F1 Imagine - Blog Posts

Hello the reason why I was gone was because I was dealing with little demons called my cousins so ummm yeah enjoy I and please give me requests if you would like

okay next, i js wanna laugh. okay so, were at a charity event or something, and im volunteering, helping hand out juice boxes, signing people in, keeping children from using cones as swords, that typa stuff. until FRANCO COLAPINATA shows up, he's js being annoying really, until shes had enough and YEET the juice box at his head, and then he's all nonchalant and shit like "UH HUH I DESERVED THATTT AHAHA" .... and then you can tell the juice box turned him on bc you can like tell he wants her, and thennn WEEKS pass, and he DM's her. "saw apple juice today. thought of you. still flinch when i see boxes. wanna hang out?” MUWUAHAHSNA

❦ - manzanas contigo.

warnings:: none, maybe cussing..?

writers notes:: pls send more franco/f1 reqs bc i loved writing this sm and hes so fun to write for!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs

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you don’t even want to be here.

the email had said volunteers needed, and your overly kind soul had said sure, why not, and now you’re seven hours deep into wrangling children hopped up on fruit snacks and sun. the charity event is cute in theory, music, booths, a little track set up for games, and a bounce house, but in practice? it’s a battlefield.

you’re stationed at the welcome tent, handing out wristbands and juice boxes and fake smiles.

your feet hurt. your shirt is sticking to your back. a toddler is crying because he dropped his balloon into a bush. and some guy just tried to cut the line because he ‘swears his cousin is already inside.’

you’re not proud of how close you came to smacking him with the clipboard.

but then, because life has a sense of humor, he appears.

franco colapinto.

and you know it’s him, because who else shows up to a local charity event in an alpine cap, looking like he walked out of a sports magazine and directly into your personal hell?

you glance up at the exact moment he’s brushing a curl out of his eyes, all casual and oops i’m hot and didn’t mean to beenergy.

he scans the crowd, sunglasses pushed up on his head, mouth curled like he already knows he’s being stared at. and of course he is. a group of teenage volunteers behind you are whispering, one of them literally smacks the other on the arm and goes that’s him. that’s that guy. the car one.

sigh.

maybe if you stay perfectly still, he won’t notice you.

but of course, you are not blessed with that kind of luck.

his eyes land on you. direct. intentional.

and he starts walking over.

great.

you busy yourself with the juice boxes, shuffling them around pointlessly as if they need organizing, as if you’re not seconds away from face to face contact with a walking headache.

‘so,’ he says, leaning against the table like this is his full time job. ‘what does a guy gotta do to get one of those?’

you glance up. ‘a wristband?’

‘nah. a juice box.’

you stare.

he smiles.

you hold one up. ‘take it and leave.’

‘whoa. feisty. is this how you treat all guests, or am i special?’

you blink. ‘i’ve been here since 6am. i have zero patience and less charm left.’

‘good thing i’ve got enough charm for both of us.’

you raise a brow. ‘that supposed to work on me?’

he shrugs, peeling the wrapper off a straw. ‘worth a shot.’

he doesn’t leave.

he just stands there, sipping slowly, watching you like he’s never seen anyone pass out juice before. his gaze trails across your face, not in a creepy way, just annoyingly observant. like he’s trying to figure out what kind of person signs up for this kind of chaos and doesn’t run away screaming.

you try to ignore him. you really do.

but then he starts helping. like… physically taking wristbands from your hand to hand them to kids, leaning way too close to read names off the sign in list, nodding solemnly at the parents like he belongs here.

and the worst part? people believe it.

‘you two are adorable,’ one lady says as she signs in her daughter.

you nearly choke. ‘we’re not—‘

‘thank you,’ franco cuts in, smiling like he just won an oscar. ‘we try.’

you give him a look. he winks. kill me, you think.

it gets worse when a small child asks for apple juice and franco picks one up, does a dramatic gasp, and goes, ‘apple! the superior juice. i like your taste, kid.’

you break.

you don’t mean to. you truly don’t. but something inside you snaps, and the next thing you know, you’re yeeting a juice box straight at him.

it arcs through the air with surprising grace, smacks him right in the shoulder, and bounces off harmlessly onto the grass.

a moment of silence.

he blinks.

then he laughs. hard.

‘okay,’ he says, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘i deserved that. i fully, absolutely, one hundred percent deserved that.’

you cross your arms. ‘you think?’

he’s still grinning as he bends to pick it up. ‘apple again. symbolic.’

‘you’re ridiculous.’

‘you like me though.’

you scoff. ‘i like peace and quiet.’

‘you’re blushing.’

‘i’m hot. it’s eighty degrees.’

‘you threw a juice box at me.’

‘you were annoying.’

he tilts his head. ‘admit it. it was kinda satisfying.’

you bite back a smile. ‘maybe a little.’

he grins, stepping back finally. ‘i’ll leave you to your cone wrangling duties. but don’t be surprised if you see me again.’

‘god help me,’ you mutter.

he strolls away, sipping the slightly dented juice like it’s champagne.

and yeah. maybe your heart is doing something dumb.

maybe you do glance up once or twice, wondering if he’s still watching you.

maybe he is.

you don’t expect to see him again.

honestly, you’d hoped the juice box incident would be enough to scare him off. but two saturdays later, at a completely different event, you’re there, collecting raffle tickets and babysitting the world’s most chaotic face paint station, and there he is.

franco colapinto.

wearing a hoodie this time. hood up. trying and failing to blend in, as if his stupidly nice smile and the way he walks like the world was made for him don’t give him away instantly.

you see him from across the lot.

he doesn’t even try to be subtle. just lifts his hand in a little wave and starts walking straight toward you like this is a planned reunion and not a complete surprise.

you look around. as if there’s someone else he could be greeting. spoiler: there isn’t.

‘you again,’ you say when he reaches you.

‘me again,’ he grins, pulling down his hood like he’s revealing a secret identity.

you sigh. ‘are you following me?’

‘you wish.’

‘so this is a coincidence?’

he shrugs. ‘or fate.’

you deadpan. ‘you’re insufferable.’

‘you say that every time.’

‘i mean it every time.’

he gestures around, like he’s settling in. ‘need help again? or do i have to earn my juice box rights this time?’

you narrow your eyes. ‘don’t you have a job?’

‘i do. it’s off-season. i’m thriving.’

‘this is how you spend your free time? crashing fundraisers?’

‘not crashing,’ he says, very seriously. ‘contributing. i donated five bucks to the bouncy castle. i’m basically a hero.’

you don’t laugh. you don’t.

okay, maybe a little.

he’s already rolling up his sleeves and jumping into whatever task you’re doing, like last time, and suddenly you’re stuck with him for three hours again.

he helps a little girl glue pom poms onto a paper crown.

he nearly gets paint on his nose and doesn’t notice.

he lets a five year old draw a blue lightning bolt across his cheek and calls it his new racing stripe.

and every now and then, he looks over at you like you’re the funniest thing in the world, even when you’re just frowning at a clipboard or trying to untangle a balloon string from a folding chair.

you pretend not to care.

you pretend really hard.

the third time is the worst.

mostly because… you kind of expect him now.

you’ve made the mistake of mentioning your volunteer schedule to a friend on your story. and it’s fine. really. except now, when you show up to the saturday pet adoption drive with a clipboard and a tight ponytail, you scan the crowd. like an idiot.

he’s not there.

you tell yourself you’re relieved. that you don’t need another afternoon of his smug little comments and stupidly good hair.

but you still keep checking.

twenty minutes pass.

an hour.

two.

he doesn’t come.

you keep busy. hand out flyers. try not to cry when a little dog named charlie gets adopted. organize leashes by size.

and you don’t look at the time more than seven times. promise.

at some point, you’re wiping your hands with a napkin behind the tent when your phone buzzes.

it’s a dm.

from franco.

you blink.

sorry i couldn’t be there today. doing actual job things. tragic.

you stare at it.

then another:

but saw apple juice earlier. still flinched.

and another:

still want to hang out sometime. even if you hit me with stuff. maybe especially because you hit me with stuff.

you can’t help it. your lips twitch.

you don’t reply right away.

you finish your shift. take the long way home. drink half a juice box you saved from the cooler, even though it’s lukewarm now.

and when you’re lying on your bed, staring at the message, you finally type:

you’re impossible.

three dots.

impossible but charming?

you:

debatable.

him:

you didn’t say no though.

you stare at your screen for a second too long.

then:

one coffee. you pay. no weird pickup lines.

his response is immediate.

deal. i’ll try to behave. no promises.

you tell yourself it’s just a coffee.

one coffee. thirty minutes, max. maybe forty five if he says something dumb and you need time to drag him for it.

it’s not a big deal.

except it is. because you spend too long picking an outfit. change your shirt twice. then change it again. then panic change it back to the first one and tell yourself to get a grip.

you meet at some small place he picked, half hipster café, half bookstore. it smells like cinnamon and old paperbacks. you hate how nice it is.

franco’s already there.

and of course he looks… stupidly good. hoodie, again. curls poking out. one hand lazily spinning his coffee cup. and that grin, that stupid boyish grin, when he spots you.

‘you came,’ he says, standing.

‘don’t sound so surprised.’

he does a little half bow. ‘welcome to the least boring hour of your life.’

you roll your eyes and sit across from him. ‘don’t flatter yourself.’

‘not flattering. manifesting.’

you try to look annoyed, but the truth is, you’re already smiling. just a little. traitorous.

you talk.

not about anything huge at first. just… dumb things. favorite drinks. worst airport experiences. why he thinks pineapple on pizza should be illegal (you argue passionately against this).

he tells you about crashing a go kart once when he was twelve because he was ‘trying to wave like a champion’ and forgot to steer.

you tell him about the time you accidentally walked into the wrong class and sat through fifteen minutes of astrophysics before realising.

he laughs with his whole chest.

and it’s easy. too easy. every time your fingers brush reaching for the sugar, it feels like something electric. every time he leans in a little, like he’s really listening, your heart stutters.

you should not be this into him. and yet.

you’re both halfway through your drinks when he goes quiet for a second, then says, ‘i almost didn’t message you.’

you blink. ‘why not?’

he shrugs, looks down, spins the empty cup between his hands. ‘i dunno. didn’t want to be annoying.’

‘you already are.’

he grins, but it’s softer now. ‘yeah, but like… in a cute way.’

you shake your head, but your cheeks are warm. ‘you’re such a menace.’

‘you threw juice at me.’

‘because you were asking for it.’

he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes on yours. ‘maybe i was.’

your breath catches. just a little. just enough.

you clear your throat. ‘you’re not smooth, you know.’

‘i don’t need to be. i just need to make you smile.’

you hate him.

you really, really don’t.

you leave the café two hours later.

two.

neither of you wants to say goodbye yet, so you walk. just… around. your shoulder brushes his once. then again. then a third time, and this time, it stays there. just for a second longer than it should.

he doesn’t let go first.

eventually, you end up back where you started.

he looks at you like he wants to say something. then looks away. then back.

‘can i see you again?’ he asks, soft.

you nod. and for once, don’t try to be clever.

‘yeah. i’d like that.’

the second date happens faster than either of you expect.

you’d planned to wait. play it cool. but then franco sends you a picture of a strawberry smoothie and says ‘looked gross. thought of u,’ and you end up laughing so hard in the middle of your kitchen that you just… cave.

you text him:
you free tonight?

he replies in literal seconds:
always. pick the time. i’ll teleport.

you meet again at the same café. but this time, he’s not already sitting.

he’s waiting outside. leaning on the wall. hoodie again, he really only owns five of them, he tells you later, and his curls are just barely damp from the light rain that’s started falling.

he sees you and that grin hits his face like clockwork. like he’d been saving it just for you.

‘you came,’ he says.

‘you say that every time.’

‘yeah, but like… every time you do, it messes me up a little.’

you pretend you don’t hear that part.

it’s darker inside. quieter. the same table’s free, but this time, you sit next to each other.

close.

too close.

he smells good. not in an obvious, cologne drenched way. it’s something warmer. shampoo and sugar and the kind of scent that lingers even after he leaves.

your knees touch under the table.

neither of you moves.

you talk again.

about bigger things this time. pressure. travel. burnout. he admits he sometimes feels like everything’s moving too fast, and he’s scared he won’t be able to hold on.

you nod. you tell him about how you fake confidence half the time. how sometimes you feel invisible until someone needs something.

he listens. really listens.

then says, ‘you’re not invisible.’

you blink. ‘okay?’

‘just saying. i notice you. always have.’

you laugh a little. ‘that’s creepy.’

‘yeah,’ he says, smiling into his drink. ‘but like… romantic creepy.’

you don’t mean to stay late. but time’s slippery around him.

by the time you realize it’s almost midnight, you’re both sitting outside the café, sharing a leftover pastry and watching the rain slide down the windows.

you don’t want to go.

he doesn’t want to say goodbye.

so he walks you home.

he stops outside your door.

you both kind of hover there. like two idiots waiting for someone to do something. say something.

‘this was nice,’ you say quietly.

‘yeah,’ he says, and then, softer, ‘i wanna kiss you.’

your breath catches.

he doesn’t move closer. doesn’t touch you. he just stands there, all warm eyes and soft voice.

you whisper, ‘then why don’t you?’

he grins. all teeth and nerves and too much hope.

‘cause the minute i kiss you, i’m not gonna stop thinking about it. and i want you to wanna kiss me back. like really want to.’

you stare at him.

he shrugs. ‘just being honest.’

you nod. heart in your throat.

then say, ‘next time.’

he smirks, already backing away.

‘i’ll hold you to that.’

you tell yourself you’re not waiting.

not waiting for a text. not waiting for a call. not waiting for the memory of him saying i wanna kiss you to stop looping in your head like some kind of cursed romantic ringtone.

but when his name flashes on your screen two days later, your whole face warms.

what if we didn’t do coffee this time?

you stare.

what do you wanna do then?

he replies instantly.

drive. music. idfk. i’ll bring snacks. you bring the vibe.

you:
so i’m the vibe?

him:
always.

he picks you up at 7:03.

he’s in a black hoodie this time, and his car smells like mint gum and the ghost of bad fast food. there’s a half eaten bag of crisps on the passenger seat, which he tosses in the back when you open the door.

‘you’re late,’ you say.

‘you’re early. time’s fake. get in.’

he drives like he thinks he’s in a movie.

one hand on the wheel. other messing with the aux. windows down. hair wind-blown and wild. he sings under his breath to every second song. raps to the third one badly. you don’t stop laughing the entire first hour.

you don’t know where he’s going, but you don’t care.

being next to him feels like its own kind of destination.

eventually, he parks by the water.

some random lookout. the city’s lights glitter below, far enough to feel small. the kind of view that feels too beautiful to deserve.

you sit on the hood of his car. shoulder to shoulder. knee to knee. the air’s cold, but not too cold. and everything’s soft. quiet.

for a second, neither of you says anything.

and then, gently, he says, ‘i think about kissing you a lot.’

you blink.

he keeps staring ahead, like he didn’t just drop a bomb. ‘not in a creepy way.’

you laugh. ‘do you always think you’re being creepy?’

‘only when i like someone too much.’

the words settle in your chest like warmth. like lightning.

‘franco,’ you say.

he turns.

‘kiss me.’

his eyes go wide. like for a second, he’s not sure if he heard you right.

then, slowly, he leans in.

he kisses you like he’s afraid to mess it up. like he’s been waiting exactly this long, and not a second less. soft, steady, sure.

and when he pulls back, he just rests his forehead against yours.

neither of you speaks for a minute.

you break the silence. ‘not bad.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘that’s it? not bad?’

‘seven out of ten. you’ll need practice.’

‘cool. guess i better keep showing up.’

you’re not sure when it shifted.

when the maybe turned into definitely. when the texting turned into facetime turned into mornings with your feet tangled under his on the couch. when the almost turned into always.

but now, here you are, franco at your door with a half-melted milkshake and a stupid grin, like he’s been thinking about this all day.

‘you’re late,’ you tease, taking the drink.

‘you’re still hot,’ he says, walking in like he lives here.

(he kind of does.)

you’ve been soft ever since the drive.

he kisses you now like he needs to. like he missed you, even if it’s only been a few hours. like kissing you is just a normal part of his day, something between brushing his teeth and ruining your kitchen by cooking you breakfast at 2 a.m.

sometimes, you wake up to his hand resting on your waist, his face buried in your shoulder. like his body forgets how to be without you.

you don’t say it. not yet. but you feel it.

you think he does too.

it’s been weeks.

weeks since franco colapinto got beaned in the forehead with apple juice and decided that was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

weeks since he dm’d you with that dumb message:
saw apple juice today. thought of you. still flinch when i see boxes. wanna hang out?

weeks since you said yes.

and now here you are, propped up on his couch, socks mismatched, face lit by the glow of a documentary you’re not watching, because franco’s lying with his head in your lap and he keeps dragging his fingers along your leg like he can’t believe you’re real.

‘what,’ you murmur.

‘nothing,’ he says. then, quietly: ‘just thinking about the juicebox.’

you snort. ‘again?’

he nods, sleepy and fond. ‘you threw that thing with intention. it was beautiful.’

‘you’re so weird.’

‘you’re the one who assaulted me with a children’s drink.’

‘you flirted with me for two hours while i was working.’

‘you looked hot with a clipboard. sue me.’

you roll your eyes. he reaches up, brushes your hair behind your ear.

‘you know i really did think about you every time i saw juice after that?’

‘you said that already.’

‘i mean it. i’d be in a store and be like… damn. i miss her aim.’

you swat him. he laughs. kisses your wrist.

later, when you’re brushing your teeth in his oversized hoodie, he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head.

‘should we save the juicebox?’ he asks, voice muffled in your hair.

‘what, like… frame it?’

‘yeah. put it above the bed. shrine to our origin story.’

‘you’re so dumb.’

‘dumb for you.’

you groan. he grins.

he still gets teased by his friends about the Incident.

he still buys apple juice ‘for the bit’ and lines the fridge with it like a threat.

but when he kisses you goodbye before his next race, all soft and slow like he’s imprinting it in his memory, he says:

‘thanks for hitting me.’

and you say,
‘thanks for being annoying enough to deserve it.’

and maybe, maybe, that’s just your love language now.

hmmm so i lowk want sleepy franco, bc i had a dream abt him last night no joke. let's see. okay. we're on a plane, his like travel director guy? idk what he's called, but he books the wrong ticket so franco has to sit in economy class (horror) and he's all grumpy and tired and his curls are peeking thru his hoodie (HEHE) idk if you wanna make us a fan of him or not, i truly don't care ill read it anyway, and then drumroll please, TURBULENCE, and we hold hands and end up talking and then fall in love mwah

❦ - ‘la concha de mi madre’.

warnings:: cussing.

writers notes:: IM SORRY IF YOU SPEAK SPANISH AND UNDERSTAND THE TITLE 🥀. if you get the reference then you get it but if u don’t then it’s bc he said it on team radio 😔.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs ; lmk if u wanna be added

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you’re already exhausted when you get to the gate. the kind of tired that settles behind your eyes and makes everything feel just a little bit blurry. it’s a late flight, barely-full, and you’re silently thanking the universe for that as you scan your boarding pass.

economy. window seat. quiet.

until he walks in.

it’s subtle at first. just a little wave of tension that passes through the gate area like a ripple, the way it always does when someone vaguely famous walks into a space not meant for them. people don’t scream or swarm, but you hear the hushed whispers, the occasional, poorly-hidden phone snap. and then you see him.

franco.

hood up. head down. dragging a carry-on with one hand and a coffee in the other like it might be the only thing keeping him awake.

he looks like he was just pulled out of sleep and shoved into an airport. grey hoodie. black joggers. a duffel slung lazily over one shoulder. and his curls, god, his curls, are peeking out from under the fabric like they’re trying to escape. messy and soft and unfairly pretty.

you try not to stare.

he looks grumpy. not mean, not rude, just tired in the way only someone who was promised comfort but got chaos instead can be. he stops by the flight attendant, glances down at his phone, then mutters something in spanish you don’t catch but feel in your soul. it’s giving: ‘how did i end up here?’

you turn back to your book, pretending you’re not watching him weave down the aisle, scanning seat numbers, getting closer and closer until

he stops. right beside you.

your row.

he double checks his pass. stares at the seat. stares at you. then groans, barely audible, and sinks down into the seat next to yours like it personally offended him.

‘la concha de mi madre… wasn’t supposed to be here,’ he mumbles, more to himself than you.

you don’t say anything at first. you just glance sideways, taking in the way his knees hit the seat in front of him. he’s clearly too tall for this. he exhales sharply through his nose and tilts his head back, letting it thud softly against the wall.

‘rough night?’ you ask gently.

he peeks one eye open.

‘travel guy booked the wrong class. s’posed to be business.’ he sounds like he’s explaining a grave injustice. and honestly, to him, maybe it is.

you bite back a laugh. ‘and now you’re slumming it with the rest of us.’

he looks at you properly now. eyes sharp despite how sleepy he is. ‘you make it sound like i’m gonna die in here.’

