Hello lovely people! Welcome to my safe space! Please feel at home and enjoy your stay๐
I'm currently writing for F1 drivers. All my works are linked on the specific masterlist. Re-blongs and comments will be well appreciated. I'm also working on editing my works so please bear with me as english is not my first language so you may encounter grammatical errors.
note ๐: i did my part in putting the warning on my works that have things that may trigger some of you so please, do your part on reading them and avoid those works. also, when reading a fic i usually put the link for song the fic features so if you are able to play it while listening to the fic it would be ideal because that is how i plan my fics
My asks will always be open for your thoughts and messages. Stay safe and know you are loved.
ABOUT ME:
| she/her
| i love reading/writing
| max verstappen girly ;)
| i'm romanian
| my fav color is purple
| i'm a uni student so requests and fics sometimes will take some time to be posted so please be patient with me :)
REQUEST RULES:
i'm comfortable with writing almost anything so don't be afraid to send requests and messages. the things i don't write about: period sex, non con, piss kink or any extreme kink in general and threesomes.
MY OTHER BLOGS:
-- my ao3: click here <3
-- my community: click here <3
-- my discord server: dm me if you want to join <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Qualityโ Free Actions
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
| stefy's note: you know what i hate more than anything in the world? A FAKE FUCKING BITCH (tate ref. hope you got it). i got told by my cousin @kantoraces that i write from experience where here comes another one of my bad experiences with people (not the last i think but this is second time i'm writing a bad experience). and with the way my drafts are looking this might as well become a lando blog at this point (which i won't be complaining about). i didn't plan on writing this (yes i should have been writing for part 2 but i had to write this in order to let myself realize that i do deserve better), so enjoy :)
| warnings: swearing (girly is feeling the pressure, and she's a verstappen so make of that what you will), alcohol (they drink sake so it's not that deep), angst (a bit), hardships of a formula 1 driver (for reader), smut (first time ever writing it soo if i suck sorry), misoginy (by the fans because she is a woman in the field and a verstappen), mentions of make out, hateful comments (by the fans), hardships of fame (for both), hardships of having a famous best friend (from her best friend), hardships of a public relationship (which they face when she posts something about them), flirting (mentions of it, by lando, by reader), minors dni
| word count: 5.7k
| INSTAGRAM POST - 29th MAR.
yourusername
Liked by lando, f1, sophiekumpe and 2,638,828 others
yourusername time for a break. arigato ๐ฏ๐ต
View all 8,717 comments
verstappencom keep pushing ๐ช๐ช๐ช
user01 head up y/n. you'll be back
user02 you're a real one
user03 better days will come ๐
user04 enjoy the break
user05 โ๏ธ women
| user09 she's the first woman in f1 so yes women
user06 don't retire like your brother
| user02 we miss him dearly
user07 you deserve so much better!! these cars are a joke
You were shit. Well maybe not you per se. But the car. Dogshit. Piles of dogshit. Piles of bullshit. Piles of shit.
You stare at the rear wing and the wing stares back at you. If you can even call that flimsy piece of carbon fiber a rear wing and feel something sour rise in your throat. Itโs not quite anger. Itโs deeper than that. Itโs the exhaustion of having your hopes ground into dust lap after lap, corner after corner, while twenty other drivers past you like youโre standing still.
The car doesnโt just fail you. It humiliates you. Every creak, every shudder, every delayed throttle response is a little betrayal. And the worst part? You keep coming back to it, because what else are you supposed to do? This is your seat. Your helmet. Your name on the timing sheet. But the machine beneath you is a joke that someone forgot to deliver with a punchline.
How did your brother, Max, manage to drive this shitbox? And as much as he is Max Verstappen, it's still unbelievable how many times you did not finish a race. Youโve lost count now. But Mara, your best friend was keeping count. At first you tried to keep a mental tally, Melbourne followed by the cursed weekend in Suzuka where the engine gave up on you. Max made this car look almost competent. Almost drivable. He wrestled it to points finishes when the data said it should have been lapped three times over. You watched his onboard footage until your eyes burned, searching for the secret, the magic input, the single tweak of steering or pedal modulation that would unlock everything. It never came. Because there is no secret. There is only a chassis that wants to kill you and an engine that wants to die.
But at the end of the day it's not the fact that you didn't even have the resources to finish, but nobody saw this coming. Not that anyone would have expected the cars to be considered this bad. The pundits called it a "step forward." The pre-season analysis videos were full of optimistic graphs and carefully worded praise. Even Laurent Mekies, squinting at the CFD simulations, apparently nodded once and said it looked promising. Promising. What a word. What a graveyard of good intentions. Every single person in this paddock, from the engineers in their spotless team kit to the journalists with their microphones, believed that the RB22 would at least be functional. Not a title winner. Not a miracle machine. Just functional. And yet here you are, hauling a broken crate of bolts and disappointment across the finish line in eighth place, wondering if anyone even noticed you survived.
Understeer. Shifts not working. Engine breaking down. You could write a novel out of those three phrases. The understeer arrives at mid-corner like an unwelcome guest who refuses to leave; you turn the wheel, and the car simply suggests a different direction, usually toward the gravel trap. The shifts come whenever the gearbox feels like it, which is to say: randomly, spitefully, often halfway through a braking zone. And the engine, God, the engine, sounds like a bag of spanners being thrown down a staircase. It has broken down two times this season already. Two times you have pulled to the side of the track, killed the ignition, and sat there in the silence while marshals waved yellow flags around your joke of a car. Each time you unbuckled your harness, you thought: this is the one. This is the failure that finally breaks me. And then you went back to the garage and did it all over again.
From the new regulations. From Laurent Mekies even being part of Red Bull now. With Christian Horner gone ever since last year, along with Helmut Marko. The same man that saw your brotherโs potential. The team is a ghost of what it was. The hallway outside the engineering bay used to be lined with trophies and the low hum of confident conversation. Now itโs just fluorescent lights and people avoiding eye contact. Fake. Unnatural. Mekies stands at the pit wall with a tablet and a face that never changes expression, like heโs calculating the exact moment to abandon ship. And Horner, the man who built this empire fired without a farewell press conference, just a terse statement on the team website and a locked office door. Marko followed a month later, citing health reasons, though everyone knows he simply couldn't watch the decay anymore. Or fired by Mekies as the sources say. He was the one who looked at a young, scared, second-string driver and said, "You have something." He was wrong about the car, but he wasn't wrong about you. At least, you don't think he was.
The year you lost the championship. The same year you thought that you'd win. But didn't. You couldn't even fucking win a championship. It was close. Painfully close. Two races to go, and you held a slender lead that felt like cupping water in your hands. Two points. Two fucking points and that championship could have been yours. By the final race, you weren't fighting for glory. You were fighting to show the world that you're worth it. And you lost that fight too. The driver's championship trophy went to someone else. The confetti fell for another name. You stood on the edge of the podium ceremony, watching the celebrations from the shadows, and you told yourself it was fine. It wasn't fine. It was never fine.
But your friend was there. Mara was there to pick you up when you needed her. "Heyโฆ" Yeah. Right. A fucking hey. That's what you wanted to hear as soon as you entered the garage. Finishing eighth after thinking that you could have done it. The word hangs in the air like smoke. Hey. Not "great drive." Not "you deserved better." Just hey, as if you'd returned from a casual errand instead of surviving a two-hour war of attrition against a machine that tried to kill you seventy times. You wanted to scream at her. You wanted to collapse into her arms. You did neither. You just stood there, helmet under your arm, sweat turning cold on your back, and nodded.
Maybe not win the race. But at least finish on a podium. Maybe even share a podium with Lando. Who will know. It was never too late. The season was at the beginning. You replay the what-ifs like a broken record. What if you'd started on hards instead of mediums. What if the safety car had come out ten seconds later. What if Lando hadn't defended so aggressively into Turn 1. You could have been up there with him, side by side, spraying champagne while the cameras flashed. You could have seen that shy, crooked smile of his directed at you, not at the crowd, not at the reporters, just at you. But instead you're here, in this cold garage, with a P8 that is like a paperweight and feels like compromise.
"Look on the bright side!" Mara says as soon as you close the door of your drivers' room, wanting to make sure that nobody on the team hears your conversation. Not that you would want anyone on the team to hear about your crush on the Brit. Youโve guarded that secret like a state secret. Youโve deleted texts before sending them. Youโve looked away from interviews when his name comes up. Youโve practiced the perfect neutral expression in the mirror so many times that your face almost believes it. But Mara knows. Mara always knows. She caught you staring at a photo of him on your phone three months ago, and instead of laughing, she just raised one eyebrow and said, "Oh, honey." That was it. No judgment. No teasing. Just a quiet recognition that some feelings are too big for words.
You don't remember telling anyone. Or at least you only told her. She continues on the same excited tone as before, wanting you to see that it wasn't over. "At least you finished a race this time around." The only highlight of your day. "And you finished eighth."
You finished eighth. You finished eighth? At least it's in the top ten. At least you managed to finish that hell of a race. "Yeah." Letting out a tired scoff as you answered to her on a whispery tone, still not sure if you could even be happy about this result. It was fine. Nothing special. A result in a horrible race. But Mara isn't wrong. Three races ago, you DNF'd on lap four. In Melbourne, you didn't manage to finish. So eighth is progress. Eighth is points. Eighth is a small, ugly, beautiful step back toward something like respectability.
"And what's better than that?" She says while having a wide, happy smile that you already knew she had plans for this break. Or at least that's what she told you. What would that be? You could only think of one thing. The break. Getting away from the sport. Not having to drive the undriveable RB22. Not having to answer emails. Not having to do campaigns. Acting like you care. You dream of silence. Of a hotel room with blackout curtains and room service and no notifications. Of waking up without a schedule, without a telemetry meeting, without someone asking you to smile for a camera while you're still bleeding from the last race.
"I saw you talking to him." Mara approaches the small couch and sits down next to you while giggling. You knew what it meant. That she saw you talking to him. Of course she did. The camera was panned out just as he asked you out. Not that you had a problem with that. You remember the moment exactly: the awkward shuffle of feet, the way he ran a hand through his curls, the way his voice dropped so only you could hear. "Hey, uh, there's this place I know. After the break? If you want." Three sentences that rewired your entire nervous system.
"And he asked me out." You continue the sentence, knowing that she would be the happiest for you. You finally had his attention. At least for a date. But it was something. And on national television. The cameras caught it all. The nervous laughter, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the way he touched your elbow for just a second longer than necessary. By morning, the internet will have theories. By noon, there will be fan edits set to soft pop music. By dinner, your phone will be a grenade of notifications. But right now, in this quiet room, it's just the two of you and hope. Hope that everything will be better.
"Oh my god! Oh my god!" She jumps out of the seat while looking at you. Wrapping your hands around your neck as she pulls you closer to give you a proper hug before saying, "I knew you guys would look so good together!"
"We're not dating!" You say, raising your voice, rolling your eyes at her. You wouldn't be dating. She was being delusional or being too nice. You couldn't decide, but at least she was happy for you. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for now. A bad car. A lost championship. A broken season. And one date with a boy who makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with G-forces. It'll be fine. It had to be fine.
"What the actual fuck is your problem with me?" Loud. Angry. Out for blood. Fucking bitch. She might hate you but breaking your brother's heart was the one that hurt the most. Holding the phone showing the recent post that Lando had pointed out sweetly about an hour ago, you enter the apartment in a fuss.
