Half A Step - KA¹²

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. ⛐

Radio Silence | Chapter Five

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, detailed meltdown on-page, angst.

Notes — Another double update, go me! PSA: Our Amelia has a bit of a difficult time in this one. Take care of yourselves x

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

2019

WhatsApp Groupchat — The 2019 F1 Grid

Charles L. I have found an iPad in Ferrari hospitality. It is engraved with the initials A.B. Any ideas?

Lewis H. Does it have a bunny sticker on it?

Charles L. Yes!

Lewis H. That’s Amelia’s, then.

Lando N. lol I’ll come get it just gimme 10 mins im in a debrief rn 

Charles L. Sure no problem Amelia is Zak Brown’s daughter, yes?

George R. Yeah mate The smart one.

Sebastian V. Haha. She is the one Binotto wants? Brown hair, pretty smile?

Lando N. Bro.

Lewis H. @Sebastian — Mattia has tried to get her to Ferrari?

Sebastian V. Yes. He’s offered her some very lucrative opportunities. She has so far turned all of them down.

Carlos S. She’s loyal to McLaren. Leave her to us, yes?

Valtteri B. But if she ever decided to go elsewhere, Mercedes would make sense.

Lewis H. Yeah obviously 👍🏻

Lando N. ????????????

Lance S. If she was offered a million dollars to fix the Racing Point car, do you think she’d take it? Not a hypothetical. My dad wants to know.

Max V. Money won’t work. You forget she’s already the child of a millionaire.

Lance S. Damn it.

Kimi R. Is this the child always in Norris’ garage?

Lando N. Don’t call her a child we are literally the same age

Kimi R. That does not change the fact

Daniel R. But seriously, why was she even in Ferrari hospitality in the first place?

Max V. Ice cream.

Lando N. Ice cream 

Lewis H. Ice cream.

Sebastian V. I can confirm she was here for ice cream. Pistachio, specifically.

Charles L. I cannot believe I’ve still never met her. Is she really so smart?

Lando N. Yes.

Pierre G. Absolutely.

Max V. Smarter than you are capable of comprehending, Charles.

Charles L. Then I suppose I will just have to charm her into accepting Mattia’s offer 😌

Lando N. I will put in the wall, Leclerc.

Charles L. Oh! You are together with her, Lando? I didn’t know!

Lando N. No, we’re not together.

Charles L. Then I am confused.

Max V. Her father has practically forbade them from dating. Total nonsense if you ask me.

Carlos S. They are dating.

Daniel R. @Carlos 😳😳😳

Lando N. @Carlos NO WE ARE NOT STOP SAYING THAT

Sergio P. Mucho defensive…

Carlos S. He wrote his race number on her shoes.

Lando N. So what? That means nothing.

Daniel R. Oh brother….

Max V. Yeah, sorry, I can’t even back you on that one Lando. That’s a lot.

Kimi R. My wife had my number stitched into her shoes. We got married six months later.

George R. So Kimi is saying you’re basically engaged, bro.

Lewis H. Let’s stop talking about this. Before Lando has a full on meltdown.

Charles L. Too late. He has arrived for the iPad with a terrible attitude. 

Lando N. I hate all of you.

— 

Subject: Workplace Conduct Reminder – Inclusivity & Respect at McLaren

From: HR Department To: All McLaren Racing Staff Date: [Sunday, post-race, 10:42 PM]

Dear Team,

As the season continues and tensions rise both on and off the track, we’d like to take a moment to remind everyone of McLaren’s core values — collaboration, respect, and inclusion.

We are incredibly proud of the diversity across our team, from engineering to strategy, operations to communications. Every person is here because they bring something exceptional to the table — and that includes our colleagues who may experience or perceive the world differently than others.

We ask that all team members remain mindful of the following:

Neurodiversity is not a barrier — it is an asset. Please be conscious of language and behaviour that may unintentionally alienate or diminish the contributions of individuals who may process things differently. This includes members of our extended team, trusted advisors, and collaborators who work closely with us — regardless of job title or official role.

“Vibes” are not a metric — Judging someone’s energy, personality, or communication style is not only unprofessional but also unfair. Everyone representing or contributing to McLaren, formally or informally, deserves respect.

Support one another — Whether someone wears McLaren orange full-time or contributes behind the scenes, everyone here plays a part in our collective success.

Rumours are not culture — Let’s keep paddock gossip out of professional spaces. If you have concerns, we encourage you to speak directly to your manager or HR.

This message is not in response to any one incident but rather a gentle pit stop reminder: our team functions best when everyone feels seen, heard, and safe.

If you have any questions or want to speak to someone in confidence, please feel free to reach out to HR directly. We’re here to help.

Kind regards, The McLaren Racing HR Team [hr@mclarenracing.co.uk]

— 

iMessage — 11:40pm

Lando Yo, did you see the email?

Carlos Sí.

Lando Kinda hardcore. Glad Zak did something 

Carlos Somebody was… how you say… discriminate to Amelia?

Lando Yeah someone in PR idk I feel like I should know more about her stuff I feel stupid tho. Like I don’t know anything. Just that she’s Amelia yano 

Carlos I did some reading. Come to my hotel room. We eat pizza. I teach you what I know and we google the rest.

Lando Legend. Thanks, mate.

— 

The course he took her to wasn’t flashy — quiet, tucked away, the kind of place her dad’s friends would never be caught dead in. That was intentional. They weren’t exactly hiding their… friendship, but they weren’t trying to advertise it either.

Amelia stared down at the club he’d handed her like it was a piece of martian debris.

“This is very stupid,” she muttered. “Pointless, really.”

“It is,” Lando agreed, his lips twitching. “Just hit the ball.”

She squinted at the tiny white ball he’d settled on the grass in front of her. “Is it supposed to just… go?”

“Yes.”

“Like in a line?” she clarified, glancing at him.

He shrugged. “In theory.”

She swung. Missed.

Lando clapped anyway. “Incredible form. I’ve never seen such calculated failure.”

“It was bad,” she said seriously. “I didn’t hit the ball. I made a hole in the grass, Lando.” She stared down at the muddy crater with quiet horror.

He just gave her an encouraging nod, gesturing for her to try again.

She sighed, feeling the beginning of a stress rash creep along her neck. But she tried again. And that time, she hit it — not far, just a lazy roll across the grass — but enough to surprise herself. Lando caught the way her eyes widened, saw the exact moment the thrill overtook her frustration.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed her another ball.

They kept going like that for a while — her slowly getting the hang of it, him slipping in dumb jokes and patient explanations between swings. She never asked for help, but he noticed how closely she watched every move he made. Her eyes, always sharp, always calculating.

Eventually, she dropped to the grass with a dramatic sigh and said, “Why do people think this is relaxing? I’m hot and my legs are tired.”

Lando chuckled and sat beside her, kicking his legs out long. “I think it’s relaxing. Your dad likes it.”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad. It makes me stressed.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

She pulled at a blade of grass, rolled it between her fingers. “He told me again that it would be better if I stayed away from you. He said it would make things easier. For me. For you. For the team.” She continued. 

Lando let the silence sit for a moment before asking, his voice quiet and slightly unsure. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I want him to not worry. I want him to trust me. I want…” She hesitated, frowning at the grass. “I want to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I might wreck everything.” 

“You’re not wrecking anything,” Lando said. He tapped the ground next to her leg and she glanced at him, blinking. “I like hanging out with you.” He told her. 

She didn’t say anything, just flicked the blade of grass from her fingers and looked at the trees that surrounded the course. “I don’t know what I feel yet,” she said finally. “Toward you, I mean. But I know that I have liked this. Today. Not the golf. Being with you.”

Lando grinned — couldn’t help himself. Probably looked like a right knob, but he didn’t care. “Want to keep playing?” He asked. 

She gave him a look. “I might get fined for ruining so much of their grass.”

He handed her another ball. Shrugged. Smirked. “It’s fine. I make a lot of money.” 

She rolled her eyes.

— 

Amelia shut her bedroom door with more force than she meant to and leaned against it, breath caught high in her chest like she’d just ran a marathon. Her bag hit the floor. Her hands were shaking.

She didn’t know why. Except; she did.

Her body was full of something too big. Too much. A knot of heat and noise and confusion that had no exit. It felt like all the inside parts of her were pressing outward, like she might split open if she didn't stay still.

