Always You, Always Him

i'll come home to you ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

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ih6 x uni!reader

in which lovedrunk! isack shows up at your door

warnings: mildly suggestive

word count: 696

masterlist

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Isack knows that this is a bad idea. He doesn’t want to scare you off, because…

Well, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to him, including becoming a Formula One driver. 

He’s thinking about you, the way you smile at him and the kiss you’d left on the corner of his mouth the last time he saw you. 

He’d been out drinking with some of his friends, but he needed to see you, desperately. 

He’s been really desperate lately, so much so that Liam flicks his forehead every time Isack gets a text from you to clear his face of the cheesy, down bad smile. 

It’s worth it, though. He’d endure a sore forehead as long as you keep texting him about your day. 

That’s why he finds himself, tipsy and flushed at your doorstep. 

You open the door, face and legs bare. 

“Baby?” You ask, surprised, but moving to let him in. 

He has a hard time crossing into the doorframe, distracted by the smooth skin of your thighs, and the fact that you’re wearing one of his Hugo Boss hoodies he’d given you on your second date. 

This is your third, if you count showing up at the doorstep of your kind-of girlfriend at 12 AM. 

Melting into your arms, he greets you with a slurred French pet name. 

Your giggle reaches his ears just as he blows a raspberry into your neck. 

You squeal, trying to escape, but he lands the two of you on the couch. 

He digs his face into your chest, breathing in your body wash. 

“Hi, handsome. Where’d you come from?” You coo, fingers tracing his earlobe.

He shivers in pleasure, half from the sheer happiness of being in your presence, half from the feeling your hands on him. 

Slipping his hands under the thin tank you wear with the unzipped hoodie, he mutters to you about his evening. 

You hum at his story, laughing when he tells you how Yuki jumped on a table to dance. 

By the time he’s finished, you’re stripping off his hoodie due to the heat of his body pressed up against yours. He doesn’t mind at all as you push him gently up so you can take the hoodie off. 

Not when he gets to pull you onto his lap. 

“Isack, what-“ you start, but the feeling of his lips on your pulse point cuts you off. 

Isack practically purrs when your neck falls back as he mouths across your soft skin. The little whimpers you’re letting out is sending heat straight to his groin, and he groans when you shift even closer to him, clinging to his shoulders. 

“Mm,” he tells you, which you answer by threading your fingers into the short, black locks on his head. 

His eyes roll back in pleasure, at the feeling of you, desperate for him as he was for you. 

“You are so drunk,” you murmur, slipping off of his lap, grin a bit teasing and a bit disappointed. 

“Mon chérie, non!” He complains, trying to tug you back onto him. 

“Baby, c’mon. Let’s go to bed.” You start your way to what he assumes is your bedroom, looking back with wide, expecting eyes. 

He follows, half-hard and eager like the world’s most loyal puppy. 

“To sleep,” You clarify, and he deflates. Then, he bounces his steps because that means he gets to cuddle you all night. 

The two of you get unready together, brushing your teeth side by side and he lets you smooth on skincare onto his skin. 

He takes his shirt off, wearing only his boxers as you slip under the covers. You watch him, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed. 

Isack has to look at the ceiling and think about Helmut Marko for about ten seconds until he can join you. 

“Goodnight,” he pulls you into his bare chest, and you press a kiss to his heart, and then his lips. 

As you fall asleep, with his stomach warm from thick, heavy affection, he realizes this is where he wants to be forever. 

In your arms, in your bed, no matter where he is. 

With you, he thinks. 

Always with you. 

not what it looks like ⛐ 𝐆𝐑𝟔𝟑

george has a soft spot for you. (or: the one where the media goes crazy because george is... snacking?)

ꔮ starring: george russell x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 0.6k. ꔮ includes: fluff, romance. mentions of food. established relationship. ꔮ commentary box: i suppose this is a thing now </3 part of my soft spot mini-series! inspired by george in this video. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s been a while since the paddock has been this intrigued. 

A rather big feat, considering the nature of the sport. F1 thrived on drama and excitement, preyed on moments of humanity and weakness. Today, though, it’s not anything on-track that has everyone buzzing. 

No. It’s just— George Russell with a bag of chips. 

Cameras click away. Reporters rush to pull up receipts. They’re all thinking of an interview from way back, where the driver had answered a slambook question of What’s your top three snacks? in typical George fashion. 

I’ll go with fruit, he had declared. I’m an athlete. I don’t snack on chocolate, no. Like… would an athlete snack on chocolate? 

No one had bat an eye, then, because of course the Briton would say something along those lines. Today, though, the clickbait headlines write themselves. 

George is snacking. Not only on chips, an eagle-eyed journo notes. He’s got a whole plastic bag in hand, presumably from the 7-Eleven down the road. 

Kimi is understandably confused when a reporter tries to interview him about it. 

“It’s just a snack, no?” the rookie stammers. “Are we— are the Pringles banned on the track?” 

George is unsurprisingly questioned as well. It comes as he’s heading out of the garage home; some nosy columnist calling out, “Russell! Bit hypocritical, innit?” 

The driver doesn’t stop walking, forcing the media personnel to keep up with his quick pace. He’s mastered the art of keeping his expression checked, so his expression is mostly neutral— dry, even— as he responds. 

“What is it this time?” George huffs. 

In his head, he’s already running through the day’s practice session. Did he make some comment on the radio? Was it something about track limits? Or—

“You’ve got crisps,” a journalist accuses, “and chocolate.” 

It’s so stupid. So unbelievably minor in the grand scheme of the impending race weekend. If he hadn’t been caught so off-guard, George might have sniped at the reporters to try and ask better questions. Surely there was something more interesting than his grocery list. 

George is jolted, though. Enough to falter in his steps and stare incredulously at the wolf pack of journalists, all clamoring for a soundbite. 

He ends up giving them one. “It’s—” He breathes a disbelieving laugh. “It’s not what it looks like.” 

The surrounding reporters erupt into a flurry of pointless follow-ups. “What happened to your body being a temple, George?” “Bit of a cheat day, innit?” “How do you like your chocolate? Dark, milk, white?” 

Another laugh bubbles out of George. He ignores all the questions and heads for his car, already weaving the story in his mind.

That’s why the tale is just a little bit dramatized, by the time he gets to you. He had an entire ride to come up with it after all. 

“They were brutal out there,” he bemoans as he tosses the offending plastic bag of goods onto the coffee table. “Calling me a hypocrite. Claiming that I’m not an athlete because I was caught with this!” 

You let out a sound between a scoff and a giggle. It doesn’t matter which, really, when the underlying affection is all the same. 

“My poor baby,” you coo, “and the lengths you go through for little ol’ me.” 

George plops down on to the couch as you lean over to survey his purchases. It’s everything you would’ve asked for; all your cravings that you’ve been too busy to indulge. 

Your boyfriend pulls your legs on to his lap. Absent-mindedly, he rubs circles into your ankle as you happily tear open one of the chocolate bars. 

“The lengths I go through,” he repeats, aiming to sound annoyed and valiant. Instead, he comes off as smitten. Whipped. 

George still doesn’t like to eat much chocolate. 

He gets his fair share of it whenever you lean in to kiss him, your lips sweet as the guilty pleasure that you liked to indulge. 

“Thank you,” you murmur against his mouth, and he hums in response before going in for another kiss. 

Just for a taste, he swears. ⛐

they should call you sugar ⛐ 𝐈𝐇𝟔

isack has a soft spot for you. (or: the one where you think isack can't hurt a fly.)