The door slams behind you with a crack that echoes through the marble hallway of your Monaco apartment. Your apartment, the one in your name, the one you signed for when Mara was still just your fun, supportive friend who made you laugh after bad races. That woman is nowhere to be found now. In her place sits someone you barely recognize, someone who has been wearing a mask for months, maybe years. Your hands are shaking. Not from the Miami heat, not from the flight back, not even from the fight you just watched between Max and Mara on the paddock broadcast that every single camera caught. No, you're shaking because Lando showed you the post with such innocent confusion, such gentle concern, and you had to pretend you weren't absolutely devastated. "Love, is this your friend?" he had asked, scrolling on his phone while you were still buzzing from the date that had felt like a dream. "She's saying some weird stuff." Weird stuff. That was one way to put it.
The post is still glowing on your phone screen. A picture of you and Lando kissing during the break. A private moment, a stolen second of happiness that you thought belonged only to the two of you. And above it, Mara's caption on some anonymous gossip account she clearly runs: "That's one way to settle team rivalries." The comments underneath are a war zone. Fans are picking sides. Strangers are dissecting your love life like it's a textbook. And Mara, your best friend, your confidante, the woman who hugged you when you lost the championship is the one holding the knife.
"Well you're home early." Mara states on a condescending tone just as she looks up from her psychology book, as she was about to highlight a section. "How was your date with Lando?" She continues on the same arrogant tone. Not even daring to acknowledge what she did wrong. What her actions even meant to you. To the internet.
The psychology book catches your eye. Of course. She's studying psychology. She knows exactly what she's doing. Every condescending tilt of her head, every carefully timed pause, every word designed to make you feel small. It's all calculated. She's been practicing on you for years, and you never noticed because you trusted her. You loved her like a sister. And she's been running experiments on your emotions like you're a lab rat. The highlight marker in her hand is neon pink, the same shade she used to mark passages about narcissistic personality disorder last month while you were making popcorn for movie night. The irony is so bitter you could choke on it.
"Fine." Why did you answer? Why the fuck did you answer to that dumb question? Yeah. Right. "Wanna explain this?" Shoving the phone into her face, while still holding it tightly. As you waited for an answer. At least something that can make you understand why did she do that.
The screen is inches from her nose. The post is unmistakable. Her username is right there, @f1wags , the account she thinks nobody knows about, the one she's been running for two seasons, building a following by spilling "secrets" that only someone close to the drivers could know. You found out three months ago when you saw her posting from the bathroom at a race. You didn't say anything because you didn't want to cause drama. Because you're a fucking pushover. Because Mara has spent years convincing you that you're overreacting, that you're too sensitive, that your feelings don't matter as much as hers. Not anymore.
Break your brother's heart. And then calling you a bitch. That's what she did.
The words hang in the air between you like smoke. You watched the fight in Miami. Everyone did. Max yelling at Mara, Mara screaming back, the cameras zooming in because the paddock lives for this kind of collapse. Your brother looked broken. Not angry, but broken. He loves her. He really, genuinely loves her, and she has been playing him the same way she's been playing you. The difference is that Max is only now realizing it. You've known for months. You just didn't want to admit it.
Mara sets down her highlighter with deliberate slowness. She closes her psychology book. Abnormal Behavior in Close Relationships, the title reads, and you almost laugh at the absurdity and leans back against the couch cushions. She doesn't look guilty. She doesn't even look sorry. She looks annoyed, like you're interrupting her study session with trivial nonsense.
"You're being dramatic," she says finally, rolling her eyes. "It's just a post. It's not my fault people are interested in your messy love life."
"Messy?" Your voice cracks. "You made it messy. You posted a private moment of me and Lando. You called me a thief. You brought up Charles-"
"Oh please." Mara stands up now, brushing invisible lint off her expensive leggings. The ones you bought her for her birthday. "You've been pining after Lando for weeks. Maybe months. Don't act like you're some innocent victim. And Charles? You liked him first, sure. But he chose me. He always chose me. That's not my fault, sweetheart. That's just reality."
Your stomach drops. Charles. You had forgotten how much that betrayal hurt until this moment. You told Mara you liked him. You confessed it late one night in this very apartment, tears in your eyes, voice shaking, and she held your hand and promised she would never do anything to hurt you. Three weeks later, she was kissing him at a club. Three weeks after that, they were dating. She never apologized. She just said, "You can't call dibs on a person," and acted like you were being childish for being upset. And then, when Charles ended things with her after two months, she came crying to you, and you, because you are weak, because you are kind, because you are a doormat held her and told her it would be okay.
And now she's dating your brother. Your brother. The one person in your family who actually understands the pressure, the loneliness, the weight of the Verstappen name. You told her you weren't comfortable with it. You sat her down, right there on that same couch and you said, "Mara, please. Anyone else. Just not him." And she looked you dead in the eye and said, "You don't own him either. And honestly? You need to work on your jealousy issues. It's not healthy."
Gaslighting. That's what they call it. You've read the articles. You've listened to the podcasts. And still, somehow, you let her convince you that you were the problem.
"That's not why I'm upset and you know it," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. Maybe this was all just nightmare that you have to wake up from? Maybe this is just a bad joke the universe has for you? "The post. The caption. You're running a gossip account, Mara. You've been selling stories about me - about all of us, for months. And now you're using my relationship for content?"
"Content?" Mara laughs, but there's no warmth in it. "You think I care about content? I care about the truth. The truth is that you're selfish. You always have been. You think the world revolves around you because you're a Verstappen and you drive a car in circles for a living. Some of us actually have to work for attention. Some of us have to earn it."
The words hit you like a slap. You've heard versions of this before. Late at night, after she's had a few drinks, when the mask slips and the real Mara comes out. She's jealous. She's always been jealous. You're the famous one. You're the one with the podium finishes, the sponsorship deals, the millions of followers. She's just your best friend, the plus-one, the footnote in every article. And no amount of psychology textbooks can teach her how to swallow that bitterness.
"You want to talk about earning things?" You step closer, phone still clutched in your hand. "I earned my seat. I earned my results. Youโyou've earned nothing. You've just been standing in my shadow, collecting whatever fell off my plate."
Mara's expression hardens. Her jaw tightens. For a moment, you see real anger in her eyes. not the performative, condescending kind, but something raw and ugly. "At least I'm not the one who finished eighth while pretending I deserved a championship. At least my results, oh wait, I don't have results because I'm not the one with a rich daddy who bought me a seat and a last name that opens every door."
"That's not-"
"Shut up." She cuts you off, stepping closer until you're almost nose to nose. "You want to know the real problem? You've never had to fight for anything. Max handed you that seat. Christian gave you every opportunity because of your brother's talent. And me? I've had to claw for everything. Every friendship. Every relationship. Every tiny scrap of attention. And the one time I want something for myself, the one time, you act like I'm betraying you."
"By dating my brother?" You're incredulous. "After I told you I wasn't comfortable? After what you did with Charles?"
"Charles was never yours!" Mara shouts, and now the mask is fully gone. Her face is red, her eyes wild. "He looked at me the way he never looked at you. And Max. Max actually sees me. He actually listens to me. He doesn't treat me like a charity case or a sidekick or someone to tolerate until something better comes along. But you couldn't handle that, could you? You couldn't handle me being happy with someone in your family because it meant you weren't the center of his attention anymore."
"That's not true-" It wasn't. You were in the center of attention already. The gossip never stops. On track. Off it. The media is relentless.
"It is true!" She's pacing now, arms flailing, voice rising. "You've been trying to sabotage us since day one. The comments about how fast everything was moving. The little sighs every time I mentioned his name. The way you'd change the subject whenever I talked about our future. You don't want me to be happy. You want me to be your emotional support animal who sits in the corner and claps when you get a podium and listens to you cry about Lando Norris for hours."
Your chest is heaving. Tears are threatening to spill, but you refuse to let them. Not in front of her. Not anymore. "I have supported you. I have been there for you through everything. The breakups, the bad days, the times when you thought you weren't good enough, I was there. I was your friend. And this is how you repay me? By posting private photos and calling me a thief on the internet?"
"I posted the truth." Mara crosses her arms, defensive now, like a child caught stealing candy. "You did steal him. Lando was supposed to be mine. I saw him first. I told you that months ago. But you just had to have him, didn't you? Just like everything else."
The confession lands like a bomb. You blink, trying to process the words. "Youโฆ you wanted Lando?"
"Of course I wanted Lando!" She laughs bitterly. "Everyone wants Lando. He's sweet, he's funny, he's actually kindโunlike some drivers I could name" Unlike some drivers I could name? Right. Because she could barely name three drivers off the current grid without getting their names wrong. "But you didn't even ask. You didn't even consider that maybe I had feelings for him too. You just saw him, decided he was yours, and expected me to step aside. Just like you expect everyone to step aside for you."
"I didn't know," you say quietly. "You never told me."
"Because you never listen!" Mara screams. "You never actually listen to me. It's always about you. Your races. Your championship. your feelings. Your problems. Your trauma. Your this, your that. Do you know how exhausting it is to be friends with someone who thinks they're the main character of the universe?"
The words sting because there's a sliver of truth in them. You have been consumed by your own struggles this season. The car. The failures. The constant weight of expectation. But you also know, deep down, in the part of you that isn't drowning in guilt that you have shown up for Mara. You have canceled plans to hold her hand. You have flown across continents to surprise her on her birthday. You have loved her the best way you knew how, and she has spent years telling you it wasn't enough.
And then she says it. The line she's been saving. The one meant to wound you exactly where you're weakest.
"You know what? I'm done. I'm ending this friendship. Right now. Because I deserve better than someone who treats me like an accessory."
Your blood runs cold. Not because she's ending the friendship. You've seen this coming for weeks, maybe months, but because she's saying it first. She's taking that power from you too. She's making herself the victim, the one who walked away, the one who had no choice but to cut ties with her toxic, selfish friend. And you realize, in that moment, that she's been planning this. She's been setting the stage. The psychology textbooks weren't about helping people. They were about learning how to manipulate them.
"No," you say, and your voice is steadier than you expected. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to be the one who ends this."
Mara freezes, clearly not expecting pushback.
"You've been talking about yourself this entire time," you continue, stepping forward. "How you feel. What you deserve. What I've supposedly taken from you. But you know what? You're not better than me, Mara. You never have been. You just convinced me that you were because I was too kind, too trusting, too desperate for a friend to see the truth."
Her mouth opens, but you don't let her speak.
"My results. Eighth place, fifth place, even the DNFs, they're still better than anything you've ever done. You don't have results. You don't have a career. You don't have an identity outside of whoever you're dating or whoever's spotlight you're standing in. And I'm done pretending that's my fault."
"Fuck you-"
"No. Fuck you." Your voice cracks but you keep going. "You stole Charles from me. You manipulated my brother into dating you even when I told you I wasn't comfortable. You've been running a gossip account that profits off my pain. And now you want to play the victim because I finally found someone who makes me happy? Because Lando chose me and not you?"
Mara's face twists. "He didn't choose you. You manipulated him. Just like you manipulate everyone."
"Manipulation?" You laugh, hollow and cold. "That's rich coming from the psychology student who treats her friends like case studies. Get out."
"What?"