She pressed her palms hard into her eyes like she could push it all back in. But it was already too late. The thoughts were everywhere; spilled oil, tangled cords, static static static. Her brain wouldn’t quiet down. Wouldn’t give her space to think.

She’d had a good day. That was the worst part. 

Lando had been good.

He never looked at her like she was difficult. He didn’t act like she was hard work. When she didn’t catch onto something the first time, he just explained again. No sighing. No staring. No pretending. Things weren’t easy with him, not exactly, but they were lighter. Easier.

She sat hard on her bed and the tears came without warning; fast, silent, relentless.

She didn’t cry often. Usually she just shut down. Usually the wall slammed down before anything could spill out. But this time everything had slipped past it, and now she was sobbing, but it didn’t even feel like crying. It felt like her whole nervous system had shattered.

A knock at the door.

“Amelia?” her mum’s voice, soft. “We just got back. Can I come in?”

She didn’t answer. Just turned her face away and wiped at it, even though the tears kept falling. Her skin was already stinging. Her chest was tight.

The door creaked open.

“I’m not upset,” Amelia said fast, panicked. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why I feel like this. No. I do. I do. I just don’t know what to do with it. And I don’t want to talk about it—except I do. I do, I just—” She broke off, swallowing hard.

Her mum sat on the edge of the bed, calm. Grounding.

“I went out with Lando today,” Amelia said, too fast. “To play golf. His idea. He said we should do something fun. So I did. And it was fun. I didn’t freak out or embarrass myself. I didn’t ruin it. I didn’t ruin it.”

She dug her nails into her palms. Her face was blotchy and sore.

“He makes me feel normal,” she whispered. “Not small. Not like a problem. Just… me. And now I don’t know what I feel. I think I want him to be my friend. Or maybe something else. I don’t know. And I don’t want to know, because it doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Her mum asked calmly.

Amelia blinked at her, and then, like someone flicked a switch, the anger surged. Hot and fast, like a fever.

“Because of Dad,” she spat. “Because he thinks that it would be a distraction. Because he thinks I’ll screw everything up just by being around. Like I’m some walking disease that’s gonna infect Lando’s entire career. I know that’s what he’s worried about the most.”

She was breathing too fast. Her limbs were twitching now, hands clenching and unclenching.

“I don’t have friends,” she said. “You know that. I’ve never had friends. Not ones that stay. I get too intense. Too blunt. Too weird. Too tired. And people always stop trying.”Her voice cracked. Her throat burned. “But Lando didn’t stop. He hasn’t stopped. And it’s still not enough. I still don’t get to have this one good thing without it turning into a problem.”

The sobs came back, messy and loud this time. She stood up too fast, swaying. Her hands started moving uncontrollably at her sides; jerky, uncoordinated. A warning sign. The meltdown was building and she couldn’t stop it, could never stop it. 

Her mum stood too, moving slow, blocking her path without touching her.

“Okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to think about any of that right now.” Her mom’s attempts to comfort her were useless against the onslaught of emotions she was feeling. 

“I’m so angry,” Amelia choked out. “I finally feel calm, I finally feel seen, and it’s not allowed. I’m not allowed to want something or feel something if it’s inconvenient for anyone else!”

She was trembling now. Her skin felt wrong. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. She wanted to rip it off. She wanted to scream and break things. Instead, she clenched her fists and shook and shook and shook.

“Do you want me to get your things?” her mum asked, voice calm, anchoring.

Amelia nodded hard. “Yes. My weighted blanket. And the golf ball. It’s in my bag. Lando bought it for me and I want to hold it. It’s yellow.”

“I’ll get everything,” her mum said gently.

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” Amelia shouted, the volume jarring even to herself. “I’m trying so hard. All the time. I’m always trying.”

“I know,” her mum said. “And I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Amelia slid to the floor. Her body folded in on itself, hands clawed into her sleeves, breathing uneven.

The noise in her head kept rising.

Usually, this was when she wanted her dad. Wanted him to sit next to her. Watch a race in silence. Be there without asking anything of her.

But not now.

Now, all she wanted was for him to stay far, far away.

— 

It was almost midnight.

Her room was quiet now; weighted blanket pulled up to her chest, lights off, only the soft blue glow of her phone screen lighting her face. The golf ball sat in her right hand, warm from where she’d been holding it for hours. She kept rolling it between her fingers, feeling the small ridges, the smoothness. Grounding.

She had stopped shaking, but her body was aching like one big bruised muscle. 

She stared at the message thread with Lando, her thumb hovering, retreating, hovering again.

She didn’t know what to say.

Everything in her head still felt too big. Too messy. But the quiet between them was worse. Not bad, not uncomfortable, just... unfamiliar. She wanted to talk to him. 

Finally, she started typing. 

— 

iMessage — 10:11pm

Amelia I didn’t enjoy golf very much. But I liked being with you. Thank you for inviting me.

Lando Norris I’m glad you came anyway We had fun though, right? I had fun :)

Amelia Yes, I had fun. It was confusing. But in a good way. I liked learning something new.

Lando Norris I liked today too You were kind of great We should do more new things together. Just us

Amelia Maybe. I feel strange tonight. My head is a bit loud.

Lando Norris That’s alright

Amelia Do you think if I asked you questions about your Formula Three races… you would answer them?

Lando Norris Absolutely I’d love that Haven’t talked about F3 in ages Might be nice to remember

Amelia Okay. What did it feel like the first time you won?

Lando Norris Like my hands knew before I did Like the whole world stopped for one second so I could catch up It felt… right. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be ya know 

Amelia Oh

Lando Norris: You okay?

Amelia: I forgot all the questions I had for you. Sorry.

Lando Norris That’s okay. Don’t worry. Your brain’s probably sleepy. It’s late Are you tired?

Amelia Yes. I got upset earlier for no reason and it’s made me tired I’ll go to sleep now. Thank you for texting me back. Goodnight.

Lando Norris You don’t have to thank me for that I like talking to you Feel better soon, yeah? Goodnight x

— 

The house was still, the kind of stillness that only came after a storm.

Tracy sat on the couch in the dark, legs curled beneath her, a half-cold mug of tea resting in her hands. She hadn’t moved since she’d come downstairs after leaving Amelia. The couch blanket was draped over her shoulders, but she still shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the heavy weight of witnessing her daughter’s pain. 

Zak entered quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the doorway, tie loose, shoulders slumped, guilt etched deep into the lines around his eyes. After a long moment, he crossed the room and sat down beside her.

Tracy didn’t look at him. Just murmured, “She’s asleep now. I checked a minute ago.”

Zak nodded slowly. “She didn’t ask for me.”

“She didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want help. Just needed space.” Tracy’s voice cracked, but she kept it steady. “She was barely holding on, Zak. I haven’t seen her like that in a long time.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse,” he said too quickly. “I just… I thought I was protecting her.”

“I know you did,” Tracy replied gently.

Zak stared at the floor. “I didn’t think it would hurt her like this. I thought—” He faltered. “I thought keeping her away from Lando would keep things simple. Keep her safe. From getting hurt. Or confused. Or from people talking. From getting her hopes up.”

“You didn’t trust her,” Tracy said. Not accusing, just honest.

Zak exhaled hard. “No. I didn’t trust him.”

Tracy finally turned to look at him. “But he’s been good to her. You’ve seen that, surely.” 

“I have,” Zak admitted, tersely. 

“But it wasn’t on your terms,” Tracy said. “So you didn’t like it.”

Zak didn’t argue.

“She’s not a problem to solve, Zak. She’s our daughter. And she’s doing something incredibly brave. She’s opening up. She’s connecting. That’s huge for her.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “God, I know. I just…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been someone safer?”

“Because love isn’t safe,” Tracy said. “And friendship isn’t simple. And if you’re lucky enough to find someone who makes you feel okay in your skin, even just for a little while, that’s not a risk for someone like her. That’s a lifeline.”

Zak leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked hollowed out. “I feel like I’ve completely blown it.”

“You haven’t,” Tracy said gently. “But you will if you keep pushing like this. If you keep trying to prevent something that is starting to seem pretty much inevitable.” 

Zak was quiet.

“She loves you,” Tracy added. “But she can’t keep fighting you on this. Not when she’s also fighting herself. That kind of pressure… it’ll break her.”

That landed like a stone. He blinked against the sting in his eyes and nodded, slow and tired. “Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

Tracy leaned into him and kissed the rough edge of his jaw. “You’re a good father, Zak. She knows that. She’ll forgive you.”