ꔮ starring: isack hadjar x reader. ꔮ word count: 0.9k. ꔮ includes: fluff, romance. rookies make an appearance. title from tyler, the creator's sweet / i thought you wanted to dance. ꔮ commentary box: people starting to love on isack YUPPP!!! i used to dream of times like this 🙂‍↕️ a quick lil somethin' as part of my soft spot mini-series. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time you hear about Isack being this formidable, foul-mouthed figure on the grid, you nearly bust a stitch laughing. 

Isack? Your Isack? Screaming over the radio, cussing out in the open? 

What are these people on? 

In all the time you’ve known him, Isack hasn’t raised his voice within your vicinity. Not once. There are a handful of times where he would have gotten away with it, you think. The wrong order at a restaurant after an hour wait. Or that one time you accidentally spilled coffee on his brand new team kit. 

He’d always been patient, level-headed. It was to the point where you felt like you were dealing with an actual angel. 

So, now— when the other rookies try to warn you about his supposedly colorful way of expressing himself? 

“That is not Isack Hadjar,” you say in between chuckles, the words muffled behind your palm. “You’re all being absurd. Isack is an absolute sweetheart.” 

Gabriel actually snorts out his drink through his nose. As Ollie and Kimi rib him for it, Jack nudges you in the side. 

“How does he treat you, then?” the Alpine rookie asks, a corner of his mouth twitching upward in a light smirk. 

“You know,” you stammer. “As he should. Opening the door for me, carrying my stuff.” 

You don’t like the look the boys share. It’s like you’re on the outside of their inside joke, and Kimi is completely unable to hide his amusement. 

“You should call him ‘sugar’,” the youngest snickers, “because he’s just so sweet to you.”

The four share a laugh. You give them a heatless glare before stalking off somewhere else to the paddock. You’d come to surprise Isack on his first day of free practice sessions, wanting to watch your best friend officially kick off his Formula One 2025 campaign. 

The other rookies had spotted you and made a jab out of it, leaving you confused. Isack was nice to everybody.

Wasn’t he?

It’s a good day on track. Isack comes out as top of the rookies in the first session, and finishes at an even better place by the second session. By the time you’re weaving over to where the Racing Bulls are, you’re mildly surprised you haven’t been found out yet. 

Isack texted in between sessions, asking if you’d watched from home. You held back on responding, wanting to make the surprise good. 

In the end, you’re the one who ends up surprised. 

Because Isack— who is yet to see you— is cussing in both languages as he jokes around with his social media team. “I am telling you,” he’s arguing, laughter edging his tone, “the ‘it’s Britney, bitch!’ TikTok will do numbers! Putain, just let me at it!” 

It’s a bit fascinating. Here’s Isack with the people he sees everyday, acting more larger-than-life than you’ve ever seen him. You falter in your steps, feeling a bit out of your depth. Are you welcome here? 

Before you can even consider leaving, maybe acting like you were never here, Isack’s eyes skip over you. 

He does a double take. And then he comes to a full stop, his jaw going completely slack. 

“Ma moitié!”

The nickname he’d given you some time back— my better half— lands like a punch to the gut. You’re frozen in your place until he’s jogging up to you, his expression caught between shock and excitement. 

“What are you doing here?” 

His voice is softer, now. More reverent. It’s a stark difference to how he had been interacting with the others, and it reminds you of the other rookies’ teasing. 

You swallow. Now is not the time for a crisis, you mentally chide yourself. “Are you kidding?” you say. “I wouldn’t miss this race weekend for the world.” 

Isack is positively beaming. He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, as if to check if you’re real. When he seems to realize that you are, he actually giggles before tugging you in for a quick hug. 

“I still have to do some more social filming,” he laments. “But I am free after for a— what do you want? A meal? A drive?” 

“Anything, anything,” you say affectionately as you pat the small of Isack’s back. “We’ll figure it out later. Go film, ma moitié.” 

He squeezes you tight before pulling away. His eyes are bright; his smile, a little different from the practiced one he had been donning earlier. You have a suspicion that this smile, this softness, is the real Isack. 

“Okay. Later.” He pauses for a beat, his grin breaking wide across his face. “You can’t just surprise me like this. It’s going to make my heart stop.” 

You laugh. “Wouldn’t want that. Now, shoo!” 

And then— because Kimi had planted the idea in your head— you call out as Isack leaves, “See you later, sugar.” 

Your best friend trips on his shoelaces. 

He throws you a look over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. It looks like there’s a cuss on the tip of his tongue, but he shakes his head and sticks out his tongue instead. It’s as if he’s physically incapable of swearing at you, no matter how small the offense. 

You wave at him as he leaves. People could say what they wanted, but Isack would always be sweet when it came to you. ⛐

look me in the eye | pt.3

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable-the whole world knows that, now-but you've become so much more than just his engineer and they should know that too.

a/n: i just...max verstappen...and thank you guys sm for the love you've shown this series! here is the last part <3

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The moment you step out of the storage room-you figured that out when Max shoved you against a nice metal rack and some probably important things crashed to the ground-reality crashes down on you like a tidal wave.

You just kissed Max Verstappen.

Max Verstappen just kissed you.

You don't know how it can get worse, but it will. He looks completely at ease, like he didn't just change the trajectory of your entire life in the span of a few heated seconds. Meanwhile, you feel like you're about to combust. Your lips are still tingling, your mind racing, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the noise outside: the team is still celebrating, the media is still circling, and maybe you're being a little dramatic but people will want answers that you can't give.

Max notices your panic before you can even say anything. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Breathe."

You shoot him a glare that lacks any real venom. "Don't tell me what to do."

His lips twitch. "Then don't look like you’re about to pass out." Which is ironic, because if he hadn't kissed you senseless, you probably wouldn't look like...whatever you look like right now. You need a mirror. Your hair is all messed up from the frenzy-his is too, though it suits his post-race look-and you straighten the collar of your shirt.

Damn you. You shove past him, desperate for space, for air, for something that isn't Max Verstappen and his infuriating ability to act like everything is fine. Your body betrays you, though, because even as you move, you feel his warmth lingering, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

And then, as if the universe is determined to make your life a nightmare, Christian Horner appears. The devil himself.

You barely manage to school your expression into something neutral as he approaches, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that promises nothing good.

"Max." He nods at Red Bull's star driver before turning to you. "We need to talk."

Max doesn't move. "She's busy," he quips.

You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. "Max."

Christian doesn't look amused. "Now."

You sigh, throwing Max one last look before following Christian into one of the back offices. The second the door closes, he lets out a heavy breath and pinches the bridge of his nose like he's trying to will away a migraine.

"You know why we're here."

You cross your arms, steeling yourself. "If this is about that stupid interview-"

"Stupid?" Christian cuts you off and his eyes narrow quickly. "Do you have any idea what you just walked into? The media is losing it. The fans are in a frenzy. And now I have PR breathing down my neck asking if Max Verstappen is in a relationship with one of his engineers."

This isn't good. No, not at all. Today is not a good day to have Christian Horner mad at you. "It's not-"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Christian interrupts. "Believe me. The only thing I care about is what it looks like."

You don't have an argument for that. Because he's right. Perception is everything in this sport, and right now, the perception is that you are tangled up in something that no team principal wants to deal with.

Christian sighs and it's like all his fury is evaporating. "Look. I really don't care what you do in your personal life. I don't even care what Max does, as long as he keeps winning. But I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

You hesitate. "Define 'a problem.'"

