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postracehair · 2 months ago

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a small request

max verstappen x reader | 2k

even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note.

cw: fem!reader, being in love, softness, a track-side kiss, love letters. and google translate, sorry to any dutch speakers.

a/n: was this inspired by that video from austin? yeah, it was! sue me! also, written/posted before the gp, so. no race details <3 xx

You miss race weekend in Mexico. It happens. You can't be there every weekend, much as you'd like to be. You're even more peeved about it after, considering you quite like Carlos and wish you had seen him earn what very well might be his last win with Ferrari. But you're mostly upset because Max, though he won't say so, could probably have used your support.

Years of experience have him calm, cool, and collected despite the team troubles. Flippant, some headlines say. Mad Max, others. But you know he's probably just tired. Tired of the media, of the FIA, of the churning conflict between him and Lando -- something you all knew was coming someday, but maybe not so suddenly. The longest season ever continues to drag and drag and drag.

"Twenty seconds was...Christ, Max," you say. You know what happened, of course. You watched what you could, saw the sharp moves around the corner and heard the radios. It never gets easier, watching him take risks like that. Usually, everyone else backs off, but McLaren can see victory on the horizon and won't let it go. You can't blame them, either of them, you just wish it was all a bit less tense.

"I know," he says, voice raspy over the connection. "I -- well, you know how I feel about it. Don't want to say anything in case the FIA is tapping my phone."

You laugh into your hand so you don't disturb the other people in the airline lounge, not entirely used to places like this, still. Max has told you over and over that it's absurd for you to spend your own money when you're coming to see him all over the world. When you told him you moved things around so you could come to Brazil, he booked you the nicest ticket, per usual.

"Oh, ha, ha," you say. "Don't give them any ideas, Mr. Community Service." You sigh. "Do you need anything? Be honest."

"Aren't you at the airport already? Your flight should be leaving in --" A pause, like he's checking his watch -- "forty minutes."

You glance up at the departures screen. He's right, but you don't give it to him so easily. "Know my schedule, do you?"

"Well, I booked your ticket, so I should think so."

"Your assistant booked it, you mean."

He hums and you picture him in his hotel room, maybe at the window, looking over the city. "I know your flight information. Don't be silly."

"I mean it, Max," you say again. "Is there anything I can do to make the weekend better?" It's a bit of a useless question and you expect him to answer with a snarky get me a new car or apply for the position of steward.

But he doesn't. He clears his throat.

"I'm just glad you're coming," he says, softly. "I've missed you."

You never doubt how Max feels about you, but he must be pretty tired to admit it like this. He's all about actions, this man. Making sure you have what you need when you're at the track, arranging your travel, remembering your schedule. He shows you how much you matter, and that's more than enough. He never wants to make you feel bad for having a life beyond being his girlfriend. And this doesn't, not really. It just makes you ache, fills your chest with the hopeless affection you've felt for him for so long.

"I've missed you, too," you reply. "But I'd like to be useful."

"Oh, I can think of a few things, then," Max says, all of a sudden all cheek. Such a boy, sometimes. A boy in love.

You can't help but laugh, face hot. "Hush, you!"

He huffs. A few beats of silence, the comfortable, well-worn kind. Sometimes, when he's halfway across the world and up late on the sim, he'll call you just to hear you breathe.

"Max?"

"I -- do you remember what you did for my birthday?"

He'd wanted something small, quiet. There was a lot of work to be done with the team but three weekends off meant you had a little time to yourselves. A few days hardly leaving his place, a dinner with some of the guys, a cake you made yourself, hand-delivered in bed. Gifts for a very wealthy man are difficult, especially since Max doesn't seem to want much.

"Oh, the pillow with my face on it?"

Max laughs. The lounge loudspeaker announces that your flight is going to board soon, so you gather your things but keep your phone wedged next to your ear.

"No, the other thing," he says. He clears his throat and summons some of that World Champion courage. "The letter."

You'd written him a fairly long love letter, thinking it would be a nice thing to carry to the races you couldn't be at this fall. It was tempting to be embarrassed about it when you gave it to him the morning of his birthday, but his cheeks had gone pink and he'd buried his face in your neck.

"Oh, that," you say. The airport is busier outside the lounge and you push your case in the direction of your gate weaving between. people.

"You could write me another, maybe."

Max is direct. He is honest, at work and at home, but this surprises you a little.

"You do know I'm about to get on a plane to see you, right?"

He huffs, and you imagine his cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You asked!"

"I'll write you another love letter, Max Verstappen," you assure him. "I'll write you a hundred."

"One is a fine start," he says firmly. "You should be boarding soon, and I've got to go to the press conference. Text me when you've landed?"

"Of course," you reply, eyes rolling though he can't see. "I'll see you soon, okay? Love you."

"Love you, liefje."

On the plane, you tear out some pages from your journal. You'd prefer to have some nice stationery like what you wrote on for his birthday, but maybe this is more romantic, more real. Making do with that you've got because he asked.

In the last one, you told him your memories of when you first met. How your stomach swooped when you made him laugh, how his blue eyes wouldn't leave your dreams. In this one you tell him about when you first realized you loved him. How absurdly early you were sure, how badly you wanted to tell him for weeks. The way you remember every second of when you blurted it out -- his face, his smile. His voice in your ear, telling you over and over, geliefde, ik houd van je, zo veel. I love you, so much.

"You're working hard on that," someone says. You look up at your seatmate, a woman a few decades older than you with a heavy accent.

You feel a little like you've been caught doing something illicit, but you just smile at her. "For my boyfriend," you tell her. "A love letter."

She flattens her palm over heart and sighs. "How lovely," she coos. "I hope he takes care of you, too."

We take care of each other, you want to say. You could tell her about how he sends you postcards from every country he goes to after you told him you like to put them on your fridge. You could tell her how sometimes you text him during his streams to make him laugh on camera. How he remembers your favorites, how he saves you his special team gear, how he sends you flowers all the time. How he likes to sit on the couch, your toes under his thigh, fingers around your ankle. How you've been learning Dutch and how he patiently corrects your pronunciation. You could go on and on and on.

"He does," you say instead.

The plane lands safely in Brazil, but the pilot tells you that there is no open gate and that you'll be sitting for a while. You text Max.

stuck on tarmac, will be later than expected! :(

He must be in media responsibilities still because he doesn't reply until you finally get off the plane.

go relax at the hotel. i'll see you for dinner!

You find your ride easy enough and take a deep breath. The letter you wrote on the plane feels heavy in your pocket, and you just want to see Max. To be near him again. To give him this small thing he asked for.

"Excuse me," you say to the driver. "Do you think we could go to the track, instead?"

You text Max's assistant to say you're headed there, hoping it's not too much of an inconvenience. You're told he's almost done, maybe an hour left, and when you arrive you're led to his driver rooms. His shit is everywhere, per usual. Max is quite neat except in here -- Carmen once told you that George is the same. Clothes strewn about, his race boots unlaced and left in the way, warm-up equipment in a pile. On the table are a few of his things -- his wallet, a notebook, some papers.

Wait a second. One of those papers looks...familiar. It's been folded in three, the envelope it came in nowhere to be seen. His name is scrawled on the blank side in your hand and when you tug it from the pile you can see that it's creased, the edges a little more worn than when you gave it to him a few months ago. Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, actually carries around the love letter you wrote him. Brings it to the track. It's darling. You love him so much. You pull the new one from your pocket and set them side-by-side on the table where he'll find them.

You ask to be taken to the pit wall, please, so you can see whatever the drivers are doing on track. Some dedication, you're told. The timing ends up being perfect and you get there just as they're finishing. You lean on a gap in the barrier where, on Sunday, crew members will be holding timing signs as the drivers zip around the hot pavement. The crowd in the stands is loud, as always, and maybe you imagine it but it seems to get a little louder when you look out.

The guys are talking amongst themselves and a few of them wave at you. You spot Max as he turns away from Charles and you can't help but grin. His eyes meet yours under his cap and his entire face chances, softens, and he breaks into a jog. You lean out over the concrete ledge and meet him in a kiss that's more two smiles pressed together than anything else.

"This is a surprise," he says when he pulls away. Eyes sparkling, he shows no signs of rejoining the other drivers as they head to whatever their next thing is. Photos, probably.

"I missed you," you tell him. "I've left you something in your room."

"Oh?" He straightens the lanyard of your credentials with careful fingers.

You reach for him, palm on his cheek. His stubble tickles and he leans into it ever so slightly. It doesn't feel like there are thousands of eyes on you, not even a little.

"Yeah," you say. "As promised." Someone calls his name. "Go on, then. I'll be waiting."

He kisses you again, a quick brush of his lips on the corner of your mouth.

Later, you'll wake from your nap in the hotel room to those same kisses on your cheeks, your forehead. Max will gather you in his arms and tell you all the moments he almost told you he loved you, how he could hardly believe when you said it first. You'll tease him for how many times he's read that first letter and he'll cheekily say that's why he needs more. And you will write him more, you'll write him as many as he wants. As many as you can, for the rest of your lives.

But now, in front of thousands of screaming fans, he smiles at only you, boyish and pleased.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #mv33 x reader #f1 fanfic #my writing #mv33 #fic: a small request #beep boop

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pucksandpower · 2 months ago

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The Art of Surrender

Day 19 → Spreader Bar 💋 Toto Wolff

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Toto walks into the room, his footsteps heavy, as though the weight of the day still hangs on him. The door closes with a soft click, and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. He takes in the sight of you, sitting at the edge of the bed, back hunched, hands fidgeting in your lap.

Something’s off. He notices it immediately, but he doesn’t rush in. You’ve been together long enough that he knows — whatever it is, you’ll tell him.

He loosens his tie, eyes not leaving you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice is deep, steady, almost casual, but you can hear the faint undercurrent of concern. He moves closer, and his presence fills the room.

You swallow hard, fingers still twisting. How do you even start? The air feels thick with what you haven’t said yet, what you can barely admit to yourself. Your heart pounds in your chest, loud enough you think he might hear it.

“Toto …” your voice comes out softer than you expected, almost wavering. You hate the way it sounds. Weak. Uncertain. That’s not you, but right now, sitting there, it’s all you can muster.

He stops, eyes narrowing just slightly, sensing the shift in the air. “What is it?” He sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch, but he doesn’t reach for you. Not yet.

You breathe in. And out. Trying to gather the words in your mind before they slip through your fingers. But no matter how many times you’ve rehearsed it, nothing comes out the way you planned.

“I’m not … I’m not re-signing.” Your words are a whisper at first, as if that might lessen the impact, make it easier. But it doesn’t. If anything, it hangs in the air between you both, heavy, unmovable. “After the season. I’m not staying.”

Silence. It’s suffocating.

Toto’s face doesn’t change immediately. He just stares at you, and you can’t tell what’s going through his mind. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even breathe for a second, as though he's waiting for you to say more, to explain yourself, to take it back.

But you don't.

“You’re leaving Mercedes,” he finally says, voice low, as if testing the weight of those words.

“Yes.” You glance at him, eyes searching his face, trying to find something, anything. Anger? Disappointment? Hurt? But he’s unreadable, his expression as calm as ever. That, more than anything, makes you anxious. He’s too calm. “I’m going to McLaren.”

Toto’s silence is unbearable. You watch him, every second stretching longer, his gaze sharp and unflinching. He doesn’t react, doesn’t move. The tension between you both is suffocating, and you can feel your palms sweating.

“Toto, say something,” you murmur, the plea almost involuntary. You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you need him to speak, to give you something.

He stands abruptly, the motion fluid, decisive, the way he moves when he’s in control — because he always is. Even now, when everything feels like it’s spinning out of control, he manages to make it seem effortless. He turns his back to you, his broad frame casting a shadow across the room.

His voice, when it comes, is colder than you expected. “McLaren.” It’s not a question.

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”

He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Have you?” He paces to the other side of the room, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stares at the far wall. His back is still to you, and you hate it, hate that you can’t see his face, can’t read what he’s feeling.

“I know this is hard,” you say softly, your hands now gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles white. “But-”

He whirls around suddenly, cutting you off. His eyes, once calm, now blaze with something you’ve rarely seen directed at you. “You’ve thought about it for a while,” he repeats, voice dangerously quiet. “But you didn’t think to talk to me before deciding.”

Your heart sinks. You knew this would come. You knew he'd be upset. But the way his voice cuts through you, cold and controlled, is worse than you imagined.

“I didn’t-” You stop, collecting yourself. “I didn’t want to complicate things. I wanted to make the right decision for myself first, before … before talking to you.”

Toto stares at you, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something — hurt, maybe — flash across his face. But it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced by that familiar, impenetrable wall he puts up when things get too close.

“McLaren,” he says again, and this time his voice is laced with disdain. “You think you’ll have more success there?”

“I think I’ll have a fresh start,” you reply, forcing the words out, even though you know they’ll sting. “I need something different. It’s not about you.”

Toto steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His presence looms over you as he stands in front of you, his expression fierce but restrained. “It’s not about me? You think I don’t know that?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it carries the full weight of his emotions. “It’s about you and your career. I’ve always known that. I’ve always supported that.”

Your eyes drop to the floor. “I know you have.”

“Then why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

His question slices through you, and you feel the weight of it. There’s no easy answer. You didn’t tell him because you knew this moment would be like this — tense, emotional, difficult. You didn’t want to see the look on his face, the one he’s wearing right now.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit, voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve already done that.” His words are sharp, but not cruel. They’re just true, and that truth hangs between you both, impossible to ignore.

There’s another silence, heavier than the last, and you feel the gravity of what you’ve just done sinking deeper. It’s not just about leaving Mercedes. It’s about leaving him, in a way. The life you’ve built together, the team you’ve been a part of for so long — it’s all intertwined with him. And now you’re walking away from it.

Toto’s eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, and it’s like he’s waiting for you to change your mind, to take it all back. But you don’t.

“McLaren,” he says one more time, almost like he’s tasting the word, testing how it feels in his mouth. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and walks toward the closet, his stride purposeful, every step filled with determination.

You watch him go, your chest tight, heart pounding in your throat. You want to call out to him, to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words.

He disappears into the closet, and the sound of the door shutting behind him feels final.

The room is silent. The weight of everything hangs heavy in the air, and you sit there, frozen, your heart aching with the realization of what you’ve just done.