"Get out of my apartment." You point toward the door. "This place is in my name. My money pays the rent. And I am done letting you live here while you tear me apart behind my back. Pack your stuff and get out."
Mara stares at you. For the first time, she looks genuinely uncertain. "You're kicking me out?"
"I'm finally standing up for myself." Your voice is quiet now, but it carries weight. "You don't get to end this friendship. I am. And I want you gone by morning."
She doesn't move for a long moment. Then she grabs her psychology book, her highlighter, her phone, and walks toward the guest bedroom without another word. The door closes softly, which somehow feels more violent than a slam.
You stand in the living room of your apartment, alone for the first time in years, and let the silence settle around you. Then you grab your keys, your wallet, and your phone. You don't know where you're going. You just know you can't stay here.
You don't remember getting in the car. You don't remember the streets of Monaco at night, the way the loghts reflect lff the harbor, the distant sound of music from some party you don't remember getting an invitation from. You know the anger. Hot and bright and consuming. And underneath. Underneath it all. Something different. That can't quite be called grief.
You don't remember the ride to be this long. Not that you were paying attention to the road. You wanted to get there. Be there. Not having to wait at the red light anymore. At least not for now.
You don't remember knocking on his door either. Probably harder than you meant to. Probably scaring him half to death. And then. Without a warning. He's standing there in the doorway in a soft t-shirt and joggers, his hair messy like he'd been running his hands through it.
"Hey," Lando says gently. "Hey, what's happened?"
You open you mouth to answer. To explain. To tell him about Mara and Charles and then the apartment. The fight. But words don't come. Not that they easily should after such a night.
His mouth found yours in no time just as you threw your hands around his neck, holding him tightly. Unexpectedly he didn't seem to complain with the sudden reaction. It wasn't that he didn't like it but his surprised reaction said it all too well. His hands wrapped around you tighting as you continued kissing him.
God how much you missed him. Even if it was only for a few minutes. You hated it all. Having the fight still fresh in your mind as you played softly with his hair.
Almost instinctively you felt a hand cupping your butt and a kiss on your neck. His hand managing to over all of it with ease. Closing your eyes just for a moment longer to feel the sensation linger through your whole body, you moan. "Fuck!"
Since you were smaller than him, he had a good access to your dress so he took his chance and moved his hand lower this time. The same one you were at your supposed date night. The same one he complimented. The same one he mentioned he'd love to see it on his apartment floor. He slid his hand into your dress and then his fingers traced the sensitive skin at the edge of your panties.
Lando watched your face closely as he itched his index finger under fabric and brushed the folds. He groaned. You gasped. You were getting wet already then his fingers, his veiny fingers, slid over you easily. His fingers kept tracing your folds. His finger moved up between your folds, spreading your wetness up to your nub. He started to rub back and forth, the barest touch that felt incredible. Your hips jerked up from the intense sensation. His fingers between your legs drove you higher and higher. " You feel so good." he said in a low voice.
He pressed a bit tighter against you as something hard and hot dug into your leg. Pushing you slowly onto the bed. You leaned down willingly enjoying the view of his abs. You took his t-shirt off wanting to touch him more than ever while he was taking off your dress while keeping steady eye contact. Lando grabbed your gently and flipped you on your back. You gasped in surprise. He hooked his hands into your waistband and slid the panties down your legs. Lifting you legs you help him pull the panties over your feet.
Lando positioned himself between your legs and a hint of embarrassement showed on your face. Fuck. You were actually doing this. With him. Now. He lowered himself to the stomach, pushing your legs further apart and took a long lick.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." You moan while gripping his hand tightly without thinking for a moment that it might hurt him. He knew how to suck, lick and nibble until your fingers dug into the mattress because you couldn't take the pleasure anymore.
Lando's fingers brushed your opening as he slid in. He kissed your breast and the nibbled on you nipple as he slowly slipped his finger in and out. You wanted more. You needed to have more. More of him. More of this. He slid out of the bed ans got out of his underwear as he then climbed back to the bed. Moving between your legs, he traced with his fingers the soft skin of my thighs. "Stop teasing." You say on an almost begging tone. You wanted him but not like that. Without the teasing as you see him grin.
"Just let me help you forget about this shitty night." That's what you told him. Not per se but he could figure out the rest. He didn't think of seeing you just two hours after your date. Standing right there on his front door. Telling him that you wanted to spend the night. Why not make it worth it your time?
"Tell me if it hurts." A simple nod gave him the comfirmation he needed to enter you. The tip of his cock rested against your wet heat. He hooked his hand under your thigh and pulled your leg a bit farther apart. Looking deeply into your eyes, he shifted your hips and started pushing into you. Pushing further more into you, you moaned even harder. Your fingers digging into his back while he was going faster each time. Oh god. You can only imagine the way your nails imprint could be now seen on his back.
He pulled out of you and removed the condom. Trashing it into the trashbin as he then looked at you with thr dumb smile you feel in love with. Seeing that he was catching his breath you look at him softly. "This was better than I imagined."
That gets a laugh out of him as he pulls you closer, wrapping his hands around you. "You imagined us having sex?"
You don't answer. You did. Ignoring his post race face and how you'd love to sit on it would be highly considered a crime. But you'd never admit to it.
Giving you a kiss on the forehead while you rested your head on his chest. Even after the fight. It was quiet. You didn't have to worry about Mara leaving. You didn't have to think of what you will have to do to debunk the rumours. Not now. Not yet. Not when you felt happy. You felt at home.
Maybe Lando was a race winner. But now he's a champion. Your champion.
| stefy's note: so hi i'm back ig (sorry for taking such a long time to finally get back into writing but life has been challenging me lately), but here it is sooo yeah be happy. lando deleted these photos and i've been searching for them because this has been in my mind ever since i saw it so i knew it had to get back to it. and since the chiense gp suddenly got cancelled so we're not gonnna talk about it. IT HAD TO BE WRITTEN and not even @luna3316 knew how it was written so this is even better, so enjoy :)
| warnings: swearing (girly is feeling the pressure), alcohol (they drink sake so it's not that deep), angst (a bit), hardships of a formula 1 driver (for lando), smut (a bit, but there is sexual tension so that should mean something), misoginy (by the fans because she is a woman and now a wag of an f1 driver so it's hard times for her), mentions of make out, hateful comments (by the fans), hardships of fame (for lando), hardships of having a famous best friend, hardships of a public relationship (which they face when she posts something about them), flirting (mentions of it, by lando, by reader), minors dni
| word count: 5.4k
It all started with a camera. Or rather the lack of it. Or rather the lack of a fully functional one that wouldn't need need fixing every few days. Or at least that's what you were told. That's what you needed.
Well not you per se but your best friend Lando who's been keen on getting a new camera ever since you two landed in China. It wasn't like he didn't have one already or more in his case. Maybe it was the need to forget about the situation between him and the team. Maybe it was that after winning his first championship he was promised more. More by the team. More to himself. And you knew he wanted more. He needed more.
He wanted to be more than just a champion. More than just a one time champion. More than just a one time success. Nobody wants to be a one time wonder whether they earned it or not. And the championship outcome from months ago showed its controversy, not only how it affected him but also your relationship.
The sleepless nights when the world didn't expect anything in returen. When nobody knew what he was going through. When everything seemed possible. You knew it all too well. You knew like the back of your hand.
The stolen glances in the garage when you thought nobody was watching. The cuddles that seemed to become more than friendly. The hugs that seemed to have been lasting than usual. It didn't change overnight, not as anyone expected.
The nights grew longer. The two hotel rooms usually reserved for the both of you, suddenly became one. The time spent together grew. And it all seemed natural. Normal. Usual.
"I need a new camera." Lando said out loud as he was running his hands through his hair. He wanted to do something. He needed to get out. Get out of the same damn hotel you've been waisting your time these past few days in. It was an expensive hotel so you couldn't really blame him. The kind you've gotten used to these past few years.
"Huh?" Looking up from your book, slightly closing it to make sure he has your attention on him. "Don't you already have one?" You continue on the same confused tone as before, not sure if you understood correctly the first time.
"Not a perfectly working one." He answers on a teasing tone by resting his chin on the top of your head while he runs a head through your ruffed hair, fixing it. "Or at least not one that i like."
Leaning your head back on his chest, focusing on the closeness between the two of you just for a moment longer. Putting the book aside, you remember talking with him about this small, yet known store you've heard about last year.
Taking the phone from his hands without seeing any protest coming from him, you searched for the name of the store. Trying your best to remember its name. Suntan? Sultan? Sundin? You type on the now open tab the names that you knew off the top of your head. Suntan. Nothing came up. Sultan. Nothing. Sundin. Nothing.
Moving slightly on his lap to be able to get a better view of the phone as well as a better position for yourself. Entering Sundan in the Google Chrome tab you're met with just what you thought the store would look like. A small, densely packed speciality camera shop.
Narrow aisles with glass display counters on both sides. The counters are filled with camera lenses, compact cameras, and accessories. Behind the counters it looked like the shelves are stacked with boxes and more lenses. Many items have small price labels attached. The lightning is bright and slightly warm so the customers are able to see the gear.
Not too big so the fans would be able too find him. Not too small for to make it harder for the both of you to find it. Lando's chin now resting on your shoulder as you change the angle of the phone making it easier for him to see. "How about this?"
His eyes almost automatically focus on the image at hand showing the shop before drifting his focus back to you. He was checking the time to get there and the time right now. It was just twenty minutes away by car so it shouldn't even take the two of you longer. Checking the schedule of the store yourself you're met with the surprise that it would be closing in a few hours. "It's not that far away from here and eat after."
"Perfect." Your best friend whispers, almost as if it wasn't intended for your ears, giving a soft kiss on your cheek knowing that you'd have to be getting ready faster than usual to get to the store in time. "Let's try to not take forever to get ready, ok?" His whispery tone from a moment ago being replaced with a soft one. Knowing that the both of you weren't good with timing.
Without having much time to think of a complex outfit you opted for his black racing style jacket covered in embroided patches, logos and text, settling for his merch jacket. The sleeves falling a bit longer on your arms, making it oversized. Paring it with a pair of straight-leg blue jeans, fitted but not tight. Matching with him with the same pair of white sneakers and putting on a white headband to pull your hair back. Saying that you didn't wear this jacket ever since he dropped the merch, it would be a lie. And it smelled like him that was another reason for you to wear it more.
Turning around you meet his eyes as you could see that he managed to clean up well. Setting for a black long-sleeve polo shirt with a collar and a few buttons at the neck paired with loose, baggy blue jeans with a light wash. The jeans having a large printed graphics running vertically down the leg and his new obsession the white low-top sneakers with a thick sole. His hair slightly toused from all the cuddling from moments before.
"Is that my jacket?" He questions you on a teasing tone, already expecting a drift of the subject just as he saw you check the time on your phone, slightly feeling your cheeks heat up. Resorting for a shy smile you tell him, not wanting to waste any more time. "We're gonna be late."
"You're beautiful." Lando blurred out, for a moment longer not realizing what he said out loud. Maybe he was thinking it. Maybe he wasn't. You didn't question it further. You didn't want to. You didn't need to.
The narrow aisles from the grainy Google Street View had done absolutely no justice to the reality of the shop. Now, standing inside the Beijing electronics market, you understood. The air hummed with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the murmur of Mandarin bargaining. The space forced you and Lando to stand closer than usual, your shoulders almost touching. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, and when he leaned in to point at a lens behind the glass, his breath ghosted hot against your shoulder, making it impossible to focus on anything except the proximity.