Christian levels you with a look. "Are you going to be a distraction? To him? To yourself?"

Your mind flashes back to the kiss, to the way Max looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. Your heart stutters.

"No," you say, more firmly than you feel. "This doesn't affect my work."

Christian watches you for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Then handle it."

You swallow. "Handle it?"

"Either shut it down or control the narrative," he says. "But I don't want any more surprises."

You nod, even though you don't know what exactly you're affirming with that nod. The problem is, you don't know if you can shut it down. You don't know if you even want to.

When you leave the office, Max is leaning against the wall, waiting. Of course he is.

He leaps up when he sees you. "What did he say?"

"That I need to handle it," you explain.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. "And are you going to?

"I don’t know."

There it is again. You can't read Max Verstappen. He asks, "Do you want me to?"

All your problems come from the same thing-you should say yes, no, whatever it takes to shut down all this that's happening. You should make him go on some press circuit and laugh it off as a misunderstanding, to make sure your name isn't attached to his ever again. You should be walking away from this mess because it's not part of your job description and getting involved with an athlete never seems to end well. Even if it's Max Verstappen.

But you don't.

You never do, it seems.

Instead, you look at him: the way his jaw is clenched, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but won't unless you let him, and you keep making the same choice.

"I think," you say carefully, "we should talk."

Max’s lips curve slightly. "Dinner?"

You groan, shoving his shoulder. "Not helping."

His laugh is soft, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something serious. "Then let’s talk."

It's been a long time coming, but right there, you realize you're past the point of no return.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The ride back to the hotel is suffocating. Not the air-no, the air-conditioning in Max's car is great, thankfully, because it sure cost a lot-but because Max is sitting next to you, silent, his fingers drumming against his thigh so close to you if he shifts just a little his hands will be on yours. You push that thought aside. Now's not a good time to get worked up over him. Not now.

You should say something. You should clear the air. But every time you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, you replay everything in your head: the kiss, the way he looked at you after, Christian's warning, and the way Max had asked if you wanted him to handle it. Like it was his responsibility. Like he was willing to do whatever you asked, even if it meant pretending none of this ever happened.

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

"You're thinking too much."

You blink, snapping out of your spiral. Max is watching you instead of the road. Stupid, stupid.

You roll your eyes. "And you’re not thinking at all."

He smirks, eyes darting back forward for a moment before they rest on your face. "That’s not true. I'm thinking about dinner."

"Max, this isn't a joke." You let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face him.

"I know." He's suddenly serious, his voice quieter. "That's why we should talk. Properly. Without Christian breathing down your neck."

You hesitate. You know he's right. You can't keep avoiding this, can't pretend that what happened in the storage room didn't just flip your world upside down. But you also don't know how to have this conversation without risking everything.

Max waits patiently, letting you come to your own conclusion. He always does that. He gives you space, but never too much. Always just enough to make sure you don’t run.

"Fine," you mutter. "But not dinner. We saw how that went."

He raises a brow. "Drinks?"

"No."

"A walk, then."

You sigh, but you don't argue. You suppose a walk is neutral territory. You can talk without the pressure of sitting across from him at a table, without the weight of eye contact that lasts too long.

When you arrive at the hotel, you don't give yourself time to hesitate. You step out, waiting for him, and he follows without question after tossing his keys at the valet. There's a cool breeze, and you focus on that instead of the way your fingers still tingle from where they brushed against Max's earlier.

You walk side by side, the silence stretching, but it isn't uncomfortable. It never is. That’s part of the problem, isn't it? It's always been too easy with him.

"I meant what I said," Max finally says. "I don't want this to be a problem for you."

"It's not that simple, Max."

"It could be."

You huff out a short laugh. "For you, maybe."

He stops walking, and you do too, turning to face him. There's something in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"I like you," he says, and your heart stutters. "And I think you like me too."

You swallow hard. "Max-"

"I know it's complicated. I know Christian is watching us like a hawk. I know you're worried about your job, your reputation." His voice is steady, unwavering. "But I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening just because it's inconvenient."

Your mouth feels dry. It does sound simple when he's saying it.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this is nothing, and I'll walk away."

You hate him for that. Hate him for putting the choice in your hands, for making you responsible for whatever happens next.

But you don't tell him to stop. You don't say anything at all. You look at him clearly: this man you've watched grow up from a boy. You've seen him destroy things in fits of rage after bad races, you've seen him beam like the sun, and you've seen the way his eyes turn stormy oceans when they look at you. He sees you too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

bahrain 2025 post-race interview

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

y/n 🌎 gee, max, you're going to get to my ego

y/n 🌎 first "my everything," then "the constant"

y/n 🌎 and what's that about always? i don't believe that.

my mashed potato Are you referring to us or you being the constant? Because I don't believe in that either, but you have me as long as you want

y/n 🌎 are you SERIOUSLY CHECKING YOUR PHONE DURING AN INTERVIEW

y/n 🌎 sorry for all caps i just like it a lot when you get all romantic

my mashed potato i know ❤️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: max verstappen and 3-post series are very special to me

hot lap

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary: Somehow, Lando Norris managed to convince his girlfriend to join him for a hot lap.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content

"Please, Y/N, I swear it’s totally safe. I’ve done this a million times before!" Lando pleads, his eyes wide with exaggerated sincerity.

"No," Y/N responds flatly, her eyes never leaving her phone as she continues to scroll, completely unbothered by Lando’s pleas.

Lando exhales sharply, defeated, and glances over at his teammate, Oscar, who’s lounging on the couch, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. He shrugs nonchalantly, clearly not wanting to get involved in the couple’s dilemma.

"Don’t look at me, mate. This one’s all on you," Oscar says with a laugh, clearly enjoying the tension.

Lando's eyes widen with desperation. "But baby, look! Even Lily's doing it—right, Osc?" He turns to Oscar again, silently pleading for him to back him up.

Y/N shifts her gaze to Oscar, who merely shakes his head with an apologetic smile. She then turns back to Lando, an unimpressed expression painted across her face.

"Nice try," Y/N mutters, clearly not convinced.

"My love, I literally do this professionally. You’ll be in safe hands," Lando tries once more, taking her hands gently in his and pressing light kisses to her knuckles.

Y/N sighs, finally looking up at him. She watches her boyfriend, who is now on one knee in front of her, hovering with a hopeful grin. "When?"

Lando’s eyes light up instantly, a spark of excitement flickering in his gaze. "Miami... that’s in May"

A heavy silence fills the room, and Lando holds his breath, almost too eager to exhale. Oscar, who’s been silently shaking his leg in anticipation, shifts in his seat, clearly just as invested in the outcome.

Y/N takes a moment, her gaze unwavering, before finally letting out a small, resigned sigh. "Alright."

Lando erupts with joy, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Fuck yeah! We're gonna have so much fun!"

Oscar chuckles from across the room, shaking his head at the chaotic excitement. "You two are ridiculous, but hey, enjoy!"

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

It was a nearly perfect day in Miami. The skies were clear, the track buzzed with energy as teams prepped for the weekend, but Y/N barely noticed any of it. She stood by the pit lane, palms sweaty, fingers fidgeting anxiously.

A small group from McLaren—mostly Lando’s crew, who had grown quite fond of her—gathered outside, eager to witness what was about to unfold. They exchanged knowing smiles and hushed chuckles, watching as Lando finally approached, two helmets in hand.