Zak didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the dark hallway.

“She didn’t ask for me,” he said again, softer this time. Raw. Frayed.

Tracy sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I know, honey.”

— 

The flat was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional thump of bass through the wall from the upstairs neighbours. Lando sat cross-legged on the sofa, eyes unfocused on the muted Rally Car stream playing on the TV. Max was in the kitchen, one sock on, microwaving some disastrous smelling leftover curry.

“You ever liked someone,” Lando said suddenly, not looking up, “so much that even the idea of them ruining your life doesn’t sound that bad?”

Max made a noise that landed somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Christ, mate. What brought that on?”

Lando shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About Amelia?” Max asked, already knowing. He padded over and dropped into the armchair opposite, bowl in his lap.

Lando exhaled slowly. “I really fucking like her. It doesn’t make sense. She’s, I mean— Jesus, I don’t know. Feels like I can breathe right around her, you know?”

Max didn’t answer right away. Just stirred the curry and watched the screen for a second. Then, gently: “Yeah. I get that. But... Come on, mate. You sure this isn’t a bit too much, too fast?”

Lando looked over. Frowned. “What do you mean?”

Max shifted, trying to find words. “It’s not just about liking someone. It’s about who she is. Like, she’s your boss’s daughter. That’s... not insignificant here.”

“I know that.” Lando bit back. 

“Okay. But do you really know what it means? If something goes wrong, if it ends, and ends messy, it’s not like you can just walk away. There’s no possibility of a clean break with her.” 

Lando was quiet, but his jaw tightened.

“I’m not trying to scare you off,” Max added quickly. “I just... I know how much you’ve worked for this. Since you were, what, six? Your whole life’s been about driving. Being the best. And now you’re closer than ever.”

“I’m not giving up racing,” Lando snapped, defensive before Max even finished.

“I didn’t say you were,” Max snapped right back at him. “I just don’t want you to stop being Lando Norris: F1 driver and become Lando Norris: the guy who fucked around with his boss’ daughter, you know?”

Lando stared down at his hands. He felt like a piece of shit as he said, “Zak’s basically said the same thing. So has my dad.”

Max nodded. “‘Cause we’re all thinking the same thing, mate.” 

Lando rubbed his hands over his face and pulled his hood up. “Maybe you’re right,” he mumbled. “Maybe this isn’t... good timing.”

Max didn’t say anything. He just went back to eating, quiet again.

And Lando hated that suddenly it felt like all of their reasons made sense.

— 

The air was different now. Cooler. Thinner. The sun still came through her window in the morning, but it didn’t cling to the walls the same way. The trees had started to shift, just barely, into that pre-autumn colour. And Amelia felt like she was holding her breath all the time. For something. For nothing.

She hadn’t spoken to Lando for days. Not since she'd sent him a photo of the coffee shop in town that had spelled her name wrong again, and all she got back was a laughing emoji. No reply. No question. Just that.

It felt like a door closing very slowly. 

She was sitting in the bay window of her bedroom, blanket around her shoulders, golf ball in one hand and her phone in the other. It was the fourth time she'd opened their chat and closed it again. The most recent messages sat there like ghosts. 

—

iMessage — 9:04am

Amelia Hope you’re not too tired from training. 

—

Read. Two days ago. No response.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to write that wouldn’t sound… needy. Or hurt. Or desperate. God, she hated the idea of being too much. It made her skin itch. She didn’t want to become exactly what people were always assuming that she’d be.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, her thoughts, her everything. But it hurt in a way she didn’t understand; this slow, quiet loss. It hurt in a way she didn’t have a name for. It felt a lot like emptiness.

“Don’t spiral,” she whispered to herself, rocking gently, rhythmically. “Don’t spiral. Don’t spiral.”

But it felt like she already was.

— 

Both McLaren cars DNF’d in Belgium; the first race back after the Summer break.

She’d written it down two hours before lights out — in the margin of an old notebook, under a page of technical notes she hadn’t meant to be looking at anymore. The exact reason. The probable lap. A strange little instinct that curled in her gut and told her today’s not going to go the way they want it to.

She closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer, and told herself it didn’t matter.

Nobody would ever know. Nobody would ever ask. Because she wasn’t in the garage. Wasn’t in the paddock. Wasn’t even watching from the hospitality suite like she always did, like clockwork.

She was in Woking. In her bedroom. As far from Lando’s garage, from the paddock, as she could possibly be.

And on the TV, when the Sky Sports commentator mentioned her absence like it was some small anomaly (“No sign of Amelia Brown in Norris’ McLaren garage today. Odd, considering she rarely misses a weekend”) she didn’t feel flattered or seen or missed.

She felt sick.

Like the air got thinner the second they said her name.

So she turned it off.

Just like that.

The screen went dark. The sound cut out. And for the first time in ten years, she didn’t watch the entire race.

Not because she didn’t want to. 

But because it hurt too much.

second chances — masterlist.

mob boss! lando norris x reader

summary: Lando Norris runs his empire with precision. As the head of The Reaper's Circle —the most influential mob in Monaco— he must be ruthless, untouchable, and always ten steps ahead.

But when a chance encounter at a quiet coffee shop leads to an unexpected connection, he finds himself treading dangerous ground. She’s ordinary and completely unaware of the world he operates in. Yet, he keeps going back. It starts as an indulgence, a curiosity—until suddenly, it’s not.

Because while Lando may be watching her, he’s not the only one.

status: ongoing

one: wrong place, wrong time ↘ trivia

two: hush, hush baby

three: clean up ↘ fun fact

four: a familiar stranger

five: devil's in the details

six: don't blink ↘ characters & cameos

seven: invisible string ↘ characters & cameos

eight: midnight meets ↘ trivia

nine: friendship is magic

ten: three's a crowd ↘ characters & cameos ↘ characters & cameos

eleven: somebody's watching me

twelve: the watcher ↘ fun fact

thirteen: passenger princess

fourteen: mask on, mask off

fifteen: creature of habit

sixteen: what could've been, and what will be

seventeen: dream a little dream of me

eighteen: the things we don’t say ↘ fun fact

nineteen: the talk ↘ fun fact

twenty: you've been made

twenty one: hypothetically

twenty two: balancing act

twenty three: all the stars

twenty four: dinner, but like, in a friend way ↘ fun fact ↘ fun fact

twenty five: here in spirit ↘ characters & cameos ↘ fun fact ↘ trivia

twenty six: distance

twenty seven: margot

twenty eight: that funny feeling

twenty nine: blind spot new!

thirty: time to rest [coming on April 18th]

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: Lewis loves to spoil his girlfriend

Requested? kinda

The sun streams through the expansive glass windows of the Monaco boutique, bathing the marble floors in golden light. You glance at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the hem of the sleek dress you’re trying on. The soft fabric hugs your figure perfectly, and you smile to yourself, pleased with the choice.

As you step out of the fitting room, your heart skips a beat. Lewis is standing by the counter, dressed casually in a plain white T-shirt, baggy pants, and sneakers. His sunglasses rest on top of his head as he chats easily with the sales associate. You thought he was supposed to be in a meeting, but here he is.

“Lewis!” you exclaim, startled but delighted.

He turns to you, his grin widening. “Hey, love. Thought I’d surprise you.”

“You definitely did.” You walk toward him, your confusion giving way to joy. “What about your meeting?”

“Got canceled,” he says casually, taking a step closer. “Figured I’d spend my free time with you instead.”

Before you can respond, you notice him handing his credit card to the sales associate. “Pack up everything she liked,” he says confidently, flashing his charming smile.

“Lewis!” You place a hand on his arm, trying to stop him. “I don’t need you to do that. I have my own money.”

He looks down at you, his warm brown eyes filled with affection. “I know you do,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But I want to spoil the person I love the most. Let me.”

Your cheeks flush as your heart swells. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but a small smile escapes.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. The world seems to fade for a moment, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble of happiness.

The sales associate clears her throat politely, snapping you both back to reality. Lewis smirks and slides an arm around your waist. “Anything else catch your eye, or are we good?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”

He chuckles, his grip tightening slightly as he pick up the bags and guides you toward the door. “Never enough for you, love.”

Pit Stop Staring

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - lando norris x mechanic!fem!reader

♡ summary - lando notices you during a pit stop, gets distracted and stares at you, and embarrasses himself on the radio being aired as he gushes over you, but with a little push from Zak, he makes his move on you!

