imagine-it-was-us

[imagine-it-was-us]

Need an honest opinion

My creative mood is as rare as Mercury getting into a retrograde. And as we entered one of those now, I have a question I want to ask. As I'm nearing the end of the outline of the story, I see that I can go two ways – either split it into the two parts and give the characters somewhat of the closure or leave it open ended where the reader can wonder about how the story would unfold. I'm leaning more towards the latter, so...

[imagine-it-was-us]

when am I gonna lose you? || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Local Natives "When am I gonna lose you?"

Author's note: Had a real block – purely because I wanted to write something about love. Not the meet-cute. Not the breakup. Just that heart-wrecking, honest kind of love where you’re so happy, you almost can’t believe it’s real. And trust me, it was a struggle to find a song in my playlist that captured just that. But I found it – so here’s a little glimpse into my mind (and my playlist).

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: some angst and one swear word.

Summary: A quiet evening on the coast turns into something deeper when two anxious hearts confront their shared fear. It's not a story about falling in love – it's about choosing it, keeping it, and learning to trust that it’s real.

Word count: 1.4k+

She felt it mid-movie – his hand suddenly tensing around her thigh, even though the scene on the screen wasn’t meant to stir anything dramatic. She turned to him, catching him stealing a glance her way before he quickly snapped his gaze back to the TV, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What?” she prodded, half-laughing. It wasn’t often she caught him staring. Whenever she did, it always set off a cascade of anxious thoughts. Maybe there was an eyelash on her cheek. Maybe her mascara had smudged, and she looked like a raccoon. Maybe–

He gave a tiny shake of his head, eyes still trained on the screen. “Nevermind.”

“Nah, you’re not doing this to me,” she said, laughing as she reached for the remote and paused the film. These kinds of quiet, uninterrupted moments were rare. Even rarer was Lando choosing silence over commentary. He always had something to say – a thought, a theory, a stupid pun. So when he didn’t speak, it meant something. It meant everything.

With the screen frozen in mid-frame, he leaned back against the sofa and turned his head slightly toward her. And there it was again — the exact moment that had caught him off guard before. The sun was melting into the sea, casting golden slits of light through the blinds, painting lines across her face, her collarbone, her shoulder like some divine stencil.

He let out a quiet breath. “Don’t you ever get that feeling… when everything’s perfect, and you just know something’s going to come along and fuck it up?”

The words hit her like lightning out of a clear sky – sudden, sharp, strangely poetic. But she didn’t flinch. She just nodded slowly, like some part of her had always been waiting for this exact question.

“I do, sometimes,” she said softly. “But… why now?”

“I don’t know. I just love this moment.”

His hand found hers, fingers gently fidgeting with hers — not restless, not anxious, just… soothing. Like the motion might slow his thoughts down enough to catch them.

He was used to his mind running laps. Constantly. Overthinking things that didn’t need thinking about. Race results. Snide comments online. Whether thirteen spring rolls were the magic number to feel full or just too much. The cute golden retriever he saw at the paddock last weekend, the one he’d probably never see again. He’d gotten used to that kind of mental noise – the static that never turned off.

So when there was stillness, when there was peace – real, earned, golden-hour kind of peace – his brain didn’t quite know what to do. It reached for the nearest thing to worry about. And it always landed on her.

What if he lost this?  What if he lost her?

She was more like him than he ever expected. A year in, long-distance and late-night calls, airport reunions and sleepy goodbyes, and somehow they’d figured each other out pretty well. They both had restless minds – sharp, hungry, buzzing. They could spiral in sync. They could reassure each other just by existing. It made their bond easier in a way. But it also meant that peace felt like walking a tightrope, always half-waiting for the fall.

“But…?” she said, already sensing it. There was always a “but” with him.

He glanced sideways at her, cheeks slightly pink now in the fading light.

“But I was sitting there, just looking at you… thinking about how pretty you are. How lucky I am that you chose me – even with everything that comes with me. All the noise. And then I thought–”

His voice faltered for a second.

“–when am I gonna lose you?”

Her heart shuddered at the words he said. She hadn’t expected that kind of vulnerability from him tonight – not here, not now, with the ocean humming outside and the world finally leaving them alone. And yet, she knew exactly where it came from.

Because she had felt it too.

Their relationship, from the outside looking in, probably never should have worked. On paper, it was ridiculous. She was – for all intents and purposes – a nobody. Just a student who’d gotten separated from her university tour group while wandering through the endless corridors of MTC. He’d been on a break, taking a breather from a wall of sponsor commitments. She’d made some half-sarcastic remark about the building layout – something like “Hard to believe you’ve got all these engineers and no one thought of a better floor plan.”

He laughed. Not just a polite chuckle. A real, head-tilted-back, god-I-needed-that laugh.

He helped her find her coursemates. They walked maybe ten minutes, tops. But in those ten minutes, something clicked – fast, easy, effortless. By the time they reached the others, he was practically pleading for her number. Just in case, he said.

Now here they were, a year and a half later. Sitting in a cabin tucked between the trees and the sea, miles from anyone, basking in quiet. Days of decompressing behind them. Long talks about futures they both secretly hoped would intertwine. It was surreal.

She looked over at him. His hand was still playing with hers absentmindedly, his eyes on their fingers instead of her face – like he wasn’t sure he could handle eye contact after saying something that raw.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” she said gently.

He glanced up, cautious hope flickering across his features.

She exhaled. “But I get it. I do. Sometimes when you call me after a race and you’re so tired you don’t even sound like you – I get this ache. Like, what if this life of yours pulls you so far away I can’t reach you anymore?”

He opened his mouth to protest – to say no, never, that’s not how it’ll be – but stopped himself almost immediately. Because how could he argue against what he’d just admitted feeling himself? It would’ve been hypocritical. Even worse – unfair. Her fear was valid. 

Their worlds had collided in the most unlikely way, and he was still keeping her tucked away from the spotlight – not because he was ashamed, but because he wanted something that was just theirs, untouched by the noise.

“But we keep showing up for each other, yeah?” she went on, voice steadier now. “In the little ways – the answered calls, the random surprises I hide in your luggage. The voice notes when the time zones don’t match up. The flowers that you order every time an older bouquet starts to waste away. Every person we let into our shared world.”

He looked at her then, how her face softened when she talked about them, how she said “shared world” like it was sacred.

“There’s this thing about people like us,” she continued. “We expect good things to vanish. We prepare ourselves for it. But maybe… maybe this is one of the rare things that’s actually built to stay.”

For a moment, all he could do was sit with it – the weight and the lightness of her words, the quiet miracle of being known so well. Then, he squeezed her hand, gently but with purpose.

“You know what I think?” he murmured.

She tilted her head toward him, a question in her eyes.

“I think we don’t give ourselves enough credit,” he said. “This? What we’ve made – it’s not just luck. It's an effort. Intention. It’s staying up at 3 a.m. just to hear your voice, even if I’ve only got five words in me. It’s you reading the same boring post-race summary just to tell me I sounded confident. It’s both of us choosing this. Every day.”

Her lips parted slightly, the corners lifting, and he could see the words landing – not as a grand gesture, but as truth. And the most amazing thing for her was how in reality he was talking himself out of the spiral. 

“I’m not afraid of losing you because something out there takes you away,” he added. “I’m afraid of losing you by accident. Letting something slip. Not fighting hard enough.”

“But you are,” she whispered. “Fighting for it, I mean.”

She cuddled into him, light slowly slipping away.

“And if we keep doing just that, we will never lose each other. So let’s keep it that way. And whenever that curly little head of yours starts telling you these kinds of things, remember us here,” she murmured.

He couldn’t stop smiling, even as he gently kissed the top of her head.

“I will.”

Neither of them said anything else for a while. She unpaused the film, and they eased back into the cushions, limbs tangled, breaths in sync. The dialogue from the screen filled the silence between them, but something had shifted – something small, steady, and unshakeable.

They watched the rest of the movie just like that: closer, lighter, stronger. And this time, neither of them was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[imagine-it-was-us]

love me not pt.3 || Carlos Sainz

Inspiration: Ravyn Lenae x Rex Orange County "Love me not"

Author's note: And here it ends. Wel, I loved writing this one! I will sound like an absolute idiot, but it makes me crave the chaotic relationship I never had, if it means you're getting your happy ending. Please, share your thoughts, the feedback is everything 🥺

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x female reader

Warnings: toxic relationship, mentions of pregnancy, time jumps.

Summary: They started as a spark – fast, reckless, impossible to ignore. One night turned into something more. But when love feels like a push and pull, when you only know how to leave before you're left… how do you stay?

Word count: 3.5k+

part1 part2

The best thing that could’ve happened to their relationship was the winter break.

Even with Carlos in the midst of switching teams – juggling meetings and a never-ending string of training sessions and briefings – there was still room for her. And he took his time with it, without hesitation, like he’d already learned the hard way what happens when you don’t make time for the things that matter.

They say that in the beginning, love is all pink glasses and soft focus, where even the flaws look charming and the fights feel like flirtation. Maybe that was true for them, too. Or maybe, after all the turbulence, the thing they needed most was stillness. A kind of gentle recalibration. Whatever it was, the chaos slowed. And in its place came something that looked a lot like peace.

There were quiet mornings that turned into rituals – her brushing her teeth in nothing but one of his hoodies, sleeves too long and neckline stretched from wear. He’d already be in the kitchen, brewing coffee the way she liked it: milk, just a splash, and a swirl of honey. No need to ask, he just knew.

Sometimes they moved around the flat without speaking, music humming low in the background, caught in their own thoughts but still orbiting each other. He’d pass her a mug without a word, and she’d curl her hand around it like it was his hand she was holding. Other days, they cooked dinner together, him stirring pasta, her dancing barefoot around the kitchen to some old R&B track, occasionally dropping a kiss to his shoulder just because she could. It wasn’t loud love. It wasn’t performative. But it allowed them to be their true authentic selves without any reservations. 

One time, Carlos came home late (again). The weeks leading up to the Bahrain testing had been relentless, every day packed with meetings, sim sessions, and adjusting to the new rhythm with Williams. He was used to returning to a quiet, dim apartment after long days like this. But not anymore. Now, home smelled like grilled vegetables and sounded like whatever low-stakes show she had playing on the TV. Warmth clung to the air like something he could wrap himself in.

She was curled up on the couch, wearing her pajamas, legs tucked beneath her and a blanket thrown haphazardly across her lap.

“There are freshly made burgers in the oven,” she called out without even looking away from the screen. “I tried to set the oven timer so they’d still be warm.”

That one simple sentence nearly knocked the air out of him. It wasn’t just thoughtfulness. It was the casual way she did things like that. As if it was second nature to care for him. As if she belonged here, with him. A grin stretched across his face before he even realized it. 

When he finally dropped down beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions and his exhaustion fade just a little, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“God, I love you.”

The silence that followed hit him like a slap. He froze, realizing what he’d said. Too fast? Too soon? A couple of months had passed since Monte Carlo, since they’d finally put a name on what they were. Things had been good, but he hadn’t planned to say it. Not yet. Maybe not like this. 

For a split second, fear bubbled up in his chest. Then she turned to him, smiling lazy and eyes full of that impossible softness that always seemed to undo him.

“I don’t know if you’re being religious or calling me God,” she said, head tilting just a little, “but either way, I love you more.”

His heart stuttered, just once. Relief flooding in, knocking the wind out of him all over again. There were still ghosts haunting the edges of what they were building, but right now, the feelings were growing fonder. And for the first time in a long time, Carlos believed it would last.

But sometimes, she’d linger in the bathroom longer than she meant to, just to shake off the overthinking about some words he said. Sometimes, he’d watch her while she slept and wonder how someone could look so calm next to him when he was still learning how not to self-destruct. There were those moments. Fleeting, barely-there pauses in their routine. Glances that didn’t land. Words half-said, then swallowed. Not arguments, just tension, subtle but present, like a crack forming in a foundation no one wanted to acknowledge.

They laughed a lot. They kissed even more. But every now and then, one of them would say something too sharply. He’d shut down without meaning to. She’d withdraw with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

As the time passed and their relationship grew and deepened, disagreements were no longer a question of if, but when. It was natural – a sign that they were both real, both human, both still learning how to love and be loved the right way. What mattered wasn’t the presence of conflict, but how they navigated it. How they circled back to each other after the storm. But the truth was, no matter how far they’d come, every fight still stung just as badly as the first. Maybe even more. Because now, there was more to lose. Now, the silences hit harder. The words, when they came, cut deeper.

And the worst part? Carlos still hadn’t learned how to stay. He didn’t know how to sit with discomfort, to hold space for pain without retreating from it. In the heat of the moment, his instinct never wavered: he walked away. Not because he didn’t care – but because he cared so much he didn’t know what to do with all the emotions.

She’d wait, every time. But even the strongest hearts can only take so much waiting.

As summer edged closer, the calendar finally loosened its chokehold – at least on paper. The races came a little slower now, the travel days stretched out with just enough space to pretend things were easier. But breathing room didn’t mean peace.

Not for them.

The cracks they’d carefully papered over all winter were starting to split wider under the weight of everything unsaid. Carlos was still carrying the bruises from his rough start with Williams, frustrated, tense, never really able to leave the pressure at the track. And her moods, usually so even, had been swinging unpredictably for weeks now, leaving both of them confused and defensive.

It didn’t take much to spark a fire anymore. The argument that night started, ironically, with nothing more than a photo.She was scrolling through her phone, mindless, half-watching the muted TV, when the image popped up: Carlos, earlier at an event, arm slung around a girl whose smile was a little too wide, whose body leaned a little too close.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t anything new. Fans adored him, he adored them back in that polite, easy way that made him Carlos. But tonight, it hit differently. Maybe because she already felt like she was losing pieces of him, one laugh and one late night at a time. Or maybe because for weeks she hadn't been able to look in the mirror without seeing someone unrecognizable and because hormones made everything a little more raw, a little more breakable.

When she heard his footsteps approaching from their bedroom, she didn’t even think before she spoke.

“Did you have fun today?”, voice light but slicing. Carlos immediately caught the off tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?’ he sat next to her on the sofa, visible confusion on his face. 

“Nothing,” she shrugged, tossing the phone to him. “Just… nice to see you enjoying yourself, that’s all.”

It didn’t take him more than a glance to see what had set her off.

“It was a fan. Jesus, you’re making something out of nothing again.”

Again. The word landed like a slap.

“Maybe if you still looked at me the way you looked at her, I wouldn’t have to,” she said, voice dripping with envy, her eyes never meeting his gaze.

Carlos’s mouth twisted. Frustration boiled up the way it always did when he didn’t have the words to fix it.

“This is what you do,” he bit out. “Pick a fight because you’re in a bad mood. Blame me for it.”

“Yeah, because I’m the problem. And God forbid I dare to voice my feelings out,” she threw back, folding her arms tight across her chest like armor.

Carlos’s jaw tensed; his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He took a deep breath and stood up, realizing that whatever he said now would only make her spiral further.

“You know what?” he said, voice sharp. “I’m not doing this tonight. I’m going to Charles’.”

He turned around, already heading to grab his keys. Maybe if she wasn’t so tired, so worn down, she would’ve let him go. But not tonight.

“Sure,” she snapped, her voice cracking despite her best efforts, “go ahead. Leave. Like you always do. Leave us.”

The word hung there, thick and heavy, an earthquake in a single syllable.

Carlos froze. And she kept going.

“It’s the only way you know how to deal with situations like this, isn’t it? Always leaving. Always making me deal with my feelings alone, wondering if this is the time you're done with me for good.”

Her voice shook, but she pushed through it. “I can’t do this. This–”

“What do you mean, ‘us’?” he interrupted, voice low and shaky, like he wasn’t sure he heard her right.

Her throat burned. She didn’t want to say it like this. She didn’t want this to be the moment. But she couldn’t un-say it now.

“I’m pregnant, Carlos,” she whispered, voice breaking. “And I can’t– I can’t do this with someone who’s always halfway out the door. I can’t raise a kid wondering if you’re going to leave the second it gets hard.”

Carlos didn’t move for a second. Then, slowly, he came back, sinking down onto the edge of the bed like his legs didn’t know how to hold him up anymore.

His hands ran down his face, breathing shaky, but not because he was doubting it, not because he didn’t want it.

Family. With her. Not something he ever thought he’d deserve. But now that it was real, sitting between them like a live wire… There wasn’t a single part of him that regretted it.

“How long have you known?” he asked, voice hoarse, almost afraid to break whatever fragile thread was holding them together.

She twisted the hem of her sweatshirt around her fingers, not meeting his eyes.

“A month,” she said quietly. ”I’m... eleven weeks now.”

Something clicked sharply into place in Carlos’s mind. The flashes he hadn’t pieced together before.

The night she refused to come to the drivers’ dinner, claiming she was sick. How he got frustrated with her, accused her of blowing him off. Left her to deal with it alone. The way her moods had swung wildly some days, and instead of asking, he’d pulled back, snapping instead of supporting. The fights. The cracks. All the moments he could have held her closer, but didn’t. His chest tightened with regret so fierce it nearly knocked him over.

Meanwhile, she kept talking, voice trembling slightly like she couldn’t stop herself even if she tried.

“It’s been rough. The first trimester has been…” she shook her head, searching for the right word. “Hard. And with all the tension between us, I–” she swallowed, the confession threatening to strangle her, “I thought about leaving. About raising it alone.”

Carlos looked at her then, staring deep into her soul. The anger from earlier, the fear clouding everything between them – it was all gone. He only saw her – raw and scared and still so fiercely strong. Carrying not just his child, but the weight of every unspoken thing between them.

He slid across the couch until he was close enough to touch her, but didn’t, not yet. Not until she wanted him to.

“I don’t want you to do this alone,” he said quietly, fiercely. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to.”

Her eyes finally met his, guarded, shining with unshed tears.

“I mean it,” Carlos whispered, like a vow. “We can do this. We’re going to be better for them.”

She hesitated for a heartbeat. Two. Then, like a dam breaking, she leaned into him. He caught her instantly, pulling her into his arms, cradling the back of her head, anchoring her against him like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

She knew things weren’t magically fixed, that the doubt would still curl around the edges of her mind, whispering that maybe he was staying because of the baby, not because of her.

But here he was. Still here. Holding her like he meant it. And for now, that was enough.

Silent tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into his shirt where her face was pressed against him. Carlos felt the dampness, the shudder of her breath against his chest, and somehow he knew – he just knew – what was running through her head.

His hand found the back of her neck, thumb brushing soothingly over her skin, grounding her.

