust she was still fighting to give him.
“I chose you before,” he whispered, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “And I’m choosing you now. Every day. No matter what.”
Her fingers clutched his hoodie, the smallest broken sound escaping her, but this time it wasn’t fear – it was something closer to hope, fragile and real.
They still had a lot to learn. A lot to fix. But they would.
Together.
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“No, you’re not carrying that,” Carlos commented, rising halfway from the floor where he was crouched in front of an almost-finished crib. His eyes narrowed at the box in her hands like it personally offended him.
She raised a brow and shushed him with a dramatic flick of her wrist.
“Relax, Carlitos. It’s just a changing pad. It barely weighs a thing.”
With a roll of her eyes and a small grunt, she set the cardboard box down on top of the assembled changing table. The nursery had taken shape quickly in the past few weeks – muted tones, soft lighting, tiny clothes already folded into drawers that smelled faintly of lavender detergent and baby powder. Books lined the small shelf. Plush toys peeked out of the corner.
Carlos took a step back to look around, wiping his palms on his sweatpants.
“We actually pulled it off,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “This is starting to look like... a real home.”
And for once, it really did.
Things were looking up.
The past six months hadn’t been easy, but they’d been transformative. After the storm came something close to peace.. Therapy became a grounding point, not just for the baby’s sake, but for theirs. A shared promise: to give their child the kind of love they hadn’t always known growing up. To unlearn the damage, brick by brick. It was their way to show up for each other in a way that no one else did. Carlos had surprised them both with how open he became. Somewhere along the way, the sessions stopped feeling like obligation and started feeling like oxygen. His dread, the constant, clawing fear of not being enough, slowly faded into something quieter. Manageable.
She stayed at work as long as her body allowed it, balancing spreadsheets and mood swings like a pro, until her doctor insisted she step back and take her pregnancy leave. The downtime hadn’t come easily to her, but it gave her space to breathe. Nest. Heal. She was fighting demons of her own, not only fearing the mistake her impulsiveness can cause to their relationship, but also how it could damage their child in the long run. 
But healing didn’t come neatly packaged with a bow. Therapy didn’t wave a magic wand over their problems – it just handed them the tools. And some days, they still fumbled. They still argued, got stubborn, said the wrong thing at the wrong time. But now, there was something different at the heart of it all – intention. Instead of walking away, they leaned in. Instead of shutting down, they reached out. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. They weren’t just learning how to love each other better – they were learning how to stay, even when it got hard.
And the baby? Oh, the baby was already the most loved fetus on the grid. When they’d shared the news – “Sainz Jr. Jr. arriving 2026” scrawled across a grainy ultrasound on Instagram – the internet had exploded. Aunties and uncles lined up in their DMs, a different driver claiming dibs on godparent status every week. The group chats were chaotic. Pure, hilarious chaos.
And now, the calm. The nursery light dimmed to a warm gold as the sun dipped lower. She was curled on the sofa, a hand on her stomach, the other balancing a cup of chamomile tea he’d just handed her.
He joined her a moment later, sitting down slowly, one hand resting lightly on her belly as if it grounded him there. They didn’t need many words. But tonight, something buzzed in the air, sweet and slow.
They talked about the future. About tiny shoes and first birthdays and whether the baby would inherit Carlos’ curls or her sarcasm. The laughter died down to a quiet hum as he shifted beside her, suddenly more serious, more certain. And then he reached into his pocket.
“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “So, I’ve been thinking about how to do this. I had about fifty different ideas. I threw out forty-nine of them last night. And I’m probably still going to mess it up–”
Carlos took a steady breath as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box with hands that had never felt so unsure. She watched him, confused at first, then still – eyes fixed on his face as he began to speak.
“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you,” he said quietly, voice steadier than he expected. “You pulled me in like you had a gravity of your own. And in that moment, I just knew I needed you.”
She sat up slowly, one hand braced against her belly, the other covering her mouth as emotion washed over her.