"Got something for you, baby," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

Y/N glanced over, offering him a soft, almost nervous smile. "Is it too late to back out?"

Lando chuckled, lifting one of the helmets to show her. "You sure? Had this specially made for you...look." He gently placed it in her hands.

She turned it over, eyes widening in awe. It was beautiful—her favourite color, perfectly incorporated into the sleek design. The intricate details stood out, tiny nods to things she loved the most, small symbols of their shared interests, woven together so effortlessly that it looked both classy and personal.

Her fingers traced over the design, heart swelling at the thoughtfulness behind it. "This is beautiful, Lan… Thank you."

Lando grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. "Only the best for my girl."

The crew was eagerly capturing every second—some for McLaren’s media team, others snapping away on their personal phones, already anticipating the adorable moments they’d share with the couple later on.

But as the car they were about to use rolled into the pit lane, Y/N felt her nerves creep back in. The sleek machine, now being fitted with cameras, suddenly looked a lot more intimidating up close.

"Hey..." Lando's voice was soft as he reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll start slow, and if at any point you want to stop, we stop. I promise."

Y/N nodded, eyes flickering between his and the car.

Lando tilted his head. "Gotta use your words, baby. You sure you're ready?"

"Yes," she said, then let out a small, nervous laugh. "Just really nervous."

Lando smiled, taking the helmet from her hands and gently placing it over her head. His fingers worked carefully to tuck away any loose strands of hair before securing it properly.

"Perfect," he murmured, his smirk growing as he admired her. "Gorgeous."

Then, with zero hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to her lips.

Y/N felt her nerves settle—just a little.

"Gotta film a quick intro, then we’re heading out, alright?" Lando guided her toward the car, helping her into the seat. His hands moved with ease as he fastened her seatbelt, making sure everything was secure before stepping back and shutting the door.

As he walked around to his side, Y/N took a deep breath. This was happening.

Lando did his usual intro, flashing a grin at the camera as he introduced his guest—Y/N—and explained what they were about to do. As they pulled out of the pit lane and onto the track, he kept stealing glances at her every few seconds.

“I’m begging you to keep your eyes on the road, Norris, I swear—” Y/N clung onto her seatbelt like her life depended on it.

“I am, baby! Don’t worry!” Lando laughed, nudging the cue cards toward her. “Alright, come on, you gotta ask me the questions.”

“Lando. Both hands on the wheel!”

Lando couldn’t help but chuckle at her panic. “I got it, baby, we’re alright. The faster we get through the questions, the quicker we’re done.”

Y/N sighed, taking a deep breath before focusing on the cards in front of her. “Alright… Who would you consider your closest friends on the grid?”

Lando thought for a moment, nodding as he kept his eyes on the track. “A few people… I wanna say Oscar, ‘cause I’m with him a lot, Max too, since we both live in Monaco. And Carlos.”

Y/N hummed in acknowledgment before moving on. “Other than your first win in Miami, which other win would you consider your favorite?”

Lando’s smile softened. “Oh, easy. Singapore.”

Y/N turned to him, intrigued. “Why Singapore?”

“The win itself felt amazing, but the fact that I had you there to celebrate with me after… that was the highlight of my night. Just us walking around the city at night… I loved that.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “You’re cute.”

“See, baby? You’re doing great. This isn’t so bad, huh?” Lando shot her a grin as he picked up the pace.

Y/N immediately sensed it. “I can feel you going even faster, so I’m gonna speed-run these now—” She quickly glanced at the next card, eyes widening as she let out a loud laugh. “Wait, what are these questions?! Lights on or lights off?!”

Lando let out his signature cackle, barely containing his amusement. “Lights on,” he answered smoothly, smirking.

“You shouldn’t have answered that!”

“Gotta give the people what they want, baby.”

“Alright, wet or dry?”

“Wet—” Lando answers immediately. “—Wait, you mean like a race or—”

“Oh my gosh, Lan! Of course, race conditions!” Y/N looks at him, jaw agape.

Lando only laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Right, dry then.”

After a few more laughs and playful back-and-forth, Lando finally pulls over by the pit lane and parks the car. He gets out, moving to the passenger seat and helping Y/N out of the driver’s seat.

What caught her off guard however, was when Lando got in the passenger seat.

“Wait... wait, what are you doing?” Y/N stands outside the car, completely confused, still processing what’s happening.

Lando smirks, already buckling his seatbelt “Your turn to drive now, my love.”

“Oh no. No no no no,” Y/N laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. But that laugh slowly fades as she looks around and notices the staff nodding at her, confirming that yes—it was indeed her turn to do a lap.

“Wait, you’re kidding?”

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

It was almost comedic—Y/N sat up straight, her hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, as she drove at a cautious city-limit speed around the track.

Lando, watching her with an amused expression, couldn’t help himself. “Baby, we can go a bit faster, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware, Lando, yes. Thank you,” Y/N replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lando laughed, glancing out the window. “I swear I just saw Carlos pass us on his bike.”

Y/N let out a genuine laugh, finally speeding up a little. “The trust the team has with me to let me drive you around on a race weekend is insane.”

Lando pulled out a set of cards, trying to get back on track with their Q&A. “Alright, ready? What’s your favourite part of race weekends?”

Y/N smiled softly. “I love seeing you do what you love doing. I can see how passionate you are about racing—it’s nice seeing you do what you do best.”

Lando pouted and nodded. “That’s sweet, baby.”

Y/N quickly added with a laugh, “And the coffee at Ferrari is top-notch, so maybe that too.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, holding up his hand in a mock salute. “Shoutout to our friends at Ferrari.” Then he grinned mischievously, turning to face Y/N. “Other than Oscar and I, who do you root for during a race?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Oh, easy. Alex.”

Lando smirked, as if he had known that was coming. “Thought so.” He turned to the camera. “If Y/N is not at McLaren, she’s either having coffee at Ferrari with Charles and his girlfriend or at Williams with Alex.”

“Albono is my paddock bestie" Y/N laughed, "Well, Lily is, but she’s not always here, so I gotta settle for Alex every now and then.” She added teasingly

Lando chuckled and added, “Carlos being at Williams now also means she spends more time there too. McLaren’s getting kinda jealous, not gonna lie.”

Y/N shot him a playful glance. “You mean you're getting jealous?”

Lando gave her an exaggerated side-eye. “Tomato, tomato.”

The two breezed through the deck of cards as Y/N expertly navigated the track. Finally, she pulled into the pitlane, where the crew was waiting. They cheered and applauded as she slowed to a stop.

Y/N stepped out of the car with a grin, taking a bow in front of the crew, her cheeks flushed with a shy smile. “Thank you guys for trusting me with your driver.”

Lando walked over to her, helping remove her helmet while still filming the outro for the video.

Once they wrapped up the filming, the two of them strolled back toward his driver room, hands intertwined. Lando shot her a beaming smile, clearly happy with how everything turned out.

“That was fun, right?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “It was… thank you for today.”

Lando grinned, pulling her closer. “Thank you, baby. Gotta make you drive more often now. My turn to be the passenger princess.”

♪ — 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗙 max verstappen x girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary , how max realises he's fallen in love with you (0.3K)

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

Max doesn’t fall in love the way other people do.

It’s not fireworks or crashing waves, not some symphony swelling in his chest. Love, for Max, arrives like a pit stop done in perfect time—clean, precise, unnoticed until the race is already won.

He’s watching you from the sliding glass door of his sister’s backyard, arms crossed, brow furrowed, pretending he’s not absolutely transfixed.