"Which one should I get?"
He straightened up, now holding two small compact cameras after what had been an hour-long, meticulous search. A professional photographer on staff had been patiently helping him, though Lando was hardly an amateur himself. He knew his apertures from his ISOs, his primes from his zooms. But here, in this chaos, he was just a kid in a candy store.
You glanced at the cameras in his hands, one a sleek, modern blue, the other a clean, classic white. He had already compared every other model in the shop, pointing at lenses and accessories you couldn't name, asking the patient shopkeeper questions that sounded like a foreign language to you.
"Yeah. And I like these the best." His voice pitched almost childish, as if he was afraid of sounding spoiled. Which he wasn't. Lando was the least pretentious person you knew, despite the life he led. "I don't like this one's colour," he added, holding up the white model. Before you could respond, he pointed it at you and clicked the shutter, capturing you mid-glance, caught off guard. A stupid, fond smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "But it's the best one."
"Get it," you said simply. "It's nice." You didn't know much about cameras, but you trusted him implicitly. He loved cameras, loved capturing moments, loved the craft of it. And he loved you. Which made it all the better.
You checked your phone. An hour had passed. Soon, you'd need to find a place for dinner. The thought of food made your stomach growl audibly.
"Then I'm getting it." Decision made, he stepped toward the cashier, a new bounce in his step. You weren't passionate about cameras, never claimed to be, but you had to admit that white camera, the one he'd just used to take a photo of you, looked kind of cute. Almost too cute for his own good.
"And make it fast," you called after him, grinning. "I'm already hungry, and I'm not above eating your portion if you take too long."
He glanced back, rolling his eyes, but the smile that broke across his face was pure, unfiltered joy. In a life dictated by hundredths of a second and endless media obligations, moments like this ordinary, messy, human anwere the ones you'd both learned to hold onto. And as he turned back to the counter, camera in hand, you knew that photo he'd just taken would probably end up on his phone wallpaper by the end of the day.
Stepping out of the electronics market, the Beijing evening hit you, a wall of humid air thick with the scent of street food and exhaust. The sun had begun its descent, painting the towering skyscrapers in shades of gold and amber. Lando clutched his new camera like it was a trophy. No need for a plastic bag that the kind cashier offered to him, his other hand already pulling out his phone to show you the restaurant he'd booked.
"Yardbird," he announced, practically bouncing on his heels. "I've been thinking about their skewers for like, three weeks. Made the reservation before we even left the hotel."
You snorted. "Of course you did." Of course he had planned this before even letting you know. There shouldn't be any surprise considering his behaviour for these past few days.
He flagged down a taxi with the confidence of someone who'd done it a hundred times, which he had, during your countless adventures across this sprawling city. A bright red sedan pulled to the curb, its boxy shape a familiar sight on Beijing's streets. White Chinese characters on the door read "็ๅฃซ" - taxi - and a small company sticker adorned the rear panel. It was an older model, the kind built to last, with chrome trim catching the last of the daylight.
Lando opened the rear door for you with an exaggerated bow. "After you."
You slid across the bench seat, the vinyl upholstery warm from the sun. Beige, functional, covered in what might have been protective plastic. It smelled faintly of air freshener and the driver's lunch. He climbed in beside you, and even with the spacious interior designed for three across, his knee pressed against yours as he settled in.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a patient expression, glanced back through the partial protective barrier. Your best friend leaned forward, phone in hand, showing the restaurant's address in Mandarin characters he'd saved earlier. "Qรน zhรจlว, xiรจxiรจ."
His pronunciation was terrible. Endearing, but terrible. The driver nodded, unfazed by yet another foreigner butchering his language, and pulled into traffic.
You watched the city blur past the large windows seeing bicycles weaving between lanes, neon signs flickering to life, the occasional luxury car gliding by like it belonged to a different world. The taxi meter on the dashboard clicked steadily, its numbers climbing in red LED. A small payment device sat next to it, wires trailing toward the dispatch radio crackling with static.
Your best friend reached into his bag and pulled out the white camera. "Want to see the photo I took of you?"
"You mean the one where I look like a deer in headlights?"
"Exactly that one." He grinned, turning the screen toward you. The boyish smile that makes your heart melt everytime.
You had to admit, it wasn't bad. He'd caught you mid-thought, your expression soft, the chaotic shelves of the camera shop blurring behind you. There was something intimate about it, something that made your chest feel warm in a way you couldn't explain.
"You're not posting that anywhere," you said almost threatening not wanting the world to see how childlike you may seem.
"Obviously not." He lowered the camera, his voice quieter now. "This one's just for me."
The taxi hit a small bump, jostling you both, and his hand found your knee briefly to steady himself before pulling away. The gesture was automatic, familiar, somehow the kind of casual touch that has been growing over these past few years between the two of you. Only deepening these past few days.
Through the divider, you could hear the driver humming along to a radio station playing Mandopop, completely oblivious to the fact that one of the most recognizable faces in Formula 1 was sitting in his backseat. That was part of why you both loved China, loved Beijing, the anonymity it offered. Here, he was just another tall foreign kid with messy curls and a terrible accent, not the McLaren driver whose every move got dissected online. Not the McLaren driver that had been dealing with hate for these past few months.
"Ten more minutes, probably," he said, checking his phone. "Traffic's not bad for once."
"Good. I'm this close to eating my own arm." You held up your fingers, a centimeter apart.
He laughed, bright and genuine, and the sound filled the small space. "Don't worry, I ordered way too much food. We're talking skewers, fried chicken, that corn situation you liked last time-"
"You remembered the corn?"
"Of course I remembered the corn." He said it like it was obvious, like remembering your favorite side dish was the most natural thing in the world.
Outside, the city continued its relentless pulse. The taxi meter ticked. The driver hummed. And in the backseat, you sat pressed together in comfortable silence, watching Beijing paint itself in night colors, headed toward the best part od your day. The food.
The hostess at Yardbird was a vision of warmth, a woman in her twenties with a sleek black bob, crimson lipstick, and the kind of genuine smile that made you feel like you'd just walked into someone's home rather than one of Beijing's most coveted restaurants. She greeted you both in Mandarin before seamlessly switching to English when she caught Lando's hesitant expression.
"Ah, you must be the Norris reservation," she said, her accent lilting and melodic. "Table for two, by the window, yes? Follow me."
She led you through the intimate space, exposed brick, warm wood, the open kitchen a theatrical display of flames and sizzling skewers. The air smelled of charcoal, soy, and something sweetly caramelized that made your stomach audibly growl. Lando heard it and snorted.
The table was perfect. Tucked into a corner, large windows offering a view of the bustling street below, the amber glow of hanging pendant lights casting everything in soft warmth. The hostess as her name badge read "Mei" pulled out your chair with a flourish.
"You are celebrating something special tonight?" she asked, glancing between you both with knowing eyes.
Lando opened his mouth, probably to explain about the camera or the race weekend or any number of innocent things, but something caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Seemingly not even wanting to. You watched him hesitate, saw the flicker of something unreadable cross his face.
"Just dinner," you said smoothly, saving him. Not wanting to be questioned further. "He's been talking about your skewers for weeks."
Mei's smile widened, clearly not believing the "just dinner" part for a second. "Then you must let me help you order. The menu, it is... how you say? A lot. But I know the best things."
She pulled a small notebook from her apron and began marking recommendations with the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loved the food she served. Going as far as to say that she loved eating it too. Lando leaned forward, elbows on the table, listening intently as she described the chicken thigh skewers with spring onion, the tsukune meatballs with tare sauce, the wagyu beef with wasabi.
"Get the corn," you interrupted. "He knows I love the corn." You had to get corn. Just for the curiosity at least. The curiosity of a simple dish prepared by a chef.
Mei's eyes sparkled. "The corn is very good. Sweet, smoky, a little spicy. But you" slowly she turned to Lando not wanting to forget about him either, "what do you like? You are adventurous eater, or...?"
Lando rubbed the back of his neck, a tell you knew intimately. "I'm, uh. I'm a bit picky, actually." Picky in a very broad sense of the word. He was picky. Very picky.
"A bit?" You couldn't help yourself. "He once ordered plain pasta at a Michelin-starred restaurant." Not fully plain pasta but tomato pasta. Not that it wasn't the best past you've ever tasted, but it was a sushi bar after all.
"In my defense, I was jet-lagged." He wasn't.
"You were in Monaco. You're always in Monaco." Not as if he hasn't been living there for years. He might as well consider it his second home.
Mei laughed, a genuine, musical sound. "I am also picky eater! My family, they say I am impossible. No mushrooms, no seafood, no-" She made a face, scrunching her nose. "The texture things. You know?"
Lando's entire face lit up with the relief of a kindred spirit. "Yes! The texture things! Everyone thinks I'm being difficult, but it's not about the flavor, it's about-"
"The mouth feel," Mei finished solemnly.
"The mouth feel," Lando repeated, just as solemn.
Mei marked a few more items on the menu, things she promised were "texture-safe," and disappeared toward the kitchen with a final knowing glance that lingered just a moment too long on the space between you.
"She definitely thinks we're on a date," you said once she was gone. Not questioning yourself anymore at this point.
Lando was examining a chopstick wrapper, suddenly very interested in its design. Not daring to meet your eyes. "Yeah. Probably." Hesitant. Shy almost. Not the confident Lando you saw moments ago.
The silence that followed was different from the comfortable ones in the taxi. Charged. Electric. You busied yourself with the napkin in your lap, hyperaware of the small table separating you, of how close his hand was to yours on the worn wood. Daring to touch each other. Daring to feel his hand in yours.
The food arrived in waves just as you imagined, followed by skewers stacked on miniature grills, small plates of pickled vegetables, a clay pot of rice that steamed fragrantly between you. Mei checked in constantly, refilling water, recommending which sauce went with what, sharing stories about the restaurant's history and her favorite dishes. She treated you both like honored guests, but more than that, like a couple she was rooting for.
"You must try the fried chicken," she urged, setting down a basket of golden-brown pieces. "It is our signature. Very crispy, very juicy. Even picky eaters love it." She was passionate about the food she was serving. Even more passionate about serving it to people.
The fried chicken arrived in a basket lined with parchment paper, golden-brown and glistening, scattered with chili and spring onions. Mei had insisted it was the best thing on the menu, and one bite proved her right. It was crispy, juicy, impossibly flavorful. You were halfway through your second piece when you felt Lando's eyes on you.
"What?" you asked, mouth still full.
He was grinning, that particular grin that meant he found something endlessly amusing. "You have sauce. Right there." He pointed to the corner of his own mouth.
You grabbed for your napkin, but before you could find it, his hand was there instead. His thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips, wiping away a smear of tare sauce. The touch lasted only a second, maybe two, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the food.
"Got it," he murmured.
His thumb lingered near your jaw for a heartbeat longer than necessary. You could feel the slight roughness of his skin, could smell the faint cologne he'd put on that morning, could see the way his pupils dilated just slightly in the warm restaurant light.
"Thanks," you managed, your voice coming out smaller than intended.
He didn't move his hand right away. His thumb traced the line of your jaw once, feather-light, before he finally pulled back. But his eyes never left yours, and suddenly the restaurant felt too warm. The space between you too small. Now sliding his index and middle finger against the lower edge of the wood table. Teasing. Hot.
