Hi y'all, like my username suggests, I am a big ass nerd so I write. I write for all my favourite fandoms because I like serotonin :)
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since I missed a few days, here's the last week's worth of traitors thoughts :)))
traitors 4x4 thoughts
fucking said Fiona was a potential secret traitor, and I was rightttt
however I didn't expect that all 9 names from the family tree were going to be on trial damn
also the group clocking the family tree stuff after Reece had walked away like king you saw Rachel and Stephen hanging around and they literally had to ask you to leave
the round table being before the mission was an interesting choice for sure
Ross completely shot himself in the foot by bringing up the Netty stuff
unsurprising banishment
unsurprising relationship reveal from Ellie (though it's not entirely productions fault that the public found photos of Ellie and Ross online)
traitors 4x5 thoughts
the way I was PLEADING for Reece to be saved
I didn't really want any of them to die but my dad was well pissed they released Sam first
it's the way I spent this entire episode begging for Reece to mention how shite Fiona was in the mission the day before bc girlie didn't even try
this mission was definitely one to shit stir among the group
but Reece didn't need to be so self sacrificial tho damn
Amanda telling the worst possible person to tell that she's an ex detective like c'mon
going into this round table was STRESSFUL like I knew Reece was gonna be on the chopping block
however props to Jessie for jumping straight in and going for it against Stephen
people need to pay closer attention to Stephen during round tables bc he goes BRIGHT RED when he's under fire and looks so shifty
Jade and Amanda at it again for like no reason lol
two ties and it coming down to the boxes damn
I want to say for the record that my gut instict was to go for the box that Reece ended up with so I would've been safe lol
NOT FIONA JUST BASICALLY OUTING RACHEL LIKE GIRLIE
I was fully Stephen in that moment bc boy was shooketh
I am SO excited to see Rachel and Fiona go at it, the turret looks so suspenseful and poor Stephen is stuck in the middle of it all
traitors 4x6 thoughts
Rachel and Fiona wasted no time arguing in the turret, huh?
I understand they don't trust each other but they're really just destroying the traitors from the inside out
NOT REECE NOOOOO
HE WAS THE ONE WHO DESERVED TO WINNNNNN
nah they were wrong for that (the logic was there but poor Reece)
this mission was like the scarecrow one in s2, only this time it didn't singlehandedly cause someone's downfall
the whole thing of winning the opportunity to talk to the traitors was interesting frfr
Stephen was SO clever to use Fiona as a way to push Jessie in another direction while still keeping her on her theory
this round table was INTENSE, a very well fought battle between the two traitors
OH NOT MATTHEW ASKING THE TRAITORS TO KILL JESSIE AND THEN RECRUIT HIM THE NEXT NIGHT HOLD ON THINGS ARE COOKING I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THEY SAYYYY
‘imagine if one of us was secretly a detective’ oh lawd this was unnecessarily perfect
Ben murdered no I liked him
my dad in a Scottish accent within seconds of finding out Ben was killed: there’s been a murder
Ross gives the most when he’s accused like I do giggle when people accuse him
not the ‘cow being milked’ photo I’m howling
‘there’s a shield somewhere’ REECE I BEG SHUSH YOU’RE GONNA LOOK SUSPICIOUS
Fiona not being concerned about shields… interesting…
not Adam getting the shield after Reece was dying to find it lawdy
‘I’m speaking’ okay Reece I see you
‘Rees’ good lord the spelling
Stephen turning on Hugo that fast is insane
only took these lot two round tables to get a traitor I’m mad impressed
if I made the rules of this game I wouldn’t have allowed Rachel to stamp Stephen’s name just on account of the fact he can’t be killed bc he’s a traitor
THEY’RE MAKING US WAIT A WEEK TO SEE WHO THE SECRET TRAITOR IS UGHHHH
I guess it's last chances to get guesses in for who the secret traitor is, I think it could be Jade but I do think it could be someone like Jack or Fiona too maybe? idk
Netty was murdered. interesting choice, probably to point fingers at Ross
it’s so funny when people are like ‘you’re suspicious because you know someone >:(‘
this mission was super fun to watch, an interesting concept
although my dad was raging at the 3 guys hopping on the thrones straight away (he doesn’t like Sam)
I was happy that Jade got a shield tho
not Judy going to Sam the moment she found out her name was being chucked around like fair play but also everyone’s gonna get accused at some point
these guys truly have no clue at the start it’s so funny like I know I’d be just as bad if not worse but lawdy it’s funny to watch
Judy went first and she is a faithful so my theory was wrong damn, gotta find a new person to accuse
‘stop sowing seeds’ girl i know you’re upset, but the WHOLE point is to talk about who you find suspicious and try and convince others to your side otherwise nothing is gonna come of it
so, Maz, Reece, and Ben are up for murder
the secret traitor must really want Maz dead bc he's two-for-two on the murder list now damn
not the traitors IMMEDIATELY wanting to get rid of the secret traitor like damn
my theory so far about the secret traitor is Judy (it’s a Linda theory ngl she just looked when Claudia said traitors it’s just a theory I might change my mind later)
Claudia screeching at everyone while they’re doing the missions we’re so back
damn we got a mother/daughter duo confession (at least in an interview) in ep one that’s wild. still not the calibre of ‘but Ross is’
James, Natty, and Maz, ooh I’m not sure whose going to get murdered
all in all, a decent start to the season, I’m excited to see how the rest of the show goes
my year didn't go remotely the way I thought it would go. I won't go into details, other than I finally grew a backbone and made a difficult decision. It was very needed, but for most of the second half of this year, I have been truly battered, and my anxiety has been through the roof because of this choice, it's been fucking with my sleep schedule and just making me an all-around mess. believe me, I've been trying to rectify myself and get better, but it's really not easy with a lack of professional support
but one good thing has come out of this year. discovering Lando Norris and Formula One has managed to bring back a spark in me I didn't know I still had. all it took was driving past Silverstone on the day of the grand prix and my curiosity getting the better of me, and before I knew it, I was hooked.
I've never been into sports, not really. I was a theatre kid in school so I never really looked F1's way even with its rapidly growing popularity. but I am so glad I gave it a chance. Lando has been helping me without even knowing it. and seeing him win his first-ever championship was just the best thing to bear witness to
I'm so happy I'm going to be able to be in the sea of fluoro next year at Landostand for my first ever grand prix. I'm gonna get to see all the drivers do what they do best and I cannot wait for it to happen
so yeah, thank you F1 and Lando (and Liam too) for helping keep me afloat when things were tough, this silly vroom vroom sport has helped me in more ways than one
I hope 2026 brings y’all good things. thank you all for your support this year, onto the next one <333
I'm just curious, do you have any new fanfics that you're working on?
hiya lovely :)
I'm so glad to hear you like my fics!
I currently have a couple of Lando requests (one is already started and the other will be written in due course), and I started a Liam fic which is on hold until I've finished my requests, so there's at least three fics coming soon!
Warnings - swearing, mentions of Canada, Zandvoort, Vegas, and Qatar, alcohol
Summary - after a season of fighting, full of ups and downs, the checkered flag finally falls in Abu Dhabi, sealing Lando's fate as a first-time world champion
A/N - LANDO NORRIS WORLD CHAMPION BABYYYYYYYY!! y'all have no idea how not nonchalant I was about all this. I watched Abu Dhabi at work trust me I was fighting for my life not to react out loud (I audibly gasped at Lando's overtake on Yuki bc I thought it was gonna go wrong). anyways, as promised, a fic for our championship WINNER! the LN1 era is beginning teehee. anyways as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!
“For the first time ever, Lando Norris is champion of the world!”
The garage exploded into cheers and applause as Lando came across the line, mechanics hugging each other while Will praised Lando endlessly over the radio.
“That’s it, mate! You’ve done it! World Champion!” Will exclaims excitedly as Lando whoops and cheers, doing donuts in his car, the crowd roaring as fireworks exploded in the night sky.
“We did it!” Lando corrects, his voice full of elation as he talks. You couldn’t help but feel tears of joy well in your eyes. After a crash in Canada, a mechanical failure in Zandvoort, a disqualification in Las Vegas, and a fumbled strategy call in Qatar, he still came out victorious. Lando was the champion of the world.
You, Lando’s family, and Lando’s team rush out to parc fermé, eager to celebrate as he parks his car, emerging to an uproar of whoops and cheers as he punches a fist in the air. Firstly, he rushes over to his family, being immediately embraced by his parents as they all shower him in praise, while you watch on with a gentle smile. When he finishes embracing his parents, he crosses to you, helmet on and all.
“Look at you, Mr Champion,” you say teasingly, grinning as Lando laughs.
“We did it.” Is all Lando can bring himself to say.
“Come here, let me see your eyes, yeah?” you say softly, pushing the visor up, your grin widening as you make eye contact with Lando, his eyes shining with tears of joy, crinkling at the edges, giving away his wide grin even without you being able to see it.
“God, I want to kiss you so bad,” you mutter. The words were intended to only be for you, to be lost in the uproar of cheers, but the moment they escaped your lips, Lando heard them, and you could’ve sworn that not even Lando’s Formula One car could move as quickly as he did in the moment. He tore his helmet and equipment off in lightning speed, barely discarding them before he darted back over to you, his lips finding yours before you even had the chance to react.
“Lan, the cameras.” You manage to say as Lando pulls away just enough for you both to breathe, your lips still brushing up against his.
“Don’t care,” Lando replies before his lips meet yours once more. Your hands instinctively reached up to run through his flattened curls, his lips curling into a smile against yours.
“Lando, come on, you need to do your interviews.” Zak Brown’s voice is the only thing that seems to get Lando to detach his lips from yours, albeit with a groan.
“I’m coming, give me a second,” Lando says quickly, his focus barely leaving you as you smile softly.
“Go on, your podium awaits,” you say quietly, gently encouraging Lando to finally step away and cross over to where the interview was being conducted. You watch as Lando joins David Coulthard, being handed a microphone as the interview is finally able to begin.
You and the McLaren team watch as Lando completes his interview, a grin on his face as he recounts his race, finally able to breathe after the stress of the last few races. Soon, he was dismissed to go to the cooldown room to join Max and Oscar to breathe and prep for the podium celebrations, and you took the opportunity to turn to Cisca, Adam, and Lando’s siblings.
“He did it!” you exclaim happily, being tugged into an embrace by the two as you all laugh happily.
“He did!” Cisca says, her voice every bit as joyful as yours.
“Mate, he’s really a world champion!” Max’s gleeful voice cuts through the moment, making you all pull away, grinning over at him.
“He really is,” Adam says, clapping Max on the shoulder, jostling him slightly as both men laugh.
“He was amazing today,” you say, your eyes flicking to the podium, the very one Lando would be standing on in a few sparse minutes.
“He was flying around there,” Max adds, the four of you shuffling to turn around as it becomes clear that the podium celebrations are about to begin.
“I’m so proud of him,” you mumble. The words were meant for you, but Cisca heard you all the same, her hand finding your upper arm and giving it a soft squeeze as you smile tearily, leaning into her side slightly.
You watch with a proud smile as Lando approaches the podium, his smile so wide you could swear he could light up the entirety of the Yas Marina Circuit with just his smile because of how much he was beaming.
You clapped as Oscar joined Lando, taking the second-place spot on the podium, proud of everything the younger McLaren driver had achieved, being a true competitor the whole season. It was a shame he hadn’t been able to clinch himself a P2 in the championship, but for his first title fight, bringing it down to Abu Dhabi was a brilliant fight from the Australian.
Then Max came onto the podium to whoops and cheers. The four-time world champion had attempted to defend his title fiercely and had a comeback only Max Verstappen could achieve, but he fell just short of securing his fifth title, despite the race win. You listened to the two anthems, your gaze fixed only on Lando as he kept wiping his eyes, desperate to slow the joyful tears that escaped.
Watching Lando on the podium, you couldn’t help but feel happy tears threaten to well in your eyes once more, beyond proud to see Lando achieve such an amazing feat in his career. One that would make a little Lando so unbelievably happy. You clapped as the three were presented with their trophies, and laughing as the bottles were popped, all bottles quickly aimed Lando’s way as he attempted to fight back with his own bottle, though it proved futile as he was drenched from head to toe.
After Max, Oscar, and the Red Bull team member leave the podium, Lando remains in place, being approached for yet another interview, only this time by Jenson Button. You and the rest of Lando’s family and friends refuse to move from your spots, watching Lando with adoration as he goes through the interview with his usual grace, his smile never fading. Even after his interview finishes, Lando makes sure to spend a moment on the podium alone, holding his trophy up for his team and loved ones to see before placing it down, pumping a fist into the air as everyone cheers.
When Lando finally leaves the podium, you all rush to see him by the garage, quickly finding him with Will as you all approach excitedly. Lando sweeps you up in his arms without hesitation, his lips finding yours quickly.
“Missed you,” Lando murmurs against your lips as you roll your eyes playfully.
“You were gone barely twenty minutes,” you joke, pressing your lips to his once more.
“Still too long,” Lando laments, his grin giving him away as he pulls back slightly. Before you could respond, a member of Lando’s team approached, handing him something. Just before you could pull away properly to see what Lando was now holding, he placed a cap on your head before tugging the other one on his own head with a boyish grin. You inspect the writing on the cap that sat proudly on Lando’s head, claiming him as the world champion of 2025. You knew Lando’s team had prepared something to celebrate his championship if he achieved it, but you didn’t know what it was until right this second. And it was perfect.
“Go talk to your family before they steal you for more media,” you encourage gently, stepping away from Lando and watching as he crosses to his family, quickly being embraced by them all. You watch them interacting with a soft smile, happy that Lando’s family were all there to see him win the championship. Lando soaks up as much time as he can with his family before he’s summoned to do his media duties, leaving you all in the midst of the McLaren excitement.
You and the others spend time talking with each other, as well as congratulating the McLaren team members who helped Lando get to this point in his career. Everyone was rowdy and excited, the team constantly chattering loudly as they set up the board for the team to take photos with when Lando returned from his media duties.
Oscar was the first of the McLaren drivers to return, and you wasted no time crossing to him, smiling softly.
“Well done today, Oscar. You’ve been amazing this year,” you say gently as Oscar offers a small smile, embracing you in a quick hug.
“Lando was just better this time. But I’ll get him next year,” Oscar says, a slight confidence in his tone as you nod with a grin.
“I’m sure Lando already knows that. The two of you will give us another good fight to watch next year for sure,” you say as you pull away from the embrace, finally taking a moment to look at Oscar, seeing the disappointment hidden in his eyes.
“If you ever need anything, you can shoot me a text, okay? Me and Lando understand if you want some space, but we won’t be unavailable when you’re ready, yeah?” you continue as Oscar nods, his head dipping slightly.
“Yeah, will do,” Oscar replies quietly, clapping you on the shoulder softly before crossing to find Lily and his family, while you turn to come face to face with Max and Pietra.