“We started with a spark... and then we were on fire. It was too much, too fast, and I kept telling myself we needed to slow down. Be cool. And I guess... we got our slowdown. We both slipped into our old, toxic ways. But somehow, I think we had to fall apart to learn how to come back together. Even when I was with someone else, before we figured this out... I knew. You were it for me. My endgame. There’s never been anyone else.”
She blinked, tears pooling in her lashes.
“Our love started like one of those old children’s games – pulling petals, wondering ‘she loves me... she loves me not.’ But once you really had me, truly had me, I never doubted your love or wanted to be anywhere else. I still don’t.”
He paused, eyes locked with hers as he dropped down to one knee, gently taking her free hand in his.
“I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. And the fact that I’m standing here, still getting to love you, is nothing short of a miracle. But know this – I would’ve never let you go without a fight. Never.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I know I’ll mess up again. We both will. But if we keep showing up, keep fighting for this... there’s no doubt in my heart. No place I’d rather be than right here. With you. Always.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then her lips parted, and her face crumpled into something between awe and disbelief. But instead of answering him, she winced. A soft gasp escaped.
Carlos immediately froze.
“What? What is it?” he asked, already shifting closer, hand still wrapped around the little velvet box.
She blinked again, wider this time, and let out a shaky laugh.
“I think my waters just broke.”
Carlos stared at her. 
“You’re joking,” he said.
She wasn’t.
And suddenly, the calm was gone. The rush of it all descended – nerves, adrenaline, panic wrapped in joy. But somehow, amid all the flurry of half-packed hospital bags and reaching for his phone with trembling hands, Carlos was still grinning.
Because this? This was everything.
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ef-1 · 2 years ago
Note
Twitter is mad at Daniel again because they caught on to that CH interview about Daniel being offered the same contract as Max, icl I'm also bitter about it. I wish he wasn't so rash in 2018
It's easy to be bitter in hindsight but the reality is more nuanced, had it not been recorded and internationally broadcast, what happened to Daniel in 2018 would be flat out unbelievable by ANY standard lol. Daniel had mechanical issues in every. single. weekend in 2018 <- this is not a hyperbole or a joke (more on this later). He ran multiple races with a b spec engine -> 20 bhp down on Max. At no point in 2018 did Max run a lower engine power than Daniel. Daniel incurred 8 dnfs, 4 back of the grid starts for mechanical issues and 6 grid drops in total where as Max had *1*[one]. This isn't even accounting for failures in quali or free practice that would have compromised his set up or race prep. Daniel's car accounted for 92% of Red Bull failures in comparison to Max's 8%.
Christian's cunty "he ran from a fight" comment stung particularly hard because it was Christian who made MULTIPLE public apologies to Daniel in 2018 on the ground that he wasn't given a chance to compete. Christian would apologise to Daniel again when Max won in Mexico, even though Daniel had an uncharacteristic outburst in the media pen during that famous "The car is cursed. I can't wait to give it to Pierre" This isn't even diving into the dubious & predatory RB contract practices. At 28 years old, to quote Christian "It's the first time he's effectively a free agent."
You look back at it now and lament it as a bad call but even by Christian's admission Red Bull were on the verge of selling the team for 4 years. Honda was coming in, I know it's easy to praise Honda now but Honda single handedly sent Alonso into early retirement. He found working with them untenable + said it cost him his love for the sport. Those were the lingering images of Honda as they re-entered the sport, the team who electrocuted Alonso then bled his love for racing dry.
If you weren't around in 2018 let me give you a run down so horrific it looks like a joke:
Australia - Race: 3 Place grid penalty
Bahrain - Race: DNF - Battery Failure
China - Free Practice 3: Gear box issue with complete engine turbo failure. Misses FP3 entirely, no quali set up prepared. He would go on to win that race from p6
Baku - Race: DNF - Collision with Max. Racing incident.