You’ve made your decision.

But the consequences … you didn’t anticipate them feeling like this.

***

You hear the sound of hangers clattering softly, shifting against the rail in the closet. It’s the only noise breaking the silence in the room, and it feels unnerving, foreign, like you’re waiting for something you don’t understand.

You shift on the bed, unable to sit still, your hands wringing in your lap. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out what to do, what to say next. You expect him to come out any second, to say something, to confront you again with the same unflinching gaze and words that cut deep. But he doesn’t.

The minutes drag on, and the sound from the closet doesn’t stop. You can’t shake the feeling that something’s happening in there, that he’s not just getting space to breathe.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the rustling quiets. The closet door creaks open, and Toto steps out.

But he’s not empty-handed.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see what he’s holding. A long, silver spreader bar, polished, gleaming in the dim light of the room. At either end, sleek leather anklets dangle, waiting. You blink, unsure if you’re seeing it right. This isn’t something you’ve ever seen before. You didn’t even know he owned anything like this.

Toto stands there, still and calm, his expression unreadable as he holds the bar in front of him. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a second, you’re speechless.

“What … what is that?” Your voice is shaky, unsure.

He tilts his head slightly, studying your reaction, not in any rush to answer. Finally, after a pause, he says, “A spreader bar.” His tone is measured, cool. “I think you know what it’s for.”

Your heart skips a beat. You do, of course. You’ve heard of them, but you’ve never actually been in a situation where one has made an appearance. Certainly not here, not with him. The weight of the moment suddenly shifts, turning from tense confrontation into something else entirely.

“What are you doing, Toto?” You ask, though you aren’t sure you want to know the answer.

He steps closer, slow, deliberate. His presence, as always, dominates the room, but now it feels different. The air crackles with an intensity you haven’t felt in a long time, maybe ever. His eyes never leave yours, dark, calculating, as though he’s waiting for you to react.

"You’re making decisions about your future,” he says, voice low, controlled. “I think it’s only fair I remind you who’s in control right now.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, but it’s not fear. No, it’s something else entirely. Something deeper, more visceral. You can’t look away from him, even though part of you wonders if you should. The other part — well, the other part is curious, intrigued by the shift in him.

He holds the spreader bar out slightly, as if testing its weight in his hand. “I don’t like being blindsided,” he continues, his voice firm, unwavering. “Especially not by you.”

“Toto,” you begin, but he cuts you off with a look, his eyes sharp, focused. You fall silent.

“I understand why you’ve made your choice,” he says, his tone still low, almost too calm. “But now, you’re going to listen to me.”

He steps even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body as he towers over you. The spreader bar is still in his hand, its presence as dominant as his. “I’ve let you make decisions for yourself, always supported you. But right now, right here, I’m the one in control.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your throat is tight, your mind spinning as you try to wrap your head around the shift in the atmosphere. There’s a palpable tension between you, something electric and undeniable.

“Stand up,” he commands, voice smooth but firm. It’s not a request. It’s an order.

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes flicking between him and the spreader bar. But something in his gaze pulls you in, and before you know it, you’re rising to your feet, your legs a little shaky. Your pulse races, and the room feels suddenly smaller, like you’re being enveloped by his presence.

Toto watches you, his eyes narrowing slightly, approving of your obedience without needing to say a word. He steps behind you, his hand brushing against your back as he positions you in front of the bed. The contact sends a jolt through you, and you suppress a gasp.

“Sit,” he says quietly, and you do, lowering yourself back onto the edge of the bed.

Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, he kneels in front of you, taking one of your ankles in his hand. The touch is gentle, but there’s a deliberate intensity to it that makes your breath hitch. You watch, transfixed, as he wraps the leather anklet around your ankle, buckling it with precise care.

“Toto,” you start again, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

He looks up at you, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “I’m reminding you that there are parts of your life where you don’t get to call the shots.”

The second anklet is secured with the same care, and you feel the cool metal of the bar press against your calves as he connects your ankles to it. You’re hyper-aware of every sensation, every breath, the way the leather hugs your skin and the weight of the spreader bar keeping your legs apart. The vulnerability of it hits you hard, but instead of fear, you feel something else — anticipation.

Toto stands, his hand grazing your leg briefly as he rises. He’s looking down at you now, his expression calm, calculated. The spreader bar forces your legs apart, your position laid bare for him, but he makes no move to touch you yet. Instead, he watches you, as though waiting for your reaction.

“You think leaving Mercedes is what you need,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “But right now, I’m going to show you what it means to surrender.”

Your pulse quickens. You don’t know if you can even respond, your throat dry, your mind spinning from the gravity of his words, the gravity of the situation. There’s something intoxicating about the way he speaks, the way he commands the space, the way he commands you. And in this moment, you realize just how much power he holds — not just over you, but over everything in this room.

He steps closer again, this time standing between your legs, looking down at you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “Do you understand?”

You nod slowly, your breath shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Words,” he says, his tone softer but firm. “I need to hear you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough.

He reaches down, his hand tracing a line up your leg, slow, deliberate, until it reaches your thigh. His touch is light but charged with intent. You can feel the tension building in the room, in your body, like a storm about to break.

“You’ve made your decision about your career,” he says, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that makes your body ache with anticipation. “But when you’re with me, I make the decisions.”

His words send a shiver through you, and you feel your body responding in ways you can’t control, heat pooling low in your belly. The spreader bar keeps your legs apart, keeps you vulnerable, and yet there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel safe, even as you surrender to the moment.

Toto’s hand moves higher, his touch still teasing, deliberate, until his fingers reach the waistband of your pants. He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours again, and for a moment, time seems to freeze.

“You trust me?” He asks, his voice low, commanding but with a note of something softer underneath.

You swallow hard, your heart hammering in your chest. There’s no question in your mind, despite the tension, despite the intensity of the moment.

“Yes,” you breathe, and the word feels like a release.

He doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he pulls your pants down, the cool air of the room hitting your skin, sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you. You’re exposed now, completely at his mercy, and the reality of your position sinks in fully. But instead of fear, you feel something else — something deeper, more profound.

Toto stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire, but still, he’s in control. He’s always in control. The power in that moment shifts entirely to him, and you can feel it in every fiber of your being.

Then he moves with that same deliberate calm, never breaking eye contact with you. Every inch of the room feels like it’s bending around him, like he’s the axis everything revolves around. He’s in control, yes, but it’s more than that — it’s like he’s waiting, testing, gauging just how far you’ll let him push.

Without a word, he steps over to the nightstand. His fingers brush the drawer handle, and you hear the faint creak as it slides open. You don’t try to see what he’s reaching for; your eyes are fixed on him, the tension between you two coiled so tightly it feels like a single wrong move could snap it.

Toto’s hand disappears inside the drawer, and for a moment, you don’t breathe. The anticipation is maddening, the silence louder than any words could be. When he pulls his hand back out, it’s quick, fluid, and whatever he’s holding is concealed behind his back.

Your heart races. “Toto … what is that?”

His gaze flickers with something unreadable — a hint of amusement, maybe? Or maybe it’s something darker. He steps closer to you again, still holding the object out of sight. He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he comes to stand in front of you, towering over you, the spreader bar still keeping your legs apart, your body open and vulnerable.

“You trust me,” he says, and it’s not a question this time. It’s a statement, one that feels heavier than before, laden with more meaning now that you’re here, like this, with him. You nod, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I asked you a question earlier,” he says slowly, his voice soft but firm. “About whether you understand what control really looks like.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I-I do.”

“Do you?” He raises an eyebrow, and there’s that faint smirk on his lips again, the one that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. “Because I don’t think you fully understand yet.”

You blink, heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation stretching out. “Toto, what are you-”

He cuts you off with a look. “I told you before. You’ve made decisions for yourself, and I respect that.” His voice is even, but there’s an underlying intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “But tonight, right now, I’m the one who makes the decisions.”

And then, with that same deliberate slowness, he brings his hand around from behind his back.

Your breath catches in your throat as you see what he’s holding.

A vibrator.

A small, sleek one, the kind that looks deceptively simple but holds a power that’s anything but. Your stomach twists, and suddenly, everything feels too much — the spreader bar, your body’s position, the intimacy of the moment, the look on his face. The realization hits you in waves: he’s not here to just talk. He’s going to push you further than he ever has before.

“Toto …” Your voice is shaky, filled with a mixture of anticipation, uncertainty, and something you can’t quite name. “I-”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish. He steps even closer, his hand moving to gently tilt your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. There’s something intense, almost possessive, in the way he’s watching you.

“You’re going to learn,” he says softly, “what it means to truly let go.”

His words send a ripple through you, your pulse quickening as he kneels in front of you again, his large frame making you feel even more exposed. The cool air of the room brushes against your bare skin, the sensation heightened by the tension thrumming between you both.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he presses the vibrator to your inner thigh, not turning it on yet, just letting the cool metal make contact with your heated skin. You tense, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“Toto … this is too much,” you whisper, though part of you isn’t sure if you mean it. It’s overwhelming, the sensations, the anticipation, the way he’s looking at you with that unyielding gaze. But there’s another part of you that wants to see where this goes, that trusts him to take you wherever he’s planning to go.

“Too much?” He repeats, his tone light but edged with amusement. “Or exactly what you need?”

You don’t have an answer for that. Not really. All you can feel is the pressure of the spreader bar keeping your legs apart, the way his hands are gentle but unrelenting as they move along your thighs. You’re acutely aware of every inch of your skin, every nerve ending sparking with electricity.

Before you can say anything more, he presses the vibrator between your legs. The first touch of it is soft, barely a whisper of sensation, but it’s enough to make you tense, a sharp breath escaping your lips. He doesn’t turn it on yet. He just holds it there, watching your reaction, waiting.

“Toto, please …” You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For him to stop? For him to keep going? You can’t decide. It’s too much, but also not enough.

He tilts his head, considering you for a moment, his thumb hovering over the button. “You always try to control everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, steady. “But you don’t need to. Not here. Not with me.”

And then, without warning, he flicks the vibrator on.

The sudden vibration against your most sensitive spot makes you gasp, your back arching involuntarily. Your legs strain against the spreader bar, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to close them, no way to ease the intensity. You’re trapped in the sensation, every nerve alight, your mind spinning.

“Toto!” You cry out, your hands gripping the edge of the bed, trying to anchor yourself as the sensation overwhelms you.

But he doesn’t stop. He holds the vibrator against you, watching, his expression calm, composed, like he’s completely in control of everything happening to you. His free hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently, grounding you in the moment even as your body fights to keep up with the onslaught of pleasure.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his voice like a low hum in the background of your own ragged breathing. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it.”

Your mind is reeling, your body caught in a loop of sensation. You try to pull your hands away from the bed, to reach for him, to find something to hold on to, but he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“No,” he says, his voice firm. “You stay right where you are.”

You groan, half in frustration, half in surrender. The vibrator pulses against you, relentless, driving you closer to the edge. You want to close your legs, to escape the intensity, but the spreader bar keeps you open, exposed, vulnerable.

“Toto … I can’t …”

“Yes, you can,” he says softly, his hand squeezing your thigh again, reassuring. “You’re strong. You can take it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip, trying to focus, but it’s impossible. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, your body reacting in ways you can’t control. Every time the vibration shifts, it sends another jolt of electricity through you, and you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something immense, something you’re not ready for.

Toto watches you closely, his eyes dark, focused, his thumb brushing idly against your skin as he holds the vibrator steady. He’s so calm, so collected, while you’re falling apart in front of him.

“I want you to let go,” he says quietly, his voice gentle but commanding. “Stop trying to fight it.”

You can’t even respond. You’re too lost in the sensation, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Your muscles tense, your back arching as you try to brace yourself for what’s coming, but there’s no way to prepare. You’re already too far gone.

And then, with a sudden shift, the vibrations change, intensifying. It’s enough to send you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out, your hands gripping the bed so tightly your knuckles turn white. The world narrows to this one moment, this one sensation, everything else fading away.

Toto doesn’t stop. He holds the vibrator against you, drawing out every last bit of your climax, pushing you further, making sure you feel every second of it. You’re shaking, trembling, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but he doesn’t let up. Not until you’re completely spent.

When he finally pulls the vibrator away, your body sags in relief, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, your muscles weak, your mind still spinning from the force of it all.

Toto straightens, his eyes still on you, watching as you come down from the high. He’s quiet for a moment, letting you catch your breath, his expression softening just slightly.

“You see?” He says quietly, stepping closer to you again, his hand brushing your hair back from your face. “You don’t need to be in control all the time.”

You close your eyes, still trying to process everything that’s just happened. But you barely have time to catch your breath before his hand comes down on you.

Not gently, but not cruelly, either — just hard enough to make your body jolt, your mind snap back to the present moment. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the room, cutting through the thick silence, and you gasp, your body still sensitive from everything he’s already put you through.

His hand lingers for a moment, warm, steady, grounding. But then it lifts again, and there’s no time to prepare before it comes down a second time. The impact isn’t painful, not really, but it’s enough to make you bite your lip, your legs straining against the spreader bar as your body reacts, twitching involuntarily under his touch.

“Still too much?” He asks, his voice calm, measured, as if this is just another conversation, nothing out of the ordinary.

You want to say yes, to tell him it’s too much, to beg him to stop. But you don’t. The words die in your throat, tangled up with the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. It’s overwhelming, yes, but it’s also something else — something deeper, more complicated, something that’s making you want to see just how far you can be pushed.

Instead of answering, you bite your lip and bury your face into the bed, trying to steady your breathing.

Toto’s hand comes down again, this time on the bundle of nerves between your legs, and the sharpness of the sensation sends a shockwave through your body. You let out a soft cry, the sound muffled by the bedspread. The slap wasn’t hard, but your sensitivity makes everything feel amplified, and it’s like you’re teetering on the edge again, your body primed and ready despite your exhaustion.

“Toto-” you gasp, the words half-formed, more a sound than a plea. But he doesn’t answer. His hand comes down again, another firm slap, and your legs twitch helplessly, the spreader bar keeping you in place, keeping you exposed.

You don’t know how long it lasts — seconds, minutes, maybe longer. His hand moves methodically, alternating between soft touches and sharp slaps, keeping you in a state of tension, always anticipating the next move but never quite knowing when it will come. Every strike, every caress, pulls you further under, your mind a haze of sensation, too overwhelmed to process anything beyond the immediate moment.