“He really fucking did it, didn’t he?” you manage to say, your eyes drifting to the board that McLaren had prepared that stated Lando as the world champion of 2025. The sight of the sign seemed to be enough to allow yourself to finally let the tears flow. Max and Pietra were quick to grab you into a hug, sandwiching you between them both.
“He did. He’s the world champion. And we were all there to see it happen, yeah?” Max says, smiling at you as you nod tearily.
“It feels like a dream,” you admit through your tears, pulling away to wipe at your cheeks hurriedly.
“It’s real. He’s the champion,” Pietra confirms, both she and Max squeezing you ever so slightly tighter before letting go while you wipe at your eyes desperately.
“Come on, let’s grab something to drink while Lando’s doing media. He’ll be gone a while,” Max says softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you towards McLaren’s hospitality building while Pietra holds your hand gently.
The three of you enter the hospitality building, grabbing some drinks for yourselves before settling down on a nearby sofa, with Max sandwiched between you and Pietra. After sitting down, you shoot a text to Jon, asking to know when Lando came back from his media duties so you could be there for his celebrations with McLaren. The three of you chat quietly amongst each other, talking about everything and nothing, before you get a text from Jon saying that Lando had just gotten back from the media pen.
“Come on, guys, we'd better get back to the garage before Lando realises I’m missing,” you say, getting to your feet as your friends mimic your actions.
“Can’t have the new world champion having a meltdown because his girlfriend’s missing,” Max teases, the three of you exiting the building and working your way through the chaos to get back to the McLaren garage, the sea of papaya impossible to miss.
“He’s looking for you, he’s just over there,” Jon says, noticing you all instantly and pointing you in the direction of Lando, whose head was flicking left and right, searching for you in the sea of people. As you drew closer, Lando’s eyes finally locked on yours, his entire posture loosening the second he saw you, meeting you halfway, his hands settling on your hips as he pressed his lips to yours in greeting.
“Where’d you go?” he asks quietly, no hint of resentment or judgment in his tone, just genuine curiosity.
“Just went to grab a drink with Max and P. I made sure Jon texted me once you were back. Sorry, I was a little late back,” you apologise, your hands resting atop Lando’s as he squeezes your hips slightly, smiling at you.
“You’re here now. I want to take some pictures with my family, and that includes you,” Lando says, his lips meeting yours once again.
“Are you sure?” you ask quietly as you pull away, eyes searching Lando’s for any doubt.
“Of course, I’m sure. We’ve been together long enough for you to be involved in a family photo. I want you there. There’s no one else I’d rather be celebrating with, right now,” Lando says assuringly, gently taking your hands in his. His eyes never left yours, filled with sincerity and love.
“Okay,” you reply as Lando’s smile widens, instantly tugging you towards his family.
“There she is,” Adam muses with a grin, you and Lando squeezing in amongst the Norris’ while photographers ready themselves, snapping pictures as quickly as they can. You and the Norris family pose for the various photos, and once everyone is satisfied, you and the rest of Lando’s family move out of the way so that McLaren can take a team photo.
You rejoin the likes of Max, Pietra, and Keegan, the four of you standing off to the side while McLaren took photos, quickly followed by various team members popping champagne bottles and dousing Lando from head to toe as everyone cheered.
When the papaya celebrations had died down, Lando once again found his way over to you, hugging you as you jokingly groaned.
“Lando, you’re covered in champagne,” you grumble with a smile as Lando buries his face in the crook of your neck, his champagne-soaked curls tickling the exposed skin of your neck.
“I don’t care. You’re wearing my hoodie anyway,” Lando retorts, his voice muffled by the material of the papaya coloured hoodie you had borrowed with no intention of returning.
“You’re lucky I love you,” you tease, as Lando lifts his head, capturing your lips with his for what felt like the hundredth time, yet you still reciprocated the action. His lips were coated with champagne, the taste sweet against your lips.
“Are we going to have to watch this all night?” Max complains, his arm wound around Pietra’s middle as Lando rolls his eyes, pulling away from the kiss.
“Your girlfriend is right there, mate. You can kiss her if you feel left out,” Lando fires back playfully, turning to face his friend with a smirk.
“You’re unbearable,” Max jokes as Lando laughs.
“Yet I’m your best mate,” Lando says with an unashamed grin as Max rolls his eyes with a light laugh.
“Real talk, though. Are we going out or not?” Max then asks, all eyes on Lando as he nods.
“Course we are. I just need to finish off my last few media bits for the team, and then we’ll head back to the hotel to get ready for the club, yeah?” Lando says, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet at the thought of getting to party to celebrate his first-ever championship.
“Sounds good,” Max says with a nod of approval.
“Hey, y/n/n, could you grab my stuff from my room? That way, we can get out of here quicker when I’m done,” Lando says, making you nod as you reach up to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Of course, I can. I’ll see you in a bit,” you say quietly, taking a step back as Lando is called over by his team. You make your way back to the hospitality building, finding your way to Lando’s driver's room, packing up his belongings into his bag and scooping up both bags before heading back down to the outside seating area of the hospitality building, enjoying the warmth of the Abu Dhabi night, listening to the various celebrations happening in the air as you wait for Lando.
When he finally returns, he quickly presses a kiss to the top of your head, promising to get changed as quickly as possible so the two of you can leave before disappearing into the building.
True to his word, Lando returned in what felt like record time, beaming as he reached out to help you to your feet, taking both bags from you and carrying them through the paddock, the two of you making your way to the car hand in hand.
“Everyone’s meeting us there,” Lando says as you settle in the car, nodding as the car pulls away from the paddock, the chaos of the world of Formula One left in the rearview mirrors for a few blissful months.
When you’re dropped off at the hotel, you rush up to your shared room, taking turns to shower before getting dressed. You couldn’t help but smile as you caught sight of Lando in the mirror, as he rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up, pushing them up to his elbow.
“Aren’t you looking handsome?” you muse quietly, your smile widening when Lando’s gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror, a smile gracing his face as he crosses to stand behind you. Once he reaches you, he winds his arms around your shoulders, his chin dropping to rest on top of your head, both of you smiling.
“You’re looking in the mirror, right? You’re looking gorgeous as you always do,” Lando says, kissing the top of your head tenderly, being careful not to mess up your hair.
“You’re adorable,” you grin, feeling your cheeks heat up from the compliment.
“You’re complimenting yourself there, huh?” Lando teases as you let out a breathy laugh, turning to press a soft kiss to the exposed skin of his forearm.
“You ready to go and celebrate your championship? Or are we just going to keep going back and forth with compliments?” you ask, adding the finishing touches to your makeup as Lando lifts his head to nod.
“Max and Keegan might actually die if we don’t show up,” Lando says with a chuckle, straightening up as he instinctively holds a hand out for you to take, helping you to your feet. You make your way to the club, meeting up with Max, Pietra, and Keegan, before making your way into the club to a round of cheers as everyone notices the champion's entrance.
You, Lando, and Max make your way to the bar while Pietra and Keegan go and find somewhere for you all to sit once you’ve ordered the drinks.
“You drinking?” Lando asks, glancing at you as he stands at the bar, ready to order.
“No, someone’s got to keep an eye on you boys, so I’ll be the responsible one,” you say teasingly.
“You sure?” Lando questions, fully turning his body to face you.
“I’m sure. This is your night, Lando. You celebrate it,” you say, patting his chest, just above his heart, as he smiles softly before pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before turning to order drinks, making sure to order something non-alcoholic for you.
“Fewtrell, I’m also watching you. So you better be on your best behaviour, okay?” You warn Max, looking at him pointedly as he shoots you a mock salute.
“Yes, Mum,” he teases, making you scoff lightly as you fold your arms over your chest.
“Now that’s no way to talk to your mother, Max,” you shoot back as the three of you laugh.
The moment the drinks are handed over to Lando and Max, the three of you make your way to the VIP area after locating Pietra and Keegan, joining the gathered people as they cheer rowdily at Lando’s approach. Max slides into the booth first, followed by you, and then finally, Lando.
“Look at him, absolutely beaming now that he’s world champion,” George teases, leaning back slightly as he takes a swig from his drink.
“I finally feel like I can breathe now, mate,” Lando replies with a smile, the relief evident on his face before he takes another swig of his drink.
“So, y/n. How does it feel knowing your boyfriend is finally a world champion?” Charles asks with a smile, leaning across the table to talk to you.
“Gives me bragging rights for a year or so, doesn’t it?” you say with a laugh as Charles lets out a soft chuckle, swirling his drink slightly.
“But seriously. I’m so proud of him. He worked so hard for this,” you continue, sparing a quick glance over at Lando, who was engrossed in an animated conversation with Carlos.
You continue to talk with the other drivers, along with Lando’s friends and family, everyone eager to celebrate such a momentous occasion for Lando. After a while, you scoot closer to Lando, leaning close to be able to talk to him.
“You happy there?” you say into Lando’s ear, loud enough to be heard over the throbbing music, but quiet enough not to be heard by the other drivers sitting alongside you.
“So happy,” Lando grins, shifting to press a kiss to your cheek as his arm winds around your waist. It wasn’t possessive, like he was laying down a claim. It was grounding, a way to let you know he was right by your side, and a way to let him know that it was real. That he’d finally won his first championship, and you had been there to witness it.
As Lando began to talk with Max and Keegan, the three men leaning in close to be able to hear each other, you couldn’t help but admire Lando. His cheeks were slightly flushed, a mixture of both the alcohol and the Abu Dhabi heat painting his cheeks. His hair was messy in a way that made him look like a ruffled puppy, his eyes shining with excitement as he dramatically reenacts the moment he passed the checkered flag.
A few drinks later, Lando perks up at the song that begins playing across the club, his eyes sparkling as he turns to you, and without him even saying anything, you knew what he wanted.
“Come on then,” you concede, taking your hand in his as he hurriedly shuffled out of the booth, practically dragging you along behind him as he rushes into the middle of the dance floor. His hands once again found themselves on your hips like they were magnetised there. The two of you danced until you were breathless, your foreheads pressing to each other’s as everyone else continued to dance around you. For a moment, the world around you faded away. Sure, there’d be people snapping photos and videos of the moment, but for the time being, it was just you and Lando.
Soon, the others joined in, dancing around you both as you pulled away, bringing you back to reality as you laughed at your friends as the drinks started being handed out and the music thudded loudly, vibrating the floor beneath your feet. The group all dance, progressively getting more drunk while you watch on, glad to see everyone having fun, especially Lando as he celebrated his achievement.
As the night progressed, Lando somehow corralled his friends and family into a huge sing-along, the large group of people singing We Are The Champions while Lando stood before them all, belting the song loudly as you and Max stood behind him, fond smiles on your faces.
“Make sure he doesn’t fall, for god’s sake,” Jon says to you and Max as Lando and the sea of people celebrating start belting out Sweet Caroline, rowdy voices filling the club. You shoot Jon an ‘okay’ hand sign as you position yourself behind Lando with Max by your side, the two of you keeping a careful eye on Lando as he balances carefully on a table, one that was barely stable in the first place.
“God, I’m not sober enough to be responsible for a world champion,” Max mutters in your ear, making you chuckle.
“Other than me, you seem to be the most sober. I trust you,” you reply, your focus remaining on Lando as you step forward, ready to catch him if needed. He seemed semi-stable, but you wanted to ensure he didn’t get hurt at all. You didn’t want Pato and Oscar to shoulder most of the post-season testing if Lando broke an arm.
You hover nearby as people balance Lando on their shoulders, watching as he’s jostled up and down as he laughs, a wide smile on his face, soaking up the atmosphere and the celebrations that fill the club. Lando was completely in his element. It had been a while since he’d properly let loose and partied with his loved ones, and it made you happy to see Lando having so much fun.
The night progressed into early morning, filled with people drinking, dancing, and singing, celebrating the way they should. Some people trickled out before the official end of the night, but most stayed until the club called it a night and requested you all leave, meaning you had to wrangle Lando back to the hotel in his inebriated state after bidding goodbye to Lando's friends and family.
“Can we go to McDonald’s? I want some chicken nuggets,” he requests as he leans against you, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders.
“I suppose I can see what I can do,” you say with a soft smile, pulling your phone out of your pocket to locate the nearest fast food restaurant to see if you can find what Lando wants.
It doesn’t take you long to find the McDonald’s, you and Lando approaching the nearest kiosk and searching through the menu, your lips pursing when you see that only the breakfast menu is available.
“Sorry, Lan. Looks like nuggets aren’t an option right now. Is there anything else you’d like?” you ask, glancing at Lando as he reaches out to scroll through the menu, settling on a breakfast muffin while you pick something for yourself, making sure to order some water for Lando as well. You find somewhere for the two of you to sit while you wait for your food to be made. The second you are notified that your food is ready, you get to your feet, grab the tray and return to Lando, who takes his food with a grateful smile.
As he eats, you can tell the food helps to sober him up slightly. He was definitely tipsy at the very least, but he wasn’t as drunk as he had been earlier on in the night. The two of you talk quietly, eating your food and trying to encourage Lando to drink some water to sober him up some more. While it was evident that Lando was sobering slightly, you could also see the exhaustion setting in, his shoulders slouching slightly as he focused on finishing his food.
“Come on, Lando. Let’s get back to the hotel,” you say softly after Lando has finished eating, scooping up the water bottles before helping Lando to his feet, throwing the rubbish in the bin before the two of you exit the building, ready to head back to the hotel.
The sun was beginning to rise across Abu Dhabi as you walked back to the hotel, your hand in Lando’s as you guide him through the city. It took little time to get back to the hotel, instantly making your way to your hotel room, finally able to relax after the excitement of your night.
“Come on, you need to get into bed, okay?” you instruct softly, guiding Lando to sit down on the bed, helping him change into something more comfortable.
“Can we cuddle?” Lando asks quietly, looking up at you like a kicked puppy, the moment you step away from him. You knew that when Lando had a few drinks, he had a tendency to be clingy. You’d just forgotten how bad it could get. You were barely half a metre away from him, and he was looking at you like you’d denied him a Kinder bar.
“We can once we’re both ready for bed. Go and brush your teeth, and I’ll be with you in a second. I promise,” you say, gently instructing Lando to go to the bathroom, which he does, albeit with a groan.
“You’re going to be hanging out of your ass tomorrow,” you mutter with a smile, already moving to dig out some painkillers from your bag and a bottle of water ready for tomorrow. You knew Lando was going to face another wave of media duties and then have to do the post-season tyre testing the day after that, so he needed all the remedies he could get to revive him enough to be a functioning member of society.
Once you’d set out some painkillers and water, you changed into sweatpants and an old shirt of Lando’s before heading into the bathroom, where Lando was sluggishly brushing his teeth, exhaustion fully setting in. One hand was braced on the sink, his knuckles white from the sheer force he was putting into staying upright while he fought against his heavy eyelids.
