Lando's sister

The first drink had been harmless, a casual glass of wine with dinner after a long, miserable week that had left you feeling wrung out and restless. By the second drink, you’d convinced yourself you deserved a little fun, and by the third, the dull ache sitting beneath your ribs had softened into something warm and floaty, and suddenly sitting alone in your apartment sounded unbearable.

So you’d texted a friend, thrown on the tiny silver top you always swore you only wore for yourself, and stumbled your way into a crowded bar downtown where the music was loud enough to drown out your thoughts.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t loud enough to drown out him. Mat Barzal had always had terrible timing, or maybe perfect timing, depending on how honest you wanted to be with yourself; every time you thought you were finally getting over him, something would drag him back into your head. A hoodie left at the bottom of your closet, a hockey clip showing up on your feed, someone wearing his cologne in passing.

It didn’t help that what existed between the two of you had never ended cleanly, there hadn’t been some dramatic breakup or screaming match; just two people pretending casual was easy until one of you cared too much and the other cared in ways he didn’t know how to admit.

Friends with benefits was supposed to mean boundaries. It was supposed to mean late-night hookups and easy goodbyes, not tangled feelings and jealous silences. But somewhere between sneaking into his apartment after Islanders games and falling asleep against his chest while reruns played quietly in the background, things had blurred.

You’d started memorizing the sound of his laugh, he’d started texting you for reasons that had nothing to do with sex. And then, like cowards, both of you had backed away before either of you could say what you actually wanted.

Now you were sitting at the bar with glossy lips wrapped around the straw of your fourth drink, staring at his contact photo on your phone like it had personally offended you.

“You are not calling him,” your friend said immediately, noticing the expression on your face, you looked up innocently. “Who?”

“Mat.” She replies immediately, looking at you with an incredulous expression. “I wasn’t even thinking about Mat.” You mumble.

“You’ve been thinking about Mat for twenty straight minutes.” She sighs, cocking an eyebrow at your frown.

“That’s an unlawful accusation.” You shake your head, looking at her pointedly, “It’s literally his contact open on your screen.” She counters immediately.

You glanced down. “Oh.”

Your friend groaned and reached for your phone, but you twisted away with a laugh, nearly knocking your drink over in the process. The alcohol buzzing through your system had turned every thought in your head into a brilliant idea, and right now the most brilliant idea of all felt painfully obvious; you missed him.

Not in the heartbreaking, crying on the floor way you had a month ago, tonight it felt softer than that. You felt lonely. The kind of loneliness that only appeared after midnight when the lights were dim and you wanted someone familiar to look at you like you were worth ruining your sleep schedule over.

You pressed call before you could think better of it, your friend made a horrified noise beside you. “Oh my god, hang up!”

Too late, the phone rang once, barely even twice, then his voice slid through the speaker, low and rough and devastatingly familiar. “Hello?”

Your stomach flipped so hard it almost sobered you up. For a second you forgot why calling him had seemed like such a good idea. All you could picture was him leaning back against his couch, the one you were too familiar with, sweatpants low on his hips, one hand rubbing tiredly over his jaw.

You remembered exactly how warm his apartment felt at night, remembered the lazy smirk he always wore when he opened the door for you like he already knew you’d end up tangled in his sheets before the night was over. “You answered,” you blurted.

A beat of silence passed before he laughed softly. “You sound surprised.”

“I honestly didn’t think you would.” He chuckles, and you can practically see him shaking his head, “You called me three times.”

You frowned at your phone screen. “Did I?”

“Yeah, baby. Back-to-back.” The nickname hit you straight in the chest, you swallowed hard and leaned your elbows onto the sticky bar counter, pressing your fingers against your forehead as the room tilted pleasantly around you. “Okay, well, in my defense, this is a very important phone call.”

“Oh, it is?” You nodded seriously even though he couldn’t see you. “Critical, actually.”