You’re sitting on the grass, knees tucked under you, laughing as one of his nephews dumps a bucket of toy cars into your lap. The other’s clinging to your arm, babbling about Red Bull liveries and pretending to zoom around your legs.

You’re not overwhelmed. You’re glowing.

“Max! Watch!” one of them yells.

You launch a Hot Wheels car like it’s qualifying day in Monaco, complete with your own little “vroom” sound effect.

Max smiles before he realises he’s smiling.

God, you’re good with them. Kind in that patient, quiet way. Gentle with little hands and louder voices. You let them braid your hair with sticky fingers and don’t flinch when they tackle you into the grass. You laugh like nothing else matters.

And Max—poor, smitten Max—feels something shift.

Not a crash, not a slam of realisation. Just a soft hum behind his ribs. A gentle “oh” in his chest.

He’s in love with you.

Fully. Completely. Stupidly.

It hits him in the smallest moment. You brush a lock of hair behind your ear, smile up at one of the boys, and say, “Just like your uncle Max, huh?” with pride in your voice like it’s your name on the trophy.

He thinks he might cry.

(He doesn’t, because he’s Max Verstappen, reigning world champion and all that, but still.)

You look up, like you can feel his stare, and grin. “They want to race you. Three laps around the trampoline. Fair warning, I’ve been training them.”

Max snorts, stepping outside. “You’re setting them up for disappointment.”

“They’re seven.”

“They need to learn.”

You shake your head and mouth softie as he joins the chaos.

But later, when they’re asleep and the sun’s gone down and your head is on his shoulder, Max kisses your temple and whispers it into your hair like a secret—

“I’m in love with you.”

And you, half-asleep and soft around the edges, smile like you already knew.

Because of course you did.

till the sun comes up — SV5

pairing: rbr!sebastian vettel x fem!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, slight oral (m receiving), drunk sex, alcohol mentioned, jenson getting everyone double drunk, translated german, established relationship, not proofread!!

synopsis: fresh off of winning his first drivers championship whats a better way of celebrating [2.2k]

a/n: this was completely unplanned, definitely not the best thing ive ever written and was more so a way to get back into the feel of writing since its been months since i last properly have

MASTERLIST

Abu Dhabi, 2010

Sebastian couldn't keep his hands of you, and in his defence, you couldn't keep yours off him. Alcohol ran freely through your veins, loosing up your movements as you danced against each other. Music blaring, drinks being downed in every corner of the club. Every now and then another driver ordered a round of shots, not slowing down as you all danced the night away.

His hands were on your waist, your hips, sliding up and down your thighs. He was everywhere. Sebastian's grip never loosening. Jenson had been the next driver to buy a round, ordering double than before in an attempt to somehow get you all more drunk than you already were, after all he had his reputation to uphold.

Sebastian's lip skimmed all over any exposed skin he could get, you collarbone, neck and as low as he could down your deep neckline.

The burning of tequila and vodka down your throat only spurred your happiness on, the smile on your face beginning to hurt from how long you had held it.

Seb had won.

He had won his first championship in f1, in a dramatic way at that, and one of many you were sure of. Your boyfriend was more than a talented driver, that you were even more sure od even with your lack of knowledge in the sport you knew well enough that Seb was a born winner, and that this was just the beginning.

The day had finally gone his way, any four of them could've won it, it was the day he's been waiting for since he had joined f1, since even before then, and you had been there with him every single step of the way.

The drinks, music and dancing continued long into the early hours of the morning, finally deciding to depart from your group of celebrating friends, them all giving you suggestive looks.

You felt the arm around your waist tighten as you stirred awake, the warmth from the body beside you encasing yours. The pads of Sebastian's fingers still digging into your skin as they had done when you fell asleep, not moving from their protective position. Rays of sunlight shown through the slightly open curtains in the hotel room, the city of Abu Dhabi already buzzing at just 10am.

Bedsheets had been brought all the way up your chest, covering your naked body and pulling them off of Sebastian's, enough to see his toned muscles which he usually had hidden underneath a shirt, a sight you truly would never get used to. His trophy sat on the stand next to the bed, a reminder of the reasons you had celebrated the night before.

Seb nuzzled his head further into the crook of your shoulder, even in his sleepy state not wanting to let his hands drop from you. You could still smell the champagne on his skin, showering the last thing on your minds when you stumbled in. Unable to help but stare at him, his growing stubble that he didn't care enough to shave and the purple hickeys blessing his exposed neck, his blonde curls a mess on top of his head.

Memories from the previous night took over as you grazed over the marks left.

Your back was against the wall as soon as Sebastian shut the door, not wasting a second to have his hands on you fully, almost as desperate for you as you were for him. His lips trailed down your body, from your lips and then your jaw and finally residing on your neck. His trophy had been carefully placed on the ground next to you.

You whined as he sucked on the sweet spot between your neck and collarbone, the already euphoric feeling of having him so close causing a wetness between your legs. Seb's hands travelled down your legs, tapping your thighs and whispering a small. "Jump" in your ears, and you happily obliged, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist.

Sebastian carried you from the wall to the bed, dropping you down on the soft mattress below. He looked over you hungrily, his eyes dancing over your entire body as he worked out where to start first.

Lifting your fingers to his neck you traced over the marks, not too heavily as to not wake him. The action of you leaving them flashed before your eyes, each and every mark came at a different time and with how drunk you were, you were just happy to remember.

"Schatz." You had been to entranced with the memories you hadn't even seen him waking up, the calmness in his shut eyes had opened to show the beautiful blue eyes you loved. His long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he looked up at you, following your gaze to where you had been staring. "I could always do with more."

It was his turn to trace the marks he’d left now, Seb’s fingers smoothing over the reddened skin of your neck. "You could do with more too." He pulled one of your legs over his, making you straddle his lap whilst he continued looking up at you.

You laughed at his eagerness, acting as if you didn't want and need this just as much as he did. "What? Last night wasn't enough for you." Raising your eyebrow at him, Sebastian rolled his eyes, hands moving to your hips in an attempt to get you moving against him.

Without a second thought you obliged to his attempt, rocking your hips in time with his hands. He dipped his head down your neck, moving to in between your breast and kissing them both. His kisses continued, the loving mood he was in only growing as he made his way back up, reaching your lips and bringing you in for your first kiss of the morning. In contrast to the warmth of your skin goosebumps raised along your body.

Dragging himself away from your lips, Sebastian rejoined his journey up your body, his teeth nibbling your earlobe causing small whimpers to escape your already swollen lips. "Could never get tired of fucking you, Engel." His words went straight to your core, your thighs rubbing together to try and release the tension a little. "Do you know what you do to me?"

You knew Seb would try to get you to beg if he could. Even in the loving and giving mood he was in he always got a kick out of making you beg, the lewd words going straight to his cock whenever they left your mouth.

“Please, Seb." Your words faltered slightly as one of his fingers grazed over your cunt. Sebastian could practically feel your clit throbbing against him, and it took ever ounce of his willpower to not give you what you wanted. "Please, just touch me."

Your pleas were never enough for him, wanting nothing more than for you to break, to tell him what you wanted him to do, no matter how dirty the words you used, he loved when you spoke like that to him. "Where do you want me to touch you, schatz? I need you to tell me."