“Come on, love. Sit down,” you say quickly, taking the toothbrush from Lando’s hand, and easing him to sit down on the closed toilet seat after he finds the strength to rinse his mouth. The second he sits down, his arms wind around your middle, pulling you close and burying his face in your side.
“Stay,” he mumbles, his voice rough from the excitement of the day.
“I’m right here, Lan. Just need to brush my teeth, and we’ll go to bed,” you promise, turning in his hold, using your free hand to run a hand through his messy curls, making him hum in approval as he leans into you again, showing no intention of letting you go.
You sort yourself out as quickly as you can before encouraging Lando to follow you so the two of you can finally get some sleep.
It took Lando little to no time to clamber into bed alongside you, immediately curling into you, splaying across you like a cat as your hand instinctively found his hair, running through it as he practically purrs under your touch.
“Get some sleep, Lan. You’ve had an exciting day,” you say quietly, smiling as Lando nuzzles impossibly closer to you, desperate for as much human contact as possible.
“Thank you for being here. It means a lot,” Lando mumbles sleepily, a soft smile on his face as he curls into you further.
“No need to thank me, Lan. I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t here tonight. Tonight was important to you, and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. I am so proud of you,” you say, gently pushing his curls away from his face as his eyelids flutter shut, all adrenaline and excitement completely burnt out, now replaced by exhaustion.
“I love you,” Lando manages to mumble, his words slurred as he relaxes even further into your embrace.
“I love you too. Now, get some sleep, champ,” you say soothingly, stooping down to press a soft kiss to the top of Lando’s head as he mumbles something incoherent before finally settling down against you, his breaths now soft and even.
You take a moment to study Lando’s face, glowing under the bath of the lamp’s soft light. He looked positively exhausted, cheeks still slightly pink from the alcohol, yet despite all that, it was still your Lando. He was the same guy you fell in love with years ago. He had always been a champion in your eyes, even in the days of Lando Nowins. Only now, he was finally a champion, and the whole world knew it.
Summary - an unexpected shift in performance gives your boyfriend a shot at a fifth consecutive championship. what happens when the flag falls in Abu Dhabi?
A/N - a fic for our flying Dutchman, Max Verstappen. he truly gave us a fight in the second half of the season, huh? I kept saying to never count him out, and look at how right I was. he was, without a doubt, the best driver of the whole season, and everyone can see that. P19 to P3 in Brazil was epic to watch, winning 6 races after the summer break was insane. Max truly reminded everyone why he is, in fact, a four-time world champion, and I loved seeing him fly out there. anyways, I won't ramble any more, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!
“For the first time ever, Lando Norris is champion of the world!”
Despite the announcement that Lando had claimed the world championship title for himself, you clapped for Max claiming the win of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix for himself. A feat that left him two points behind Lando, but left him with the most wins of the year. Max had done what he does best: remind everyone why he is a four-time world champion.
You and the Red Bull team headed out to greet Max at parc fermé. As soon as Max had pulled his helmet and equipment off, he made his way over to you and his team. You let the team congratulate him first, knowing how hard they worked to stay in the title fight even after the rough start to their season. The second Max finished thanking his team, he made his way over to you, his lips instantly finding yours, the kiss soft before he pulled away, smiling at you.
“You were amazing, Max,” you state with a smile as fireworks explode in the sky above, lighting up the darkened sky.
“Thank you, schat,” Max replies softly, smiling despite the loss of the championship right at the final hurdle.
“Go and congratulate Lando for me, will you? He’s worked hard for this,” you say, noticing the McLaren driver climbing out of his papaya coloured car to a roar from the stands. With a small nod, Max steps away, crossing to the new champion, embracing him quickly and congratulating him for his achievement.
You watch Lando thank Max before excitedly rushing to his team, eager to soak up his victory as much as humanly possible. You understood his excitement, remembering how it had felt when Max had won his first championship, how the usually stoic Dutchman had cried happily into Lando’s shoulder before doing the same to your shoulder.
“He’s happy,” Max observes as he returns to your side, his arm instantly winding around your waist as he tugs you into his side.
“As he should be. He worked hard for this. But you should be happy with yourself, too, Max. You were easily the best driver out there this season,” you say, leaning your head against Max’s shoulder, watching Lando’s hyperactive celebrations, darting from person to person.
“I know I was,” Max says, a light smugness to his voice as you laugh, all too used to his confidence in himself and his driving ability.
“Max, you need to head to the cooldown room, mate,” GP calls over to Max, gesturing in the direction of the cooldown room, both of you seeing Oscar just disappearing through the door.
“I’ll see you on the podium,” you say softly, as he nods.
“See you,” Max says softly, in a voice only reserved for you, his lips grazing your temple before planting a soft kiss there, before he heads through to the cooldown room.
In Max’s absence, you drift over to the Red Bull crew, chatting with the team as you wait for the podium to begin. Everyone was happy to end the season on a high note from winning the final race, and the team were eager to celebrate once Max had completed all his duties.
Before you knew it, the podium celebrations started, with Lando crossing to the podium first, his eyes shining with unfallen tears as he crossed to stand on the third-place step, the papaya crowd of McLaren cheering like there was no tomorrow. And their cheers continued as Oscar stepped onto the podium, taking his second-place. Then, as Max made his way onto the podium, it was time for you and the Red Bull crowd to get loud, cheering rowdily for Max as he positioned himself on the top step. You couldn’t help yourself from pulling your phone out of your pocket, snapping some pictures of Max on the top step as you did every time you saw him win a race, before returning your phone to your pocket to cheer and clap for your boyfriend.
You watch the podium celebrations with a soft smile as Max and Oscar drench Lando in the rose water, the men laughing and smiling as they celebrate. You clap and cheer one final time as Max and Oscar make their way off the podium to complete their media duties, while Lando is completing yet another interview on the podium.
While waiting for Max, you decide to return to the Red Bull hospitality building, helping yourself to a drink before lounging on one of the plush sofas, scrolling through your phone to entertain yourself while you wait for your boyfriend to return from his endless stream of media duties. The hustle and bustle of the paddock is a familiar background noise as you mindlessly scroll, texting friends and family.
“Who are you texting? Someone interesting?” Max’s voice comes from behind you as he stoops down to press a kiss to the top of your head, making you twist to look up at him with a small smile.
“Just my family. Had to show off that my boyfriend won the last race of the year. They say congratulations, by the way,” you reply.
“Tell them I say thank you, schat. I’m going to shower and get changed, and then we can head back to the hotel.”
“What? Not going to Lando’s party, are we?” you tease.
“I’ll celebrate with him another night. Right now, I just want to rest,” Max replies simply, no shame in his tone as he shrugs.
“Fair enough, grab my stuff while you’re up there, will you?” you ask with a grin as Max once again stoops down to kiss you, this time on the lips.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Max says with a soft smile as he pulls away before disappearing to his driver's room, leaving you alone once more as you text your family to pass the time.
It didn’t take Max long to return, now in fresh clothes with a soft smile on his face as he holds your bag out towards you with one hand as you get to your feet. You take the bag with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s cheek in thanks before his hand finds yours, the two of you leaving the paddock hand in hand, bidding farewell to the chaos of Formula One for a few blissful months.
The two of you make your way back to the hotel, the journey a smooth one, and you are back in your hotel room before you know it, all too eager to settle down and get some rest after the eventful season. You and Max both get changed into something comfy before settling down on the plush sofa in the room, flicking the tv on and putting a random movie on to watch. As you watch the movie, Max’s arm winds around your middle, tucking you safely against his side as you settle your head on his chest, your arm winding around his middle. The room was quiet, the tv the only thing filling the room before you spoke up.
“Max, can I ask you a question?” you ask quietly, shifting to be able to look up at Max.
“You just did, schat,” Max replies, raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk as you groan.
“Another one, then. But you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to,” you elaborate, Max’s gaze finally shifting to meet yours, his attention fully on yours.
“What is it?” he asks softly, his eyes searching yours.
“Do you ever regret anything that happened this season? Like, do you wish you did things differently or something? It was so close between you and Lando at the end there. Sorry, I know the media’s probably asked you that about a million times but-”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s you asking me. There might’ve been some things I should’ve done differently, like how I handled things with George in Barcelona. But it’s like I said in Miami last year, it’s always if, if, if, right? I’m just glad the car was better after the summer break, and I got to fight for a fifth championship. But I’m also happy for Lando. Winning your first championship is special, and he’s a great driver. I said there’d be a time he’s world champion, and he proved me right,” Max admits, answering the question honestly and without his usual snark that journalists would be on the receiving end of had they been the ones asking the question.
“That makes sense. You have been amazing this year, Max. Seriously, you’ve been like some… charging bull or something. I’m so proud of you,” you say quietly, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, smiling as he lets out a soft chuckle.
“A charging bull?” he muses with an amused smile.
“It was the best I could come up with, don’t laugh,” you say with a joking scowl, quickly laughing when Max tugs you closer.
“I like it. It’s accurate,” Max says softly.
“Better than being compared to a T-Rex?” you ask, watching as Max debates your words for a moment.
“Both can work if I try hard enough,” he manages to joke, eliciting another laugh from you as you settle against him once more. The two of you fall back into a comfortable silence, focusing on the movie, still wrapped up in each other’s arms, while the world outside celebrates the beginning of a new champion's reign.
Quietly, you look up at Max, taking a moment to study him, finally unguarded and relaxed after a whole season of fighting for a title. He may not have been able to secure himself a fifth consecutive championship, but he’d proven himself as one of the best drivers of the current generation, and no one could take such a title from him. He’d gone from the pit lane to the podium in Brazil. He’d won six of the ten races after the summer break. His comeback was one to be celebrated, overturning a point deficit of over one hundred points and bringing it down to just two points by the final race, showing just how talented Max was.
Summary - after a rough second half of the season, Oscar's final chance at his first championship takes place in Abu Dhabi. only it doesn't quite pan out the way he hoped
A/N - the first of my top three wdc contenders fics is here y'all! honestly, words cannot express how sad I was for Oscar at the end of this season. I was rooting for him to win in both Qatar and Abu Dhabi because I wanted his season to end on a high (and I'm saying this as the biggest LN1 truther). Oscar was absolutely phenomenal this year with his performance for only his third year in F1, and considering this was his first title fight, he didn't make it easy for anyone. he'll come back so strong next year, and honestly, you'd find me cheering for OP1 as well if that were to happen next year (or any year). anyways, I won't ramble anymore, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!
“For the first time ever, Lando Norris is champion of the world!”
Your lips pulled back in a straight line as you watched the two McLarens cross the line. You clapped politely for Lando’s championship win, your heart sinking slightly for Oscar’s loss. He had fought back with everything he had, but Lando had simply outperformed Oscar when it mattered, taking the championship title for himself.
You listened as Tom congratulated Oscar over the radio for how he’d performed over the year, your heart sinking at Oscar’s dejected tone despite the podium he’d earned.
You headed out of the garage to parc fermé, ready to greet Oscar.
Lando had practically been swarmed by people by the time Oscar had clambered out of his own car. It didn’t take long for Oscar to locate you, his shoulders slightly slumped as he crossed to you, his helmet and visor disguising his expression. He stopped briefly to clap hands with Lando, congratulating him quietly before he finally reached you.
“You did really well today, Osc,” you say softly, resting your hand on his forearm as he shrugs.
“Should’ve been better,” he mutters, an unusual anger in his tone, heard only by you.
“Hey, you’ve been brilliant. Nothing can take away how good you’ve been this year,” you say quietly, reaching out to lift his visor, finally able to see his eyes. You could see the disappointment festering in his eyes, especially at how he was now third in the standings of the championship after he fought so hard.
“Go and take your helmet off. Your mum and sisters are around here somewhere, I’ll find them so you can speak to them, okay?” you say softly, squeezing his arm softly as he nods, trudging back over to the stand for his equipment to go on while you track down the Piastri women, finding them fighting their way through the crowd and helping them make their way to the front of the crowd just as Oscar returns. You step back, allowing the four to embrace Oscar, all of them reassuring him that he had raced brilliantly. But his smile never reached his eyes; it was only out of politeness for his family's words.
After Oscar had finished talking with his family, he crossed to you, his hands settling on your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. He stayed with you and his family for as long as possible before he and Max were ushered away to go to the cooldown room while Lando completed his interview.
“He’s disappointed,” you state the obvious as Nicole sidles up alongside you, her arm winding around your shoulders to tug you into a side hug.
“He is. He’s always pushed himself, we know that. But we also know better than anyone that he’ll be okay. He’s strong,” Nicole says reassuringly, running a hand up and down your arm as you nod.
“He’s so strong. I’m so proud of what he did this year. I just hope he can be proud of himself, too,” you admit quietly.
“We can all be proud of him, and he’ll catch up when he’s ready,” Nicole says, her tone soft and motherly as you nod once more.
Before you knew it, the podium celebrations started. Lando came onto the podium to an outpouring of support, people roaring and clapping as he stepped onto the third-place step, his smile so wide it took up his entire face. His smile was so contagious, you couldn’t help but smile with him, your heart surging with pride at your best friend’s achievement. You could still remember the days of your childhood when Lando had confidently told you that he’d be a Formula One world champion. It had been hard watching your oldest friend and boyfriend compete against each other for a championship, but there had to be one winner, and while you were heartbroken for Oscar, you were happy for Lando at the same time.
When Oscar made his way out to the podium, you and the Piastri’s made sure to cheer loudly and clap as he took his position on the second-place step, a reserved smile on his face as he waved to you all. Even though he hadn’t been able to claim the win of the race, he still put Max under pressure, making Red Bull work hard to maintain the win of the race.
Finally, Max came out to the podium alongside a Red Bull team member, his reception as rowdy as you expected, the former champion taking his spot on the top step with a smile, clearly proud he managed to end his year on a high note despite the loss of the championship.
After the anthems had played, the four on the podium popped their bottles and sprayed each other with smiles, both Max and Oscar making sure to focus on Lando. You watch the celebrations with a soft smile, glad to see both McLaren drivers on the podium after months of not sharing a podium.
Soon, Oscar, Max, and the Red Bull team member leave the podium, with only Lando remaining, soaking up the moment before doing yet another interview, while you make your way to the McLaren garage to wait for Oscar.
When Oscar finally returned, he was clearly running out of steam. His social battery wasn’t as good as the likes of Lando’s, and that, combined with the disappointment of the night, meant he was a bit more sluggish than usual, clearly wanting the night to be over. You hang out with the McLaren crew, waiting for Lando to return from his media duties for photos and more celebrations.