And then, just when you think you can’t take any more, he stops. The room goes silent again, save for your ragged breathing. You’re trembling, your muscles taut, your body flushed and aching, but there’s a strange calmness in the aftermath, a sense of weightlessness that settles over you.

You feel him shift, his hand moving away, and you think maybe it’s over. Maybe he’s done.

But then, you hear a faint click.

Your eyes snap open, and you look up just in time to see Toto holding something small and silver in his hand. It’s a butterfly clamp — delicate, intricate, the kind designed for maximum stimulation in the most intimate places. The sight of it makes your heart skip a beat, a wave of anticipation rolling through you.

“Toto, wait-”

But he’s already moving, his hands deft and practiced as he positions the clamp with precision. The cool metal of it brushes against you, and before you can protest, you feel the bite of it closing around that same sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation is sharp, electric, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan, your legs straining against the spreader bar again.

“There,” Toto murmurs, his voice low, almost soothing. “That should keep you focused.”

You’re panting now, your body shaking with the intensity of the clamp’s grip. It’s not painful, exactly, but it’s tight, the pressure constant, unrelenting. Your hands clench into fists at your sides as you try to process the overwhelming sensation, your mind scrambling for some semblance of control.

But he’s not done.

Toto reaches for something on the nightstand again, and this time, when he pulls his hand back, he’s holding a small remote. You realize what it is just a second too late. The butterfly clamp is wired — it vibrates. And when Toto presses the button on the remote, the clamp comes to life with a low, insistent hum.

The first burst of vibration hits you like a shockwave, your body jerking against the bed, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. The sensation is too much, too intense, and you can feel your mind slipping, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught. It’s like every nerve in your body is lit up, your muscles tensing, your legs shaking.

“Toto, please …” you manage to gasp, your voice barely audible over the sound of the vibrating clamp. “It’s too much …”

But he doesn’t turn it off. Instead, he watches you, his eyes dark, focused, as if he’s studying your every reaction. He tilts his head slightly, considering, and then without a word, he turns the intensity up higher.

The vibrations increase, the sensation growing stronger, more insistent, and you feel yourself falling apart, your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. You try to close your legs, to ease the intensity, but the spreader bar keeps you open, keeps you exposed, and there’s no escape from the relentless stimulation.

“Toto!” You cry out, your voice breaking, your hands gripping the bed so tightly your knuckles turn white. “I can’t … I can’t …”

But he doesn’t answer. He just watches, calm, composed, in complete control.

The vibrations pulse through you, unrelenting, and your body responds with an intensity that scares you. You’re on the edge again, teetering, the sensation too much, too overwhelming, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

And then, just when you think you might break, just when the sensation becomes unbearable, Toto steps back.

Your heart races as you watch him move toward the door. He’s still holding the remote, his thumb hovering over the button, but he doesn’t turn the vibrations off. He leaves them on, the clamp still buzzing against you, the sensation still coursing through your body.

“Toto …” you gasp, your voice shaky, desperate. “Please …”

He stops at the doorway, turning to look at you one last time. His expression is unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on you, taking in the sight of you trembling, helpless, completely at his mercy.

“You’ll stay like this,” he says quietly, his voice calm, almost detached. “Until I decide to come back.”

Your heart drops, panic rising in your chest as the reality of his words sinks in. He’s leaving you like this. Bound, exposed, vibrating, with no way to stop it.

“Toto, no, please …” you beg, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even hesitate.

He turns and walks out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

The moment he’s gone, the room feels ten times quieter, the buzzing clamp the only sound cutting through the oppressive silence. The vibrations haven’t stopped, and your body hasn’t had a moment to recover from everything that’s already happened. Your muscles are still trembling, your body still tense, and the clamp’s relentless pulsing is driving you toward the edge, again and again, without mercy.

You try to focus, to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible. Every second that passes, every pulse of the clamp, makes it harder to think, harder to hold on to any semblance of control. Your mind is slipping, consumed by the constant stimulation, and you don’t know how much longer you can take it.

Your hands grip the bed, your legs straining against the spreader bar, but there’s no escape. The pleasure is overwhelming, building, spiraling out of control, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, again and again, but never quite falling.

“Toto …” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you. “Please …”

But he’s gone.

***

Time has become a blur.

You have no idea how long it’s been — minutes, hours, an eternity — since Toto left the room, since the vibrations started, since the last coherent thought slipped from your mind. Your body is trembling, every muscle tensed and weak at the same time, caught in a relentless loop of overstimulation. Every pulse from the clamp is a fresh wave of sensation, building and breaking in rapid succession, leaving no room for breath, no time for your body to come down from the edge.

All you know is this: your legs, still spread open, still bound, the wetness pooling beneath you, soaking the sheets from the uncontrollable release that came over and over, without mercy. You’ve long since stopped trying to fight it. There’s nothing left to fight.

Toto is gone, but his presence lingers in every pulse of the vibrator, in every sharp intake of breath, in every broken sound that escapes your lips. You don’t remember why he left. You barely remember why you’re here, in this position, on this bed. Your body is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing you can focus on.

And it’s too much.

It’s all too much.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, clutching them with what little strength you have left. Your mind is fogged with pleasure, with exhaustion, with need. The clamp’s grip is unyielding, and the sensation has reached a point beyond control. You’re not even sure how many times you’ve come — whether it was once or a hundred times — whether the pleasure has blurred into pain or if it’s all the same now.

You bite down on your lip, trying to ground yourself, to find something solid in the overwhelming chaos. Your breath is ragged, coming in shallow gasps, and your legs are shaking uncontrollably. You feel like you’re drowning in it, like you’ve been caught in a storm of sensation with no way out.

You close your eyes, and in the darkness behind your eyelids, you try to focus on something — anything — to break through the haze. Your name. Your purpose. Your decision to leave Mercedes and sign with McLaren. But even that feels distant, insignificant, swallowed by the intensity of what’s happening to your body. The only thing that matters is the constant, endless rhythm of the clamp’s vibrations and the way it’s pushing you beyond your limits.

You don’t even hear the door open.

But suddenly, the vibrations stop.

Just like that, the clamp goes silent, and the absence of sensation is almost as jarring as its presence. Your body collapses in on itself, trembling and weak, every muscle in your legs and abdomen quivering from the relentless tension. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, the quiet almost deafening after the endless hum of the vibrator.

Your eyes flutter open, and you see him standing in the doorway, tall and composed, his expression unreadable. Toto’s gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of your flushed skin, the way your body is still shaking in the aftermath, the dampness on the sheets beneath you.

He says nothing at first. He just watches, his eyes dark, intense, like he’s measuring every inch of your reaction, every subtle movement of your body.

“Toto …” your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. You don’t know what you want to say. You don’t know what you can say.

But his name hangs in the air between you, heavy with meaning.

He steps forward, his presence commanding, and as he approaches, you feel a fresh wave of anticipation roll through you, despite the exhaustion that’s pulling at your limbs.

He reaches the bed, his hand moving to your ankle, fingers brushing over the cuff of the spreader bar. His touch is warm, familiar, and yet it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly, his voice low and measured. “But you’ve handled it well.”

There’s a softness to his tone now, a contrast to the control he’s exercised over you all night. It’s almost comforting, though the intensity of the moment still lingers in the air, thick and suffocating.

You blink up at him, trying to gather your thoughts, but it’s like your brain is still catching up with your body, still trying to process everything that’s just happened.

“How long …” You ask, your voice shaky.

Toto’s eyes flicker with something — amusement, maybe — but he doesn’t answer your question directly. Instead, he kneels down in front of you, his hand moving up your leg, slowly, deliberately, as if he’s reacquainting himself with your body after watching it from a distance.

“You’ve lost track of time,” he says softly, almost teasing. “That’s good.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, your body still buzzing with the remnants of overstimulation. “It … it was too much,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.

His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, something softens in his expression. “I know,” he says simply, his voice a little quieter now. “That’s the point.”

He unclips the spreader bar from your ankles, letting your legs fall together. The relief is immediate, though your muscles are so weak and trembling that it takes you a moment to fully relax into the new position. The wetness between your legs feels like a constant reminder of what just happened, and your cheeks burn with the realization.

Toto reaches for the butterfly clamp, his fingers brushing against your sensitive skin as he removes it with the same care and precision as before. The absence of its pressure is almost startling, and you let out a small gasp of relief.

He stands up, towering over you again, and you look up at him, still trying to catch your breath, still trying to make sense of everything.

“Are you okay?” His voice is quieter now, more gentle, and it catches you off guard. There’s a tenderness in his tone that you haven’t heard all night, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name.

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true. “I … I think so.”

Toto’s eyes search yours for a long moment, and then he reaches down, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your breath hitch.

You don’t know how to respond. You don’t even know what you feel right now. Exhausted? Relieved? Overwhelmed? Grateful? It’s all tangled up together, too complicated to untangle in this moment.

“Toto,” you whisper, your voice shaky, “I … I don’t know what to say.”

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says, his voice low and comforting. “I already know.”

His words wash over you like a balm, soothing the chaos that’s still swirling in your mind. And for the first time since this all started, you feel a strange sense of calm settling over you, grounding you in the present moment.

Toto sits down on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand resting gently on your thigh. His touch is warm, reassuring, and you find yourself leaning into it, seeking the comfort and stability he’s offering.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, more gentle. “But you did better than I expected.”

You blink at him, your mind still foggy from the intensity of everything, but his words start to cut through the haze.

“Better than you expected?” You repeat, your voice still shaky.

Toto’s lips curve into a small smile, and he nods. “Yes,” he says simply. “You trusted me. You let go. That’s not easy for someone like you.”

You feel a lump form in your throat at his words, the weight of what he’s saying hitting you all at once. He’s right. Letting go — relinquishing control — isn’t something that comes naturally to you. It’s something you’ve fought against for most of your life.

But tonight, with him, you did it.

You let go.

And somehow, in the midst of all the chaos and intensity, that feels like an accomplishment.

***

The bedroom air feels impossibly still as Toto watches you lying there, your body still trembling from the night’s events. Every breath feels like a chore, your legs heavy and unresponsive, a dull ache radiating through your muscles. It’s not pain — not exactly — but the overwhelming sensation of too much. Too much stimulation, too much strain, too much surrender.

Toto moves with a grace you envy. He doesn’t seem shaken by what just happened. If anything, he seems more in control than ever, and it’s a strange comfort as he leans down to whisper, “I’m going to run you a bath.”

You nod weakly, unsure if you could find your voice even if you tried. Your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. You close your eyes, listening to the faint sounds of him moving around the bathroom. The sound of water running, soft and rhythmic, is a welcome distraction from the buzzing in your mind.

Toto returns after a moment, his face softened in the dim light of the room. “Let’s get you in,” he murmurs, gently slipping an arm under your back and another under your knees. He lifts you as if you weigh nothing at all, effortlessly cradling you against his chest. You feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady beat of his heart, and for a moment, it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.

You try to help, try to move your legs or shift your weight, but your limbs feel boneless, unwilling to cooperate. You can only manage a soft whimper, which Toto hushes with a quiet, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He carries you into the bathroom, the air thick with steam from the waiting bath. The scent of lavender fills the space, calming, though your body still feels too raw, too sensitive to truly relax. Toto lowers you into the water with the same tenderness he’s shown all night, but the moment the warmth hits your skin, a sharp sting pulls a gasp from your throat.

“I know,” he murmurs, brushing a wet strand of hair away from your face. “It’ll pass.”

The water laps around you, soothing in some places, biting in others where your skin has been left tender and marked. You sink into it slowly, trying to let the warmth do its job, to soothe the ache that’s set deep into your muscles.

Toto kneels beside the tub, his hand slipping into the water to rub gentle circles over your arm, as though to remind you that he’s still here, still watching, still caring. His touch is light, absent of the dominance he held over you earlier, replaced now with something gentler, more intimate.

You open your eyes just a sliver, watching him through the haze of exhaustion. His face is softened by concern, a tenderness you aren’t sure you were expecting, even though you’ve seen this side of him before. It’s a look he reserves for moments like these, when the intensity fades and all that’s left is the two of you — Toto, no longer the boss, the leader, the man who demands so much. Just him, here, with you.

After a while, he pulls his phone from his pocket, still sitting on the floor next to the tub. His fingers move across the screen with the same efficiency he brings to every part of his life, and before you can even wonder what he’s doing, you hear the familiar voice of your performance coach answering the call.

“Hello?” Comes the voice on the other end, crackling slightly through the phone’s speaker.

Toto clears his throat, casting a glance in your direction, as if measuring whether or not you’re coherent enough to understand what’s about to happen. “Ja, it’s Toto,” he says, his voice steady, professional. “I’m calling about Y/N’s training schedule.”

You can’t help but crack one eye open, watching as he speaks, his tone cool and commanding, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. It’s jarring to witness after everything, the way he can shift so seamlessly between roles, so completely in control.

“She’s, uh …” Toto hesitates, and it catches your attention. Hesitation is rare for him. “She’s not feeling well. She’ll need to take a few days off from training.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and you feel your lips curve upward, just slightly, as you crack one eye open further to see his expression. His eyes flicker to you, catching your amused gaze, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” Your performance coach’s voice sounds skeptical. “She was fine yesterday.”

Toto’s hand slides back into your hair, petting gently as his smirk fades, his tone back to business. “Yes. But today … she’s not well. It’s best she rests.”

You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, the disbelief in the coach’s voice almost laughable given the circumstances. But you bite your tongue, too exhausted to interject.

“How bad is it?” Your coach presses. “Fever? Injury?”

“Something like that,” Toto says, his fingers weaving through your damp hair. His voice lowers, taking on that authoritative edge again, the one that says the conversation is over. “She’ll be back when she’s ready. No sooner.”

There’s a sigh on the other end, and you can almost picture your performance coach, frowning, realizing he won’t win this battle against Toto Wolff. “Alright, then. I’ll adjust her schedule.”

“Thank you,” Toto says curtly, and without another word, he ends the call, placing the phone on the tiled floor beside him.

You crack one eye open again, catching his gaze. “Sick, huh?”

Toto raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into that familiar smirk. “What would you prefer I say?”

You exhale a weak laugh, the sound soft and shaky in your throat. “I don’t know … ‘recovering from being tied up and overstimulated for hours’ doesn’t really flow off the tongue.”