“Cariño,” he murmured against her hair, voice low and steady. “When things get hard... when your mind starts telling you all the wrong things... don’t shut me out, okay? Don’t let me walk out on you. I know that I’m not the easiest person to be with, but you are the only one who can hold me down. So please, talk to me.”

He pulled her tighter against him, feeling the damp warmth of her tears soak through his shirt. His own chest ached with the weight of it – the mistakes he’d made, the fear she still carried, the trust she was still fighting to give him.

“I chose you before,” he whispered, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “And I’m choosing you now. Every day. No matter what.”

Her fingers clutched his hoodie, the smallest broken sound escaping her, but this time it wasn’t fear – it was something closer to hope, fragile and real.

They still had a lot to learn. A lot to fix. But they would.

Together.

“No, you’re not carrying that,” Carlos commented, rising halfway from the floor where he was crouched in front of an almost-finished crib. His eyes narrowed at the box in her hands like it personally offended him.

She raised a brow and shushed him with a dramatic flick of her wrist.

“Relax, Carlitos. It’s just a changing pad. It barely weighs a thing.”

With a roll of her eyes and a small grunt, she set the cardboard box down on top of the assembled changing table. The nursery had taken shape quickly in the past few weeks – muted tones, soft lighting, tiny clothes already folded into drawers that smelled faintly of lavender detergent and baby powder. Books lined the small shelf. Plush toys peeked out of the corner.

Carlos took a step back to look around, wiping his palms on his sweatpants.

“We actually pulled it off,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “This is starting to look like... a real home.”

And for once, it really did.

Things were looking up.

The past six months hadn’t been easy, but they’d been transformative. After the storm came something close to peace.. Therapy became a grounding point, not just for the baby’s sake, but for theirs. A shared promise: to give their child the kind of love they hadn’t always known growing up. To unlearn the damage, brick by brick. It was their way to show up for each other in a way that no one else did. Carlos had surprised them both with how open he became. Somewhere along the way, the sessions stopped feeling like obligation and started feeling like oxygen. His dread, the constant, clawing fear of not being enough, slowly faded into something quieter. Manageable.

She stayed at work as long as her body allowed it, balancing spreadsheets and mood swings like a pro, until her doctor insisted she step back and take her pregnancy leave. The downtime hadn’t come easily to her, but it gave her space to breathe. Nest. Heal. She was fighting demons of her own, not only fearing the mistake her impulsiveness can cause to their relationship, but also how it could damage their child in the long run. 

But healing didn’t come neatly packaged with a bow. Therapy didn’t wave a magic wand over their problems – it just handed them the tools. And some days, they still fumbled. They still argued, got stubborn, said the wrong thing at the wrong time. But now, there was something different at the heart of it all – intention. Instead of walking away, they leaned in. Instead of shutting down, they reached out. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. They weren’t just learning how to love each other better – they were learning how to stay, even when it got hard.

And the baby? Oh, the baby was already the most loved fetus on the grid. When they’d shared the news – “Sainz Jr. Jr. arriving 2026” scrawled across a grainy ultrasound on Instagram – the internet had exploded. Aunties and uncles lined up in their DMs, a different driver claiming dibs on godparent status every week. The group chats were chaotic. Pure, hilarious chaos.

And now, the calm. The nursery light dimmed to a warm gold as the sun dipped lower. She was curled on the sofa, a hand on her stomach, the other balancing a cup of chamomile tea he’d just handed her.

He joined her a moment later, sitting down slowly, one hand resting lightly on her belly as if it grounded him there. They didn’t need many words. But tonight, something buzzed in the air, sweet and slow.

They talked about the future. About tiny shoes and first birthdays and whether the baby would inherit Carlos’ curls or her sarcasm. The laughter died down to a quiet hum as he shifted beside her, suddenly more serious, more certain. And then he reached into his pocket.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “So, I’ve been thinking about how to do this. I had about fifty different ideas. I threw out forty-nine of them last night. And I’m probably still going to mess it up–”

Carlos took a steady breath as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box with hands that had never felt so unsure. She watched him, confused at first, then still – eyes fixed on his face as he began to speak.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you,” he said quietly, voice steadier than he expected. “You pulled me in like you had a gravity of your own. And in that moment, I just knew I needed you.”

She sat up slowly, one hand braced against her belly, the other covering her mouth as emotion washed over her.

“We started with a spark... and then we were on fire. It was too much, too fast, and I kept telling myself we needed to slow down. Be cool. And I guess... we got our slowdown. We both slipped into our old, toxic ways. But somehow, I think we had to fall apart to learn how to come back together. Even when I was with someone else, before we figured this out... I knew. You were it for me. My endgame. There’s never been anyone else.”

She blinked, tears pooling in her lashes.

“Our love started like one of those old children’s games – pulling petals, wondering ‘she loves me... she loves me not.’ But once you really had me, truly had me, I never doubted your love or wanted to be anywhere else. I still don’t.”

He paused, eyes locked with hers as he dropped down to one knee, gently taking her free hand in his.

“I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. And the fact that I’m standing here, still getting to love you, is nothing short of a miracle. But know this – I would’ve never let you go without a fight. Never.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I know I’ll mess up again. We both will. But if we keep showing up, keep fighting for this... there’s no doubt in my heart. No place I’d rather be than right here. With you. Always.”

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then her lips parted, and her face crumpled into something between awe and disbelief. But instead of answering him, she winced. A soft gasp escaped.

Carlos immediately froze.

“What? What is it?” he asked, already shifting closer, hand still wrapped around the little velvet box.

She blinked again, wider this time, and let out a shaky laugh.

“I think my waters just broke.”

Carlos stared at her. 

“You’re joking,” he said.

She wasn’t.

And suddenly, the calm was gone. The rush of it all descended – nerves, adrenaline, panic wrapped in joy. But somehow, amid all the flurry of half-packed hospital bags and reaching for his phone with trembling hands, Carlos was still grinning.

Because this? This was everything.

[imagine-it-was-us]

love me not pt.2 || Carlos Sainz

Inspiration: Ravyn Lenae x Rex Orange County "Love me not"

Author's note: So this is part2! Had fun writing this one, hope you'll like it!

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x female reader

Warnings: mentions of nsfw, drinking, ghosting, toxic relationships.

Summary: They started as a spark – fast, reckless, impossible to ignore. One night turned into something more. But when love feels like a push and pull, when you only know how to leave before you're left… how do you stay?

Word count: 2.1k+

Part1

Her stomach dropped, but she knew that the club was packed with their acquaintances so she would never let them see how deeply the situation actually stung. She didn’t storm across the club floor. She glided – controlled, purposeful, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes still plastered on her face like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn’t just seen his hands on some girl’s waist. 

Carlos noticed her the second she was within reach. He blinked like he was shaking off the blur of lights and drinks. And maybe he was trying to shake some of the guilt off too. One thing that he immediately did though was dropping his hands from the stranger dancing before him.

Y/N leaned in close, lips barely brushing Carlos’ ear, her tone syrup-sweet but laced with venom.

“Can we talk?”

Carlos didn’t say anything. Just nodded, jaw tight, and followed her to the darker side of the club, away from the stranger and curious eyes.

The second they were swallowed by shadows and bass-heavy beats, her façade cracked.

“What the hell was that?”

He didn’t pretend not to know. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, looked past her.

“She touched me. I didn’t do anything.”

“Your hands were on her waist, Carlos.” Her voice dropped lower, sharper. “Do you usually hold strangers like that, or is that a new habit?”

He scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Oh come on, it’s not like we were fucking there. Just don’t do that. Jealousy looks awful on you.”

She was taken aback by his comment. “So this is what this is about? You’re trying to make me jealous?”

“Maybe I was just trying to see if you even care. Don’t act like you didn’t disappear last week without a word. Like you don’t keep me guessing every time we’re apart.” 

“Are you serious right now?” she hissed, stepping closer. “I’ve been showing up for you. Every GP. Every late-night call. Every time you needed me, I was there. You think that’s nothing?”

His voice was lower now too, angry in the quietest way. All his insecurities laced his words.

“You’ve been showing up when it’s convenient. I never knew if I was just… a stop between flights for you. You never said what this is. Not once.”

Her throat bobbed, but the words came out steady. “And you did? I didn’t think I had to spell it out. We were–” she paused, correcting herself.”–are something. Or I thought we were. Until I saw you wrapped around her like you didn’t have someone waiting in the corner of the room.”

Carlos looked away, jaw tightening. He hated how much this felt like before—like every time he’d let himself hope someone might stay, only for them to stay vague, unreadable. His ex had once said, “You’re too intense. You expect people to read your mind.” But he didn’t want someone to read his mind. He just wanted someone who wouldn’t leave him guessing all the time.

“And I thought maybe you’d finally tell me you wanted me. Actually wanted us. But you never did.”

She blinked, once. Then again. The lights from the club caught the shimmer in her eyes, but the tears didn’t fall yet.

“I didn’t think I needed to say it,” she whispered. “I thought you knew.”

He exhaled hard, like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Yeah. Well. I didn’t.”

And just like that, the space between them turned to ice. She shook her head and stepped back, a shaky laugh breaking through her chest. 

“You know what? You’re right. We never said what this was.” Her voice broke around the edges. “Maybe that’s on both of us.”

Carlos stayed frozen, watching her like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

Her smile was small, barely there. “I need to go.”

She turned before he could say anything, and this time, she did walk away fast. Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and silent. He watched her go, back into the neon haze, knowing full well he should’ve stopped her. But he stayed rooted to the spot, jaw clenched and hands curled into fists like holding on to his pride would somehow hurt less than holding on to her.

What neither of them realized was that the events of that night wouldn’t mark the end of their story. If anything, they cracked something open—just wide enough for all their old patterns to creep in like smoke under a door. Unseen, but impossible to ignore.

They didn’t talk about what had happened at the club. But they didn’t stop talking.

Carlos broke the silence two days later with a photo of another skyline – burnt orange bleeding into nightfall, a captionless whisper of connection sent straight to her phone.

She stared at it for too long before replying:  “I do love a dramatic sky.”

And that was the unspoken deal. They would never define it. Never name it.  Because naming it would make it real – and real meant it could break. So they stayed in the blur.

She’d see him in paddocks, sunglasses on, attention split between his engineers and whichever girl he had his arm loosely wrapped around. Blonde, brunette, it didn’t matter. They all blended into the same silhouette she refused to memorize.

She didn’t ask. And he never offered.

So she posted a photo of herself wrapped in some tattooed arm on a rooftop in Paris, captioned with a lyric that wasn’t meant for anyone in particular – except it was.

Carlos saw it. Of course he did. He left her on “seen.” For a whole day.

Then he’d post a blurry shot from a bar, two wine glasses on the table, someone’s nails just barely in frame. She’d block the notification from popping up on her lock screen, but she always looked anyway.

They played the game with equal skill. What they were doing was clearly wrong and toxic and maybe that is why they deserved each other. 

And in between, the pull between them stayed magnetic. Late nights blurred by alcohol and proximity would bring them back together like waves crashing against rocks. They’d stumble into each other in stairwells and hotel hallways, heavy hands and heavier silences.  Neither of them asked, “Is this just for tonight?” Because neither of them wanted to hear the answer.

They didn’t talk about who they were with last week. They didn’t talk about what they were doing. They just crashed into each other, over and over, as if the ache might finally feel like something close to clarity.

It wasn’t just the sex. It was the way he’d linger a little too long after, quietly staring at the ceiling like he wanted to ask her to stay. It was the way she’d steal his shirts, not because she liked them, but because they still smelled like him the next day. It was the quiet check-ins that proved that even though they acted like they didn’t care, deep down they both did.

They called it nothing. But it was everything.

Still, it remained unspoken. Always just out of reach. And eventually, the cycle began to feel almost safe. Like if they never put words to it, it couldn’t hurt them. Like maybe it wasn’t heartbreak if no one admitted their feelings out loud. 

Until the end of the season party. In Monte Carlo. Again.

Almost half a year had passed since the first explosion in that same city. Now the roles were reversed.

Carlos stood near the edge of the dance floor, glass in hand, body tense. The club was loud, bass vibrating in his ribs, but all he could hear was her laugh. Not the polite one she used in the media pen, but the real one. The one he’d heard pressed into his pillow.

She was dancing. Carefree. Electric. Her dress clung to her in all the ways that used to be just for him. And the guy she was with? Just hands. Hands on her waist, too familiar, too comfortable. Like he knew her.

Carlos watched, jaw tight, drink untouched. It was stupid, he knew that. He’d done the same. Hell, worse. But it was different seeing her like this. Not because she was dancing with someone else. But because for the first time, she looked like she actually didn’t need him.

And that terrified him more than anything.

The lights flashed over her face, and for a second her eyes met his. Somehow, it was all he needed to turn this around. 

It took him a couple of seconds to approach them.

“Sorry, mate, I believe she is taken,” Carlos said, his tone as steady as ever.

She crooked her eyebrow, a soft and teasing smile curling her lips.

“Didn’t know we were making declarations now,” she said, voice light, but her eyes flicked with something deeper. There was a flicker of disbelief that he was actually doing this.

Carlos stood close enough now that the guy got the hint and backed off, hands raised in amused surrender. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t even look at him again. Her gaze was locked on Carlos.

He leaned in just enough that no one around them could hear, his breath warm against her ear.

“You’re not taken,” he said, his voice low, roughened by something like nerves. “But you should be.”

Her smile faltered. For the first time tonight, it wasn’t playful. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m saying it anyway.”

She studied him, every line of his face, the flush on his cheeks from drinking – or maybe from dancing with jealousy too long.

 “You said nothing for months, Carlos.”

“And you didn’t ask for anything either,” he snapped, a little too quickly. Then, slowly putting his hands around her waist and pulling her a little closer, he carried on, voice now softer, as if proximity helped calm the temperament down. “I didn’t know if you wanted more. You always looked like you could leave me without looking back.”

Even though her brows pulled together, she still flung her arms around his neck, one palm tangling into his hair like muscle memory.

 “That’s not fair. It takes two to tango.”

She hated how much of herself she’d already handed over to him. In moments, in trust, in all the quiet ways that don’t scream “love” but whisper it loud enough to hurt. Every time she left his hotel room, it felt harder. And deeper. And more terrifying.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not fair. None of this has been. I’ve been with other people. You’ve been with other people. We pretended it was fine, because neither of us wanted to be the one to say it first.”

She blinked, like something sharp had been said without warning.

“So say it now.”

Carlos hesitated for a split second, then took a breath like it was the only way to get the words out.

“I want it to be you. Only you. I’m done pretending I don’t care when some guy’s hands are on you. I’m done acting like it doesn’t kill me when you smile at your phone and it’s not me.” His jaw clenched, voice thick. “I miss you even when we’re in the same room. That’s not casual. That’s not nothing.”

The silence that followed felt deafening.

Her throat bobbed with the weight of her own unsaid things. She swallowed, voice trembling just slightly when she finally spoke.

“I didn’t want to say it first because I was afraid you’d leave. Because people always do when I start needing them too much.”

“I’m not like the guys you dated before,” he said, eyes dark and certain.

“No,” she whispered. “You’re worse.”

Carlos laughed softly, a little breathless.

“I deserve that.”

“We were both cowards,” she admitted and smiled when she felt his arms gripping her waist even tighter.

He nodded. “But I’m done running.”

She looked up at him, really looked at him. “You sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Say it back.”

Her eyes welled up. Not from sadness – from relief. And that scared her just as much.

“I don’t want to do this with anyone else.” She minimized the distance between them to the bare minimum. “I’m yours, Carlos. No more games. No more stories.”

The music thudded around them, bodies moving in time, but they were still – a moment carved out of chaos, quiet and private.

She wasn’t sure what came next. Only that she didn’t want to go into it alone anymore.

Carlos rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed like he was holding something fragile.

“You’re mine,” he murmured. “And I’m yours.”

And this time, they didn’t let go.

Next part

[imagine-it-was-us]

love me not pt. 1 || Carlos Sainz

Inspiration: Ravyn Lenae x Rex Orange County "Love me not"

Author's note: Okay. First of all. I just clicked with this song. On repeat for the last month. And of course, when I have an obsession like that, the next thing is "which one would suit this?" and it was Carlos. But second thing – I know nothing about the man. So of course, everything is pure fiction. Finally, I put the vote earlier, if I should split it in five chapters or post it whole. Let's meet in the middle – let's make it a trilogy.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x female reader

Warnings: mentions of nsfw, drinking, ghosting, toxic relationships.

Summary: They started as a spark – fast, reckless, impossible to ignore. One night turned into something more. But when love feels like a push and pull, when you only know how to leave before you're left… how do you stay?

Word count: 2k+

They say one of the hardest things to tell when you meet someone new is whether it's chemistry or compatibility. That slow-burn, meant-to-be magnetism, or just the thrill of something new pulling you in too fast. 

Usually, one of the people involved is emotionally educated enough to catch it and point it out – to step back when needed, to draw the line between what’s fleeting and what’s real. But when two people who've never truly known what love feels like sense that first spark, things don’t burn slow. They ignite.

Carlos saw her before he knew he was looking. Somewhere between sipping a drink that cost too much and forcing a smile at another stiff conversation, his eyes landed on her across the room. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no slow-motion, no spotlight. Just... stillness.

She wasn’t even trying to be noticed. That was the worst part. Or maybe the best. She just existed in a way that made the space bend around her. Laughing too politely at some old man's joke, glass in hand, other arm crossed like she was holding herself up. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and that, somehow, made her more unforgettable.

Carlos wasn’t unfamiliar with attraction. That wasn’t new. He’d had his fair share of fast flames and blurry mornings. But this was different. This wasn’t lust. This was gravity.

She was the kind of person you feel before you understand why. The kind that forces you to notice the parts of yourself you usually keep hidden. And somehow, he knew that she wasn’t new to leaving wreckage behind. That she’d been wrecked, too. So when their eyes met across the noise, and she didn’t look away first, something shifted.

When she was in his hotel room hours later, pressing her body against his and tearing through the fabric of a shirt that cost more than most people’s rent, it felt like a win. 

The sparks between them didn’t flicker. They crackled. Every movement was fast, impulsive,  like they were trying to outrun something. Her fingers dug into his back with the same urgency as his grip at her waist. Like they weren’t sure whether they were trying to pull each other closer, or hold themselves together.

The room was full of heat, motion and unspoken things. Lips on skin. Hands grasping like they needed proof the other was real. Not love, nowhere near it. There were just two people trying to feel something intensely enough to matter.

Sex was great. Of course it was. But it wasn’t the sex that stayed with Carlos.It was after.

When the chaos died down and the air between them finally cooled, neither of them moved. They should’ve rolled away. Should’ve mumbled something about early calls or tight schedules. Should’ve treated it like every other late-night mistake dressed up in good lighting. But they didn’t.