Monaco - Race: partial MGU-K failure. He would go on to win that race with drastic loss of power.
Canada - Free Practice 2 - Power unit issue, misses majority of the session.
France - Race: front wing failure. (it disintegrated)
Austria - Race: DNF - Retires from p3 with MGU-k Failure
Britain - Quali: DRS failure. No DRS activation, still qualifies p6 behind Max in p5
Germany - Race: Back of grid start + DNF - Takes new engine for the weekend, starts p19 + has lower power spec A ICE approximately 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running. Daniel climbed upto p5 from p19 but incurs a MGU-k failure and retires.
Hungary - Race: Daniel is forced to run lower power spec A ICE again, 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running
Spa - Free Practice 1 + DNF: Daniel misses entire session with engine injector issue + Daniel would go on to retire after being driven into on lap 1.
Monza - Race: Back of grid start + DNF. Daniel takes another new engine for weekend (spec C) and incurs another full grid penalty, starts p19. Daniel would go on to climb to p6 before having clutch failure and retiring.
Singapore - Race + Quali + Free practice: During every session in Singapore Daniel has an unresolved spec C engine clipping issue that Red Bull can't fix.
Russia - Race + Free Practice 1 - Daniel misses FP1 due to mechanical issues. Daniel takes another engine penalty, starts p18
Japan - Race + Quali: Daniel incurs throttle actuator failure, misses quali, another back of grid start.
USA - Race: DNF - Battery Failure
Mexico - Race: DNF - clutch Bearing failure + start software clutch issue. Daniel retires the race from P2
Brazil - Race: Daniel takes a 5 Place grid penalty due to new turbo charger replacement. Starts in p11.
Abu Dhabi - Free Practice 3: Misses majority of FP3 with water leak.
Daniel's insanely vulnerable "if racing was the only thing making me happy this year, I would have been miserable" during the last on the sofa with Max was a v apt summary of 2018. To suggest that Daniel fucked up based on the information he had in 2018, namely Daniel undergoing all those problems + knowing RB was flirting with selling the team + Helmut's fuckery + having an out from the RB umbrella for the first time in his career? Your problem isn't with his decision making process, you just wish he was clairvoyant which is an unfair thing to be bitter about
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grillthegridmydear · 9 months ago
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✧・゚: ✧・゚: Love You Like A Love Song - Part Two :・゚✧:・゚✧
F1 Grid X Reader
The grid reacts to a love song you wrote about them.
Part One
✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧
Pierre Gasly
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- Lover - Taylor Swift
The winter break in the F1 yearly calendar was possibly your favourite time of year, any time that you didn't have to miss your boyfriend for days at a time was time you cherished. During the season it was common for you and Pierre to pass each other like ships on the ocean. His early morning starts meant that you were waking up just as he left for the gym and with your days being spent in the studio you wouldn't arrive back to your shared home until long after he had eaten dinner, walked Simba and spent some time on the simulator to prep for that weekends upcoming race.
But winter break meant a few different things, the first being just over two months of freedom between the end of one season in Abu Dhabi and the beginning of testing before Bahrain kicked off the next. The second being that you and Pierre would spend a week visiting both of your families to spend some time with them before the two of you holed yourselves up in Strasbourg for the Christmas period, your apartment there playing host to the most wonderful time of year until New Years called you both down to Monaco for the annual celebration with your friends.
But tonight was more important than thoughts of the upcoming season, Christmas Eve was here and after you both got back from touring the Christmas market with Simba, the front door was locked and the curtains mostly drawn, the fireplace lit and the croon of old records on your player sealed you all inside your apartment for the night, wrapping you up in your own little snow globe. It was a picture perfect scene, you on the couch with Simba curled up in your lap, Pierre grabbing the wine and pasta that you were eating for dinner, with Miracle on 34th Street playing on the TV, snow falling past the window.
Every Christmas followed this routine since you and Pierre first celebrated the holiday together as a couple, and you couldn't picture a better way to spend it.