He laughed again, quieter this time, and the sound settled somewhere deep beneath your skin. God, you hated how easy it still was with him. Weeks without speaking and he could still pull a smile out of you within seconds,“You drunk?” he asked knowingly. You scoff, “No.”

“You’re slurring.” He follows, you can hear his smile as he talks. “I’m talking like this on purpose, it's a bit."

“A bit,” he repeated. You hum, “Yes. There’s nuance."

You heard movement on the other end of the line, like he was sitting up straighter now, suddenly paying closer attention. The noise of the bar faded around you while his breathing filled your ear, warm and familiar enough to make your chest ache. "Where are you?” he asked.

“At a bar.” You say, cupping your hand to the speaker of your phone as the song changes to something a bit louder. He huffs, “I can hear that, with who?”

You look around, like you forgot,“Friends.”

“You safe?” The question softened you immediately. It always did. No matter how casual things had been between you, Mat had always cared in quiet ways that snuck up on you. His hand on your lower back while crossing streets. Texts asking if you got home okay. Pulling your drunk body against his side in crowded rooms without even thinking about it.

“Mhm,” you murmured. “Very safe. Very hydrated too.” You nod again, still talking like he could see you.

“You’re holding a margarita, aren’t you?” He hums. You blinked down at the drink in your hand. “That’s actually terrifying.”

“I know you.” The words settled heavily between you. Your friend was openly eavesdropping now, mouthing don’t do it across the table while you ignored her completely. You twisted the straw between your fingers. “Are you in town?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Something warm curled low in your stomach at the answer, “Busy?”

A pause, “No.” Your heartbeat stumbled, you could practically hear the smirk forming on his face now, and you hated yourself a little for loving it so much.

“What’s this really about?” he asked softly.

You stared out at the crowd dancing beneath flashing lights, at strangers pressed together under neon signs and spilled liquor and music that rattled the floor. Everyone looked like they belonged somewhere tonight, everyone except you.

And maybe that was why you called him.

Because for all the ways things between you had gotten messy, Mat had always known exactly what to do with you. He knew how you took your coffee and how you looked when you were pretending not to be upset. He knew you got clingy when you drank tequila and quiet when you were sad. He knew how to make you laugh when you wanted to cry.

Most dangerously of all, he knew exactly how to touch you. “I don’t know,” you admitted honestly. “I think I just wanted to hear your voice.”

The line went quiet; not uncomfortable quiet, heavy quiet, the kind loaded with too many things left unsaid. “You miss me that much?” he asked eventually, his voice lower now.

You laughed weakly and tipped your head back. “That’s the embarrassing part, isn’t it?” You lift your glass to your lips again, like the alcohol is the only the reason you could be talking to him. “Could be worse.” He says.

“How?” Your eyebrows furrow, completely lost.

“You could be at my apartment already.” Heat rushed across your cheeks instantly. “Mat,” you breathed, half warning and half something else entirely.

“What?” he asked innocently. “You’re the one who called me.”

You bit your lip hard enough to hurt. This was exactly why staying away from him had been impossible. One conversation and suddenly every memory came rushing back at once; his hands gripping your waist in dark kitchens, lazy mornings spent wrapped in his sheets, the way he always looked at you like he knew something nobody else did. “I’m serious,” you said quietly. “I had a bad week.”

His teasing faded immediately, “What happened?”

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. “Just life. Everything feels annoying lately.”

“Mm.” You can hear him shifting on the other end, you bite your lip slightly, just wishing you were there.

“And I know this sounds terrible,” you continued, words loosening further with every sip of alcohol still lingering on your tongue, “but sometimes I think maybe being in your bed would fix at least forty percent of my problems.” A choked laugh escaped him. “Forty percent?”

“Minimum.” You add.

“You think very highly of me.” He laughs, letting out a slight huff. You shake your head,“I think very highly of your mattress.”

“Ouch, that’s cold.”