When you didn't reply, Sebastian lightly slapped your thigh as a warning, an empty one at that as you both knew he would give in to you eventually, because if it wasn’t his arousal taking over it would be his drunkenness. But he would always put up a fight. You grabbed his wrist, in no mood for his teasing or to waste time and brought down to your dripping cunt. "Here, Seb, please just touch me."

And when you rasped out his name like that who was he to not give you what you wanted most?

Sebastian’s hard on was becoming glaringly obvious through the tight, and growing even tighter, boxers he was wearing. "This is what you to do me." The words he spoke stuck with you, both of you having so much power over how the other felt almost felt like it was fate to be together.

You had rid yourself of your panties already, the newfound feeling of your unclothed clit grinding against Seb’s growing cock. Gasping as he lifted his hips to meet yours, you silenced yourself against his neck, biting into the muscles and soothing over the stinging with your tongue.

A louder moan slipped past your lips as your arousal grew, your slick making it easier to glide against the soft material of his boxers. "I want to fuck you." Sebastian had to stop the groan that nearly escaped his throat.

“Then fuck me, liebling."

"Then fuck me." As the words left your throat Sebastian pushed himself inside you, dropping his chest onto yours to get as close and humanly possibly. The groan he let as you clenched around him forever etched into your brain, something you will remember any time you look at him.

Seb snaked his arm down between your entwined bodies, circling your clit at a steady pace, contrasting the harshness of his thrusts into you. The added stimulation had you melting into the bed underneath him.

You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you, as he swallowed your moans in the heated mess between you. His neediness leaked into the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth at the first chance he could get.

Squeezing around him again, Sebastian bit your lip, pulling on it as he pulled away from the kiss. Both of you tried to catch to your breath, although he couldn't stop his want to touch you again, dropping his head to meet your lips in another crazed kiss.

Just as you were finding your rhythm, Sebastian’s hands found their place on your ass, slowing you for a couple seconds then speeding you up again in a sequence that made your head spin and eyes roll back. Your chests were practically touching as he pulled you impossibly closer, connecting your lips.

You kissed up and down his neck, his hickeys becoming redder as you bit down on the same spot of skin, taut from his training. Pulling away for a minute you admired the purple marks on his throat, his adams apple bobbing under your gaze, in contrast with his muscles making you feel like you could come just looking at him.

At your staring he thrust up into you faster, smirking at your unprepared reaction, arms failing you as you fell onto his chest.

One of his hands lifted from your ass, pushing the fallen hair out of your face as you found your own rhythm again. You felt your orgasm nearing closer and closer, and so did Sebastian. His hand slipped down in between your bodies, rubbing circles on your clit to push you further and further to your release.

Within seconds you were cumming around his cock, your walls clenching around him, head thrown back and your mouth opening in an ‘o’ shape. Your moans grew louder and louder, Sebastian placing his fingers in your mouth so that not every bystander in the street would hear you. "Fuck, Seb, you're so good to me."

The feeling of your tongue swirling around the tips of his fingers spurred him on to his own orgasm. The sensation you were giving him reminding him of how good you made him feel when he’s in your mouth.

Sebastian’s heavy groan filled the room as his head hit the pillow below him. Your tongue swirled around the slit in the tip of his cock teasingly, fingers stroking up and down the part you weren't touching.

You kissed him from top to bottom, placing one last longing kiss to his tip. Hollowing out your cheeks you took him in one, the tip knocking the back of your throat instantly.

Already you felt the tears leaving your eyes from the closing of your throat around him, viciously trying to force him out of your mouth. Your hands stroked what your mouth couldn't get, the two feelings only adding to his pleasure.

Rough german words slipped from his mouth, mixing with the moans and groans he let out. "I love you so much." His hand found a place in your hair, making a makeshift ponytail and pushing your head down further.

Your body fell on his, a thin layer of sweat covering both your skins as you both attempted to catch your breath. Seb still deep inside you, holding his cum in you, neither wanting to move.

Glancing over at the trophy beside you, you smiled, turning back to face Seb, who had an equally as happy grin on his face. “So when i win my second-“

“Don’t push it.”

THE ICEBREAKER| KIMI RÄIKKÖNEN

Pairing; Kimi Raikkonen x wife!reader

Summary; It never fails to amaze the formula one community just how much of a difference there is in Kimi’s attitude whenever his wife is around.

Warnings; Simply fluff.

F1 Master List

It was common knowledge in the world of formula one that Kimi 'the iceman' Raikkonen was everything that his nickname implied. He was blunt, hard faced and cold, straight to the point.

There's only a few instances where that guard drops; when he's drunk, caught off guard or sometimes when he's around Sebastian Vettel.

However, everyone knew that the ultimate Icebreaker was his wife.

It amazed everyone how quickly that icy facade melted whenever Kimi was around her, he was a completely different person, the paddock changed when she was around, Kimi was full of soft smiles and loving glances.

They were complete opposites, she was sunshine and spring, he was winter and icy winds but there had never been a pair more suited for each other.

Kimi wasn't due on track for another half an hour so him and Y/N had hidden themselves away on a bench at the far side of the garage. Kimi's back was rested against the wall, his wife sat between his legs, back resting against his chest. His arms were securely wrapped around her, his chin rested on her shoulder, eyeing the data he was holding in his hands.

Every now and then the Finnish man would nuzzle his head into her hair, inhaling the comforting smell of strawberries and a scent that was so uniquely her, followed by a soft kiss on her shoulder before returning back to his data.

Y/N relished in these small moments before races, even though they were surrounded by people running around it always felt like it was just them, alone in the world and they were perfectly content getting lost in each other's presence.

She closed her eyes, relaxing into the love of her life's embrace, she would never take these moments for granted, not when their lives were so hectic, it was relieving to live in a moment like this, to use it as a sort of pause button to take a small but needed break.

'...And there is the golden couple of the paddock, world champion Kimi Raikkonen and his wife, that man looks anything but what we know him as...'

She heard David Croft's voice filter through a nearby radio causing her eyes to open in confusion before she noticed a camera zooming into them from outside of the garage, sure enough they were on the big screen.

She smiled, lightly tapping Kimi's arm to get his attention, he turned his eyes from the papers in his hand to look at her. She pointed to the camera, Kimi looked in that direction, shaking his head with the smallest of smiles when he noticed the camera.

He knew what everyone said about him, how he was a different person when he was with her and they took every chance they could to capture him in a moment with his guard down. He didn't try and deny it because he knew they were right, sort of.

He wasn't a different person with her, he was himself with her, just a softer version of himself that he reserved for family and closest friends.

"Kulta" Kimi whispered 10 minutes later, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "Hmm" she responded, eyes remaining closed, more than relaxed in his arms.

"It's time for me to get in the car" he mumbled into her ear, softly patting her thigh. She sighed but sat forward, standing up from the bench, stretching as she did.

Kimi groaned as he stood, folding the papers into his right hand, reaching out his left to grab hers, leading her over to his car where his engineer stood with his balaclava and helmet in hand. He handed the balaclava to Kimi and helmet to Y/N before walking away, giving them privacy.

Y/N watched as her husband got into his racing mode, his icy-blue eyes turned hard and determined, his body tensed up as he became more focused, strategies running through his mind.

She handed his helmet to him and once he had secured the straps under his chin she stepped closer to him, gently cupping the sides of his head and pressing a loving kiss on the hard material where his lips were covered.

Her hands ran down his arms before eventually reaching his hands that were covered in his gloves, she laced her fingers with his, her eyes never leaving his.

"Win for me" she told him "I love you so much" his eyes shined brighter at her words, his right hand rose to her cheek, his thumb brushed across her skin.