"Sorry," he said, though he didn't look sorry at all. "Should have used a napkin." Should have fucking used a nakpin. Mhm. Sure.
"You should have." He should have used it on you. He could have used it in you. He could have. His fingers continuing the action as you bit your lip facing the food, not him anymore
Neither of you reached for a napkin.
Mei appeared at your elbow like magic, refilling water glasses with a knowing smile that suggested she'd witnessed the entire exchange. "More chicken? More sake? Anything for the lovely couple?"
Lando's eyes flickered to you, questioning. You should correct her. You knew you should correct her. The word "couple" hung in the air between you like a door left slightly ajar, and all you had to do was push it closed. Yet, none of you dared to correct her this time around. None of you seemed to want to.
"We'll take more sake," you heard yourself say.
Mei beamed and disappeared. Lando's expression shifted in surprise, then something warmer, something that made your stomach flip. He needed it as much as you did. But nothing.
"Sake?" he repeated.
"Why not? We're not driving."
"No," he agreed slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We're not."
The sake arrived in a small ceramic flask. Lando poured for you first, his hand steady, the gesture intimate in a way that pouring your own drink wouldn't have been. When your fingers brushed accepting the cup, neither of you pulled away quickly.
Throughout the rest of the meal, you caught him looking at your mouth. Not staring. Just glancing, quick flickers of his eyes that he'd immediately redirect to the food or the view or anywhere else. But you noticed. You noticed every single time.
And you looked at his mouth too. At the way he bit his lower lip when something was particularly good. At the way he licked tare sauce from his thumb after a particularly messy skewer. At the way he smiled, always smiled, like being here with you was the best part of his day.
"Try this," he said, holding out a skewer of wagyu beef toward your lips. "It's melting."
You could have taken it from him. Could have used your own hands. Instead, you leaned forward and let him feed you, your eyes locked on his as you bit into the meat. The beef did melt, it was butter-soft, perfectly charred and the sound you made was involuntary. A moan, just as he did minutes before.
"Good, right?" His voice was rougher than before.
"Yeah," you breathed. "Good.
Mei swept by again, collecting empty plates, and you could have sworn she winked at you. "Dessert menu? The mochi is very good. Very sweet. Like young love."
Lando laughed, but it was nervous, breathless. "We should probably get the bill, actually. Long day tomorrow."
"Of course, of course." Mei nodded sagely. "But you come back, yes? Bring each other. Is good to see."
When she walked away, the silence settled between you again. Charged, electric, full of things neither of you knew how to say. Should you tell him about it? Or should you just wait until you're outside to not embarass yourself? Lando reached for his camera, lifted it, and through the lens, his gaze found yours.
He looked hotter? Different. Sexier even. Fuck! When did he get so hot all of a sudden?
"Can I?" he asked softly. He never asked. He did. But this time it was different.
You nodded.
He took the photo slowly, deliberately, the shutter click impossibly loud in the quiet space. Then he lowered the camera and smiled, but it was not his PR smile, not his race win smile, but something smaller, more private. Just for you. Not for the world to see. The smile that you've learned to love.
"You have a little more sauce," he said.
"Where?"
But he was already leaning in, his thumb finding the corner of your mouth again, wiping away a smudge you hadn't even noticed. This time, his hand didn't pull back. This time, it cupped your jaw, gentle and warm, and his thumb traced across your lower lip like he was memorizing the shape of it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"There," he whispered. "Got it.
You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the heat of his hand, the weight of his gaze, the impossible closeness of his mouth just inches from yours. Slowly opening your mouth to try and protest but ended up only thinking of his name.
"Lan-"
"I know." He pulled back slowly, reluctantly, his hand falling away. "I know. Sorry. I just-"
"Don't be sorry."
He looked at you, really looked at you, like he was searching for something in your eyes. Whatever he found made his breath catch.
"Okay," he said. "I won't."
Throughout the meal, Lando kept reaching for the new camera. He photographed everything from the food, the restaurant, the view from the window. But mostly, he photographed you. You. Just you.
"Stop," you said, laughing, as he captured you mid-bite.
"Never. You look-"He stopped, lowering the camera. His eyes met yours across the table, and the air between you seemed to thin. "You look happy. I want to remember this." And hot. And beautiful.
Something fluttered in your chest. You reached for your phone. "My turn."
He posed obediently at first, grinning, holding up a skewer, making peace signs that were aggressively 2015. Oh the nostalgia. But then you caught him off guard, snapped a photo when he was laughing at one of Mei's jokes, his head thrown back, curls falling across his forehead, utterly unguarded and beautiful in the warm light.
"Send me that one," he said softly, not wanting to sound more curious than he already was.
"Maybe." Maybe you will. Maybe you won't.
The meal stretched on, course after course, Mei appearing and disappearing like a benevolent spirit. She brought complimentary sake at one point ("For the lovely couple"), and neither of you corrected her. Not this time. Again. Lando just glanced at you sideways, a small smile playing at his lips, and raised his glass.
"To Beijing," he said.
"To Beijing," you echoed.
The sake was warm and sweet, and it pooled in your stomach alongside something hotter, something that had been building for years across continents and Grand Prix weekends and late-night phone calls when time zones separated you.
By the time you finished. Feeling stuffed, slightly tipsy, reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of the restaurant seeing that the streets outside had grown quiet. Mei walked you to the door, pressing Lando's hand between both of hers.
"You take care of each other," she said. It wasn't a question. It didn't have to be one.
"We will," you heard yourself say.
She smiled, that knowing smile, and waved as you stepped out into the cool Beijing night.
The walk back to the hotel was different from the taxi ride. Slower. Closer. Your shoulders brushed with every step, and neither of you moved away. The city hummed around you as distant traffic, the murmur of late-night conversations spilling from open doors, the occasional whir of an electric bike passing by. Lando's camera bag bumped against his hip, but he wasn't looking at anything except you.
"You know what Mei said to me when you were in the bathroom?" he asked.
"What?"
"She said I was lucky. That not everyone finds someone who looks at them the way you look at me."
Your heart stuttered. "Lando-" She must have seen it too? You weren't crazy.
"I know. I know we're best friends. I know we're not-" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Stressed. To not ruin the moment. "I don't know what we are. But I know that when I took that photo of you in the camera shop, the one I said was just for me? I meant it. I want all of them just for me. I want-"
He stopped walking. You stopped too, standing outside your hotel, the familiar facade rising above you into the night sky. The lobby glowed warm through the glass doors, but neither of you moved toward it.
"I want you," he said quietly. "Not just as my best friend. Not just as the person who travels with me and eats corn and lets me take a million photos. I want... more. I've wanted more for so long, and I didn't know how to say it, and I still don't know if I should, but Mei thought we were together, and it feltโit felt right. It felt like how it should be."
The street was empty. The city held its breath. You could see the pulse beating in his throat, could see the fear and hope and desperate vulnerability in every line of his face. He was afraid to say it. He was afraid to ruin the moment. He was afraid to not ruin the friendship.
You stepped forward. You wanted this. You've been wanting these for years now. Closed the distance. Not wanting to question it. Not after hearing what he said. Leaning in you kissed him.
It was soft at first. Just as you imagined it. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the sake and the fried chicken and everything that had been this perfect night. Then his hands found your waist, and yours found his neck, almost in an instant. No hesitation. Just need. Need for each other.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against yours. Closing your eyes finally being able to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Okay," he whispered. "That was...okay, that was good." Better than good. Better than fucking good.
You laughed, giddy and trembling. It was happening. It has happened. Finally. "Yeah. It was."
"So we're-this is-" Trying to find his words this time around not as he did moments ago. His eyes searching for yours to be able to form a sentence. He wasn't alone. Not when you were here.
"We're figuring it out," you said. "Together."
He smiled, that brilliant, unguarded smile you'd photographed hours ago, and kissed you again, b it slower this time, like he had all the time in the world. But for now, there was just this. Just Beijing. Just the two of you.
When you finally walked inside, hand in hand, you didn't notice anything except the warmth of his palm against yours and the way he kept glancing at you like he couldn't quite believe you were real. It was happening.
In the elevator, he pulled out his phone.
"What are you doing?" you asked.
"Texting Oscar. Telling him was right." The same Oscar that was his teammate. Oscar Piastri. The Australian that has been teasing him about the two of you ever since you could remember.
| โ๏ฝกโงหส and i like my men all incompetent ษหโง๏ฝกโ
welcome to the vault where (as taylor has one) you'll find the masterlist for all the vault tracks, bonus songs as well as deluxe songs from my favorite pop girlies. each album telling a different story, related to an f1 driver that i like and will fit the story. this is my first time doing one so if it sucks sorry
the vault's soundtrack ๐ง
1. short n' sweet (deluxe): click here
2. so close to what (deluxe): click here
3. emails i can't send fwd: click here
4. the tortured poets department: click here
5. midnights (the til dawn edition): click here
6. folkmore (folklore + evermore): click here
7. 1989 (taylor's version): click here
8. red (taylor's version): click here
9. speak now (taylor's version): click here
10. fearless (taylor's version): click here
11. guts (spilled): click here
12. dangerous woman (deluxe): click here
13. positions (deluxe): click here
14. eternal sunshine (brighter days ahead): click here
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Qualityโ Free Actions
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
TRUE writers suddenly get writing urges at 1am mid-doomscroll and proceed to ramble out the most incoherent plot into a new doc and wake up and then just. stare at it.
yes, Iโm a writer. yes, I write whatever I want for myself and my own enjoyment. yes, I am my own primary target audience. yes, I am a greedy little gremlin who feeds on positive comments. yes, I deeply appreciate everyone who comments nice things on my works.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Qualityโ Free Actions
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
Just because you donโt feel a scene while youโre writing it doesnโt mean is not working. Trust yourself a little bit more. Itโll make sense when you look at it again in the morning.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Qualityโ Free Actions
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
| part two of manchild, fuck my life | spotify playlist ๐ง
| pairing: charles leclerc x reader
| genre: f1driver!charles, sabrina!reader
| stefy's note: the love for manchild pt.1 has been wild and i never thought i would ever say this. i never thought that i'd see so many of you liking this and actually enjoying it, and given that @kantoraces has been very excited about it here it is, and thank you so much to @gowithefloww for having to deal with me while writing this and annoying her to help me and to my best girl @ellieisque here is the birthday gift i've been talking about, so enjoy :)
| warnings: swearing, alcohol, manipulation of words (by the media, by charles, by reader), toxic behaviour (by the media, by charles, by reader), angst (first time writing it so kinda nervous), hardships of a formula 1 driver, misoginy (by the media), mentions of make out, hateful comments (by fans, by media, by charles, by reader), theories (made by fans, by the media), cheating (mentions of it, by the drivers, by the media, by the fans, by charles), hardships of a public relationship, flirting (mentions of it, by reader), alexandra saint mleux slander, i'm writing this on my phone so there will be grammar mistakes so sorry for that, minors dni
| face claim: sabrina carpenter
| word count: 7.9k
| INSTAGRAM POST - JUN 8th.
charles_leclerc
Liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc and 3,938,738 others
charles_leclerc a beautiful day we'll forever remember ๐ค
View all 3,738 comments
charlotte2304 ๐ค๐ค๐ค
lorenzotl โค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธ
user01 imagine charles leclerc as one of your groomsmen, this is so awesome
user02 brothers are glowing โค๏ธโจ
user03 congratulations from the bottom of my heart
user04 FINE SHYTS
user05 no leo no like
user06 the only thing missing is for charles to marry me hahaha๐
user07 next with alexandra
| user05 alexandra as in his ex
| user06 better with y/n
user08 him wearing alexandra's hat
user09 where is y/n?
| user10 she has a life
| user04 why isn't she at the wedding?
| user01 why he is with his ex at his brother's wedding?