“You know what isn’t cold?” you asked, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Your apartment.” Smiling when you get the reaction you wanted; his laugh. “You are so drunk.”

"Yeah.” Another pause settled between you, warmer this time. You could hear traffic faintly in the background on his end, could picture him rubbing a hand over his mouth while trying not to smile. Then he sighed softly. “You want me to come get you?”

The offer wrapped around you like heat, your friend’s eyes widened from across the table as if she could somehow sense the shift in the conversation. You should’ve said no, every rational thought in your head knew this was a terrible idea, nothing good ever came from revisiting almost relationships after midnight, especially not when tequila and unresolved feelings were involved.

But then you imagined him walking into the bar in a hoodie and backwards cap, imagined his hand sliding around your waist while he leaned close enough for you to smell his cologne again. You imagined ending the night laughing against his shoulder in the backseat of a car, imagined the familiar warmth of his apartment, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin while neither of you acknowledged how impossible it was to quit each other. You were tired of pretending you didn’t want him.

He trails off again.

Mama smiles softly. “You want your dad.”

Ryder looks up fast. “But he’s busy. And he has real hockey. And what if he says no.”

Mama gently pushes his hair back. “Your dad would cancel a playoff game if it meant showing up for you, baby.”

“That’s not true,” Ryder says, but quieter now.

“It is, we would move heaven and earth for you, Ry.” she says simply. “You just have to ask him.”

Ryder swallows hard. “You’ll come with me?”

“Of course.”

Mat is in the kitchen, Ryder slows to a stop halfway in.

Mama nudges him forward.

“Dad?” Ryder says, voice smaller than usual.

Mat looks up immediately. “Hey bud.”

Ryder glances at Mama, then back at him.

“My team…” he starts, then stops, then just blurts it out. “Will you be my coach?”

Mat blinks like he misheard.

“Your coach?” he repeats.

Ryder nods, bracing himself. “Yeah. It’s okay if you can’t. I just thought-“

“Yeah, I’ll coach you. Of course I will. Are you kidding me?”

Ryder’s whole face changes. Relief. Excitement. Pride.

“Really?”

“Really,” Mat says, crouching down in front of him. “That’s the best offer I’ve ever gotten.”

Ryder throws his arms around Mat’s neck.

“You’re gonna be so good,” he says.

Mat squeezes him tight. “I don’t know about that but i’ll try.”

Ryder pulls back, serious now. “You are. You’re my dad.”

The car spun, flipping over and rolling before coming to a stop. The whole garage goes silent, your heart drops to your stomach. 

Your boyfriend was still in the car. 

His race engineer shouting over the radio, trying to get ahold of Pato. Everyone else is quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Pato’s groan comes over the radio and you let out a breath, he’s alive and conscious. 

“Pato, injuries ?” The race engineer asks him, he groans again. “Don’t know - hurts.” 

You hadn’t even realized the tears were running down your cheeks as you watched the monitors, his car still flipped over, he was all by himself. The marshals haven't gotten there yet. 

Finally they get over to him, moving the car and taking him to medical. You weren't allowed to go see him there, you were stuck waiting. His press officer was allowed to go, coming back with him after half an hour, she tells you about his doctor’s visit before letting him go to his motorhome. “Few bruises, a bump on the head but no concussion. Just needs some rest so he’ll skip out on press today. You can go see him,” she tells you, and you thank her before rushing off to find him. 

“Babe?” You call quietly as you step inside, locking the door so no one would bother you both. “Room!” he calls back and you follow his voice to find him in the room, changing out his race suit. 

There’s a purplish bruise already forming on his side. “Pato..” 

“Baby, please.” His arms are open and you walk over to him, hugging him. “Are you okay?” You ask him, hands on his cheek as you two move to sit on the bed. “I’m fine, just a little bruised - you know I bruise like a peach.” He smiles, making you laugh. 