♡ warnings - fluff, BLUSHY and nervous lando, love at first sight, a pinch of jealousy, Zak's a wing man, lando being cute and STUTTERINGGG hehehe

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.86k | #ilovetommy

Today was your first day working as a mechanic during an actual race, and you couldn't be more excited. You'd just finished your months of training and you felt pretty confident in yourself, so you weren't too nervous.

The McLaren team was more than welcoming when you first started, although some were a little apprehensive to have a girl working with the heavy tires, you proved them completely wrong and quickly gained their admiration, making friends with some as well.

As for the two papaya drivers, you had only briefly met Oscar about a month ago while leaving a meeting. He told you he was happy to be working with you soon, and he thought you will do amazing. You spoke shortly before he was being called off by someone, but he said goodbye and wished you best of luck.

The other driver, Lando, you had unfortunately not met yet. You heard quite a lot about him, and people said he was kind with a great sense of humor, so you crossed your fingers and wished you were able to catch him and introduce yourself. You also had seen some edits of him on your feed, not that you would tell anyone that, but you couldn't deny that he was quite a looker.

Back to today, though, you were waiting to see the bright papaya cars pull into the pit stop for their tire exchanges. After some laps, the first one to pull up was Oscar, and you and the others quickly got to work with a successful change in just about 2 seconds.

You beamed as he drove away and got a high five from your mechanic friend, Tommy, and he grinned at you, "That was great! And your first time too! You'll be putting me out of my job soon," he laughs.

You shake your head and poke his side, walking back to the garage, "Don't be silly! I did learn from the best," you say and give him a dramatic wink.

"Ha. Ha. You flatter me," he pats your head. You just push his arm away and turn your head to look at the race stats.

Oscar is in a good fourth place currently, and Lando in second, four seconds behind Max. You watch the race for about three more minutes before you hear that Lando was told to box next lap, so you and the mechanics rush out to the pit once again and prepare your gear.

A few moments pass before you can spot Lando's bright helmet in his car coming closer. He finally arrives and pulls up into his spot, while doing so, he glances around and his eyes land on you.

His mouth drops open slightly and he whispers a little, "Wow." Everyone does his tire change just as fast as Oscars, but Lando was still staring at you, who he thinks might be an angel sent down from above just for him.

Wow, he thinks to himself again, you have to be the most gorgeous person he's ever seen. He doesn't even realize that everyone has cleared the way for him to exit the stop until he sees you tilt your head and he hears his race engineer's voice, "Lando! GO! What are you doing, mate?!"

That snaps Lando back to reality, and he quickly drives away, now in last place due to how long he was there. He feels his neck and cheeks heat up in embarrassment. There's no way he would have a chance with you after that.

"I-I'm so sorry, she was s-so beautiful, and she looks like an a-angel, I-I got distracted," he stutters quietly to Will, his race engineer.

"Oh my- Lando this is being aired, you can't say stuff like that, mate!" Will sighs but he can't help but laugh a little bit. However Lando does the opposite now, he chews his lip like he's about to cry of humility, since now he knows you just heard him say that and you were the only girl there, so you know he had to be talking about you.

Back to where you were, you laughed at the radio message, curious to who he was stuttering over. Tommy's eyes bulge as he hears it, head whipping toward you.

You look at him and furrow your eyebrows, "What?"

He just blinds at you before yelling, "Lando Norris said you're beautiful! And look like an angel!"

"What? No he didn't?"

"Are you- who else would he be talking about?!" Tommy puts his hands on your shoulder and gently shakes you.

"Uhh," you laugh and glance at the other mechanics who are smirking and you and raising their eyebrows up and down. "I don't know, there are some women team members right over there," you point to the side.

Tommy just drops his head down and shakes it, "No. He was talking about you!"

"But.. I'm.. well, me? Just an average new mechanic," you look down at your uniform, "in some very unflattering working clothes."

Tommy just steps back and crosses his arms, "First off, don't ever say you're 'just you', because you're my best friend here," he whispers, so the others won't hear him, and you giggle. "Second, the clothes may be a little unflattering but you're still a very pretty girl," he smiles at you.

"Awhhhhh, Tommy! Who knew you were such a sap!" You hug the boy in thanks and he reciprocates it as you walk to the garage once again.

"So are you going to ask him out later?"

You almost choke on your breath, "What? No! Of course not! Are you crazy?"

He rolls his eyes, "Come on, he was just stuttering. Lando Norris was stuttering over you, if that isn't love at first sight then I don't know what is," he shrugs.

"Tommy!" You slap his arm, "We are done with this conversation."

"But-"

"End of discussion!" You huff, turning on your heels and walk away. Leaving your friend to rub his face in defeat.

When the race ended with Lando placed seventh due to the mishap from before, he hopped out of the car and rushed over to Zak.

Zak pulls the boy in for a hug and ruffles his hair, which was quite the opposite reaction Lando had thought he would see, since he cost the team points.

Once he lets go of Lando, the only thing he gets out of his mouth is, "Who was that?"

Zak lets out a laugh and tries to keep in a grin, "Who? Her?" he nods over to you, standing while chatting with Tommy again. Lando frowns as he watches you two.

"Are they dating?" he asks the older man.

"Hmm," he pretends to think about it, "yes," he nods. Of course he's only kidding, trying the get a rise out of the British boy.

"What?" Lando's head snaps to the man, looking utterly devastated. Zak starts laughing loudly, looking at him, and thinks this is what the human version of a kicked puppy would look like.

"I'm only joking, buddy, why don't you go and ask her?" Zak pats Lando's shoulder.

"U-uh I don't know...."

"Oh, come on! You're Lando Norris!"

The boy sighs and looks at you longingly. That was until you glanced over at him and he quickly turned back to Zak, his face now turning red again at being caught. "What about no work relationships?"

Zak sighs and shakes his head, "Listen, I'll talk to people about it and I'll make it work, okay?" He smiles and Lando lets his lips twitch into a tiny smile. "Now, go get your girl!" He turns his shoulders and pushes him forward a little bit.

Lando blinks fast and his heart races as he nervously makes his way over to you two.

You don't notice but Tommy does and bites back a teasing comment. "Lando Norris! The legendary man himself!"

You look to your right and see the boy bouncing slightly on his feet, twisting his hands and he looks back and forth between you both. "H-hi," he whispers to you, his ears turning red at your kind gaze.

"Hi! It's nice to finally meet you," you smile at him.

Tommy nods, "Yeah, and nice radio message today, man, real smooth," he chuckles.

Unbeknownst to you, Lando now wishes the floor would swallow him whole. "Uh, y-yeah, thanks?"

Tommy just laughs, "Oh! I think someone is calling me, gotta go!"

You watch him walk away, and Lando glares at him. "Did you hear someone calling him?" you ask.

"No, but, um, I-I'm sorry for today, a-and I didn't-"

You quickly shake your head and smile, "No! Don't apologize, really! I'm honored!" You put your hand on his arm, causing him to tense. You quickly remove it and apologize, "I'm so sorry! I should have asked-"

"N-No!" Lando says, and Zak drops his head into his hands as he watches the scene from afar. "You can touch me anytime! I-I mean- bloody hell- n-not like that! I mean you can if you wa-" he slaps a hand over his mouth before he can embarrass himself and more.

You just blush as you watch the boy, you find it endearing, to be honest, you've never had someone act like this with you before. "Lando! Please, don't worry, I think your rambling is cute, and... you yourself are cute too," you put your hands behind your back.

"Me? Really? You think I'm c-cute?" He lets out a nervous laugh in disbelief.

"Is that so hard to believe?" You frown.

"I... guess not.. but you're.. you! W-way out of my league..." he trails off.

"You have to be joking!"

He just looks down at his feet and smiles, his body slowly untensing as he feels a little less nervous. It's not that he's stuttering and blushing because he's scared of you, he's just never met someone so... perfect.

He slowly raises his eyes back up to look at you, "Well... then would you m-maybe want to... get dinner with me later?"

Your smile widens at the hopeful look in his eyes, you pinch your arm once, just to be sure this is really happening and not a dream. "Of course! Oh, I'd love to, would you like my number to send me the details?" you ask him.

He nods and pats his pocket for his phone, "Oh! I left my phone in my driver's room... but if you have yours, I'll give you mine?"

"Sure," you nod and hand him your phone, watching as he creates a contact for himself. "Well, I do have to go back, I promised my friends to hang out for a bit after the race but I'll see you later," you tell him.