His smirk widens, and he leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

You hum in agreement, your head falling back against the edge of the tub. The water has started to lose its initial sting, the heat now a welcome relief on your sore, overworked muscles. Toto’s hand continues to move through your hair, and with each gentle stroke, you feel yourself relaxing just a little bit more, the tension draining from your body as the exhaustion begins to take over.

For a few moments, there’s silence. Just the sound of the water sloshing softly around you, Toto’s fingers carding through your hair, and the steady rhythm of your breathing as you try to come back to yourself.

But the quiet doesn’t last.

“You know …” Toto starts, his voice soft, thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier.”

You blink up at him, tired and still floating somewhere between the present and the haze of the night. “Which part?”

“About loving you,” he says, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. You remember the earlier conversation, the one that started all of this. The tension, the fear, the uncertainty when you told him you wouldn’t be re-signing with Mercedes. It feels like a lifetime ago now, but the truth of it still lingers in the air between you.

“I know you’ve made your decision,” he continues, his voice calm, though you can hear the undercurrent of emotion running beneath it. “And I respect that. I do.”

His hand moves from your hair to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek. His touch is tender, intimate, and you feel your heart constrict in your chest.

“But it doesn’t change how I feel about you,” he says, his voice steady, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll love you, no matter which team you drive for.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. There’s a part of you that wants to tell him you feel the same, that this — what the two of you have — transcends the politics of racing, of teams, of contracts.

But there’s another part of you that’s still scared. Scared of what it means to leave Mercedes, to leave the team that’s been your home for years. Scared of what it will mean for the two of you once you’re no longer bound by the same badge.

Toto seems to sense your hesitation, and he sighs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple. “Even if I wish it would always be Mercedes,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice barely a whisper.

Your chest tightens at the admission, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to say it, to admit that he still wants you to stay. But then again, you suppose you always knew. It’s not just about the team for him — it’s about keeping you close, about holding on to something that feels like it’s slipping away.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice soft, almost broken. You turn your head slightly, your lips brushing against his in a feather-light kiss. “I know.”

Toto rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment, you just sit there in the quiet, your heartbeats syncing up, the water cooling around you, but neither of you moves.

Because for now, this moment is enough.

693 notes · View notes

mirohlayo · 10 months ago

Text

CUTE, PRETTY AND PERFECT

( lando was ready to confess his feelings to you, but a misunderstanding changed everything. )

warning : fluff, so much fluff, lando being adorable

note : i want this boy guys. also probably my fav fic, it's just all cute omgg

word count : 3k

He was finally ready. He had finally gathered all his courage. Sure, he was stressed, but after months of hiding his deep feelings, he was determined to do it. Lando was ready to confess his feelings to you.

McLaren and their two drivers are now in Bahrain to test the cars for the pre-season. It starts in few days but they already started to work hard, especially on their new garage design.

As a friend of Lando Norris himself, he bought you a ticket plane for you to fly to Bahrain and spend some time with him, even though it was not the most exciting thing because you would just be around the paddock and the track, not doing anything special or funny. But still, you agreed to come because you couldn't spend a lot of time with him during the winter break. Turns out this man had fun traveling around the world.

But Lando had others plans. Of course, he dragged you and his others friends there to spend time with you, but he also wanted to do something. He thought about it a lot, also stressed about it a lot, but now he knows he's more than ready to confess to you.

This boy was already absolutely obsessed with you since the first time you met. Your smile, your laugh, your shyness... Every single thing you do only makes the situation worse and he feels himself falling more and more.

He's the type of guy to be confident to pick up girls and he has no problem to go for them. He is confident and shows no signs of weakness. If he likes a girl then he won't hesitate to show it to her. But with you it's totally different.

The so confident and flirty Lando finds himself so weak when it comes to you. His usual way of flirting no longer exists when he's with you. And you're the only girl he's ever met who makes him change his behavior like that. He is extremely shy around you. He's hesitant, he doesn't know if he's doing the right thing because he's too nervous about making you uncomfortable.

He is also no longer touchy at all. Usually he likes to be tactile with the girl he likes, but you are completely different. You have such an effect on him that he becomes clumsy. This is why when you touch each other suddenly, even for a short second, his whole being becomes alarmed. He blushes so quickly and hard, his heart beats so hard that he's sure we can hear it on the other side of the world.

Even his friends don't recognize him when he's with you. This is the first time he's been so shy and cautious with a girl.

This is why it was at first hard for him to get the guts to finally confess to you. But it's soon the start of the new season, so he thought confessing now would be a great idea. Because then if you reject him he'll be able focus on the races and get over it faster.

And the day finally comes. He starts to feel stressed. His heart is beating a miles but he tries to ignore it. He knows you're here, around the paddock, so he goes to looking for you. His thoughts have been the same for a few days: he hopes that you love him in return. He already spent five minutes looking for you, but it looks like you're missing. He was about to take the stairs to leave the McLaren building when he heard several voices coming from a room.

He cautiously approaches where the noise is coming from, and then presses his ear to the door. He listens carefully, and now he's hearing two voices. And he's sure your voice is one of the two. He would recognize it in seconds. He perfectly knows how your voice sounds. But soon the conversation you have with your interlocutor is breaking his heart in pieces.

"I already love him. God he's so cute !" You say in a excited way. He hears a girl's laughter. "Y/N, you haven't gone out with him yet." "I know but i can't wait. I think i'll go out with him in like two days or something like that" You reply.

Lando's heart misses a beat. Are you planning to leave him alone for another boy ? Are you serious ? Do you actually hate spending time with Lando ? He keeps listening, but he can't repress this feeling of pain.

"You're already in love with him right ?" The girl ask you. "Oh definitely. He's perfect. And he's so pretty too, look at him !" He assumes that you are showing a photo of this man to your friend, since there is a short moment of silence before you giggle. "Yeah, he's cute. I'm so happy for you Y/N" "I love him so much you know..." You keep saying.

That's enough for Lando. He doesn't know if he feels angry or sad right now, but he doesn't wait another second to leave the place, his breath heavy and jerky. So he spent all those months being so in love with you just to find out you're head over heels for another man ?

Jealousy runs in his blood. His feelings were always so deep and strong when it comes to you, so this jealousy is obviously hurting him. It breaks him, and his heart. His mind can't think properly. He wanted to confess to you, but your plan was to leave Bahrain and him in few days to go out with a man he doesn't know about his existence.

But he knows he can't blame you. After all, we don't decide who we want to love. Feelings can't be controlled. He fell so hard in love with you and it's not his fault, so he can't blame you for loving someone else. It's your feelings. But still, he's so in pain. The sadness is quickly taking hold of him. Because he realizes you won't be his girlfriend. And it sucks.

It's been two hours since he found out. He didn't want to think about this horrible new, so instead he went over his race team and started to work on the cars with the engineers. But his mind keeps playing again and again your so affectionate words that you said about this man he already hates with all his being.

He's talking with Oscar about the cars' grip when he hears a voice behind him. "Hello guys !". You walk over and you're now standing in front of the two drivers. Oscar greets you with a smile. "Y/N, it's good to see you here. I guess you missed Lando" the Australian grins at you, and gives his teammate a blow in the ribs.

But he doesn't move, and keeps a straight face. "I wanted to spend time with him but turns out he worked hard with you these two past hours. You steal him and our precious time." You points out to Oscar to tease him and he leaves his hands in the air, ridding himself of any accusation.

You feel Lando stiffen and he doesn't even dare to look at you. His jaw tenses and his arms are crossed over his chest. You frown. What's wrong with him ? "You prefer spending time with your so cute and perfect man huh..." He rumbled in such a low voice that you didn't understand what he just said. "What did you say ?" "Nothing. Just leave me alone, I am working" He turns back and walk away, leaving you alone with the aussie next to you.

You're so confused. Why he's like that ? Did you do something wrong ? Do you bothered him or what ? You send a look of confusion to the blonde guy next to you, and he too seems lost. He shrugs. "I don't know why his behavior is so aggressive towards you. When he arrived two hours ago, he didn't say a word and he seemed quite angry."

"Angry ?" "Yeah, well he wasn't too focused and sometimes I felt like he was about to cry". This is insane. You don't know what happened to him but it worries you. He was always so kind and caring with you, never getting angry at you. But it's so different today. It feels like he hates you.

Oscar pats your shoulder, gives you a small smile before leaving you here, thinking about everything that happened during those 2 hours.

He felt guilty. So guilty. Of course, it was the first time that he get angry at you. He was always trying his best to give you the best of himself but that day it wasn't the case. After speaking to you for the last time, it got worse. He couldn't stop thinking about what he told you. It was stupid of him.

But today was also not the day too. He's been ignoring you for two days now. He passed you a few times around the paddock but he always looked away quickly. He didn't really want to spend time with you anymore. And that got on your nerves.

He remembered that today you have to leave Bahrain and him to go out on a date with your man. Maybe your boyfriend even ? But you didn't warn him, so he wonders if you're really gone. Despite this thought, he didn't try to ask you and just figured you left without telling anyone. But as he walks towards the mclaren garage, your voice come from behind him. "Lando, wait !!"

He frozens. Are you really here ? His heart starts to beat faster and he turns around to see if you are there. His eyes dart out when he finds you standing here, in front of him. You look like you ran a marathon because of your messy hair on your face and your red cheeks. He clears his throat and tries to put himself together. "Are you... okay ?" You ask carefully. He seems surprised at first, but quickly get back to his straight face.

"Yes, I'm good." You feel like he was lying. "It doesn't look like though" His gaze shifts to the right. He avoids your gaze. "Why ?" He asks. "I don't know... You've been ignoring me for two days. You haven't spoken to me once since you asked me to leave you alone. I don't know if I did something wrong but I need to know Lando..." Your voice is about to crack and he notices it. He realizes he must had pain you. And it breaks him in pieces.

But he avoids whatever you're saying. "And you ?" His question make you lift your head up to cross his eyes. "Why are you still here ? You should be with your boyfriend on your date right now." He looks down at the floor, because now sadness and pain fill his whole heart. "What boyfriend ?"

Your question and your confused tone surprise him. His head lift up and for a moment your eyes meet, confusion can be read in both of your looks. No. He's sure he heard it right last time. "I heard you say you were going out on a date with a man today" You frown. "I don't have anything planned today. I don't even have a boyfriend or a man, Lan" You don't know where that comes from but it's just stupid. You are single, and if you should have a boyfriend of course you would choose Lando without hesitation.

After all, you fell in love with him too.

He's relieved. His heart slows down and he finally manages to relax. Now his whole being is relieved because it means he still has a chance to confess to you. "I know it's bad Y/N, but last time I listened to your conversation with your friend and you talked about a perfect and super handsome guy, who you were planning to go on a date with..." You were about to say something but he cuts you off. "So i thought you had someone you loved." His voice becomes quieter.

But now you understand. You start to laugh because you realized that he misunderstood everything. He looks at you, confused. "Lando, that day I wasn't talking about a human. But about a puppy. I'm going to adopt a puppy" You say between two laughters. His eyes dart out and his face looks so surprised.

Oh poor boy. He feels so dumb and stupid right now. How could he make such a fool of himself and distort your words? He has misunderstood every single word you said. And he feels even more foolish when he realized he was so fucking jealous of a puppy. A little puppy.

He blushes so hard now. Such a blushing mess. Not just his cheeks but his whole face is all reddish now, shame eats away at him. It's so embarrassing. But your cute laugh soothes him a bit. "Today was the day I had to pick him up and "go out" with him. But I was worried about you so I postponed the meeting" You explain and he feels even more embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry Y/N. No really, i misunderstood everything and i apologize for that. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ignore you. I'm so stupid" He doesn't stop rumbling and apologizing for all this stuff he created. "Hey Lando, it's okay. I am not mad at you. You didn't have the context so there's no point in apologizing." You put your hands on his shoulders and the touch gives him goosebumps.

It's not fair how you manage to have a hold on him. He's so desperate for you. "But I'm really sorry..." You stay silent for a moment. "But it was really a problem if I went on this date with a man ?". Everything goes into panic inside him. He can't confess, not now. Not after what just happened. "N-no, you can have a boyfriend and go out with whoever you want but... I mean, it's..."

He sighs and pulls backward. "Sorry. It's just that... I don't know how to forgive myself" he reveals. He nervously plays with his fingers and you can't stand this sad picture of Lando. That's why you got an idea. You smile to him. "Maybe you could come with me to pick up my puppy?" A grin takes place on your face.

And soon a grin comes out from his face too. He can't stop smiling like a child. "I'd love to".

"You can come". The old lady waves at you and the driver. You get up from your seats and enter the room where several puppies are playing around. You can't help but giggle. You love so much puppies and dogs. And so does Lando. He too looks in heaven. "Here's your little puppy." The lady hands you a cute brown puppy with big doe eyes.

You take him in your arms and without waiting another second, you attack him with kisses. You let out in between some giggles, while Lando stands there, looking at you with heart-eyes. But the more he looks at you and the puppy, the more he got jealous.

You kiss and hug the puppy like there's only you two in the room. All your attention is on the cute brown animal in your arms and you don't even look at the driver anymore.

Twice. It's the second time he got so jealous of a damn puppy. "What's wrong with me ?" he thought. But he can't help it. He desperately wants to be the puppy. To be the one who receives your kisses, your hugs, your attention. It's not fair. "You want to hold him ? I need to get the papers and stuff done" you ask to him and then right after he got the fluffy ball in his big arms.

Lando also has a dog. Of course he loves animals too. But here it's different. With a smile, you encourage him to wait for you outside while you finish to sign the papers for the adoption. So he waits some minutes, staring at the puppy. Or more like glaring at him. "You love stealing my girl from me huh ?" He asks to the fluffy ball, and he looks like he's about to pout.

But then you appear, a big smile on your face. You join Lando, too happy to notice the cute pout on his face. "Oh my baby, you're so cute" You take the little puppy back in your arms and kiss him again. "And me ?" Lando suddenly said softly, but you heard him.