Even when he was hurt, he made you smile. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” 

“I’m fine, I promise.” he assures you, laying back onto the pillows. “But.. if I say I'm not, what do I get? Just out of curiosity.” 

“I’ll love on you,” you chuckles, kissing his cheek as you lay beside him. 

“Well.. ow!” Pato rests his hand on his side, “hurts soooo much angel,” he pouts making you laugh. 

“Oh, you poor thing.” You kiss him softly, “what can I do to make you feel better ?” 

Pato had dropped some new merch during the year and of course, you picked out one of everything to keep for yourself. 

When he was away, you tended to wear it more often than when he was home. 

You had joined him for the last race of the season and you two were in his motorhome afterwards. 

It was getting a little chilly outside so you pull on your sweater, the white one with his number on the back. 

Pato was on the couch when he noticed your sweater. “You look cute,” he smiles. 

“I try,” you laugh, doing a little spin for him. 

Pato grabs your hand and pulls you to him, sitting you on his lap facing him so you were straddling him. 

“Do I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He asks, fingering playing with the hem of your skirt. 

“Sometimes,” you tease, kissing him softly. 

“I miss you when you’re not here,” he tells you, his hand slipping between the two of you to undo his pants. 

Your eyes follow his hand, “do you?” 

“So much,” he whispers, pulling your panties to the side before letting you sink down on him. 

Your hands on him, one on either shoulder as you bounced on your boyfriend’s lap. 

it was a stupid reason to be mad but you were; he shouldn't have eaten the last of your ice cream. To be fair, Pato was away for his race so how was he supposed to know you were saving the ice cream for when you handed in your work assignment? 

He had even gone out and bought more for you and yet, you ignored him. Your pettiness jumped out and you didn’t even eat the ice cream he bought for you. Instead you moped around and ignored him, going out with your best friend to get ice cream. 

“Are you seriously still mad at me?” Pato asks, walking into the bedroom later that evening. You glance at the man and say nothing, turning your attention back to the tv. 

He rolls his eyes, sitting on the bed. You still haven’t said anything to him but Pato grabs your chin, pulling you to look at him. You have no choice but to pay attention to him. 

“What?” You ask, looking at the man. 

“What’s your problem ? I said sorry, I replaced your stupid ice cream and you’re still upset.” 

“You’re annoying, go away.” 

“C’mon,” he pulls you closer. “What’s bothering you?” 

“You are. Stop bothering me now.” You turn your attention back to the screen and Pato hums, shifting to sit between your legs. You glance between him and the screen before moving back to the screen. 

His hand slides up your thigh, his lips following suit as they leave a trial of kiss behind. The man works his way up to between your legs. “Pato,” you call and he looks up at you, “what?” 

“Stop bothering me,” you huff. 

Your boyfriend ignored you, he knows you well enough to know you were just giving him a hard time. He feels your thighs squeeze around his head when you feel his tongue on your clit. 

you and lando are best friends, you had joined him for the last race of the season and you were sitting in the back of garage when pato finds you. he asks if he could sit beside you. 

pato had seen you around the mclaren garage before; you were there when he joined them in mexico as well. you two had always made small talk, just hi’s and hellos as you go your way. 

you tell him go ahead and you two watch the quali session together. “so, who are you here for?” he asks and your brows furrow, “pardon?” 

“your badge, you’ve got a regular pass.” “oh,” you smile, showing him the back.  ‘guest of l. norris’ printed onto it. 

he hums, you two end up chatting and hitting it off. if you weren't mistaken, pato was flirting with you; laying on the charm pretty thick. 

you told him he did well for his FP1 and he thanks you, asking if you were sticking around for the young drivers test. 

“lando is spending a few days so yeah, I'll be around.” 

“you could come by, we can do dinner later.” he says, an arm around the back of your seat. “oh,” you smile, “is that so?” 

“yeah, but we can do something else if you'd like.” he smiles at you and you laugh, he really had a way of putting in the charm. 

shifting in your seat, you look at the driver. “and what exactly would we do?” you ask him and pato’s eyes meet yours. he leans in, his lips by your ear when he whispers the filthiest things to you. 