He smiles at you, "Alright, see you!"

You turn around, walking to your friends who were giggling to themselves, watching the whole thing.

Lando is left in his spot, practically lovestruck, "What a woman," he whispers to himself dreamily.

He jumps with a yelp when he feels a hand on his shoulder, "Well done, kid! You got yourself a date!"

Lando turns to look at a way too excited Zak Brown, "Yeah... I suppose I did."

Florida; ln4

summary: lando’s frustration is getting heavier and heavier after the 2025 miami gp. and he realizes how much he needs you

➽───────────────❥

pairing: lando x afab reader (F/M)

tw: smut ; semi public sex ; ( you can probably sense some oscar and mclaren hate if you squint but i promise it’s just lando frustration, we love op81 in this house )

word count: around 5k

feedback is always highly appreciated <3

song recs: The alchemy and Florida by Taylor Swift

➽───────────────❥

ditch the clowns, get the crown. baby, i’m the one to beat.

There should have been rain for the whole race.

The forecast had screamed Class 3 to 4 conditions all morning: thunderstorms, visibility drops, full wets on standby. And for a while, it actually delivered, with buckets of water falling from the sky, the track shimmering with standing puddles forcing the F1 Academy race to get cancelled. Team staff and guests all hurrying to huddle in their hospitalities, watching helplessly as the radar lit up in angry, swirling colors.

But then…

Almost as quickly as it arrived, the storm moved on.

The clouds broke open just right before the race. The kind of break that should feel like relief, like the race gods were giving everyone a second chance; but instead, it only made things worse.

The Florida heat returned with vengeance.

And this time, it stuck around like punishment. Now, it clung to every surface, every exposed patch of skin. Heavy and damp, like the air was draped in soaked cotton. The smell of burnt rubber clung low in the atmosphere, mixing with overripe fruit, cheap suncream, and the sweat of 80,000 people packed into the grandstands.

On the contrary, yesterday had been euphoric.

Lando had crushed the sprint race. Calm. Ruthless. Precise. Fierce. With some luck, yes, but he drove like the win had always belonged to him, like he’d just reached out and taken it. And he had, without overthinking, without apologizing. You’d seen it in his face when they gave him the trophy. That pride, that stubborn glint in his eye. The soft kind of smile he wore when he was proud of himself but still pretending not to be. The kind of smile he saved for when he thought no one important was watching.

It had meant something to him.

But today?  A whole different story.

Today, everything had started unravelling from lap one. Like a giant “Fuck You, Lando Norris” sent by the racing gods or something. Or by Max Verstappen.

You saw it happen in real time, and it almost ended you, right there. Max shoving Lando wide like it was a bloody go-kart race at a local track, not an F1 Grand Prix. Your stomach dropped as Lando lost positions, the papaya streak falling back to sixth. You’d barely unclenched your jaw since. Watching him claw his way back up was like watching a lion fight uphillgraceful, strategic, but charged with this quiet, snarling fury.

P2. He got to P2.

And to anyone else, it must’ve look great. But you knew better.

He wanted—deserved—more.

The moment he parked up and climbed out of the car, you could see it all in the way he moved. Not the usual spring in his step. Not the half-silly, smug little strut he had when he was buzzing. This was… restrained. Composed, but tight, like his body was a bottle someone had shaken repeatedly and left sealed.

Oh, he was pissed.

His face was stony, tight-jawed, the way it always went when trying to hold it all in. The helmet came off with a tug, his curls soaked, his brow shiny with sweat, and you could definitely see his fingers flexing and unflexing at his sides, the adrenaline still running hot in his veins.

And then, he looked for you.

Your hand gripped the barrier, unsure if he’d just head straight to debrief or if the press pen would swallow him whole first. But he spotted you, eyes scanning the crowd until they softened the second they landed on yours. He crossed the distance with long strides, the cheers of the crowd a muffled blur in your ears as he reached over the barrier. No words. Just his hand cupping your jaw gently, pulling you into a kiss that was soft, surprisingly soft, considering the war raging behind his eyes.

“Hi,” you whispered as you pulled away, thumbs brushing his cheek. “Good job out there”

“Yeah…” he echoed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. It was so forced it didn’t reach his eyes.

His dad was waiting just beside you, and Lando pulled him into a hug, clapping his shoulder like he was reminding himself to feel normal emotions, to be proud. You stayed quiet, letting the two of them have their moment.

You could practically see the inner monologue running behind his eyes: smile for the cameras, answer the questions, clap for the fans, pretend he’s not absolutely fucking seething.

Under the podium, you tried your best. You cheered, you clapped, you whooped his name loud enough to earn a few laughs from the mechanics around.  But his shoulders were still stiff. He kept glancing over at Oscar like the 1-2 finish was a loss, not a team win. And that pit in your stomach only grew.

By the time you got to his driver’s room, after media duties, the air between you had changed. Everyone else was off celebrating the double podium, but you slipped in behind him, closing the door softly. He peeled his race suit off halfway, sweat clinging to his fireproof undershirt, and tossed his gloves on the table a little too hard. Then came the silence. Long, thick, crackling.

You stayed quiet, back against the door, watching him pace. You’d seen this version of him before. Not often, but when things went sideways just enough to sting, this side of Lando emerged. The one who laughed on camera then collapsed behind closed doors. The one who shouldered the weight of being a contender but carried the guilt of not being enough, in his own head, at least.

“I’m so—fucking tired of this,” he muttered, low, almost to himself.

You said nothing.

“I get pushed off, I fight like hell to get back, and what do I get? ‘Oh, Oscar’s so consistent, Oscar’s leading the championship,’” he snapped, spinning toward you with fire in his eyes. “I won yesterday, out-qualified him and today everyone’s still up his ass like he’s already won the championship as if I didn’t lose the victory because I got forced off .”

You nodded gently, still silent.

“I’m not weak,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone. “I’m not the fucking number two driver.”

“You’re not,” you said quietly.

He paced again. “And I knew Max would pull that shit. I knew it. But no one says anything. They’re just like ‘oh, hard racing! Max’s so aggressive!’ It’s bullshit, it’s complete—”

“Bullshit,” you echoed, folding your arms when he glanced at you. “Total bullshit.”

You walked up to him slowly, like approaching a wild animal you didn’t want to spook. His hands were on his hips now, the rage simmering, eyes red-rimmed from heat and exhaustion and the effort of not losing it.

“And the media,” Lando snapped, turning suddenly and making you take a half-step back so he didn’t run into you. “Oh my God, the questions. The same stupid shit over and over. ‘Why did it take you so long to overtake Max?’” His voice went high-pitched and mocking as he mimicked the reporter, eyes wide and incredulous. “‘Don’t you think you lacked the aggression and the precision Oscar had?’ Like—what? Are they blind? It took me the exact same amount of time and laps! But no one gives a shit when it’s me. It’s always, what’s wrong with Lando!”

You stayed quiet, leaning against the edge of the table where his helmet sat, still smelling faintly of sweat and champagne. He was spiralling, that much was clear. But he needed to. If you interrupted now, if you tried to comfort him too soon, he’d bottle it up again. You could see it in the way his fists clenched, the tendons in his forearms tight like cords about to snap.

“... then I get snappy—rightfully, by the way—and suddenly I’m the asshole,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. “Watch. I guarantee by tonight, the clip of me telling that guy to go read the lap data before opening his mouth is gonna be trending. ‘Lando Norris is rude to the media!’” he said in a mocking announcer voice. “‘So arrogant and unprofessional!’ Yeah, well, maybe if they asked something useful, I wouldn’t have to babysit them through basic logic.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last word. He turned away from you, facing the lockers, shoulders heaving. You gave him a second. Then another. Then pushed off the table and walked over slowly, deliberately. You touched his back gently, just a light hand between his shoulder blades.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just stood there, breathing heavily.

“I’m trying,” he said after a long moment, voice lower now, tired. “I’m trying so hard. We’re improving the car, I’m changing my driving, adapting every race. And it’s never enough. Oscar finishes ahead, and suddenly he’s the best man ever, and I’m just – some guy hanging on. Like I’m lucky to even be here.”

“You’re not just some guy,” you said quietly, your fingers curling into the damp fabric of his fireproofs.

“I feel like it,” he whispered. “Like no one’s actually with me. Not the media, not half the fans, and lately… I don’t know. Even in the team, sometimes it’s like I have to fight twice as hard to be heard.”