‘you might,’ you tease. ‘depends how dramatic you get.’

he cracks a smile, small, sleepy, but real, and pulls his hoodie tighter around him. then it’s quiet again. the kind of quiet that fills a plane before takeoff: muted announcements, seatbelt clicks, the soft shuffle of passengers settling in.

you go back to your book. or try to. it’s hard to focus when an f1 driver is breathing softly beside you, head tilted toward the window, lashes brushing his cheekbones, hands folded loosely over his stomach.

he looks peaceful like that. tired, yes, but soft in a way you didn’t expect. like he’s finally stopped fighting the chaos and just let himself be still.

you’re almost asleep yourself when it happens.

the plane jerks. a sudden lurch. not violent, but sharp enough to pull you from the edge of sleep and snap your heart into alert.

your hand flinches toward the armrest, gripping it tight.

and then another bump, this one stronger. someone across the aisle lets out a small yelp.

your stomach twists.

and then

warm fingers slip over yours.

it’s so casual, so easy, like he’s done this before. his hand is big, firm, grounding. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even open his eyes, but the pressure of his palm against yours is enough to slow your breath just a little.

‘just turbulence,’ he murmurs, voice low, raspy with sleep. ‘happens all the time.’

you don’t know why you believe him. maybe because he sounds so calm. maybe because your hand fits stupidly well in his. or maybe because, deep down, part of you likes that this stranger, this famous, hoodie-wearing, grumpy stranger, is the one keeping you steady.

when the turbulence fades, you think he’ll pull away.

he doesn’t.

you glance over. his eyes are open now, just barely, looking at your joined hands with an unreadable expression.

‘you don’t have to keep holding it,’ you say quietly.

he shrugs, thumb brushing against your skin. ‘you looked scared.’

you don’t answer. just look away, heart thudding a little too loud in your chest.

after a beat, he shifts in his seat, turning slightly toward you.

‘i’m franco, by the way.’

you blink. not because you didn’t know. but because it feels strange, intimate, for him to offer it like that.

‘y/n,’ you say back, voice softer than before.

he nods once. ‘pretty name.’

you smile, small and a little shy. and for the first time, you notice how close you are. how your knees almost touch. how your fingers are still tangled like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

somewhere over the clouds, in a cramped economy seat beside a boy who was never supposed to be here, something starts.

it’s quiet. unexpected. but it’s there.

and neither of you let go.

you land just after sunrise.

the light filters through the little oval window in soft streaks of gold and peach, brushing over franco’s curls as he stretches beside you with a sleepy groan. his hoodie’s slipped a little down his shoulder, revealing a white t-shirt and a glimpse of collarbone, and you don’t mean to stare, but also, maybe you do.

‘how’d you sleep?’ he asks, voice gravelly and barely awake.

you smile. ‘not much.’

‘same.’

you both sit there for a second, still tangled in the strange bubble that formed somewhere midair. he shifts, glancing down at your hands, still close, not quite touching anymore, but close enough to feel the leftover warmth. his fingers twitch like maybe he wants to reach back.

you beat him to it, brushing your pinky against his.

he looks over, and he’s smiling.

‘you hungry?’ he asks, suddenly casual. like you didn’t just hold hands for three hours in silence. like you didn’t fall asleep with your shoulder brushing his in the middle of the sky.

you blink. ‘what?’

he rubs the back of his neck, curls wild now, sticking out in soft little tufts. ‘there’s this café i always go to when i fly through here. their croissants are insane. i can… show you?’

your heart does something stupid.

‘yeah,’ you say, voice softer than you mean it to be. ‘sure. croissants sound good.’

you gather your things. he waits for you. and as you walk off the plane, into the cool, early morning quiet of the airport, something about it feels like a movie. the way your suitcases roll in sync. the way his hoodie sleeve brushes your arm every few steps. the way people glance over, eyes widening slightly, not because of you, but because of him.

he doesn’t seem to notice. or care. he’s too busy walking beside you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

‘so,’ you say, just to fill the silence, ‘did your travel guy get fired yet?’

he snorts. ‘he’s on very thin ice.’

you laugh, and he grins, bright and sleepy and a little crooked.

the café is tucked in a quiet corner of the terminal. tiny tables. warm lights. the smell of espresso thick in the air.

he orders two croissants and two coffees like he’s done it a hundred times before.

‘you bring all your turbulence buddies here?’ you tease as you settle into a table by the window.

he smirks. ‘nah. just the brave ones who hold my hand mid-air.’

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm.

the coffee is good. the croissant is better. and the company, well, that’s the best part.

you talk. about little things. stupid things. favorite movies. airport horror stories. he tells you about the time his luggage got sent to a completely different continent. you tell him about the time you missed a flight because you fell asleep at the gate. he laughs, really laughs, and you catch yourself watching the way his face lights up, the way his eyes crinkle, the soft edges of his tired smile.

you’re both halfway through your second coffee when his phone buzzes. he glances at it, then groans.

‘my ride’s here.’

you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

he stands slowly, stretching again, hoodie riding up just a little, and then looks at you like he’s not quite sure what to do.

you break the silence first.

‘it was nice flying with you.’

he huffs a laugh. ‘yeah. it was.’

you expect him to walk away. just wave, say bye, disappear into the crowd.

instead, he hesitates. looks at you like he’s debating something.

then

‘can i see you again?’

you blink. ‘what?’

he runs a hand through his curls. ‘i mean… if you want. i know it was just a weird flight and some turbulence and coffee, but…’ he shrugs, like he can’t quite explain it. ‘i liked this. i liked you.’

your heart stumbles.

‘yeah,’ you say, quiet but sure. ‘i’d like that too.’

he grins. pulls out his phone. you exchange numbers, fingers brushing as he hands it back.

‘don’t ghost me,’ he says, teasing.

you smirk. ‘only if your travel guy doesn’t mess it up again.’

he laughs again, starts to walk backward toward the exit, still facing you.

‘see you soon, turbulence girl.’

and then he’s gone.

but your phone buzzes thirty seconds later.

franco: next time i’m booking us both business class. just saying.

you grin.

yeah. you’ll see him again.

it starts with texts.

a few here and there. late at night. early morning. sleepy updates and little inside jokes. a photo of his breakfast one day. a screenshot of your playlist the next. nothing dramatic. nothing loud.

just a slow, easy kind of beginning.

and then one day, he sends you a message that says:

‘are you free this friday? i owe you dinner. and business class. but we’ll start with dinner.’

you say yes.

and that’s how you end up outside a small restaurant tucked between quiet streets, heart thudding in your chest as you spot him leaning against the wall, hoodie up, curls peeking out just like that first night.

but this time, he looks up and smiles as soon as he sees you.

‘you came,’ he says, stepping forward, pulling the hood down.

‘you asked,’ you reply.

he holds the door open for you, and it’s something about the way he looks at you, like he’s been waiting to see you again since the second you left, that makes your stomach do something ridiculous.

the restaurant is small. warm. dim lighting and quiet music. you sit across from him, nervous at first, picking at the edge of your napkin.

but he’s soft. all soft.

asking how your week was. telling you how training’s been. joking about how he’s still haunted by the flight. and you both laugh, really laugh, like it’s been forever since something felt this easy.

somewhere between dinner and dessert, the conversation shifts.

you’re talking about the places you want to visit. the little corners of the world that live on your bucket list. he’s leaning in, chin resting in his hand, eyes never leaving you.

‘so what you’re saying,’ he murmurs, ‘is that you’d need a travel buddy.’

you raise a brow. ‘you offering?’

he smiles slow. ‘i already know how you handle turbulence.’

you toss a sugar packet at him. he catches it.

and when the night ends, and you’re outside again in the cool air, he walks you to your car without saying much.

just before you open the door, he stops.

‘can i—’ he rubs the back of his neck, like he’s nervous now. ‘i wanna see you again.’

you tilt your head. ‘another flight?’

he chuckles. ‘hopefully without economy class.’

you step closer. your hands graze.

‘i’d like that,’ you say.

and this time, this time when he leans in, it’s not your hands that touch first. it’s his forehead resting lightly against yours. soft, sweet. the kind of almost-kiss that says everything without rushing it.

his voice is barely a whisper.

‘goodnight, y/n.’

and you smile, feeling weightless.

‘goodnight, franco.’

you fall asleep on facetime the first time it happens.

you’re both in bed, screens glowing in the dark, him in a hoodie again, hood up, hair a little messy from running his hand through it too much. you’re curled beneath a blanket, barely lit by your lamp, yawning as he tells you something dumb one of his teammates said in the locker room.

you’re not sure when you drift off, only that when you open your eyes again, the call is still going.

his camera is angled up now, like he fell asleep too. his face half-buried in a pillow, breathing slow. the little rectangle on your screen shows the soft rise and fall of his chest, a peek of his collarbone, the edge of his hoodie slipping down one shoulder.

you watch him for a moment.

just… watch.

something tugs at your heart. soft and sure.

you end the call before your screen dies, and sleep comes easier after that.

the next morning, he texts you:

‘slept better than i have in weeks. you?’

you type:

‘same. weird.’

he sends a photo. his pillow, a bit messy. the corner of his hoodie in the frame.

‘blaming you. don’t leave next time.’

and you want to tell him you won’t. that you’ll stay on the line until the sun rises if that’s what he wants. but you just reply:

‘no promises.’

he calls you that night too.

and the one after that.

the first kiss comes later.

not during a date. not at dinner. not even with music or city lights or anything remotely romantic.

it’s raining.

you weren’t supposed to see him. just dropped by his place to return something, a hoodie you stole without realizing. but he opens the door and grins like he hasn’t seen you in weeks instead of days.

‘you’re wet,’ he says, brushing a hand over your shoulder.

‘yeah, well, the weather’s rude.’

you’re about to hand him the hoodie when he steps back and says, ‘come in. or you’ll catch something.’

and you do.

you sit on the edge of his couch, water dripping from your sleeves. he disappears for a second, returns with a towel and a mug of something warm. tea. maybe. you’re not sure. you’re too busy watching the way his lashes stick together from the rain. the way his hoodie is half-zipped, revealing the curve of his throat.

he crouches in front of you, drying your hands first.

‘you didn’t have to,’ you murmur.

he shrugs. but his hands linger.

‘you’re kind of important,’ he says, soft. like it’s not a big deal.

you look at him. really look.

his curls are damp. his eyes are tired but bright. his thumb is brushing along the back of your hand like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

and you lean in first.

not much. just a little. but enough.

his breath catches, and he moves with you. quiet. slow. no rush.

his lips find yours like they’ve been waiting.

just the softest pressure. the rain still pattering outside. his hand resting against your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek like you might disappear if he doesn’t hold you right.

when you pull back, he stays close.

forehead to yours.

‘finally,’ he whispers.

and you smile.

epilogue::

he’s already seated when you get there.

hood up. headphones around his neck. hoodie sleeves bunched up on his forearms. curls peeking out messily. the most him he’s ever looked.

you stop in the aisle for a second, grinning.

‘you’re in the window seat?’ you tease.

he peeks up at you with that sleepy half-smile, eyes already warm.

‘wanted to watch the clouds. but i’ll trade if you want it.’

you shake your head and slide into the seat beside him. ‘nah. wanna lean on you.’

he makes a soft sound, half a chuckle, half a breath, and reaches for your hand almost immediately. it’s instinct, at this point. the way his fingers find yours without looking. the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles like he needs to remind himself you’re here. his.

you tuck your bag away, get comfortable, rest your head on his shoulder as the plane starts taxiing.

‘remember our first flight?’ you mumble.

he hums. ‘economy class. tragic.’

you laugh, sleepily. ‘you were grumpy.’

‘you held my hand during turbulence.’

‘you fell in love.’

he turns his head a little, presses his lips to your hair.

‘yeah,’ he says softly. ‘i did.’

you close your eyes, smile against his hoodie.

there’s no rush. no uncertainty. no almosts anymore. just his hand in yours, the hum of the engine, and the quiet thud of your hearts keeping time.

somewhere in the sky, between time zones and cloudlines, he whispers:

‘i’d sit in economy again if it meant meeting you.’

you don’t open your eyes. you just squeeze his hand and whisper back:

‘good thing you don’t have to.’

and he smiles, forehead resting against yours, while the plane lifts into the sky.

hey! If youre looking for requests could you write something for charles leclerc? General hcs about dating him or a drabble maybe (i would melt if it was about him as a dad with kids🫠). Either is great but no pressure at all! Xx

❦ - maman et papa.

summary:: just a simple day w your family. (IDK WTF TO PUT HERE 😭)

warnings:: none?

writers note:: so like this is really short but i hope u guys like it bc ive never written for him 😔.

ion have a taglist for f1 fics yet but lmk if you’d wanna be apart of it if i do make one!

the sound of giggles filled the leclerc household as charles lay sprawled on the floor, two tiny figures climbing over him. his youngest, a little girl with wild curls just like his, had her chubby hands planted firmly on his chest, her face scrunched up in concentration.

'i win!' she declared, sitting triumphantly on his stomach.

charles gasped dramatically, throwing his head back. 'nooo, you’re too strong for me!'

his son, older by three years and fiercely competitive, frowned. 'papa, it’s my turn!'

'alright, alright, one at a time!' charles laughed, but neither child listened. soon they were both on top of him, their small hands attempting to pin him down. he let them win, of course, lying there with a grin as their laughter echoed through the room.

a soft chuckle came from the doorway. you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. 'having fun?'

charles looked up at you, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. 'rescue me?' he asked, but there was no real pleading in his voice, only warmth, love, and a happiness that made your chest ache in the best way.

your daughter scrambled off him and ran to you, holding her arms up. 'maman, papa’s a loser!'

charles feigned offense. 'traitor!' he called after her, but when his gaze met yours again, his expression softened. 'this... this is the best, isn’t it?'

and as you watched your little family dissolve into another round of giggles and tickle fights, you could only nod. 'yeah, it really is.'

Light.

“He’s my muse, a beautiful man. So perfect. I can’t find any imperfections, superficially and internally. He was made, crafted from the Gods. They knew that a woman like me would fall for a man like him. They created him for me. Oh my god I look like an obsessed fan.”

I’m his partner in crime. Whenever he’s got a mission I’m there to help him. I can see him in action. Can you imagine how lucky am I? 

I write and sing and talk about him.  

I do so many things for him. 

“You are infatuated with him.” 

How do you know? The answer is No. 

And I’m married to him. 

I admire him. He inspires me. Brown, dark eyes. Dull eyes. Staring at me. Or more like glaring. He hates me. 

I try to give him my light. He doesn’t wanna come in. I tell him: “turn your light on”. He doesn’t wanna love me. 

He yells. Not at me. He doesn’t raise his voice to me. He knows. I’d bash his head on the wall. 

He yells. To himself. Because he assumes it’s his fault. But the light isn’t on. 

Come in. Turn the light on. They crafted you for me. Why can’t you understand it? Do you accept it?

You will always be tied to me. I won’t ever abandon you. How could I? I can’t even imagine it. 

Let’s talk about it again. Now try to turn the light off. Can you come in? 

Did you know there’s a way to leave me? 

Oh you are so divine. I do adore you. I hate you. Je te déteste.  

I cherish your rare smiles. Le sourire. 

Excuse my French. Fuck it, no don’t. I studied it and turned myself purely French for you. I can’t make a mistake.  

Would you want to forget me?

You are a puzzle. You don’t drink alcohol. No beers, no whiskey neat and no vodka. You cherish Russian poetry. You’d recite it to me every night, I’d listen to you till you’d fall asleep. I’d remove the book from your hands and lay you in the bed, covering you with a soft plaid. Watch your sleeping face until my eyes close to sleep. And dream about you and I. 

And I say that I’m not in love with you. Ha, even I laugh with my stupid bullshit. 

Demons took my kindness for weakness. Think about it. Were you a demon? Or was I a succubus? 

You were the incubus and I the succubus. Yes, we torment each other at night, at the same time and moment. And I love it. 

I shall tell you the truth: You took my kindness for weakness, used me like a rag doll and I loved it. 

I used you too. Treated you as if you were my true love. I had no right. No right to force you to cherish me. And still, you did it. You took my kindness for weakness and I didn’t complain. Because you are my man. 

You caress my face. You touch my plumpy lips while murmuring words in russian. Perhaps you are insulting me, but it doesn’t matter to me. I get to feel your calloused fingers. That arouses me. It makes me sick, I want to smash your head on the wall. 

You are on a mission. I’m your accomplice. You interrogate the bastards and I shoot them in the head. No hesitation. I read your eyes and understand that I have to move. 

Your light is on at that moment and I don’t say a thing. I don’t want to ruin that moment.

Come over and stay with me in the garden. Read me some Russian poetry and I will prepare some Medovik for you. You are allergic to honey. 

It’s simple, I love you. 

You touch my curves. You adore them. You are addicted to them. And I take care of you every night, you touch me. Your touches are soft. Your hands are cool, I shiver. Oh please come in. 

It kinda makes me laugh. We love each other. We hate each other. We deteste each other. We honor each other. We are addicted to each other. But what are we?

We are married.  

Temps de l'amour

Every now and then I think of your eyes. Brown. Light brown more specifically. A beautiful brown. I was infatuated with them.

Adoring you made me religious. I listened to Lacrimosa everyday to purify my mind. Only God knows what I thought. And I hope he never says to anyone about my despicable and vile thoughts.

When I'd see you by the street, I would never call you. I would never stop you. You had already started your journey. How dare I interrupt the holy course of such devoted man? It was the determination in your eyes that made me hesitate and stop. And perhaps that's why I'm devastated.

You in my dreams is the only thing that has remained to me. But I'm certain that even this little element will disappear .

TRUE LOVE OF MINE

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "You with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes / You who bares all your teeth in every smile" - Lady Lamb, Dear Arkansas Daughter

ᝰ PAIRING: lando norris x reader | ᝰ WC: 5.5K ᝰ GENRE: best friends to lovers (we cheered!), reader = ex karting driver + med student, you have loved lando since the day you met etc etc etc ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: fun fact - the colors used in the title/headings on this post are actually the colors of lando's eyes from this post // this was a behemoth of a fic to write and i'm still nto entirely pleased, but the people yearn for lando norris ꨄ requested by anon!

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

The first time you see Lando Norris, he’s face-down in the mud, crying because someone called him a posh baby in the paddock, and you think he’s the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen.

There’s mud crusted on his cheek like it belongs there, curls pressed damp to his forehead, and his whole face is crumpled like paper in a storm. He’s got one sock half off and a fresh scab on his shin, and still, somehow, he looks like he belongs in a painting. The messy kind. Watercolor, probably. Something soft and bleeding at the edges, impossible to frame.

He’s eight and you’re eight and a half, which means you get to say things like “it’s okay, babies cry,” even though you don’t really mean it. He wipes his face on his sleeve and looks up at you with blotchy cheeks and kaleidoscope eyes, like someone spilled a little too much green into blue, and says, “I’m not a baby.” You believe him.

You sit next to him on the curb, knees knocking together, watching his kart like it’s some sacred thing. The sky is gray, threatening rain, and he’s all flushed skin and scraped palms and frustration. 

“They’re just jealous,” you mutter. He doesn’t look at you. “Of what? That I cry like a baby?” “No,” you say. “That your eyelashes are stupid long and you drive like the kart owes you money.”

That gets a huff out of him. Half-sob, half-laugh.

You offer him your juice box. He doesn’t smile, but he bares his teeth when he takes it, all crooked and endearing and real. That’s the thing about Lando. He’s always been real.

He holds out a sticky, dirt-streaked hand.

“I’m Lando.” “I know,” you say. “Everyone knows.”

You shake his hand anyway.

A month later, you beg your parents to sign you up for the junior karting class — not because you like cars (you don’t, really), but because you like him. Or maybe just the way he lights up when he talks about apexes and engine sounds like they’re things that breathe.

You come home smelling like oil. Your knuckles blister from gripping the wheel too hard. You cry once when you spin out and hit the barriers; but he’s there, pulling your helmet off like you’re made of glass, telling you, “You looked cool, though. Like, action movie cool.”

He makes you want to win. So you start trying.

When you’re eleven, he wins a race with his hair slicked back by sweat and wind, curls flattened into chaos. He leaps from the kart like he’s weightless, helmet swinging from one hand like a trophy of its own, and the grin he throws at you — all teeth, no restraint — nearly knocks you over.

“Did you see that?” he shouts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did you see?”

You did. Every lap. Every line. You saw the way his hands tightened before the last corner, the way his shoulders settled like he’d already decided to win.

You hand him his water bottle.

“You were okay.”

He gasps. “Just okay?”

“You’ll be cooler when you stop smiling like you’re showing your teeth to the dentist.”

He grins wider. Shoves you lightly with the back of his hand.

“Admit it. I looked sick.”

He did. He always does. Even like this, eyes stormy and pale all at once, flushed with the kind of joy that doesn’t need to be explained. He’s not handsome yet, not in the way the magazines will call him later. But there’s something about the way he holds a moment. The way you can’t look away when he’s in it.

Later that summer, you win.