Instead, she turned her head toward him, cheek pressed to the pillow, one leg still tangled with his. Her eyes were softer now, the armor slipping. And somehow, that unraveled him more than anything else.

They talked. At first, just the easy stuff – the chaotic rhythm of race weekends, the blur of airports and hotel lobbies, the strange loneliness of a life spent in motion. They joked about always packing too light or too much. The weird comfort of never fully unpacking anywhere.

But then it edged deeper. That kind of depth that sneaks up on you. She talked about the constant change. How her work kept her moving so much she forgot what a full closet looked like. How she’d gotten good at goodbyes, so good that hellos started to feel dangerous.

He told her about growing up in a world where performance came before presence. Where love felt conditional, like something earned with results, not freely given.

They both spoke like people who had grown up with absence. Who knew how to spot silence in a crowded room. Who had learned that being strong often just meant being alone, and surviving it. There were long pauses between their words, but they weren’t awkward. They were loaded.

He’d never talked like this with someone he’d just met. Hell, he barely talked like this with people he knew. She didn’t ask for more than what he gave, but she listened like it mattered. Like he mattered. And that stayed with him longer than the warmth of her skin. Longer than the press of her mouth on his. Longer than he wanted to admit.

They both had this look in their eyes, like they didn’t expect anyone to stay. Like they’d learned not to ask people to. And somewhere between his hand resting lightly on her hip and her voice barely above a whisper, something unspoken was built. Not a promise. Not even a beginning. Just a pause in the chaos. They fell asleep like that – pressed into each other, not out of passion, but out of a need to feel like someone was there.

When morning came, they didn’t rush. They exchanged numbers with tired smiles and half-laughed at the idea of keeping in touch. They both knew they’d see each other again. F1 was small, in its own strange way. He was a driver. She was behind the scenes, managing one of the big sponsors’ campaigns. Their paths would cross.

But still.

Neither of them reached out. Not because they didn’t want to. But because wanting to was unfamiliar territory. And when you’ve built your life around not needing anyone, desire feels like weakness.

So the number sat untouched. No message. No check-in. Just potential, quietly buried under habit. Because even if something felt different, acting like it meant something – that was a risk Carlos had never learned how to take.

And neither had she.

When someone crashed into him, he knew it was her before he saw her. Even though they’d hooked up almost a month ago, the scent of her perfume was stitched into his memory, woven in with the unforgettable, unexplainable moments they’d shared that night. She instinctively grabbed his arms to steady herself, sincere apologies spilling out before she even looked up and met the deep gaze of his dark brown eyes.

“Oh, Carlos. Hi”, she said calmly. 

One might expect some unresolved tension after weeks of silence – the awkward kind that lingers in the air like smoke. But not between them. They were too used to being temporary in people’s lives. Too practiced in slipping in and out without a trace. So this unexpected encounter didn’t carry any hard feelings. Just a faint, charged curiosity.

“Well, it was bound to happen, no?” Carlos chuckled. They were working in the same environment; avoiding each other forever was impossible.

She smirked, brushing a crease from the front of his fireproof suit before stepping back, putting just enough space between them to make it feel professional.

“Yeah, I guess the universe had to throw me into you. Literally.”

He tilted his head, one corner of his mouth lifting. “You always crash into people you ghost?”

Her lips parted in mock offense, though a sliver of guilt flickered in her eyes. “Hey, I didn’t ghost. I… floated,” she muttered, the first excuse that came to mind.

The truth was, she had been thinking about him. Catching glimpses of him in the paddock during the last few GPs, stealing glances that never quite turned into anything more. But she was too stubborn to admit that one night left its mark. That it stayed with her longer than she thought it would.

Carlos laughed. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now,” she shot back. “And for the record, you didn’t text either.”

He shrugged, hands sliding into the pockets of his race suit. “Didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

There was a beat of silence – not awkward, but full. 

Carlos had wanted to. He’d stared at her number in his phone more than once, thumb hovering over the screen like it might burn him. But something in him pulled back, the same way it always did.

It wasn’t pride. He’d been down this road before – where something felt too good, too real, too much. And every time, the ending looked the same: someone wanting more than he knew how to give. So he’d simply learned to stay in control, keep people at just enough of a distance that they couldn’t see the whole mess underneath. The real attachment – that was the risk. And that was the one thing Carlos wasn’t willing to lose control. At least, not yet.

She knew she wouldn’t be getting a deeper answer than that, so she switched the topic — but kept the conversation alive.

 “So, you racing angry or calm today?”

“Always calm.”

“Liar,” she said, and he loved how easily she called him out.

Carlos looked down, then back at her. “You staying for dinner after the GP?”

She hesitated just long enough to make it interesting. She liked that she could be unapologetically herself around him – teasing, bold, entirely unbothered. And the best part? He could take it. He didn’t flinch.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you’re still lying after the race.”

Now that fate had thrown them another shot, she wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily. She wanted more than half-answers this time. Even if the idea of letting someone close terrified her, she was ready to risk it, but only if he was willing to do the same.

Carlos smiled wider now, like she was already in his plans.

“I’ll drive honestly. You bring the wine.”

And just like that, they walked off in opposite directions, but the space between them had changed. It wasn’t distance anymore.

It was anticipation.

This time, they didn’t bail on each other. No vague texts. No unspoken hesitations. They showed up exactly as promised – on time, present, and willing. The so-called dinner never even made it past the idea of a table reservation. Instead, they wandered through quiet streets of the unfamiliar city, aimlessly but together, like people who weren’t looking for anything specific except more time in each other's company. Eventually, the night led them to a beach just outside the city. The sand was cold, the sea restless, but they stayed anyway, perched close on a weathered bench as the hours slipped past them.

And just like that first night, their walls came down like dominoes. The conversation wasn't forced. It spilled out naturally, full of ranting about the strange carousel of their lives, the constant travel, the loneliness of hotel rooms, and the exhaustion of pretending everything was fine. They swapped stories from their past, bruised memories that shaped who they were or the way they loved. There was no big moment, no dramatic declaration. But somewhere between her laughter in the dark and his quiet listening, they both stepped into something deeper. Without a question being asked, the decision to move forward – as something more – was made. It just happened.

One night turned into another, and another after that. Then came the GP weekends where they were no longer on opposite sides of the paddock – she stayed in his hotel room, and her coffee mug started showing up beside his toothbrush. She began texting him songs at odd hours, filled with lyrics that reminded her of things she didn’t know how to say out loud. He started sending pictures of the cities he passed through without her: skyline views, soft dawns through rain-blurred windows, little snapshots that quietly said “I wish you were here”. Her name wasn’t etched on his doorbell, but there was space for her in his closet in Monaco. There was a rhythm now, a new kind of normal. And maybe they weren’t saying it out loud, but they were building something. Letting each other in – slowly, imperfectly, completely.

So imagine her surprise when, one night, while partying with some of the other drivers in a packed Monte Carlo club, she saw his hands wrapped around somebody else.

next part

[imagine-it-was-us]

mine || Charles Leclerc

Inspiration: Kristian Kostov "mine"

Author's note: I have to admit, not my finest work, just needed to write something through the slump. Yet I love the idea of letting someone go and coming to peace with it after some time. Been there, done that.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female reader

Warnings: none. As per usual.

Summary: They didn’t end in flames, but in silence — the kind that lingers. And though it hurt, they both found peace in the aftermath. He finally understood that some people aren’t meant to be yours forever, just long enough to change you. And she? She learned to choose herself first.

Word count: 1.7k+

There are many reasons why dating a coworker is strongly discouraged. Workplace relationships can be complicated, and when they do happen, it is often advised that they be reported to HR and monitored carefully by management. While everything may seem perfect in the beginning, as long as the connection between two people is strong, few stop to consider what might happen if things fall apart.

Charles learned that lesson the hard way. When they first got together, he never imagined how it would end, or that it even could. Love has a way of making people believe in permanence, even when reality suggests otherwise. Now, nearly a year after their breakup, he still felt a dull ache in his chest whenever he saw her smiling at someone else. It wasn’t just jealousy – it was the lingering weight of a past that he hadn’t fully shaken off.

The worst part was that there was no escaping it. Their paths were intertwined in a way he couldn’t control. It didn’t bother him at first, that she was Lewis’ minder. The problem arose when LH made a move to Ferrari which meant that his minder would always be in the same paddock he was. It was an impossible situation – one he never could have predicted when they first started dating. Back then, she had been on an entirely different team, their work lives separate enough to keep their personal relationship from interfering.

Who could have guessed that, four years later, not only would they be broken up, but they would also end up working side by side on the same team? Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

Charles first met her in 2020, when she joined Mercedes. It wasn’t some grand, cinematic moment. No immediate spark, no love at first sight. They had simply bumped into each other during one of the Grand Prix weekends, a casual encounter that could have been easily forgotten. But fate, or perhaps just the nature of the paddock, had other plans.

Over the next six months, their paths continued to cross. Conversations started as polite small talk, then gradually turned into something more – longer chats over coffee, shared laughter between hectic schedules, inside jokes that only they understood. There was no rush, no whirlwind romance, just a slow and steady build-up of familiarity and comfort. By the time they finally got together, it felt natural, like slipping into something that had been waiting for them all along.

For a while, everything was smooth. Their relationship fit seamlessly into their fast-paced world, a rare pocket of warmth in an otherwise high-pressure environment. But as time went on, differences that once seemed minor began to surface. Clashes, some small, some unavoidable, started to chip away at what they had built. Maybe it was the stress of the job, the constant travel, or simply the reality that they weren’t as perfectly aligned as they once thought.

In the end, they made the difficult decision to part ways. It wasn’t a dramatic fallout, no messy fights or harsh words – just two people realizing that love alone wasn’t enough to keep them together. Yet it wasn’t mutual – Charles just felt that trying to love her beyond her imperfections and their disagreements was far too time and energy consuming. But even if he was set and, at first, at ease with his decision,  letting go of someone who once felt like home was never easy.

The day then everything shifted was far from unusual. The paddock before the Grand Prix was alive with noise. Buzzing radios, distant cheers, engineers shouting into headsets – for him, it was just another day in the office. But all of it blurred into background static the second Charles saw her. And for the first time, she wasn't alone.

She was laughing. Her hand slipped so naturally into someone else’s, like it had always belonged there. The way she looked at the man beside her cut deeper than anything loud or cruel ever could.

And yet, Charles didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He just stood there, letting it wash over him – this strange, aching blend of longing and... something close to peace. It hurt, yes. But beneath that familiar sting was an unsettling truth: maybe she was always meant to end up with someone else. Maybe letting her go was the only kind thing he ever did right.

Still, when they locked eyes across the paddock – just for a second – something shifted. Somehow the rush of emotions at that moment felt like the sharpest knife stabbed to the chest and the softest hug from your loved one at the same time. He should have looked away. Maybe that would’ve been easier. But Charles had never been good at pretending he didn’t care, especially not about her.

Later, after the paddock had quieted and the sun had dipped low behind the trailers, he found himself leaning against the team truck, running a hand through his hair, replaying that moment like some cruel highlight reel.

She approached quietly, like she always used to when she knew his thoughts were louder than he could handle. Even though they always kept their relationship post break-up down to a minimum and straight up professional, it didn’t mean that she stopped caring.

"You okay?" she asked, voice calm and steady. She kept some distance between them, not wanting to push him in any shape or form.  

He let out a breath, not quite a laugh. “You always ask me that when I’m clearly not.”

She smiled faintly. “Sorry, old habits.”

Charles glanced sideways at her to take a proper look at her. She hadn’t changed much. Maybe it was down to the fact that he saw her more than he did his family, or maybe the physical change would still be meaningless.

"I saw you earlier," he said. "With him."

There was a pause before she replied, soft but steady. "I figured."

"You looked happy."

"I am."

He nodded, looking down at the ground, scuffing his boot against the asphalt. "I’m glad. Really."

"You don’t have to pretend, Charles."

"I’m not," he said, his voice quieter now. “That’s the worst part. I mean – yeah, there’s a part of me that wants to hate him. That wants to go back and rewrite everything, because we were pretty good together. But then I see you like that, and I think... maybe I was just the chapter before the right one came along.”

Her expression faltered, just for a second.

"You weren’t just a chapter," she said. It hit a nerve, instantly triggering something sharp in her. Four years, and he reduced it to a footnote?

"I know." He turned to face her more fully, something unreadable in his eyes. "But you... you were the whole damn book for me."

She didn’t say anything at first, still in her thoughts. But his admission made her a little bit softer. The silence stretched, thick with everything they hadn’t said when it still mattered.

"So why’d you put it down?" she asked finally after sorting her thoughts out.

Charles inhaled, slow and shallow. “Because I didn’t know how to keep reading when the words stopped making sense. I didn’t know how to love you without losing parts of myself. I’m sad I never took the time to move past that.”

The admission hit her hard. If he only could work through all the fights, that now seemed meaningless. If only he would have fought for her.

"I just needed you to stay."

But she hadn’t waited. She couldn’t. When he didn’t stay, she had no choice but to stand on her own. It took time, longer than she liked to admit, but somewhere between the long nights and lonely hotel rooms, she learned to be enough for herself. She stopped needing someone to read her mind or fix what wasn’t broken. And then, when love came again, it didn’t demand that she shrink or bend to fit. It just... stayed. With all the mess and all the beauty.

"I know," he said. "And I didn’t. That’s on me." The silence returned, softer this time. Almost kind. "But seeing you happy now..." Charles trailed off, running a hand over his face. "It hurts. Like hell. But I think it’s the kind of pain I deserve. And maybe… maybe that means I did something right, when I chose to walk away. Even if it broke me at the moment."

She nodded slowly, and for a moment, her hand twitched like she might reach for him. But she didn’t.

"You’ll fall in love again, you know," she said.

He offered her a tired smile, worn, but genuine. “Yeah. But it won’t be you.”

He didn’t say it to hurt her. Just the truth, laid bare between them, no bitterness, no resentment. Just a fact.

He exhaled, the tension in his chest finally loosening after what felt like a year of holding his breath. A strange calm settled in the spaces grief used to occupy. Maybe this was what closure looked like. Not dramatic goodbyes or rekindled sparks, just quiet understanding and a little less weight to carry.

“I’m glad you’re someone else’s mine,” he added, and this time, he meant it. Not out of self-pity, not to sound noble, but just because he’d finally accepted it. She found someone who could meet her where she needed to be met, and that was enough.

She smiled then, small but warm. “I agree, you know. That as you said, we were pretty good together, but I think we are so much better apart. And I’m glad you’re still you, Charles.”

He gave her a playful look, something flickering in his eyes. There was less sadness now, more peace. “Well, I wouldn’t survive in this world being anyone else.”

A soft laugh passed between them, easy and unforced, like a distant echo of who they used to be. Then, with a final nod, he pushed off the truck and stood tall.

“Take care of him. And yourself,” he said, voice light but steady.

“I will,” she replied.

And just like that, they walked away in opposite directions – not broken, not aching. Just two people who once loved each other deeply, now loving themselves enough to let go.

[imagine-it-was-us]

Stephanie's place || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Joesef "Stephanie's place"

Author's note: Been obsessed with this song since the drop. And my interpretation of lyrics immediately went to some form of unrequited love and dependency. So here's my take on it. Hopefully you will have fun reading it 🔥

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: none really. Just mentions of drinking.

Summary: She’s the one he always calls. And she always answers. A habit, a ritual, whatever you want to call it. They orbit each other, close enough to feel the pull but never enough to collide. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s just fear of what’s left when the line goes silent. Either way, she stays.

Word count: 3.2k+

“Lando, have you seen the time?”

Her voice was thick with sleep, groggy yet edged with familiarity, because, of course, it was him. Who else would be calling at this hour?

“Yeah, sorry to bother you. Could you pick me up, please?”

She sighed, already rolling out of bed, rubbing at her tired eyes. 2:46 AM. At least she had managed to get a couple of hours of sleep before this inevitable call.

“Where are you?”

“At Stephanie’s place.”

Her brows knit together.

“Who’s?”

“I will message you an address. Thank you, angel.”

Angel. She sighed again, not out of annoyance, but out of something deeper, something she didn’t have the energy to name.

This wasn’t the first time she had to step up for him. But lately, especially during his break from F1, it had started to feel like a pattern. A habit. The locations changed, the drinks changed, the people around him changed. But one thing stayed the same: he always called her.

It should’ve meant something.

Maybe, once upon a time, she would have let herself believe it did. But after the last embarrassment that happened a couple of years ago, she wasn’t about to go there.

That time, she really thought that what they had was something. Their friendliness slowly turned into flirting, spending every minute possible together which was easy due to proximity, being almost next door neighbors. When they hang out, the stares would linger, the rest of the world would be out of focus. And she knows that it was not in her head, because they even kissed.  Just once, in a haze of alcohol and late-night honesty. Yet in the morning, he acted like nothing had happened, so she rolled with it, thinking it was just a matter of time. Believing that it would inevitably happen again.

Yet a couple of weeks after the kiss, Magui appeared from what seemed to be thin air. Just like that, the lines shifted. She wasn’t pushed away. Just pulled back. Reframed. No longer a possibility, just a presence. Always within reach, never quite held onto. The good neighbor. The dependable friend. The shoulder to lean on when things went to shit. 

And it happened more than you would think. Margarida was a sweet girl, no matter what world whispered about her behind her back. But simply her and Lando were never meant to be. Their relationship became undone in slow, inevitable fractures. A wrong word here, a missed call there. Too many nights spent apart, too many silences stretching too long. She had seen the way he tried to hold on, and worse – the way he finally let go.

And through it all, she had been there.The one who picked up the phone at 2:46 AM. The one who drove him home when he had nowhere else to go. The one who never asked for anything, even when she wanted to.

And now? Now, she wasn’t sure if he was calling her because he needed her… or because she was simply the last person left to call. Still, she grabbed her keys. Because even after everything that went down, when it came to him, she always would.

After 20 minutes, when she pulled up, she spotted him immediately. Lando was already sitting on the sidewalk, head tilted back toward the night sky. He looked almost peaceful, like none of the mess from the past few days could touch him here. As if it was all floating somewhere far above him, out of reach.

She rolled down the window.

“Lando.”

It took a second, but he blinked, as if shaking off a trance. Then, with a sloppy sort of grace, he pushed himself up and stumbled into the car.

“Here’s my favorite neighbor,” a sheepish grin never leaving his face.

There was another eye roll on her end. Drunk Lando was always full of rizz, dripping in flirtation he’d never remember in the morning.