He turned around to face you then, eyes glassy with exhaustion, frustration, and something almost too vulnerable to name. “I don’t want to be second. I don’t race for fucking second.”

“I know, baby” you murmured. “I know”

You reached up to cup his face, thumbs brushing gently at the sweat gathering at his temples. He leaned into the touch like it hurt to stand on his own and your heart cracked a little at the sight.

Lando’s breath stuttered as your fingers brushed down his cheek, his jaw twitching beneath your palm like he was trying to keep it from locking tight again. But the pressure, the sheer weight of what he was holding in, was too much. And it cracked out of him, fast and sharp.

“And the FIA—oh, don’t even get me started,” he spat then, stepping back abruptly. His voice was suddenly louder, echoing slightly off the walls of the cramped driver’s room. “Max pushes me all the way to the goddamn wall, and what? Nothing. Not even an investigation. I had to back out, or I’d be face-first in the barrier at two hundred kph, but that’s just ‘race battling.’ Apparently, risking my life is fine as long as it’s Max doing it.”

You winced, not at his words, but at the way he rubbed the back of his neck roughly, like he wanted to scrape the frustration out of his skin. His fireproofs were still clinging to his frame, unzipped halfway, the tie of the sleeves bouncing loosely at his hips as he paced the room like a man caged in his own thoughts.

“Lando,” you said gently, “I know you’re angry—”

“I’m not angry,” he snapped, rounding on you with a fire in his eyes that startled you. “I’m furious. Because it’s crash or not pass! Literally and if I did that move, if I was the one that pulled the same shit Max did—they’d have me in front of the stewards before I even unbuckled my seatbelt.”

You opened your mouth to try again, softer this time. “But you didn’t crash. You backed out. You chose safety, and that’s not weakness, that’s—”

“Oh, come on,” he bit out, voice rising again. “You think they care that I played it safe? That I didn’t risk a crash? No one gives a damn. All they see is that I didn’t send it and fell to P6.  So they can add it to their ‘Lando’s not aggressive enough’ narrative. That’s the story now. That’s the headline.”

Your stomach turned at the venom in his voice, not because it was directed at you, but because you knew where it was really aimed. At himself. At the world. At everything he couldn’t control. You stayed where you were, though, rooted in place, refusing to flinch.

Then his eyes locked onto yours, and it hit him all at once: how loud he was being, how sharp, how undeserving you were of being the target.

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face before dragging them down to his chest like he was trying to center himself. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“I know,” you said, voice quiet.

He looked up again, guilt shadowing the edges of his expression now. “I’m sorry,” he added, softer this time, taking a cautious step toward you. “I shouldn’t be pissed at you.”

The silence that settled between you both was heavy, thick like molasses, filled with words neither of you knew how to shape yet. The only sound was the low hum of the AC unit overhead, the occasional pop of distant champagne bottles echoing faintly from the podium celebrations still happening outside. The contrast felt obscene. There was glitter and celebration barely a wall away, and yet here he was, twisted up in knots so tight it looked like it hurt to breathe.

Lando stood there, motionless for a second, eyes on the floor like the scuffed tile might offer some kind of answer.

Then, softer, voice low and tired, he said, “I’m being a dick.”

You blinked, watching the way his jaw clenched when he said it, like the admission physically pained him.

“I’m being a complete dick and you have nothing to do with it. You’re just… here. Trying to help. And I’m taking it out on you.”

His voice cracked slightly, the sharp edge of vulnerability creeping through. His arms dropped to his sides, limp, like he’d finally let go of the last of his defenses.

“It’s okay, Lan… I know you’re not angry at me”

Your heart ached. You didn’t move at first, afraid that if you did, he might retreat again. But he didn’t. He stepped closer, just one slow, tentative step, followed by another until the space between you evaporated.

And then he folded himself into you.

His arms wrapped tight around your waist as his forehead pressed to your shoulder, and you felt him exhale like he hadn’t properly breathed in hours. You circled your arms around him just as tightly, fingers tracing soft lines against the back of his fireproofs. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

But then he shifted. Pulled back just enough to look at you. And before you could read the look in his eyes, he was kissing you.

It started slow. Tentative. Like he was testing whether he deserved it—this comfort, this soft place to land— or not. His lips were warm and familiar, brushing against yours with a kind of quiet reverence that made your chest tighten.

Without you even realizing it, something slightly changed, the kiss deepened, quickly, like a match catching fire.

His hands moved up: one to the side of your neck, the other pressing into your back, pulling you closer, needing you closer. His breath came faster, more erratic, as if kissing you was the only thing keeping the world from spiralling. His fingers tangled in your shirt, grip tightening, and your back hit the wall before you realised he’d even walked you there.

He kissed you urgently, hungrily, like he was trying to drown out the noise in his head with the press of your mouth. He mumbled against your lips, the words slurred and desperate.

“Just— Please. Help me switch it off.”

Your heart clenched, and not from surprise. You knew this part of him. The version of Lando that needed to do something when the world spun too fast. The boy who’d always been louder with his actions than with words. You could feel the edge in his kiss, the kind of need that wasn’t just about desire, but survival.

So you let him.

You let him kiss you like you were his personal oxygen. Let him press you harder into the wall, bodies flush, fingers fisting the hem of your shirt like he was terrified you might slip away. You ran your hands up into his damp curls, tugging just a little, grounding him to you. His lips left yours only to trail desperate, scattered kisses down your jaw, along your neck, then back up like he couldn’t bear the distance.

There was a soft noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, when your hands slid down to his hips and pulled him impossibly closer. And through all the tension, through the fire inside him and all that frustration, something undeniably tender in the way he clung to you, like he was afraid the second he stopped, the floodgates would open again.

You whispered his name once, just to remind him you were still there, and he stilled, just briefly, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed.

You could feel his heart pounding through his chest and directly to your veins.

“I’ve got you, I’m here” you whispered, your breath brushing his lips.

And he nodded, just once, before kissing you again like the world outside didn’t exist.

His lips never left yours as his hands began tugging at your clothes impatiently, almost clumsy. He moved with no finesse, no teasing glint in his eye this time, no slow burn. Just raw need. Urgency. Like if he didn’t touch your skin right now, he’d go insane.

You tried to catch his wrist, just for a second. “Lando, wait—people are still right outside…”

“Then we’ll be quiet,” he breathed against your mouth, his voice rough and low, a rasp of heat that slid straight down your spine. “… and quick. Just—please, I need you right now. Can we?”

You nodded, and your back inevitably hit the wall again as he yanked your shirt off and shoved your jeans down your legs with a desperate, shaking kind of hunger. His mouth caught yours in yet another bruising kiss, not even bothering to undress you completely before his hands were between your thighs, pulling your underwear aside, just enough.

You fumbled at his waist, breath short and sharp, helping push the fabric down just enough for him to free himself. His cock was already hard, thick and desperate; and you barely registered the drag of his fingers against your hip before he hooked one arm under your thigh and lifted it, lining himself up in the same motion.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t ease in.

He pushed inside you in one long, unrelenting thrust that knocked the air from your lungs and the thoughts from your head. You gasped, back arching off the wall, one hand scrambling against the cold tile behind you while the other clutched at his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your neck, voice shaking. “Sorry, was it too much?”

You shook your head, barely able to form words. “No,” you rasped, voice breathless and shaky, “... don’t stop.”

His body stilled for a second, as if to give you a chance to catch your breath. But you responded with your hips, tilting up and grinding against him with need that was far beyond coherent language.

That was all he needed.

You were already pulsing around him, the stretch overwhelming as he began to move. Deep, fast, his hips snapping forward with a raw, almost frantic pace. There was no rhythm at first, not really. Just need.

No buildup, no play. Just his body crashing into yours like he needed to fuck the madness out of his brain and you were the only way he could do it.

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and broken between words. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “… for snapping at you, you’re always so good to me”

Your hands cupped his jaw as best you could, nodding, lips parting around a whimper as he hit that spot inside you again and again, each thrust just a little harder, deeper, like he was driving out every demon that had been riding his back since the checkered flag dropped.

You couldn’t speak, not properly. Just gasps and soft moans, the occasional whispered “Lando…” falling from your lips like prayer.

“I’m here,” he whispered, repeating your exact same words hoarsely while kissing your temple, your cheek, your mouth. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve always got you.”