But of all of the traditions you followed there was one that seemed the most special, as a child Christmas gifts were locked away never to be opened until the morning, but being adults who made their own rules, you two always sat under the tree on the evening of the 24th and opened your gifts for each other. This year you could feel yourself on the edge of your seat because of the wrapped record that sat at the bottom of his pile, a surprise that you had been working on for about a month.
"qu'est-ce que c'est?" his goofy smile made you giggle as he got to the last gift in his little stack, a stack which had also contained a new watch, a silly t shirt with a photo of him and Charles when they were kids in their little karting suits (a matching one sat in a gift bag with the Monegasque's name on it) and a Cartier chain that now sat in its rightful place on his neck. The flat square was wrapped immaculately in the same gold and silver paper as his other gifts but once the paper was ripped off Pierre was met with a simple brown cardboard record sleeve, completely blank besides a polaroid that had been glued to the front, it was from your first Christmas together, taken in that very apartment when it was empty bar the Christmas tree and sofa you were currently sat on. One word decorated the bottom border of the photograph "Lover" written in your familiar handwriting.
Your own smile only grew when he immediately abandoned all his other gifts to swap out the current song for his mystery gift. Smooth guitars filled the room as he pulled you up to dance with him, your own voice echoing through the room as you settled into a slow sway.
Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever) You're my, my, my, my Lover
The songs end was met with the muffled crackle of the needle but you couldn't pull your eyes away from his. without breaking away from your gaze Pierre pulled a small box from his pocket and knelt on the spot. Love and admiration never leaving his eyes.
Your Lover, Forever.
✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚:
Charles Leclerc
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- Feels like This - Maisie Peters
There were a select few honours that you had managed to have in your life this far, the first being the music you were able to give to the world. Since you were old enough to babble you held a tune and the passion you had for music translated to the songs you wrote and shared with the world as your career.
The second being the honour you had to be the long time girlfriend of the most amazing man you had ever known. Charles met you when you were traveling in Italy a few years ago as a well deserved treat to yourself after finishing university. A coffee shop in Maranello played host to your meet cute where you sat in a cosy corner next to the most beautiful piano, when the owner saw you eyeing the instrument she insisted that you play something, and among the crowd of café patrons stood a transfixed Charles Leclerc. He was still in his first year of racing with Ferrari at the time, and once you finished playing a song that you had written the patrons applauded while he worked up the courage to ask you for your name, and eventually your number. The relationship that followed was nothing short of a fairy tale and as his career in formula one grew so did yours in music, both of you growing into notorious and respected individuals in your respective fields.
All this to say that your third and most recent honour came in the form of a request 6 months ago. It was inevitable that Charles brother Lorenzo would eventually propose to his long time love Charlotte but when the day finally came it was magical. This exciting chapter in their lives came with a very special request from the future groom himself, as he pulled you to the side at the family dinner held to celebrate the upcoming nuptials and explained that he wanted to surprise Charlotte with a song for their first dance as husband and wife, and he wanted you (renowned artist and his brother's girlfriend) to write and perform it.
Which led you to tonight, mere hours before the wedding, where you were sat at the piano in the ballroom of the beautiful historic mansion in the Italian countryside that would play host to the reception the following day. You were so engrossed in your secret rehearsal that the footsteps of your love went unheard until you felt him sit with you, the both of you sharing the piano stool. Charles made a successful distraction as your fingers left the keys and you turned to look at him, joy dancing in his eyes as he took you in, sat in your happy place.
"So this is what you have been working on? It sounds beautiful."
Charles was just as much in the dark about your song as the rest of the family, the only one who had heard the song being Lorenzo when you sent a voice note to him three weeks ago for final approval, the phone call you received minutes later held his glowing admiration and you could almost swear his voice was heavy with emotion as he thanked you what must have been a hundred times, citing the songs perfection.