Distance. It all starts with it. Ends with it. You should have seen it coming. Fuck. It was right there in front of your eyes but you ignored it.
You decided that it wasn't worth it. You decided that you shouldn't have even brought it up. You decided that it was for the best. It was. It should have been.
But she was there. He knew it. You knew it. Even she knew it. Why was she here? After everything? After everything that happened between the two of them.
It was supposed to be simple. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be easy. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Neither it was to start.
His hands find yours, just as they interwine together once more this today, while his left hand lays gently on your back. As you two dance tenderly on the dance floor, you couldn't help but feel it. Feel that there was something more to be talked about. Feeling that this couldn't be left like this.
Until he spoke up, his head leaning against yours as he said. "So are you gonna tell me what this is about?" Biting. Waiting eagerly for an answer, he hoped would be different this time.
Two could play this game. If he wanted to act like his ex wasn't just right here. At one of his brother's wedding. Currently speaking with one of his friends. While the two of you were just five feet away. "Maybe you should tell me about it?
"Well, what's that supposed to mean?" He knew it. You knew it. And it wasn't only about Alexandra. She wasn't here because of her close relationship with the Leclerc. She was here because you were here. She was here because she wanted something.
"Alexandra told me some things about the two of you." You two have talked some time ago, but nothing much. But today you two weren't supposed to be meeting, but it was unexpected to say the least.
To say that he didn't expect to hear this answer, would be a lie in itself. To know that his current girlfriend and his ex have been in contact wasn't scary for himself, would again be another lie. "Look, Y/N, I know that you're worried about my past with Alexandra but you have to understand the circumstances this time, you know?"
Understand the circumstances.
Understand the circumstances.
Understand the circumstances.
The Monegasque continues on the same tone as before, the same convincing tone he had moments ago. Just in order to make you understand the circumstances he was in, when he was with his ex girlfriend. "I mean, God, she was sad and she thought that she was gonna die."
He takes a deep breath before he continues on the same distressed now tone as he explains himself to you once again. "I mean, the kiss, it meant nothing."
A kiss. The kiss. It meant nothing? No. No. No. This couldn't be happening. Not after what have the two of you have been through since the release of your single, Manchild. "What kiss?" Your hands fall on your sides, just as you heard the word "kiss" come out of his mouth. "Did you kiss her again?"
He kissed her. He kissed her. Not need more information about how that has even begin to happen in the first place. You knew it was enough. Enough to make you hate him. God. Sometimes you wish you could. You wish you could hate him.
Silence, that was your answer. The paintful silence. The realization that he kissed her. He kissed her even after everything that has been between the two of you.
Your hand fall of his hold as well as his from yours. Looking around just for a moment longer than you hoped, not daring to meet his eyes this time. You see the wardrobe room being open and don't take a moment to catch you breath. You had to be away from him.
Away from him.
He follows you, without thinking twice if that's what you wanted. If that's what you need now. To hear him even try to find meaning in his actions. "Look, Y/N, I need you to listen to me."
Listen to him. Listen to one of his lies once again. He takes a step closer to you, as you search franatically for your purse. Just ro be able to get a moment for yourself. "Okay, I understand that you didn't know about the kiss, and i'm sorry for springing it on you, I didn't meant what I said."
Like the last time. Like the other time when he didn't mean anything he said. Like last time he had to apologize for one of his mistakes. Again. He makes sure that you could sense his desperation of you wanting to believe and understand his point of the view of the situation. "I didn't mean anything."
"A kiss always means something." Biting. Mean. Just like him telling you it didn't mean anything. It always does. It has always been like this. A kiss means everything. A kiss means nothing. But it always means something.
Having been caught off guard, not expecting this kind of answer. Not that he didn't expect it. He was surprised to say the least. His green eyes looking into yours, as he was closer to you than before. "Okay, well, maybe you're right but it wasn't a romantic monent. And you would know that if.." He lets the words hang in the air just a moment longer.
Raising your voice, not long after he finishes the sentence daring to accuse you of understanding better the situation if you were present there. The audacity. "If what, I was there?" Taking a deep breath you continue on the same tone, not daring to back down even for a second. "As you have so sweetly pointed out at the party, the party i threw for you, I wasn't there, was I?"
Defeated. He tries once again to make justice for himself while keeping eye contact. Wanting you ro remember that he was there even in moments like these. "It is impossinle for you to forgive me?" Before you could even answer, he adds. "I forgave you."
Way to dig your grave, Charles. Way to dig your own grave. He forgave you? He was the one that forgave you? "For what?" You answer confused, not wanting to accuse him of something more. Not until you understood his point of you.
His eyes slowly drifted to the floor and then back to you as he whispering softly, just like a secret that only the two of you knew. "For kissing Lando."
Son of a bitch. Son of a fucking bitch. You kissed Lando. Correct. But he forgave you. Taking another deep breath like him, you don't let yourself cry in front of him, not used to having to explain yourself like this or rather reiterate the situation. "And you know what, Charles? I lover you for that. You had such grace in that moment that I fell in love with you all ove again. I can't believe that you would use it now as a bargaining chip."
Shaking his head he could sense your way of twisting the words to fit your narrative. All you were doing was trying to understand him, in your best way. "No, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not."
He comes closer to you before you could push away and move past him. "I need you to trust me and believe me when I tell you my heart is with you. But a part of me feels like ever since we got back together, you've just been waiting, waiting to push me away."
Push him away. God you were trying your best. Your best. Not his best. "Oh great. You kiss Alexandra and I'm pushing you away!"
His hands take yours as he interwines your fingers together before he says. Whispery, yet on a soft tone, confessing his true feelings once again this evening. "I love you, Y/N. I don't know how else to say it."
And there it is. What have you wanted to hear ever since the two of you got back together. That he loved you. The real you. Not the popstar you. Not the famous you. Just you.
"How about how you show it? I'm not pushing you away, Charles. I am holding on for dear life." You've been trying to understand him for months on end now. Trying to make sense of this mess you find yourself once again. Because of him. "But i need you to need me back." You say touching his chest slightly knowing that his heart wasn't yours anymore. It wasn't for you to keep.
"Okay, why wouldn't you tell me about the kiss? And why won't you let me all the way in?" You wanted the little Charlie that wanted nothing more than to make his father happy. You wanted the Charles from the podium last year at his home podium. You don't want the Charles from ads. You want the Charlie that everyone seemed to have falled in love with.
Knowing that it was the time to give your toasts you take the time to move past him in order to be afle to get to the door. "We have to go and give our toasts now, about love." About love. About fucking love. The one keeping you apart.
"Please don't be mad, Y/N." You weren't mad. You couldn't be mad. It was about time that you two would have broken up anyways. It was just a matter of time.
Shaking your head slightly you reassure him that it wasn't the case. You were dissapointed. In yourself. In him. You couldn't tell now. Whispering softly you say. "I'm not mad, Charles. I'm not mad."
"Don't you think it's too much, amour?" He says against your skin, while his hands wrap around your waist, as the two of you layed down on the bed. Looking at the now post on you Instagram account.
"Too much?" Confused, your eyes meet his hoping that he won't be giving you such vague answers at this time of the day. Too much as in too many versions for an album that's not halfway done. Too much as in you put too much effort in your album cover. Too much as in people won't be able to understand it. Too much as if you weren't spoonfeeding them the idea of the album.
"Yeah." He says without having to explain himself to you at this time of the discussion. "Don't you think it's degrading for women?" And there is was. The doubt that you might have not executed your idea correctly in the first place. The doubt that people might not understand it to begin with.
Letting the phone fall of your hands, as you could now focus on him while his hands still layed around your waist. Degrading for women? Certainly you didn't have that in mind at the time of the photoshoot. Nor did it cross your mind. Maybe you should have. "You think i'm degrading the women?"
"I didn't say that, amour." But you thought about it? Or you did just say it. His eyes meet yours as soon as you let go of the phone, taking his hands into yours giving them a light squeeze. "You're showing your idea through this process and I think that's the most important thing."
Smiling softly as soon as you hear him say that. He gets it. He understands it. He understands what you're trying to portray here. "But you get it, right? What I'm trying out with this album?" You hoped that he would understand it better than some of your fans. He was your boyfriend after all, and he's seen almost half of the process. You weren't degredating women, nor setting them back. You weren't dehumanizing them.
"Yeah." He nods, a bit unsure if he actually did grasp the concept you decided to approach in the first place. It was unusual or rather different than what he had seen women in pop do. Being an artist himself you thought he would at least try to see your vision. The concept you were going for.
"Then why am I suddenly dehumanizing women?" You ask sighting, hoping that there will be at least an explanation for this sudden outbreak of hate comments on your Instagram feed. You got hate when you started dating him. This wasn't anything new. This was just the beginning of your album journey.
"Because you're on your knees and a man is holding your hair." He says almost on a defeated tone just like the one from the wedding. As if he didn't just blur out this sentence while you were worried about the concept of your album. He shouldn't have said it.
"He is playing with my hair." You softly whisper knowing that this was the message you were trying to convey as you then continue on the same tone. "I'm laying down on my knees and the back of the album is a dog with a collar, because he is man's best friend. Hence the album being called that because of the way i have been treated by other men." This time it should have been understood that all you wanted was to be remembered for the art of this album. And he wasn't having of that.
"Amour." He says gently while placing his hand over yours, hoping that you would clearly see his point of view this time around. "If you wanted to convey that you should have just had made a more descriptive cover." A more descriptive cover? You needed another cover just because it wasn't clear enough. Art is never supposed to be clear as day. Art is supposed to be accepted as it is.
Maybe he was right. Maybe you tried too hard. Maybe your art was just too hard to understand. It was for the best to just ask him to help you change it so you could settle for something vintage. "You're right. I should have been more forward with the album cover. And I think it's for the best if you change it." Before you're able to continue an idea strikes you and you say confidently. "Maybe we could do a photoshoot. What do you think?"
His eyes look into yours as soon as he hears you say that. He was thinking about that too. You could see it from the way they were now glistening. The Monegasque wanted to be a part of your art, even if he was the one that suggested it and not yourself.
"I'll take care of that, amour." Getting up from the comfortable bed to make the call himself, ignoring the unexpected hour that he might have to deal with. It was his team after all. Not his team per se, but no one couls deny that he was the golden boy of it. And if his girlfriend needed help with something he won't make the mistake or rejecting it. He may have done it in the past, but not now. Not when she needed him the most.
A soft kiss on your forehead meets your reality as soon as you realize that you're making an alternative cover. Your first alternative cover in years. Your first alternative cover for an album you are producing yourself. "Will you think they'll like it more this time around?" You say reffering to your fans that have not seen as supportive as before. You hoped that maybe if he wad there with you it would all be better.
"Of course, they'll like it. I'm on the cover." He says leaning against the door frame, while the phone on his hands lights up, signaling a new message. You couldn't tell who it was from. Neither you wanted to ask him about it in the first place.