“More like your personal driver around Monaco,” she muttered, shifting the car into gear. “So who’s this Stephanie?” she asked, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible, even though there was a pinch of curiosity in her voice.

“Oh nobody, we just met last night. Crashed at hers, but I think I overstayed my welcome.”

“Wait, you have been here since Thursday?”

“Yeah, we were drinking last night. Then drinking today,” he just shrugged his shoulders casually. 

She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. Classic. There was no point in pushing him, no point in asking anything remotely serious. She knew better by now. This was the stage of the night where anything she said would slip through the cracks of his drunken haze, lost by morning.

So she just kept her eyes on the road, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before. But he was the one who didn’t want to sit in silence.

“Oh, Magui asked me to pass you a message.” His voice was lighter than the words themselves. “She said if I ever find something of hers in my apartment, could you please reach out to her as she’s, uh… blocked me in every possible way.”

Her brows lifted slightly, though she kept her eyes forward.

“So it was that bad?” she mumbled more to herself rather than him. But, of course, he picked that up.

“I wouldn’t say it was bad. It was… messy.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “She kept on yapping about how I was never in it with everything.”

“And were you?”

Silence stretched for just a second too long.

“I don’t know.” His voice was softer now. “I thought I was. I really liked her, you know. She was great fun. I maybe even loved her.”

Maybe even.

She swallowed, keeping her expression unreadable. “Loved her… or were you in love with her?”

It felt like he was willing to overshare tonight, and if that was the case, she wanted the details.

Another pause.

Then, quietly, almost like an afterthought –

“I was never in love with her.”

It was hard for her to let this conversation go.

“Then why did you stay with her for so long?” 

Almost two years. That was a long time to be with someone, to build a life together, to share moments that, at least on the surface, should have meant something. In her opinion, it was plenty of time to figure out whether someone was your person or just a passing chapter.

Lando exhaled, his head resting back against the seat.

“I don’t know. Maybe I was just holding on because I didn’t want to be alone.”

She wasn’t prepared for that answer. For a moment, she kept her gaze locked on the road, fingers flexing around the wheel.

Not wanting to be alone.

The words settled in her chest, heavy and unexpected. She had never thought of Lando – charming, reckless, constantly surrounded by people – as someone who feared loneliness. He was always the one filling rooms with laughter, the one who had a million plans, a thousand friends, a life too fast-paced for solitude.

And yet… here he was.

Maybe that’s why he always called her. Because she was easy to reach. Familiar. Safe. The realization settled like a weight in her chest. If that was all she was to him – just a reflex, a habit – then why did she keep picking up?

She swallowed, pushing down the unease curling in her stomach.

“And what about now?”

He stayed silent for long enough that she thought that he had fallen asleep. But then, just as she was about to let the conversation drop –

“I’m scared shitless,” he admitted silently, almost like a whisper. “But I knew I couldn’t do it for longer. For both of us.”

The way he said it sent her into a spiral, her mind latching onto those words, twisting them in every possible direction. 

Which “us” was he talking about? Him and Magui? The relationship he had just ended? The one he had stayed in out of fear of being alone? Or… No. No, she wasn’t going to do this to herself. She wasn’t going to let hope creep in where it didn’t belong.

Lando sighed, running a hand down his face. He looked tired, like the weight of everything had finally started pressing down on him. And for a split second, she wanted to reach over, wanted to do something, but she kept her hands on the wheel instead.

“You know,” she started, her voice carefully measured, “for someone who didn’t want to be alone, you sure spent a lot of time acting like you were.”

It slipped out before she could stop herself. But once it was out there, hanging between them, she didn’t regret it. Because it was the truth.

That is what she has witnessed in his previous relationship – he was always the one to put his distance between himself and Margarida, not the other way around. He was always in some way emotionally unreachable. 

At first, she had blamed his lifestyle. The relentless travel, the expectations, the way his world was built around schedules and speed. But deep down, she knew better. If he had wanted to make it work, he would have. Because she had seen him do it before. A couple of years ago, when things between them were different – he had tried. He had made the effort. He had shown up, in ways that mattered. And then, just when she had started to believe in the possibility of them, he had turned away.

She also knew that this conversation was slowly pushing them to the point of no return, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to brush it off and change the subject. She just kept her hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, counting on the alcohol in his system to blur the edges of this conversation by morning.

Lando exhaled, rolling his head against the seat to look at her.

His voice was quieter this time, almost thoughtful. “You could say I’m good at self-sabotaging, then.”

It was an attempt to shake off what she had said. To make it sound like a joke. But his voice lacked the usual carelessness. And she knew – he wasn’t just talking about Magui anymore.

“That’s a hell of a thing to admit so casually.”

Lando let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What, you want me to say it dramatically? Maybe get on my knees and confess my sins?”

“I want you to say something that actually means something when it means something.”

The words came out before she could soften them into something easier, something safer. But maybe she was done making this easy. Because honestly, if that’s the route he wanted this night to go, she was finally willing to let it happen. If she was just his safety net – just the person he landed on when everything else fell apart – then fine. But she wouldn’t sit in silence and pretend she didn’t feel anything. Not anymore. If this conversation was shifting toward the edge of something dangerous, something irreversible, then she owed it to herself to stop pretending she didn’t want to know where they stood.

Lando blinked, caught off guard. For once, he didn’t have some quick-witted reply ready.

“I mean it, Lando,” she pressed, voice steady but laced with something heavier, something she didn’t want to name. “You say you sabotage yourself, fine. But are you ever gonna stop?”

His jaw tightened. His fingers twitched against his thigh. She could tell she had struck something deeper. 

It was for him to decide – brush this off like he did with their kiss those years ago, or finally face it and break the toxic cycle he was stuck in. And he had the perfect opportunity, as she had just pulled up into his driveway. 

The longer they sat in the silence, the more suffocating it felt. But he didn’t move and she didn’t either. Through the window, she was looking at the moon looming over them, thoughts running through her head at the speed of light.

Lando finally broke the awkward silence.

“You know, sometimes I think about that night.”

Her breath hitched. “What night?”

Lando let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You know which one.”

The weight of his words settled between them, thick and undeniable.

“Thought you didn’t remember?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Oh I did. For weeks whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was your face. But I was a coward, so it was easier for me to pretend that nothing happened,” he shook his head. This whole conversation felt like it was sobering him up. 

“And how was it fair on my part?” She turned to him, annoyance written all over her face. So not only he pretended that nothing had happened, but he also left her on hold for two years. Alone. With her feelings. Where she thought that maybe she read too much into his behaviour and it was just a drunk impulse, that meant nothing to him. She had to see him fall in and out of the relationship, dragging someone innocent into his toxic ways. All because he was letting fear to dictate the way he was supposed to be living. 

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t fair. I know that.”

She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “Do you? Because if you did, you wouldn’t have let me sit with it alone for two fucking years.”

Lando opened his mouth, but for once, he didn’t seem to know what to say. His hands curled into fists on his lap. 

“It did mean something.” He finally admitted. 

“Then why didn’t you act like it?”

Silence. Thick, heavy.

She turned away, blinking hard at the windshield. The weight of everything, years of buried feelings, of watching him with someone else, of being the one he always called but never truly saw, was crushing.

“You don’t get to sit here and act like you suddenly see me just because your relationship crashed and burned,” she whispered, voice shaking, because she hated how much it was taking a toll on her.

Lando exhaled, rough and unsteady. “That’s not what this is.”

“No?” She let out a humorless laugh, looking at him again. “Then what is it, Lando?”

He didn’t hesitate this time. “I know I was never in love with Magui, because I am in love with you.”

Her breath caught. But she couldn’t let herself believe it – not yet. 

“Don’t do that.” Her voice wavered, but she held her ground. “Don’t sit here and say things you don’t mean just because you’re scared of being alone.”

“I’m not scared of being alone.” He turned toward her fully now, desperate for her to see him. “I’m scared of being without you.”

She let out a sharp breath, looking away again, because she couldn’t let herself fall – not when he had let her drop before.

Lando ran a hand through his curls, frustration written all over his face. “You think I don’t know what I did? You think I don’t fucking hate myself for it? Why do you think I drink myself to oblivion, when I can’t just face you sober.” His voice cracked. “I see you, okay? I always have. I just… I was too much of a coward to do anything about it. And then Magui came along and for a flicker of time I thought that maybe the kiss was a fluke. But the longer I stayed with her, the better I understood that it wasn’t. I was just an idiot who would rather keep you at arms length in my life than risk it all and eventually lose you.”

She clenched her jaw, still facing away. “And what’s changed now?”

“I have.” His voice softened. “And I know that probably doesn’t mean shit to you right now. But I swear, I love you. I really do.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Those words… God, those words. She had wanted to hear them for so long. But wanting them and believing them were two different things. And she wanted to believe him so bad.  For two years, she had convinced herself that what had happened was nothing but a drunken misstep in his eyes. She had picked up the pieces of her own heart in silence, forced herself to move forward while he moved on with someone else. And yet, no matter how much she tried to bury it, the truth remained – she had never stopped loving him. 

Because that was why she stayed. That was why she always answered when he called, why she showed up when he needed her. She wasn’t just his safety net – she had made herself one. And that realization twisted something deep inside her.

Maybe that made her pathetic. Maybe that made her just like him – stuck in a loop of self-sabotage, never brave enough to step off the ledge.

The weight of his confession hung between them, thick and fragile all at once. She could feel him watching her, waiting, hoping, maybe even pleading.

“I won’t say it back, if that’s what you’re hoping.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less firm. It took everything in her to stand her ground, to not just give in.

“I’m not asking for anything.” His tone was steady, but there was something raw in it, something that felt real. “You don’t owe me shit. It just wasn’t sitting well with me, that’s all.”

“If you mean it, and I mean really mean it, you’re going to have to show me.”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He nodded once, his gaze steady, unshaken. “I will.”

She faced him, studying his expression, searching for doubt, for hesitation. Something to prove that it was just another bluff. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t see any.

She exhaled slowly, reaching for the gear shift. Getting back in touch with reality from something that felt surreal. “Go inside, Lando.”

He didn’t move right away. “And in the morning?”

She met his eyes, holding him there. Letting the weight of this moment settle.

“In the morning, we start by not pretending that this didn’t happen.”

It was a clear dig for his past behavior. And he welcomed it as a slow exhale left his lips, shy smile creeping to the corners of it. Then, finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

She watched as he stepped out, his usual drunken stumble replaced with something steadier. Something different.

She stayed in the driveway for another minute, just to steady herself, to let the conversation sink in.

For two years, she had convinced herself that this was one-sided. That she had been foolish for holding onto something he had long since let go of. And now, in the space of a single conversation, everything had shifted. 

Of course, there was always the possibility that after sobering up, things will look different to him again. And yet… something felt different tonight. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her, steady and unshaken. Maybe it was the way his voice had cracked, or how he hadn’t tried to take the easy way out. He hadn’t asked for forgiveness or promises – just the chance to prove himself.

That was new.

She exhaled, resting her forehead against the steering wheel for a brief moment before finally leaving his driveway.

Hope was dangerous. But at least until the morning, she was willing to take this gamble of hoping. 

[imagine-it-was-us]

ease || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Troye Sivan "Ease"

Author's note: First off – just like DTS, the F1 season of 2019 was dramatized to fit the narrative better. I tried to tie it to the events that actually happened as best as I could, but when you actually look at the season, Lando wasn't bad – the car was. Hope you like it.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, declining mental health.

Summary: Amid the highs and lows of a debut Formula 1 season, Lando navigates the pressures of the sport, self-doubt, and the weight of expectations. Through late-night phone calls and quiet moments of vulnerability, he finds solace in the one person who sees beyond the headlines.

Word count: 2k+

[Phone ringing…]

"Lando?? Hii!"

"Hey, you answered!" He grinned, leaning back against the couch.

"Of course I did! It’s your first Grand Prix of the year! I’m literally getting ready to go to Oliver’s and watch it." A pause. "Also, you called me, so you expected me to be up, didn’t you?"

"Yeah… but I kinda thought you’d still be asleep."

"I couldn’t. The nerves barely let me." A small pause. "Speaking of which—how are you feeling?"

"Oh, the nerves are definitely there. Jon’s been on my case about it. I barely slept and just forced down breakfast. Outqualifying Carlos was bold, and now I’m wedged between Kimi and Kevin… Those guys have years of experience. It’s gonna be tough to hold my own. I know no one expects me to land a podium, but, you know… a point would be nice."

"Oh, come on, Lando. It’s your first career race as a holder of an F1 seat! You’re not a reserve anymore, but you can’t hold yourself to such a high standard already. I know you hate losing, and I know being here is your dream, but please—keep it realistic."

"I know, I know." He exhaled. "But that’s the thing – I love this. The nerves are there, sure, but the excitement? It’s bigger. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid, and now it’s happening. It’s surreal. Like… I was just a fan, and now I’m in it."

"And that’s exactly why you need to enjoy it, Lando. Whether you finish in the points or not, everyone will be proud of you just for crossing that line. I’m already proud."

Lando chuckled softly. "Look at you, being my best cheerleader."

"I am! And you don’t give yourself enough credit for what you’ve done. You created this life for yourself. Now live it. To the fullest. Don’t let expectations steal the joy from you."

There was a quiet beat between them. Lando let the words sink in before murmuring, "Thanks."

"Anytime."

He glanced at the clock. "I should probably get going."

"Yeah. But Lando?"

"Hm?"

"Enjoy it. Every second of it."

A slow, growing smile spread across his face. "I will."

The call ended, but the words lingered.

_____________

[Phone ringing…]

"Hola, chica."

"Thank God, Lando." She exhaled sharply. "You’re alright?"

"Yeah, of course. Not a bruise on me. Just... gutted."

"I figured. It looked like quite the crash." A pause. "Obviously, I’m relieved you’re okay. Lance is as well, I guess?"

"Oh yeah, not a scratch."

"Lando–"

"I’m just really upset, you know?" He let out a breath, frustration laced in his voice. "I was already gutted after what happened in China, but at least then, I knew I didn’t do anything wrong. And today? Today, I did exactly what Kvyat did. I took someone out of the race. It wasn’t intentional, but… it doesn’t matter. I still feel like shit."

"Lando, accidents happen."

"I know." His voice dropped. "But that doesn’t help. What if McLaren thinks they made a mistake signing me? Maybe I should’ve stayed a reserve driver for another season, learned more before jumping in."

A silence stretched between them before he muttered, "All this driving is driving me crazy, actually."

Her heart clenched. "Oh, my sweet Lando… You’re doing it again, aren’t you? Beating yourself up over things that are part of the learning process?"

He didn’t answer right away. She could hear him shifting around, the rustle of fabric as he lay back against something.

"You’ve had, what? Five races?" she continued. "So what if half of them didn’t go as planned? Two of them did! You scored points, even outscored Carlos once. Do you really think McLaren doesn’t see that? That they’re not excited about what you’re bringing to the team? You’re learning. Even if today feels like a disaster, it’s just a part of the curve—"

"A really fucking steep curve."

"Maybe. But it’s still just a curve."

A heavy sigh left his lips.

"I appreciate your pep talks more than you know." He hesitated before adding, "I’m just… tired. And alone." His voice softened. "Maybe you’ll join me for the French GP? It’s not that far from home…"

She sighed. "Lando, I’m stuck at uni. Even Silverstone might be a struggle. But… I’ll try my best."

"Yeah." He let out a quiet chuckle. "Figured that was a long shot."

"But you’re coming home tomorrow, right?"

"I am, but I heard we have to go straight to MTC. They want us to go over everything, break it all down so we can learn from these mistakes. Might not have much time at home."

"We’ll figure something out, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

A beat of silence, then she sighed. "Look, I have to go. I have a shift at the café. But, Lando?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Please take care of yourself."

A pause. Then, softer than before– "I’ll try."

_____________

[Phone ringing…]

"Hi, Lan, sorry—I was just on the phone with Cisca."

"Oh, so that’s how we’re catching up now, huh? Interrogating my mother?"

"Actually," she paused briefly, "it was the other way around."

A beat of silence.

"What do you mean?" His confusion was audible.

"She’s worried about you. Especially after today. And…" she hesitated, unsure of how he’d take it, "she thinks you’re not being honest about how hard this lifestyle really is on you."

A sigh. A shift of fabric.

"And what did you say to her?" His voice was careful, guarded.

"I didn’t throw you under the bus, if that’s what you’re thinking." She let out a small breath. "But Lan… she knows. She’s your mother. Of course, she knows. And honestly? I think she’s right."

"Right about what?"

"That it’s taking a toll on you, even if you won’t admit it." A pause. "And that you’re not talking to anyone about it. Not even me."

"Listen–"

"It’s okay, Lando, I get it." Her tone softened. "You’ve always been the one to brush things off, to keep things light, to act like none of this weighs you down. But I know you too well for that. I see it, even if you don’t say it."

A silence stretched between them. For a moment, she thought he had hung up.

Then–

"When the paparazzi swarmed me today, when they kept pushing and shouting questions about the car, my career, if I thought I was failing—" he exhaled sharply, his voice falling quieter, as if he was telling a secret. "I thought, ‘I’m afraid of the life that I’ve made.’"

Her heart clenched.

"I knew what I was stepping into. I dreamt about this. But I never imagined people could be so cruel, so invasive. And then there’s all the articles, all the headlines about McLaren’s downfall, and guess whose face they always put next to them? Not Carlos. Me."

"That’s bullshit, what they are doing."

"It is." His voice was raw. "I get that Carlos is performing better, but blaming everything on me? Acting like I’m the reason the team is struggling? It’s just… unfair."

"You’re right. It is unfair." She wanted to reach through the phone, to shake him, to remind him of how much he’d already accomplished. "But tell me, Lando – what can we do? How can I help? How can your family, your friends… what do you need?"

Another pause. Then, softer–

"I don’t know."

But at least for the first time, he didn’t brush her off.

She held onto that small win and carried on. "Well, your parents are coming to France and Austria." A beat. "And I’m doing everything in my power to join you in Silverstone."

He let out a breath, but she wasn’t done.

"Lando, what people say online? It’s bullshit. They don’t know you. They see what they want to see, and they make judgments from the outside. Don’t give them the power to decide how you feel about yourself."

Silence hummed between them for a moment before he muttered, almost to himself, "I just realized that on top of everything, I’m a shit boyfriend. I didn’t even ask you how uni is going."

She huffed, exasperated. "Bullshit talking again, Lan."

A small, tired chuckle from his end.

"Call me an idiot, or just in love, but you are the best thing that has ever happened to me." Her voice softened. "And my struggles? They’re practically nonexistent compared to yours. I don’t have the whole world judging my every step."