"Enzo asked me to write it, its his gift to Charlotte for tomorrow, their first dance."
You fiddled with the keys absentmindedly before launching into the full song, this time with the vocals which echoed through the empty room, the world coming to a standstill as Charles watched you with eyes full of love.
Who cares about star signs? I'm hardwired to be with you You're like a sunrise and I'm scared that I'll never get enough of you Nobody called it a starfall Come out the blue I'm all butterflies I'm sky-high for you When it feels like this, like a light came on And you look at me like I'm all you want I got everything at my fingertips How can I resist when it feels like this?
The final notes echoed through the room as you met Charles' gaze for his approval, you were met with his hazel gaze staring into your soul.
"How do you do it?" He whispers in awe.
"I write them about you."
✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚:
Carlos Sainz
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- A Thousand Years - Christina Perri
You and Carlos never fought, in the three years that you have been lucky to love him it had never happened.
You were convinced that you were soulmates, twin flames that slotted together like puzzle pieces, your personalities fit in a way that you had never seen before, not in the love your own parents shared, not in the movies you grew up watching or the books you read, not even in the love you saw everyday between strangers on the streets that you would never meet again. Since the day you met Carlos Sainz you were convinced that he was the answer to the wishes that the little girl inside you once made on stars looking to find a handsome prince to love her forever.
Couples fight, it was normal, healthy even. The words bounced around your head, hitting the walls of your empty home in a never ending loop. Couples fight, but you never did.
Which is why you were so frazzled, why you sat in a trance in your living room, alone in your big empty house while your fiancé was on the other side of the world. Because you and Carlos never fought, until you did.
The argument became insignificant the second it ended, you couldn't even remember what it was about or what had started it in the first place, but it was enough to leave you in tears as Carlos picked up his keys and left two days before he was set to leave for Singapore. Your phone lay on the table in front of you, screen dark and notification bar empty. He had yet to reach out, no calls or texts since he walked out the day before, but neither had you. You didn't know what to say, and it wasn't for lack of trying, but every time your finger hovered over his contact you froze, what if he didn't want to speak to you? The Singapore Grand Prix was a difficult race in its essence, it was held at night in blistering heat and it was dangerous if the driver couldn't command their full focus, so the idea of distracting him before he raced left a pit in your stomach.
You were brought out of your thoughts when your phone finally lit up, the screen coming to life with a feint buzz, heart leaping into your throat you scrambled to open it, hoping for a message from him, but it was instead from Lando, one of Carlos' closest friends on the grid. His message was simple, a brief 'saw this on twitter' followed by a video.
Opening the attachment you were met with an edit, clearly made by a fan, of moments that the media and other fans had caught in your relationship. Clips and photos from the last three years of you and Carlos strung together in a video that captured the story of you both, from early days to the many races that you were in attendance for, snippets from interviews where the other was mentioned to the photo that had announced your engagement to the world. Every public moment of your love captured in a two minute video that had you smiling and filled with warmth.
The song took three days from start to finish, your extensive training in as many instruments as you could get your hands on let you compose the piece in record time, and the final product sat nestled in your phone as you boarded the flight to Singapore, the sixteen hour flight let you catch up on the sleep you had lost and when you landed on Sunday evening you were an hour away from the start of the race, you wouldn't make it to the track before Carlos was in the car but the audio file was sent as you settled into a taxi.
When you reached the paddock the race was well underway and a staff member from Ferrari waited at the gates with your pass. There were 10 laps to go when you finally made it to the garage, Alexandra waving you over as you both watched your boys in the final stint of the race, when the checker flag waved to signal the end of the race you accompanied the rest of the crew out to the parc ferme barriers, Max, George and Lando settled into their podium spaces and between them you could see him.
Your eyes met, and the world stopped.
As he jogged over the crew around you began their congratulations for his P4 finish, but your eyes never left his, not until he reached you and his lips crashed onto your own. The frozen world around you began to speed up, lights brighter and sounds louder as you poured you entire being into the kiss.