It’s not a big race. Junior category, barely a crowd —but he’s there. Leans so far over the barrier during your final lap the marshal tells him to get down before he falls in.

You don’t hear the cheering. You don’t even feel the medal when they hang it around your neck. All you feel is Lando barreling toward you at the speed of light, helmet in one hand, arms wide, like you’re the one who gave him wings.

“You were flying,” he breathes, practically vibrating. “You were magic.”

You pretend to scoff. “Guess I’m not just here to hand you water bottles.”

He pulls you into a hug anyway. No hesitation. Just heat and sweat and the faint scent of petrol and whatever soap he uses. His heart’s pounding against your shoulder like he’s the one who just won.

Later, when you look at the photos, you don’t care about the trophy in your hands. You care about the boy behind you — curls wild, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts.

At fifteen, you start noticing the way other girls notice him.

It starts in Italy, or maybe Spain. Somewhere with sunburnt afternoons and the scent of burnt rubber curling off the asphalt like smoke. The girls linger after his heats now. They lean too close and laugh too loudly. Twisting their hair, asking if he’s going to the after-party, the lake, the whatever.

You stand beside him in the hoodie he gave you two summers ago: faded navy, sleeves chewed at the cuffs. It smells like sunscreen and old fabric and something unnameable that has always just been him. You pick at the hem while they talk, eyes on his profile.

The same boy you’ve known since he was sobbing on a curb with gravel in his socks has started to shimmer, like something just out of reach. Something made of light and speed.

His hair’s longer now, curling wild at the edges of his helmet. His smile’s the same, though. All teeth, all instinct. It still takes up half his face like he hasn’t learned how to hide anything yet.

But he doesn’t smile at them. He never does.

He looks at you. “You’re quiet,” he says, tugging at the drawstring of your hoodie. You shrug. “I’m always quiet.” “Not with me.”

He says it like a secret. Like he likes that about you — that there’s a version of yourself reserved just for him. You don’t say anything back, because you're not sure your voice would work even if you tried.

That night, you find yourselves walking the hotel parking lot, drinking vending machine soda that tastes faintly like metal and sugar. The sky's a navy bruise, and everything hums: the street lamps, the asphalt, your pulse.

“You’re kind of becoming a big deal,” you say, finally.

He laughs, low and a little shy, like you’ve caught him off-guard. “Don’t say that,” he says. “I’ll get cocky.”

“You already are.” You bump his arm with yours. It’s too dark to see his face clearly, but you know he’s smiling wide, teeth and all, like he’s baring it just for you.

And maybe he is.

Because even now, even with sponsors circling and flights booked across Europe, even with interviews and mechanics and the way his name sounds over loudspeakers, he still comes to your races.

He’ll show up between practice sessions with a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses that don’t do much to hide him. You’ll spot him first, sitting on the pit wall like he’s always belonged there, one leg swinging like a kid with too much energy.

“Why do you still come?” you ask him once, after you’d placed second and felt like it wasn’t enough.

He shrugged. “Because I like watching you win.”

You think about that now, under the flicker of a buzzing lamp, watching the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks when he looks at you. His eyes are still that strange in-between — not quite blue, not quite grey, always shifting like skies about to storm.

Like watercolor left out in the rain.

You look away first.

You always do.

At sixteen, you run until your lungs burn. You don’t stop until your fists hit his front door, nails bitten down to nothing and eyes already stinging. He opens it in a hoodie three sizes too big, and the second he sees your face, he doesn’t ask.

He just pulls you in.

You’re crying too hard to speak at first, shoulders shaking, throat raw. He closes the door behind you and guides you to the stairs like it’s muscle memory, like this has happened before, and maybe it has, in smaller ways. Skinned knees. Lost heats. Bad days.

But this is different.

“They’re making me quit,” you finally get out. “They said— they said I have to focus on school. On real life.”

You say it like a curse. Like “real life” is something you never asked for.

Lando’s quiet for a moment. His hand curls around your wrist, thumb brushing a soothing rhythm over your pulse. His eyes — moss green in the dark — watch you without blinking. Always watching. Always knowing.

“Come on,” he says.

You frown. “Where?”

“Just— trust me.”

He doesn’t wait for you to agree. He just grabs his keys and your hand and pulls you out into the night. The wind has teeth. The sky hangs low, indigo and velvet. When you realize where you’re going, your heart breaks all over again.

The track sits behind the hill, silent and sleeping.

Lando hops the gate first, then turns and offers you his hand. You take it, fingers cold in his. He pulls you over like it’s nothing.

The lights are off, but the moon’s enough. It glints off the asphalt, pale and silver, the same way the sun used to gleam on your helmet when you’d throw it off at the end of a race, breathless and laughing. Back when your name had a number next to it and your dreams had engines.

Lando walks the edge of the track, then steps aside, gestures toward the start line like he’s offering you a crown.

“One more,” he says. “For old time’s sake.”

You laugh, watery and shaking. “There’s no kart, idiot.”

He shrugs. “Run it.”

So you do.

You take off, sneakers slapping the track, heart thudding like it’s trying to break through your ribs. Your hair whips behind you, tangled and wild, and you run like you used to race: reckless, full tilt, like the only thing that’s ever made sense is forward.

The wind hits your face and the tears dry on your cheeks and the world blurs around the edges. You run with everything you are; for every lap you’ll never finish, every podium you won’t stand on, every flame they’re trying to snuff out of you.

When you make it back to him, gasping and breathless, Lando is watching like he always does, with something quiet and fierce behind his eyes. Like he sees not just you, but the version of you the world won’t let exist anymore.

You collapse next to him, panting. He says nothing for a long time. Just sits beside you on the track, knees pulled to his chest, hoodie sleeves swallowed over his hands.

“You’ll come back to it,” he says eventually, soft like the curve of a turn. “I know you will.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He glances over, and for a moment, he looks like a boy again: the same boy with curls damp from rain, whose smile could split the sky. A boy who’s watched you win, lose, burn, rebuild. A boy who’s carried your dreams in the quiet way he carries everything.

“Besides,” he says, nudging your knee, “I’m still gonna win stuff. Someone’s gotta keep me humble.”

You laugh, finally — a real one. It cracks through the ache like sunlight through smoke.

“Always with the fast mouth,” you murmur. “And an ego the size of an engine.”

He grins. All teeth. Unashamed. Something ancient flutters in your chest, something that’s always been there but has never had the nerve to speak.

You don’t say you are the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, but you think it. You don’t say I’ve loved you since I was eight and a half, but maybe he knows.

Maybe he always has.

By eighteen, Lando’s face is in magazines. He’s a headline now, a profile shot under stadium lights, a name that doesn’t need explaining anymore. He smiles with his whole face — wide and unguarded — and sometimes you see a photo that feels so much like him you have to close the tab and sit with your hands in your lap, breathing slowly.

You still see the boy who once spilled chocolate milk all down his overalls at Silverstone and sobbed so hard he hiccupped for twenty minutes. The one who used to braid daisy chains into the laces of your boots between heats. But now there are articles that say things like rising star and British darling, and he fits in their glossy pages better than he should.

He FaceTimes you after qualifying P1 for the first time. It’s late, past midnight, and you’re still in the library, alone but for the hum of the vending machine and the ache behind your eyes. You almost don’t pick up.

But then you see his name flash on the screen — 🚦LAN-DON’T CRASH🚦 — and your stomach flips like it used to before lights out.

He’s still in his race suit, curls a mess of damp ringlets, cheeks flushed like he’s been running. There’s something in his eyes, too: watercolor green, vivid and blurred around the edges, like adrenaline and disbelief have soaked into his skin.

His smile breaks the second you answer. Wide and wild and so familiar it stings.

“Did you watch?” he says, already breathless.

“Obviously,” you say, tipping your phone back so he can see the chemistry notes scattered across the desk. “Had it up on mute during organic synthesis. You’re lucky I didn’t scream when you took the final sector.”

“You think I was okay?”

“You were sick.”

He pumps a fist and flops back onto some impossibly white hotel bed, still grinning like a kid who’s snuck past curfew. The camera wobbles, then steadies on his face again: flushed and freckled, sweat still clinging to his jaw. He looks happy.

You used to know that feeling. That kind of high. The kind that only came with rubber and gasoline and the blur of corners taken clean.

Your helmet lives in the back of your closet now, tucked behind winter coats and forgotten notebooks. You’ve traded it for lab goggles and timed exams, for ink-stained hands and the quiet sort of excellence no one applauds. Your medals sit in a shoebox beneath your bed, and you haven’t opened it in over a year. You tell people you’re pre-med now. That it’s what you’ve always wanted.

Two years have dulled the ache. Sandpapered it down from a blade to something you can live with. Sometimes you still dream of the track, of the smell of rubber and the scream of engines, but you wake up and make coffee and keep studying until the want quiets again.

Lando watches you for a second. He sees things other people don’t — always has.

“You good?” he asks, voice soft now, like it used to be when he’d sneak out to meet you by the tire stacks after dark.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He raises an eyebrow, not buying it. “What are you working on?”

You sigh and flip your notebook toward the screen. “Chemical compounds. I’ve got a practical on Monday. Enantiomers, ketones, the whole gang.”

He makes a face. “Nerd.”

“National treasure,” you correct, dryly. “And future doctor, maybe.”

He lights up at that. “Sick. You can be my medic when I crash.”

You roll your eyes. “So I’ll see you, what, every weekend?”

“Exactly,” he says, smug. “We’re soulmates, remember?”

You want to say, you with the stupid grin, you with the disaster curls, you with the heartbeat I could always find in the noise.But instead, you shake your head and say, “God help your insurance.”

He laughs, throws his head back, bares every tooth like he always does. There’s a soft curve in the center of his front two that never straightened out, even after braces. You used to tell him he looked like a Labrador when he smiled like that. You still think it now, but it feels like something tender and sacred, like a memory you keep pressed between pages.

“I miss you,” he says, quieter now.

You don’t say I miss the version of me that only exists around you.You just whisper, “Yeah. I know.”

The call ends eventually. It always does. But you sit there for a while after, your notebook untouched, watching the ghost of his smile in your screen’s reflection.

You’re twenty-one and a half when Lando sneaks into your college graduation. You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy sweating in your robe, clutching your diploma like it might disappear, wondering if your cap looks stupid in photos. Your parents wave from the stands, your friends cheer, and you try to hold still long enough to soak it in — but it never lands quite right. Everything feels too big, too loud, too fast.

Until he finds you.

Until he hugs you from behind and says, low in your ear, “Told you you’d look cool in a cape.”

You twist around, and there he is, in a hoodie pulled low over those unmistakable curls, sunglasses at night like the world’s worst disguise. His smile is crooked, tired. Familiar.

“What the fuck,” you whisper. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”

He grins wider. “I skipped media day.”

Your jaw drops.

“Shhh,” he adds, holding a finger to your lips. “I’ll get yelled at later. Worth it.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or hit him. So you do both —thump his arm, then drag him into a hug, still warm from the sun and whatever it means to grow up.

He stays through the party, tucked into the background, stealing finger food and smiling like he’s always belonged. He doesn’t pull attention the way he does on track. Here, he just… exists beside you. Quietly. Constantly. Every time you turn around, he’s already looking.

Later, long after the music dies and your parents have gone to bed, the two of you end up on the grass in your front yard, barefoot, robes ditched, diplomas crumpled somewhere behind you. The stars are blurry, a little from distance, a little from everything else.

He lies flat on his back, arms spread like a kid making snow angels, and says, “I’ve got a flight in two hours.”

You hum. “FP1?”

He nods.

You both fall quiet. The silence between you has never been uncomfortable. It stretches like elastic, worn in with years of knowing — from tire stacks and afterschool karting, from night tracks and vending machines, from every version of growing up that had the other curled into its corner.

“I’m scared,” you admit, finally. “For med school.”

Lando turns his head to look at you. You’re lying close, your hair fanned out against the grass, fingers plucking gently at the blades. You don’t meet his eyes, but you feel them on you. The color of seafoam, soft in the dark. The kind that still knocks the breath out of you when you're not bracing for it.

“You’ll be great.”

You scoff. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

There’s a rustle of denim and hoodie fabric, and then he’s sitting up, pulling something from his pocket. A worn-out square of photo paper, crumpled and soft at the edges. He presses it into your hand.

You blink. It’s a picture of the two of you, age nine, arms thrown around each other in the pit lane. His curls are messy and stuck to his forehead, flushed cheeks stretched in a grin so big you can count every tooth. You’re buried in his side, beaming up at him like he hung the sky. Lando’s holding a trophy, but even then, he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at you.

“You gave me your gummy worms right after that,” he says. “Said I earned it.”

You run your thumb over the crease down the middle. The image is faded now, but you remember the moment like it’s stitched into you.

He says it like it’s obvious. Like gravity. “Because we’re soulmates. And I feel it in my bones.”

You don’t answer right away. You can’t.

The stars above you scatter like sugar across navy velvet. Your eyes sting.

“You know,” you say after a while, voice low, “If you crash, I’ll be the one stitching you back together.”

He grins. Not his media-trained one — not the sharp, rehearsed smile he wears under paddock lights — but the real one. The one that splits across his face without warning. That bares all his teeth like he’s never learned to hold anything back. That’s lived on every page of your memory since you were old enough to chase him across a track.

“That’s hot,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “You’re a nightmare.”

“But I’m your nightmare.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

It’s always been him. Him with eyes that shift with the light, that catch everything, that still find you first.

You with your goggles and your notebooks. Him with his fireproof gloves and nowhere to land.

You, who traded circuits for classrooms.

Him, who never stopped circling back to you.

He looks at you like he always has, like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense. You think maybe you believe him.

That you’ll be okay.

Because he said so. Because he always shows up. Because he’s flying across the world in an hour, but somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.

At twenty-three, he invites you to Monaco.

You’re dead on your feet when he calls. It’s nearly midnight and you’re cramming for your pathology exam, cross-eyed from the fluorescent lighting in your apartment. You don’t even remember what you said exactly; something like “med school is killing me and I swear to God I haven’t seen the sun in four days.” Laughed it off with the tired grin he knows too well.

You forgot it by morning.

He didn’t.

Now, a week later, you’re barefoot on his balcony, letting the gold-tinged air sink into your skin as the sun sets over the Riviera. The track lies sprawled beneath you like a secret. The sea beyond it glints like something ancient, something wild.

Your breath hitches without meaning to.

“I used to dream about racing this track,” you say, barely above a whisper. “When I was fifteen, I’d watch the onboard cams on my laptop and try to memorize every corner. I knew the lines like poetry.”

Beside you, Lando is quiet. But when you glance over, there’s a glint in his eye, the one that always spelled trouble. Or magic. Or both. His curls are pushed back haphazardly, like he ran a hand through them too many times on the flight, but there’s still that boyishness, untamed and familiar.

“What?” you ask warily.

He doesn’t answer. Just grabs your wrist. “C’mon.” “Lando—” “No time. Let’s go.”

You barely have time to yank on your sneakers before he’s dragging you out the door, past the sleepy concierge and down the quiet streets like he’s done it a thousand times. He takes sharp turns with muscle memory, his fingers tight around yours.

Only when the city’s noise has thinned and the streetlights spill onto the famous asphalt do you realize where you are.

“Lando,” you whisper. “We can’t—” “We’re not driving,” he grins. “Just running it. Like when we were kids, remember?" “FIA—” “Would fine me until my hair turns gray.” He pauses. “Still worth it.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs, but your legs are already moving.

You run.

Past Sainte Devote, hair flying behind you. Past the casino, your laughter ricocheting off elegant facades. You’re breathless by the tunnel, aching by the chicane, but he’s still pulling you like he did when you were kids and he insisted you could make it to the top of that hill if you just didn’t stop.

The air smells like salt and speed.

By the time you reach the harbor, your lungs are burning and your face is flushed and he’s glowing, cheeks pink, smile wide, teeth bared like he’s daring the night to find a brighter joy than this. He looks every bit like the boy you fell in love with fifteen years ago.

The one with grass stains on his overalls. The one whose curls never obeyed a comb. The one who grinned like mischief itself. The one whose eyes — not blue, not quite green — shimmered like someone had taken watercolors and washed them into something soft and stupidly beautiful.

You stop, breathless. He does too.

And for a second, it feels like everything’s still. Like the world just pressed pause.

Later, you sit at the edge of the marina, legs swinging over the water. Your shoes are abandoned on the dock. The air is heavy with the scent of engine oil and sea spray. The waves slap gently against the boats, like applause winding down after a show.

Beside you, Lando says nothing. But you feel him watching. And when you turn, he’s looking at you like he’s never seen you before.

But of course he has. He’s seen you in worse light: that post-rain haze in your old garage, your hair frizzed to hell and braces catching on your lower lip, oil on your jeans and mud on your ankles. He’s seen you bleary-eyed on FaceTime at 3AM. He’s seen you panicking over exams, crying in the paddock, snorting over bad pizza and better jokes.

Still, he looks at you now like he forgot the color of your laugh until this exact moment brought it back. His hair hangs loose over his forehead, still damp from the run, and the way his mouth twitches — almost a grin, almost not — makes your stomach turn over.

He bumps your knee with his.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Better than okay.” “You looked happy back there.” “I was happy back there.” “Good.” He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I miss that.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“Miss what?”

“You. Like that.” He exhales, eyes trained on the moon's reflection on the water. “Laughing. Running. Being ridiculous with me.”

You don’t say anything.

He does.

“I miss you all the time,” he says, voice low. “Even when I’m with you.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re always somewhere else now. In your books. In your head. In hospitals I can’t pronounce.”

Your heart tugs at the edges. He doesn’t sound bitter. Just tired. Honest.

“I get it,” he adds. “It’s important. It matters. But sometimes I think about that summer when we were fifteen, and you stole my hoodie, and we made fake pit passes just to sneak into the garage.”

You laugh, quiet. “We were so stupid.”

“We were so happy.”

The silence after that isn’t awkward. It’s full. Like the city’s holding its breath.

You look over at him. Really look.

His lashes are darker now. His jaw’s sharper. A lock of hair curls against his temple, untamed. But he’s still him. Still the boy in the mud, the boy who taught you how to drift on your cousin’s farm, who shared his Capri-Sun at the track because you forgot yours, again. Still the one who taped your wrist when you wiped out in the rain and told you you’d make it to Monaco someday.

And here you are.

“Lando,” you murmur. “Yeah?” “I missed you too.”

He doesn’t wait this time.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting years to remember how.

And maybe he has. Maybe you both have.

The world blurs for a moment: the moon climbing higher, the boats bobbing gently below, the buzz of the city dissolving behind you, and all that’s left is him.

All sun-warmed skin and trembling fingers and eyes the color of every good memory — soft-washed, warm, like light bleeding through a window at golden hour.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours.

“I didn’t think you’d let me do that,” he whispers.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You both laugh. Just a little. Just enough.

You’re twenty-five when you catch him watching you from across a hotel room in Japan. There’s a storm outside, low thunder rolling through the glass, and Lando’s shirt is damp from the run to the lobby. His curls are still wet, clinging to his forehead in loose, chaotic swirls. He should be tired — hell, you’re tired — but he’s watching you like you’re something new.

It’s not the first time he’s looked at you like this. Not by a long shot.

He’s never been subtle about it, not when he warms your hands in his pockets on cold walks back from the paddock, not when he lights up the second your name shows up on his phone. He’s the kind of boy who leaves his heart in plain sight, who grins with his whole body, who never learned how to want quietly.

You feel his gaze before you meet it. The kind that makes your chest go a little soft, like the edges of a photograph curling with time.

“You’re staring,” you say, without looking up from your textbook.

“I’m allowed to,” he replies. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. Not because you didn’t know — he’s never been subtle — but because of how easily he says it. No drama. No orchestra. Just him. Lando, who once stuck gum in your hair during a twelve-hour drive to Wales. Lando, who whispered you’ve got me into your hair the night your grandmother died. Lando, who still trips over his own shoes in hotel corridors and grins like a child when room service arrives.

You toss a pillow at him. “Say it prettier.”

He catches it one-handed, kaleidoscope eyes glinting in the dim light. Smirks. “You make me want to write poetry, but all I know how to do is drive.”

That shuts you up.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, a blue-green haze in the lightning glow, and he grins wider, like he knows he’s just won something. Like he’d lose a thousand races and still call this the prize.

“Told you,” he murmurs.

There are races, years, chapters.

Seasons where you barely see each other, where you wake up to hotel ceilings and unfamiliar time zones and forget what city you’re in until he kisses your shoulder and mumbles something in a sleep-heavy voice like, It’s Thursday. We’re in Austin. His curls are flattened from sleep, his voice rough at the edges, and his arms still warm from whatever dream he was having.

Sometimes he wins. Sometimes he doesn’t. You never love him any more or less.

He still gets grumpy when he’s hungry, still laughs at memes from 2014, still buys you the weird flavored gum at petrol stations because you used to love this stuff, remember? Still leans into your space like gravity’s something personal. Still has a grin that cracks through your worst moods like sunlight.