And he did. Even in the chaos. Even when the world outside that door made him feel like he wants’t himself or worthy of love. He had you. Or even better, you had each other.

His hand moved to your ass, gripping hard to hold you up as he thrusted in faster, rougher, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the small room. You couldn’t help but tilting your head back against the wall as your breath came in shorter and shorter gasps, teeth catching your lower lip to keep quiet at every move.

And he noticed. He always noticed.

“Good girl,” he growled, hips still crashing into you relentlessly. “So good. Always so fucking good for me.”

Oh, Lando.

He knew exactly how to get you melted in his arms.

You clenched around him at those words, because that was the effect his praises had on you, earning a deep groan from his chest next. His teeth grazed the line of your jaw. “Fuck baby—this is exactly what I needed. You… you’re everything.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure twisted hot and sharp in your belly.

All you could see, touch, feel was him. Inside you but everywhere. Inside your veins, your brain, your heart.

There was no space for anything else at that moment.

His grip on your thigh faltered, just slightly, a tremor of strain in the way his fingers clenched, muscles tensing beneath the weight of keeping you upright while buried so deep inside you.

You felt it, even before he muttered, breathless against your cheek, “Hang on— c’mhere.”

And then he moved, one arm curling behind your back, the other hooking fully under your leg, and in one fluid, breath-stealing motion, he lifted you and turned, setting you down on the narrow table behind him. The cool press of the metal bit into your skin, but you barely noticed; your whole world narrowed to the heat of him, still pulsing inside you, the way he didn’t even pull out when he shifted you, just slid deeper with the change in angle.

Insane.

A choked gasp left your lips as your back arched, legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, arms winding around his shoulders to pull him closer.

So close. Too close. There was no boundaries between where he ended and where you you began.

“Fuck Lan…” you hissed, forehead pressing to his again as he adjusted his stance, sliding one hand to your waist to hold you steady, the other braced on the table behind you.

Then he started moving again. Like a man who couldn’t control himself.

The new angle dragged him even deeper, his thrusts slower now but no less intense. Each one purposeful, hard, and you could feel everything: every thick, perfect inch of him—and he fucking made sure you did.

You clung to him like an anchor, as if letting go would send you both crashing into the chaos that was waiting for you just beyond that thin wall.

And that wall was thin.

So thin that, even now, muted laughter and the occasional whoop of celebration echoed from the other side, reminders that the world hadn’t stopped spinning even though it felt like yours had. A bottle popped somewhere nearby. Applause rippled.

And here you were, gasping quietly as Lando fucked you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

Then he shifted, just a little, and his next thrust hit that spot inside you. The one that made your eyes roll back, the one that usually tore screams from your throat without warning.

You jolted, a sharp cry slipping from your lips before you could catch it.

Because a pleasure like that, it was so difficult to keep inside quietly.

But Lando’s hand was on your mouth in an instant, not harsh, just urgent. Gentle pressure. “Shhh, baby, I know. I know. But you have to be quiet for me, okay?” His voice cracked with the effort of holding back, of not losing control even when he was this deep inside you.

You nodded against his palm, pupils blown wide, hips shifting as your body begged for more. He kissed your temple, your cheek, whispering low into your ear, “You’re doing so good. I’ve got you.”

His hand slipped down, only to be replaced with two fingers that he gently pressed against your lips. You knew what he wanted. And you let him.

You opened your mouth and took them in. Your tongue curling around the pads instinctively, and the sound you made around them was now muffled.

“There we go, such a good girl” he praised you again, thrusts never faltering. “So fucking good.”

His eyes locked with yours, intense and unblinking, like he was memorizing the way you looked with your lips around his fingers, your body trembling around him, your soul practically laid bare.

It was honestly absurd the way a raw and intense situation like this, made you feel loved beyond belief.

You felt it in the way his free hand cradled the back of your head, protecting you from the wall behind you when he leaned in, chest pressed to yours. You felt it in the way he whispered your name between thrusts like it grounded him, like it was the only word he could remember.

You moaned softly around his fingers as he kept driving into you, the table rattling quietly beneath your ass with every push. Your whole body burned, nerves lit up like wire, pleasure surging higher with every deep grind of his hips.

He was still holding back, still doing everything he could to keep you quiet, even as he fucked you like a man on the edge.

“I’m right there,” he breathed, forehead to yours. “So close. Can you come for me, baby? Together, yeah ?”

You nodded again, frantic, hips rolling up to meet his as he angled just right—there, that spot again, and you clenched like crazy around him with a strangled sob.

And you were gone.

Your whole body shook as you came. You pulsed around him, fluttering tight, and that’s what finally broke him.

With a soft curse, Lando buried himself deep, holding you there, locked in place as he came hard, his whole body trembling with it. He pressed his lips to your cheek, to your jaw, to the corner of your mouth as he breathed through the waves of it.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as he came, even as his body trembled from the intensity of it, Lando didn’t fucking stop. His hips stuttered once, twice, then picked up again, slower but deeper, like the need was still burning through him, like one release hadn’t been enough to purge whatever storm raged inside.

“Shit, Lan…” Your breath hitched as he moved again, pushing deeper than before and enough to make your spine arch and your fingers clutch at his shoulders. One of his hands sliding down to hook under your thigh. He lifted it: high and open, curling it around his waist as he shifted forward, and the new angle punched a moan out of you so sharp you had to bit down his fingers.

Your whole body was already trembling from the first orgasm, nerves raw and sparking, and now he was chasing another.

Again, insane.

But at the end of the day, you knew he had stamina. And energy. And adrenaline to burn down.

“You feel too good, baby…” he murmured against your neck, his lips dragging heat along your skin. “I can’t stop...”

But then he did something extremely dangerous: he pulled his fingers from your mouth.

And as predicted, your gasp came out instantly, too loud, too full of need, and your hand slapped over your own mouth to muffle it again.

But Lando was grinning. Wicked, breathless, sweat dripping from his temple.

“Oh no,” he teased, voice rough, cock still thrusting slow and deep, “you’re gonna get us caught, baby. Gotta be quiet, or I’m gonna shove those fingers right back.”

You shot him a glare, but it crumbled into something softer, something delirious with lust. And love.

You surged forward, lips crashing against his in a kiss that was messy and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangled. A moan escaped into his mouth, and he swallowed it like oxygen.

His pace picked up again.

No more slow thrusts. He was driving into you now with wild intent, a man chasing dopamine, chasing something only you could give him. Each stroke rocked the table beneath you more and more, his hands gripping your hips tight, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get close enough.

But then—footsteps.

And a voice.

“Mate, you in there? Debrief in five!”

Everything froze.

Your entire body froze in panic, tensed around him, eyes wide, hand flying back over your mouth. Lando’s eyes snapped toward the door, but he never pulled out. His breath hitched, then he leaned into your neck, lips brushing your ear.

“Yeah,” he called, casually. Too casually. “Just a minute, man. I’ll be out in a few.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Every cell in your body screamed at you to stop, to push him away, to get dressed and get out before someone walked in on you. But then he moved again.

Thrust.

Unhurried.

Deep.

Intentional.

“Lando,” you hissed, laughing softly but still half-panicked. “We almost got caught.”

“Yeah, almost,” he whispered, voice low and hot against your neck.

You let out a strangled sob into your hand as he rolled his hips once more, lips curling against your skin. “I’m not leaving you hanging love, don’t worry,” he whispered, so low it vibrated straight through you. “We’re not done.”

“You’re insane”

“Yeah?” He kissed your neck, soft and reverent, then drove into you again, this time faster. “And you are so close again. I can feel it.”

You whimpered, fingers digging into his back like it was the only way to stay grounded.

“Let me feel it one more time, yeah? Give it to me.”

You were trying so hard not to cry in pleasure. Overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, still aching for it.

He reached between you, hand finding that sweet bundle of nerves just above where you were joined. Two fingers circled there, slow and practised, just enough pressure to make you see vivid galaxies before your eyes.

“There you go. That’s it. ”

Your entire body clenched, and the second orgasm hit with a force that nearly blacked you out.

Lando caught your mouth with his as you came, swallowing every whimper, holding you so tight your bodies might’ve fused into one another right there.

He followed just seconds later, his rhythm faltering, one final thrust that sent him over again, shaking, spilling every drop inside you and clinging to you so tightly you could feel him everywhere.

You didn’t move at first.

Neither did he.