"You ?" You ask surprised. Why he's suddenly like that ? You look at him with with a questioning look. "Am I cute too ?" He asks, still pouting. He doesn't think about what he's saying anymore, now he just needs you. You don't know what to say. But indeed yeah, his cute behavior melts your heart. "Am I pretty and perfect too ? Arghh fuck !!" He lets out a cry of frustration. "I can't get jealous of a puppy, that's so childish"

"Lando, what are you saying ?" You don't understand at all his behavior. He sighs and finally meets your gaze. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm such a child to be jealous of a puppy. Like... Like I want to be him so bad. I also want your kisses, your cuddles, your attention. I also want to be the reason of your giggles. I so want to be this puppy to receive your love too" You bite back a smile, but that's impossible.

You take a step closer. "You're cute too. So cute. And you're such a pretty and perfect boy too Lan." You grin to him. He didn't expect that. At all. But it genuinely melts his heart. He looks at you with adoration now, and he needs to fight the urge to kiss you. "I guess my jealous boy wants his kiss huh ?" You tease him. He blushes hard, and like a cute puppy he nods quickly. You don't wait a second to press your lips on his ones.

He smiles against your lips, and deepen the kiss by pulling you closer to him. His arms hold you tight, but he makes sure he doesn't crush the puppy between you two. The kiss is so sweet, Lando is savoring every seconds of it. You pull back, and rest yours foreheads together. "I'm so in love with you Lando. Maybe I love you more than our puppy" You laugh softly. He smiles with all his teeth, and press a kiss on your cheek. "I hope so, baby. I'm already tired of him stealing my girl away from me".

You let out a laugh, and like that, he presses a cute and small kiss on the puppy. His beloved puppy.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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vivwritesfics · 11 months ago

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(Oh My God) They Were Roommates

Chapter Thirteen - Worlds Away

Lando Norris and Y/N L/N were teammates. Tension had been between from the minute they started driving together and, when it only got worse, McLaren CEO Zac Brown decides there's only one solution: Have them live together.

1.5K

I'm gonna preface this by saying I'm a McLaren girlie, but this is the final chapter! Thanks for the support on this series, guys and, as always, blurb requests are open

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You'd think, now that they weren't teammates anymore, they could date openly. She and Lando could finally be together, now that she was driving for Mercedes and he was still with McLaren.

But things weren't that simple. They couldn't just be together, not without putting their careers on the line. For some people, it might have been worth it. But this was Formula One. Both of them knew they couldn't risk losing their seats.

Now that they weren't living in the same apartment, hooking up was impossible for them. She moved away, moved closer the Brackley. Their Formula One careers kept them so busy that they didn't have time for each other.

Y/N missed Lando. She missed him a fuck tonne. Ever since their affair started, she hadn't had anyone else. It had only been Lando. He was the only one that she wanted. He was the one that she couldn't have.

Lando missed her just as much as she missed him. He stayed in their apartment for just a little longer before finding a place of his own. There were several nights where he would sit in her old room, back against the door as he clutched the last hoodie of his that she wore. He hadn't washed it yet, couldn't bring himself to.

The next time they saw each other was a Grand Prix weekend. It was an incredibly emotional reunion, and Y/N couldn't stop herself from running into his arms. "I've missed you," she whispered as she held him so fucking tight.

Lando had his eyes closed as he held her just as tight. For once they didn't care about the cameras around them. He whispered something in her ear, something that had her shaking her head.

They went their separate ways, her walking towards the Mercedes garage as Lando went to McLaren. She missed the orange, she realised as she turned to watch him.

Suddenly somebody intercepted her, linked their arm through hers. "How are you doing?" Asked Max as he walked with her.

She looked up at him, glaring. "What're you getting at, Max?" She asked, her tone harsh.

"Look, I know about you and... him. I just wanna know how you're doing with the move," he answered.

He had led her behind the Mercedes garage, hidden away from the cameras. "I miss him," she whispered, her eyes looking down at the floor. "So fucking much, Max. I really fucking miss him." Tears sprung to her eyes and Max couldn't stop himself from pulling her close.

She kept her feet still, but she let her body fall against is. "There there," Max mumbled as he patted her awkwardly leaning body. "You know what they say, right? If you love something-"

"Let it go. If it doesn't come back, it was never really yours," she answered as she stood up straight and wiped under her eyes. "I'm trying, Max. I'm really fucking trying, but it's so damn hard. There's nobody but him, and I can't have him."

"Focus on racing," he said. "You're gonna need to if you wanna beat me."

It was strangely reassuring, and it got her moving into the Mercedes garage. Beating Max was motivation enough.

Letting Lando go wasn't going to be easy, she knew that. But it especially wasn't going to be easy when they were so close on track.

Y/N on track was a lot different to Y/N off track. Especially now that she was in the Mercedes. She was determined to get her first win, and nothing was going to stop her.

The more the season went on, the more she saw Lando as a distraction. She still loved him, still wanted nobody but him. But now she wanted the win more than that. Y/N on track didn't care about her feelings for Lando. Y/N on track was hungry for the win.

Australia 2021. She didn't know which McLaren was behind her, not until her engineer told her. He was trying to overtake on a corner, but their wheels made contact. She went spinning into the gravel, left dead last.

The both of them had to crawl back to the pits for a new set of tyres. The both of them were furious, the both of them thought the other should have left space.

They didn't talk about it, didn't address it. They didn't talk very much anymore anyway. No longer did they run into each others arms, and their conversations were brief. You could hardly tell they were once friends.

It happened again in the next race. This time she tried to make a move on him, but it didn't work and both of them found themselves out of the race. Fuck, were they mad. They scream expletives down the radio before climbing out of their undrivable cars.

On the third time, there was a confrontation. They both climbed out of their cars and began screaming at each other, pointing accusing fingers.

They wanted to hurt each other. She was pissed about the crash and he was pissed about the crash and her move to Mercedes. But it was only the crash that he could get mad about.

"You asshole!" She screamed, resisting the urge to push him. "Learn to fucking drive!"

"You're telling me to learn to drive? Fuck you!" He shouted back as he pulled off his gloves.

"Are you trying to fuck up my career? Are you that jealous?" She hissed, pulling off her helmet.

"What've I got to be jealous of? Your lack of wins? The massive point gap between you an Lewis?"

"Come talk to me when an actually good team wants you." She went to turn away, to walk back to the pitlane, but Lando had one last thing to say.

"I can't believe I ever fucking loved you."

She choked up. She couldn't help it, but she choked up. All he wanted to do was hurt her, that was clear now.

She turned back around and marched towards him. "Fuck you, Lando Norris," she spat. "I never want to see you again."

"Good!" He shouted as she marched away. This time she didn't look back.

Maybe there would have been a chance for them to reconcile, but they didn't want to. The both of them were incredibly stubborn, and neither of them were going to fold.

There were so many instances where she ended up crying on Max's shoulder about Lando. Max was the only one that knew (she thought), the only one she could confide in. Every time she cried against him, Max said the same phrase. He said it so often that it was starting to lose its effect. "Concentrate on trying to beat me."

The Y/N on track was trying to forget about Lando. But it seemed like her only crashes were to do with him. He may have tried to speak to her, but she just walked away, refusing to give him the time of day.

There were incredibly awkward press conferences, where Y/N and Lando were paired up, the two of them with some of the other drivers. Of course they were asked about being teammates and about their friendship. Some brave interviewers even asked about the return of their rivalry.

They were diplomatic with their answers. Neither of their teams wanted them to add fuel to the fire, so their PR teams jumped on it, gave them the media training they needed to deal with it and put out the fires between them.

For a few races they stayed out of each others way. A bad qualifying meant Lando spent most of the race at the back of the rid, away from her for one race. They got in a few more fights but managed to stay on track, managed not to make contact.

It was the night before the final race of the year. Abu Dhabi 2021, the title decider. It was between Max and Lewis, and Y/N was fighting with Sergio Perez for third.

There was a knock at her hotel room door. With a yawn, she pulled the door open, welcoming whoever it was into her room.

Lando Norris strode in, wearing his orange McLaren shirt. His heart was beating erratically in his chest as he looked at her, as he looked at the girl he once loved. "This needs to stop," was all he said.

She nodded her head in agreement. "It's getting silly now," she said in agreement, sitting on the end of her bed.

Lando sat beside her. It was too close to the times before, too close to what they once had, that Y/N shuffled away. "I..." he began, but he trailed off. There was nothing more he could say that she didn't already know. What would telling her that he once loved her gain? Nothing.

He walked towards the door. "Lando?" She called, and he stopped in his tracks.

She stood and walked over to him, her hand outstretched. "Good luck out there," she said and he hesitantly grasped her hand. "And I look forward to our professional relationship."

She might have well put a knife in his chest. Lando gripped her hand and shook it. "I look forward to our professional relationship too."

They were world away from each other now. It seemed like there was no going back.

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#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader smut #lando norris x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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lcriedlastnight · 13 days ago

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Hello! I was hoping I could request a fic where the reader is Oscar's best friend and the reader is really anxious about being in the paddock and almost passes out but Oscar catches her and once she's okay, he confesses? Thank you so much!

as a nervous girlie, i love this idea

1.1k words

if there was one thing that oscar wouldn't shut up about, it was getting you into the paddock for a race weekend. "it's basically your duty as my best friend" he would complain but you knew deep down he didn't really think that. and it wasn't that you didn't want to be there to support the love of your life your best friend, it's just that you didn't think that you could take being surrounded by that many people with that many cameras and that many different opinions of you.

when you had admitted this to oscar he of course jumped in to ease your fears and let you know it wasn't that bad.

"yeah but you're used to people taking pictures of you and swarming all around you and thinking bad things about you and-"

"i know i am but it doesn't mean that it doesn't still get to me." oscar cuts you off with a gentle uttering of your name. his hand comes to grip yours on your lap as he talks through all your worries and concerns about his way of everyday life.

"it's difficult but you learn to live with it. i can help you, even if it's just one time. if you hate it that badly then i'll never ask again i promise you."

the way oscar puts it makes it seem easy but that might just be an oscar thing because with the way he talks about driving his mclaren on race weekends makes it seem like you would be able to do it in your sleep. you do trust him though so that's maybe how he sees the cracks in your resolve and how he can spot from a mile away that you're about to finally give in after years of him basically begging you.

in the end it's that day that convinces you to join him in the paddock for the next race. he just didn't tell you that the next race was las vegas and was going to be full of people pestering you both.

oscar has a strong grip on your hand as he practically drags you through the paddock, past all the fans, past the reporters with the big professional cameras that scare the living daylights off you. oscar keeps one hand in yours and another on your lower back, guiding you through the masses to the safety of the mclaren motorhome, ignoring all the things people are shouting at the both of you, oscar tells you to keep your head down and keep walking.

somehow in the middle of all of the chaos, you lose grip of oscar's hand and the one of your back disappears. that's when you realise that you are stood in the middle of a massive sea of people who are trying to either push past you to get to oscar or get information from you. either way people were shouting and shoving and the only thing you were one hundred percent certain of was that your heart rate was spiking and your breathing was getting heavy.

you thought it would be easy to spot oscar in the crowd of people but many of them were fans and were wearing that exact same bright papaya orange that he was. you had thought about calling for him but that idea was quickly dismissed as you heard everyone around you shouting for oscar for multiple different reasons. you think through all the commotion you hear your own name being shouted but you can't hear well enough to know if it was real or if it was just your imagination playing tricks on you.

suddenly the air around you seemed too thick to breathe in and it was much harder to inhale than it was before. you felt the panic rise and you felt yourself get lightheaded. you had never fainted before but you thought that this must be what it felt like. even more panic adds to the existing because who wants to faint in general, never mind in the middle of a massive crowd like this..

just as you feel yourself start to lose balance, a hand appears on your shoulder and navigates you out the crowd and straight into the motorhome you and oscar were headed to. your hazy brain detects that it is in fact oscar who got you to safety but you find that even out of the crowd, you don't feel any less light headed.

"c'mon, honey. deep breaths for me, yeah?" you can faintly hear oscar through the cloudiness even though it feels like he's so far away.

you register that the breathing pattern oscar has adopted is one that you should probably copy, so you do. slowly inhaling together, then exhaling. as the fog of panic clears and you start to feel less dizzy you can see the guilt on oscar's face become more and more apparent.

"that's it. you're doing so well." oscar's praise makes you feel a little dizzy again but this time it isn't the bad kind so you push it to the back of your mind, like always.

"m'sorry." you mumble, pushing yourself forward and into his chest for comfort that you know only he can provide for you. oscar isn't slow to wrap you up in his arms and to push your head into the safety of his neck.

he doesn't reply for a while, seemingly letting you calm down as he rocks you from side to side, hands making little shapes on the patch of exposed skin of your back just below your t-shirt.

"i'm the one who should be sorry, sweetheart. i knew how anxious you were about this and i bring you to the race where everyone is practically insane." oscar apologises so softly, like anything louder will shatter you into a million pieces (that he wouldn't even mind picking back up).

he doesn't give you a minute to respond before he's speaking again. "i freaked out when i let your hand slip out of mine. i was so worried about you. god, i just- i love you and i don't want to be the reason you're like that ever again."

it's your turn to freak out because oscar has just said that he loves you and it doesn't even seem like he knows he has said it. you let your brain explode for a minute before you think of what to say back. do you bring it up (like you really want to) or or do you just ignore it too?

"you weren't the reason i was like that." you speak up, not moving your head from it's position so your words are a little muffled because they are said directly into oscar's collerbones.

from his chest you can feel the breath he takes as he gets ready to fight you on how this was all his fault but you know the exact thing that will shut him up, so with all the confidence you have in your entire body you mutter a quiet "i love you too."

and you were right, oscar was silent. better than him blaming himself for this, you supposed.

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leclercsluvs · 3 months ago

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LN4 | Our Forever Moment

an: i still don't really know how much i like to make written fics, but i have ideas for them so i'm going to continue to try and write them, i think. my first language is NOT english, so sorry if there's any mistakes <3 pairing: lando norris x fem!reader, vasseur!reader (this is gonna be fun, lowkey not important, gets mentioned like a few times because i forgot) warnings: swearing (like twice) inspired by: mine - taylor swift word count: 6.2k

As she’s being dragged to another race, she wonders when her dad is going to realize she's always running off and never in the garage of his own team, she doesn’t know that he’s fully aware she’s never there. She’s been welcomed by everyone she’s visited though, which does make him happy. She mostly goes to Mercedes and Red Bull, but lately Mclaren has been looking quite interesting.