“oh,” you breathe, cheeks red. “you’re uh-” you clear your throat, “yeah, that sounds good.” 

pato smiles, “yeah?” he asks, a hand resting on your thigh. You smile, nodding. “I think I'll stick around then.” 

“Morning baby,” you whisper, feeling him bury his face into your chest. 

“Hi,” he mumbles. You two lay there in silence, your leg over his hip, his arm over your waist. 

It was a good morning, Rocky was still sleeping downstairs based on the fact that there’s no noise right now. You run a hand through your boyfriend’s hair, the brown locks shorter now that he’s cut it. 

“Why’d you cut your hair?” you ask him, Pato leans back and looks up at you. “It was getting too long,” he tells you, making you pout. 

Pato can’t help but kiss you, you looked too adorable. “It’s just hair, it’ll grow back.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble between kisses, “but what am I supposed to tug on now?” 

Pato laughs, rolling you two over so you were on your back. “You wanna see if you can tug on this?” he offers, kissing down to your collarbone. 

“It’s too short,” you tell him, rolling your eyes at the fact that he even cut his hair in the first place. Pato has shifted to between your legs, tugging on the black lace between the two of you. 

You glance down at him, propping yourself up on your elbow. 

Pato takes one of your hands and rests it on his head, “tug away baby,” his lips are on you. 

♡ relationship type: best-friends-to-lovers energy but with constant teasing, inside jokes, and the type of love that feels like home. soft, unserious, but deeply loyal underneath.

♡ love languages: • humour + teasing: roasting you is his love language. • quality time: he just wants you near him, even if you're doing nothing. • physical touch: lazy cuddles, forehead kisses, his hand always finding your thigh. • acts of service: pretends he won't, but he does everything for you without thinking.

♡ their favourite thing about you: you hype him up without ever making him feel silly. he says you're the only person who sees the real him and likes him anyway.

♡ you two in private: • late-night gaming sessions where he ends up sitting between your legs on the floor. • he sends you memes at 2am even when you're lying right next to him. • he steals your blanket on purpose just to make you climb on top of him to get it back. • brushing his teeth together while he talks with a mouth full of toothpaste. • messy hair, hoodie mornings where he puts his cold hands under your shirt to make you scream.

♡ you two in public: • he films you constantly. stupid faces, cute moments, everything. • hand holding but in the most unserious way, like swinging your arms dramatically. • introducing you as "my better half, because the bar is very low." • soft looks when he thinks no one sees. lando and keegan call him out instantly. • he absolutely drags you into videos and streams and then complains you stole the show.

♡ dates you'd go on: • casual pub dates with shared fries and sarcasm. • drives to nowhere with music blasting and him pretending he can sing. • stay-at-home dates: baking, movies, wrestling over the remote. • bowling dates he takes too seriously. • kfc or mcdonald's car dates where he feeds you chips while driving.

♡ your arguments look like: petty, stupid, over in minutes. usually ends with him sighing dramatically and going "come on, sweetheart, don't be like that" before hugging you into his chest.

♡ the moment they realised they loved you: when he caught you wearing his hoodie, hair messy, sitting on his kitchen counter eating cereal out of the box. he froze and thought "shit... that's my person."

♡ the reason everyone else knows you're together: the banter. you are never not bickering affectionately. people can hear you two coming from down the paddock.

♡ nicknames they use for you: sweetheart, babe, trouble, pretty girl, love, "idiot" (said lovingly).

♡ songs that fit your relationship: • somebody to you – the vamps • adore you – harry styles

♡ how the paddock views the relationship: • everyone calls you "the married couple who aren't married." • lando and the boys tease him that he's disgustingly whipped (he is). • media crews love you because max lights up when you're around. • fans call you the "comfort couple" because everything about you feels warm and real.