There are cameras. Headlines. Speculations. But you’ve always known who he was.

You know the versions of him that never make it to the press: the quiet frustration of a red flag, the way he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek when he’s nervous, the silence he sinks into after a loss. The way his curls flop over his forehead when he finally takes off his helmet. The way he says your name when he’s scared. The way he finds you in every crowd like it’s instinct. How his eyes — storm-colored, sometimes soft, sometimes sharp — flick to you the second anything starts to feel too loud.

And you’ve always let him. You always will.

He’s thirty-one when you find an old photo in a drawer: the two of you, muddy and grinning, barely ten years old. His curls are a mess, more fluff than form. You’re wearing his jacket, sleeves bunched up to your elbows. Neither of you have front teeth. You’re both sun-drenched and ridiculous.

“God,” you mutter, holding it up to the light. “We were a disaster.”

From the kitchen, he says, “Still are.”

You hear the clink of a spoon against ceramic. The rustle of his socks on the tile.

“You still love me?” you call, teasing, but not really.

He appears in the doorway, hoodie half-on, spoon in his mouth. He’s older now — jaw more carved, eyes a little softer around the edges — but the grin he gives you is the same one from every memory that matters. That lopsided, toothy thing like he’s always one second from bursting into laughter. A single curl falls against his temple, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell what year it is.

He swallows and says, “I’ll love you even when we’re bones.”

You believe him.

You always have.

this series was so good 😭😭 i love this author so much

I CANNOT EXPLAIN HOW GOOD IT WAS

please go read 🙏🙏

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Masterlist

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Links:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

OH HELL YEAHHHHH

VELVET & VICE | LN4

an: i can’t really remember how this idea came to me but i was listening to this song and the scenario popped in and consider this a late international women’s day fic bc let’s put respect on the real brains

wc: 5.7k

1940’s London

THE RAIN HAMMERED AGAINST THE CARRIAGE ROOF as it rattled through the darkened streets of London. The city reeked of coal smoke and damp earth, the fog curling around gas lamps like ghostly fingers. Inside, she sat rigid, fingers clenched in the folds of her lace gloves, the weight of her family’s ambition pressing against her ribs like a corset pulled too tight.

She was to be married tonight. Bound by ink and blood to a man she had never met, save for whispers of his name spoken in caution. Lando Norris. A name that carried weight in the underbelly of the city, a name that made men straighten their backs and women lower their gazes. A name that would now belong to her.

The carriage jerked to a stop in front of a grand townhouse, its brick facade imposing even beneath the gloom. A man in a flat cap opened the door, rain slicking his coat, and gestured for her to step out. She hesitated—just a beat—before she lifted her chin and climbed down, the dampness clinging to her skin like an omen.

Inside, the house smelled of whisky and tobacco, the air thick with the scent of men who made their own rules. And then she saw him.

Lando leaned against the mantle, his shirt sleeves rolled up, braces hanging loose over his shoulders. He looked exactly as she’d imagined—sharp-jawed, dark-eyes, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, eyes scanning her with the kind of disinterest that set her teeth on edge.

"So you're the poor thing they’ve shackled to me," he murmured, exhaling smoke.

She peeled off her gloves one finger at a time, ignoring the way his eyes flicked to the movement. "I’d say the feeling is mutual."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone just as quickly. He pushed off the mantle, stepping close enough that she caught the scent of tobacco and leather. "Let’s get one thing straight," he said, voice low. "You don’t make trouble for me, and I won’t make trouble for you. We do what’s required, and that’s it."

She met his gaze, defiant. "Oh, don’t worry. I have no intention of playing the doting wife."

Something flickered in his eyes then—something dark, something amused. He acted like her sharp tongue was a nuisance, but there was a tension in his jaw, a twitch in his fingers, that told her otherwise.

He liked it.

Lando let the silence hang between them for a moment, eyes narrowing as he took another slow drag of his cigarette. Then, exhaling a stream of smoke, he turned away, his voice clipped and businesslike.

"You’ll have your own room," he said, moving towards the drinks cabinet. "End of the hall, second door on the left. We do what’s necessary in public, but behind closed doors, you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours." He poured himself a glass of whisky, the clink of crystal against the bottle cutting through the thick air. "You don’t ask questions, you don’t meddle in things that don’t concern you, and we’ll get through this just fine."

She folded her arms, unmoved. "Perfect. I’d hate to be under your feet."

A scoff left his lips, low and amused. He knocked back the whisky in one go, setting the glass down with a decisive thud. Then, without looking at her, he called over his shoulder. "Oscar will take your bags up."

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She could feel the weight of his words, the unspoken expectation that she’d simply nod, accept the help, fall into line like some obedient little wife.

Instead, she turned sharply on her heel, her voice crisp. "As I said—no doting wife from me."

She strode past him, ignoring the way his head tilted ever so slightly at her tone. Bending down, she grasped the handles of her two trunks—heavy with silk, lace, and a life she hadn’t chosen—and lifted them without hesitation.

Lando said nothing, but she felt his gaze on her as she walked off, her heels clicking against the polished wooden floor with each deliberate step. He was watching her. Measuring her.

And if she wasn’t mistaken, he liked what he saw.

The first week passed in a tense, unspoken battle of wills.

She settled into the house without asking permission, without waiting for instructions. She came and went as she pleased, taking the car when she wanted it, slipping through London’s streets with a confidence that said she owed nothing to anyone—not even the man whose name she now carried. She had no interest in playing the obedient little wife, and Lando, for all his grumbling, hadn’t tried to force her into it.

Not that they didn’t clash.

She was sharp-tongued, quick-witted, never missing a chance to throw his own words back at him. When he told her not to meddle, she raised a brow and asked if she should sit in a corner and do embroidery instead. When he came home late, smelling of whisky and cigarette smoke, she’d glance up from her book and say, "Busy night intimidating the weak?" with just enough amusement to make his jaw tick.

And yet, for all his irritation, she noticed the way his eyes followed her. The way his fingers twitched at his side when she smirked at him. The way he seemed to come home earlier than he used to, as if drawn back to the house by something he wouldn’t name.

But she never gave him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

So when he strode into her room unannounced that evening, it wasn’t entirely surprising. What was surprising was the way he stopped dead in his tracks.

She stood by the vanity in nothing but her undergarments—lace-trimmed, elegant, expensive, the kind of thing a woman wore when she had no intention of being overlooked. She didn’t flinch, didn’t rush to cover herself. Instead, she met his gaze in the mirror, her expression utterly unimpressed.

Lando, for once, had nothing to say. His mouth opened slightly before he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"Christ—sorry." He turned on his heel, as if debating whether to leave altogether.

She barely spared him a glance as she reached for a brush, running it through her hair with slow, measured strokes. "What is it you need?"

There was a beat of silence, thick and charged. Then, slowly, he turned back, his expression unreadable.

Maybe he’d expected her to blush, to stammer, to pull a dressing gown around herself in embarrassment. Instead, she was calm. Unbothered. It was him who looked thrown off.

And that, more than anything, made her smirk.

Lando hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping further into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. Instead of leaving, as any decent man would, he crossed to the bed and sank onto the edge of it, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes never left her.

She continued brushing her hair as if he wasn’t there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be standing half-dressed while her husband sat on her bed, watching her with a gaze that was just a little too heavy, a little too slow.

She had no shame, no hesitation. It was infuriatingly attractive.

Lando dragged a hand over his jaw and exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. "We’re going out tomorrow."

She arched a brow in the mirror. "Are we?"

He smirked at the disinterest in her tone. "Another firm’s hosting a gathering. Their boss’ wife will be there, and I need you to keep conversation going."

At that, she finally turned to face him, one hand still idly twisting a strand of hair around her fingers. "You need me to be charming," she summarised.

"Something like that," he said, watching her closely.

He shifted slightly, fingers tapping idly against his knee. "There are rules, though. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t ask questions—"

"Don’t drink too much. Don’t get pulled into business talk. Don’t act too interested in the men, or too cold to their wives. Always let you lead the conversation," she listed off, her voice laced with boredom. "I know."

Lando frowned. "How—?"

She gave him a knowing look, standing and walking towards the wardrobe as if this entire exchange was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. "You’re not raised as Verstappen daughter without knowing those rules," she said simply.

For a moment, Lando just watched her, his head tilting slightly. He knew her father had been one of the most calculated men in London, he’d met her older brother, but hearing the ease with which she recited those expectations made something settle in his chest.

She hadn’t just been married into this world. She’d been built for it.

And, for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet, he liked that far more than he should have.

The restaurant was the kind of place where the rich and the dangerous rubbed shoulders, where chandeliers dripped light onto crisp linen tablecloths, and where business was conducted in murmured voices behind half-filled glasses of whisky. Lando led her inside with a firm hand at the small of her back—not out of affection, but as a quiet warning to behave. She didn’t need it.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and quiet tension, laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes of the men who chuckled. Their host for the evening, George Russell, sat at the head of the table, his wife draped in silk beside him, her rings catching the light as she spoke with animated flourishes.

Lando had a job tonight. She knew that. This wasn’t just about keeping up appearances—it was about information. Alliances. Power. And while he was watching the men, reading their movements, she turned her attention to something far more useful.

The wives.

They always knew more than they should. They noticed things their husbands assumed they wouldn’t, and if you listened carefully enough, you could hear the real story behind all the posturing.

So she leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity, mouth curled in that perfect balance of friendly and conspiratorial. "I adore that bracelet," she murmured to one of them, tilting her head. "Is it new?"

The woman, delighted to be noticed, grinned. "Oh, George bought it last week, the dear. He felt guilty, I think—off on business in the middle of the night, you know how it is."

She hummed, sipping her wine. Business in the middle of the night. Interesting.

Another woman sighed, swirling her glass. "At least yours buys you presents. Alex’s been preoccupied with that warehouse of his—honestly, I think he’s more in love with those bloody shipments than me."

Shipments. Warehouse. Noted.

She let the conversation drift, guiding it where she wanted, letting them talk themselves into giving her everything. And by the time dessert arrived, she had more useful information than Lando would get from an hour of sharp-eyed stares and stiff conversation.

"Enjoying yourself?" he murmured beside her, his hand grazing her thigh beneath the table as he leaned in. From the outside, it looked like an intimate gesture. She knew better. He was asking if she’d behaved.

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze with a slow, knowing smile. "Oh, very much so."

He had no idea.

She continued as the courses passed, her laughter light, her eyes wide with interest, each question perfectly placed. She never pushed too hard—just enough to make the other wives feel important, to let them believe they were the ones leading the conversation. A few coy smiles, a well-timed sigh of exasperation about the trials of marriage, and they practically handed her everything.

Lando, meanwhile, was locked in conversation with George and the other men, his voice low, sharp. He was fishing for something—information, leverage, an answer to whatever question had brought him here tonight. He didn’t notice how easily she was doing the same.

By the time coffee was served, she had the pieces she needed. A warehouse by the docks. A shipment coming in late, unregistered. A man slipping away in the night when he shouldn’t be. The men sat back in their chairs, cigars glowing in the dim light, convinced they held all the power in the room.

She smirked against the rim of her glass.

Dinner wrapped up in a slow, drawn-out affair of handshakes and parting pleasantries. Lando’s hand found her back again as he led her outside, his grip firm, possessive. The evening air was sharp against her skin after the warmth of the restaurant, and the street was quiet save for the low murmur of departing guests.

The carriage was waiting. Lando opened the door, helping her in before settling beside her. The door clicked shut, the city slipping past in shadows as they pulled away.

For a few moments, there was only silence. He stretched out his legs, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the evening. Then he turned to her, studying her in the dim light.

"You behaved yourself, then," he murmured.

She hummed, tracing a lazy circle on the leather seat. "Oh, I don’t know about that."

He raised a brow. "Should I be worried?"

She leaned back, watching him. Then, casually, as if discussing the weather, she began listing what she had learned.

George’s late-night disappearances. The unregistered shipment. The dockside warehouse. The men who had not been where they were supposed to be.

She spoke with ease, watching as Lando’s expression shifted.

By the time she finished, he was silent. He tilted his head slightly, his fingers tapping once against his knee before he exhaled, slow and deliberate.

"You got all that," he said, "from gossip."

She smirked. "Oh, Lando. You should know by now—wives hear everything."

Lando stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the faint glow of the passing street lamps flickering across his face. Then, without a word, he rapped twice against the carriage wall.

The driver changed course.

She arched a brow. "Not going home?"

"We are," he said, his voice thoughtful, as if he were still piecing something together. "But we’re going to my study first, separate entrance. I need to put this all together."

She smirked. "Ah. So now I’m useful."

Lando didn’t rise to the bait, but she caught the flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. "Just come inside, will you?"

When they arrived, he led her straight through the house, his pace brisk, mind clearly working through everything she had told him. The study was dimly lit, the scent of leather and old paper heavy in the air. He went straight to his desk, rolling up his sleeves as he sank into the chair, reaching for a notepad and pouring himself a drink in the same fluid movement.

She, however, had no interest in taking the chair across from him. Instead, she strolled to the desk, hands trailing idly along the polished wood, before hoisting herself up onto the edge of it.

Lando glanced up, his gaze dragging over the length of her legs as they crossed neatly at the ankles. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head before reaching for his pen. "Go on, then," he muttered. "Tell me again."

She did. Slowly, carefully, repeating each scrap of information she’d gathered, watching as he jotted notes, muttering under his breath as he began to piece the puzzle together. He was sharp, quick, catching things she hadn’t even realised were connected.

It was almost impressive. Almost.

And then, just as he leaned back, his fingers running through his hair as the final piece clicked into place, his gaze lifted to hers.

"You’re amazing, you know," he murmured.

For a brief second, there was no teasing, no sharp remarks, no battle of wills. Just that raw, unfiltered admiration in his voice, his eyes dark and searching as they held hers.

She tilted her head slightly, lips curving in a slow, knowing smile. "I do know," she murmured. "But it’s nice to hear."

His chuckle was low, his eyes lingering on her for just a moment longer than necessary.

He had underestimated her.

And now, he never would again.

Two nights later, she was in her room, the fire casting a warm glow against the walls, the silk of her slip whispering against her skin as she moved. The house was quiet, the night settling in thick and heavy. She had just slipped onto the edge of the bed when the door flew open with a sharp bang.

She didn’t flinch.

Lando strode in like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he did—but this time, there was no hesitation, no muttered apology. He had the same sharp, intense energy as before, but now there was something else, something simmering beneath the surface.

"We did it," he said, breathless, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his hair slightly out of place like he’d been running his hands through it. His eyes burned as they met hers. "We caught the bloody shipment."

She raised a brow, unimpressed by his theatrics despite the way her pulse quickened. "Good for you."

"You," he corrected, stepping closer, "helped us get it. We’ve been trying for four months, and tonight, we finally had them."

There was pride in his voice, raw and unfiltered. But there was something else, too—something deeper. The way he was looking at her, as if only now realising just how dangerous she truly was.

She tilted her head, considering him. "I did tell you wives hear everything," she murmured.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t last. The air between them was shifting, thickening, the triumph of the night bleeding into something hotter, something heavier. He was still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, and she was still perched on the bed, watching him with that same knowing glint in her eye.

And then he moved.

One second, he was standing a few feet away. The next, he was in front of her, his hands gripping her face, his mouth crashing against hers like he was starving for it. There was nothing soft about it—nothing tentative. It was heat and frustration, admiration and possession, all tangled into one.

She responded without hesitation, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer. The silk of her slip was nothing between them, just a whisper of fabric as his hands slid down, gripping her waist, anchoring her to him like he had no intention of letting go.

The fire crackled in the background, but the only warmth she felt was him—his mouth, his hands, the weight of his body pressing against hers like he had been holding himself back for far too long.

And from the way he kissed her, deep and desperate, she knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t holding back anymore.

The kiss deepened, ferocious, as if the world outside her room had ceased to exist. Lando’s hands moved with a possessiveness that made her pulse race. He slid them down her back, pressing her closer to him until she could feel the heat of his body searing through the thin silk of her slip.

His lips left hers briefly, only to trail down her jaw, his breath hot against her skin. She tilted her head, giving him more access, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging him back to her mouth. She could taste the whisky on his lips, the bitterness of it mixing with the sweetness of the moment, a dangerous combination.

He was a man who took what he wanted, and right now, he wanted her.

With a low growl, he broke the kiss, eyes dark and wild with desire, before he lifted her off her feet. She gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried her, almost recklessly, to the vanity. The cold wood of the table hit the back of her legs, but she hardly noticed as he set her down, pushing her back against it.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with anticipation. His hands were everywhere now—gripping her hips, sliding up to her waist, fingers brushing the curve of her breasts, teasing the delicate straps of her slip. She arched into his touch, heart hammering in her chest, the heat between them making everything else fade into insignificance.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice low, almost a whisper, but it felt like a command.

He responded instantly, his lips finding her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he sucked gently, marking her, staking his claim. Her hands moved down, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him, to rid herself of the barriers between them. He groaned against her skin, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“You wanted this,” he murmured against her ear, his voice rough, full of raw need. "Admit it."

She didn’t respond with words. She didn’t need to. Her hands slid up to his chest, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, and she kissed him again, fiercely, determinedly. Her body pressed against his, feeling every inch of him as if they could somehow merge together.

Lando pulled back, his eyes scanning her face with that same intensity, as if trying to read her, trying to figure out what game she was playing. “You’re mine now,” he growled, hands tugging at the silk slip, pulling the bands off her shoulders.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t shy away. Instead, she met his gaze, a spark of something dangerous and defiant in her eyes. "If I’m yours," she purred, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, "then you’d better take me properly, Lando."

The air between them crackled with tension. And then, without another word, he kissed her again, more urgently this time, his hands finding her skin, drawing her closer to him, until she could feel the weight of him pressing against her.

This was no longer about games or control. This was a raw, unfiltered need that neither of them could deny. And they were both too far gone to stop.

The air between them was thick, electric. The heat of their earlier desperation hadn’t faded—it had only settled into something deeper, something hotter. Lando was still pressed against her, his fingers gripping her thighs where she sat atop the vanity, her silk slip bunched around her hips. His breath was uneven, his lips red from kissing her senseless, but now, something shifted.

Without a word, he dropped to his knees before her.

She sucked in a breath, caught between intrigue and anticipation as she looked down at him. His hands smoothed over her thighs, slow and reverent, his touch softer now, but no less possessive. The sight of him like this—on his knees for her—sent a wicked thrill down her spine.

He tilted his head back to meet her gaze, his dark eyes burning with something close to worship. "I’ve been a fool," he murmured, voice thick with want. His fingers dug into her flesh, holding her in place as he spread her legs just enough to make her breath hitch. "For not seeing you for what you are."

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "And what am I, Lando?"

His hands slid higher, fingertips tracing the hem of her slip. He leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost over her bare skin. "My equal," he said roughly. "More than that." His lips brushed the inside of her thigh, teasing, tasting. "The one woman who could bring me to my knees."

She exhaled, a quiet, shuddering thing, her grip tightening in his hair as his mouth travelled higher. He was usually all dominance, all control, but here he was—kneeling for her, worshipping her with his hands, his lips, his voice.

She let him linger, let him kiss and touch and revel in her, let him show her that he understood now. That she wasn’t just a wife for show, not just a piece to be moved on the board.

And then, when she was satisfied, when his grip was almost desperate on her skin, when his breathing was uneven with the sheer need of her, she tugged at his hair, forcing him to look up at her.

“Stand up,” she commanded softly.

His chest rose and fell hard, but he obeyed, rising to his full height, towering over her again. His hands found her waist, his thumbs brushing against the silk clinging to her body. She could see the restraint in his posture, the way he was holding back, waiting for her next move.

She reached for him, tracing her nails lightly over the bare skin of his chest. “From now on," she murmured, pressing her lips just below his jaw, feeling the way his pulse pounded beneath her mouth, "you’ll show me the same respect."

Lando’s hands clenched at her hips, his body taut with the effort it took not to crush her against him. His mouth hovered just over hers, breath heavy, his voice low and ragged when he finally answered.

“Yes, love,” he rasped. “I will.”

And then he kissed her again, deep and consuming, pulling her against him so hard that she gasped against his lips. And when he lifted her from the vanity, carrying her towards the bed once more, she knew—there was no turning back from this.

His breath was warm against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, his fingers pressing into her hips as if anchoring himself there. He wasn’t in a rush—no, Lando was savouring this, savouring her.

She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him, chest rising and falling heavily. He looked up at her through thick lashes, his dark eyes burning with something raw, something dangerous.

"You like this, don’t you?" she murmured, her voice low, taunting. "Being here. Like this."

Lando exhaled a slow breath against her skin, his grip tightening. "You’ve no idea," he muttered, voice rough, strained.

And then he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate. His stubble scraped against her skin, his mouth hot, teasing. She shivered, fingers twitching against the sheets. He was taking his time, deliberately drawing it out, and the anticipation was maddening.

"Lando," she breathed, not quite a plea, but close.

That did something to him. His hands slid further up, spreading her more beneath him, and then he leaned in fully, pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss where she needed him most.