"I love you" she heard his muffled voice repeat back causing her to smile. He stroked her cheek one last time before lowering his hand, releasing her hand from his left and turning to his car.

Once he had climbed inside and checked his radio was working, he was ready to go. He looked towards where Y/N was standing and gave her a thumbs up before the mechanics wheeled him and his car out of the garage.

She walked back over to his side of the garage, sitting in front a screen that would be streaming the race.

There was no greater sight than watching the love of her life living his dream, his heart may beat for her but he was born to race. She had supported him up to this point and would continue to support him until the day he decides to let racing go, even then she would cheer him on in what he decides to do next.

A bit mushy - Lewis Hamilton

Let's see how Lewis and his wife do in a Couple's Interview.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Fun and light Lewis for the win, again thanks a million times to @greedyjudge2 for the idea and for some of the questions, I know I don't usually write carefree Lewis but it's my favorite ❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The room was buzzing—cameras being adjusted, light stands tweaked and a handful of crew members chatting as they waited for everything to come together.

Lewis sat comfortably on the low-slung, cushy armchair beside his wife, his hand resting casually on the back of her seat tracing lazy circles on her back. They looked impossibly relaxed, as if the cameras were invisible, and this was just another day at home.

The director, a laid-back guy with a coffee stain on his jeans and a clipboard that looked way too serious for the vibe of the shoot, strolled over.

He was juggling his phone and an energy drink, clearly a man trying to keep his cool while wrangling two of the most charismatic people in motorsports.

“Okay, so this should be easy” he started, his voice overly casual like he almost didn’t want to disturb the couple’s chemistry “No serious stuff. No PR-approved answers. We’re here for the real deal. Just answering a few questions about each other, nothing too scandalous. Think... fun, but, y’know, juicy enough to make people smile.”

Lewis’s wife, legs crossed and leaning slightly into her husband’s space, raised an eyebrow. “Define juicy” a sly smile tugging at her lips.

The director chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, like... light-hearted scandal. Stuff people don’t already know. Maybe embarrass him a little—" he motioned to Lewis—"but in a cute way.”

Lewis shot the director a mock glare “Right, you don’t really need to ask her that” he said, his voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm.

His wife snorted, turning to face him with a grin. “Promise not to dig too deep. Unless we’re talking about those sneakers you wore to the beach...”

Lewis groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “Not the beach sneakers again! One time and I’m branded for life.”

The crew around them snickered, and even the sound guy adjusted his headphones to cover a grin.

There was something about the way they bickered that had the whole room leaning in, as if everyone was witnessing the most intimate, casual conversation between two people who just fit.

The director, fully entertained, motioned to the cameraman to get ready. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the good stuff for the shoot. Remember, it’s just you two being yourselves. No need to put on a show.”

His wife reached over and squeezed Lewis’s hand. “No promises.”

As they shared a quiet laugh, the subtle touches and glances between them were enough to make anyone nearby smile. There was no need for grand gestures—the way they leaned into each other, how their conversations flowed effortlessly, said more than any scripted moment ever could.

They had that kind of love that made everyone else feel like they were in on something out of ordinary, just by watching.

The cameras zoomed in slowly as the couple got comfortable in their seats. Lewis leaned back, his arm still slung casually around his wife’s chair, his body slight angled so he could face her better, and she tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him like she always did when they were in the middle of one of their many quiet conversations.

Except this wasn’t quite so quiet. The cameras were rolling now, and the world was about to get a glimpse into how they were with each other.

The director's voice came through, just loud enough to hear but never intrusive.

“Alright, let’s get this rolling. What embarrassing fashion trend did you take part in?”

Lewis immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if he was preparing for battle. “I’ll own this one. Bandanas. Wore them with everything back in the day. Thought I was some kind of rockstar or something.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows shooting up. “Bandanas?” she asked, feigning surprise. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned closer, as if letting the audience in on a secret. “You sure it wasn’t the Timberlands?”

Lewis threw his head back with a groan, already knowing where this was headed. “Not the Timbs,” he mumbled, shaking his head like he was in actual pain.

“Yeah, the Timbs” she said, fully grinning now. “Let me remind you, you used to wear them with everything. Jeans, tracksuits, shorts, suits—”

Lewis raised a hand, stopping her, though there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I still stand by those, alright? I don’t care what anyone says. Timbs are timeless.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, patting his leg. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The banter between them came so naturally, it was easy to forget there were cameras pointed right at them. The crew standing around had mostly stopped what they were doing, some watching the couple with amused smirks, others clearly touched by how playful yet undeniably affectionate they were towards each other.

“Okay, next question: What first attracted you to each other?”

Lewis’s wife leaned back, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to come up with something profound. “His sense of style,” she deadpanned, lips twitching as she fought back a grin.

Lewis blinked, his head cocked to the side. “Seriously? You were just attacking my Timbs? That guy’s sense of style?”

For a moment, she held her ground, lips pursed in mock-seriousness. But after a few seconds of staring at him—his bewildered look, the way he was just waiting for her to crack—she broke. Her laugh wasn’t exactly loud but it filled the room.

“Okay, fine!” She reached out, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “It was your eyes.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up as he gave her a soft smile. He just stared at her, thrown off by her sudden honesty.

She smiled, her gaze softening too as she looked at him. “They’re intense, you know? Like you see things really deeply. The way you look at the world... it’s impossible not to notice.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his usual witty retorts momentarily forgotten. His hand moved instinctively to cover hers on his leg, squeezing it gently. “Well, damn” he finally said, his voice quieter than before, almost reverent.

The room around them seemed to still. There was something about the way they looked at each other that made it feel like they were the only ones there, like everyone else had faded away.

“Next one—‘On what occasion have you lied to me?’”

Lewis’s eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he glanced at his wife. “Uh… Remember when I blamed Roscoe for loosing up your house shoes?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “No. You’re telling me you wore my house shoes, Lewis?!”

He winced, trying to play it cool. “I mean… It was just that one time! They looked comfy, and my feet were cold. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just thought Roscoe had lied on them, not that your big feet had wrecked them!”

The crew chuckled, sensing the playful tension building between them.

“Roscoe was the perfect scapegoat…” Lewis defended himself.

“My poor baby” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You threw him under the bus!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Lewis replied with a smirk, leaning closer to her, his tone turning softer. “But hey, I bought you new ones”

She raised a brow, clearly amused but still pretending to be serious.

“Have I ever made you jealous?”

Lewis leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he quipped in before she could. “She has, yes.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? When exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time like he always did when he wanted to build up the suspense. She leaned in; her curiosity evident in the way her lips quirked. “Come on, give me the details.”

Lewis shook his head, clearly amused. “The silver dress” he said, voice low.

For a second, she didn’t react, clearly trying to place the memory. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in recognition. “Ohhh, that night!”

Her laughter exploded from her, loud and sudden, catching even the crew off guard. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach slightly as she laughed, while Lewis sat there, arms still crossed, trying his best to look annoyed but clearly failing.

“That night was something” she said between laughs, her eyes shimmering with tears of amusement.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think it was so funny.”

“Oh, babe, you were so grumpy” she teased, nudging him with her foot.

Lewis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just looked at her with that mix of exasperation and fondness that made it clear that, no matter what she did, she was always going to get away with it.

“What’s a song that reminds you of each other?”

This time, she didn’t even hesitate. “A Life Like This by Nao.”