Soon enough, Lando returns, still riding the high of his championship win, bounding from person to person, thanking them for their help and support in his journey, before there’s an attempt at trying to wrangle the papaya team into a photo to remember the moment. You and the rest of Lando and Oscar’s friends and families move out of the way, watching the celebrations. After the photos are taken and the champagne is sprayed, Oscar manages to make his way back over to you.
“I’m going to get changed, I’ll be quick,” he says, turning to his family as his mum announces that they’re going to head back to the hotel for the night, making him move to bid them goodbye with hugs and promises to see them in the morning. After you say your goodbyes to the Piastri’s, Oscar makes his way back to McLaren’s hospitality to get changed, while you find yourself talking with some of Lando’s friends who had come to support him in the final race.
When Oscar finally returns, now in fresh clothes, he approaches you, clearly ready to head out. But noticing that Lando had been given space to breathe, you knew you had to make your move now, otherwise you wouldn’t get a moment to talk to him.
“I’m just going to say congratulations to Lando, okay? We’ll head out after,” you say quietly, squeezing Oscar’s hand before quickly crossing over to Lando.
“Congratulations, champ,” you say with a small smile, embracing Lando in a hug he was quick to reciprocate.
“Thank you. How’s Oscar doing?” Lando says as he pulls away, his smile faltering slightly as he glances over at his teammate, who was locked in a staring contest with his shoes.
“He’ll be okay. He just needs a bit of time,” you say with a small smile, as Lando nods, oddly subdued for someone who just achieved a childhood dream.
“Keep an eye on him, yeah? I’ll be around if he ever wants to chat, or grab a drink or something. I’ll give him space for now. I’m sure the last thing he needs is me hanging around during the break. But let him know I’m there for him too,” Lando says softly, tugging you into another hug.
“I will. But don’t get comfortable just because you’re world champion, he’ll be kicking your ass next year,” you say, making Lando laugh as he tightens his grip on you slightly.
“I don’t doubt it.”
Unbeknownst to you, Oscar had ceased his staring contest with the floor and was now watching you and Lando interact with an intensity he saved for focusing on a race. He watched as Lando hugged you close, both of you smiling and talking as he pulled away.
Oscar couldn’t help but feel his eyes narrow at the sight of your smiles. He felt his stomach turn in jealousy as he watched you interact with Lando. What if you decided you preferred someone who won? What if third place wasn’t good enough? It wasn’t good enough for him, so why would it be good enough for you? What if you realised you deserved someone better than someone who lost a thirty-four-point lead to his teammate in six races? Who crumbled under the pressure of the championship fight? After all, you had been Lando’s friend first. In Oscar’s mind, it felt like it was only a matter of time before you decided to ditch him for Lando.
“Hey, Osc. Ready to head back?” Your gentle hand on Oscar’s upper arm shakes Oscar from his thoughts, making him focus on your gentle smile.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Oscar says quickly, turning on his heel and beginning to stalk his way through the paddock with you following close behind.
“Osc. Oscar. Slow down,” you say hurriedly, rushing to keep up with your boyfriend, who barely slowed his pace.
“Oscar, why are we rushing?”
“I want to get back to the hotel, I’m tired.” Came Oscar's blunt reply, a hint of obviousness in his tone as he adjusted the strap of his bag as he continued to hurry to the car, both of you climbing in.
“Oscar, are you okay? What’s wrong?” you question, reaching across to rest your hand on his. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t intertwine his fingers with yours. He just let his hand sit there.
“I’m fine,” he replies quietly, his gaze fixed on the world passing by his window.
Not wanting to press Oscar any further, you decide to stay quiet, letting him deal with his swirling emotions in silence, the hum of the car and the faint radio the only break in the quiet.
The two of you arrive at the hotel and make your way to the room in relative silence. You don’t attempt to talk to Oscar, knowing that pressing him more would just make him retreat into himself further. You knew without a doubt that it had something to do with the championship, and your heart broke for him. You had seen the hard work he’d put into everything, into extracting every ounce of performance he could get out of the car. To lose his lead and his momentum in the last few races was crushing, and Oscar couldn’t make sense of it, and you knew that was frustrating him the most.
“I’m going for a shower.” Is all that Oscar said the moment he crossed the threshold of the hotel room, immediately discarding his bag and beelining for the bathroom, while you nodded, barely given the chance to respond vocally. While Oscar busied himself in the bathroom, you changed into something comfy, choosing to lounge on the bed while you waited for Oscar.
When Oscar emerged from the bathroom, he was now clad in sweatpants and a loose shirt. His hair was damp, and his movements were sluggish as he clambered into the bed, keeping a slight distance between the two of you, a choice you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows at.
“Oscar. Please talk to me,” you say softly, discarding your phone and shifting so you are facing your boyfriend, who exhales through his nose.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Oscar says quietly, his gaze masterfully avoiding yours.
“Oscar, it’s okay to be upset, mad, frustrated, whatever it is. But you don’t need to hide anything from me. I’m here for you, always,” you say softly, shifting closer to brush a stray strand of hair away from Oscar’s forehead, fighting back a frown when he doesn’t move, not even leaning slightly into your touch the way he usually did.
“I lost it,” he finally mutters, his chin dipping in slight shame as you allow the frown to appear.
“Oh, Osc. It’s okay. You gave such a good fight. You have been brilliant this year, Oscar. So fucking brilliant,” you say softly, cupping Oscar’s chin with your hand and gently lifting his gaze to finally meet yours.
“There you are,” you muse quietly, watching as Oscar’s lips twitched upwards slightly before steeling again.
“I should’ve had it this year. It was in my hands for so long,” Oscar mutters, fighting every urge to burrow into the palm of your hand as your thumb gently grazes his cheek.
“It’s your first year competing for a title, Oscar. Your time will come, I know it,” you say, your voice never straying from its soft tone.
“What if…” Oscar trails off, his gaze dropping once more as you tilt your head.
“What if, what, Oscar? What’s on your mind?” you press gently, your eyes searching Oscar’s.
“What if you realise you deserve better than me? Lando won, and I just came third… what if you realise you deserve someone like him?” Oscar’s voice was small as he spoke, his eyes flicking away from yours in shame as your heart shatters.
“Oh, Osc, c’mere,” you say quickly, pulling him into your arms as you hold him close, a hand coming up to run through his hair.
“I sound so pathetic,” Oscar mumbles, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment as he buries his face into your shoulder.
“You don’t sound pathetic, Oscar. You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling. I can promise you one thing, though. You won’t ever catch me ditching you for Lando. He’s one of my best mates, sure, but I have a little too much self-respect to get involved with the chaos that is the life of Lando Norris,” you say, your lips turning up in a slight smile when you hear a breathy laugh escape Oscar’s lips.
“I’m being serious, Oscar. Lando could win ten championships, and I’d still pick you over him. You’re the one I fell in love with, not him,” you continue reassuringly, your hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he melts further into you.
“I love you,” Oscar mumbles against your shirt, shifting slightly but still not looking up at you.
“I love you too,” you reply, your hold tightening the slightest amount as you fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments, the room filled with nothing but the hum of the air conditioning, and your and Oscar’s soft breathing.
“You know. Lando told me he was hoping you’d win today. He said he would’ve been happier having you on that top step. And he knows better than anyone that you’ll come back stronger next year. He knows you’ll give him hell out there next year,” you say suddenly, remembering the conversation you had with Lando when congratulating him for his championship win.
“I’m never going to make it easy for him out there,” Oscar replies, a smile playing on his lips at the thoughts of the battles he and Lando will have on track next year.
“Oh, none of us doubt it. I can’t wait to see you out on track next year. Who knows? It could be your year next time,” you say, shuffling slightly so the two of you are lying down in bed, tucking the cover over both of you as Oscar curls further into you.
“It will be,” Oscar says, a slight confidence in his sleepy voice as he tightens his grip on you.
“That’s the spirit. Get some sleep, Osc. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere,” you say reassuringly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Oscar’s head. You hold Oscar close, continuing to run your hand through his hair as his breathing evened out and he relaxed against you.
Even after Oscar had fallen asleep, you continued to run your hand through his hair, pushing the gentle curls away from his face before pressing another kiss to the top of his head.
so with the run up to the end of the 2025 f1 season, I have decided that the top three will be getting their own fics after Abu Dhabi.
they will be accurate to whatever the result will be so if Lando wins, he’ll get a fic about winning while the other two won’t. if Max wins he’ll get a fic about that, and same for Oscar if he wins
this is just an attempt to keep myself motivated, obviously nothing will be written until after the championship is decided, whether that be this weekend or next weekend.
anyways, thoughts? do people like this idea or am I flying too close to the sun with this?
Warnings - arguing, swearing, protective Lando, threatens of crashes, mentions of slight money insecurity, angst, fluff, comfort
Summary - you and Liam finally broach an important question that had been on both of your minds, however, the conversation doesn't go as expected
Add on to 'Wrong Team' and 'Brotherly Visits'
A/N - two fics in a row, who is this woman? (do not expect this to happen again anytime soon. this is quite literally only because this was almost finished before I wrote last night's Lando fic). I won't ramble so as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!
As you approached your one-year anniversary with Liam, there seemed to be a shift in energy between the two of you. It wasn’t bad in any way; you just both knew that there was something that needed to be discussed between the two of you.
And that was the question of moving in with each other.
You both practically spend most of your time bouncing between Liam’s flat and yours; you just hadn’t had the conversation of who was going to move in with who or if you were going to move somewhere else entirely. Truthfully, you hoped that Liam wouldn’t want to move anywhere else. You knew it was selfish to think so, but you had made so much of a life for yourself in London. Your job was here, your friends were here, your life was here, and you weren’t sure you were ready to potentially give it all up.
“Hey, babe.” Liam’s words shook you from your thoughts as you glanced over at him with a small smile.
“Hey, Liam,” you reply, getting up from your seat and crossing to him. You embrace him happily before giving him a soft kiss, bringing a smile to his lips that quickly falters the moment he pulls away enough to see your face properly.
“You’ve got your thinking face on. What’s happened?” Liam asks, immediately discarding his bag on the floor and resting his hands on your hips, his eyes searching yours.
“I’ve just been thinking about our future…” You mumble, your gaze dropping briefly before looking up at Liam, seeing how he attempts to hide his concern in his expression.
“You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” he asks, his eyes desperately searching for any confirmation to his question.
“No! I- no. I’ve just been thinking about stuff. Like… moving in together,” you say, suddenly shy as your hands slip down to rest atop Liam’s, feeling his fingers thread in between yours.
“Moving in? Funny story, I’ve been thinking about it too,” Liam admits with a small chuckle, making you tilt your head slightly.
“Really?”
“Yep. I mean, we’ve been together almost a year now. I want to be able to come home to you after a race weekend. I don’t want to have to travel between two places. I want a place to call our own,” Liam says, holding your hands lightly in his own.
“You want that to happen? Us having a place together?” you question quietly.
“Of course I do. I can just picture it, a place for us in Monaco, a beautiful view of the marina every morning for us to watch while we start our days.”
“That sounds- wait… Monaco?” You furrow your eyebrows at Liam’s words.
“Yes. Monaco. It makes the most sense, doesn’t it? Most of the drivers live there. We can find a place near Lando’s so you can see him as often as you like.”
“Hold on. You want us to move to Monaco?”
“Well, yes. Like I said, most of the guys live out there. You can see Lando often and-”
“But what about my job? I can hardly just drop it to move across Europe.”
“You don’t want to move to Monaco?” Liam questions, taking a step back, releasing your hands.
“It’s just- I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am now. London is where everything is. My job. My friends. I just don’t know if I can leave this all behind,” you say, your arms winding around your middle as you picture leaving everything behind.
“But, Lando lives in Monaco. I thought you’d be happy to live near him so you could see him more often.”
“Lando’s got more than enough money to fly over here when he wants to visit. And he does make the effort to visit when he can. I don’t need to live right on his doorstep just to prove we get on,” you argue, your tone attempting to stay calm as Liam scoffs.
“I was thinking of both of us when I thought of this. It’s a nice place to live. I’ve already found a few places for us to look at, or you can find some you’d like to look at. I’m sure you could find a new job out there. You don’t even need a job if you don’t want one. I’m sure I can provide for both of us.” Liam’s argument made your jaw clench.
“Liam, I don’t want to give up my career. I’ve worked my ass off for this. The people who follow Formula One only know me as Lando Norris’ little sister or Liam Lawson’s girlfriend. I need something for myself, and my job is everything to me. It gives me something that’s my own. Not my brother’s. Not my boyfriend’s. Mine.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look Liam in the eye as you spoke, your gaze dipping to the floor.
“But I just said-”
“Yes. I know what you said. I- I just don’t know if I want to leave here. It’s home. You’re already gone most of the year, I don’t really want to be somewhere unfamiliar when you’re not around,” you argue weakly as Liam huffs slightly, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
“I’m thinking about what’s best for both of us.”
“But being nothing but a girl hanging off your arm at every grand prix isn’t what I want. I enjoy going to the occasional race, of course, I do. But the fans will-”
“You care that much about what fans think? You’re really embarrassed to be seen with me?” Liam fires your direction, making you shake your head fervently.
“No, I’m not embarrassed, of course, I’m not. I love you so much. But I just don’t know if me dropping my job to follow you around the world or sit alone in some fancy flat in Monaco is the best idea.”
“Then you can find a new job. It surely won’t be difficult for you to find another job out there if you really don’t want to follow me around the world all year long,” Liam argues, his frustration becoming more and more evident by the second.
“Liam. Don’t take that the wrong way, you know that’s not what I meant. Look, maybe we need to have a genuine think about what we both want,” you say as Liam lets out a bitter laugh.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re even trying to jump into this too soon. You know what? I just need some time and space away from you right now.” Liam’s words were sharp as he picked up his bag, turning towards the door.
“Liam, wait, you don’t have to-” you cut yourself off as he opens the door, barely glancing back at you as he leaves, slamming the door closed behind him as you flinch slightly, your eyes quickly welling with tears.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” you scold yourself angrily, your hands gripping at your hair as you stumble back onto the sofa. You pull your knees up to your chest as tears begin to roll down your cheeks. All you could think of was the way Liam barely looked at you before he left your flat, the way he said he needed to be away from you.
“Hello?” Lando’s voice shook you from your thoughts as you blinked, completely unaware that in your anguish, you’d somehow picked up your phone and dialled your brother.
“y/n/n? You there?” Lando’s voice comes through the phone again as you finally bring yourself back to reality, noticing the sounds of conversation and laughter in the background.
“Lando, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll go,” you stammer quickly, missing how your voice cracked while Lando’s eyebrows furrowed with concern.
“No, y/n, what’s wron-” Lando is cut off by the call ending, making him pull his phone away from his ear and stare at your contact, the picture he had taken of you once at a birthday party staring back at him tauntingly. He could tell from your voice that you were crying, and while he didn’t know what the cause of it was, he wasn’t going to just sit around and wait for an answer; he was going to be there for you.