There was something sacred in that silence: your bodies still locked together, your breathing synced as if even your lungs refused to let go. Lando’s forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes closed, lashes damp at the corners. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry,” he murmured softly, voice thick. “You’re very much the only thing that keeps me sane in here”

Your fingers smoothed through the curls at the back of his head. “Don’t apologize,” you whispered, your voice barely noticeable. “You don’t have to.”

His eyes opened, just a crack, and the look he gave you made your chest ache. There was so much in it. Gratitude. Guilt. Love. And maybe some exhaustion.

“We always got each other, right? ” you said gently. “That’s what matters.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stayed there, holding you like he didn’t quite trust the world not to take you away if he let go.

Eventually, he shifted, kissing your cheek once more, then your jaw, and the soft spot just below your ear, before he finally, reluctantly, eased out of you.

You both flinched a little at the loss of warmth, of closeness. He pulled his fireproofs up with shaking hands, then turned to you immediately, helping guide your legs back down to the floor, steadying you with both hands on your waist. You wobbled, knees uncooperative, and he let out a breath of laughter so soft it was almost fond.

“Easy,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours again. “I may have been a little rough.”

“A little?” You smiled, lips brushing his as you replied, “…I’m not complaining” making him giggle a little.

He helped you with your clothes next while you tried to clean up as best you could. And when his thumbs swiped gently under your eyes to clean the smudged mascara, his touch feather-light, you were sure you felt your heart jump inside your chest.

You caught his wrist before he could pull away.

“Lando.”

He looked up, eyes locking with yours. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d said it, of course. But right now, in this moment, after everything, when you were both messy and vulnerable and exposed, it landed differently.

He needed to hear it. Needed to know that someone was there for him, through heaven and high water.

As his eyes softened, he smiled, taking your hand in his. “I know baby, I love you too,” he said.

Then, you leaned forward and kissed him again. It was slower now, sweeter. When you finally pulled away, you tapped the tip of his nose with your finger. “Okay, now go,” you said. “They’re waiting for you. Go do the debrief. Analyse, dissect, argue, whatever it is you guys do in there.”

He groaned, head tipping back. “I don’t want to.”

“I know,” you said with a small smile, straightening the collar of his suit. “But you know you’ll feel better after. Wrap it up, then we’ll go home, crawl into bed, and hit reset.”

He kissed you once more, just a quick but tender peck in your lips before he finally stepped back. He looked down at himself, smoothed his hair out with his fingers, and gave a deep sigh. “Alright. But I want massive burgers later!”

You nodded and gave him a gentle push toward the door, slapping his ass. “Yeah I know, with fries and dips. ”

the cat you didn't want | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi raikkonen x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : kimi says he doesn't want a cat... clearly kimi is lying.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 486

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

you didn’t exactly plan on bringing a kitten home. it just… happened. the little tabby was curled up outside the corner store in the rain, meowing like her life depended on it, and you—being you—couldn’t walk away.

kimi, however, was less than thrilled.

“i don’t like cats,” he had muttered flatly the moment you set the towel-wrapped bundle on the kitchen counter. “they scratch everything. they poop in a box. and they don’t even listen.”

you’d rolled your eyes and named her turbo out of spite.

for days, kimi kept his distance. he'd grumble whenever she got too close, mutter “great” under his breath when she knocked over something, and shoot you a pointed look every time he stepped on one of her toys.

but you weren’t blind.

you’d seen the way he paused in the hallway whenever she was napping on the windowsill. you’d heard him talking to her when he thought you were out of earshot—low, gruff sentences like, “you better not scratch my car seats,” and “why do you look like you pay rent?”

still, he insisted he didn’t like her.

which made it all the more hilarious when you came home early one afternoon and caught him red-handed.

the house was quiet. no tv. no music. just faint mumbling from the living room.

you rounded the corner and paused—blinking.

there was kimi. shirt slightly rumpled, socks mismatched, sprawled across the couch with turbo fast asleep on his chest.

worse? he was petting her. gently. absentmindedly. his fingers scratching just behind her ears while he whispered, “you’re lucky you’re small.”

you nearly burst out laughing.

“wow,” you said, biting back a grin. “you look so heartbroken about the cat situation.”

kimi’s head snapped up like you’d caught him committing a crime.

“i—she jumped up here.”

“right. and climbed your shirt and curled into your chest all on her own?”

he narrowed his eyes, but the kitten yawned—completely blowing his cover.

you walked over, plopped beside him, and poked his side. “you’re in love with her.”

“i am not,” he muttered, trying to adjust himself without disturbing her. “she’s warm. that’s all.”

“sure, kimi. just admit it. you like the cat.”

he looked at you. looked at the kitten. sighed like the weight of the world had hit him.

“maybe she’s… alright.”

you grinned. “aww. that’s finnish for ‘i love her more than life itself,’ isn’t it?”

he glared, but it was useless—especially when turbo nuzzled his jaw and started purring like an engine.

you leaned over and kissed his cheek. “you’re both lucky i brought her home.”

kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. instead, he pulled you in with his free arm, now holding you and the cat in one sleepy pile.

he mumbled something in finnish under his breath, and you couldn’t help but smile.

grumpy. soft. completely whipped.

you, him, and the kitten he definitely didn’t want.

perfect little family.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

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.”

could you write something cute about the reader and Lando please, maybe something funny where the reader says "oh yeah I'll do this but for that you'll buy me a Porsche" and Lando actually buys her a car

lando norris x gf!reader

—————————————————————

“I’ll do it if you buy me a Porsche,” you said exasperated after having the same argument with Lando. His eyes widened at your statement before a mischievous smile snuck up on his face.

“Done,” he boasted and you rolled your eyes before muttering a ‘whatever’ and going back to reading your book.

For months, Lando had been begging you to come skiing with him, Max, and Pietra. You did not want to go at all; nothing against anyone going, but you just weren’t interested in learning how to ski. Your family was a beach family; not adrenaline junkies like Lando was.

A few days later you had forgotten about the argument all together until you came into the kitchen to find Lando smiling like the cheshire cat.

“You look like a creep, what’s wrong with you?” You asked and he shrugged off your insult, holding a bag out to you.

“For you baby,” he said and you could tell he was doing everything in his power to contain his excitement. You took the bag warily, opening it to find a pair of gloves along with ski goggles.

“No,” you said simply, handing him the bag back but his grin didn’t waver.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said, wagging his finger at you. “Look in the garage.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him before making your way to the garage, Lando following closely behind with barely contained excitement. When you opened the door, your jaw dropped. There, in the middle of the garage, was a sleek white Porsche with a giant red bow on top.

"You didn't," you whispered, turning to Lando with wide eyes.

"I did," he grinned, dangling a set of keys in front of you. "A deal's a deal, right?"

You snatched the keys from his hand, still in disbelief. "I was joking, Lando! You actually bought me a Porsche?"

"Well, technically it's a Porsche Taycan. Fully electric, better for the environment," he explained, watching as you circled the car in awe. "I figured if I was going to buy you a car, you’d want it to be something like that.”

“God you are unbelievable,” you muttered as you came back over to him. “Good thing you’re pretty.”

Lando smirked and wrapped his arms around your waist. “So… does this mean you’re coming skiing?”

You gave him a look. “No. It means I’m driving the Porsche to the mountain lodge and then sitting by the fire with a book and a hot chocolate while you launch yourself off cliffs.”

He pouted. “You have to ski at least once. You said—”

“I said I’d go skiing,” you interrupted, holding up a finger. “Not do skiing. Words matter, Norris.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue, then paused. “You know what? Fine. I got you the car. You show up, wear the goggles for five minutes, and I’ll count it as a win.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “See? Look at us. Compromising. Growing.”

He sighed dramatically. “I should’ve just bought you snow boots and lied about the Porsche.”

You laughed, slipping into the driver’s seat to admire the interior. “Too late now. This baby’s mine.”

Down Under || LN4 Masterlist

Summary

landonorris x piastri!reader

19 years old and fresh into your first year of uni, you meet your brother‘s teammate at your home grand prix in Melbourne. You connect instantly through your mutual banter. A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone, right? Especially not with the good looking, famous, older guy you definitely shouldn’t be getting too close to…

Chapters

01. Snapshots & Surprises

02. Rain, Champagne and a papaya Jacket

03. A leap into the Unknown

04. A night in Shanghai

05. A little bit of Trouble

06. Racing Hearts

07. The Look that lingers

08. No Intentions

09. Between Races and Goodbyes

10.