She gasped, her head falling back against the pillows. He hummed in satisfaction, his grip keeping her in place as he set to work, slow, languid strokes of his tongue that had her body arching towards him.

She barely registered the way her fingers tangled into his hair, holding him there, guiding him. But Lando? He groaned at the feeling, at the way she responded so perfectly to him.

She wasn’t used to this—to a man like him showing this kind of devotion. But he was thorough, almost as if he had something to prove.

As if he wanted to ruin her.

And God, she was happy to let him try.

His name left her lips again, breathy and uneven, her fingers tightening in his hair as he worked her over with slow, unrelenting precision. Lando groaned against her, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through her, making her thighs tremble against his broad shoulders.

He was savouring this, taking his time, deliberately keeping her on the edge but never quite letting her tip over. Each flick of his tongue, each teasing stroke, was measured, controlled—because he wanted her desperate for it, wanted to hear her break beneath him.

She let out a frustrated whimper, her hips shifting, seeking more. "Stop—" she gasped, "—teasing."

He chuckled, the sound low and wicked against her skin, but he didn’t stop. If anything, he slowed, his hands pressing firmer against her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted. "And here I thought you liked control," he mused, his voice thick with amusement.

Her head fell back, a soft curse leaving her lips. "You’re insufferable."

He smirked against her, his grip tightening. "And yet you’re falling apart for me."

She had a sharp retort on her tongue, something cutting, something defiant—but then he finally gave in.

A deep, languid stroke of his tongue, firmer now, deliberate. Her back arched off the bed, a strangled sound escaping her lips. His hands smoothed over her thighs, keeping her open for him, and then he truly set to work—thorough and utterly merciless.

The tension that had been winding so tightly inside her snapped without warning, pleasure crashing through her like fire, her entire body trembling beneath him. He groaned at the way she came undone for him, his grip never loosening, as if he wanted to feel every moment of it.

She barely registered the way he pressed one last, lingering kiss to her inner thigh before pulling himself up over her, his hands bracing on either side of her head.

Her chest heaved as she blinked up at him, still dazed, still recovering. His lips were swollen, his eyes dark with something feral.

"You," she murmured, voice thick, "are far too good at that."

Lando smirked, dipping his head to kiss her, slow and indulgent, letting her taste herself on his tongue. "And I’m nowhere near finished with you yet, love."

The shift between them had been subtle at first. A brush of fingers when passing, a lingering glance across a crowded room. But now, a few days later, it was undeniable. They moved as one—seamless, untouchable. Where Lando had once been guarded, careful, now his hands were always on her. A hand on the small of her back as he led her through a room, fingers tracing absentminded circles on her wrist as they sat together, a possessive arm slung around her shoulders when they held court among their people.

She had settled into her role with a quiet, effortless power. No longer just his wife, no longer simply the woman who had been given to him to tie two families together—she was his equal. And everyone knew it.

Tonight, the house was alive with warmth, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the grand dining room as they entertained their closest allies. She sat beside Lando at the head of the table, her posture easy, confident, her silk gown pooling elegantly over her crossed legs.

Lando, ever the king of the room, leaned back in his chair, fingers idly tracing along the inside of her wrist where her hand rested on the table. He wasn’t even looking at her, too busy listening to one of his men recount some business in the East End, but the touch was absent-minded, second nature now.

She smirked slightly, turning her hand to entwine her fingers with his, giving a squeeze. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he lifted her hand to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

The room fell into a hushed sort of awe at the display. Their leader, cold and ruthless, was openly devoted to his wife in a way none of them had ever seen before. And she? She simply accepted it, like it was her due.

When dinner was over and the guests had drifted into the parlour for cigars and whisky, Lando caught her by the waist, pulling her into a quiet corner before she could follow.

"You realise what you’ve done, don’t you?" he murmured, voice rich with amusement.

She arched a brow, tilting her head. "And what’s that, darling?"

He smirked, fingers brushing down her spine. "Made me soft."

She laughed, low and sultry, trailing a finger down the front of his waistcoat. "Oh no, my love," she murmured, standing on tiptoe to brush a slow, lingering kiss against his jaw. "I’ve made you unstoppable."

Lando exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening at her waist before he turned and kissed her, slow and deep, uncaring of who might see. Because she was right.

They weren’t just husband and wife anymore.

They were a force.

Lando had always prided himself on being the smartest man in the room. He had built his empire on instinct, on knowing where to strike and when to hold back. But now? Now he had something even sharper in his arsenal—her.

He now saw her skill for what it was. What he had once dismissed as idle gossip, frivolous chatter over tea and brandy, was in fact the deadliest weapon at his disposal. While the other men scrambled to find their rats and their loopholes, tearing through their operations in search of betrayal, they never once stopped to consider that the real danger was sitting beside them at their own dinner tables.

Because the truth was simple. It wasn’t their men who were loose-lipped—it was their wives. Women ignored, underestimated, left to sip their champagne and idly entertain themselves. They spoke of everything—the shipments their husbands fretted over, the officers they paid off, the backdoor deals and sudden disappearances. They let secrets slip between sips of wine, between boasts of fine jewellery and whispered complaints of infidelity.

And she? She had been listening.

Now, Lando had a new advantage, one his rivals didn’t even realise existed. Every other day, he was intercepting shipments before they even made it onto the docks. Smugglers were caught, safe houses compromised, backroom deals unravelled before they had even begun. The panic was spreading—men were at each other’s throats, convinced they had a traitor in their ranks. And all the while, she sat by Lando’s side, lips painted red, eyes sharp, watching their empire grow stronger by the day.

Lando leaned back in his chair, fingers running lazily along the curve of his glass, watching her across the room. She was laughing, a sultry, knowing sound, as she toyed with the pearl necklace around her throat, listening with that careful attentiveness that he now recognised for what it truly was. She was drawing out secrets as easily as she drew breath.

She felt his gaze before she saw it, glancing over at him with a smirk, tilting her head ever so slightly. See something you like? her expression seemed to tease.

He smirked in return, lifting his glass in a silent toast to her.

His wife wasn’t a problem.

She was his genius.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @spiderbeam

which f1 driver should i draw next

(i have already done oscar)

(tumblr only allows 12 options)

don’t talk to me i’m sobbing over my oscariño in the grass and salvaging a few points

(MY SHAYLAAAAAA 😭😭😭)

me the entire race weekend

i was watching dts and i saw kimi and i OUT LOUD squealed “KIMIIIIIII!!!!”

to reiterate

why does my man look like a cardboard cutout 😭😭

why does my man look like a cardboard cutout 😭😭

Flop Era

I want to start off by saying my latest 3 fanfics I have written for Charles, Lando, and Oscar have been FLOPS, not a lot of engagement so I don’t know if I should “retire” or not.

BUT I have one last idea that could decide if I retire or not.

Based off an instagram reel that my friend sent me of Sebastian Rulli and Angelique Boyer. The couple were on a Mexican late night talk show called De Noche Pero Sin Sueño where Angelique and two other women pero in boxes that had holes where they would stick out their hands. Sebastian would have to guess which of these hands belonged to Angelique BLINDFOLDED, they have the same nail length, shape, and nail polish! Sebastian was between woman 1 and woman 3, ANGELIQUE WAS 2! He takes the blindfold off, his final answer was 3, then Angelique made hand gestures like “are you serious?” And his eyes WIDENED and was like “oh fuck, I messed up”

So I’m thinking Y/N would be a Latin superstar, makes music in Spanish, has appeared in some popular telenovelas and broke out in the American market as well, starting in blockbuster movies. Think Eiza Gonzalez, and she’s dating an F1 driver, they met at a Grand Prix, she was invited by the team, they are literally the talk of Hollywood and F1. Y/N says they’ve been invited to Mexico to be guests in the show and the same thing that happened to Sebastian and Angelique, happens to Y/N and the driver you voted for.

IF VOTING CLOSES WHEN YOU SEE IT, YOU CAN STILL COMMENT UNTIL APRIL 24TH

Good Girl

Pairing: AU!Charles Leclerc x Latina!Reader

Summary: where Charles calls you a “good girl” despite him “hating” you.

A/N: based off the song Good Girl by my name twin, April Jai. This will be a sort of enemies to lovers AU where Charles is your boss, but tries to keep his distance from falling for you by saying he hates you. He’s very much Alexander von Ferdinand from Lola erase un vez (if you know, you know).

Is that a little hunger in your eyes? Looks to me that you just can’t deny The tension, friction, immediate submission When you call me A good good girl

You were talking on the phone with your friend while in line to buy lunch for your boss.

"Girl, I am telling you that i never had a boss as grumpy as him. It is like every little thing sets him off, the breakup with Alexandra must have been terrible." You told you friend. Luckily for you, he was in the office, you got up to the cashier to pay for Charles's lunch

"Yeah, i heard she got full custody of Leo." Your friend said.

"Yeah, but he's been such an ass lately, like very Miranda Priestly." You said, grabbing the lunch and heading to the elevator to go up to the 16th floor, where his office was. "I swear, i lowkey regret taking this job. As much as i love working in Monaco, este maldito pendejo me hasta haciendo la vida imposible with his fucking mood swings. Like don't take out your anger on me because of your failed relationship." Unfortunately, the elevator doors opened on the last sentence you said, revealing your boss, Charles Leclerc.

"Gossiping about me, Miss L/N?" Charles asked, even though he knows the answer already.

"Luego te hablo, Mari." You hung up the phone and stepped out of the elevator. "Sir, i am so sorry, that was completely unprofessional of me." Charles started walking to his office, with you following not far behind.

"Is that my lunch?" Charles asked, ignoring your question, sitting at his desk.

"Yes, Mr. Leclerc, here." You placed the lunch container on his desk. Charles opened it and frowned. "Whats wrong?"

"I wanted pasta, does this look like pasta to you?” Charles asked, showing you the container full of chicken and rice.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Leclerc, I’ll get you a new lunch.” You said.

“Good girl, make sure it’s a pesto pasta.” Charles said and you started to get that warm feeling in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time your boss called you a good girl, but it was the first time it felt like he was teasing you. You almost stumbled when leaving his office.

Charles smirked to himself as he watched your reaction. Truth be told, he was actually quite fond of you, might even go as far as saying he has a crush on you. However, he didn’t want it to seem like a power imbalance considering he’s your boss so he tries to keep his distance. But your reaction to him calling you a good girl is making it harder for him to keep pretending he doesn’t want to call you a good girl on different circumstances.

You went back to the food court on the building and went over to an Italian place to get pesto pasta, hopefully it’s good and Charles won’t bite your head off. After ordering, you paid for it and went back upstairs, placing the takeout container of pasta on his desk. Charles opened it and hummed in appreciation.

“Great, exactly what I wanted, good girl.” Charles said and he heard your breath hitch, he smirked. “Could you close the door for me?”

“Of course, sir.” You said, heading to the door and closing it, it was only you and him in his office. You’re just glad it wasn’t a fishbowl so no one can see how nervous you are.

“Do you like it when I call you a good girl, y/n?” Charles asked and you turned around to face him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Leclerc.”

“Oh don’t act all innocent because I know you’re not. The way your eyes sort of glaze over when I give you praise like that. You want to be a good girl, a good girl for me.” Charles said walking closer to you until your back hits the wall. You look down, trying hard not to make eye contact. “I’m right aren’t I?” He said, though you weren’t looking at him, you were positive he was smirking. “Look at me, mon Ange” Charles out his finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Good girl.” You felt goosebumps and saw how Charles’s eyes darkened in desire.

“What about you, sir? You say how my eyes glaze over when you call me a good girl, but what about the hunger in yours when I refer to you as sir? I was beginning to think you hated me but I see that’s not the case here.” You stated shakily since he started kissing your neck.

“Of course I don’t hate you, mon ange. But the bossing you around? You doing everything I tell you? The immediate submission when I call you a good girl? It was just too fun to quit.” Charles said into your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, making you whimper.

“You were teasing me this whole time?” You questioned, moving away from Charles.

“Admittedly I was.“ Charles replied.

“You’re evil.” You said, Charles cocked his head to the side.

“Can’t say I’m not. What I can say is that i really want to kiss you.” Charles said, his gaze falling to your lips, your breath hitched before nodding ever so slightly and Charles kisses you passionately, he bit your bottom lip to get your mouth to open so he can insert his tongue.

After a little make out session, you pulled away, lips swollen in the friction.

“Well…I have it get back to work, if this isn’t a one time thing, you already have my number.” You said, walking out of his office to freshen up in the bathroom. Charles just stood there in disbelief, thinking you definitely weren’t as innocent as you pretend to be

The End

Hope y’all liked it, it’s been a while since I wrote for Charles

Wouldn’t Change A Thing

Pairing: Lando Norris x Latina! Reader

Summary: they are perfectly imperfect

Warning: angst (?), spelling and grammatical errors, inaccurate F1 GP schedule

A/N: inspired by the Camp Rock 2 song, also I put that you’re studying medicine because I know how demanding that career path is. I’m lowkey going down that path, but it’s Healthcare administration, so it’s businessy

Dating an F1 driver is never easy, especially when you don’t have the luxury to travel with him all over the world. You were studying for your finals, you needed a really high mark so you could get into medical school and finally become a doctor. You were in your apartment and all of a sudden you’re stomach growled. You turned your phone on and saw it was a little after 1am.

“Shit, I forgot to eat.” You grumbled before placing a bookmark in your textbook to grab something from the kitchen. As you were walking to the kitchen, you heard the sound of keys jingling. You thought it was just neighbors until you heard your door opening. Quickly, you grabbed a kitchen knife just in case it turned out to be an intruder but the lights were turned on and there stood your boyfriend, with a duffel bag.

“Surprise, darling! Why are you holding a knife?” Lando asked.

“Damn It, chico fresa, i thought you were going to kill me.” You said, putting the knife down to hug him. Lando wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a 2 week break between races so I came to see you. Why are you up so late?” Lando asked,

“I’m studying for my finals.” You replied.

“Baby, your finals aren’t for another 2 months,” Lando said.

“Amor, i love you, but there is so much I need to know. I have tests every 2 weeks, I need an 80 to just PASS the class. What if my grades are so bad I can’t get into medical school? I need to be valedictorian, I won’t accept anything less.” You said.

“In that case, you should go to sleep, don’t you have class tomorrow?” Lando asked, you played with the hem of his sweater, not wanting to answer.

“It’s in the afternoon.” You mumbled. Lando laughed.

“Alright, Let’s have a quick snack and get you into bed.” Lando said, walking to the fridge to find something edible.

“You could have called, you know.” You said.

“But then it wouldn’t be much of a surprise. Now, there’s tortillas and cheese, want to make quesadillas?” Lando asked.

“Never thought you’d be the one to suggest quesadillas, let me get the comal out.” You said.

The first 3 days with Lando were interesting. You didn’t really go out much because you had classes to go to, homework to do, and finals to study for. Lando noticed how stressed you were, barely eating, Lando had to remind you to eat, you were beyond stressed. So the muppet had a plan.

Now that it was Saturday, he has the brilliant idea to hide your school stuff (laptop, backpack, textbooks, notebooks, literally everything you need) when you went out for coffee with a classmate. When you came back to your apartment, you noticed Lando was holding a bag.

“Lando, mi amor, what’s going on?” You asked, looking around the living room.

“We are going on a date. Well, a double date, Oscar wanted us to go somewhere and I asked if you could come. He said yes and that he’ll bring Lily along too, it will be fun, let’s go.” Lando insisted

“I can’t, I have to study.” You said, walking back to your room but you noticed your desk was empty. You ran out of your room. “QUE CHINGADOS HICISTE?!?” Lando outs his hands up.

“I still don’t know Spanish, sweet thing.” Lando said and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t ’sweet thing’ me, payaso, where’s my stuff?” You asked.

“Baby, you need a break, I want to spend time with you before I go off to another GP.” Lando said.

“Well you should have asked if I was free before coming, Lando.” You said. Lando looks hurt.

“Why do I have to give you notice about me coming over? I can’t visit my girlfriend now?” Lando asked, he’s very confused about why you’re acting this way.

“Lando, you can’t just come in and expect me to drop everything for you! I’m in school, this is very important to me, I wasn’t lucky enough to have rich parents, I have to work hard.” You said and Lando was shocked but what you said.

“You’re saying I don’t work hard?” Lando asked incredulously.

“Of course you work hard, Lando! I’ve seen how much training you do for McLaren but this is different. You don’t understand how difficult this is for me, you think whenever you don’t have a race, it’s time to goof off, well it’s not like that for me! After I take a test, I study for the next one, and I take that test, then study for the next one, it’s going to be an endless cycle until I actually become a doctor so sorry for being pissed that you hid my stuff, which, by the way, is so fucking childish of you.” You said

“In childish? Really? Look who’s throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t have her things.” Lando said.

“Those things are important to me, Lando! It’s like you don’t understand what I am trying to accomplish with my life. I don’t want to be known as Lando Norris’s girlfriend, okay? I’m not pretty enough or skinny enough to be a WAG like Rebecca, Alexandra, or Kika, I want to have a career and if you can’t understand that then…” you said and Lando shook his head and got closer.

“Of course I understand about wanting a career and to make something of yourself but you are going to burn yourself out before you even become a doctor if you keep going like this.” Lando said, rubbing your arms in intent to comfort you but you moved away, causing Lando’s heart to break a little.

“I’ll stop studying when I get into medical school.” You said. Lando shook his head.

“Fine, have it your way, I’m going out with Oscar, your stuff is in the oven, I’ll be back later, don’t wait up.” Lando said, leaving your apartment and slamming the door, causing you to flinch a little. It wasn’t like Lando to get angry like that. But you definitely didn’t help him calm down during your argument.

You got your stuff out of the pantry and began studying, but it was hard to concentrate because of how you left things with Lando. You decided to call your bestie because if anyone was going to give you an unbiased, unfiltered opinion, it would be her.

“Hey, what’s up? I thought you’d be studying.” Your bestie replied after 2 rings.

“I can’t concentrate, I got into an argument with Lando.” You said.

“What for? Did that bastard cheat on you?” She asked, ready to get a baseball bat.

“What? No! He just…ugh, he hid my laptop and textbooks, basically everything I needed to study was hidden.” You said.

“Okay…do you know why he did that?” She asked.

“He said so i can take a break and go on a date with him.” You said.

“Well you study a lot, Y/N, I don’t think that’s healthy, especially because I KNOW you forget to eat.” Your bestie scolded.

“But it’s like he doesn’t hear a word I say.” You argue.

On the other side, Lando is talking to Oscar and lily about you.

“Lan, you did show up to her apartment unannounced.” Oscar commented. Lando looked at him as if he was insulted.

“In her boyfriend, I believe in entitled.” Lando said.

“Sorry, what’s the problem with Y/N wanting to study for her classes?” Lily asked, very confused as to why the couple is fighting.

“She’s way too serious, she’s always in a rush and makes no time for us, it’s like she doesn’t even care.

💛You and your bestie💛

“All he wants to do is chill out! I’m fine when I actually make time for us but since he showed support unannounced, his behavior makes me want to pull my hair out, and I love my hair.” You commented.

“Alright, if he gets you so frustrated, then why don’t you break up with him?” Your bestie asked but you looked at her as if she had three heads.

“I love him despite these little ‘flaws’ you could say, he wouldn’t be him without them.” You said, she thought about it a little more. “Which is exactly what you wanted me to say. You’re an evil genius.”

“What can I say? Anyway, gotta go, study a little more and PLEASE take a break.” Your bestie asked hung up the phone.

🧡Lando and Oscar🧡

“And she tried to pick a fight earlier today, she’s so stubborn, I can’t sometimes, you know.” Lando said. Oscar and lily looked at each other, both having the same idea.

“You know, Lando, if you guys keep having problems like this, maybe it’s better if you break up with her.” Lily commented.

“Looks like you’re headed there anyway.” Oscar said. Lando was shocked by their input.

“But she makes me happy, I love her, her stubbornness is what I love most about her, she challenges me, I wouldn’t change a thing about her.” Lando said and Oscar and lily smiled. “You muppets…” Lando said.

“We had to get you to realize that this fight is just a little bump in the road. You 2 are good together.” Oscar said.

“Thanks.” Lando said.

Later that day, it was almost 10pm when you finished cooking dinner for you and Lando and that Lando came through the door, greeted with a lovely surprise.

“Hey, fresita.” You greeted.

“Hey, baby girl, what’s all this?” Lando asked, closing the door and giving you a kiss on the forehead.

“I wanted to apologize, I shouldn’t have picked a fight when I know you were only looking out for me.” You said, looking up down at your shoes, feeling embarrassed about the events that have transpired earlier today. Lando put a finger under your chin so you would have to look up at him.

“I wanted to apologize too, it’s unfair of me to come into your apartment without letting you know first, expecting you to drop everything to spend time with me.” Lando said.

“But i know why you did. With you racing around the world and living in Monaco, we don’t see each other much.” You said,

“Yeah but your studies should come before your incredibly handsome boyfriend.” Lando said, causing you to giggle.