“Lando, you okay, mate?” Max asks, leaning in the doorway, noticing his friend’s expression.
“It’s y/n, I gotta go.” Lando’s slight panic was enough to make Max’s eyes widen slightly as he pushed away from the doorframe, approaching his friend.
“Lando. Go. Don’t worry about this. If you need anything, shoot me a message, okay?” Max says softly, reaching over to squeeze Lando’s shoulder, the two friends sharing a look of concern before Lando nods.
“Tell P I’m sorry and that the dinner was great, yeah? I’ll make it up to you guys, promise,” Lando says hurriedly, digging into his pocket for his car keys.
“Don’t worry about it, mate. We understand. We’ll just hang out another time. There’s enough people round, our get-together isn’t going to fall apart without you,” Max laughs softly as Lando scoffs lightly.
“Don’t call me crying when it does.” Lando manages to laugh.
“Alright, get out of here, go and check on y/n for us both, okay?” Max says, his seriousness returning as Lando nods, thanking Max quietly before making his way out of Max’s flat, drawing no further attention to himself as he slips away.
Back at your flat, you were still curled up on the sofa, the tears still relentlessly falling down your cheeks. Even as you harshly scrubbed at your cheeks with your hoodie sleeve, the tears continued to fall.
You don’t know how long you were sitting there sobbing, but soon there was a sharp rap at your door, making your head shoot up as you waited for a painful minute before there was another knock.
You get to your feet, crossing tentatively to the door, wiping harshly at your eyes once more before opening the door, shocked to see Lando on the other side, his hair unruly like he’d run his hand through it anxiously one too many times, and a takeaway bag in hand.
“Lando, what are you doing here?” you question, instinctively stepping back to let him in as he takes in your expression, frowning when he sees your red-rimmed eyes.
“What’s wrong? And don’t lie to me. I could tell over the phone that you were upset,” Lando says, moving to the kitchen and placing the bag down on the island.
“It’s nothing, Lando. I’m fine.” You attempt to lie, but the wobble in your voice gives you away as Lando lifts his gaze to meet yours. His eyes held no anger towards you for your attempted lie, but concern for your well-being.
“I just want to help. I’m your brother, it’s my job, right?” Lando asks, keeping a lightness to his tone to encourage you to open up. You fall silent for a moment, biting your lip as a tear rolls down your cheek.
“I think I fucked everything up with Liam.” You manage to say, your voice cracking as more tears roll down your cheeks.
In an instant, the food was abandoned, and Lando was gathering you up in his arms, holding you close while you sobbed into his hoodie, clinging to him like he’d disappear if you let go.
“I got you, y/n/n. I’m not going anywhere,” Lando says assuringly, gently guiding you to the living room to sit you down on the sofa as you curl even closer to him. Lando doesn’t let go; he just holds you as you sob, whispering soft words of comfort until you calm down enough to speak. Even once your breathing had evened out, he didn’t force you to speak; he just continued to hold you until you were ready.
“I messed up,” you force out, your face still buried in your brother’s shoulder.
“I’m sure you didn’t. Tell me what happened and we can work it out, okay?” Lando says assuringly, his hand rubbing up and down your back. You carefully pull away from your brother’s embrace, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands to wipe at your tears, swallowing thickly before speaking.
“We’ve been dancing around the idea of moving in with each other for a while now, and I decided to try asking about it. I didn’t see the point in us avoiding it any more, and when we talked about it, Liam mentioned maybe moving to Monaco, and I don’t want that. I just don’t want to leave my job and my life behind. He didn’t take it well, and we argued before he stormed out. He thought I was embarrassed by him, Lan.” You manage to say, a few more fresh tears dribbling down your cheeks.
“Why would he think that?” Lando asks carefully, trying to make sense of what happened.
“He mentioned me leaving my job to move to Monaco with him. Said something about how he thinks he can provide for us both, so I could just not have a job if I wanted, or just find a new one. But I love my job. It’s my job. It’s something that I can have for myself when most of the world just sees me as your sister or his girlfriend,” you say, watching as Lando’s expression shifted, becoming more serious.
“He what? He wanted you to just drop your job? He doesn’t get to make demands like that of you. You worked so hard for your job,” Lando says, his jaw clenched in anger as if he was watching the conversation play out right in front of him.
“But what if he’s right? Monaco is where you all live. It would be better for him,” you say, nibbling at your bottom lip.
“But it wouldn’t be better for you, would it?” Lando’s question was quiet as he studied you.
“I don’t know. I don’t really like the idea of moving to another country. I love London. My friends are here. Everything I’ve ever known is here in England. You visit when you can, so you never feel far away. I don’t want to spend my life following after Liam or sitting alone in Monaco. That’s not who I am,” you say, picking at the fluff on your hoodie sleeve, desperate to avoid eye contact with your brother.
“Then he should respect that. You don’t owe him something like moving to another country if you’re not comfortable with it, okay?” Lando says, his words encouraging you to look back at him.
“But-”
“Hey, no buts. Your thoughts and feelings are just as real as his. He should’ve listened to you so you could both figure out a solution. I do think that you should try talking to him in the future. But you don’t have to do it soon if you’re not up to it,” Lando says softly, his hand resting on your shoulder as he squeezes it softly.
“How are you so good at this?” you ask as Lando tugs you into another embrace.
“I’ve got some people around me who are pretty good at giving advice, and I listen to them. Plus, I can’t just sit by when my little sister is crying over a guy of all things,” Lando says, smiling to himself when he hears a small, breathy laugh escape your lips.
“Look, put a movie on or something. I’m gonna grab that food because if I know you as well as I think I do, you haven’t eaten at all yet, have you?” Lando asks, pulling away enough to look down at you as you dip your head in embarrassment.
“No…” You mumble.
“See? I know you so well. Stay here. I’ll sort the food out,” Lando instructs with a small smile, gently untangling you from his arms and standing up, disappearing into the kitchen while you scroll through Netflix. You end up choosing a movie you loved, one you knew inside out, and had a happy ending.
“Food’s here!” Lando announces proudly as he enters the living room, a plate of your favourite food in hand. You reach out to take the food, stopping when he pulls the plate out of reach with a grin.
“Ah, what’s the magic words?” he asks as you playfully roll your eyes.
“Thank you, Lando,” you say, gesturing for him to hand you the food as he purses his lips in thought.
“Whose your favourite brother?” Lando then asks, continuing to tease you as you groan, your head dropping back against the sofa cushions.
“You’re not going to let me say Ollie, are you?”
“Absolutely not. Now, if you want your food, you gotta answer the question,” Lando says, eyebrow raised as you roll your eyes again.
“Fine. You’re my favourite brother,” you concede, holding your hand out expectantly as Lando hands you the plate with a dramatic flourish.
“I will be holding this over Ollie’s head, by the way. You can’t take it back now that you’ve said it,” Lando grins, settling down alongside you as you laugh.
“I don’t think it was ever a secret that you were my favourite, though,” you say, glancing briefly at Lando before digging into your food.
“Well, don’t tell the others. But you’re my favourite too,” Lando says in an exaggerated whisper, nudging you with his shoulder like he was telling you a big secret.
You knew what Lando was doing. He was joking around to distract you from what had happened. To make sure you weren’t dwelling on the specifics of the argument or getting dragged into a spiral of ‘what ifs’. Lando always understood you in a way that many didn’t. He knew that once you’d talked things out, you wanted to stay distracted until whatever was bothering you was either resolved or you had moved on. You appreciated his efforts. It was his way of showing how much he cared about you, and you were grateful to have him in your life, even if he did wind you up sometimes.
You ate your food quietly, occasionally exchanging jokes with Lando as you watched the movie, falling back into the familiar routine the two of you fell into when you were together. With Lando’s infectious presence, you had almost forgotten what it was that had got you so upset in the first place.
When you finished eating, you placed your now-empty plate on the coffee table and stretched as a yawn slipped past your lips.
“You should get some sleep,” Lando comments as he notices your yawn, already reaching out to tidy your plate away.
“Lando, come on, I can do that,” you argue, reaching out for the plate as Lando swats your hand away.
“Nope. Not your responsibility right now. You just need to go and get some sleep, okay?” Lando says, glancing at you pointedly as you slump back against the sofa.
“Okay, Mum,” you say as Lando scoffs lightly, not taking offence at your snark.
“What happened to me being your favourite brother?” Lando jokes.
“You can be my favourite brother and still act like Mum,” you retort with an innocent grin as Lando laughs with a shrug.
You stay put on the sofa while Lando tidies everything away, only shifting when he returns, standing up as another yawn slips past your lips, not missing how he folded his arms across his chest, giving you a pointed look.
“I’m going. I’m going,” you concede, no longer willing to fight like a child trying to stay up past their bedtime.
“You mind if I crash here for the night?” Lando asks as you nod.
“Of course, you can. I haven’t got the guest bedroom set up, though. I can go and do it now,” you say, getting ready to excuse yourself before Lando stops you.
“No, don’t stress. I’ll crash on the sofa,” Lando assures, his voice calm to avoid stressing you any further.
“I’ve got some clothes you can borrow. It’s either stuff I’ve stolen from you or… Liam,” you say, your gaze dipping to the floor at the mere mention of Liam.
“You’ve been stealing my stuff? Damn, maybe I’ll steal it back,” Lando jokes with a laugh, deploying his usual tactic of messing around to cheer you up.
“Calm down, it’s not like I stole anything you don’t already have thousands of,” you say, turning the tv off before disappearing into your bedroom, soon emerging with a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, handing them over with a smile.
“So, that’s where this shirt went. I’ve missed it so much,” Lando exaggerates, holding the shirt up as if it were a priceless relic. It was one Lando had lent to you when you spent a night at his, and instead of returning it before you left, you stole the shirt.
“You never asked for it back; it couldn’t have been that important to you,” you laugh as Lando admires the shirt with exaggerated awe.
“I might just have to steal it back now,” Lando grins, laughing with you before you both fall silent.
“I’ll leave you to it then. There’s spare toothbrushes and stuff in the bathroom, you know where it all is. Good night, Lan. Thank you for everything today,” you say gratefully, smiling softly at your brother as he nods.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m here for you, always,” Lando replies, bringing you into a quick hug before whispering a quiet ‘good night’ to you before letting go, watching as you disappear down the hall into your room.
You enter your room, feeling a shift in the environment. Your room felt devoid of warmth. The bed is tauntingly large as you stare at it. Liam was everywhere you looked. The side of the bed he usually occupied. Some of his belongings still scattered on the bedside table. His guitar propped up by the window, reminding you of the evenings he’d sit cross-legged on the bed with the guitar in his lap, plucking at the strings, and singing quietly in a moment just for the two of you. You were always curled up in the bed beside him, eyes closed as you listened to his soft singing, often falling asleep to the sound of his voice.
You slowly get ready to go to sleep, clambering into the large bed, choosing to curl up on Liam’s side of the bed instead of the side you usually slept on. You tugged Liam’s pillow to your chest, the faint smell of his cologne and shampoo a cruel taunt as tears filled your eyes. You hated arguing with people you loved. And arguing with Liam felt so much worse than you could have anticipated. You had no idea if he was going to decide that he didn’t want the relationship anymore. Endless scenarios of Liam ending your relationship swirled in your brain as you buried your face in the pillow to try to slow your sobs, eventually drifting to sleep with Liam’s pillow clutched to your chest.
Lando was the first to wake up the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the blinds as he stretched before sitting up. He heads to the bathroom to freshen up, taking advantage of the toiletries left by Liam before changing back into his clothes from yesterday, throwing the clothes he used as pyjamas into your washing basket, before heading back into the living room to tidy up after sleeping on the sofa.
Just as Lando was finishing tidying up the living room, he heard a tentative knock on the door that made him straighten up instantly, his eyebrows furrowing at who could possibly be outside the door. He quickly placed the folded-up blanket on the arm of the sofa before crossing to the door.
When he opened the door and saw Liam on the other side, it was like a switch had been flipped. His once loose posture immediately became rigid. His entire body was tightening like a snake poised to strike as his arms quickly folded across his chest, his expression darkening as he straightened his back in an attempt to seem taller.
“What do you want?” Lando asks. His voice was deadly calm, but Liam could hear the venom underneath.
“I wanted to check on y/n. To talk to her,” Liam answers. He had no doubt in his mind that you had told Lando everything; his reaction when answering the door was enough of a telltale sign.
“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” Lando growls, drawing himself up impossibly taller, his jaw clenched. It was this look that made Liam realise how incredibly fucked he was. This expression was one Liam had never seen before, but he knew he was deserving of it.
“I know. I went back to my place and spent the whole night beating myself up about it,” Liam begins as Lando scoffs.
“Good. You hurt her. You really fucking hurt her,” Lando says angrily, refusing to move, a wall between Liam and the inside of your flat.
“I know I did. I was just upset because-”
“I know why you were upset. You felt like she wasn’t appreciating your efforts, so you turned it around on her. You accused her of being embarrassed of you.” Lando’s words made Liam’s head dip in shame.
“I know.”
“This is y/n we’re talking about. She can’t shut up about you since you went public. She’s the same woman who flew out to see you race in Singapore and was there for you both times you crashed. She didn’t care about the cameras or the people. She cared about you. She always has. You could never embarrass her, even if you drove around the track in reverse; she’d still think the world of you,” Lando says, his stare still as hard as before, but his words carried a softness he only held for talking about you.
“I know. I fucked up. I want to apologise and make it up to her,” Liam says, genuine apology in his tone as he looks at Lando. Lando’s expression was set, a look that didn’t waver, an anger that only that of a protective sibling could have.
“Lan? Who’s at the door?” Your quiet voice made Lando’s defensive demeanour drop as he turned to face you, his expression and body language softening quicker than anything Liam had ever seen in his life.
“I’ve got this handled, y/n/n. Don’t worry about it,” Lando says, trying to urge you to leave, but you had caught sight of Liam over Lando’s shoulder, and your expression shifted.
“Liam? What are you doing here?” Your question was quiet as you shrank into yourself, your arms wrapping around your middle as if they were a shield. Even when it was evident that you had just rolled out of bed, you still looked gorgeous in Liam’s eyes, dressed in sweatpants and his hoodie; you were still the most beautiful person in the world to him.
“He was just leaving,” Lando warns, turning to Liam, giving him a deadly glare to encourage him to go along with his words.
“I wanted to talk to you, to apologise for yesterday,” Liam says quickly, ignoring Lando’s words as he takes a step forward.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Lando says, his voice dropping to the venomous tone Liam had just been on the receiving end of mere minutes prior.
“Lando. It’s okay. He can come in,” you say quietly, making Lando stop, studying you carefully.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low volume as he steps closer to you, wanting to make sure this was something you wanted.
“I’m sure. He can come in,” you assert, glancing briefly over at Liam before focusing on Lando, who nods slightly.