A deep breath, a sigh.

"That doesn’t mean they don’t matter."

"Chill, we catch on to my boring life plenty. Same old, not failing and exams are coming at the end of June. I will be fine. As long as you are."

____________

[Phone ringing…]

[Phone ringing…]

[Phone ringing…]

"Lando, thank God you picked up. Talk to me, please"

On her end, the faint hum of the city – cars rushing past, muffled voices, footsteps against pavement. On his end? Nothing.

A shaky breath. Then – his voice, barely above a whisper. "I just don’t think I can do it anymore."

He hated admitting it. Hated how the words tasted like failure on his tongue. But God, he was so tired of trying to hide it. 

Her grip on the phone tightened.

It was just one article. One goddamn article. McLaren considering a lineup change. His picture plastered all over it. He didn’t even read the full thing—if he had, he would’ve seen it was about 2021, about Sainz’s contract coming to an end, about how McLaren needed to step up to keep Carlos.

But he never got that far.

The comments were enough.

That McLaren made a mistake promoting him. That he was too young. That he was the reason McLaren kept failing.

He swallowed. She could hear it.

"What if they are right? What if stepping down would be the most mature thing to do. McLaren believed in me so much, I can’t help feeling like I’m failing them."

"Lando, you are not failing anyone. That article wasn’t even about you."

"You just say that to make me feel better.” A humorless chuckle. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this?"

"Stop. You are at the hotel, right?"

"Yes."

Silence stretched between them. He exhaled shakily, bracing himself for whatever comfort she was about to offer – except before he could even process her question, there was a hard knock against his door.

"Are you–?" His voice, laced with disbelief.

"Open the door."

He heard it both coming through the door and the phone. 

His heart stuttered. With hesitant steps, he unlocked the door, and the moment it swung open, she was there – standing in front of him, eyes scanning his face, taking him in. And he must’ve looked like shit, because she didn’t hesitate.

The door clicked shut behind them as she dropped the handbag and stepped forward, wrapping herself around him. No hesitation, no questions. Just warmth.

He froze for half a second before melting into it, arms tightening around her, his cheek resting against the top of her head. Her touch was comforting. She smelled like home. Like the one place where nothing hurt.

She buried her face in his chest as she spoke softly. "You are none of the things internet trolls make you out to be. Your family and friends are rooting for you every time you cross that line, whether it’s P6 or DNF. Your team? They believe in you, you weren’t offered the seat by mistake or pure luck, it was your skill that guaranteed that. Carlos?" She hesitated for a beat. "He’s extremely proud to have you as a teammate, you keep him on his toes, and he’s worried sick about you."

His brows furrowed. "Carlos?"

"Before you say anything, I’ve been keeping in touch with him since you introduced us in Silverstone, he was just keeping an eye on you. How do you think I knew which room to go to?" She let out a small chuckle. "He cares about you, Lan. We all do." 

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He just held on tighter, like letting go would send him spiraling again.

"This bullshit will pass. Don’t let them win. You don’t shut them up by stepping down, Lan. You do it by proving them wrong."

She could feel his breathing slow, the way his shoulders – usually burdened with the weight of the world – dropped ever so slightly. Maybe things wouldn’t miraculously get better overnight. Maybe the doubt wouldn’t disappear in a snap. 

But he still felt the fragile sense of ease building in his chest. 

[imagine-it-was-us]

foreign language || Charles Leclerc

Inspiration: Nothing but thieves "Foreign language"

Author's note: My favorite part about writing these is entertaining different conflicts and perspectives of it. Especially when I cannot sleep and I challenge my husband with the ideas and everything turns into one big debate event. Props to him for helping with this one and still putting up with me 🤍

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: none. I'm not that type of girlie.

Summary: For years, they’ve built something quiet, something real – hidden away from the cameras, the headlines, the insatiable curiosity of the world. But secrecy comes at a cost, and the weight of it is starting to press down on them both. When a rare moment of peace forces them to confront the choices they’ve made, they find themselves standing at a crossroads.

Word count: 2.6k+

The warmth of the sun was pressing gently against his skin, the faint sound of waves rolling onto the shore blending into the rhythmic hum of the world around him. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, matching the pace of the woman resting against him. He had her tucked into his side, her body draped across his like she belonged there. And she did. That much, he was sure of.

What he wasn’t sure of – what he sometimes struggled to wrap his head around – was how different their lives were. How different they had always been.

Right now, though, none of that mattered.

For a brief moment in time, they were untouchable. Not because of security teams or carefully placed PR statements, but because nobody here cared. People passed them by, offering little more than a glance, completely indifferent to the fact that one of the most recognizable faces in motorsport was lying on their beach, holding a woman whose name the public didn’t even know.

He exhaled slowly, a deep, satisfied sigh that came from someplace buried so deep inside him, he almost didn’t recognize it.

She shifted slightly against him, her voice smooth and unbothered as she asked:

“What’s the matter?”

She didn’t open her eyes, still basking in the sun, soaking in the kind of peace that came naturally to her but had to be constructed for him – pieced together through strategic social media posts and a carefully orchestrated timeline that placed him halfway across the continent.

“All is good,” he murmured, and even that was an admission, because he hadn’t known it was possible to feel this light. “I’m just enjoying this.”

And he was. But at the same time, he wasn’t.

Because he’d had to fight for this. For a single week of anonymity, he had to pull off a logistical stunt that rivaled the complexities of an F1 strategy call. Max had helped, of course – posing in a few group shots with him, editing time stamps, planting just enough digital breadcrumbs to keep the illusion alive. Meanwhile, he had snuck into a tiny, overlooked country in Eastern Europe, where cameras didn’t follow him, and fans didn’t chase him down the street.

And still, it wasn’t just the effort that sat heavy on his chest. It was the mere fact that this was necessary at all.

His life wasn’t built for peace. His life was a series of carefully calculated moves, a world where nothing went unnoticed, where one wrong word could create a week’s worth of headlines. He’d grown up in it, adapted to it. And while he wouldn’t say he chose it, it was the only way he knew how to exist.

Until he met her.

She had been the first person to show him something different.

He could still remember the first time he saw her, the way she barely even looked at him when she handed him his coffee. It was such a simple thing, but it stunned him. He wasn’t used to that. To being invisible. To being just another person in line.

And yet, he kept coming back, chasing something he didn’t even have a name for at the time. The quiet confidence, the way she moved through life without the need for validation or the weight of expectations. It was the absence of noise that made him lean in closer.

Eventually, he got through to her, broke down the walls she so carefully built. And as their connection grew, he expected that she would eventually step into his world. That she would want to. Yet, she never did.

Even now, nearly five years later, she remained tucked away in the spaces between his public life, choosing to exist in the shadows rather than the spotlight. And for all the love they shared, for all the ways they had built a life together, sometimes it frustrated him.

Of course, the people who mattered knew. Their families, their closest friends – those who had stood beside them long before the world ever cared about his name. The ones who saw beyond the headlines and the interviews, who understood that what they had was real, even if the world never got to witness it.

And those same people had become their quiet accomplices, helping them navigate this delicate, invisible dance. His family never slipped up in interviews, never let a misplaced word expose what he worked so hard to keep private. His friends, too, had learned to deflect, to keep her name away from questioning eyes. Even his team, the ones who spent nearly every waking moment with him – had learned the unspoken rule: she was his, but she wasn’t theirs to claim.

And yet, for all the secrecy, for all the careful maneuvering… their love had never felt hidden to the people who truly mattered. It was just protected.

But protection and freedom weren’t the same thing. And that was the battle he fought within himself, over and over again. Not because he wanted to parade her around like some kind of trophy. He simply was not that type of guy. But because hiding this part of his life had become suffocating. The weight of secrecy pressed on him in every interview, every event, every casual question about his personal life that forced him to bite his tongue or dance around the truth.

His fingers absently brushed over the sand beside him, the warmth of the sun clashing with the cool unease creeping up his spine.

“You’re still thinking about making this public now, don’t you?”

Her voice was calm, steady, like she already knew the answer. And of course, she did, cause this discussion would sometimes interrupt their daily program. Her eyes, open now, studied him intently, reading the silent tug-of-war happening inside his head.

His gaze flickered downward, landing on the delicate gold band on her ring finger. Minimalistic, understated. Just like the love they had built – real, solid, but never loud.

“You know I am,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, but certain. “But I would never push you into something you’re not ready for.”

She rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up just enough to study him more closely. Sunlight hit her skin, casting a glow across her features, but her expression remained unreadable. Thoughtful. Considering. This discussion wasn’t new. The conversation had snuck its way into their quiet moments before. It was never a demand, never a plea, just a lingering thought between them, waiting for a resolution.

And yet, every time it came up, she felt the same pull in opposite directions. She wanted to give him everything. But she also wanted to keep this one thing just for herself. Once it was out there, it wasn’t just theirs anymore. It would belong to the headlines, the speculations, the nameless voices picking apart every detail. It wasn’t the attention itself that scared her – it was the slow erosion of their bubble, the way something so intimate could turn into a conversation for the world to dissect.

But it had never been about her safety, not really. It had always been about his. He was the one whose life had been carefully curated, whose every move was subject to scrutiny. She was the ghost between the lines, the one thing he had kept untouched by the madness. And that had worked—because it had been on her terms. Now, though? Now he wanted something different.

If the rules of their world had to shift, then why should she be the only one adjusting? If he wanted to entertain the idea of change, then so would she.

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. “Charles, quit F1.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He knew better. He knew she would explain.

“It will take people a couple of years to forget you, don’t get me wrong,” she continued, her voice measured, unhurried. “You’ll be questioned endlessly about it, that’s for a fact. Every interview, every headline, it’ll be about why you left, if you’ll ever come back. But eventually, the headlines will die down.”

Her fingers idly traced patterns into the sand between them.

“There will be younger and quicker people on the grid who will outshine you. Drivers who will set new records, who will take over the narrative, who will become the new obsession. Once you step out of it, there will be less and less interest in you every day. And just like that… eventually, no one will truly care.”

The words settled between them, heavy yet spoken with complete neutrality. No expectation. No malice. Just the truth.

And it hit him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Because she was right.

He had spent so many years believing that the world’s attention on him was unavoidable. That being watched, analyzed, followed was just part of him, an inescapable reality. But was it? 

He had watched legends retire before. He had seen the frenzy that followed, the endless speculation, the “will he, won’t he” debates that flooded every media outlet. But then always someone new came along. And slowly, those names, those faces, the ones that once seemed untouchable… they faded.

He had seen it happen. He had never considered it happening to him.

And yet, she had laid it out so plainly. The alternative. A life where no one waited at hotel lobbies or airports. Where his words weren’t dissected, his expressions weren’t analyzed. Where he could just be.

The moment the words left her mouth, he felt the immediate instinct to deflect. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it, but there was something deeply unsettling about confronting the possibility head-on.

“No, I couldn’t,” he said, shaking his head slightly, as if the idea alone was too absurd to entertain for long. “I like what I’m doing. Even though it tends to be bizarre.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t push. She just looked at him with that same knowing expression, the one that told him she understood more than he ever had to say out loud.

“I know and that is why I would never force you to,” she said simply. Then, with a small smile, she added, “But I know what I’m doing, too.”

She shifted slightly, resting her chin on her folded arms as she continued. “I like admiring you and supporting you from afar. I love being in the crowd, looking at you, and knowing that the people around me couldn’t care less. That’s a kind of freedom I cherish. And I love my work too. You know, I studied hard for it. Being a cybersecurity specialist means I have to be the hardest person to track.”

She glanced down at her hand, twisting the ring slightly between her fingers, still getting used to the new title attached to it.

“I’m Charles Leclerc’s wife.” There was no bitterness in the way she said it, only quiet amusement. “My firewalls are already attacked as it is. I don’t want any more eyes on me.”

Her voice remained calm, steady. This wasn’t an argument. It wasn’t an attempt to change his mind or to make him choose. It was just perspective. The same way he had given her his.

He nodded, exhaling slowly, fingers tracing absent patterns in the sand.

“I understand it.”

She smiled softly, as if she already knew he would say that. But there was still more to say.

“And still,” she continued, “it’s my freedom on the chopping block each time. Not your career.”

There was no accusation in her voice, no resentment. Just truth. A truth he had never been able to fully grasp – not because he didn’t want to, but because he had never lived it.

He knew what it meant to be scrutinized, to have his every move dissected and analyzed. But she knew what it meant to fight for the right not to be seen. To be invisible by choice, because her work depended on it.

And that was the core of it, wasn’t it? They weren’t on opposite sides. 

They were just speaking different languages. And he loved hearing her talk. 

“I know that we’ve been so tired of this walking around on our tiptoes lately. And I know that you hate lying,” she murmured, exhaling slowly, eyes closing again as if to fully absorb the warmth of the sun against her skin. “So don’t.”

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Don’t hide the ring,” she continued. “Don’t deny the questions. Just… don’t entertain the idea.”

His lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk.

“First couple of months will be hell,” she admitted, voice carrying the weight of reality, but there was no hesitation in it. “And I’ll probably have to keep my distance just a little bit more. But just like with the ending of a career – once you stop talking about it, once you stop feeding into it… eventually, they’ll care less and less.” Her voice trailed off, as if the thought itself was settling into place even as she said it.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves, the faint chatter of distant voices, the occasional gust of wind brushing against them.

He turned his head toward her, watching the way her lips remained slightly parted, the way her fingers absentmindedly traced the curve of her ring. Their ring.

He let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head back against the sand. “That might be the most diplomatic way you’ve ever told me I told you so.”

Throughout their relationship, she has told him multiple times that public attention fades when there’s nothing to feed it. She’s seen it happen, and she has lived her life accordingly, staying under the radar by not engaging with the spotlight in any way. Meanwhile, he has spent years under scrutiny, believing that any revelation about his private life would spiral into endless speculation, making it impossible to protect what they have.

She cracked one eye open, just enough to catch the teasing glint in his. “I’m just saying, if you’re so desperate to stop lying, you might as well try telling the watered-down version of the truth for once.”

He hummed, rolling onto his side so he could prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with an amused smile. “And this is you giving me permission?”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I’m just giving you an option.”

For a second, he just looked at her, as if trying to make sure he had heard her right.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t an Instagram post or a joint red-carpet appearance. But to him, it was bigger than that. It was a permission. A quiet, unspoken acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, she trusted the world enough to know a piece of their truth.

The relief was instant, but more than that – it was joy. She wasn’t giving him everything. But she was giving him this. And for now, that was enough.

“I have to say,” he chuckled, a grin tugging at his lips, “I wasn’t expecting this kind of progress today.”

“Giving someone the right to claim your last name comes with its own advantages, but don’t get used to it.”

He laughed, light and easy, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of her head before lying back down. The sun was warm, the air still, and for the first time in a long time, something inside of him felt lighter.

Maybe they weren’t speaking the same language just yet.

But at least now, they were meeting in the middle.

masterlist✨

[imagine-it-was-us]

Masterlist

Lando Norris

✧ something on my mind ✧ where we land ✧ ease ✧ Stephanie's place ✧ when am I gonna lose you?

Carlos Sainz

✧ love me not part1 part2 part3

Lewis Hamilton

✧ greasy spoon

Charles Leclerc

✧ foreign language ✧ mine

[imagine-it-was-us]

where we land || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Ed Sheeran where we land

Author's note: These are getting out of hand. Started as the creative outlet and ended as sleepless nights where you can't go to bed until you let our mind bleed out on the keyboard. Ed Sheeran and his music will always have a special place in my heart. And this particular song makes me miss the relationship I never had. So enjoy, I am really proud of this one. Hopefully you will find it bearable.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: none, just angst.

Summary: do I love you? do I hate you? || I can't make up my mind || so let's free fall (and part ways for the year I guess??) and see where we land.

Word count: 6.8k+

“Lando, this isn’t working”, she sighed. It was obvious that this short sentence took every last bit of energy she had. After this, there was nothing left – no emotions, no desire to fight, just nothing. A blank expression followed.

He looked up from his computer, unphased. 

“What’s not working?” 

“Us.” 

The mood slightly shifted, yet nothing too shocking. It felt like this conversation was overdone way too many times. They have been here before. That's why he didn’t even take a second to think about what sparked this conversation. It felt like it was a casual chat between an old married couple. 

“Yeah,” Lando muttered, exhaling sharply. “Let’s take a break. We’ll make up anyway.”

That was it. No argument, no hesitation. Like it was routine. Like she had just told him she was stepping out for a moment, and he expected her to come back.

When you think about it, it was devastating. The level of indifference was what hurt the most.

They had known each other their whole lives – friends by proximity before choice. Their families lived in the same neighborhood, close enough that their bond felt inevitable. Even as kids, they were opposites. He was the reckless daredevil, climbing trees and riding his bike at full speed down the steepest roads, while she was the quiet dreamer, lying on the grass for hours, lost in her thoughts. But somehow, they worked. They always had.

As they grew up, their lives took different directions, but they never drifted too far. When Lando got into karting, and later, into the high-stakes world of racing, she wasn’t his biggest supporter in the traditional sense. She didn’t attend every event or cheer the loudest. But she cared. She always asked how he was feeling, if he was okay. She avoided getting too involved, not because she didn’t believe in him or was not interested, but because she couldn’t shake the fear of what could happen. The crashes, the risks, the reality of what came with high-speed racing. Maybe that fear had even shaped her, pushed her toward a career where she could save the ones who weren’t as lucky. And yet, no matter how different their paths became, they had always made time for each other.

Then came that one Christmas. The night everything changed. He was on the brink of signing with McLaren, and she had just over a year of school left, set on studying medicine, becoming a paramedic. They spent the whole evening talking – about dreams, about the future, about everything. And the one constant in all their scenarios? Each other. They didn’t officially get together until months later, when the butterflies finally settled in. What started as something gentle and fragile grew into something more. Something that should have been unbreakable.

But it wasn’t.

Between her relentless studying and his deep dive into the world of Formula 1, the distance between them grew. The small sacrifices they used to make for each other became harder. At first, they convinced themselves it was just a rough patch. They had fallen in love as teenagers, blindly, without knowing what love truly required. Clashes were inevitable, but they always told themselves it was just temporary. That love would always outweigh the tension.

Until it didn’t.

The fights became more than just stress-fueled bickering. Trust started to crack. The rumors, the online hate she received for simply existing in his world, the missed races, the missed plans, the days of unanswered calls. The moments of doubt that neither of them wanted to admit were growing stronger.

They had tried. God, they had tried.