“Are you going to stay in the Ferrari garage today? Or am I gonna have to send someone over to Red Bull or Mercedes to find you?" Fred looks at yn with a playful smile.

“I didn’t think you noticed.” She's quite shocked. He always seemed to switch off being a dad whenever they stepped into the garage, so it never even occurred to her that he even wanted her there.

“Who do you think sends someone after you at the end of the day?” He turns back around as they get closer, “I think you, Charles and Carlos would be great friends if you gave them a chance,” they turn and walk into the Ferrari hospitality. “Oh speaking of boys, have you found a boyfriend I need to approve of?” He quickly looks back to see her surprised face before he turns back to see where he’s going, even though he could probably navigate it blindfolded.

“Well first of all, you wouldn’t need to approve of him, this isn’t the middle age,” yn lets out a small laugh, “and second, all of my relationships have failed, you’re partly to blame for pulling me to almost every race, and then I guess I’m just not girlfriend material.” She follows her dad around, because even if she does get pulled to all races, she usually doesn't hang out here for more than 5 minutes before she’s off to find Max or George.

“Chérie, anyone not willing to spend the short time you're home isn’t worth your time,” he stops in his track turns around and puts a hand on her shoulder, “and I’m not sure if I ever said it, but if you truly would prefer to stay home and only travel to a few, that is fine. I would understand.”

She gives him a reassuring smile, “I know. You wouldn’t have been able to drag me out of the house if I didn't truly want to be here.”

He gives one quick smile before continuing walking, and before she knows it, she’s left to herself because he’s needed for something important.

~~~

It doesn’t take long for Charles to spot yn, sitting by herself, because apparently everyone else is busy today. “Yn? what are you doing here? I thought you’d be off doing something with Max?” Charles looks around to see if Max is around and he just hadn't seen him, but it’s a lost cause, which he should have realized, Max wouldn’t be seen anywhere near anything related to Ferrari. Except for Charles of course.

“No he’s busy. Everyone suddenly got busy.” She looks back down at her phone and the messages between her and her friend, however it would be rude to text back while Charles is in front of her, so she turns it off and stuffs it in her pocket. “I don't really remember the last time everyone, well except for you I guess, was busy at the same time.”

“Well, I’m meeting Lando and Oscar for lunch, do you want to join us?” Charles asks with a smile, flashing some cute dimples. Not that anything could ever happen between the two. As attractive as Charles may be, her dad was his boss, and nothing good was going to come out of that.

“I think I’d like that,” she smiles back as she picks up her bag with her essentials, “it’s nothing fancy right? I didn’t really get dressed for something over the top.” She looks down at the ripped jeans and the oversized t-shirt that she’s wearing. Not exactly the cutest outfit.

~~~

“So you still live with your dad?” Oscar asks curiously, they all seemed fairly happy she was invited by Charles. And Oscar, who she hadn’t really spent any time with, has been asking a lot of questions.

“I do. I may be 21, but living at home is just a little easier. And I like spending time with my dad, even if I run off to other teams at the first chance I get.” She answers as she takes another bite of her food. Lando has been awfully quiet and it didn’t go over yn’s head. She was fully aware of how glued his eyes were to his food.

“Is it weird? That your dad is responsible for a Formula 1 team?” Oscar almost forgets to eat, because of all the questions he’s asking.

“It was in the beginning, but I've gotten used to it by now,” she takes a sip of water. “Is he always this quiet?” yn looks at the way Lando is poking his food “and is he always just poking his food?” She questions, making Lando's eyes move up for just a split second and then back down to his food.

“No. He’s usually pretty chatty, maybe he’s just nervous for tomorrow," Oscar says, finally eating some of his food. “He doesn’t usually get like this before a race though,” Oscar leans his head a little to the side as if thinking about it, before poking a finger in Lando’s side making him jump a little. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Oscar asks.

“Maybe he’s got a new crush,” Charles jokes, taking a bite of food just as Lando suddenly coughs and gulps down water.

“Are you okay?” Yn asks as Lando suddenly gets up from his chair avoiding any and all eye contact.

“No, I’m actually not feeling so great. I think I’ll have to cut this short if I want to be good to go by tomorrow.” He quickly gathers his things as everyone looks confused. “Bye!” And then he’s out of there.

“Well that was weird.” Oscar says as he goes back to eating

“Do you think it was me?” Yn looks at the rest of the men sitting around the table, a little sad that she may have ruined their lunch.

Charles smiles. “Yes,” he says, looking at yn, “but in a good way. I think I might be right, even if it was just a joke.” He lets out a laugh. “I’m sure there’s some truth to it.” He goes back to eating, and so does yn, deciding that maybe she’ll talk to Lando in private.

~~~

On his way back to the hotel, Lando struggles to figure out his emotions. Of course yn is absolutely gorgeous. But considering she’s Fred's daughter he wouldn’t dare to think of her as anything but a friend. He may not race for Ferrari, but he still has a lot of respect for the man. And Lando knows about his reputation of not being able to keep his relationships going for long. Hopefully he can just subtly ignore her. Because the feelings, and thoughts he had during that lunch were not friendly. And before he even considers anything, he needs to make sure his feelings for her are romantic, and not just him finding her pretty.

~~~

Lando spent close to 4 months avoiding yn to the best of his abilities, and when he wasn’t ready and she caught him off guard he made up some weird excuse about needing to look at data, test the car, try some new Mclaren merch for photoshoots. Yn usually knew they were lies, and wondered why Lando was so set on avoiding her. To be quite honest, it brought down her mood, and she spent more and more time in the Ferrari garage and hospitality. Her dad sensed something was wrong. She was rarely there and suddenly she never left? Something was going on and he was going to get the bottom of it.

“I see you’re spending time here today,” Fred sat across from yn. She was eating lunch. Alone. That was how she spent most of her time lately. All alone. Lando had unknowingly made her really anti-social.

“I guess.” She poked a little at the salad she had bought. She didn’t really want it anymore.

“Did the others have plans?” Fred asks, looking around.

“I’m not sure.”

“Is something bothering you?” Fred asked, concerned for her daughter who used to have a lot to talk about. A lot of people to talk to, and who never spent time at lunch alone in Ferrari.

“Nope.” Fred sighed. He wasn’t going to get any answers. If it was because she genuinely just didn’t feel like talking today or if there was something wrong, he wasn’t sure. But he was gonna ask Max, or maybe Lewis to talk to her. He didn’t want her to be lonely. He got up from his chair. He had to get this started immediately.

Fred’s quest to find Lewis was surprisingly easy. He found the soon-to-be Ferrari driver hanging out with Charles and Carlos near their own garage. “Lewis! Can we talk?” Fred called out before he reached them. Lewis just nodded and started walking towards Fred.

“Is it about my contract?” Lewis asked cautiously. He knew he hadn’t been performing that great in the Mercedes this year and was afraid Fred was going to only make it a year so he could be finished with him.

“No. I need you to talk to yn. She's suddenly spending a lot of time with Ferrari, but alone. Which, as you may know, isn’t where, or how, she usually spends her time.'' Fred looks really concerned, and it’s like it’s transferred to Lewis immediately. He’s known yn ever since her dad started dragging her along. She would usually spend time with George when she went to Mercedes, but sometimes when George wasn’t there and she just wanted to be somewhere else, Lewis and yn would play some games. Usually chess. Lewis was definitely better than yn but she still loved it. They could often lose track of time and suddenly one from the Mercedes team would come and get Lewis to either do some media related stuff or because it was time to get ready for a race.

“Of course! Now that you mention it, I haven't seen her around Mercedes for quite some time now. I’ll see what I can do, if I can't figure it out, I'll have Max ask her. They’ve always had quite a special bond I don't understand” Lewis gives the man a reassuring smile and a clap on the shoulder “Don’t worry, we’ll get her back to her talkative self very soon.”

“Thanks Lewis,” Fred looks relieved, but only for a second when his eyes widen. “Do you think Max did something to her? To make her feel this way?” He looks around as if he's scanning the surroundings for Max. And good thing he isn’t around. It wouldn’t have been a good outcome.

“I doubt it. He’s always been nice. Especially to her,” when he realizes how that may sound to the man in front of him and the way his eyes narrow, he quickly adds “as a friend. Not romantically. I’m pretty sure he’s actually in a relationship.” Fred seems to almost relax at those words and gives Lewis a quick pat on the shoulder

“Hurry up and get my daughter back. I miss her.” and with that he walks off. Hopefully not to find Max. And if so, Lewis sure is glad he isn’t Max right now.

~~~

When Lewis finally finds yn sitting just on the outside of the track he’s surprised she was allowed. But then again she probably just mentioned being Fred's daughter and she was allowed. “Hey there. Looking cozy. Mind if I join you?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just sits down next to her on the grass.

“What do you want?” She asks. Not really feeling the company right now.

“You haven’t been spending much time with George lately. Have you been spending more time with Max?”

“No.” Straight to the point. But not really the point Lewis was looking for.

“Have you been spending time with Charles and Carlos? Since you’re spending so much time with Ferrari at the moment?”

“Would that be a crime?” She looks at Lewis, and he sees something different. Her eyes don't look as alive as they usually do. They’re missing the glow that makes yn herself.

“Yn, is something wrong? You know you can talk to me. Or Max,” he waits for a second, not sure if he should continue, but as she starts plucking at the grass without answering he decides she needs to know. “Your dad is worried about you.”

“Oh.” She answers, plucking a few more grass straws

“Did something happen?” Lewis asks, trying a different approach.

“I don't know. Maybe you should ask Lando.” Lewis is unsure what Lando has to do with this entire situation, but he promised Fred to get to the bottom of it, so he will.

“Did he do anything?” Lewis is ready to fight Lando. “If so, I’ll gladly talk to him”

“Well, maybe he’ll talk to you,” yn shrugs and gets up from the grass. “I have no idea what I did to him. He seemed happy enough about me being invited to join him, Oscar, and Charles for lunch a couple months ago, and then during lunch he was so quiet, barely looking up from his food and then he suddenly said he wasn’t feeling great and needed to leave.” Yn turns around and looks at Lewis, tears starting to form in her eyes. “He has ignored me ever since. Every time I’ve tried to talk to him he either runs away or makes up some dumb excuse to get away from me,” she wraps her arms around herself as if to protect herself. “I’m sorry,” she says, shakes her head and turns around again and starts walking away. “I shouldn't have put all of this on you. I'm probably just overthinking it anyway.”

"Wait!" Lewis is quick to get up from the grass and gets a hold of yn’s arm, ”I’m glad you told me. Let me talk to Lando. See if I can figure out why he’s avoiding you. Maybe there’s a reason,” yn smiles a small smile, but it’s better than the empty expressions she's had lately. “Nice to see you’re still capable of smiling.” Lewis returns it with a smile of his own and guides her towards the Mclaren hospitality. “Now let’s get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you. Not just for this, but also for always putting up with my bullshit.” Yn looks straight ahead. She wasn’t exactly planning on saying any of that, but oh well. It won’t hurt anyone.

Lewis just laughs and pushes her lightly. “You should be grateful. It's impossible to keep putting up with it.” If he wasn’t laughing while saying it, she would have been hurt, but she just laughs with him and follows him, to hopefully get some answers from Lando.

~~~

Lando was not expecting to see Lewis, so he wasn’t able to run off as quickly as he usually does, and when he spots yn behind Lewis, he tries to make up some excuse about having to talk to an engineer about a possible car problem but Lewis stops him. “Lando. That’s enough.” He puts a hand on Lando's shoulder before he gets a chance to run off. “Why do you keep running away from yn?”

Lando sighs, he can’t run away from it anymore. “I kinda would prefer for this conversation to happen between just me and yn.” He runs a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck.

Lewis looks back at yn, then at Lando, then back at yn, “are you fine with that?” He asks, while she nods and follows Lando into his drivers room

“So.” Lando starts, not really sure how to get the conversation going.

“Why have you been ignoring me for the past 4 months?” Yn asks, wanting to get this solved as soon as possible. “Did I say something that upset you so much during lunch that day?” Yn can feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she would like to get through this conversation without crying.

“No! Oh my god. Not at all!” He turns around because he’s not sure he can look at her while telling her this. “I think I might, sort of, have feelings for you.” The room is filled with silence. Lando is almost afraid she ran out of the room, If it wasn't for the fact he could hear her breathing.

“So you decided the best action was to avoid me?” Yn asks, with a playful grin. If she had known this was all it was she would have had someone talk to him earlier.

Her playful tone makes Lando turn around with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you or run off every time you tried talking to me. I was just afraid I would end up spilling a full love confession, and I’m not sure your dad would be too happy with that.”

“Well he doesn’t get a say in my love life.” Yn closes the distance between her and Lando.

“I suppose you’re right.” Lando takes a step forward, making the distance between them smaller.

“So are you going to be doing anything about it?” Yn tilts her head slightly.