“Okay. But if you want him gone, just say the word, and I’ll get him out. I’ll make you some breakfast so you can have some privacy. If you need me, don’t be afraid to come and get me, yeah?” Lando says softly, pulling you into a quick hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. When he steps away, he fires one last warning glare in Liam’s direction before retreating into the kitchen, finally allowing Liam to step into your flat, closing the door behind him.
“Let’s go to the living room,” you say, gesturing for Liam to follow you, which he does without hesitation. You ease yourself down on the sofa, and Liam follows suit, leaving enough space between the two of you. As Liam took a moment to study your features, he noticed your red, slightly puffy eyes, an alarming indication that you’d been crying, most likely because of him.
“y/n…”
“I’m so sorry, Liam.” You speak over Liam, glancing away as his eyebrows furrow at your words.
“What are you apologising for?” Liam asks, watching as you purse your lips in thought.
“I caused the argument. If I had just kept my mouth shut, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” you say, fiddling with your fingers as your hands sat in your lap.
“y/n, don’t say that. I got angry with you over something stupid. I should’ve expected that you might not want to move to Monaco. You’re settled here and have been since before we met. I should’ve listened to you, and we could’ve had a mature conversation about it. Instead, I acted like an asshole and made you feel like shit. I’m so sorry,” Liam apologises, itching to reach for your hand, only holding himself back out of fear of your reaction.
“I’m not embarrassed by you, Liam. I promise,” you say softly, your gaze briefly meeting Liam’s as he softens, a small sigh escaping his lips.
“I know you’re not. I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve been there for me more times than I can count. I don’t deserve you, I know I don’t. I am so sorry for everything I said yesterday. I shouldn’t have snapped at you the way I did,” Liam says softly, getting the courage to reach over, taking your hand in his as you exhale shakily.
“I love you so much. I’d live anywhere as long as I’m living with you,” Liam continues, finally brave enough to move ever so closer.
“Really?” you ask quietly, your gaze fixed on your interlocked fingers.
“Really. I thought about it a lot when I went back to mine. Monaco is nice and has a lot of motorsport history. But I don’t want to live there if it’s only going to make you unhappy. I never should’ve suggested that you leave your job or follow me around the world. I know how much your job means to you,” Liam says, squeezing your hand softly as you finally lift your gaze to meet his properly.
“I don’t want you to give up on living somewhere you want to live just because of me,” you mumble, a frown playing on your lips.
“Hey, I wouldn’t be giving up anything. If I moved there, I’d be doing something a lot worse. I’d be hurting you, and that’s not fair. We need to live somewhere we’d both be happy,” Liam says softly, running his thumb across the back of your hand.
“Would you be happy living in England just because of me?” you question. In response, Liam wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side as you curl into him.
“I don’t want to live anywhere without you. Besides, I’ve lived in Milton Keynes, can’t get much worse than that,” Liam says with a soft laugh, managing to elicit a breathy laugh from your lips as you bury yourself further into his side.
“We can move into your place if you’d prefer. I want us both to be happy,” you say, looking up at Liam as he smiles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“What if we find a new place here? A place we both like, and we can make it our own, together,” Liam says softly, hugging you closer.
“Well, it’s either that or we move into yours because there’s no way your sim rig is fitting anywhere here,” you giggle, resting your head against Liam’s chest, unaware of his smile widening just at the sound of your laugh.
“I vote we find a place that we both like and make it our place,” Liam says, looking down at you as you shift, adjusting your gaze to look up at him.
“I like the sound of that,” you say softly as Liam regards you softly. You watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips, a hesitant look on his face you hadn’t seen since the day you had your first kiss. Taking the initiative, you lean closer, connecting your lips to his in a gentle kiss. One that reassured that things between you weren’t broken, and that together you’d figure it all out.
“Am I interrupting something?” The sound of Lando’s voice makes you jump apart, looking over to see Lando standing in the doorway, a plate of food in hand, as he raises an eyebrow.
“For a professional racer, I thought you’d have a better sense of timing,” you tease, leaning against the cushions as Lando rolls his eyes with a small smile.
“I got you some food,” Lando says simply, holding out the plate as you shift, taking the plate from Lando’s hands with a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Lando,” you say quietly as Lando settles in the armchair, staring pointedly at the two of you.
“So, have you solved everything?” Lando asks, watching the two of you as you pause, glancing over at Liam, who offers you a gentle smile.
“We’re good,” you confirm before digging into your food.
“We talked it out. I know I was wrong to talk to her the way I did, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for it. And I think we made a decision,” Liam says, his arm tightening around your shoulders, tugging you back into his side carefully, mindful of your food.
“Made a decision?” Lando questions, his eyes flicking between you and Liam as you nod.
“We’re going to start looking for a new place in London. Somewhere we can make a home together,” you say softly, studying Lando’s reaction carefully as his eyes narrow for a brief second.
“And you’re okay with this?” His question was directed at Liam, determined to gauge Liam’s reaction.
“Of course, I am. Monaco is a nice place to live, for sure, but y/n’s settled here, and with me being gone more often than not, it makes sense to stay here where she’s comfortable,” Liam explains, his answer diplomatic as you both watch Lando’s expression carefully. Lando is still for a moment, his eyes flicking between you and Liam as if waiting for someone to tell him otherwise before he finally nods.
“Good. You’ve still got some making up to do for what you did.”
“Lando,” you warn, shooting a glance over at your brother.
“I’m being serious. He really upset you, and I won’t let him get away with that,” Lando replies, his glare sharp as he looks over at Liam.
“I just said that-”
“It’s okay, babe. I get it. He’s right to be upset. I’m going to do everything I can to prove to you that I’m not going to treat her like that again,” Liam says, at first directed to you before addressing Lando.
“I’m holding you to that. Seriously,” Lando says, warning in his tone as he looks pointedly at Liam, who nods as if he were in a strategy briefing with his team.
“I won’t let her down, mate,” Liam says assuringly, his voice never wavering.
“You better not. Because if something like this happens again. I’m taking you out in the next race. My championship won’t even matter,” Lando says, his anger refusing to fade for even a second. Liam understood his anger. He knew Lando never messed around, not when it came to you.
“I know. I’m going to do my absolute best to keep her happy. I don’t ever want to upset her again. Promise,” Liam says, his thumb brushing over your hip as Lando sighs heavily.
“Okay. Fine. I’m going to head back to Max’s, no point me hanging around much longer,” Lando says, getting to his feet as you mimic his actions, following him to the door.
“Thank you for everything, Lan,” you say gratefully as Lando softens, tugging you into a secure hug.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’ll always be there for you,” Lando says softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before you both pull away, smiling.
“Safe journey to Max’s. Tell him and P I say hi. Oh, and give Rio a pet from me. I miss him,” you say with a grin as Lando rolls his eyes with a laugh.
“I’m sure Max will be thrilled to hear you missed Rio more than him.”
“Rio’s adorable, how could anyone not miss him?” you joke as Lando shakes his head with a laugh before sobering slightly.
“Text me if you need anything, yeah?” Lando says, reaching out to ruffle your hair as you laugh, swatting at his hand before softening once more.
“Love you, Lan,” you say, giving him another quick hug that he’s quick to reciprocate.
“Love you too, y/n/n,” he replies before releasing you from the hug, bidding you a quiet goodbye before exiting the flat, leaving you to head back to Liam.
You return to the living room, immediately seating yourself next to Liam and curling into his side as his arm instinctively wraps around your waist, tugging you into his side.
“I am sorry about yesterday,” he apologises again, his lips brushing against your temple before pressing a tender kiss there.
“I’m sorry too. I love you so much,” you reply, turning to look up at Liam, your lips meeting his in a brief, soft kiss.
“I love you too, but you don’t need to apologise. This was all on me,” Liam says gently, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. Choosing not to argue the point any further, you settle against Liam’s chest as he turns the tv on, putting on your comfort show.
“You know, I don’t think I ever wanted to move to Monaco,” Liam admits quietly after a few minutes of watching the tv in silence.
“What do you mean?” you ask, shifting to look up at him curiously.
“I thought about it a lot last night. I think I thought of it as some pride thing. Like I’d made it in F1. It felt like what I had to do now that I’m on a better salary,” Liam confesses, his gaze dipping in shame as he talks, making you fight back a frown. You knew how lucky you were to grow up in the life that you did. You and your siblings got support in any hobby you wanted to do. When Lando first started karting, your dad barely thought twice about paying the fees; your parents were able to financially support his career as he moved up from karting to the lower Formula’s. While Liam’s parents had to make the decision to sell their house in order to support Liam’s racing career. Him wanting to move to Monaco came because he wanted to prove to himself and others that his parents' sacrifice had been worth it. That the money they poured into his career had achieved something.
“Oh, Liam. You don’t need to live in an expensive country to prove to anyone that you’re worthy of being a Formula One driver,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek.
“I just want my parents to know their sacrifices have been worth it,” Liam mutters, leaning ever so slightly into your touch.
“They know, Liam. God, do they know. They’ve seen you outqualify Max Verstappen in Singapore. They’ve seen you hold Max behind you in Hungary. They’ve seen you defend against a Red Bull, a McLaren, and two Ferraris in one race. Liam, every penny they’ve poured into your career has been proven to be worth it. They’re so proud of you. The same way I am. Where you live doesn’t determine your worth,” you say, your voice soft, yet firm enough to get your point across as your thumb brushes over the apple of his cheek.
“I know I just said it, but I really love you,” Liam says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your palm.
“I love you too. So much,” you reply, once again moving closer to press your lips to Liam’s for another kiss, your hand shifting from his cheek to his hair while his grip tightens on your waist. After you pull away, you return your head to Liam’s chest, your arm winding around his middle in an attempt to make up for the cuddles you missed out on the night before.
The two of you quietly watched the show for a while. The silence offers nothing but comfort as you curl impossibly closer. When Liam lets out a soft chuckle at one of the jokes a character makes, you couldn’t help but look up at him, eyes full of nothing but love and admiration, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Liam.
“What are you staring at, hmm?” Liam asks softly, his smile warm as his eyes flicker between yours.
“Nothing. I just can’t wait for the rest of our lives together.”
Warnings - Vegas '25, angst, sad Lando hours, comfort, fluff, swearing
Summary - a shock disqualification hits your boyfriend right in the middle of his fight for his maiden championship, and you try to help him put the pieces back together
A/N - genuinely never written a fic quicker in my life than I have today. I don't really have any words for what went on in Vegas other than I had hoped I wasn't going to have to write another fic like this after Zandvoort. Just, hopefully, enjoy this fic that I wrote like a woman possessed the moment the news came in
The moment the FIA started poking around the McLaren garages, a bad feeling settled in your stomach. When Lando got back from the podium, the look on his face said it all. The elation from securing McLaren’s first podium in Vegas now completely gone.
“You should head back to the hotel. I don’t know how long we’re going to be here,” he said simply, his gaze barely meeting yours.
“Are you sure? I’m happy to wait in hospitality for you,” you ask, watching as Lando nods.
“I’m sure. No point in you hanging around too long. I’ll come back as soon as we’re done, promise,” Lando says, a soft assurance in his voice.
“I love you,” you say softly, reaching out to take his hand.
“I love you too,” Lando replies quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, neither of you wanting the moment to end.
Begrudgingly, you pull away from Lando, squeezing his hand softly before you reluctantly leave him, hoping to anyone out there who would listen that everything would be okay.
You make your way through the paddock, meeting with Lando’s driver, who had already been instructed to take you to the hotel before going back for Lando. The drive was awkward. You didn’t know how to make conversation, given the looming uneasiness about what was happening back in the paddock.
Once you made it back to the hotel you were staying in, you made your way up to the room you and Lando shared, instantly discarding your bag and going for a shower, hoping it would ease your tense muscles before changing into something comfy, tugging one of Lando’s hoodies on, the scent of his cologne helping to relax you somewhat.
Not knowing what to do with yourself, you turn the hotel tv on, hoping to find something to watch that will help take your mind off everything. You end up picking some random romcom, hoping the cringy plot would ease the worry plaguing your mind. Despite your best efforts, your attention kept drifting to your phone, as you turned the tv volume down, constantly refreshing your social media and messages, hoping you’ll either see the news or Lando would text you.
Everyone was speculating online. Photos had been shared of Lando’s garage being blocked off while his car was being inspected by the FIA. Theories were beginning to swirl about what was happening, whether it was going to result in disqualification. You quickly shut your phone off, eager to distance yourself from the situation until you get confirmation from Lando or an official Formula One or FIA statement. You tried to focus back on the tv to distract you, nervously awaiting Lando’s arrival.
It took almost three hours for Lando to get back.
The sound of the hotel room door opening made you sit bolt upright, jumping up from the bed to see Lando, who looked like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders.
One brief moment of eye contact. Your eyes held a vain hope in them, while Lando’s held nothing but dejection.
He shook his head minutely, and your heart split in two.
“Oh, Lan,” you say, crossing the room as quickly as you can, pulling him into your arms as his head drops to your shoulder, his bag dropping to the floor before his arms wound around your middle. His hair still smelt of champagne despite the obvious fact that Lando had recently showered, a cruel reminder of a celebration now robbed.
“I knew there was something wrong. But I didn’t think it could be something like that,” Lando says, his voice muffled by the material of the hoodie.
“It’s not your fault. Or Oscar’s. You guys didn’t expect that to happen during the race. This does not negate how brilliant you were today, Lando,” you say firmly, your hand reaching up to rake through the hair on the nape of his neck gently.
“I lost eighteen points. Again.” Lando’s quiet dejection makes your heart shatter further as he tightens his grip on you slightly.
“I know. But neither of those was on you. They were both out of your control. You’re still the championship leader. Head up, love. Two more races to go. You’ve got this,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to Lando’s temple.
“It would be easier if I had those points,” Lando mutters bitterly.
“I know it would. But it’s Qatar and Abu Dhabi next, you’re good on those tracks. We just need to look forward and focus on them, right? What’s done is done; there’s nothing you could’ve done about it, unfortunately. No point wasting time thinking of what ifs,” you say soothingly.
“I know. It just hurts,” Lando admits quietly as you hold him impossibly closer.
“I can only imagine,” you say, understanding that while you’re upset on Lando’s behalf, you won’t understand the level of his upset.
The two of you remain in place for a few precious moments, with you holding Lando in the middle of your hotel room, your hand carding through his hair while he clung to you like his life depended on it.
“Hey, let’s get ready for bed, yeah? Leave this shitshow in the past and focus on tomorrow. Fresh start,” you suggest, making Lando finally lift his head from your shoulder to meet your gaze.
“Okay,” he agrees quietly, reluctantly loosening his grip on you and heading over to his suitcase. You clamber into the bed and wait as Lando disappears into the bathroom to change and freshen up. It doesn’t take long for him to return, and he quickly climbs into bed alongside you, curling up and resting his head on your chest as your hand dives into his curls, gently pushing them out of his face.