The guilt would always swing between them like a pendulum – one of them messing up, the other one forgiving too easily, hoping that this time would be different. And when it wasn’t, they’d take a step back, hoping the distance would fix what being together couldn’t. Then, like clockwork, one of them would cave. One apology, one touch, one whispered „I miss you“ would pull them back in.

The boat had been rocking for years. But at least before, there had still been waves. Now, sitting in their Monaco home, she wasn’t sure if they had finally reached the calm, or if they had simply drifted so far apart that the water didn’t even touch them anymore.

And that was worse than all the fights combined.

“That’s it?”

He lifted a shoulder in an infuriating half-shrug. “What do you want me to say? We take a break, we come back. It’s what we do.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Lando. I don’t want to pause on this empty shell we still call the relationship. I just don’t think I can.” 

Deep down, words coming out of her hurt her. Yet she was just so tired of this game, then at the end there was no happy ending.

Lando exhaled, closing his laptop and putting it away, jaw clenched. Maybe he thought she was being dramatic. Maybe he was just waiting for the inevitable moment when she’d take it back.

But she wouldn’t, not this time. She just stood up from her end of the couch and exhaled. 

“It will take me a couple of days to gather everything I own from this apartment. I will do it once you leave for Las Vegas, so I won’t disturb your calm before the GP. I will just grab my essentials for now,” she said like she was reciting a groceries list. 

Lando didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the coffee table like it held all the answers he couldn’t find in her face. Maybe he was searching for something to say – some magic combination of words that would break the cycle, that would make this easier. But there was nothing left to say.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

She felt her stomach twist. Part of her had wanted him to fight – really fight – for this, for them. But wasn’t that the whole point? They were tired. Exhausted. Running on empty, pretending they had more to give when they didn’t.

She swallowed, shifting on her feet. “I think we should do it properly this time.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, guarded. “What do you mean?”

“No breaks. No texts, no calls, no checking in. Not even a happy birthday or Merry Christmas.” The words came out steady, even though her heart was hammering against her ribs. “We give it at least a year. If we’re happier – truly happier – then we’ll know. We’ll let it go for good.”

Lando stood up, facing her. “And if we’re not?”

She exhaled, forcing a small, tired smile. “Then we’ll see where we land.”

He let out a breath, running a hand down his face. For a moment, he just studied her, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Like maybe, deep down, some part of him was realizing that this was the last time he’d get to see her like this. Here. His.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he murmured. “One year.”

One year to figure out if this was really love, or just a bad habit neither of them knew how to break. One year to see if they could be whole without each other. Or if, after everything, they still made sense together.

She was about to turn toward the bedroom, ready to start packing, but he moved first. His arms wound around her, and she didn’t hesitate before wrapping hers around him just as tightly.

And that was what made it hurt the most. Because after six years give or take, after all the fights and make-ups and everything in between, this was still the safest place each of them had ever known. His heartbeat against her ear. Her scent wrapping around him like home. The way neither of them wanted to be the first to let go.

But they had to. So, after one long, lingering moment, she forced herself to step back.

Lando’s arms fell away slowly, reluctantly, like he was holding onto the very last seconds of whatever this was.

And just like that, they let go. Not with a bang, not with a fight. Just a quiet understanding that, for the first time in years, it was time to stop holding on.

______

Remember the “No Merry Christmas” part? Well, that was their first slip up. 

At first, no one questioned it. 

When they said their goodbyes, when she packed up the last of her things, when they let go without a fight – no one questioned it. Not their friends. Not their families. Not the people who had known them as a unit for years.

Because this was just how they were. Messy. Cyclical. A little dramatic but never final. Everyone assumed that, in a few weeks, they’d find their way back – like they always did.

Yet red flags were being waved when she showed up on your parents doorstep and asked them to let you crash at theirs for the time being. 

And when the world around you was lighting up, getting ready for the most wonderful time of the year, she was really feeling dead inside. That was when the questions started.

As she had to find a new job outside Monaco, she landed in the local hospital, in her parents' area. Her new coworkers, who knew her family, would try the small talk, asking how he was doing as the season went to the end. Sometimes even her patients would recognize her and ask her about F1 and her used-to-be boyfriend. A friend, who you haven’t talked to for weeks, would bring an article and ask for you to comment on it. It was even from her own aunt – the one she only ever saw at Christmas– who asked, completely oblivious, “What size are Lando’s feet again? I want to knit him those socks I promised last year.”

And just like that, he was everywhere. Like an echo of a life she wasn’t living anymore. Like a mistake she wasn’t sure she had actually made.

Because wasn’t that what everyone kept implying? That they had been stupid for doing this? That this break – this “proper” break, this one-year promise – was just a long, drawn-out way of making them both miserable?

And if so—was Lando feeling it, too?

Was he being ambushed with casual mentions of her in conversations that had nothing to do with her? Did he hear her name in places he wasn’t expecting it? Did it catch him off guard, did it sting, did it make him wonder if they had just ruined something they were always meant to fix?

She stopped herself from wondering. After all, she could dwell in these thoughts forever and never move forward. She knew she had to. This break was not only about figuring them out. It was also about figuring who you are outside the relationship you grew up in. 

So for now, she did the thing she knew the best – threw herself into work. That’s why when Christmas Eve rolled around, she had her life line to escape hushed voices and petty looks, asking about her life. Also, Norris' family would always eventually roll around for a quick cup of tea – it was a tradition started by their parents even before the both of them were around so she for sure believed that them being on break would not stop their parents from interacting. Never did on any other break. 

She did what she always did when the walls started closing in. She grabbed her coat, threw a scarf over her scrubs, and braced herself for the short, freezing walk to her car. A twelve-hour shift awaited her, filled with last-minute holiday accidents and bad luck, and she was oddly grateful for it. A perfect excuse to be anywhere but here.

She said her goodbyes, wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and stepped outside.

And nearly crashed straight into Adam Norris. Her hand shot out to steady herself, boots skidding slightly against the icy porch. “Oh – I’m so sorry,” she blurted, barely catching her breath before –

Her stomach dropped.

Because it wasn’t just Adam. It was all of them.

His entire family stood there, wrapped in warm coats and holiday cheer. And Lando – of course, Lando – was in the middle of it all, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze locked onto her like he hadn’t been expecting this either.

She barely let her eyes flick to his before looking away, heart hammering.

“You’re always in such a rush, aren’t you?” Cisca asked, her voice as warm as ever.

“Yes, I’m working tonight, unfortunately,” she added, making them hear what she wanted rather than expressing her feelings. 

“Oh, your mother told me about the shifts you’re taking and they still make you work during the day like this? That’s so sad,” she said, empathetically. His mother was always the angel and they had a great connection before this break. 

She gave a light shrug, desperate to keep the conversation surface-level. “What can I say? Gotta work if I ever want to give my parents a break.”

It was the lie she’d been telling everyone. That she was saving for a down payment. That the extra shifts were a means to an end. A practical excuse for why she spent more time at the hospital than at home, drowning herself in work instead of drowning in the what-ifs of a relationship that no longer existed.

But it didn’t matter. Not when she could feel Lando’s eyes on her. Not when it took every ounce of strength to keep her own from slipping back to his.

“Well,” Cisca sighed, stepping aside to give her space to pass. “Stay safe, darling.”

She hesitated. A half-second, barely noticeable. And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.

“Merry Christmas, fam.”

The moment she said it, she regretted it. The slip. The weakness. The betrayal of her own rules.

And then there was Lando.

For the first time since she stepped outside, she met his gaze. A brief, fleeting glance. A quiet acknowledgment of everything that still lingered between them.

She barely made a sound when she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

Then, before she could give herself time to second-guess it, she turned on her heel and walked away, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She couldn’t. Because she knew if she did – if she heard his voice, his words – her carefully built defenses would crumble.

But as she made it to her car, something soft, something broken, floated through the cold December air.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

And somehow this moment stung Lando more than anything else ever had.

______

Spring was warming up the air, shaking winter from the trees and stretching daylight just a little longer each evening. She had always hated this time of year – hated the way it pressed against her chest, thick with stress and expectations. First, it was the exams, the all-nighters, the anxious flipping of textbooks. Then, later, it became Lando’s schedule. The season kicking off, his world spinning faster while she tried to hold onto the edges.

This year, though, spring was something different. Unusually dull. Unnaturally calm. But it was for her to figure out if it was the kind of calm that comes before or after the storm.

By all accounts, she was doing well. She was thriving at work, getting used to the rhythm of long shifts and fast decisions. She had found herself a new apartment – small, but cozy, a space that was hers and hers alone. She even picked up jogging and pilates, things she used to roll her eyes at but now clung to as some kind of personal victory.

Some days were perfect. She would wake up, stretch in the morning light, sip her coffee in silence, and almost – almost – forget why her life looked the way it did now.

Emphasis on ‘almost.’

Because when you spend six years wrapped around someone else’s life, untangling yourself doesn’t happen overnight. Their friend groups overlapped too much, their histories bled into too many places, and avoiding him completely was impossible.

They had been careful, though. Calculated. She planned around GP weekends, making sure to show up to gatherings when he was halfway across the world, and skipping the ones when she knew he’d be visiting the home town. It worked. Until, inevitably, it didn’t.

That night, she hadn’t planned to see him. It was supposed to be a quiet evening. Just a handful of friends, drinks, some music humming in the background. Nothing major. Nothing painful. But then, sometime between her second glass of wine and the last lazy notes of an old song drifting through the air, she felt it.

That awareness. The way her skin prickled before she even turned her head. He was there.

Just across the room, laughing at something, his head thrown back, the sound of it familiar enough to sink straight into her bones. He looked... good. Relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. And for a second she let herself wonder if she looked that way too. If he saw her and thought, ‘She’s okay. She’s moved on. She doesn’t miss me the way I miss her’.

It was unbearable. The way it made her stomach twist, the way it pulled something raw inside of her. It wasn’t just the sight of him, it wasn't just the proof that he still existed outside of her world – it was the realization that she still felt it. That she still felt everything.

So she left. Quietly. Without goodbyes. Without looking back.

By the time she got home, she was already peeling off her jacket, kicking off her shoes, slipping beneath the covers in the dark. Sleep would fix it. Sleep would dull the sharp edges, smooth over the crack in her chest.

Morning light bled through the thin curtains, painting soft streaks across the room. She stretched, rubbing at her puffy eyes, the lingering ache of last night still pressing heavy against her ribs.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he got to be fine. That he got to laugh and exist so easily in a world without her while she sat here, caught in the ghost of something that refused to fade.

Yet there was a surprise waiting for her when she picked up the phone.

A missed call at 3:48 am. And a voice note from him on her Instagram DMs followed.

Then, for just a second, something fluttered in her chest. A spark of something she didn’t want to name. Because maybe he had seen her last night. Maybe he had felt it too.

But reality was quick to sink its claws in, dragging her back down. No. This wasn’t that. This was probably drunk Lando. This was ‘bad decisions wrapped in nostalgia and gin’ Lando.

She should ignore it. But her thumb was already moving before her brain could stop her.

Click. Play.

“Heeeeeeeyyyy pretty girl.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

He was drunk. The kind of drunk where words ran together, loose and careless.

“I’m so sorry for the call, I realized that you are probably working or worse – asleep – and just canceled it. Like I know that you would stab anyone who would dare to wake you up if it’s not important, and since I guess I no longer am, I—”

A hiccup. A pause.

Her stomach twisted. She should stop listening. But she didn’t.

“I just don’t know… Whenever I see you, you seem so fine, so moved on… And then there’s me, stuck between fake and being down. And you know what I do when I feel down? I go to the bar, the club. You name it. I scan a crowd looking for you. I never find you, because duh, why should I? You only went to these places for me.”

Her chest tightened. She had hated clubs with all her heart. The noise, the people, the way she never really fit into that world. She only went because he loved it. Because Lando loved the music, the energy, the thrill of it. And yet… after all this time, he was still looking for her in places she never truly belonged.

“So, I get the random girl and imagine it is you. I imagine you still care, laugh at my pick-up lines, take me home with you. I even moaned your name one time and the lady was pissed off, I got smacked, lol. Could you imagine…”

A sharp exhale left her lips.

God, he was an idiot. Saying things he had no business saying. Telling her things she shouldn’t know. She wanted to be mad. To roll her eyes, to call him out for being reckless, for dragging her back into the mess they were supposed to be untangling.

But she wasn’t mad. She was something else entirely. Because there, tangled between the words and the drunken confessions, was something she wasn’t ready to face. Regret. And worse – feelings that she thought was lost during all this. The kind that made the edges of her world blur for a moment, tilting just enough to make her wonder…

What if?

And then – 

“I should have fought for you, you know? When you asked for this break. I was an idiot for letting you walk out the door so easily. Screw the ‘let’s see where we land’ thing. I already know where I’m landing. Now the ball is in your corner or whatever. So yeah, good chat. See you around.”

Silence.

Her heart was pounding.

She stared at the screen, her mind racing.

This wasn’t just some drunk butt dial. This wasn’t some half-hearted message he would brush off in the morning.

This was a line drawn in the sand. This was him saying, ‘I know what I want. Do you?’

She swallowed, her hands shaking as she locked her phone and pressed it to her chest.

She needed to breathe. She needed to think.

But later that day, when she opened the chat to replay the message and dissect every word it was gone.

Not even a trace of it ever existing.

And just like that, she was left with nothing but the weight of what could have been.

__________

She didn’t want to be here.

That much had been clear from the second she stepped onto Silverstone’s pavement, a familiar hum in the air, the smell of petrol and rubber hitting her in a way that made her stomach twist.

It wasn’t just the track – it was everything it represented. The years spent here, the routines, the nerves. The way she used to pace behind the pit wall, hands shoved into the pockets of a McLaren hoodie that wasn’t even hers, chewing on her bottom lip as she watched Lando push the car to its limits.

It was muscle memory to be here, and yet, it had never felt more foreign.

She had almost backed out, too, with the kind of last-minute excuse that wouldn’t fool her mother but might have been enough to let her go on with her weekend and avoid the inevitable. But the tickets had been a Christmas gift – from the Norris family, as per usual – and her parents had been so excited.

“It’s been too long since we all did something like this together. You used to go with him all the time while we were watching from the sidelines. Now we can switch places, you will be fine” her dad had said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Fun. Right.

So she had caved. And when it was time to leave for Sunday GP, she still wanted to blend in the crowd. She knew there would be plenty of McLaren fans, so if you can’t beat them – join them. She took out a random t-shirt that was probably used way too many times. It was only after pulling it over her head that she realized which one it was.

His.

One he had left in her drawer ages ago, one she had slept in more nights than she could count.

It smelled like fabric softener instead of him now. That should have been a relief. It wasn’t. For a split second, she had almost taken it off. Almost buried it back in the drawer like it was some kind of cursed relic. But then she exhaled. It’s just a shirt. No one will even notice.

And at first she was perfectly flying over the radar. Her parents visited the paddock, while she stayed behind, blending in the crowds. She had perfected the art of blending in – cheering when appropriate, clapping at the right moments, never once letting her gaze wander too long in the direction of the papaya garage. And it was working wonders. 

But then she ran into Emma. The fellow paramedic, who she had known both from the medical, and sports field, as she was a couple years older and worked with Papaya for a few years. One second, she was keeping her head down, avoiding anything orange, and the next, she was being pulled into McLaren hospitality because “It’s dead quiet before the race, and you have a paddock pass, so why not?”

She should have said no. Instead, she sat with Emma, catching up over bad coffee, pretending she wasn’t hyperaware of exactly where she was. Yet every time footsteps neared, her body tensed, anticipation coiling in her stomach like a reflex she hadn’t quite unlearned. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see him – it had happened before, and they had managed to be civil, distant in a way that felt almost rehearsed. But being here, surrounded by everything that made Lando Lando, made her feel too exposed.

Don’t get it wrong – she would always be a fan. Even if life took them further apart, even if one day they became nothing more than a distant memory, she would still admire him. The raw talent, the skill, the way he could take a car and make it his – that would never change. 

But it had been eight months, and for the first time, she was starting to find a rhythm outside of them. A clarity she hadn’t thought possible. And yet. Eight months, and still, his drunken voice note rattled in her head like an echo trapped between her ribs. Eight months, and the thought of seeing him in his element – seeing him – made her stomach twist in ways she couldn’t quite decipher. Would it set her back? Or would it confirm that she was finally past it?

Five minutes into chatting, laughing like she wasn’t standing in the center of everything she had left behind, Oscar Piastri appeared, cradling his arm like it was more of an annoyance than an injury. It was impossible for her not to know or like Oscar – they would always lightly catch up and laugh whenever she visited a paddock. And she sure as hell knew that he was aware what was the reason behind her being absent recently. 

“Hey, do me a favor,” he said, surprised to see her in the paddock, but not making a big deal out of it. “Tell me I’m being dramatic.”

She raised a brow. “You’re being dramatic.”

Oscar grinned. “That’s what I needed.”

They fell into easy conversation – nothing deep, just lighthearted jabs about how McLaren clearly needed her back on call, and how she had ditched them for something far less entertaining.

And then, as she was mid-sentence, Oscar’s eyes flicked to her shirt.

Her stomach dropped. She glanced down, realizing how obvious it was now, when she dropped her jacket off. The faded Lando Norris on the back. The small details only a real fan – or someone owning a similar t-shirt – would notice, proved this shirt wasn’t just merch, but his.

“That is not just any McLaren shirt.”

Her face went hot. “Oscar –”

“You’re both so full of shit,” he cut in, laughing.

Before she could protest, before she could even think, he was pulling out his phone.

“Oscar,” she warned.

“Relax,” he said, snapping the picture. “I’ll make it tasteful.”

So when later that day, after the GP was done and gone, her phone buzzed, she wasn’t surprised to see that Oscar had tagged her in a story, meant for a close friend's circle. At least he had decency not to post it publicly, sparing her from the speculation of people online.

A casual shot – Oscar grinning, arm still wrapped in tape, her beside him, mid-laugh. The caption?

“I’m here catching up with a friend, being all nice and all, and she’s still in his corner.”

She rolled her eyes and locked her phone, pretending she saw nothing. Lando rarely if ever checked other driver’s stories, so she thought that maybe she was safe. 

What she didn’t know, that Lando was also tagged in it. 

It was late by the time the high of his first home win finally started to wear off. It should have lasted longer. It should have been everything. And for a while, it was. The roar of the British crowd, the Union Jack wrapped around his shoulders, the feeling of standing on the top step at Silverstone – his Silverstone. It was a dream he’d had since he was a kid, a moment that was meant to feel like an ending and a beginning all at once.

But the thing about dreams is that you never picture them alone. And she wasn’t there. Not where she should have been, anyway.