“When I have planned it,” Lando smiles and takes a step back as he feels a vibration in his pocket. “Damn, I actually do have to go now,” a text from his engineer asking him to come back for a meeting. Lando grins and walks towards the door, “but you're totally free to stay here until I’m back. And trust me, I’ll be spending the entire meeting planning the perfect way to ask you out.” He flashes a quick smile before he's out of the door and yn is left alone in the room. But this time being all alone is different. She doesn't feel all alone. She’s the happiest she’s been in four months.

~~~

“I have the perfect plan.” Lando and Oscar are doing a track walk just to have something to do and make sure the track is fresh in their memory for the practice the next day.

“Yeah?” Oscar isn’t really sure it’s going to be as perfect as Lando thinks it is. “Are you totally sure about that?” He questions, raising an eyebrow, while taking in the surroundings of Monaco.

“I’m 100% sure.” Lando nods. He knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s in fact not going to ask directly. He’s made a fun little game, and got a few drivers in on it. “Just promise me to not ruin it when she comes to you.” Oscar sighs. He obviously isn’t going to spoil it.

“How are you going to ask her? If you aren’t doing it directly.”

“That’s a surprise.” And no matter how much Oscar pushes, Lando doesn't tell. Just smiles and shakes his head.

The next day when yn arrives at the paddock Alex greets her as soon as she’s arrived. “For you.” He says and hands her a letter.

“For me?” Her face is full of confusion as she opens the letter.

“Dear yn, I’ve made a little scavenger hunt for you. I hope you’re going to have fun. At the end you’ll find a surprise. Here’s the first clue.”

That’s the end of the letter. “So what's the clue?” If anything she's even more confused now, it doesn’t even say who it's from. It could be from George. But she doubts it. He’s never done anything like this before.

“Oh right, I almost forgot,” Alex rushes and pulls a small lego car from his backpack. more specifically a Mclaren lego car.

“So I'm guessing I have to go to Mclaren?” She questions and looks at Alex who just shrugs. So that’s where she heads to next. Who knows how long this is going to last. She does think it’s going to be fun though. She’s always loved clues.

As she gets closer to the Mclaren garage she finds Oscar standing looking around holding a letter in his hand. As he notices her, he walks towards her. “Here. From a mystery man.” He says, hands her the letter and walks off trying to look mysterious.

Yn laughs and opens the letter. This time, there’s no text. Just a card. “Happy fathers day.” She reads out loud. That’s all the card says. “I guess that means i’ll have to go to my dad?” She wonders out loud. Would this person involve her dad? Would her dad want to be involved? “Hm, probably just ferrari.” She says as she notices the card is mostly red.

She walks over to the Ferrari garage but can't find anything and decides it might be at the hospitality. As she enters the building she notices Carlos standing with a smile on his face and a whistle in his hands. “Here you go.” He hands her the whistle as she reaches him.

“That's it? Not a letter? Anything to guide me more than-'' she looks down at the whistle now in her hand, “a whistle?” She looks back up at Carlos who looks around.

“Consider the first letter of the whistle.” He whispers and quickly walks off, whistling.

“The first letter of whistle is w. So..” she thinks for a second. “Williams?” She laughs and quickly walks over to the Williams hospitality, but to her surprise finds no one, and decides it must be their garage then.

Here she finds Logan happily holding a small boat toy. “For you.” He says and hands it to her. Happy to be included. She smiles and wonders if this is the last one.

“Thank you, Logan.” She sends him a smile and walks to the dock to find a boat. Not really sure which type of boat, big or small. But she’s determined to find it.

When she gets to the dock, she fears it’s going to take a long time, until she spots Charles casually sitting on a yacht. As she approaches she notices a full basket of red bulls sitting beside him. “I guess I’m going back to the track. To Red Bull. Their garage?” She is sure to get those 10k steps she’s supposed to get every day.

“Yeah, if you want something to drink on your walk, I have plenty,” he pushes the basked towards yn and gestures for her to bring it, “in fact, let me join you on the way back, I was only sent here to give you the clue, and I don't drink Red Bull, so I can return it.” He smiles and gets up, taking the basket full of cans. “Are you having fun so far?” Charles starts walking back towards the track with yn following.

“Yeah. It’s a lot of fun,” she answers as she opens a can of the regular Red Bull, "I'm excited to see who set all of this up though” she looks ahead and takes a sip of the can.

“I can’t wait for you to see who arranged it,” he says. And that’s all he says. Yn tries to get more clues about who it is, but Charles’ mouth is shut. He’s not letting anything slip. And they arrive at Red Bull way earlier than yn was expecting so she doesn't get nearly enough time to interrogate Charles about who it is.

“I see you’ve come to terms with the fact Red Bull is the best.” Max teases as Charles and yn are within hearing range of a normal voice. While holding a bouquet of flowers?

“Ha ha ha,” Charles smiles, as he hands Max the basket full of red bull cans, “I’m just keeping yn company, and decided to return these as I won’t be able to drink them.” Charles laughs and gets into a conversation with Max until yn clears her throat, reminding them she’s still there.

“I’m looking for a clue,” she says, begging that it's close to being over because she’s tired of walking from one side of the track to another over and over.

“Oh right,” Max hands her the bouquet of flowers he was holding. She takes them in her hand and her eyebrows furrow.

“What kind of clue is this?” She looks at Max whose eyes go wide.

“I forgot this.” He pulls a letter out from his pocket and hands it to her.

“Another letter. Is this the last one? I don't know how much more walking I can do.” She looks so defeated but reads the note.

“If you received this letter, that means you figured out all the clues. I know you were just there, but you can find me on Charles’ yacht. Where the big surprise is waiting.”

She looks up as she finishes reading. “He’s got to be kidding. I swear to fucking god, if this is George and he just made me walk from that yacht, back to the track and then back to that stupid yacht i’m going to go insane.” You look back at the letter.

“My yacht isn’t stupid.” Charles pouts as Max hits him on the arm. “Ow?”

Yn sighs, “I guess I’ll get going. Thanks for the flowers I suppose.”

“Oh they were not from me. They were from him. Just hurry up,” Max looks down at his phone, “practice starts kinda soon, and he can’t be late.” Yn starts walking back towards the yacht. She can't wait to kill the man that made her walk this much.

Lando however has been setting everything up ever since yn and Charles left. Strawberries covered in chocolate, and since he doesn't like chocolate, strawberries without chocolate, candles on a small table on the sun deck. As yn gets closer, Lando walks down to greet her. “I swear to fucking god George if this is yo-” her sentence gets cut short as soon as she sees Lando. “You set all of this up?”

“Yeah. You didn’t seem to like it that much?” Lando rubs the back of his neck. He wasn’t the best planner of a scavenger hunt.

“I kinda wasn’t the biggest fan of walking all the way out here, back to the track and then back here again.” She crosses her arms, but seeing the concerned look on Lando’s face she relaxes her arms and walks onto the yacht with a huge smile. “It was still kinda fun.”

They spend a little while on the boat, sitting with their feet almost touching the ocean. Lando is not really sure if he should put an arm around her or not. He decides not to move too quickly and they just sit next to each other. “Oh I almost forgot,” she turns and looks at Lando. “I was supposed to tell you to hurry up, practice starts soon and you can’t be late,” she looks down at the strawberries, “but you distracted me.”

“Oh shit!” He gets up quickly and puts his shoes on, “meet me at the track! I would love to spend some time with you between practice 1 and 2!” He hurries up and practically runs all the way to the track.

~~~

For the next couple of weeks Lando spends a lot of time wondering how quickly to move forward. They spend a lot of time sitting near water, almost like the first time, except they don't have access to Charles' yacht every day. Every time Lando wonders if he should put an arm around her, but he never does. Until one day, when they’ve been sitting at the end of the gangway on the dock, their feet so close to the water, if they stretched them out their toes would be dipped in the water, and Lando’s arm comes closer and closer to making its way around yn. “Just do it already,” she says and leans on him, putting her head on his shoulder, “I've been waiting for the last many weeks for you to do it.” Lando can’t help but let out a small laugh and put his arm around her.

“I wasn’t sure if you even wanted it.” He looks down at her quickly before looking back at the water.

“I've been waiting for you to make some sort of move, so I knew if it would be appropriate to do this.” She says, as she sits back up straight and puts her hands on Lando’s cheeks and pulls his face closer. He puts his hands on her waist and pulls her closer while making sure none of them fall into the water. Her lips meet his softly, a tentative brush that sends a wave of electricity through her body. The kiss deepened, growing in confidence, and everything else faded away. All that existed was the two of them.

When they finally break apart, Lando puts his forehead against hers, a smile stuck on his face. He would never be able to forget this moment, and she wouldn’t either. “I’ve dreamed of this moment ever since that time Charles invited you to lunch.” Lando shares, not aware that yn has shared the same feeling since he shared that he had feelings for her.

“I was sure you’d do something about it sooner.” Yn lets out a small laugh and leans against Lando’s shoulder as he puts his arm around her.

“I was too afraid you didn't want to,” he says and lets out a sigh. “And I guess I just never thought to just ask.”

“Well, you should have.” She smiles, before looking up at him, and he can’t help but smile back. They sit like that for a while. Just enjoying each other's company.

~~~

A couple weeks later, when they’re lying on the couch in Lando’s apartment, watching a movie, yn can’t help but smile, thinking about this moment, and how she never thought this would be a reality in her life. “Can you believe it?” She says in a soft whisper, her voice barely even audible.

“Believe what?” Lando asks, while his other hand mindlessly runs through the soft strands of her hair.

“This. Us. I never thought I’d be in such a happy relationship while traveling so much.” She says, softly tracing small circles on the back of his hand, that’s draped across her waist.

“Well I’m glad you're happy,” He says, placing a kiss on the top of her head, earning a soft hum from the woman. “You know, you could bring some stuff here. Just enough for a drawer if you don’t want to get too serious.” He mumbles, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck.

She can’t help but smile, because she had been thinking of asking. “That would be nice, especially considering how much time I spend here.” She brings his hand up to her lips and places a soft kiss there, before going back to the movie.

~~~

It didn't take long for her to basically move in. It wasn’t official, but it might as well have been. She spent more time there than she did at her own home. But Lando didn’t mind. In fact, he loved having her there. They even started spending time together publicly, whether that was around Monaco when it wasn’t a race week, or if it was in the paddock. The fans had noticed how close they had gotten, and speculation quickly began. Were they a couple? Just friends? No one knew. Did Fred? No. But he wasn’t stupid, he knew something was going on, but he didn’t want to ask. But he didn’t mind, as long as yn was happy. And she was, for the first couple of months. And then it seemed like Lando had other priorities. Of course she knew racing was important to him, and she didn’t expect to suddenly be on the absolute top of his priority list, that would always be F1 and she knew that. However, that didn’t stop the feeling of neglect starting to spread through her. She knew he had a packed schedule, but she would often find herself wishing he had more time for her, yet it just seemed he got less and less time for her.

As the relationship between them progresses, small arguments make it to the surface. Usually sparked by the fact yn feels unimportant, or that Lando misses a date or an anniversary. It’s never his intention, and he always makes it clear that he loves her, but as it continues to get worse and worse, she begins to question it. She even stops believing him 100%.

It was 2 am. Lando had just returned back to the hotel after the race in Singapore. He silently opened the door to the room he was sharing with yn, expecting her to already be sound asleep on the bed, but to his surprise she was sitting up, leaning against the headboard with the bedside lamp on.

“Can we talk?” She asks, her voice soft but filled with a hint of vulnerability.

“Of course.” Lando quickly closes the door and walks over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Look, I know racing is extremely important to you, that it’s everything to you, but,” she pauses for a moment, not really sure how he’s going to take this. “What about us?” She asks, her voice shaking slightly.

“I know it’s been tough, and I’ve not been the best, but I’m under a lot of pressure right now,” Lando looks up at her and he can see the way his words hurt, and he can’t help the defensive tone that creeps into his voice. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Didn’t have a choice? You’ve always had a choice! You chose to sign up for all those PR events. All the additional promotional videos. Do you know how it feels to always be the last thing on your mind?” Her voice raises a little as the frustration takes over, and she searches Lando’s eyes for a reaction, just some sort of reaction.

“I never wanted you to feel that way,” Lando sighs and looks her in the eye, he genuinely never wanted her to feel like she was his last priority. “But this is my career, it’s what I’ve worked towards my entire life.”

“And where do I fit into that? When you talk about your future, you’re talking about your next race, the next podium, the next win. I can’t continue to just sit back and wait for you to finally have time for me. I can’t continue to just be a spectator in your life, Lando.” The hurt is visible on her face, and she turns away momentarily to look out the window. The rain is subtly falling outside, and small drops of water roll down the window.

“I thought you understood when we got together.” He says, trying to defend himself. “This is my life, my dream. I never wanted you to feel like you're not important.” His voice softens, but his tone is still defensive as he tries to avoid addressing the core issue.

“I did understand. And I’ve been nothing but supportive, but it’s been months of you forgetting a date, or something else. And I’m not asking you to quit racing, I would never do that. All I’m asking is that I become a priority too. Because right now it feels like you’ve made a choice. And it’s not me.” Tears start to swell up in yn's eyes, and Lando is at a loss for words. He never wanted it to get to this point, but he doesn’t know what to say. He looks away, and that’s the last straw for yn. She swings her legs off the bed and grabs her suitcase that she packed as soon as she returned from the race, since they were planning to leave early in the morning anyway. “I’ll give you some time to think about all of this. But I won’t be waiting forever. Figure out if this is something you want. Because I can’t keep doing this.” And with those words she leaves the hotel room, and into the elevator.

She walks out into the rain, with tears flowing freely from her eyes. She stops and takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want it to end between her and Lando, but she also can’t continue to just be a bystander in her own relationship. As she grabs her suitcase and is about to begin walking she hears Landos voice. “Wait!”

She turns around and sees him walking in long strides toward her, the rain already drenching his hair. “I don't want to lose you. I’ll never leave you alone again,” he says as he reaches her. “I remember how it felt when we were sitting by the water on our first unofficial date. Every time I look at you, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time all over again. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He places a hand on her cheek and gently rubs his thumb along her cheekbones. “Please don’t leave. We’ll make it work. I’ll make time for you. You’ll be my first priority, I promise.”

She looks up at him with an aching heart at the raw emotion in his voice. For a moment she wants to believe him, to just forget all the missed moments, but the pain is still too much.

“You say that now, but what happens when life gets busy again?” She asks in a whisper, her voice shaking as she speaks. “What happens when I become the last thing on your mind again because something else takes priority?”

Lando’s hand trembles slightly against her cheek, but he doesnt pull away, and neither does she. The rain falls a little harder, and their breaths are visible in the cool air of the night.

“I won't let that happen.” His voice is filled with an urgency, a need, that she’s never heard before. “I know i’ve failed you, but this time-”

“”This time,” she interrupts him and takes a step back, resulting in his hand slipping from her cheek. “How do I know this time is any different?” She looks at him with tearfilled eyes, waiting for an answer she might not want. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Lando takes a step closer and his eyes are filled with so much love and hope.

“Because this time, I know what it’s like to lose you,” his voice is trembling and he pauses for a moment, searching for the right words. “And I can’t. I can't lose you.”

394 notes · View notes

racetowrite · 3 months ago

Text

Miami, baby

Support a disabled creator

Pairing : Lando Norris x f!reader

Tags : slight edging, uprotected piv (fuck them kids)

Word Count : 3.2k

After years of painstakingly saving every penny, you finally had the chance to attend an F1 race. Today was the big day, your first-ever experience at an event filled with adrenaline and excitement. You wandered around, searching for some indication of where to go, when suddenly you accidentally bumped into someone.

He was moving with purpose, clearly rushing to get somewhere, and the impact was so significant that you stumbled and fell to the ground with a gasp.