“No seas payaso, you forgot to say you’re humble as well.” You teased.

“That too. You may drive me crazy, but I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” Lando said, putting his hands on your hips, playing with your belt loop.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you either, Lando, I love you.” You said, interlocking your hands behind his nape.

“I love you too.” Lando said, leaning in to kiss you.

The End

I wrote the majority during my work shift, but I hope y’all liked it!

(Not) A Love Song

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Latina! Reader

Summary: Oscar Piastri and Y/N have been friends since they met at the airport, both being new to the UK, they are each other’s person. However, there are things that they do that aren’t necessarily of “best friends”

Warning: the usual

A/N: to celebrate Oscar’s first win of the season, a cute friends to lovers based off of “not a love song” from Austin and Ally, and “in between” by Gracie Abrams. Oscar Piastri is going to give Adrien Agreste and Austin Moon level delusion, okay? Okay

You were in the McLaren garage, wearing a team kit with Oscar’s number on the back, watching the race. You still can’t believe that Oscar flew you out to China for the Grand Prix. He also flew you out for the Australian Grand Prix so I guess it’s to be expected.

You were watching closely, it was the last lap of the Shanghai Grand Prix, crossing your fingers for a McLaren 1-2, and it happened! You screamed in excitement and hugged Oscar’s race engineer, who’s already used to your affection. When Oscar and Lando pulled up in front of the garage, Oscar got out of the car to hug you.

“Oh my gosh, that was a great race! I’m so proud of you, Tiburóncin.” You told him pulling away from his hug.

“Thanks, darling.” Oscar said, kissing your forehead. Yes, this was very normal for him to do, yet you can’t help but feel butterflies every time he does it.

“And Lando, great job on getting P2, you’re leading the driver championship, I am so proud of you too.” You said, pulling Lando into a hug. Lando giggled.

“Thanks, Y/N. We better get going to the cooldown room, Osc.” Lando said.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” Oscar said, watching Lando as he leaves.

“What do you want to do to celebrate?” You asked.

“Considering it’s your first time in Shanghai, what do you say about going to Disneyland tomorrow?” Oscar asked and your jaw dropped. You’ve told him you wanted to go to every Disney park there is few months ago after going to Disney World in Orlando when visiting Logan.

“I’d say you’re the best friend I have ever had! But what should we do later?” You asked.

“We’ll go out to eat with Charles and Alex, sounds good?” Oscar asked. You nodded. “Great! I’ll text Charles while I’m in the cooldown room.” Oscar said, kissing your forehead again. “I’ll look for you after the podium celebration.” Oscar left Y/N in the garage.

Oscar was waiting for you outside your hotel room.

“We’re going to be late, darling! Don’t make me come in there!” Oscar exclaimed, texting Charles that they are on their way.

“Chill out, I’m ready.” You said. Oscar heard the door open.

“Finally.” Oscar said, looking up from his phone, Oscar felt his heart skip a beat when he saw you in a cute formal dress that suit you perfectly, in a color that complimented your skin tone and hair color. The dress looked like it was made for you. “Wow, you look” beautiful , he thought. “…great.” He said.

“Thanks, sorry it took forever, my hair was not cooperating. Let’s go.” You said, the both of you walked to the elevator, got downstairs, took a car to the restaurant where you saw Alexandra and Charles waiting.

“Sorry we’re late.” Oscar said, before pulling your seat out for you to sit down. Alexandra makes a mental note of that.

“Oh you’re not late, we got here 5 minutes ago actually.” Alexandra said.

“Then were right on time, charles, sorry about the disqualification, it was total bullshit.” You said,

“Thanks, next race will be better, I’m sure of it.” Charles said with a tight smile.

“Any plans before leaving Shanghai?” Oscar asked, looking over the menu.

“Not really, our flight is in the morning, how about you 2?” Charles asked.

“I’m taking Y/N to the Disneyland here.” Oscar replied.

“I’ve always wanted to go.” You said,

“Wow, that’s great. Hey Y/N, wanna come with me to powder my nose?” Alexandra said, you raised an eye brown, questioning her motive but decided to go anyway. “Be right back.” Alexandra said grabbing your hand to lead you to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, she let go of your hand, “okay, spill, how long have you and Oscar been dating?” Your eyes bugged out of your head.

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked,

“How long have you and Oscar been dating, I mean he flew you out for 2 races, that’s a big deal.” Alexandra said,

“Because we’re friends! Best friends actually, I’m lowkey his Logan replacement.” You said,

“Oh don’t give me that, there is no way Oscar can look at you with those eyes and you’re not dating.” Alexandra said and you started playing with your fingers.

“How does he look at me?” You asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Like you’re his whole world.” Alexandra said.

Meanwhile with charles and Oscar

“When are you going to tell Y/N you like her?” Charles asked while Oscar was drinking water, causing him to choke and cough.

“What? What are you talking about?” Oscar asked.

“Don’t lie to me, mate, you like her.” Charles said.

“She’s just a friend, Charles.” Oscar insisted and charles just nodded.

“If that’s true, then why do you always answer her calls?” Charles asked,

“What do you mean?” Oscar asked.

“When Lando is calling you, you don’t rush to answer your phone. However, when it’s Y/N, first ring and you’re already answering her.” Charles said.

“I’ve been friends with her longer than I have been friends with Lando, I think that’s normal.” Oscar said.

“She came with you to two races! Doesn’t she work?” Charles asked.

“She has a remote job, she Can work from anywhere as long as she has her laptop. She wants to travel, I’m just giving her the opportunity to travel.” Oscar said.

“When she speaks, you look at her like she hung the moon.” Charles said.

“No I don’t!” Oscar exclaimed,d getting defensive.

“Whatever you say, mate.” Charles said, Oscar would have rebutted but he saw you and Alexandra walking towards the table. They sat down.

“What did we miss?” You asked. Little did you know, the couple have opened your eyes.

You and Oscar were walking around Disneyland, you had on Minnie ears that Oscar insisted on buying because he knows you like collecting them, not every Disney park has the same ears, so you decided on the ears inspired by your favorite Disney character.

“We should go to the Disneyland in Paris.” Oscar said as you two were walking to a ride.

“When would we go?” You asked.

“During my summer break, that way you can make your own wand, you sent me a TikTok of it a while ago.” Oscar said.

“It would be so fun, honestly.” You said

Your whole trip to Disneyland was AMAZING but it had you analyzing everything Oscar has done. He opened the door for you, carried your bags of Disney merch that HE paid for, took pictures with you even though he’s not a fan of taking pictures, paid for food yall ate, and let’s you get in first on the ride, helps you in and out of the rides, and he’s already planning your next Disney trip. But you’ve met Oscar’s family, his mom definitely raised him to be a gentleman so that would explain all of that, but he also had a hand on your lower back when y’all were walking in crowds.

“Ay no, me voy a volver loca.” You muttered to yourself, cursing Alex for saying anything. As if you weren’t struggling enough with your crush on your best friend, now she has you thinking it’s reciprocated.

“What was that, darling?” Oscar asked, obviously hearing you since he’s the one driving you guys back to the hotel.

“It was nothing.” You said.

“You ready to go back?” Oscar asked.

“To England? Yeah, I have my bags packed and everything.” You said, Oscar nodded. 5 minutes later, Oscar parked the rented car, opening the door for you and helping you out, and carried your bags. You go to your floor, your room being right in front of his, you open your door and Oscar comes in to put your stuff down.

“I’m defensive going to be broke with you.” Oscar jokes.

“I could have paid for it, you know.” You reminded him.

“I know you could have, but it’s better if you save your money.” Oscar said.

“I could say the same for you, tiburóncin.” You told him. He just smiled, loving the nickname you gave him.

“Just get to sleep, darling. We need to be up really ear,y for our flight,” Oscar said.

“I will, I will.” You said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Oscar said, leaving the room and closing the door. Oscar lingered for a few second before entering his room, little did he know, you were staring at the door, hoping he would come back.

You and Oscar were in the airport, you were wearing a juicy couture tracksuit because you get cold on the plane, hair up in a pony, wearing your glasses because, besides not supposed to be wearing contacts on the plane, you didn’t feel like going through the hassle. Oscar thinks you look rather adorable, loving the way your glasses frame your face.

“I’m gonna get some shake shack, want something?” Oscar asked,

“Isn’t it rather early for fast food? I don’t think it would be open at this time.” You said,

“Well there’s a Berry Coffee, I’m gonna see if they have cappuccino muffins.” Oscar said, leaving you with the luggage. You felt your heart flutter, he remembers your favorite kind of muffin. 10 minutes have passed and he came with a brown paper bag and 2 cups in hand. “I got you hot chocolate.” He said, handing to you your cup. You smiled.

“Thank you, and thanks for the muffins.” You said.

“Of course.” Oscar replied. You were sipping your drinks and eating muffins, sitting by the gate, waiting for your flight to be called. You were scrolling through TikTok and saw an edit of you and Oscar. Everyone was saying how your Oscar’s unofficial WAG and it warmed your heart. You started to read the comments, lots of them varying from ‘she’s not pretty enough to be a WAG’ to ‘they’re so in love with each other, just look at how their faces light up when they spot each other.’

Your flight was called, Oscar let’s you go first, you walked through the tunnel to get into the plane, first class (because he can obviously afford it in my head), he put your carryon luggage in the overhead bin, and the flight was comfortable, you feel yourself falling asleep to the inflight movie Oscar chose.

Oscar took your earbuds out and took your glasses off, putting them in their case that you had in your personal bag. He smiled to himself, he thinks you look pretty even when sleeping, he shook his head, trying to shake that thought out too.

“What am i thinking, she’s just a friend.” He whispered to himself. He noticed you were moving in your sleep, a few minutes have passed and he noticed how the temperate got cooler. He grabbed his carryon, pulling out a hoodie for him and a blanket for you. Once the hoodie was on him, he draped the blanket on you.

Hours have passed, you were woken up by Oscar gently shaking you.

“We landed, darling, let’s go.” Oscar said. You nodded, handing him the blanket that was draped on you, Oscar handed you your carryon and waiting for you to walk out so he could walk behind you.

When getting out of the airport, there was a car sent from McLaren to take you both to your apartments, which is coincidentally in the same building. Oscar helped you put your bags in the trunk, both of you riding in the backseat as the driver took y’all home.

Y’all arrived, Oscar opens the door for you to get out and got your luggage out for you.

“Thank you!” You both said to the driver, who’s going back to the McLaren center. You entered the building and took the elevator.

“Well i had a great time, thank you so much for inviting me.” You said.

“Of course, you’re my best friend, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Oscar replied, you smiled, the elevator doors opened.

“Well, see you tomorrow, I guess.” You said.

“See you tomorrow.” Oscar said,

Oscar got to his apartment, the flight was long, all he wanted to do was unpack and sleep. Maybe eat something before, he wasn’t sure yet. So in true boy fashion, he ordered pizza and played video games until it was nighttime. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and decided that unpacking was a tomorrow Oscar problem.

Sadly, Oscar couldn’t sleep, he has been lying awake for 40 minutes, every time he closed his eyes, he see you. He doesn’t know why, you were just his friend. Sure, he holds your bags when you go shopping, takes a shower before you guys hang out, let’s you pick the movies you guys are going to watch, tidies up his place before you come over, all people do that with their friends. However, he would not let all his friends wear his hoodies, try on his helmets, or pick out furniture for his apartment. And he definitely doesn’t think all his friends are beautiful with glasses, without glasses, hair styled naturally, hair straightened/curled, dressed up, or dressed down. Nope, just you, you were the only exception.

“Crap, I like Y/N.” Oscar admitted out loud, looks like charles was right. So Oscar did what any normal person would do, put on his slippers and went to Y/N’s place because a revelation like this needs to be told immediately.

You woke up to frantic knocking on the door.

“I’m coming, geez, clam down.” You said. You looked through the peephole and saw Oscar disheveled in his pajamas. You opened the door and Oscar saw you in all your glory, pastel blue silk bonnet on your head to protect your hair, matching pajamas, and slippers of your favorite cartoon character. “Oscar? What are you doing up?” You asked but instead of answering, Oscar just walked in.

“A,l right, I know this is going to sound crazy because we’ve been friends for years but I like you. You are always on my mind, I think about you every morning, every night, when there were times you were unable to attend my races last season, I was a little sad because if I am being honest, my race weekends are so much better when you are there. I don’t know if you feel the same way but…” you cut Oscar off mid rant by kissing him. Oscar was shocked but he kissed you back, his hands finding their place on your hips. “I take it you feel the same way.”

“Of course I feel the same way, it kinda hard not to fall in love with you.” You admitted and Oscar smiled shyly. “Did charles talk to you?”

“He did actually, why?” Oscar asked.

“Because Alexandra talked to me too, saying that you looked at me like I was your whole world.” You said.

“I do look at you like that, you are my whole world, you were the first person I told when I got into F1, you mean a lot to me.” Oscar confessed.

“You mean a lot to me too. Since you’re here, do you want to sleep over?” You asked.

“I think it would be better if we waited until our first official date tonight.” Oscar said,

“Ooh tonight, do you have something special in mind?” You asked.

“It’s a surprise. Good night, darling.” Oscar said, kissing you. Once he pulled away, you said

“Good night, tiburóncin.” And Oscar left with a smile on his face. Once the door was closed, Oscar whispered yes, celebrating his victory of asking you out. You also whispered yes, celebrating your victory of him reciprocating your feelings.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

Like A Winner

Pairing: Lando Norris x Hispanic/Latina!Reader

Summary: Lando gets to spend time with his girlfriend…like a winner!

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: in honor of Lando winning the first GP of the season, just something quick because I do work today sadly.

Y/N was watching the GP from the McLaren garage and practically hugged all the engineers because Lando won, even after spinning out. Y/N was watching the podium celebration and once Lando spotted her, he winked, making her giggle, not used to Lando being so openly cheeky.

Once the celebration was finished, Lando got down and walked for Y/N, wrapping him arm around her waist to kiss her.

“You were great, mi vida, I’m so proud of you.” She said, once Lando pulled away from the kissed.

“Well you were watching, I had to win.” Lando confessed.

“Okay then, mi Chico fresa, what would you like to do now that you have won the Australian Grand Prix?” Y/N asked.

“What do you say to watching a movie in the hotel room?” Lando asked

“What movie did you have in mind?” Y/N asked.

“10 things I hate about you.” Lando said.

“Sounds good. What about food?” I was thinking sushi.” Y/N said and when Lando made a disgusted face, Y/N laughed. “I’m teasing, geez, you pick.”

“You know what? Just for that, we’re going golfing.” Lando said.

“Ay, fine, as long as I get to drive the golf cart.” Y/N bargained.

“Sweet thing, I’ve seen you drive, I think you’re meant to be a passenger princess.” Lando teased and Y/N smiled.

“Alright, let’s go before it rains again.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, I don’t think I want to drive in the rain again.” Lando says.

The couple walk to Lando’s car hand in hand.

“You coming with me to the Chinese Grand Prix?” Lando asked

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Y/N responded truthfully

“Good, I think you bring me good luck.” Lando said.

“You bet your ass I do.” Y/N said, making Lando laugh.

The End

Just a little blurb, hope it was sorta entertaining

Hello! You could make a Fanfic where Toto Wolff's daughter begs her father to make a contract for her boyfriend (Carlos Sainz) in the Mercedes team so that he doesn't go to Williams 💗

Yes! And I’ll be using one of my favorite Hannah Montana quotes because Y/N will DEFINITELY be a Daddy’s Girl.

Pretty Please

Summary: Y/N Wolff is dating Carlos Sainz and is unhappy to hear that Carlos is thinking about signing with Williams.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors, Williams hate

A/N: any hate towards Williams are things I have heard other people say. I’m also trying to get through ALL my requests so bear with me, please.

You were chilling with Carlos when he received a call. He kissed yourcheek and excused himself to take the call in another room. A few minutes have passed and Carlos walked back in with a smile.

“What’s got you all smiley?” You asked him.

“I got an offer from Williams to be their driver for the 2025 season.” Carlos said. You were in shock, however, remembering how James Vowels had a history of getting rid of their second drivers before the season finishes, thinking about Nicholas and Logan. You don’t want the same thing to happen to Carlos. But Carlos is a good driver, he knows what he’s doing.

“That’s great, babe, I’m so happy for you.” You hugged him after you said it.

In front of Carlos, you act very supportive of his decision, but in reality, you’re thinking about how you could convince your dad to sign Carlos. Carlos dropped you off at home, and when you opened the door, your mom was cooking food while your dad and brother were watching TV.

“Sweetheart, you’re just in time for dinner, have a seat. Toto, Jack, you guys too.” Your mom said. You put your things in your room, washed your hands, and sat down for dinner. “How was lunch with Carlos?”

“It was good, he’s recently got an offer to join Williams.” You said.

“That’s good, he’s a talented driver, he deserves to be in the new season.” Your dad commented.

“I like Carlos! He lets me play with his dogs.” Your brother jack said.

“Yeah, he’s talented all right, definitely too talented to drive for Williams.” You said, your dad doesn’t even have to look up from his plate to know you’re giving him puppy dog eyes, he can hear the begging tone in your voice.

“Ah no, nope, I already have a driver in mind for 2025, i can’t sign Carlos.” he said, getting up to get a beer, you followed him.

“How many ‘pretty’s do I have to put in front of the word ‘please’ for you to make Carlos a contract? Pretty, pretty…” You said training behind him. "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please, daddy, please!" You begged, stepping in front of the fridge before he had the chance to open it.

"Woah!" Your father exclaimed, putting his hands up as if he was surprised.

"Does that mean you'll sign him?" You asked hopefully

"No, it means you can stop. I already have Kimi Antonelli lined up to join Mercedes, you know this.” Your father said, moving you to open the fridge and get himself a beer.

"Dad, come on! It’s better for Kimi to have one more year in Formula 2, you know how everyone treated Logan, they all said he wasn’t ready to join F1. Kimi is just a kid, one more year until he can join and Carlos will join Audi in 2026.” You said.

“Charles Leclerc also did one year of F2.” Toto argued.

“But he didn’t join Ferrari right away, dad. He was in Sauber first before joining Ferrari. Wouldn’t it be better for kimi to go to Williams to get more F1 experience before joining Mercedes?” You asked your dad.

“I’ll think about it.” He said and you frowned.

“I’m not Jack’s age anymore, dad. I know ‘I’ll think about it’ means ‘ain’t gonna happen but nice try.’” You said, crossing your arms.

“I’ll think about it. But can we finish dinner first, please.” Toto said and you nodded.

It’s been a week since your conversation with your dad and you were losing hope until you saw Carlos and your dad talking. They shook hands, you decided to approach them,

“What’s going on here?” You asked, standing beside Carlos.

“You are looking at Mercedes’s new driver.” Carlos said, hugging you. You were in shock but hugged him back.

“Really? Omg, Im so happy for you!” You exclaimed, your father winked at you and you mouthed him a thank you.

“Took a lot of convincing though.” Toto joked.

“The contract is really good, I read it over three times, and signed today.” Carlos said.

“That’s great, how about we go out to celebrate? My treat.” You offered and Carlos nodded. You guys walked away and just when your father was out of earshot, Carlos whispered thank you in your ear. “For what?”

“I know you talked to your dad about me.” Carlos said,

“Are you mad?” You asked.

“Max that my girlfriend loves me so much she’ll convince her dad to write me up a contract? I know you were just looking out for me.” Carlos said.

“Well yeah, i Don’t really like how James treats his second drivers, I did not want you getting that treatment at all.” You pouted. Carlos kissed your pout away.

“I Love you so much.” Carlos said.

“I love you too.” You said.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

I am so glad you liked it! I specialize in the fluffy type of fanfics ☺️, thank you for reblogging!

Hi I was the one requested the two Lewis Hamilton imagine and the Carlos sainz imagine and I was also the one who sent you the message about the Daniel Ricardo imagine and I have one more request you can take your time on this one I really don't care but another Lewis Hamilton imagine well I don't know Lewis's walking in a park or somewhere and he finds a straight dog or puppy or whatever and he takes it to the closest vet in the reader is a veterinarian and yeah whenever you want to do from there it's all up to you so yeah

🥰🫶🇲🇽

Oh that sounds nice, Lewis is definitely the type to do right by a stray dog

Puppy Love

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Vet!Reader

Summary: while playing fetch with Roscoe at the park, he finds an abandoned dog and takes him to the nearest vet office and crushes on the pretty vet attending the dog

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: i think I just successfully convinced my mom that we should go to Monaco for vacation 🫢. Well, we are going to Nice, France and then take a bus to Monaco so I can see the Prince’s car collection. Maybe I’ll post pictures here

Lewis decided to bring Roscoe with him to New York and being the good dog owner he is, he took Roscoe out to the park in the morning, bringing a frisbee to play fetch with.

“Alright, buddy, you ready to play fetch?” Lewis asked and Roscoe barked in agreement, wiggling his butt. “Go long, boy!” Lewis says as he tossed the frisbee, Roscoe being a good boy and ran as fast as he could to get the frisbee. However, the frisbee landed in front of another dog, making Roscoe bark.