"mi para siempre" were the words that he mumbled, breaking the kiss with your foreheads pressed together like if you were to separate the world would end.
Couples fight, you and Carlos fought, once, and never again.
And all along I believed I would find you Time has brought your heart to me I have loved you for a thousand years I'll love you for a thousand more
✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚:
Daniel Riccardo
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- Enchanted - Taylor Swift
It was official, you had finally lost your mind.
"I hope you guys are enjoying the show tonight" you spoke into the mic as the stadium crowd cried out in deafening screams, your usual tour costume had been swapped out for the most gorgeous purple gown of your dreams, this entire section of the show was brand new to debut tonight and close out your Sydney show. A new song that had never been heard by the crowd, or by the man who stood with your friends and family in the VIP tent.
You and Daniel had been friends for as long as either of you could remember. Attached by the hip all your lives you were best friends, well, you were his best friend, you were madly in love with him, which was inconvenient.
As the crowd died down you continued "It's so special to be back in Australia, this has been a pretty epic welcome back to my home so thank you all for coming out tonight." You could feel the love pouring back at you from the crowd, which was giving you courage to do what you were about to do, if this whole thing blew up in your face like fireworks then at least you knew that they would have a new song.
"So I have this song, its a new song that I wrote for my next album but I think that tonight is the perfect night to sing it to you all for the first time." Your eyes bounced between the floor and the section of seats to the left of the stage, where you knew Daniel was watching.
Yep, you had finally gone insane.
"This song was written with someone really special to me in mind, He is someone I have known all my life, and he just so happens to be the person I love most in the world, so I hope you enjoy."
The band played the intro to the song, guitars ringing through the venue which riled the crowd up once again into cheers, there was no going back now.
There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you
Thousands of lights began to erupt around the stadium, looking like the fireflies that you and Danny used to chase in the summer. This song contained your entire being, all of your feelings, memories, and dreams condensed into six minutes. Years of neighbouring desks in school, sneaking out to watch the stars, lounging on the sofa in his garage while he fiddled with his kart. It spanned all the cities that you followed him to, watching him race, every victory and every loss, different formula categories and varying teams over the years as he made a name for himself. All the years of talent shows and sleepless nights on porches with your guitar and your notebook, to the sold out shows that led you to tonight. Every single moment shared with him.
This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you
The consequences of your extremely public declaration of your feelings were glaringly obvious, it could all go horribly wrong. You knew that Daniel wouldn't exit your life if he didn't feel the same, but no matter the outcome, either he returned your feelings or you just publicly humiliated yourself on stage and you weren't entirely sure that you could live with the rejection that you would face if he didn't love you the way you wanted to be loved by him.
Daniel Riccardo held a tight grasp on your heart and he had the power to shatter it into a million pieces.
This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you
Your voice rang out to a final deafening cheer from the crowd as the lights went dark. The show was over, and now you had to face the music.
As the venue began to empty you paced the length of the backstage area, Daniel always met you back stage after a show if he was in attendance, and as the minutes ticked by and the tulle of your dress brushed the floor with every step dread started to seep into you.
Maybe you made a mistake.
Before you could wish for the earth to swallow you whole pounding footsteps came to a sudden halt behind you. When you turned to see him he looked out of breath, like he ran to get there. His expression was unreadable and a final strike of dread sent a shiver down your spine.
This was a mistake.
Before you could say anything, before you could fumble for the words to explain yourself, make up any excuse to save your friendship from the catastrophic end that your mind was envisioning he marched up to meet you.
The kiss was unexpected, you would have thought you were dreaming but even in your dreams, Daniel never kissed you like that. It lasted what felt like forever and as you both eventually came up for air the unreadable look in his eyes suddenly became glaringly clear.
"I'm not in love with anyone but you."
✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚:
Part two as promised, This one was a lot of fun to write so I hope you enjoy.
✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧・゚:
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