You hated being away from him, ever since finding out about the kiss. The kiss with Alexandra. The kiss with your best friend. The same girl you thought was gonna be by your side. The same girl that you thought was gonna be your friend. The same girl that told you months ago that she has no interest in Charles.
Jack Antanoff, your producer, had sent you this voice message where you would find a soft rock and sophisti-pop song, mixed with elements of funk and R&B, just how the two of you planned months ago. Having been working with Taylor Swift before, she taught you that playing the song at the piano it mighr come off naturally.
Starting the message you're met with the familiar beat as you sat down on Charles' piano chair. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes trying to remember what Jack had told you he thinks could work. "How have you and Charles been?" You remember him mentioning in one of the sessions. You were happy. If you could describe what are you feeling now.
"It'll come natural to you once you touch those keys." Taylor would say. Just do it, Y/N. How bad can i be right? You'll push your schedule with Jack further. Closing your eyes once again, you try to copy the song you heard a moment ago. "We were so happy, why not mix it up?"
He's thinking of her. He's there with her. Of course he is. How could you be so dumb to let him be with her. Just like that. "I'm so at peace, yeah, I can't drink enough" God, something you wish you could drown yourself in alcohol to forget him ever saying her name. You continue on the same whispery tone as before, keeping the same rythm. "No way to know just who you're thinking of"
"I just wish you didn't have a mind" Just with he would stop thinking. Even just for a moment. Even just a second. So you wouldn't see him pushing you away. Therefore, keeping her. And you hated every second of it. Your fingers touched the keys softly as you hoped that if you were to sing about it, rather than talk it would be better. Considering how the things have been, there won't be any talking involved. Not that anything else could or should be.
"That could flip like a switch, that could wander and drift to a neighbouring girl" Girl? Girl. Friend. Was she your friend? Stopping for a moment, you're thinking about it. She couldn't be your friend. Not after what happened between the two of you. The same guy destroying your relationship. Bitch. A bitch that's what she was to you.
"When just the other night you said you needed me, what gives?" Your fingers touch the keys once more before making sure that you were on tune with the rythm of the song in the first place. It was coming alone, just like how you intended. Just how Taylor taught you. It comes natural.
"How did it come to this?" How after everything you're back into square one? How after trying to work it out you're not able to find yourselves again? Maybe you just weren't enough for each other? Maybe you just weren't enough for him? But that didn't matter now did it? He made his choice and apparently you weren't his.
"Boy, I know where you live" You were living with him now. After your best friend kindly suggested that it would be the best option, just so she could get in bed with your boyfriend. Yet the two of you acted as if the kiss never happened. He moved on. You never did. Maybe it was for the best?
"Baby, I'm not angry I love you just the same" You sings softly, lightly touching the piano keys now familiar under your touch. You loved him. You still loved him. Even after everything. Even after the kiss. Even when he confessed his love for you. There was a part of you that loved him. That still wished to be his.
"I just hope you get agoraphobia some day" You remember Jack telling you about this disorder. Mentioning that it can be an interesting line for the song. Rather than wishing him the worst you'be wishing him the best in some way. Your producer mentioned that spiritually by wishing someone the best but worse it has a greater affect on them. If only that could work for menchildren too.
"And all your days are sunny from your windowpane" Monaco was certainly a place where you'd want to be sunny, because that's where his childhood is. Born and bred in riches. You could only wish him the best even if that could be considered a sunny day or what now. Just as you looked outside the window, you could see his black LaFerrari pull up in the driveway. He was here.
"Wish you a lifetime full of happiness" You sing softly, your eyes still closed as you while focusing on the rythm of the song itself and ignoring that he might see you play his piano. It wasn't that he didn't like sharing it, but rather it was one his prized possesions so why would he share it in the first place? Acting as if you didn't help him choose it while asking your manager about it. You were selling albums while he was selling nothing. Nothing as in his soon personal merch that was still in the works.
"And a forever of never getting laid" There it was. The song title you have been waiting for. The title that has been on your mind for weeks now. You wish him the best. You really do. But how can you wish someone the best when they cheated on you with your best friend? How can you wish someone the best when they've been avoiding you for weeks on end?
Just before you could finish your thought, the sound of the door opening catches you off guard. And you're reminded that while being fun and stressful as he said months ago, he shouldn't be seeing you at his piano. His piano. Not yours.
Liked by isackhadjar, yourusername and 988,737 others
charles_leclerc a weekend of ups and downs. first pole of the season but unfortunately a much more difficult race with issues that made the win impossible. we'll keep pushing for the second half but before that, it's time to resttttttttttt ๐๏ธ
View all 3.285 comments
user01 great summer vacation, to come back stronger
user02 come back stronger charles
user03 forza charles
user04 have fun on summer break and forget about ferrari my king โค๏ธ
You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have even thought about being here. You shouldn't have come. Yet here you were. In front of her door. In front of your once shared apartment. But you made your decision. You'll confront her.
Even if that would mean losing your friendship or whatever this could be considered. Even if that would mean that you'll have to make yourself clear to her. Once again. Once fucking again.
Taking a deep breath you enter the apartment without warning whatsoever, if this was gonna end up badly might as well end it soon. You had some CDs and some of your clothes at her place that you needed to take, so it was the perfect excuse to talk to her.
Taking a deep breath you enter the apartment, only to see her in front of her laptop, acting if he wasn't the one that kissed your boyfriend. "Hi." She says softly, yet whispery, not loud enough for you to hear it. She knew you'd come around and confront her probably, but probably not this early. "Where'd you sleep?" She knew where you slept. She was the one that made it like this.
"My car." You answer barely giving her any information whatsoever. Throwing lightly the tote bag you brought for yourself to be able to take the CDs and the rest of the clothes you remember leaving at her place. Coming closer to where she is sat in front of the laptop, you knew she wasn't paying attention to you.
"See, I had this horrible dream last night, that my best friend told me she had feelings for my boyfriend." Letting out a scoff just as you finishing the sentence, knowing it was just as obvious as you should have expected it to be. Getting up from her chair you could finally get a reaction out of her. "But that wasn't a dream, was it?"
Her eyes facing now the floor, not daring to meet yours just as you called her out. That's where you saw it. She was feeling guilty for her actions. Or maybe she got caught and now regrets it? Softly she whispers seeing you move away from her as soon as he can even explain herself to you. Not that she seemed to try to understand your feelings, rather just excuse herself. "Y/N..."
"Why now, Alexandra?" You question her, not daring to break eye contact with her. Not when she was right there and you have a lot to talk to her about. Not letting it slide this time. "Why do you tell me you have feelings for Charles, now?" Reaching the bed post, where your tote bag was left empty, you continue on the same annoyed tone as before. "When I have so much going on in my life, stuff that you don't even know about."
On a weak voice she answers, thinking that there is a way for this to work out. A way for this friendship to work out after she helped your boyfriend cheat with her. Spoiler, there is no way out. "Wel...so do I, okay?" Trust me." Surely being an influencer can be considered hard, but having to produce and release and album is even harder. And you knew it. She knew it. She chose the easy route, to never aknowledge it. "But I didn't wish for this, all right? I wished for Lando"
Bitch. Fucking bitch. She didn't wish for Lando. She wisher for Charles. She wanted Charles. The moment she saw that you two have been dating, it was clear that she didn't agree with it. "Oh right! You wished for Lando, after you wished for Max and then Charles!" You say, staying away from her for a moment longer than intendet knowing that she was crossing the line once again. "I can not believe this is happening again."
"It's not, okay? It's not, it's just okay, the last time..." Helping her case the best she could try to explain in these kind of moment. Using the least she could to support it. The last time she tried to steal your boyfriend was in high school. Did she manage to do that? You can guess the answer yourself.
"The last time? Do you hear yourself right now? The last time you tried to steal my boyfriend?" The last time she tried to steal your boyfriend? Cause that ended very well the last time. It wasn't only him that broke your heart. But the betrayal of your best friend that hurt more.
Reaching for the door where you two wrote the drivers that hoped to be dating this year, Charles' name was under yours, signaling that she agreed with this in the first place. "He's on the door, Alexandra." Taking a deep breath you continue on the same furious tone as before hitting the door hard enough for the sound to echo through the room. "He's on the damn door under me!" Your words echoing in the room.
"I didn't steal him." She says in a barely in audible voice knowing that this was the last she could do to make the situation better. Maybe she didn't want to steal him. Maybe she didn't intend to. Maybe she tried to stay away from him. But neither did she feel guilty for falling for him. Neither did he. It just happened. When it shouldn't have. But it did.
"But you like him?" You say scoffing not letting her finish her sentence fully before you continue the rant. She has no right to find excuses for this whole situation. Just a moment of peace. A moment of silence. A beat. That's all it takes before one of you decides to talk. Decides to act out.
"Y/N, I'm not gonna do anything about it, okay? I'll just bury it." This has to be a joke. Rather than being honest with you she would have rather buried it. So you wouldn't know anything. So you wouldn't be able to fully understand the situation. So you would be clueless about it all.
"You can't. It's out. And you could've buried it and not said anything to me. So what's that about?" With friends like that, there's no need for enemies. Your tone never breaking down, not even for a moment. Still loud and clear as you intended it to be. Knowing that any sense of logic would be lost in this conversation, if it wasn't lost already. Not that you'd be surprised if this was the case.
"I don't know, all right?" I just...wanted to be honest with you all right? I don't wanna make the same mistake like i did last time." She says on a fast tone, not expecting her to be sound as scared or surprised as she is now. Flinching almost, figuring out that you didn't come to play this time around. You were taking back your life for good. One way or another. This was the one way you could think of.
"And you know what? You even said last night at Tric, that you really didn't miss him." Shuttering, barely being able to find her words in this case. Yet trying her best. Don't. Don't you fucking dare, Alexandra. Not when things are just as fucked up as they are. It doesn't take you long to see her flinching just as you got closer to her once again. She was scared. Scared that she get caught. Scared of you.
That's when you hand finds her face and in just a moment you realized that you have slapped her. Your hand imprinted now on her right side of the face. A reminder that she shouldn't mess with you and your boyfriend. Or whatever the fuck he was. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare twist my words around to make yourself feel like a backstabbing two faced bitch, Alexandra, because you are and you know it."
Turning around you took the tote bag from the bed post not waiting for an answer anymore. Leaving the shared apartment, not wanting to be shown the exit anymore. You knew where it was. Didn't need an introduction. You realize that you lost your best friend. Along with your boyfriend.
He wasn't here. He said he'd be here. He said that he'd make time for you. He was supposed to be here. But he wasn't. Nor that you thought he'd come. Maybe his tongue was already deep in Alexandra's throat.
Which won't be surprising to say the least. Given that they've been away on tour focusing on your music career. You didn't want him here. You just wished he would care. Be more subtle about it. But that wasn't the case.
The Monegasque's forgotten message on you lit up phone echoing through your mind. Reminding you that he "might be coming" and that "he isn't sure yet", but you "should be able to see him in the crowd". But that didn't happen.
It didn't take you long to catch a glimpse of someone else. Not the him you were expecting but who you least thought of. Lando Norris. Singing to your songs, word by word at the special guests section, mostly deliberated by your team to me where celebrities or friends of yours would come.