“What movie is this?” Lando asks, lifting his head with a soft laugh, finally noticing the tv that had been on from well before he had stepped into the room.
“I don’t know. I stopped paying attention to be honest,” you giggle, fumbling for the remote to turn the tv off with your free hand. The tv quickly goes quiet, and Lando settles against you once more. The room becomes quiet, only the sounds of your and Lando’s quiet breathing break the silence.
“I know I said it earlier, but I’m going to say it again. I am still so proud of you for your performance today. You drove brilliantly, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You’re an amazing driver, Lando. Don’t let this get the better of you, okay?” you say quietly as Lando shifts slightly to look up at you, his eyes shiny.
“I won’t,” he assures quietly, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to your jawline.
“Just two more races,” you say softly, moving so you can press a gentle kiss to Lando’s lips.
“Two more races,” he echoes as you pull apart, before settling back on your chest and winding his arm around your middle. With your hand running through his hair and your gentle heartbeat under his ear, it didn’t take him long to find sleep, quickly going slack against you as you continue to run a hand through his hair.
You watch Lando quietly for a moment, admiring how peaceful he looked while he slept, his features soft and boyish. Lando had grown and matured so much over the years, but he was still the same boy you fell in love with in 2019. He’d had a lot of ups and downs over the years he’d been in Formula One. This time, the championship was within his grasp.
And you knew he’d fight tooth and nail to get his name on the trophy. He was your champion, no matter what.
Warnings - anxiety, angst, fluff, comforting Lando hours
Summary - your anxiety begins to slowly make its way back into your life, but your boyfriend is ready to help the moment he realises
A/N - happy Lando dayyyy! this wasn't the type of fic I wanted to post for Lando's birthday, but truthfully, my life has been so shockingly shit recently that the days slipped away from me and by the time I clocked the date, this was the only Lando fic I had in the works & I needed to get an edit done for my insta too so it's all been a bit rushed. I am also fully aware that this is probably not going to be the most accurate anxiety fic, but this is based on me and how my anxiety can get and has been recently, so take this all with a pinch of salt :). anyways, enough rambling, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!
You wish you knew what triggered it. But in recent days, your anxiety began to rear its ugly head and mess with you the way it always loved to do so.
At first, it felt manageable, with Lando away for the last race before the summer break, you were able to fly under the radar, avoiding suspicion from friends and family and throwing yourself into late-night working sessions to try and ease the anxiety that was beginning to gnaw at your brain.
When Lando returned from Hungary, still riding the high of his recent victory, you wanted to focus your time and energy on celebrating your boyfriend’s win. But when night fell, the anxieties began to creep in once more, but you never let Lando see. You pretended to fall asleep each night beside him, fighting every urge to fidget as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts running rampant.
One night, Lando had disappeared into his office to play some video games with Max after the two of you had tidied up after dinner, something he’d been itching to do since his summer break began, leaving you alone in the living room. At first, you had tried watching a movie, something simple that could take your mind off things. When it proved fruitless, you then migrated to your own office that sat just next to Lando’s, settling in your office chair as you heard Lando chatting animatedly with Max.
You open your editing software, aware that for over a month you had been promising Lando’s fans you’d post the full vlog of your time at Silverstone, having made it initially to capture the fun of Landostand with Max and the others, and some behind-the-scenes footage of Lando, Oscar, and the rest of the crew in McLaren. You managed to capture a lot of footage when Lando won the race, and that’s what made the fans want it more and more each day. You understood why they wanted it so much, but you’d been too swept up in work to be able to edit it together. You knew you could probably pay someone to edit it for you, but you wanted to work on it yourself. You wanted it to be made by you, for the fans.
You uploaded all the clips of the weekend at Silverstone onto the software, staring at them as you bounced your leg anxiously. Just staring at the amount of content you had to cut down was overwhelming enough. But you had promised the fans and procrastinated enough, so you forced yourself to get started, cutting the clips down and beginning to edit them together, starting with the chaos you, Max, and the rest of the Quadrant crew got up to at the Landostand, a faint smile playing on your lips when you watched a clip of Max hyping up the crowd of fans all decked head to toe in fluro.
Soon, your work effort dwindled away, and you found yourself staring at the half-edited mess with a frown. Suddenly, it felt like what you had been doing was wrong. Watching your work felt wrong. Like it wasn’t what the fans deserved after the weekend that Silverstone was. You started chewing at your fingernails, wondering if you should just scrap it all or keep going.
You felt like you owed it to the fans to work on it as quickly as possible, to get it out early in the summer break so fans had something to enjoy while the drivers were out of the limelight. You wanted to work on the video, your brain was screaming at you to stop procrastinating and to just get on with it, but your body refused to move, forcing you to stare at the screen in front of you as the time unknowingly ticked away.
Unbeknownst to you, as you stared at your computer monitor, Lando had emerged from your shared room in search of a glass of water. He had crashed pretty quickly after finishing his gaming session with Max, barely even noticing that you were absent. But he quickly woke up after a couple of hours, gagging for some water. As he made his way back from the kitchen, glass in hand, he noticed the sliver of light spilling out from under your office door. He quietly pushed the door open, seeing you sitting on your office chair, leg bouncing anxiously as you chewed on your fingernails, an action that had Lando’s eyebrows furrowing as he placed his glass down and carefully approached you.
“It’s a bit late for working on things, isn’t it?” Lando’s words were soft as he draped his arms over the back of your chair, resting his hands on your shoulders as you jumped, relaxing when you realised it was only Lando. You don’t respond to his words, just shifting your free hand to rest atop one of Lando’s as he interlocks your fingers with his.
“Is everything okay?” Lando questions when you don’t respond, squeezing your hand lightly to get your attention.
“I need to work on this,” you insist, pulling your hand out of Lando’s and returning it to your mouse, trying to focus on the barely edited video.
“What is… oh, love, you don’t need to work on that right now, it’s like two am,” Lando says, quickly realising what it was you had been working on. He remembered how you had talked about videoing the weekend at Silverstone. Hell, he was present in most clips he could see on the monitor. But he knew you had been busy, so had more important things to focus your time on.
“But I promised your fans,” you insist weakly, your gaze not leaving the screen as Lando shifts, moving to crouch alongside you, trying to get in your eyeline.
“Hey. Look at me,” Lando urges softly, grabbing the arm of your chair and turning it so it faces him, his concerned eyes finally meeting yours.
“Lando… I have to try,” you whisper.
“You don’t have to do anything now. Not if you’re busy or not up to it, okay? You don’t owe the fans anything, even if you promised,” Lando says softly, his eyes desperately searching yours.
“I can’t sleep. I’m restless and anxious knowing this is unfinished. I want to work on it, but every time I try, it’s like my body locks up. My brain is screaming at me to get the fucking work done. To do something. But I feel out of control. Like I can’t get my brain to shut up and focus for even a second. I just don’t know what to do.” The words spill from your lips faster than you can stop them, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks as Lando’s eyes widen in alarm before he moves, lifting you up and settling in the chair with you on his lap, cradling you close to his chest.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Look at me,” Lando urges softly, cupping your chin with a gentle hand and urging you to look up at him.
“You don’t need to do anything if it feels overwhelming, okay? It’s not worth losing sleep over, and it’s not worth all these tears. You can work on this when you’re feeling up to it. Not because some people are demanding it from you.” His words were soft as his thumb gently brushed the tears away from your cheeks.
“I just feel like I need to get it done,” you whimper, hating yourself for sounding so pathetic in front of Lando.
“You don’t need to. Not when it’s causing you this kind of stress. You need a break. You’re trying to balance a lot. You think I don’t see it, but I do. You’re working full-time, you’ve got your social life, you’re trying to do things like this on the side for my fans because you feel like you owe them, but you’re just going to run yourself into the ground if you keep going like this,” Lando says softly, studying you as he carefully leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours.
“I’m tired, Lan. I just want to sleep, but my brain won’t let me,” you whisper, defeat seeping into your tone as your eyes slip shut, your shoulders sagging as if a weight had been removed from your shoulders.
“Then we’ll at least get comfortable in bed. Go and get into bed, I’ll make sure what you’ve done has been saved, and turn everything off, okay?” Lando says quietly, yet with a slight amount of authority, that said he wasn’t going to let you argue about it. With a silent nod, you get off Lando’s lap and exit the room slowly while Lando turns his attention to your computer, saving all your work before shutting the computer down. He then gets to his feet and crosses to the door, picking up the glass of water he had abandoned before switching the lamp off, making his way back to the bedroom.
As Lando enters the bedroom, he catches sight of you curled up in the bed, the duvet and blankets tucked securely around you acting as a shield from the outside world. Lando approaches the bed carefully, placing his drink on his bedside table before easing himself onto the bed next to you.
“C’mere,” Lando says softly, opening his arms for you, and you find yourself gravitating towards him without hesitation, settling your head on his chest while his arms wind around your middle.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble against Lando’s shirt, making his eyebrows furrow as he holds you a little tighter.
“You don’t need to apologise,” Lando says assuringly, his gaze steady as he watches you curl further into yourself.
“You’re supposed to be enjoying your summer break, not worrying over me,” you mutter, frustrated at yourself.
“I always worry about you. I don’t want you burning out, and it’s my job to look after you. I know you’re not working tomorrow, so we’re taking it easy. No work. No stress. Just rest,” Lando says softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as his hand drifts up and down your back soothingly.
“You should get some sleep. I probably won’t fall asleep for a while, so you should get some sleep while you can,” you say, knowing your brain was still running too fast for sleep to even be a consideration.
“I’m not going to sleep until you are,” Lando vows quietly as you shift impossibly closer, your arm settling across his middle. Knowing that you were still in your own head, Lando begins to ramble, talking about something Max did while they were gaming. His story managed to elicit a soft chuckle from you, imagining the look on Max’s face when he lost a game.
You lie against Lando’s chest, listening to his stories as his chest rumbles and his heart beats softly. That, combined with his hand absentmindedly running up and down your back, helped to slow the rushing of your brain, pushing the anxious thoughts out slowly. Lando continued to tell funny stories about things that happened in the paddock. About how he’d seen Oscar trip in the garage while on his way to prep for qualifying, and about how he’d witnessed Charles offer a young Ferrari fan a high-five only to get completely ignored. He continues to ramble, telling any story that comes to mind as your eyes begin to droop, the exhaustion finally taking hold.
“So, yeah, George really thought he had a chance against me in that padel match. He probably needs to play with Kimi to have a decent chance of winning,” Lando chuckles before he notices that you’d fallen still, your occasional breathy laughs now replaced by soft exhales.
Lando studies you for a moment, almost afraid to move as he waits to see if you’ll stir. When you show no sign of waking up, Lando smiles to himself, moving to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
“Sleep well, love.”
Lando woke up first the next morning, taking a moment to admire you, still curled in his arms like you didn’t want to be anywhere else. It took him a few minutes to get the motivation to move, carefully easing himself out from underneath you, barely fighting back a grin as you grumble in your sleep, clinging tighter to him, burying your face into his shirt as you burrow closer.
“I won’t be long, love. Just get some more sleep,” Lando says soothingly, slipping out of the bed and tucking the duvet back over you as he presses a kiss to your forehead. Seemingly understanding him, even asleep, you settle down, curling into Lando’s pillow as a replacement.
With you asleep, Lando makes his way to the kitchen, immediately busying himself with preparing breakfast for you. He hums to himself quietly as he prepares the food, focusing on making the breakfast as perfect as he can for you. While the food was cooking, he made some toast for himself to eat while he waited. Once he had plated everything up and put it on a tray along with a cup of tea, he picked up the tray and made his way back to the bedroom.
You stirred when you heard the bedroom door open once more, but remained still, expecting Lando to crawl back into bed alongside you. Instead, you heard the sound of Lando placing something on your bedside table before a hand rubbed up and down your back, rousing you slightly.
“Lan?” you question quietly, your eyes barely opening as Lando leans over to press a kiss to your temple as your eyes flutter open.
“Good morning,” Lando says quietly, brushing your hair out of your face as you look up at him with a soft smile.
“Morning,” you mumble, reaching up to rub at your eyes.
“I made you some breakfast,” Lando says, his voice soft so he doesn’t disturb the atmosphere in the room.
“You didn’t need to do that,” you say as Lando helps you sit up carefully, placing the tray on your lap before settling down alongside you on the bed.
“I wanted to. Like I said, we’re taking it easy today,” Lando says, a simplicity to his tone.
And just like Lando said, the day was taken slowly. After you had eaten, showered, and gotten dressed into something comfy, you and Lando migrated to the living room, settling on the sofa with a blanket and a movie to watch. You didn’t want to move from Lando’s arms, much too comforted by his presence.
Lando was extremely tuned into you the whole day, instantly noticing when you got fidgety and quiet, giving away to him that you were beginning to retreat into your own head, and he’d quickly set to work bringing you back to him. He’d start making comments on the movie you were watching while hugging you close, peppering your face in kisses as you’d giggle, weakly attempting to push his face away as he grins.
In a moment of silence between the two of you, Lando gently nudges you, getting your attention as you turn to look at him.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“That’s dangerous,” you tease, laughing as Lando rolls his eyes with a chuckle before returning his gaze to you.
“Okay, seriously. I was thinking that you could dedicate an hour of your day to working on something if you want. Like the Silverstone vlog, if you’re feeling up to it. No more than an hour, though, and if you want, I’ll sit with you in your office for some company to make sure you’re not overworking yourself,” Lando offers, his eyes flicking between yours. You’re silent for a moment, weighing up your options. You could turn his offer down, working late at night and lose sleep. Or you could accept his offer, taking the work at a slower pace with Lando by your side.
“I like the sound of that,” you admit quietly as Lando pulls you back into his side, feeling you rest your head on his shoulder.
“Good. We can take it slow. There’s no rush to get anything done, okay? We’re in this together, yeah?” Lando says, resting his cheek against the top of your head and securing the blanket further around you with his free hand.
Your brain had a tendency to be cruel. To make you feel stuck between working and feeling like you can’t do anything. But with Lando by your side, things felt a little lighter. Like you didn’t have to carry things alone. You were a team. He was always going to be there to catch you when you needed him.
hiii! Just wanted to request a George Russell x tennis player! reader, they were really close childhood (teenage) friends and lost contact since they both focused on their careers. But he attends Wimbledon in hopes of seeing reader, where she wins finally
hiya lovely!
I apologise for the wait but I'm happy to report that your request is up!
Warnings - swearing, inaccurate tennis things, mentions of insecurities/sexism, loosely based on the current 2025 season (just a slightly different wdc contention)
Summary - growing apart from a childhood best friend is never easy, especially when you used to do everything together. what happens when he comes back into the fold?