You looked up, disoriented and a little dazed, to find yourself staring into a pair of intense green eyes. The man who had accidentally knocked you over appeared before you. He was tall, strong, and exuded an air of dominance and control. For a moment, the world seemed to move in slow motion as you gazed at him, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and concern, perhaps realizing that he had knocked you off balance. You weren't sure how to react, your body still feeling the impact of your fall. But then, he spoke, his voice deep and commanding yet gentle.

“Are you alright?” he asked, offering you a hand to help you stand up. His voice sent a shiver down your spine, the concern in his tone contrasting sharply with the authoritative quality he exuded.

Despite the confusion caused by the collision, you quickly realize that the person who helped you up is none other than Lando Norris, one of the most popular Formula One drivers on the grid.

Your eyes widen in recognition, but unlike other fans, you don't immediately erupt into a fit of screaming or gushing. Instead, your reaction is more subdued, a mixture of shock and reverence.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going," you apologize, your voice a little shaky. You're still feeling the aftershocks of bumping into such a famous figure, but you manage to maintain your composure.

"I'm glad I didn't hurt you badly," Lando replies, his tone still gentle despite the accident. He seems relieved that you aren't hurt, his gaze sweeping over you to make sure you're alright.

You offer him a grateful smile, still trying to process the fact that you're actually face-to-face with Lando Norris. "Thank you for helping me up," you say, your voice a little hoarse.

Lando is struck by how unlike other fans you are. You're not screaming, begging for a picture, or losing your composure. Instead, you're standing there, calm and collected, even after the unexpected collision. This catches his attention and intrigues him.

As he looks at you, he can't help but notice how beautiful you are. There's an innocence and purity in your expression that draws him in, making it difficult for him to look away.

His gaze becomes almost predatory, drinking in every detail of your features. He's captivated by your lack of hysterics and the way you're handling yourself in his presence. Lando is used to fans becoming tongue-tied and overwhelmed in front of him, but you seem completely unfazed.

You realize that the clock is ticking, and the qualifying session is about to start. You hesitate for a moment, knowing that it's time to part ways. You offer Lando a smile and say, "Well, it was nice meeting you, and good luck in the qualifying."

Lando's expression changes slightly. He doesn't want this encounter to end just yet, and the thought of you leaving his side gives him an unpleasant feeling. Without thinking, he finds himself saying, "Wait, why don't you come watch from my box?"

"You could have a better view from there," he adds, hoping that you'll agree to his invitation. Lando doesn't want to admit it out loud, but the idea of having you near him, cheering him on, is strangely appealing.

You feel a pang of guilt as Lando invites you to the McLaren box. You're aware of how expensive those tickets can be, and you don't want to impose or be a burden. But at the same time, you're oddly touched by his invitation, and you can't bring yourself to outright refuse.

Instead, you try to brush off his concern, saying, "Oh, you really don't owe me anything. You didn't knock me that badly, I'm fine."

Lando is taken aback by your response. He’s used to people jumping at the chance to be nearby, especially women who usually throw themselves at him. But you're different. You're not flustered or falling over yourself to accept his invitation. Instead, you brush it off, telling him he doesn’t owe you anything.

For Lando, it's a novel, exhilarating feeling. He finds himself strangely captivated, more intrigued by this unexpected exchange than by any race he’s ever competed in.

Your indifference piques his interest even more. He's suddenly feeling challenged, like he's faced with a puzzle he needs to solve. No one has ever rejected his offer, let alone so nonchalantly. It's frustrating, but in a strangely addictive way. Lando can't help but find himself fascinated by this interaction, his mind more focused on you than on the impending race.

Lando's mind is racing, trying to find a way to keep the interaction going. He doesn't want to let you walk away, not yet. Thinking quickly, he comes up with an excuse.

"Hey, listen," he says, his tone slightly casual, "You should give me your number. Just in case, you know, if you need anything or... something like that."

You can't help but let out a soft laugh at Lando's insistence. You find yourself touched by his concern, but also amused by his persistence.

"Seriously, I'm fine," you assure him again, your voice filled with a hint of humor. "You didn't knock me down that badly. I'm not some damsel in distress, you know."

Lando can't help but chuckle a little at your playful response. He's never met someone so unfazed by his presence, someone who actually has a sense of humor.

“Yeah, I guess you’re not,” he replies, his tone becoming more relaxed. "But still, I'd feel better if I had a way to check up on you. Just in case."

Despite your earlier protests, you can't argue with Lando's insistence. There's something earnest in his tone, a genuine concern for your well-being that’s hard to ignore. Reluctantly, you find yourself agreeing.

"Alright, fine," you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You can have my number if it'll make you feel better."

Lando's face lights up at your words. He hadn't expected you to give in so easily, but he can't deny the feeling of victory that floods through him. With a satisfied grin, he pulls out his phone and hands it to you.

"Great, beautiful. Put your number in here."

As you hand back his phone, your fingers briefly touch, and Lando feels an unexpected spark of electricity shoot through him at the contact. Just before you say goodbye, Lando suddenly hesitates, looking at your tousled hair. With a sly grin, he takes off his signature cap and places it on top of your head, adjusting it slightly so it sits comfortably on you.

"Wear this. Maybe it'll bring me luck," he grins. "And make sure you're cheering for me, okay?"

You can't help but feel a sudden rush of warmth at the gesture. The cap feels oddly comfortable on your head, like a piece of Lando is somehow with you now. You offer him a small smile, your fingers gently touching the cap.

"I'll be your biggest cheerleader," you promise, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Good luck, Lando."

Lando heads off to the McLaren garage, his thoughts whirling in his mind. Although he should be focused solely on the upcoming qualification, he can't keep his thoughts off you. Your nonchalant attitude, your lack of fangirling, and the way you've agreed to give him your number - it all leaves him slightly off-kilter.

He tries to shake off the distraction, to concentrate on his car and his performance. But the image of your smile, and the feeling of your touch, linger in his mind, making it difficult for him to fully immerse himself in the usual pre-qualification anticipation.

Lando quickly snaps out of his thoughts, though. He knows he needs to get in the zone. He puts on his driving gear, his mind focusing on the qualifying ahead, pushing you out of his mind. But even as he does so, his heart beats a little faster than usual, eager to impress you, the mysterious girl who captured his attention from a simple accident.

After placing p1 in qualifying, Lando's heart is still racing with adrenaline. He's thrilled with his performance, but there's something else he's excited about. He remembers the promise you made, that you would be there cheering him on.

As soon as he has a moment, Lando pulls out his phone and types out a quick message to you: "Hey, I placed p1. See you tomorrow at the race, yeah?"

Lando hits send on the message, but a moment later, he realises he's forgotten something crucial. He doesn't know your name. This thought sends a pang of frustration through him. How could he have forgotten to ask for your name?

With a small sigh, Lando types another message, this time asking, "By the way, I never got your name."

Lando's attention is now fully focused on his phone, waiting anxiously for your response. When your text comes through, he's slightly surprised.

"Y/N," he repeats to himself, testing out the name in his mind. "I like it."

He's about to reply when he sees you mention that you'll be watching him tomorrow. A sense of satisfaction and anticipation fills him, knowing you'll be there in the stands, cheering him on.

Lando sends a quick reply: "Can't wait. See you tomorrow, Y/N."

“I promise to be there.”

He can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing you again, in the stands, cheering just for him. The thought of impressing you with his race only fuels his determination to win even more.

The day of the Miami Grand Prix arrives, and Lando is filled with a mix of excitement and determination. As he steps into his car, he can't help but think of you, a silent motivator in his mind. The race is intense, a chaotic whirlwind of speed and strategy. But Lando's focus is unwavering, thanks to the thought of you in the stands, watching him, cheering him on.

As he crosses the finish line, first place, Lando feels a rush of triumph. He's won his first Grand Prix, right in front of you.

Lando's heart is pounding as he climbs out of the car, the sounds of the crowd and the congratulations of his team a blur around him. All he can think of is finding you in the stands, seeing your reaction to his win. Lando quickly finds his way to the stands, searching for you amidst the sea of fans. And when he spots you, his heart stutters for a moment. You're standing there, a wide smile on your face, and the sight of you makes his victory even sweeter.

Lando is floating on a cloud of triumph.

The whole time, from the interviews to the celebration, Lando's gaze keeps flicking to the crowd, looking for you. Every time he locks eyes with you, a wave of excitement washes over him, making his victory even more meaningful.

Land of has to go through the usual routine after the race - interviews, press conferences, team debriefs. By the time he's finally free, it feels like hours have passed.

He hurries to the McLaren garage, his heart racing with anticipation. When he spots you outside, he feels a mix of relief and excitement. He quickly walks over to you, a wide smile on his face.

"You waited," Lando says, a hint of surprise and gratitude in his voice. He's still in his race suit, dusted with champagne and the exhaustion of the race. But he's too excited to see you to care about how he looks. You smile back at him, the sight of his boyish grin warming your heart.

"I promised, didn't I?" You reply, your tone light.

He takes a breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "That you did," he nods, his eyes dancing with a mixture of adrenaline and amusement. He looks around, suddenly aware of the curious glances from the crew and other drivers. He grabs your hand and leads you away from the crowd, to a more secluded spot.

Lando's hand encloses around yours, and a small shock of electricity shoots through you at the sudden contact. You're surprised at how warm his hand is, how firm his grip is. It's a simple touch, a brief moment of skin against skin, but it leaves you feeling a bit flushed.

You look up at Lando, who's still leading you along, and see a hint of a smirk on his lips. He's aware of the effect his touch has on you, but you're unaware that he's equally affected.

The night progresses, and somehow, you end up in Lando's hotel room, the adrenaline from the race still coursing through his veins. As the door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts, a charged tension filling the air.

Lando looks at you, his eyes dark and intense. He steps closer, his proximity making your heart race in your chest. The space between you feels electric, the air between you taut with desire.

Lando doesn’t wait any longer. He moves closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his gaze burning into yours. "I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you," he murmurs, his voice low, sending shivers down your spine.

A couple of hours later, Lando feels like he’s in heaven.

Your head has been between his thighs for what has to be an hour now, his hand buried in your pretty hair, dragging your lips up and down his dripping cock. From the position, you on your knees beside your shared bed while he sits atop it, Lando fucking your face, it seems like he has all the power. But he knows better. He knows you’re letting him do this; that you, even with your bruised knees and puffy lips, have control over him. Over his mind, his body, his fucking soul.

“Baby, baby, please let me cum,” he whimpers into the quiet of the room, the only sounds echoing in his ears are his little grunts and moans and your obscene slurping around the length of him. “Can’t hold it anymore, y’feel so good, sweetheart.”

But you pull off his cock as soon as the words leave his lips, leaving him aching again. The whine he lets out is demeaning, embarrassing, but you wrap your hand around his cock, jacking him slowly while Lando hears you giggle softly.

“Are you gonna cum before you’ve even gotten my pussy?” You’re teasing him, you’ve been teasing him for the past few hours since you’ve been in his hotel room “Come on baby, you want to be inside me? You’ve been so good.”

Lando nods frantically, unthinking and delirious. “Please, please let me have you baby? I need it so bad. Please sweetheart, ple-”

“lay back for me?” And Lando shoves himself backward, laying himself onto the soft silk sheets. He barely has a chance to prepare himself before you’re standing and straddling him, working the tip of his cock into your dripping cunt.

And Lando knows, he knows, that this is the closest he’ll get to heaven. You moan as you sink down onto him, tight pussy clenching as you work your hips, and Lando almost rips a hole into the sheets with the effort not to thrust up into you, not to fucking cum inside you, right then and there. He’s mumbling nearly incoherently, little praises of “Baby, your pussy feels so good, you’re so tight, so fucking warm, god.”

And you can’t help but think how pretty Lando looks, all flushed and red, nipples still puffy from how you played with them hours earlier, chest heaving with his labored breaths. You rock your hips against him, running your nails down his chest as Lando chokes on a moan.

“You’re so good, baby,” you say, and Lando keens under the praise. “Your cock is so big. Fills me up so good. You stuff me so full, Lan.”

“Please” Lando groans, lips red and puffy from his biting.

“What, baby,” you ask, leaning down to nuzzle under his jaw, leaving soft kisses on his sensitive neck. You’re still grinding your hips, his balls and thighs all sticky from your sopping pussy.

“What do you need, Lan?”

“I need, I need-” Lando stutters, struggling to take a breath. “I need to fuck you baby. Oh god, please, please let me fuck you? Need it so bad.”

Lando knows that it's a long shot, that you could easily refuse him, and he’d let you, just as he’s been letting you refuse him for hours. But you grin between the kisses you’re leaving on his neck, your hips finally coming to a stop. “You’ve been so good. You’ve won the race. Come on, baby, you can fuck me.”

Lando doesn’t need to be told twice.

He tries not to mourn the loss of you around his cock as he slips out of you, quickly rolling you over. He slots himself between your spread thighs, shoving himself back into your gaping cunt, relishing in the pretty moan you let out. Lando’s eyes roll into the back of his head, a sharp gasp escaping his throat at the overwhelming heat of you.

He bucks into you uncontrollably, slamming into your pretty cunt with reckless abandon. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, hips working endlessly into you, balls slapping against your ass as he mouths at your soft skin.

Your nails are digging into his back as he ruts into your pussy, punching little ah, ah, ahs, out of your chest with every thrust.

You clench so fucking tight around his cock when you cum, a garbled “Lan, fuck, oh god-” leaving your lips as your hips shake and your vision goes white.

Lando is just babbling feverishly into your neck, a long string of “Thank you, thank you, oh god. Love your pussy, thank you for giving me your pussy, you make me feel so good, shit-” and he’s cumming, thick cum shooting deep into your pussy, all while he thanks you.

He doesn’t let you go for a long time, his strong arms wrapped around you as he twitches with the aftershock of his orgasm. You run a calming hand down his back, lightly tracing his scars while you wait for him to breathe normally again. You praise him softly, whispering into his hair, “You did so good, Lando. Made me feel so good baby, you’re so perfect.”

After a few minutes, Lando pulls you closer, his arms encircling you, his body warm and solid against yours. He buries his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

"You're the real win this weekend," he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "I might have won the race, but finding you, this moment with you...that's what really matters. And I'm not letting you go now that I've found you."

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