Your team knew about it. They knew that he would come, yet you weren't announced about it. Interesting. Knowing that it had become tradition at this point for you to arrest someone at your shows, it would only seem right for the arrest you happen. Now you just had to figure out what to tell him or even how even start talking to him.
He was here. And you were freaking out. Freaking out trying to find a pick up line or whatever to not make the interaction akward. Not that this could be the case. Nor did you wanted it to be. So you settled for a high pitched hello, in a girly voice catching his attention. Not the he wasn't already watching you. "Hey, Lando!"
Waving at the crowd that was now watching the interaction unfold. You've never realized how loved he was by the fans. In this case by your fans too. You thought they loved the Monegasque, but seems like the lovedd the Brit just as much.
That's how you found yourself blushing. Putting your hand over your mouth not wanting it to be seen by your fans. Holding the microphone closer to your mouth you letting out a light chuckle before asking him. "Lando, where are you from?"
Making sure that you could hear his answer, he shouts not caring if he would be considered too loud. "Bristol." You would have known that he was from Bristol or another city from UK that you could think of. London being a solid choice. Guess that wasn't the case. Happens to the best of us I guess.
Not sure if you heard correctly you ask him again this time hoping to understand the name of the city better. "Bristol?" A slight nod of confirmation was all that you needed to keep thr conversatiok going knowing that this is what your fans loved. And so did you. It was fun. Continuing on the same suprised to as before you could hear the cheer of the fans as soon as you finished the sentence. "Damn, it rhymes with Austin though."
It doesn't really rhyme with Austin, but your fans loved it anyways. The cheers were loud, just as how you have been used to by now. "It's close enough." Far away nonetheless. But close enough in your heart. But that is not what matters now. He was there. Maybe for you. Maybe for himself. But he was.
Keeping the same flirty yet seductive tone as before, already thinking of your next words, although predictable just as fun. "You know, Lando, it's actually cuffing season. I don't know if you know that. It's like we're getting-"
Not even letting you finish the sentence, he held his hands up tight together, showing the cuffing motion to you. Daring you to just give him those pink fluffy handcuffs one of your dancers has been holding this whole time. Taking them from your dancer, you say in the microphone. "I was wondering if you-" Surprised to see him this willing you continue, letting out another soft chuckle. "You seem very eager actually. This is so rare!"
Taking a deep breath you gave the handcuffs to one of your bodyguards to hand to him, saying into the microphone. "Umm ok." Awkward to say the least. But cute nonetheless. "You're the one. We did it, Lando." And you did. You made everyones night by a mile and maybe your night too in the process. Maybe the Monegasque not being here was for the best.
Your next song starting to softly play into the background as you added before singing, wanting to let everyone know who this song was dedicated to. "I'm gonna sing this next song. This is dedicated to Lando, everybody! It's called Juno."
Waving softly to him you continue on the same tone as before, wanting to make a joke not knowing if he would understand it or not, but it was worth it. "Does this mean my last name is Norris?" Not seeing the camera pan out you say into the microphone giggling sofrly. "We'll talk about it later I guess."
He's been coming to your shows lately. Of course he has been. It wasn't that he was there for the fans. But for you. Knowing what you have been going through with your boyfriend and ex best friend. It has been rough to say the least. It has been taking a tool on you.
A part of your show consistend of you sitting by the edge of the stairs that lead to the main stage and singing "Don't Smile". A song you and your producer, Jack, produced together. A song you wrote at a low moment in your life. A song you couldn't imagine people singing with you even know.
The dream pop, psychedelic pop with R&B undertones starts playing as you took a deep breath before you hear the crowd cheering knowing that the show is coming to an end. You being on a slow and sensual tone, holding the microphone closer to your mouth making sure that your voice could be heard clearly. "Don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over"
Was it over? Is it over now? Could you cry now without having to worry about thinking about it now? Thinking that you could still refer to him as your boyfriend or whatever he is now in your life. Considering what you two have been through you'd expect it to not be over, yet here you were. Looking for his face in the crowd. Hoping that he was there.
"Oh, you're supposed to think about me everytime you hold her" He was supposed to. He was supposed to think about you. He wasn't supposed to be happy with her. He was supposed to be happy with you. He wasn't here. Why would he be? Why would he show up and randomly confess his love to you. God you were making up scenarios in your head.
"My heart is heavy now , it's like a hundred pounds" You watched him leave with your heart and all that was left was a blank space. A blank space you think no one could be able to fill. It was suffocating in its emptiness, the lack of weight intruding more than its belonging could ever be. It wasn't your heart anymore. It was his. His to do whatever he thought would be the best. And he did.
"It's falling faster than the way you shut me down" He held your heart in tight hands, squeezing the life out of it. But you didn't hold his in return. There was nothing left to tether him to you, invisible string cut. Your eyes burned, the sensation travelling to your throat. You couldn't even muster the words "Stay", a knot blocking your tongue, now heavy and useless in your mouth. You lost him. And now you had to accept it.
"I think I need a shower, my friends are takin' shots" The night when you went out with your friends. When they were taking shots while you tried to forget about him. With the prediction that "Lando will be there" and that "You should come", so you did. But he wasn't there. Neither was the Monegasque. Neither was the Brit. Neither were your friends. Neither was your heart.
"You think it's happy hour, for me, it's not" Your voice softly cracking as you look into the crowd to not see anyone. Yes you did see your fans, but this time Lando wasn't there. The Brit wasn't there to hold you when you were crying. The Monegasque wasn't there to keep lying to you. Alexandra wasn't there to tell you that you were making a mistake. And here you were. Wishing they could feel guilty. Wishing they would know what you have been through.
"Don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over" It didn't take you long to feel it. It started with your voice cracking as you finished singing the verse, hoping that you would feel it. Your tongue getting papery and dry. Your throat burning as you continue singing. Yoru chin wobbling, trying not to shutter as you sang. Your eyes slowly turning red as you sang.
"Oh, you're supposed to think about me everytime you hold her" Holding up the microphone you could hesr the crowd singing to you. For you. For themselves. It was special knowing that so many people could relate to it. And you let them. You let him scream the lyrics to you reminding you that you're enough. You're enough to them. So why can't you be enough for yourself
Touching your face lightly you could feel the warmth of your tears as you wiped them away. Letting them sing the song while you helped them find the rythm at times when they have seen to have lost it. Holding the microphone closer to you as the performance ends and you have managed to calm down. At least. You say softly on a whispery tone knowing that they probably expect an explanation. "I wrote this song at a very very low point in my life where I didn't picture a room of ten people singing that song with me. Let alone twenty thousand of you."
Taking a deep breath you continue the speech wanting them to know how much this means to you and that you were trying your hardest not to cry in front of them just like before. Hearing the loud cheers of the crowd as soon as you finish the first part of your speech. "So thank you so so so much. Because I am hormonal right now but I was just starting to cry. So that means a lot to me and it's just so surreal." And it was. Knowing that years ago you couldn't fill up a stadium as this. Knowing that years ago you've been hated for dating Charles.
And now you know that you might get hate for getting close to Lando. But it was worth it. It was your happiness and it was worth it.
Lying down on Lando's chest as the both of you were scrolling on your phones, you see it. The photo is just as simple as you expected it to be. Just as you expected him to propose.
You don't want to see it at first. You don't want to aknowledge it. You don't want to think of it. But there she was. With a ring on her finger. And there he was kissing her. His hands around her. Holding her. When it was supposed to be. It should have been you.
But it wasn't. You weren't the one he'll be marrying soon. You weren't the one for him. You weren't the one he wanted. You weren't the one he needed.
Sensing that something was wrong, Lando's voice manages to pull you through from the thoughts you've been already spiralling on about. With a light squeeze on your shoulder, you finally hear it. His voice. On a soft tone signaling that he saw the photo. Your hand holding the phone close enough for him to aknowledge it. "Love.."
"I'm fine really." You say meeting his eyes for a moment longer than you intended. A moment that gave away your vurnerable state. You weren't fine. You weren't ok. You weren't happy. And he knew it. He knew it all too well.
"No you're not." Facing you, he takes your hand in his giving it a light squeeze reminding you that he was there for you when you needed him. "You're pushing me away. Like you always do." No longer the same soft tone as before but a more harsher, biting this time. You were pushing him away. And he hated that.
Like you always do.
Like you always do.
Like you always do.
"I'm not." A lie. You were lying to him. Pushing him away. Afraid that you'd get hurt again. Afraid that he might treat you like Charles did. You answer him, knowing that, although not sure of your statement, you wanted to be happy. That's all you wanted away from him. Away from the Monegasque that broke your heart.
Taking your face softly in his hands, seeing that you were hurt, scared. He wanted you to feel safe loved. But you had to let him in. You had to let him be there for you as he than says on a soft voice, lightly caressing your cheek as he does so. "I like you. He says before taking a break to find the right words to confess his feelings for you. "A lot. From spending time with you to hearing your little high notes around the house."
"But i also know how passionate you are about music. I know how much it means to you. And I won't let Charles destroy that for you." Leaning in closer to you as he was now in front of you, reminding you that you shouldn't lose yourself, but move on. Write a song about it, maybe?
Continuing on the same tone he says. "And that last song on the album isn't gonna write itself." He remembered. He remembered that you still didn't manage to find the inspiration for it. Still being stuck on the title as well as the lyrics.
Smiling for a split second you lean into his touch, knowing that there it was. The inspiration you were looking for. Goodbye. The demo that you and Jack have been working on ever since your last meeting. He didn't check on you this time, but rather let you express yourself about the Charles situation. He knew the song would come natural to you once you move on. Fully.
"Don't go anywhere. I've gotta do something." Giving him a soft peck on the lips, you get up from the comfortable bed, reaching for your journal that was now on your nighstand. Opening it gently, you could feel his chin now on your shoulder as you scribbled lyrics. Ignoring the small "Ooh"s and "Aah"s coming from your boyfriend's mouth that has always been a distraction. For you.
Broke my heart on Saturday
Guess overnight, your feelings changed
And I have cried so much I almost fainted (Aha, aha)
To show you just how much it hurts
I wish I had a gun or words
If something got lost in communication (Aha, aha)
Well, sayonara, adios
You're not bilingual, but you should know
Goodbye means that you're losing me for life
Can't call it love then call it quits, can't shoot me down then shoot the shit
Did you forget that it was you who said goodbye?
So you don't get to be the one who cries
Can't have your cake and eat it too, by walking out that means you choose goodbye
The feeling's so specific
Wanna punch you every other minute, oh
You used to love my ass, now, baby, you won't see it anymore (Aha, aha)
Just give it three weeks, buddy
Gonna wake up from your coma, honey, oh
And that's when you'll be holding hokey flowers standing at my door (Aha)
But I'll say, "Arrivederci, au revoir"
Forgive my French, but fuck you, ta-ta
Goodbye means that you're losing me for life
Can't call it love then call it quits, can't shoot me down then shoot the shit
Did you forget that it was you who said goodbye?
So you don't get to be the one who cries
Can't have your cake and eat it too, by walking out, that means you choose goodbye
Sayonara, adios
On the flip side, cheerio
Por siempre te amo, wait, no
Shit, when did you get here? Go put on some clothes
Goodbye means that you're losing me for life
Can't call it love then call it quits, can't shoot me down then shoot the shit
Did you forget that it was you who said goodbye?
So you don't get to be the one who cries
Can't have your cake and eat it too, by walking out that means you choose goodbye