Lewis was alerted by the usually calm dog’s bark and rushed over to see what Roscoe had seen and right before his eyes, there was a Pekingnese puppy just under a year, shivering, covered in mud.

“Hi buddy.” Lewis cooed at the puppy, trying to appear as approachable as possible. It seems to work because the puppy started inching towards him. “There you go, a little bit closer, little guy.” Lewis said until the puppy because close enough so he could carry him. The little puppy leaned into his embrace. “Cold little bugger, aren’t you? Alright, let’s go see if you’re chipped, alright? Come on, Roscoe.” Lewis said, putting Roscoe’s leash back on.

Since the puppy didn’t have a collar, he couldn’t use Roscoe’s extra leash to walk him. He was walking Roscoe while carrying the puppy in his arms and walked until they reached an animal clinic. Lewis walked in and went straight up to the front desk.

“Alright, please sign in and we’ll get to you shortly.” The receptionist said and Lewis did just that. Everything was fine until the puppy started howling in his arms.

“What’s wrong, fella?” Lewis asked the puppy, inspecting him. “Shit, he has something in his paw. Can you see him, please? He’s only a puppy and I just found him in the street.”

“Alright, come on in and wait for the vet to see you.” The receptionist said and Lewis walked in with Roscoe. When Lewis placed the puppy on the table, that’s when he realized the puppy had a slight limp. He hadn’t noticed because of how long the puppy’s fur was. Lewis was comforting the puppy when he heard the door open.

“Okay, Lewis Hamilton?” The vet said.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. Lewis said nervously.

“I’m Y/N, I’ll be your vet today. What brings in this little cutie, today?” You said petting the puppy.

“Um i was in the dog park with my bulldog and we found him. He didn’t have a collar, I brought him in to see if he was chipped but apparently he has a limp as well.” Lewis said.

“Right, I’ll just take his vitals before checking if there is a chip to see if there are signs of malnourishment considering the conditions you found him in.” You said, putting on your stethoscope to listen to the puppy. The puppy whimpered but you managed to calm him down enough so he would stay still. “His vitals are fine, feels a bit underweight, you can’t tell under that fur but I’ll weigh him shortly. I’ll bring in the scanner to check if there is a chip.”

You walked out and Lewis was thinking about how beautiful you were. Young too, thinking you were in your late twenties to early thirties. Lewis was comforting Roscoe who seemed just as nervous as the puppy. You then came back with the scanner and waved it over the puppy,

“Huh, this poor guy doesn’t seemed chipped. Buts that’s okay little fella, I’m sure this nice man over here will take you in.” You cooed as the puppy, making him was his tail as you looked at Lewis with puppy dog eyes, tryna guilt him into owning another dog.

“I’m not sure if I can…” Lewis started.

“Dude, you’re an F1 driver, you seem to be taking care of Roscoe perfectly fine, what’s one more dog? Plus, who knows how the shelter will be, he could get adopted by some bad people.” You tried to convince him

“I Don’t think that’s very professional of you.” Lewis teased.

“May not be, but at least I’d know he’ll be going to a good home.” You said. “Just think about it, I have to go weigh the fella. Let’s go, baby.” You said, carrying the puppy outside the room to weight him. Roscoe just stared up at Lewis, who was also guilting him.

“Not you too.” Lewis whined, making Roscoe huff. “Alright, fine, I’ll bring him in.” You then came back in the room.

“Good news, he’s only like 3 pounds underweight, should be an easy fix, he just doesn’t eat as much as he should. His limp a,so appears to be a sprain, I’ll give you some pain medication for him, along with some supplements that should improve his joint health. Now, what are you going to name this beautiful baby boy?” You asked.

“You’re laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” Lewis asked.

“I’m trying to get him adopted by you so yeah.” You said.

“I’m going to name him Miracle.” Lewis said, petting the newly named puppy.

“Okay, Miracle Hamilton it is. I’ll get everything prepared you, okay?” You said before walking out. Lewis carried Miracle and grappled Roscoe’s leash to wait in the waiting room for you. “Okay, here’s the medication and a list of supplements that I recommend you should buy…along with my number.”

“Your number? Are you flirting with me, Y/N?” Lewis asked with a flirty smile.

“I am, this way you can call me if you need with Miracle or if you just want to talk. Up to you, of course.” You told him.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, have a great day, guys.” Lewis said, walking out with his old friend and new puppy. He started buying puppy food for Miracle’s breed, a few toys, a leash, collar, everything a new dog needs.

When Lewis made it to the apartment, he let Miracle and Roscoe get acquainted while he stares at your number. After having the two dogs stare at him, he caved. “Hey, Y/N, It’s me, Lewis, I don’t have to be in Maranello for another 2 weeks, you want to go out Friday night?” Lewis asked.

“I would love to.” You said, Lewis could hear the smile on your face and that made him smile as well.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! Sorry I’ve been inactive

Hi I was the one requested the two Lewis Hamilton imagine and the Carlos sainz imagine and I was also the one who sent you the message about the Daniel Ricardo imagine and I have one more request you can take your time on this one I really don't care but another Lewis Hamilton imagine well I don't know Lewis's walking in a park or somewhere and he finds a straight dog or puppy or whatever and he takes it to the closest vet in the reader is a veterinarian and yeah whenever you want to do from there it's all up to you so yeah

🥰🫶🇲🇽

Oh that sounds nice, Lewis is definitely the type to do right by a stray dog

Puppy Love

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Vet!Reader

Summary: while playing fetch with Roscoe at the park, he finds an abandoned dog and takes him to the nearest vet office and crushes on the pretty vet attending the dog

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: i think I just successfully convinced my mom that we should go to Monaco for vacation 🫢. Well, we are going to Nice, France and then take a bus to Monaco so I can see the Prince’s car collection. Maybe I’ll post pictures here

Lewis decided to bring Roscoe with him to New York and being the good dog owner he is, he took Roscoe out to the park in the morning, bringing a frisbee to play fetch with.

“Alright, buddy, you ready to play fetch?” Lewis asked and Roscoe barked in agreement, wiggling his butt. “Go long, boy!” Lewis says as he tossed the frisbee, Roscoe being a good boy and ran as fast as he could to get the frisbee. However, the frisbee landed in front of another dog, making Roscoe bark.

Lewis was alerted by the usually calm dog’s bark and rushed over to see what Roscoe had seen and right before his eyes, there was a Pekingnese puppy just under a year, shivering, covered in mud.

“Hi buddy.” Lewis cooed at the puppy, trying to appear as approachable as possible. It seems to work because the puppy started inching towards him. “There you go, a little bit closer, little guy.” Lewis said until the puppy because close enough so he could carry him. The little puppy leaned into his embrace. “Cold little bugger, aren’t you? Alright, let’s go see if you’re chipped, alright? Come on, Roscoe.” Lewis said, putting Roscoe’s leash back on.

Since the puppy didn’t have a collar, he couldn’t use Roscoe’s extra leash to walk him. He was walking Roscoe while carrying the puppy in his arms and walked until they reached an animal clinic. Lewis walked in and went straight up to the front desk.

“Alright, please sign in and we’ll get to you shortly.” The receptionist said and Lewis did just that. Everything was fine until the puppy started howling in his arms.

“What’s wrong, fella?” Lewis asked the puppy, inspecting him. “Shit, he has something in his paw. Can you see him, please? He’s only a puppy and I just found him in the street.”

“Alright, come on in and wait for the vet to see you.” The receptionist said and Lewis walked in with Roscoe. When Lewis placed the puppy on the table, that’s when he realized the puppy had a slight limp. He hadn’t noticed because of how long the puppy’s fur was. Lewis was comforting the puppy when he heard the door open.

“Okay, Lewis Hamilton?” The vet said.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. Lewis said nervously.

“I’m Y/N, I’ll be your vet today. What brings in this little cutie, today?” You said petting the puppy.

“Um i was in the dog park with my bulldog and we found him. He didn’t have a collar, I brought him in to see if he was chipped but apparently he has a limp as well.” Lewis said.

“Right, I’ll just take his vitals before checking if there is a chip to see if there are signs of malnourishment considering the conditions you found him in.” You said, putting on your stethoscope to listen to the puppy. The puppy whimpered but you managed to calm him down enough so he would stay still. “His vitals are fine, feels a bit underweight, you can’t tell under that fur but I’ll weigh him shortly. I’ll bring in the scanner to check if there is a chip.”

You walked out and Lewis was thinking about how beautiful you were. Young too, thinking you were in your late twenties to early thirties. Lewis was comforting Roscoe who seemed just as nervous as the puppy. You then came back with the scanner and waved it over the puppy,

“Huh, this poor guy doesn’t seemed chipped. Buts that’s okay little fella, I’m sure this nice man over here will take you in.” You cooed as the puppy, making him was his tail as you looked at Lewis with puppy dog eyes, tryna guilt him into owning another dog.

“I’m not sure if I can…” Lewis started.

“Dude, you’re an F1 driver, you seem to be taking care of Roscoe perfectly fine, what’s one more dog? Plus, who knows how the shelter will be, he could get adopted by some bad people.” You tried to convince him

“I Don’t think that’s very professional of you.” Lewis teased.

“May not be, but at least I’d know he’ll be going to a good home.” You said. “Just think about it, I have to go weigh the fella. Let’s go, baby.” You said, carrying the puppy outside the room to weight him. Roscoe just stared up at Lewis, who was also guilting him.

“Not you too.” Lewis whined, making Roscoe huff. “Alright, fine, I’ll bring him in.” You then came back in the room.

“Good news, he’s only like 3 pounds underweight, should be an easy fix, he just doesn’t eat as much as he should. His limp a,so appears to be a sprain, I’ll give you some pain medication for him, along with some supplements that should improve his joint health. Now, what are you going to name this beautiful baby boy?” You asked.

“You’re laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” Lewis asked.

“I’m trying to get him adopted by you so yeah.” You said.

“I’m going to name him Miracle.” Lewis said, petting the newly named puppy.

“Okay, Miracle Hamilton it is. I’ll get everything prepared you, okay?” You said before walking out. Lewis carried Miracle and grappled Roscoe’s leash to wait in the waiting room for you. “Okay, here’s the medication and a list of supplements that I recommend you should buy…along with my number.”

“Your number? Are you flirting with me, Y/N?” Lewis asked with a flirty smile.

“I am, this way you can call me if you need with Miracle or if you just want to talk. Up to you, of course.” You told him.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, have a great day, guys.” Lewis said, walking out with his old friend and new puppy. He started buying puppy food for Miracle’s breed, a few toys, a leash, collar, everything a new dog needs.

When Lewis made it to the apartment, he let Miracle and Roscoe get acquainted while he stares at your number. After having the two dogs stare at him, he caved. “Hey, Y/N, It’s me, Lewis, I don’t have to be in Maranello for another 2 weeks, you want to go out Friday night?” Lewis asked.

“I would love to.” You said, Lewis could hear the smile on your face and that made him smile as well.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! Sorry I’ve been inactive

Any Kind of Guy

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

Summary: Logan Sargeant has a huge crush on his next door neighbor and will practically do anything to get close to her

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: based off the Big Time Rush song of the same name, Oscar Piastri and Logan are roommates in this and Logan is still in F1.

It all started when Logan and Oscar were coming back from playing golf with Alex and Lando and they a moving van parked in front of their building.

“Is someone moving in?” Oscar asked.

“Looks like it, but who moved out? Oh please be the cat lady from upstairs.” Logan said, crossing his fingers and Oscar hit his arm.

“Well let’s check who is our new neighbor.” Oscar said before they parked their car in their parking space. They walked out and saw someone carrying a box but the box was blocking their face.

“Excuse me, do you need help?” Logan asked and the person put the box down, revealing their face. Logan was in awe by the beauty of the girl.

“Oh yes please, this shit weighs a ton.” Y/N said.

“Oh, you’re a American too?” Logan asked,

“Yeah I am, I’m Y/N, I live in the apartment 13B.” Y/N introduced herself.

“I’m Logan, this is my friend Oscar, we live in 13C.” Logan said,

“Well looks like we’re neighbors.” Y/N said.

And they have been neighbors for months now. Over those few months, Logan has become good friends with Y/N and so has Oscar. Right now, Logan and Oscar decided to go out to Nando's with Y/N after the Singapore Grand Prix. When the waitress served their food, Y/N just stared at her food.

"You have lived here for months now, one would think you'd stop making faces at your food." Oscar said, eating a "chip".

"One would also think i'd start calling them chips, but they are fucking fries, my Aussie friend." Y/N said "What do y'all plan on doing during your break?"

"Why, you need help with something?" Logan asked, always eager to help Y/N in whatever she needs.

"Kinda. I have to get my fucking wisdom teeth removed tomorrow and I obviously don’t have a lot of friends here, I need someone to take me a pick me up because there’s no way I’m fucking driving when I’m on anesthesia. Do you think one of you can take me?" Y/N asked.

"Yeah, i can take you." Logan said and Oscar just stared at him.

"Are you sure, mate?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah, are you sure you’re not busy?” Y/N asked.

“Of course I’m sure. Besides, we’re neighbors, it will definitely be easier for me to take you after your wisdom teeth removal.” Logan said.

“Thanks, you’re the best. I have to go back to work, I’ll see you guys later.” Y/N salud, waving goodbye. Once Y/N was out of earshot, Oscar spoke.

“Mate, how whipped Can you be? You’re going to take her to the oral surgeon?” Oscar asked.

“I’ll do whatever she needs me to do. Now I gotta look up what you can eat after wisdom teeth removal.” Logan said and Oscar sighed.

“You’re doing husband things on a best friend budget, you’re actually crazy about her.” Oscar said.

“You bet I am, bitch.” Logan said.

“Why are you calling me a bitch?” Oscar asked.

“Dude, we’ve been watching supernatural together, you’re supposed to call me a jerk.” Logan.

“Fine, jerk.” Oscar said.

“Nope, moments gone. We need to do some grocery shopping after lunch.” Logan said.

“Y/N?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah, want to make sure she has everything for tomorrow.” Logan said.

Oscar sighed but ultimately accompanied Logan to do some grocery shopping, stocking up on gauze, her favorite yogurt, premade tomato bisque, ice cream, potatoes so Logan can make (either mashed potatoes or potato soup, I prefer potato soup), and whatever else she needs to eat after a wisdom teeth extraction. After Logan paid for groceries, he used his spare key to open Y/N’s apartment and place everything her brought in the fridge, pantry and medicine cabinet with Oscar’s help. He also left a note of what he did.

When Y/N got out of work, she saw the note Logan left and smiled. She then knocked on his door and was greeted by a shirtless Logan, who just got out of the shower.

“Oops, sorry, I should have called. But I wanted to thank you for buying groceries, you didn’t have to do that, you know.” Y/N said.

“Of course I do, I know the dentist provides some gauze but we have no idea how often you’ll need to change yours.” Logan said,

“Thank you. Since I can’t eat anything before my appointment, I’m going to eat so much tonight, enjoy my last regular meal for the next week. My appointment is in the morning so I’ll see you then.” Y/N said and kissed Logan’s cheek before going back to her apartment. Oscar observed the whole interaction.

“Ooh, she kissed you, how do you feel, mate?” Oscar asked, behind Logan. Logan jumped at the sound of his voice.

“How long were you there?” Logan asked,

“When you were explaining to her why you bought gauze. You should ask her out already, she clearly likes you if she kissed your cheek, you don’t have to do her all these favors.” Oscar said.

“My love language is acts of service, sue me.” Logan said.

It’s the next morning and Oscar was woken up by someone knocking on the door. He threw a pillow at Logan and he wakes up.

“What was that for?” Logan asked.

“Someone is knocking on the door, go get it.” Oscar mumbled, trying to get back to sleep. Logan rolled his eyes and walked to the front door, he opened it to reveal Y/N wearing jeans, sneakers, and a juicy couture sweater.

“Morning, my appointment is in an hour and I’m nervous as fuck.” Y/N said walking in as Logan opened the door wider. “I mean the last time I got my teeth taken out was when I was a kid so my braces would fit better and that shit was painful, they just numbed the area, what if this happens again?”

“Y/N, they’ll put you under anesthesia, you’ll be asleep the whole time, you won’t feel a thing, okay? Let me get dressed and we can leave, I’ll buy myself breakfast on the way.” Logan said and Y/N nodded, feeling a little better after Logan’s words. Once he was dressed, he said goodbye to Oscar before coming out, telling Y/N they can go.

Logan drove to a McDonald’s drive thru to get a breakfast sandwich and coffee before driving to the oral surgeon for Y/N. They waited 25 minutes before Y/N was called to get her teeth out. After what seems like forever, a doctor came out saying “Y/N’s friend” and Logan stood up to talk to him.

“She did really well, she can’t really eat anything right now, so just clear liquids like chicken broth. Make sure she doesn’t change the gauze for another hour, she’s a bit groggy from the anesthesia but all good. Here’s the list of foods she can eat and also the rules that follow this procedure.” The doctor said.

“Okay, can she walk?” Logan asked.

“I think it’s better for you to escort her out. The medication that she needs to take should be in her pharmacy by now.” The doctors said,

“Thanks, doc. Okay, let’s go, Y/N,” Logan said, getting closer to Y/N and grabbing her hand to pull her off the waiting chair.

“Mah fah hah.” Y/N mumbled.

“Canta understand you babe, you have gauze in your mouth.” Logan said and Y/N was about to move it but Logan moved her hand away, “you can’t take of the gauze, not yet.” And Y/N whined. “I know, I know, let’s go to the car.” Logan said.

They walked to the car and Logan drove to the pharmacy to pick up her medication and drove home. Y/N was touching her face and Logan opened her door.

“Mah chuh eh nuh.” Y/N said. Logan opened the door and walked Y/N in.

“Alright, just sleep on the couch, okay? It says here that your head needs to be elevated so…” Logan started ‘arranging’ Y/N so she can sleep comfortably on the couch and he can keep an eye on her and he heats up the chicken broth he bought yesterday. Can’t be too hot though, could cause more swelling. Y/N fell asleep and within 2 hours, she’s awake and her face no longer feels numb. “Great, you’re up, change the gauze in your mouth, yeah?” Logan asked, Y/N walked in the bathroom and changed the gauze, walking back out.

“That was nasty.” Y/N said, sounding a little muffled.

“Yeah, do you want to eat now or when you stop bleeding?” Logan asked, Y/N raised 2 fingers. “Second option? Okay, you’ll eat later then.” Logan said, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer to hold it gently against her face. “Minimize the swelling for tomorrow. Today you’re good, but tomorrow is when the pain truly kicks in” and Y/N stared at him. “Right, sorry, you won’t be in that much pain though, scout’s honor. Next time you change the gauze, take your pills before applying the new ones.

“Yes nurse Logan.” Y/N mumble in a teasing tone, making him laugh.

Next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Logan cooking.

“Morning Y/N, how do you feel?” Logan asked.

“The back of my mouth hurts like a mother but I am so glad I don’t need gauze anymore.” Y/N said and Logan pulled out the ice pack from the freezer for Y/N, wrapped it in a paper towel, and handed it to her, she smiles. “Thank you for being my home nurse.” Placing the ice pack against her cheek.

“No problem. Are you up for eating yogurt for breakfast?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I can settle for yogurt. I would much rather have those eggs and bacon you’re cooking though.” Y/N said.

“No can do, princess, strictly soft food for you until next week.” Logan said.

“Yes nurse Logan.” Y/N teased.

“Anyway, I’ll be making you mashed potatoes/potato soup.” Logan said

“Wow, I get nurse Logan and chef Logan, what other titles do you have?” Y/N asked.

“Any kind of guy you want, princess, that’s the kind I’ll be.” Logan said.

“That was incredibly cheesy, but thank you.” Y/N said.

“Yeah. I was wondering when you’re feeling better, if you wanted to go out with me. Like the 2 of us.” Logan said, wiping his hands on his jeans from nervousness.

“Like a date? Yeah, I’d love to.” Y/N said.

“Cool, cool, it’s not because of this, right?” Logan gesturing to where he’s cooking. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me.”

“Logan, I’ve liked you for a while now. Since you helped me move in, actually. I just didn’t think you’d be into me since you’re a F1 driver and all.” Y/N said.

“You’re beautiful, I would be stupidest if I weren’t into you.” Logan said. Unbeknownst to both of them, Oscar was standing outside Y/N’s apartment, listening in on their conversation, using a glass cup.

“Finally.” Oscar whispered in relief, happy that his 2 friends are now going to date. He went back to his apartment to make himself breakfast, grinning at the fact Logan finally confessed.

The End

The original idea was totally different but since I got my wisdom teeth out on Wednesday, I figured why not make my character go through the same thing. I have been living on yogurt, milkshakes, potato soup, and rice noodles. I’m at work now and I am hungry

I love each and every one of your stories! 🥰

I have an idea where the girl pranks her boyfriend that her friends were having a “Christmas party” and pretended she was going to wear sexy lingerie as an outfit and I would totally love to read how the F1 guys would react to that. I don’t know how you feel about that 🙈

Love the idea!