He’d looked for her. Not consciously, not obviously, but when he turned toward the grandstands where his family sat – where she used to sit – his eyes found nothing but an empty space. And it was stupid to expect anything different. They weren’t that anymore. They weren’t anything, really.

But for the first time since she walked out, he let himself admit it. It still felt wrong doing this without her.

Later, exhausted but unwilling to sleep, he opened his phone, torn between drowning in nostalgia or holding onto the adrenaline of the win. He chose the latter. Scrolled through the tags, looking for a story to share. When he saw the notification from Oscar, he barely thought twice. Probably some congratulatory post, maybe something teasing him for taking so long to win here.

But when he clicked it, the world narrowed to a pinpoint.

Because there she was.

Not in the stands. Not in his family's section. But she had been there. And she was wearing his shirt. An old one, something he barely even remembered giving her, but she still had it. Still wore it.

His stomach tightened. She hadn’t wanted to see him. Hadn’t let him see her. But maybe he wasn’t the only one still looking for pieces of the past.

And maybe she wasn’t quite ready to let them go either.

______

There were still three days left until their one-year mark. Not that she was counting. 

362 days had passed. 362 days of learning how to be her own person again. And, honestly? She wasn’t half bad at it. 

She had figured out how to be alone without feeling lonely. She’d chased things she never made time for before, threw herself into work, into new routines, into a version of herself that wasn’t just an extension of him. And she liked who she was becoming – someone stronger, more driven, more sure of herself.

But did she still feel a pit in her stomach every time she thought about the fact that he wasn’t there to see it? Absolutely.

And maybe that was why she had convinced herself she just had to make it to a year. A clean number. One final milestone to tell her that they had really done it – walked away, stayed away and allowed them both to breath.

But then came the invitation. Max, persistently begging her to come. It’s his birthday, he’d want you there. And also, it was hard to lie to herself that three days would make her change her mind. 

Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the chaos, clutching a drink she didn’t want, in a room that felt too damn small. The music was loud, the air thick with laughter and voices overlapping in that familiar, comfortable way. She had spent years in rooms like this, at parties just like this, orbiting the same people, the same circles. But tonight, she felt like a stranger.

And then she saw him. Across the room, back turned, laughing at something Max had said. Easy. Effortless. Like nothing had changed.

The last time she saw him, Lando was leaving Silverstone with his name echoing through the crowd. A winner. A hero. And she had watched from the screen of her phone, watching him have everything he ever wanted. 

That realization made her stop in her tracks.

Because here he was, months later, standing in the center of a world that kept spinning without her. With only three GPs left, he was still a contender for the whole damn championship. He had managed to dodge all major drama, kept his head down, thrived. And now, surrounded by friends, by people who cared for him, cherished him, celebrated him – he looked free.

Happy.

And just like that, the thought hit her like a punch to the ribs. Maybe this should be it. Maybe this night should be her closure. Because if this past year had proven anything, it was that he didn’t need her. And as much as it twisted something deep inside her, maybe she was okay with that.

Maybe she could give up the what if in exchange for the freedom she had convinced herself he deserved. Even if her heart didn’t waver. Even if she was still his in ways she wished she wasn’t.

She turned on her heel, ready to leave this place. She knew that he was aware that she was here. So the checkmark ticked for their friends – she was here, she had cheered for him. Now it was time to leave all this behind them. Just as she was about to put the empty glass on the table by the door, she heard a familiar voice:

“Leaving so soon?”

His voice cut through the noise like a blade. She could barely hear it, but somehow, it still sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn’t turn back, not right away. She let out a breath, eyes shutting for half a second, before finally facing him.

“I was just –” She cleared her throat, finding it suddenly dry. “I was just stepping out.”

Something flickered in his eyes. He didn’t call her bullshit. Didn’t need to. Instead, he simply gestured toward the door.

“Me too.”

As they stepped outside, the air outside was crisp, a quiet relief from the overwhelming heat of the party. She crossed her arms over her chest, less for warmth, more for something to do. Lando stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he exhaled, long and slow.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

And then–

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

She let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “I wasn’t going to.”

His lips twitched. “Max?”

“Max.”

Silence again. But this one wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t unfamiliar. It was them. The kind of quiet that only came after knowing someone for years. The kind that held more weight than words.

Lando rocked back on his heels. “You didn’t have to come.”

She let out a breath, steadying herself. “I know.”

“Then why did you?”

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering toward the door, toward the party she could easily slip back into. Away from this. But she didn’t move.

Instead, she sighed, voice softer now. “Because it’s your birthday.”

Lando exhaled through his nose, looking away for a moment. “I thought maybe you were done.”

“I thought so too,” she admitted. “I was trying to be.”

His gaze snapped back to her, something sharp behind his eyes. “Trying?”

Her stomach twisted. This was exactly what she had been afraid of – this conversation, the one she wasn’t sure she was ready to have. The one where she had to admit that all the time, all the space, all the growing hadn’t undone a damn thing.

“I didn’t want us to slip back,” she confessed. “Back into something that wasn’t healthy. Back into us, but wrong.”

Lando nodded, slow. “And do you think we would?”

She looked at him. At the way he was standing now, steadier, stronger, more him. At the way his face, older in ways that had nothing to do with time, still softened at the sight of her. At the way she still felt it. That pull. That certainty.

She swallowed hard. “No.”

He stepped forward. Not much. Just enough. And this time, he was the one to break the silence.

“You know what I realized?” His voice was quiet, careful. “That I could have the best day of my life, and it still wouldn’t be quite right.”

She stiffened.

“Because it’s not about someone seeing it,” he continued. “It’s about someone being there. It’s about looking over and knowing –” he broke off, shaking his head, then tried again. “I didn’t need you to see me win at Silverstone. Hell I didn't need you to witness any of this. I just –” his voice dropped even lower – “needed you. And then I saw you in that damn picture with my t-shirt on. It took everything in me not to drive to Bristol, looking for you.”

Her throat tightened. “Lando.”

“I know we did the right thing,” he said, brushing it off. “I know we needed time. I know we needed to fix things.” A pause. Then he looked dead into her eyes. “But tell me. Right now. That if we part ways now that you will be the happiest version of yourself.”

Now, she was standing in front of the person who had been both her greatest love and her hardest lesson. Now, she was staring at him, the weight of their history pressing in from all sides, and she still couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t look for him in every crowd. Now, she was tired of pretending.

“I don’t regret what we did,” she whispered. Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t pull back. “I think we needed it,” she admitted. “I think we needed the space. The time. I think we needed to figure out who we were without each other.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “And I did. I figured it out.”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. “And?”

She hesitated, because saying it out loud made it real. Made it true. But after all the turmoil she owed him that much.

“I had good days,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Really good days. Days where I laughed so hard my ribs ached. Where I felt strong. Where I was proud of who I was becoming.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. She inhaled sharply. 

“And then there were the other days. The ones where something amazingly good or amazingly bad happened, something I wanted to share, but I’d reach for my phone and realize – ” Her voice cracked. “Realize you weren’t there.”

Lando shut his eyes for a second, like he needed a moment to steady himself. “Yeah.”

Her chest tightened. “And you?”

His lips parted, but for the first time all night, words didn’t come so easily. So he exhaled, rubbed a hand over his jaw, and met her gaze with the kind of raw honesty that left no room for doubt.

“I had the best day of my life, and it still felt wrong because you weren’t there to see it.”

She blinked, chest tightening, but he wasn’t done.

“I had the worst day of my life too. And every instinct told me to go to you. And I couldn’t.”

Her throat burned.

“I used to think what we had was everything,” he murmured. “And then we broke apart, and I thought – maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were just young and caught up in something that was never meant to last.”

She held her breath.

“But then I lived without you. I learned how to be on my own. I grew. And I still came to the same conclusion.”

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he was holding himself back.

“You are the only thing in my life that I’ve ever been sure of.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she forced a watery laugh. “That’s funny,” she whispered. “Because I was just about to say the same thing.”

Lando’s shoulders fell, something breaking apart and putting itself back together all at once. And then he stepped forward. And so did she.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t about picking up where they left off.

It was about choosing each other again. And they landed exactly where they needed to.

[imagine-it-was-us]

greasy spoon || Lewis Hamilton

Inspiration: Sam Fender Greasy spoon

Author's note: This one is thick and heavy. Also, just to add - "Greasy spoon" can not only be interpreted like the story about the victim of dv, it's open ended and can surely being tied to other struggles. Us women should just stick together and look out for each other.

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x coworker

Warnings: mentions of dv, anxiety, threats. Please read at your own risk.

Summary: Lewis starts to notice the little things – late nights, a flinch at an unexpected touch, a guarded smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Jen is composed, meticulous, always in control – until the cracks begin to show. As concern grows, he faces a question he isn’t sure he has the right to ask: how well do we really know the people we work with?

Word count: 3.6k+

The first time Lewis noticed that something was out of the ordinary as she flinched when a wrench slipped out of the mechanic’s hand and landed next to her feet. The sharp clang of the wrench echoed off the garage walls, a common symphony in the bustling Ferrari workspace. It was loud and it was completely fine to feel threatened when a tool was flying your way. But there was something about how her reaction seemed to linger as if she still felt in danger even after the mechanic apologized and was gone after that. The racer and her, logistics coordinator, were casually discussing about the next stop of the GP which was Japan, as she was trying to acquire information about his needs for the accommodation.

Lewis was still new to the team behind Ferrari and being an empath he sometimes still struggled to understand the emotions behind the faces. The first time he arrived at the facility in the preparations for the season, everyone seemed to be on the tip toes. After all, him joining the team came with a sense of expectation and was a big deal so he didn’t make a big deal about people feeling nervous around him. But it was in his best interest to create a strong sense of calm around him, as the tranquil environment helped him keep his mind as sharp as possible. Lewis had been with the team long enough to see the tension fade. Most of the staff had relaxed around him. 

She hadn’t.

And he wasn’t sure if she was starstruck or there was something else. He always thought the latter, because according to other members of the staff, she was here for more than five years and was exceptionally professional, always performing well. She was here when Sebastian Vettel was around and she basically saw Charles Leclerc grow up. Other teams also knew her for the craft, so it is safe to say that the buzz of the other driver shouldn’t be shaking her to her core. Yet somehow her hands still shock slightly after the “wrench situation” no matter how hard she was gripping her binder to possibly cover it up and get a grip.

“You’re good?” Lewis casually asked after finishing a work related conversation. It was nothing unusual for him to chat the crew up.

“Yeah, my sleeping schedule is a bit messed up, still not getting used to these Asia-Pacific timelines,” she brushed it off. 

Valid excuse. Logical. But something about the way she said it felt... rehearsed. Lewis nodded, deciding not to push. By all means, they were just coworkers, so who he was to nag her.

______

The Japan GP was the first major success for the team, marking Ferrari’s long-awaited return to dominance with a spectacular 1-2 podium. Suzuka Circuit had always been a favorite among drivers, but tonight, it felt like a stage for something even bigger - momentum, confidence, and perhaps, the start of something special. For the first time since donning the red race suit, Lewis felt truly at home behind the wheel of the red sports car. It had responded to him like an extension of himself, and as he stood beneath the podium, champagne soaking into his suit, the roar of the Tifosi in the stands made it all sink in.

There was an electric buzz in the air, the kind that only victory could bring. Confetti fluttered through the paddock like falling cherry blossoms, cameras flashed relentlessly, and the scent of tire smoke still lingered, mingling with the crisp night air. Spirits were high, and the decision was made almost instantly - tonight, the main team would go out to celebrate. Victories, after all, were meant to be savored.

Later that night, the private bar pulsed with warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated world of pit strategy and data sheets. Ferrari red blended with relaxed, casual wear, but the conversation never strayed too far from racing - talks of aerodynamics mixed seamlessly with jokes about the team's superstitions. Glasses clinked, shoulders relaxed, and for once, the team allowed themselves to bask in the afterglow of success.

Lewis, nursing a drink as he leaned against the bar, scanned the room. It was rare to see everyone so unguarded, and he took a moment to soak it all in. Then, a thought struck him.

“Have you seen Jen?” he asked, turning to Enrico, one of the technical engineers, his voice casual but laced with curiosity.

“Jen from logistics?” Enrico asked and after the nod, encouraging him to carry on, he just lightly shook his head. “Oh no, she rarely, if ever, joins these kinds of spontaneous events. She’s really into her time being planned down to every second, maybe that’s why we never rarely have issues with logistics, it always works like clockwork.”

Enrico's answer was casual but when he said rubbed Lewis in the wrong way. It wasn’t that she was absent – plenty of team members skipped nights out – but the way Enrico spoke about her, like she existed only within the structure of her job, distant from the camaraderie of the team. She’d been with Ferrari for years, yet it seemed like no one really knew her.

“I mean what does one do in a foreign country on Sunday night?” he tried to make the question sound as light as possible, not trying to be seen as prying.

“I don’t know, she rarely talks about her life outside Formula 1. Maybe her fiancé has joined her for the GP. Maybe she is just tired after the whole spare parts being held up in customs shenanigans,” Enrico once again shrugged, unbothered.

Lewis nodded along, pretending to let the conversation drift, but the unease lingered. The thought of her spending the night alone – or worse, not being alone but being isolated in another way – bothered him more than he expected. He’d seen how the F1 world could consume people, turn their entire existence into travel schedules and race weekends. But this felt like something else. Something heavier.

He took another sip of his drink, eyes flickering back to the door, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she’d change her mind and walk in.

She never did.

___________

The next few GP were for getting to know her and looking for more subtle clues. Few things caught Lewis' eyes not soon after. 

One of which – the fact that she seemed to be more relaxed around the female employees. She wasn’t the smiliest and the most expressive person nonetheless but she at least didn’t seem to tense up or catch her breath whenever female colleagues would chat her up or approach asking technical questions. Same couldn’t be said about male employees. And it wasn’t about being starstruck or even the power play, where she would worry about the impression she is leaving. Any male surrounding her seemed to tense her up in a subtle, yet noticeable way. You just had to pay attention.

While doing just that, Lewis realized another suggestive giveaway. She rarely, if ever, wore a short-sleeved shirt – even when it was unbearably warm outside or the sun had been shining since early morning. She always opted for a long-sleeved shirt or sweatshirt, occasionally pushing the sleeves up to her elbows but never beyond that. Instead of shedding a layer to cool off, she would pat her forehead with a damp tissue to wipe away the pooling sweat. Whenever someone commented on it, she would brush it off with a lighthearted excuse – saying she had forgotten a T-shirt at the hotel or that the short-sleeved one underneath was dirty.

The last thing that caught Lewis' eyes was the perfectionism she seemed to be pushing for. Of course, it was applaudable to have a literal logistics guru within the team, who resolved any issue that might arise even at the last minute. But to some point it seemed to be concerning that she would rather pull an all nighter looking for the way to make things work perfectly rather than accepting the defeat, even though the cause of the issue had nothing to do with her or the lack of her interference. It was like she was afraid of failing those around her, of making the mistake. 

During one of those late nights in Imona, Lewis was doing a late call with sponsors in the US so he stayed in the facilities a little bit longer than the rest of the team. When he finished the call, she was still there, sitting by her computer and staring at the screen, her gaze zoned out. As Lewis didn’t want to startle her, he made his footsteps heavier than usual just so she would hear him coming from afar.

“Not in any rush to get home?” the driver asked while keeping a fair amount of distance between them. For the last couple months then Lewis started analyzing Jen, he was always trying to keep the relationship brief, not pushing her to talk more than she wanted. Their interactions were short, yet she seemed to trust him a little bit more every time they talked. Maybe it was down to the trust, that was slowly but surely building up. Or maybe it was due to the fact that Lewis had observed her enough to know what actions to avoid and how to approach her without causing unnecessary anxiety. Or maybe a little mixture of both. 

She shifted the gaze from the screen to him once he spoke. There was no flinching this time.

“Yeah, this limited edition gear was supposed to arrive like a few hours ago and it hasn’t turned up so I’m just trying to figure out where it got stuck,” another perfectly plausible explanation left her mouth.

“Couldn’t you do it from home? Or just pass it to someone else. Heard that you live quite close to the track, you could be enjoying your own peace for once” Lewis continued casually, yet his intention was to test another theory of his.

Jen’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but her screen remained unchanged. Lewis noticed the briefest hesitation. Normally, her excuses came effortlessly, polished and ready. This time, there was a pause, like she was flipping through a mental catalog of explanations and coming up empty.

She swallowed and finally said. “Yeah, I guess I could… but, you know, I’m already here.” A forced chuckle. “Might as well get it done.”

Lewis didn’t reply right away. He just watched her for a moment, letting the weight of the silence settle between them. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. She seemed to be avoiding his gaze, her eyes had drifted back to the screen, but she wasn’t reading whatever was on it. She was just waiting for him to move on, to let it drop.

But he didn’t. Instead, he took a slow step closer, still careful to keep a respectable distance. No sudden movements. No pressure. Just enough to make her know he wasn’t just going to let this slide like everyone else had.

And it wasn’t because he wanted anything from her. This wasn’t about attraction or some misplaced hero complex. Lewis had seen what abuse did to people. How it wrecked someone until they barely recognized themselves. And if his gut was right, that was exactly what was happening to Jen. He wasn’t trying to break up a relationship to have her for himself. He wasn’t trying to play the savior. This was just human decency. She was a friend, a damn good coworker, and if she was in trouble, he wasn’t about to look the other way.

“You know,” he started, his tone casual but steady, “back when I was in Mercedes, there was this girl on the team. One of the marketing team. She was real professional, always the last to leave the paddock. Everyone just thought she was extra dedicated. Turns out, she wasn’t staying late because of work. She was staying late because home wasn’t safe,” Lewis said simply, letting the words hang in the air. 

He wasn’t looking directly at her now, giving her space to absorb it without feeling cornered. “Took a while for anyone to figure it out. She was good at hiding it. Always had a reason, an excuse that no one questioned. But the truth was, that every time she walked out those doors, it was like… she was walking into something worse.”

Jen exhaled, slow and measured. Her knuckles were white where she clutched the edge of her desk. She wasn’t running this time. She was listening.

Lewis continued, his voice soft. “Took a long time before she let anyone help her. You get so used to it, you start thinking it’s normal. Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe it’s your fault.” He shook his head. “But it’s never normal. And it’s never your fault.”

For the first time since this conversation started, Jen looked at him properly. And this time, Lewis didn’t see that rehearsed professionalism she always wore like armor. This time, she just looked tired, like whatever was happening was catching up with her. 

He let out a small breath, offering her the space to say something if she wanted to. When she didn’t, he simply added, “You don’t have to talk. Not if you’re not ready. But if you ever need an excuse, an out, a safe place, just know that I see you and I got you.”