Lewis’s face softened immediately. “Why that one?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual teasing grin. This one was softer, more intimate. “Because... before you, I was just going through life, you know? Things were just happening, and I wasn’t really... present. Then you came along, and it was like everything shifted. It was like my Saturn return was finally over, and I could just... breathe.”

For a moment, Lewis said nothing. His face betrayed him—no amount of his typical coolness could hide the way her words hit him.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re really gonna get me emotional, huh?” he murmured, his voice so low only she and the mic could pick up on his voice.

She just smiled; her eyes full of love. “That’s the plan.”

The crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles. It was impossible not to feel the connection between them, like they were watching something precious unfold right in front of them.

“What’s something you wish you did more often?”

Lewis leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Lazy mornings.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” he said softly, his eyes on her. “No alarms, no schedules, no meetings. Just us. Laying in bed, talking, laughing... not worrying about what we have to do next.”

She nodded again, her smile turning wistful. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met, and once again, the room seemed to shrink around them, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble.

“Okay love birds, next up ‘What is the most treasured possession that the other has given you?’”

She paused, tapping her chin as if she really had to think about it, though the answer was clearly already on her mind. “The necklace you gave me on our third date.”

The director blinked, looking between them. “Third date?”

“Oh yeah” she nodded, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling as she shot Lewis a teasing look. “He was whipped by then.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “You make it sound like I was proposing marriage.”

“You weren’t far off, though” she teased, reaching for the necklace hanging delicately around her neck. “He gave me this beautiful pendant, that he designed himself, by the way, and I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this guy is serious.’”

Lewis chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah” he grinned. “No point in playing games.”

She looked down at the necklace again, her voice softening. “It’s not just the necklace though. It’s what it represented. He was showing me he wasn’t just there for fun—he was there for real.”

Lewis met her gaze, his smile quieter now, filled with affection. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“When did you first know that you were in love?”

This time, she was the one to hesitate, a mischievous glint in her eye. “In love with whom?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Lewis groaned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, don’t start.”

She giggled, clearly enjoying every second of his exasperation. “I knew I loved you when we went through about a dozen paint stores in Milan looking for the perfect shade of gold for that painting.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, didn’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could’ve just mixed the colors myself and gotten something close. But you were so invested in finding the exact match that I just... I kept going. And I knew it then. I knew I loved you because you cared about the little things, the details that most people would overlook.”

Lewis stared at her; his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that seemed to melt the room around them.

“What’s your favorite memory of the two of you?”

Lewis leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That time we missed the flight in Paris.”

She let out a groan, breaking the feeling in the room, she already knew where this story was headed. “Nooo, not that!”

“Yep,” Lewis said with a smile. “So we were in Paris, right? And someone—” he pointed at her playfully, “—was absolutely convinced that the subway would get us to the airport faster than any car could.”

“It would’ve!” she protested, already laughing. “The traffic was insane!”

“Yeah sure” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So there we were, dragging our bumps through the subway stations, hopping from one line to the next. Every station was like a maze, and we were so lost. I kept telling you, ‘Let’s just get a cab,’ but nooo, you were determined.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was an adventure!”

“It was chaos and we missed the flight by hours” Lewis corrected, his voice teasing but fond.

“But honestly? It’s one of my favorite memories. You were so carefree, so determined, so in the present. We were lost in Paris but we weren’t lost within ourselves.”

Her smile softened, her eyes holding his for a long moment. “You never told me that was your favorite memory.”

“Yeah” he said quietly, his voice more sincere now. “I felt like we could just... slow down. Be present. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me.”

For a moment, they were silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The room around them was so still that the soft hum of the cameras was the only sound. The crew watched them closely, as if holding their collective breath.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to catch “I think that’s my favorite memory now, too.”

Lewis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a few seconds, it was like the cameras weren’t even there. It was just them, lost in a shared memory, a world of their own.

The director, sensing the intimacy of the moment, cleared his throat gently.

“Alright, now to wrap this up ‘When can we expect little Hamiltons running around?”

Both Lewis and his wife exchanged quick glances, and almost in unison, they burst out laughing—only this time, their laughter had a bit of an edge, like they knew something the room didn’t.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Ooooh, good one.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?” she added, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Real smooth.”

The crew, sensing the couple was playing coy, leaned in just a bit, waiting for a juicy response. But instead, Lewis leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Well, you never know, right?”

His wife smirked, glancing at him sideways, playing along. “When you least expect it”

The director, not quite satisfied, pressed on. “Any plans in the near future?”

“Oh, besides, like, tomorrow’s plans?” she quipped, keeping the teasing energy alive.

Lewis chimed in again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve got a lot of plans. Travel, Roscoe’s bath time…”

The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”

Lewis gave a knowing look to the camera, adding one final, cryptic comment. “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”

And with that, they both smiled at the cameras, their laughter filling the air as the director called “cut” for the final time.

The room gradually came back to life, the hum of equipment being packed up and crew members chatting quietly filling the air. The couple stayed seated, though, still caught in the gentle pull of their shared moment, almost unaware of the bustling scene around them.

Lewis exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at his wife, his arm instinctively pulling her a little closer. She smiled, still leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

“That was a bit mushy, wasn’t it?” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

Lewis smirked, brushing his thumb gently against her arm. “Just a little. But you started it.”

She chuckled softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Tou’re not usually one for getting all sentimental on camera.”

He shrugged lightly, but there was no real defensiveness in his posture.

She smiled, her heart swelling at the softness in his gestures. “Good. I like you better that way.”

She sighed softly, sitting up a little and stretching her arms out with a satisfied groan. “People are going to think we’re a pair of softies.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Let them.”

She smiled, sitting back in her chair and looking at him with a tenderness that only deepened as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek for a brief moment. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to be.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and looked straight at her. “Nah, it’s not.”

Unbeknownst to them, the cameras were still rolling—just a little, a behind-the-scenes shot meant to capture those moments of candidness. The crew tried to keep their distance, giving the couple their space, but every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about Lewis and his wife, the way they moved around each other, the way they fit together.

Without thinking, he stood up and extended a hand to her, pulling her up from her seat. As she stood, she let out a small laugh, one that was soft and filled with affection. But before she could fully straighten up, Lewis slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest in a gentle, protective embrace.

For a second, she stiffened—more out of surprise than anything—but then she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture, nothing extravagant, but in that moment, it was everything.

“Alright, lover boy” she murmured, her voice laced with contentment. “What’s all this about?”

“Just holding you” he replied simply, his voice low and soothing, the kind of tone he used when it was just the two of them, no audience, no pressure. “Feels like we haven’t had a minute to ourselves in forever.”

She smiled as she found her place on the crock of his neck, her fingers absently tracing circles on the back of his neck “You’ll get them,” she promised quietly. “We’ll make time.”

Eventually, Lewis pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” he started, his tone teasing “about those Timbs.”

She groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. “I thought we agreed to leave the Timbs in the past.”

“I never agreed to that” he grinned, tightening his arms around her playfully. “I’m still rocking them, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “Well, at least one of us has evolved.”

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, the sincerity of the words wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. “I really do.”

______________________________________________________________

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Radio Silence | Series Masterlist

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Zac’s daughter OFC, forbidden romance vibes, very very slowburn romance, ableism on page, strong language, autistic meltdowns on page, eventual sexual content.

Notes — Hope you love it. This series will be longer than From Eden, possibly around 20 chapters. Remember to check each chapter for individual warnings.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

CHAPTER ONE