A Nonsense Christmas Prank

+18: Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: How the drivers react to you “leaving” the house in lingerie

Warning: sexual content (in a way, I guess)

A/N: drivers include Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Logan Sargeant, Oscar Piastri

For Reference, this is the lingerie (it’s the cutest one I found on a mannequin)

Y/N stepped out in lingerie and strappy heels, talking on the phone with her friend.

“Yes, Miranda, im heading out right now.” Y/N made it a point to talk loudly to get the attention of her partner, making them look up and seeing her in the scandalous attire. “When have I ever been late? It’s not like I’m gonna be late for wine and gossip, I’m practically out the door.” Y/N hung up the phone

Charles Leclerc

“Where are you going like that, Mon ange?” Charles asked.

“Oh, my friend Miranda is having a nonsense Christmas party. Yes, it’s inspired by Sabrina Carpenter, don’t ask.” Y/N said.

“I thought this little set up was for my eyes only, I don’t know how I feel about other men looking at what’s mine.” Charles admitted, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Oh haha, there won’t be any men there.” Y/N said, tying up the rob she was wearing.

“Okay, but I’ll feel better if I’m taking you to Miranda’s apartment, where does she live, again?” Charles asked, getting his coat out of the closet and getting his keys.

“Are you crazy? I’m not going to her Christmas party like this.” Y/N said. Charles had that confused puppy look on his face.

“What do you mean?” Charles asked, putting his keys back on the hook.

“I mean, yes, it’s a Christmas party, but I’m wearing this.” Y/N said pulling out a more winter appropriate party outfit.

“Oh thank god.” Charles said with his hand in his chest. “I’m still taking you though, get dressed.”

“Yes sir.” Y/N said teasingly.

Lando Norris

“Are you planning on wearing a coat with that outfit?” Lando asked.

“Yes, Lando, I’m going to be wearing the parka you bought me for my birthday (December babies UNITE), how do I look?” Y/N asked, holding the rob open.

“You look Great, so Great in fact, you should cancel on your friend Miranda and spend the night with me.” Lando said.

“Thank you, baby, but i am not canceling on Miranda.” Y/N said.

“Do you think she’ll mind me crashing the party?” Lando asked, playing with the string of Y/N’s robe.

“Probably, it’s more of a girls’ night.” Y/N said,

“Damn…are you sure you can’t stay with me tonight?” Lando asked with a pout.

“Positive. Can I go now?” Y/N asks.

“Yes, you can go, but i need updates about the party. And you need to bring leftovers.” Lando said, giving Y/N a kiss on the forehead. Y/N giggled. “What’s so funny about being sweet to my baby girl?”

“No, it’s not that, but do you actually think I’m leaving the apartment in lingerie? Of course not, I’m wearing jeans, your quarter zip, and the uggs you got me for Christmas.” Y/N said, giving Lando a quick peck. “But I do love you for not telling me to change.”

“Trust me, I really wanted to, but I didn’t want to sound like a dick. Think I can drop you off at the party? Do you need to bring anything?” Lando asked.

“Just let me change and you can take me.” Y/N said.

Logan Sargeant

“Babe, Florida is not that hot.” Logan said, looking at Y/N’s outfit,

“I’m going to my friend’s place, she’s having a Christmas party.” Y/N said.

“Your ‘clothes’ don’t really seem christmassy to me. It’s more of a Valentine’s Day getup, or my birthday.” Logan said.

“Well Miranda thought it would be fun.” Y/N said.

“And im sure it will be. But you sure it’s a good idea to go dressed like that?” Logan asked. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing! But I want you to be safe.”

“I’m a big tough girl, I tie my own shoes and everything.” Y/N said.

“Don’t quote Hercules to me, this is serious. At least let me take you.” Logan said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Y/N said. “Im just gonna change real quick.”

“Wait, you’re not wearing that?” Logan asked.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous, it was a prank. Just give me a minutes.” Y/N said because she got dressed in a cream colored long sleeved Henley with a red plaid skirt, sheer black stockings, and cream colored heeled booties.

“You look beautiful.” Logan kissed Y/N. “Let’s go.”

Oscar Piastri

“Where are you going darling?” Oscar asked

“While we’re in Australia, my friend invited me to a Christmas party.” Y/N replied.

“I didn’t know you had any friends here.” Oscar said.

“Yeah, she moved her in September for her job.” Y/N said.

“That’s good, have fun with her then.” Oscar said. Y/N looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not going to say anything about what I’m wearing?” Y/N asked.

“You look beautiful, darling. I’ll take you, let me text my mom though.” Oscar said.

“I am so concerned that you are not saying anything about me wearing lingerie to a Christmas party, Shark Bait.” Y/N said.

“It’s just a girls night, right? That sounds perfectly fine. Besides, I can’t tell you how to dress, I know how much you hate being told what to do outside the bedroom and work.” Oscar said and Y/N slapped his chest playfully.

“Well I’m glad you know I hate being told what to do. I’m gonna change.” Y/N said.

“Wait, you weren’t going out like that?” Oscar asked,

“Babe, it may be hot here, but definitely not hot enough to dress like this.” Y/N said before she changed into an emerald green V-neck top with a black shorts and sneakers. “Next time, can we please stay in England for Christmas? Or at least go to New York? It feels weird to have Christmas during the summer.”

“Well for me, it’s weird to have Christmas in the winter.” Oscar said.

“Whatever, New York Christmas is iconic, argue with the wall, let’s go.” Y/N said.

“Yes ma’am.” Oscar replied.

The End

Not the best but lmk if you want part 2 with Lewis, Daniel, Carlos, and Max.

Christmas Decorations

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Latina! Reader

Summary: Christmas decorating with Charles Leclerc.

A/N: sorry if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I celebrate on Christmas Eve though, it’s called Nochebuena.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

Charles and Y/N are shopping for ornaments and other Christmas decorations because it will be their first time putting up a Christmas tree together in his apartment.

“Muñeco, should we get the colorful ornaments or the classic red, silver, and gold ornaments?” Y/N asked Charles, holding up the 2 cases of ornaments she found. “Ooh, what about these ornaments?” Y/N said, putting down the two cases she was holding to walk towards a different shelf. “They’re shades of blue! Ooh, and they have rose gold ornaments, there’s even pink, I fucking love Christmas. Which ornaments should we get, mi vida?”

“Mon coeur, we can get whatever you want.” Charles said, pushing the shopping cart.

“But It’s your apartment…”

“Our apartment.” Charles reminded Y/N.

“Our apartment.” Y/N emphasized the first word. “I need your input! Like I love blue, but it also needs to look Christmassy but not simple, you know?” Y/N asked. Charles chuckled, shaking his head. He walked towards his fiancé and kissed her softly, rubbing her arms with his hands.

“Mon ange, the tree will look beautiful. How about we get a set of red and gold ornaments, hm? Not just the perfect round ones, but the ones that are different shapes, and we can buy gold ribbon and add it to the tree too, how does that sound?” Charles asked. Y/N nodded her head.

“Sounds good.” Y/N said. “Should we be those types of people who have like Christmas towels, curtains, and stuff? Do you think we should get wreaths for every door in the apartment or stockings? Maybe ? A Christmas themed rug in front of the main door?”

“You Can turn the apartment into a winter wonderland if you want.” Charles said, holding her face in his hands before kissing the tip of her nose and going back to pushing the cart while Y/N went looking for assorted red and gold ornaments before heading to the ribbon section. Charles picked out their tree topper, and both picked out the Christmas home decor such as wreaths, stockings, mistletoes, and a cookie jar shaped as a snowman. After picking everything out, Charles was ready to pay for everything. Once paid, they put the stuff in the car and drove back home.

“I’m going to set up the tree.” Charles said, pulling out the fake Christmas tree he bought days earlier with Christmas lights already installed in. Once set up, Y/N connected her phone to a speak and started playing her Christmas playlist while they decorated the tree.

“I think our tree turned out amazing, thanks for the idea, muñeco.” Y/N said, hugging Charles’s side.

“Of course, Mon coeur. Let’s take a photo in front of the tree to send my mom.” Charles said, pulling out his phone. Y/N nodded and stood closer to him so the photo will come out well. Once the photo was taken, he sent it to his mom who said that they both look adorable and tree was beautiful. “I think it’s safe to say that the tree is Pascale Leclerc approved.” Y/N smiled.

“Ugh, what a relief. Ready to watch my favorite Christmas movie of all time?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, Mon coeur, I’ll put on The Santa Clause while you make the hot chocolate?” Charles asked.

“Of course! Not too hot, extra chocolate, shaken, not stirred.” Y/N quoted Judy the elf, making Charles laugh before he headed to the living room to put the movie on the TV. Y/N was in the kitchen making hot chocolate the French way so it’s a little thick, but using abuelita chocolate and adding a cinnamon stick the traditional Mexican way (unless other Latin countries use abuelita chocolate, I don’t know). Y/N poured the hit chocolate on their matching holiday mugs and she brought them over to the couch.

Charles grabbed a blanket before turning off the lights and pressing play on the movie. Name a better way to spend the holidays.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! Up next: Christmas baking with Oscar Piastri (Yes, no?)

Hi! I saw that requests were open and i don't know of you do "part 2's" but this is about Lando latest story (the "what's for dinner b****h") can you do a part 2 with the reactions to the video (the other Quadrant guys, the other drivers, the fans) thank you so much ❤

Hey, babes! So I do part 2’s if it’s something people really want and reactions sound super fun to do! You know that sound of “how the fuck did he not die?!?” That’s what everyone is thinking!

Part 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x Latina! Reader

Summary: Lando’s Quadrant post had millions of views, which means there are millions of people reacting to it, his colleagues included.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors because I refuse to read it over

Lando posted his video about 5 minutes after editing everything. Carlos got the notification when he was boxing so he decided to sit on a bench in the gym and watch the video his friend and ex-teammate posted.

“Knowing my girlfriend, she will not act so sweetly to me calling her a bitch…” Lando said in the video and Carlos paused it.

“Got that right cabrón, have you met her?” Carlos said. He was the one that introduced Lando to Y/N since she’s friends with Rebecca, he resumed the video.

“…but I want to know how she reacts.” Lando said.

“Not well, my muppet friend.” Carlos said. He watched the video and as soon as Lando said “bitch, what’s for dinner?” He saw Y/N’s face change while she was making dinner.

When Carlos finished the video, he just had one thought on his mind, and he called Lando. Two rings later…

“Hel..” Lando didn’t even finish his greeting.

“How the fuck did you not die?!?” Carlos asked, practically screaming, Lando pulled the phone away from his ear, and brought it close again once Carlos is done.

“Oh, you saw the video.” Lando said nonchalantly, looking over at Y/N who was making popcorn.

“Yeah, i saw, how did Y/N not do anything after you called her a bitch?” Carlos asked and Lando gasped offendedly.

“She threatened my life! I hardly call that nothing.” Lando said.

“She was kidding.” Carlos said.

“I Don’t think she was, I’ll talk to you later, mate.” Lando said. As soon as he hung up, his phone rang again. “Yes?”

“There’s no way Y/N was okay with you calling her a bitch.” Oscar said.

“Why a re you talking about Y/N like she’s the victim, she threatened to kill me!” Lando exclaimed.

“It’s a girl thing, Lando. Lily says that she wants to grow aconite flowers.” Oscar said but considering Lando’s pause, he knew that Lando did not know what he was talking about. “It’s wolfsbane, poisonous.”

“How are you not concerned by this?” Lando asked.

“She listens to true crime podcasts, it’s a girl thing. Don’t forget to train.” Oscar says, hanging up. Lando moves to the couch and Y/N puts popcorn in a big bowl so they could watch a movie together in the living room.

“What was that about, fresita?” Y/N asked.

“Nothing, baby girl, just my friends talking about my prank video.” Lando said.

“Ah that, we’re trending on YouTube, the posts has so many comments.” Y/N said, opening her phone to YouTube,

“No way, let me see.” Lando said, Y/N handed Lando her phone and he clicked the video and began reading the comments.

Land-hoe: you could see the terror in Lando’s eyes when she mentioned research chemicals 😂

GP Queen: the second he said he was going to call Y/N a bitch, I knew he was going to fear for his life, I was right.

User32: there is no way Y/N is that unhinged, how can she threaten her boyfriend like that?

Oscah Girly: that’s how they are, they’re so April and Andy from Parks and Rec.

LN4💕: yes!! They’re so black cat and golden retriever

Ferrari slut: I love how he apologized immediately after, he’s so sweet to her

“Well they got one thing right, you are definitely the black cat to my golden retriever.” Lando said, giving Y/N a kiss on the forehead,

“Thanks, Lando, but the both of us are more like chaotic orange cats.” Y/N said and Lando laughs.

“You’re not wrong.” Lando said.

The next day, Lando was scrolling through TikTok and saw someone upload a part of Max’s stream from yesterday. The part where Max reacts to Lando’s prank video

“Lando was super brave for calling Y/N a bitch while she was holding a knife…good an her for setting boundaries…see, right after setting boundaries, Lando fixed his behavior. Lando does a lot of stupid shit but that man loves Y/N with all his heart and would never call Y/N or any other girl a bitch, he’s respectful like that.” Max said in the clip. Lando liked the video and kept scrolling.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

Hey can you continue the Charles x reader and Alexandra’s story like the reader belly is growing and maybe gender reveal and baby shopping and stuff liken that please

Change of plans; the Charlex x reader x Alexandra story will continue but through requests. If you have and idea for a new "chapter", send it in

Congratulations, It's A...

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Latina!Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Summary: The happy throuple throw a gender reveal party and when they find out the gender, they go shopping

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

Y/N was 12 weeks (3 months) pregnant and Charles, being the man he is, is very involved in the pregnancy to make up for the fact he won't be in Monaco most of the time because of racing.

"Charles, you don't have to do that." Y/N says, giggling at Charles, who is behing the camera taking a picture of Y/N and her baby belly from the side.

"Of course i have to do! How else are we going to track the baby's growth?" Charles asked. Alexandra nodded

"We are making a scrapbook of your pregnancy, ma pappilon. It will be nice to look back on this, you know? I called to make an appointment with the OB/GYN to know the gender." Alexandra said.

"Seriously? Thats not for another 2 months." Y/N said

"To be safe, the appointment is 10 weeks from now.” Alexandra said.

“Do you want to throw a gender reveal party, Mon ange?” Charles asked, brushing Leo’s fur after his bath.

“I mean… i want to include the family, that’s for sure. I mean, despite my parents being in the states, it’s be nice to have a big event like that.” Y/N said, moving to pet Leo, the blonde dachshund licking her palm.

“We could have the party in 12 weeks! That would give us enough time to organize the party after the doctor’s appointment and have the cake ready with pink or blue, and it would give your parents plenty of time to come to Monaco.” Alexandra said.

“Doesn’t that sound great, Mon coeur?” Charles asked, putting Leo down on the floor.

“It does sound great…but I don’t think my parents will be able to get vacation time for a gender reveal.” Y/N confessed.

“We’ll see what we can do.” Alexandra said.

The next 10 weeks went by fast, Charles taking 2 more pictures of Y/N’s growing stomach, and they were currently on the way to the OB/GYN while Alexandra was taking photos for a Coach campaign.

“Did we have to stop for crepes?” Charles asked, looking at Y/N eating a Nutella crepe with strawberries, bananas, brownie bits, crushed Oreos, and chocolate syrup, her SECOND crepe.

“Be nice to me! I’m carrying your child.” Y/N said, taking another bite of her crepe, ending up with chocolate syrup on her nose.

“I am being nice, Mon ange, but we’re going to be late.” Charles said, passing Y/N a napkin.

“Well you’re the F1 driver, muñeco, im sure you can make it.” Y/N said with a smile, wiping the chocolate off while looking in the visor mirror.

He in fact did make it, 5 minutes early too. Y/N finished the crepe and threw out the trash before heading in the building with Charles following behind. They made it to the office, signed in, and waited for their name to be called. When called, they went in and waited for the doctor.

“Hello, Y/N, Mr. Leclerc, whats the reason for your visit?” The doctor asked.

“We wanted to find out the gender of the baby, but can you write the gender and put it in an envelope?” Y/N asked.

“Planning a gender reveal, I see.” The doctor commented before lifting Y/N’s shirt to add the gel for her ultrasound.

“Yes, we’re doing a cake reveal.” Charles answered. The doctor smiled and she turned the monitor away from Y/N and Charles so they won’t find out the gender. The doctor takes the ultrasound “wand” and places it on the gelled area if Y/N’s stomach and views the baby on the monitor.

“Your baby looks healthy, you’re doing a good job, the pregnancy is going well as far as I can see.” The doctor said, Y/N and Charles smiles. The doctor writes down the gender of the baby and puts it inside an envelope, handing it to Charles.

“Thank you, we will see you for her next appointment,” Charles says, wiping off the gel and helping Y/N get off the bed.

Once they left, Charles drove to a bakery, showed them a photo of what Y/N wanted for the gender reveal cake, told them how he wanted the cake (because sometimes there are cakes where the center is the color and others where the whole cake is the color) and gave them the envelope. He called his mother to invite her and his brothers to the gender reveal party, if they had time to attend, obviously.

After her Coach campaign, Alexandra called her friend, who is a party planner, to buy gender reveal party decorations. When she made it home, she found Y/N watching a movie with Leo on her lap.

“Hola bebé, how was your appointment?” Alexandra asked, greeting Y/N with a kiss.

“It went well, the baby is healthy, I had crepes, all good.” Y/N said, putting Leo on the floor so he could greet Alexandra properly. Alexandra crouches down to greet Leo.

“Where’s Charles?” Alexandra asked.

“He went out to buy food. How was the Coach campaign?” Y/N asked.

“Amazing! I got to choose which bag to keep for myself and here it is! Isn’t it beautiful? I love this color.” Alexandra said, showing Y/N the burgundy bag.

“It’s gorgeous! It will go with everything.” Y/N said and both girls turned around to face the door when they heard the sounds of keys jangling. Leo starts wagging his tail and gets closer to the door when it opens and reveals Charles carrying take out bags.

“Mes trois cœurs together, perfect, let’s eat.” Charles says, kissing both Y/N and Alexandra before placing the bags on the kitchen table, Leo following close behind. They ate together and made plans to go out tomorrow before Charles leaves for race weekend.

2 weeks later, Alexandra was guiding a blindfolded Y/N into the backyard (?) of Marta and Riccardo.

“Mi reina, why do i have to be blindfolded?” Y/N asked.

“Because I want this to be a surprise. We’re almost there.” Alexandra said and once they made it, she stood Y/N in front of the banner and took off the blindfold. Y/N brought her hands to her face and gasped,

“Omg, it looks beautiful!” Y/N exclaimed, turning to hug and Alexandra and also hugged Marta and Riccardo, who are holding their baby son. “Thank you so much for letting us throw the party here.”

“Of course, Y/N! We have a big place, share the same friends, it is our honor to host it,” Riccardo said

“How far along are you?” Marta asked.

“24 weeks now.” Y/N answered, holding her stomach

“You’re glowing.” Marta commented. Y/N smiled and walked away, she saw Leo running around with Chiara and another child, Charles was talking to Joris, Guizou, and Nicolas, the snack table had cupcakes, frosted sugar cookies, and candy. There was music playing softly and Charles eyes locked with Y/N’s, he excused himself and kissed Y/N.

“Mon ange. Do you like how everything turned out?” Charles asked.

“I do! It looks great, thank you. Now, it’s there actual food and not just snacks?” Y/N asked. Charles chuckled.

“Of course, it’s in the kitchen along with the cake.” Charles said, walking Y/N to the kitchen, she served herself some food before going to the backyard and mingling with the other party guests. She was happily eating when she heard a familiar voice.

“Mira que tan Grande está tu panza.” Macarena said (Look how big your stomach is). She turned around and saw her parents.

“Mami, papi!” Y/N exclaimed, hugging her parents. “Que hacen aquí?” (What are you doing here?)

“Crees que íbamos a perder de esto? Como has estado, princesa?” Jorge asked (did you think we were going to miss this? How have you been?)

Y/N started catching up with her parents. An hour later, the music was lowered and Joris and Riccardo carried out the gender reveal cake and placed it on the empty table that Marta and Alexandra set up. Charles and Alexandra got close to the table and waved Y/N over.

“Okay ladies and gentleman, we are going to have a…” Charles spoke while Y/N cut the cake, she put the slice on a paper plate.

“A girl!” The three of them shouted and they hugged each other before the boys hugged Charles, congratulating him and the girls did the same with Y/N.

“Now that you know she’s going to be a girl, what are you going to name her?” Marta asked. Y/N placed a hand on her stomach and looked at Charles smiling with Joris.

“I have an idea,” Y/N said smiling.

The End

It’s a girl!! Hope y’all liked it!

Charles Leclerc x Latina!Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Finally writing the gender reveal to your favorite throuple, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, check my masterlist. ANYWAY, what should the baby’s gender be? Either gender, they are going to be named after Jules.