Jen’s lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, she gave the smallest nod that one could miss with a blink of the eye. A crack in the walls that had been up for the longest time. 

____

After Monaco, another victorious day for the Ferrari at Charles homeground, there was a brief sigh of relief amongst the team. But Silvertone was just a few Grand Prix away, and the tension of another home race was settling over the team. Everyone was feeling the weight of expectation. Yet Lewis had started to notice that Jen was carrying something heavier.

During European GPs, her makeup had been heavier, layered just a little too perfectly in places that didn’t need it. She was also thinner than before – noticeably by now, to the point where her uniform looked a little looser on her. 

And then there were the bruises.

Lewis hadn’t been looking for them and it wasn’t like she hasn’t been doing everything in her power to cover them up, but once, in the middle of a conversation, she had reached up absentmindedly to tuck her hair behind her ear, and the cuff of her sleeve had shifted just enough. A faint mark—yellowing, almost healed, but still there.

And still, she went about her days, pretending everything was fine.

It was the final stretch before Silverstone. The logistics team was wrapping up last-minute adjustments, and most of the staff were already talking about heading back to the hotel to rest before their flights later that evening. The sun was still high, casting sharp shadows across the paddock.

Lewis had been in and out of the meetings all morning, finishing all the last briefings after the Austrian GP. He was making his way back to the garage when he heard her voice. At first, it was nothing unusual. A phone call. Work-related, maybe. But as he went around the corner, he saw her standing further away from everyone, white knuckles clenching the phone. Whatever was being said on the other end, caused her an excessive amount of anxiety, as he has never seen a person shaken to its core like that.

She was trying to cut into the monologue on the other end, but she didn’t even finish the sentence and flinched, moving a phone a few centimeters away from the ear. That’s when she lifted her eyes and saw Lewis standing dead in his feet, staring at her from a few meters away, as if he was waiting for a signal to act. And for the first time since the driver had started paying attention, she wasn’t trying to run away or to brush it off, deny it.

Jen finally hung up, her fingers lingering on the screen for a second longer than necessary, her shoulders stiff with tension. For a moment, she was frozen, caught between the remains of the call and the realization that someone had seen everything.

Her jaw clenched, her breath hitched. He expected an excuse, something quick and dismissive, but it never came.

Instead, her shoulders slumped. And in the quietest, most exhausted voice, she whispered:

“I can’t go to him tonight.”

Lewis didn’t hesitate.

“Come with me.”

He didn’t say where. Didn’t push for anything else. Just left the offer open, solid and steady, giving her the space to take it. This time, she did.

Lewis got her into his driver’s room, shutting the door with a quiet click. Jen didn’t sit right away. She stood stiffly near the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself like she was trying to hold something in – hold herself together.

Lewis didn’t push. He grabbed a chair, turning it toward her, giving her the space to come to him when she was ready. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I forgot to clean his shirt.”

Lewis frowned. “What?”

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, shaking her head. “His shirt. For a business meeting. I was supposed to make sure it was ironed and ready, but after yesterday’s GP I got home late, and I forgot.”

The weight of those words settled between them. Lewis clenched his jaw, his chest tightening – not at her, but at the fact that she thought this was the problem. That she had been conditioned to believe she had done something so unforgivable.

“He said that he is going to kill me, because I embarrassed him. Lewis, I don’t even know, the words have been on loop in my head since the call and it feels like he wasn’t lying this time.” 

The words landed heavy. They weren’t dramatic. Weren’t exaggerated. Just true. Like she hadn’t even let herself fully process them until she said them out loud.

Lewis exhaled slowly, steadying himself before he spoke. Then, carefully, he leaned forward.

“Jen,” he said, voice firm but careful, “you are not going back to him.”

She sat down slowly, hands still gripping her arms. After hearing Lewis, her immediate reaction was to defend him, like she has always done. “He wasn’t always like this.”

Lewis stayed quiet. He wasn’t here to rush her, wasn’t here to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just let her talk. 

“In the beginning, he was… rough, but not with me. Never with me,” she murmured. “It was like… I knew he had a temper, but I thought I’d never be the target of it. He just seemed to be rather clingy, wanting to spend every waking minute with me.” A bitter smile flickered across her lips. “Then, after I agreed to marry him, something changed. Like I belonged to him now. And that meant he could say whatever he wanted. Do whatever he wanted.”

Even though her attempt of softening the situation rubbed him the wrong way, Lewis knew better than to react. Probably for years she was fed the narrative that people around that piece of garbage deserved what they’ve got. And then naturally, when his attitude shifted towards her, she thought that it was exactly what she had deserved.

Jen swallowed hard, staring at the floor. “It started small. Just comments. Controlling things, like who I talked to, how I dressed, how I spent my time. And then, when I refused to quit my job, he got… worse.”

Lewis didn’t move. But his fingers pressed against his knee, tight enough that his knuckles ached.

“The first time he hit me was a few months ago. Remember our brief interaction before Japan? I was hit earlier that day, almost first thing in the morning,” she admitted, voice barely audible. She thought it was shameful. “I had already thought about leaving, but he found out. He made sure I knew that I couldn’t.” She let out a shuddering breath. “I barely keep in touch with my friends and family anymore. I was never allowed to make any new meaningful connections too. I don’t know how, but he made sure of that, too.”

She lifted her gaze then, meeting Lewis’s. “Nobody knows. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

Lewis’s chest felt tight, the weight of her words sinking in. But this wasn’t about his anger, his frustration, or how much he wanted to hunt this man down himself.

This was about her.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said simply. “You aren’t alone.”

Her breath hitched, and for the first time since she stepped into this room, her shoulders relaxed – just the slightest bit.

_____

Lewis didn’t waste time. Within hours after their conversation, arrangements had been made. Her accommodations in Silverstone were locked down, security was informed, and he had called in a few quiet favors to ensure she’d be safe. He handled it the way he handled pressure in the car – with precision.

He didn’t make a show of it. Didn’t give her a speech about how she deserved better or how she was stronger than this. She already knew all of that. She had been surviving on her own for months.

She just needed help. And he wasn’t about to let her down. It was about making sure that when she finally took the step to get away, she had somewhere safe to land. And if that meant stepping up? Then he would. No question about it.

Jen didn’t say much, but when later that night their plane touched down in the UK, she let out a breath like she was finally exhaling after holding it in for years.

For now, it wasn’t over. But for the first time, it felt like she had a way out.

[imagine-it-was-us]

something on my mind || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Purple Disco Machine x Duke Dumont x Nothing but thieves "Something on my mind".

Author's note: To fully immerse yourself into the story, I highly suggest listening to the song first. My first instinct to go back to writing after 7 years was highly inspired by the song and the idea of the music dictating the narrative. So here we are. Hope you like it. ✨

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: The two of them could not be more different. A loud, extroverted racer, and the shy, introverted graphic designer. Yet you can't control the spark.

Word count: 2.8k+

Lando’s life wasn’t meant to be simple and ordinary. He moved too much, changed cities like clockwork with brief moments of tranquility. F1 took him everywhere, yet because of that nowhere ever felt permanent. Don’t get it wrong. He simply adored his life, it was after all his dream. The constant buzz around him, the rush of adrenaline, the highest highs and the lowest lows. He enjoyed it all and never took it for granted. Yet living this particular dream has its cost.

That feeling of never being settled? It applies not only to the locations. It also does to people. It was easy to keep in touch with family or friends, it was all like second nature to them. But relationships weren’t easy to maintain. It is not like he didn’t try, but his last relationship was a complete disaster and had taught him that love didn’t fit neatly between airport terminals, paddocks and packed schedules. So now, he didn’t look for it. He didn’t want to get hurt like that again.

That’s what made one-night stands easy. There were no expectations, no heartbreak, no risk. No promises, no trust issues. It just provided the gratification he needed, blowing the steam off, as one could say. And he was purposely looking for the women, who were just like him. They didn’t ask questions and hold any expectations. They also didn’t stay.

And that’s how he ended up in another club tonight. He wasn’t a DJ—just a guy who knew enough about music to have fun with his friend, Martin Garrix, filling a gap in the setlist. Even though he enjoyed playing with music, everyone knew that this show was a one-off thing. Something to laugh about later. Standing behind the booth, watching a crowd move to the beat you controlled, felt good.

Then he saw her. 

She wasn’t the kind of girl who got noticed. And she liked it that way. She had never been the loudest in the room or the one who commanded attention just by walking in. She likes blending in the crowds and living her life from the sidelines. Yet as it happens to introverts usually, she was domesticated by rowdy extroverts, who teased her for it—Live a little, dance with someone, let loose for once.

She did dance. That was the only reason she had agreed to the club in the first place. Not for drinks, not for hookups—just the music. She had always found a kind of freedom in it, a way to exist without thinking too much. Just lost in the rhythm, in a world of her own, as if the music was the only thing that mattered. 

That night, she felt seen. She didn’t even know why she looked up. Maybe it was instinct, the pull of something invisible. But when she did, he was there. Watching her.

A stranger behind the DJ booth, but not like the others. Somehow he wasn’t showing off, wasn’t scanning the crowd for attention. He was just there, hands moving effortlessly over the decks, looking straight at her. Her breath caught.

Lando experienced the same thing. When she looked up at him, really looked, something in his chest tightened. For a guy who kept his heart locked behind logic, something about that made his pulse stutter. The moment stretched as the bass thrummed between them; for a second, it felt like the entire club faded away.

Then she looked down. And the moment was gone.

Martin coming to the booth caught Lando’s attention for a split second and once his focus shifted to the crowd again, she was already slipping away, vanishing between shifting bodies, just another face in the blur of neon lights. Frustrated, he tells himself it was nothing. A passing moment. A trick of the lights.

So he tried to let it go and let the night play out like it always did. Drinks. Another girl. A half-hearted hookup in a darkened corner of the club, taking her to his hotel room. But the second it was over, he felt it—that hollowness, the restless edge in his chest.

He knew exactly why.

Later at night, staring at the ceiling, with a nameless woman sleeping calmly by his side, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let something slip through his fingers. Not in a grand, romantic way—but in a what if way. A nagging curiosity. A voice in the back of his head whispering: Did she feel it too?

He told himself he was being ridiculous. It was just a passing moment. A look across the crowd. But then why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? And was she dreaming of him?

________

Imagine his shock when going through the streets of Barcelona, he saw her again. Not at the club, but in a quiet bookstore café, tucked into a corner by the window, with her full attention on the computer screen in front of her. There were no flashing lights, no pulsing bass—just her in her world, while headphones blocked out the outside buzz.

The second he saw her, something in his chest shifted. She wasn’t dancing now, but she still looked lost in another world. And this time, he was not going to let her disappear.

She flinched and gasped when she saw the cup of matcha appeared in the empty space on the table right in front of her. She stopped her favorite playlist and the gaze immediately shot to the one carrying it.

Her first instinct was to assume he had the wrong table. Maybe he was meeting someone else and just placed the drink in front of her by mistake. But by looking at his face for another second, she realised that she knew him. Not in the way that counted, but in the way you remember a face when it stands out from the blur of a night. He was the DJ from the club. The one she had locked eyes with for just a second too long before vanishing back into the crowd.

What was he doing here? More importantly, why was he standing in front of her like he remembered her, too?

“Hey,” Lando said, leaning against her table as she was pulling the headphones away from her head. “Saw your empty cup and thought you might wanna refill.” He explained when her eyes went from his face to the hot beverage. But selfishly he wanted to bring her attention back to him. “You ran away the other night.”

Her brows furrowed and she felt her stomach flip. “What?”

“The club,” he said. “You looked at me. Then you ran.”

She flushed and felt her cheeks starting to burn. “I—I didn’t run.”

“You disappeared,” he countered, while swiftly pulling away an empty chair from another table so he could sit right in front of her. “Felt a lot like running.”

She hesitated, then exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t really do clubs.”

“Yeah, I figured. So why were you there?”

“My friends.” She shrugged while closing her laptop. She felt that this conversation might be a little bit longer than just a quick chit-chat. She will deal with her responsibilities later. “I just wanted to dance. I didn’t expect… anyone to notice me.”

Norris studied her for a beat. Shy. Reserved. The opposite of the girls he usually ended up with. But there was something about her quiet confidence, the way she had felt the music that night, that intrigued him more than any of the loud, fleeting distractions he was used to.

“Well, I did.”

She bit her lip, then asked, shifting attention from herself. “You’re a DJ?”

He laughed. “Not even close. My friend shoved me up there for a set. I just went along with it.”

She tilted her head. “So what do you actually do?”

And just like that, conversation shifted. She thought he would be the kind of guy who only knew how to flirt in half-truths, but instead, he talked. Really talked. About his job, his travels, how he ended up behind that booth on a whim. The more he talked, the more flustered and surreal she felt. She had a literal millionaire sitting right in front of her, who could have been doing anything he literally wanted. And somehow he ended up sitting in her favorite cafe, chatting her up. And he showed the interest that she wasn’t expecting – even though she tried to talk about herself as little as possible, he persistently asked her about her days, what she was doing for living, about the kind of music she actually liked, about things that had nothing to do with the place they had met. When Lando realized that she had been living in Barcelona for a while and since it was just another stop before another grand prix, he asked her if she could find some time to show him the city. 

The connection was born and both of them were eager to further explore it. 

____________

Ten days passed quicker than any of them expected. Lando saw her every chance he got, whenever she wasn’t working and he was done with the meetings and practises. Their meetups had no expectations. No pressure. Just stolen moments—late-night drives with the stereo turned up, quiet dinners where he learned how she hid her laughter behind her hand when she was embarrassed. With every glance, every unexpected touch, the feelings were growing deeper.

Her heart was doing somersaults trying to warn her not to fall for his charming and immersive personality. Especially now, when she knows how his daily life looks and that his days in Barcelona are counted. Also, of course, once he said his name and his occupation, it took her less than 5 seconds to find countless articles online about him and his lifestyle. Parties, rumors, links to several different women. His world seemed so distant to her and on paper it would be difficult to find two people who are as opposite as the two of them were.

And yet it was hard to believe everything she saw online when she had a breathing and living example right in front of her. During their week together there weren't any acts of sheer extravaganza. He always chose to lay as low as possible. Instead of taking her to expensive restaurants trying to impress her, he asked her to take him to a pub that would repel any tourist, but was so loved by locals. As much as he claimed to love speed, somehow he ended up with the slowest rented convertible. Even though there were longing looks and accidental touches that seemed to last a little bit longer than necessary before one of them would pull away, he never pushed her and never threw himself on her or even asked her if she was feeling something.

And that was down to two things. Firstly, Lando believed that good things always required time. It didn’t matter that he was indeed hooked by her presence every time they met, but he knew that acting on his desires might simply turn it into another meaningless and awkward fling. And he most certainly didn’t want that. And secondly, as closed up as she was to the rest of the world, Norris saw her opening up just a little bit more every time they texted or saw each other and as cocky as it sounds, he knew that she felt it too. He knew that it was rational to give it a little bit more time.

Yet time wasn’t on their side as it was Sunday night after the grand prix and he had a plane to catch in the morning. He was still buzzing from placing second, but the happiness was overshadowed by looming goodbye. They walked in comfortable silence, the city humming softly around them. The celebrations had faded, but neither of them seemed in a rush to end the night.

She glanced at him—his hands shoved into his pockets, head tilted toward the sky like he was trying to freeze this moment in his memory. He seemed so out of place in these quiet and empty streets further from the action, but yet somehow he fit here. With her.

This was the part where she should start pulling away. She knew how to do it – keep things light, make a joke, pretend none of this meant more than it should. It was easier that way.

She had spent years perfecting the art of being just enough. Just friendly enough to blend in, just open enough to avoid too many questions. People rarely noticed when you kept your answers vague, when you laughed at the right moments, when you never let them see the parts of you that meant something.

But Lando noticed. Not in a way that was prying, but in a way that made it feel safe to be honest. And that was dangerous. Because honesty led to attachment. And attachment led to expecting things that were never really yours to begin with.

“You should be celebrating tonight,” she said, nudging his arm lightly. 

Distraction. Distance. The only tools she had left.

He seemed too deep into his thoughts and she had a strong feeling why he was in that state. Yet she didn’t want to seem cocky or push the forced narrative. 

Lando exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “I am.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He stopped walking, turning to face her. The streetlight above them was casting a soft glow, making everything feel strangely surreal and intimate.

“You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you’re a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

She blinked, surprised by the blunt expression. “Excuse me?”

“You,” he repeated, taking a step closer. “Making me enjoy slow drives and quiet nights when I should be focusing on my job.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head at him. He knew from the get go that she couldn’t be further away from his typical life. And yet he accepted it with open arms. “You know, you had a free will to do whatever, right? Now you’re making it sound like I ruined you.”

His mouth quirked into a smirk, but his eyes gave him away – there was something deeper there, something hesitant but real.

“Maybe,” he admitted, voice softer now. “Maybe you just made me realize I want more than what I usually get.”

That did something to her chest, twisted it in a way she wasn’t ready for. She wanted to make a joke, wanted to deflect – but instead, she just looked at him, just like the first time in the club.

And he looked back. This time he wasn’t going to let her gaze go, still low key thinking that she would somehow simply disappear. Neither of them moved. Neither of them had to. The weight of unspoken words filled the air between them, stretching the moment just long enough to make it unbearable.

Lando inhaled sharply, like he was about to say something – then changed his mind. Instead, he just reached for her hand.

It wasn’t forceful, it wasn't desperate. Just an unvoiced question. Are you going to let me in?

She exhaled slowly. She knew that she could simply walk away from this. Right now, if she chose to ignore it, she would probably never see him again and the only proof of the last couple days would be random selfies on her phone and his presence would linger for a while in her favorite places around the city. But when he looked at her like that, she felt the sense rare sense of fuck it filling the air. And instead of answering that lingering question, she closed the space between them. It took a blink of an eye for Lando to meet her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, it wasn't perfect. It was something in between – a slow, careful exploration of something neither of them were ready to name. Of something so fragile that any rapid movement could break it. When they finally slowly broke apart, Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and finally exhaling as if he was holding his breath this whole time.

“Well, damn.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes, feeling the sense of ease rushing through her. “Don’t let it get to your head, Norris.”

“Too late, there's already something on my mind.” His thumb brushed absently against her wrist before he finally – reluctantly – let go.

The moment lingered, heavy but not unbearable. No promises. No dramatic confessions. Just the quiet understanding that this wasn’t over.

And somehow, that was enough.

As they started walking again, neither of them spoke. But as the streetlights flickered above them, their hands brushed once more. And this time, neither of them pulled away.