A/N - my first f1 request y'all!! this was truly an honour to write. George is actually my brother's favourite driver so by proxy I legally gotta love him too (I actually love most of the grid tbh). anyways, I won't ramble, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!
Growing up, you and George Russell were inseparable. You lived just down the road from each other, and your parents quickly had to get used to a little George Russell showing up on your front doorstep, asking if you were allowed to come out to play. You’d always leave school practically glued to each other’s sides, walking back home alongside each other, laughing about some inside joke that only the two of you understood while your parents and his watched on with fond smiles. When George started karting, you began to support him, going to watch him race when you could, cheering as he crossed the finish line, no matter the position he came in.
Your friendship didn’t fade even as you reached your early teenage years, and even when George began homeschooling. You went through the awkward teenage stages together, and your friendship stayed just as strong. When you discovered your love for tennis, George would attend your tennis matches, watching each move intently, celebrating loudly when you won, and cheering you up when you lost.
“One day, you’ll win Wimbledon, and I’ll be there, cheering the loudest.” You remembered the words George had spoken to you confidently, as if they were yesterday. The two of you had managed to find time to hang out one summer evening, sitting on a park bench with an ice cream each as you talked.
“And I’ll be there when you win your first Formula One championship.” You had vowed, the two of you convinced that life couldn’t break through the strong bonds of your friendship.
However, as you got to your mid to late teens, life, forever cruel, began to push the two of you apart. George was away more often than not for various karting competitions before progressing to Formula Four. You tried to attend his races when you could, but tennis practice and matches across the UK meant the two of you began to drift apart, so you could both focus on where your sporting endeavours were taking your careers.
Despite making it to the big leagues, regularly competing at Wimbledon, a tournament you had yet to win, you still made sure to tune in to the world of Formula One. You remembered when you first saw it announced that George was going to be driving for Williams, you stared at the announcement with a smile on your face, pride for your friend swelling in your chest. You had followed his career closely from Williams to Mercedes, now seeing him battling for the lead of the championship. Even if the two of you lost contact, you still supported him from a distance, proud of everything he achieved.
Similar to you, George also kept a close eye on you and your career. He was often caught by members of his team watching your tennis matches intensely. He shared in your joys and your frustrations, often cursing under his breath when you missed out on a championship. To him, you were the best player out there, and you deserved to win not only at Wimbledon but all four tournaments.
It just so happened that the week after Silverstone coincided with the last week of Wimbledon, and through a lot of last-minute begging and scrambling, George managed to get himself tickets to the final day of the women’s championship. You still had some rounds to get through, but George had faith that you’d make it to the finals.
Across in London, you were blissfully unaware of the plan your childhood friend was beginning to concoct, your focus solely on your performance and getting the Wimbledon title.
“You know, I think you totally have it in the bag this year,” your friend, Zoe, says as the two of you sit in a cafe.
“Don’t jinx anything. The girls are as good as they are every year,” you say, sipping your tea with a small smile. You knew you were competent and genuinely had a shot, but you didn’t want your confidence to broach arrogance; you were already looked at under the harshest microscope, and you didn’t want to give people any more reason to discredit you and your abilities.
“Okay, okay, fine. No more tennis talk… for now. Hey, did you see George’s race last Sunday?” Zoe smoothly changes the subject, a smirk appearing on her face when your smile widens subconsciously.
“I did. I’m so proud of him. Winning Silverstone was always a dream for him,” you say quietly, remembering the times George would tell you about him winning Silverstone in excruciating detail, even down to how he’d pop the champagne on the podium.
“You know, you should totally get back in contact with him.” Zoe’s nonchalant suggestion made your eyes bulge, nervously clearing your throat.
“Zoe, it’s been years since we last spoke. I can hardly just shoot him a message like ‘hey, I know it’s been years since we last spoke, I don’t even know if you remember me, how are you?’ can I?” you argue, leaning back against your chair as Zoe scoffs lightly.
“That’s exactly what you can do. You’re y/n l/n, he’d be an idiot if he forgot you,” Zoe says softly, reaching across the table to place her hand atop yours.
“He’s busy with Formula One, I’ve got Wimbledon in my grasp, I can’t let this slip away again.” Your voice cracked slightly as your gaze dipped to the table.
“Okay, sweetie. We’ll focus on Wimbledon, and when you’ve won that championship, then we can think about getting you back in contact with your best mate,” Zoe says softly as you let out a watery chuckle.
“Fine, if I win, I’ll let you help me draft out a message to George, and we’ll see if that gets me anywhere. I promise.”
You didn’t know what kind of magic that promise contained, but it was like your performance had been amplified on the courts. You were winning your matches left, right, and centre, and before you knew it, you had secured yourself a place in the finals of the Wimbledon championship once more.
“So, y/n, you’re through to the championship finals once again, congratulations. How do you feel about your chances?” You were asked in a post-match interview, still sweaty and out of breath, with a towel draped across your shoulders, but still smiling.
“Thank you. Yeah, I feel pretty good about Saturday. Obviously, I don’t want to sound too full of myself, but my performance has been good so far. I mean, we’ve all been on top form this whole competition, so I know Saturday won’t be easy, but I’m going to fight my hardest for that championship. Either way, I can be proud of what I’ve achieved so far these past couple of weeks, and win or lose, I can leave here with my head held high,” you answer with a smile, wiping your face with your towel.
“You absolutely can be proud of yourself. Maybe this year will be your year. Good luck on Saturday.” You bid the interviewer goodbye with a polite thank you, making your way into the changing rooms to shower and get out of your kit. When you emerge from the changing room, you’re greeted by Zoe, who holds a bottle of water out towards you with a grin.
“You’re in the championship finals, girl! One step closer to reuniting you with your man,” she says with a raised eyebrow as you roll your eyes, taking the water.
“He’s not my man. I haven’t seen him in years,” you laugh, pulling the cap off your water to take a sip as Zoe sighs.
“You can’t lie to me. I see the look in your eyes when you talk about him, and when you watch his post-race interviews, you look like you wish you could be in the room with him,” Zoe says as you feel your face heat up.
“I don’t know what you’re seeing, but it’s not that. I just miss my friend, it’s been too long,” you say softly, shaking your head.
“That’s why you need to win this thing on Saturday. First, you reconnect the friendship, then you can get the guy. Trust me, you can keep denying it, but you haven’t gone on a date in years. George has some kind of hold on you still,” Zoe insists, following you as you make your way out of the courts, smiling and greeting fans who happen to notice you. You remain quiet at her words, focusing on signing things for people and smiling for photos despite how Zoe’s words mingled in your head. You couldn’t deny that in your teenage years, you had harboured a crush on George, and you couldn’t deny that now he was just as gorgeous as ever. His face was perfectly sculpted, and his eyes were still as brilliant blue as you remember them being. It didn’t help your case when you came across one of his many shirtless pictures on his Instagram, making your cheeks heat up rapidly while you turned your phone off and placed it face down on your sofa. Maybe the naive hope that you and George would cross paths once again is what made you not go on dates. You knew it wouldn’t be fair for anyone you went out on a date with to have to compete with a crush you had in your teenage years. You didn’t want to compare everyone to George Russell, the man who held your heart in his hands without even knowing it.
When you had finished spending time with the fans, you and Zoe made your way back to your flat in Central London, ready to crash after the match you’d had. The Underground, true to its reputation, was packed with tourists and people heading back to hotels or their houses, turning the train into a pack of sardines. Most would complain, but you and Zoe were much too used to it by now, accepting the heat and the lack of personal space until you needed to get off the train, making your way to your flat.
“Finally,” you groan happily as you close the door behind you.
“I’m cranking up the air conditioning.”
“Just taking advantage of the fact I paid to get that installed, huh?” you laugh as Zoe beelines for the air conditioning control, turning it up to full blast.
“Absolutely, I am. I don’t have the luxury of air conditioning, so I’m going to soak up every second of this I can,” Zoe says, crossing to flop on your sofa with an exaggerated sigh.
“I’m such a good friend to you, aren’t I?” you joke, collapsing in the armchair with a smile.
“The best.”
The two of you spent time together, talking about life outside of your jobs, and what you could do when you get some free time after the competitions were over. You hadn’t had a chance to hang out with Zoe due to your busy schedules. Taking part in Wimbledon meant you could see your friend for a couple of weeks before you had to go to America for the US Open.
As the summer sun began its descent, it painted the London skyline a beautiful golden hue as the sun reflected off the windows of the surrounding buildings. Zoe soon went home, leaving you alone in your flat. You had the next day off, so you treated yourself to some time curled up in bed, some sitcom playing on your laptop while you scrolled mindlessly through social media. You scrolled through various posts from your fellow tennis competitors, making sure to comment underneath their posts, praising them for their incredible performances on the court, and how you couldn’t wait to go up against them in America.
Soon, you came across a series of pictures posted by George from Silverstone, a picture of his Mercedes crossing the finish line, the 63 emblazoned on the front, a picture of George hoisting the trophy above his head, his eyes teary and his grin wide, then a picture of him spraying champagne, the bottle aimed at the Mercedes team member who had been on the podium with him, and then finally, a photo of Lando Norris and Max Verstappen drowning him with their own champagne, all three men grinning widely. Underneath sat a caption about needing a few days to process the win, still struggling to believe that his childhood dream became a reality, thanking his team for their work on the car, his strategies, and his fans for their support. You liked the post with a smile, opening the comments to a sea of support, all the drivers congratulating George for his first home win, and your thumbs soon hovered over the keyboard, typing out a short message.
‘Congratulations, George. Knew you could do it xx’
You stare at the comment for a few seconds, your thumb hovering over the send button, debating whether it was worth sharing that comment with not only George but the world, too. Eventually, you deleted the words, deciding you’d leave it for now. You needed to focus on Wimbledon. You needed to win this.
Before you knew it, it was Saturday, and you were sitting in the changing rooms getting ready to take part in the finals of the Wimbledon championship. You had spent almost the entire day before training intensely. You wanted to know where you left yourself open and how you could improve, and your coach was brilliant, helping you feel confident about your chances in the finals.
While you were preparing, George was entering the Centre Court, finding his seat and settling down with water in one hand and a small pot of strawberries and cream in the other, ready to watch the match. As he waited, his stomach twisted in slight anxiety. Would he be able to see you after your match? Would you even want to see him?
His worries were quickly pushed aside when you made your way out to the court, tennis racket in hand, as you waved to the crowd with a smile. George couldn’t help but admire you with a small smile of his own. Sure, he followed you on Instagram and was aware of how utterly gorgeous you were now, but seeing it in person was another story. You were practically glowing under the unusually bright British sunshine, and you looked as confident as ever.
This match was everything. You had to win two out of the three games in order to claim the Wimbledon championship for your own. You did the coin toss, ultimately losing to your opponent but taking the loss in stride. It was only to choose the side they served from first, so you just had to focus on your own performance above everything else.
George watched you play intently. Your style has adapted a lot since he last saw you play when you were both younger, evidence of intense training and laser focus. Your eye never left the ball, ready to dive for it at a moment's notice. You moved with practised precision, a fire in your eyes that showed just how badly you wanted this championship. Before George knew it, you had won the first game to a round of applause from the crowd, and George could see the confidence sparkling in your eyes. He knew you never liked to be too sure of yourself, often saying that you were setting yourself up for disappointment, but this time felt different; he could tell that you felt like you could do it, like you could win Wimbledon.
The second game went a bit differently; you ended up losing by a margin, and George found himself leaning forward in his seat, anxiety bubbling in his stomach once more.
“Come on, y/n/n. You can do this,” he mutters to himself quietly, his hands clasping together as you take a swig from your water before wiping the sweat from your brow with a towel. You take a moment to breathe and recenter yourself before you step back onto the court, your grip tight on your racket.
The tension in the audience could be cut through with a knife. Every head was snapping from left to right, following the ball as it flew from side to side. No one could even dare to breathe. The only time the audience dared to make a noise was when one of you scored, either to groan lightly or clap politely.
It all came down to this. You and your opponent had managed to get a deuce. You had scored the first of two points you needed to win, so all you had to do was score again. Your focus was intense; you followed the path of the ball carefully. You couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. You couldn’t pay attention to the crowd. You couldn’t afford a single slip of focus. You just kept your breathing steady, kept the rally going until you could find an opening.
Soon, you found the opening you needed. You hit the ball, angling your racket just right so the ball would fly into the perfect spot, somewhere your opponent wouldn’t be able to reach before the ball bounced a second time, securing you the final point you needed. The moment the point was confirmed by the umpire, you broke out into a grin, pumping a fist excitedly as the crowd applauded and cheered. Amongst them, George cheered the loudest, ignoring the weird looks he was getting from the people around him.
You crossed to shake hands with your opponent, congratulating her for making it this far and thanking her for the good game. You then crossed to where your water and towel were, chugging the water while patting your face with the towel. When your heart rate had slowed from the adrenaline, you crossed to the stands, signing some things for young fans and smiling for photos as you worked your way around the front of the stands before being ushered away to get ready for the trophy ceremony.
You freshened up before heading out to the court once more, being greeted by a round of applause as you received the trophy, curtseying politely to the member of the Royal Family who presented you with the trophy before hoisting it up in the air for the crowd to see as they cheered. As you held the trophy up, you took a moment to survey the crowd.
And then you saw him.
Amongst various other people stood George Russell. In a perfectly fitted blazer that complemented him beautifully, his sunglasses perched atop his head as he smiled and clapped. It felt like the rest of the world was muffled. All that you could focus on was that George was there. He had seen you win Wimbledon just like he promised all those years ago.
“y/n, congratulations on your win, this is an absolutely monumental moment for you, I’m sure. How are you feeling right now?” The interviewer’s question shook you from your staring contest with George as you focused, smiling at her.
“I’m honestly feeling… overwhelmed in the best way. To win this tournament in front of my home crowd is the biggest honour,” you manage to say with a nervous laugh, your eyes dipping to the trophy, your thumb running lightly over the various engraved names.
“This is an incredible achievement for sure! Now, you’ve won in Australia and France as well. Do you think you can claim the Grand Slam with a win in America, too?” You’re asked as you purse your lips in thought.
“I don’t want to jinx anything. You’ve all seen how amazing the competition has been this whole season. Winning a Grand Slam would be a dream, and I do truly hope to get there someday. I’ll just have to train as much as possible, and play my hardest.” Your answer was as diplomatic as you could make it. You never wanted to sound too confident in your interviews; if people picked up even the slightest amount of confidence, they would take it as you having an ego and would tear into you online. You always tried to choose your words carefully. Even if you did think your chances were good.
The interview carries on for a few minutes before you’re ultimately allowed to leave, and you make your way towards the changing room, handing the trophy to an official before being greeted by Zoe and her boyfriend Ryan, who both embrace you happily.
“You did it! You won Wimbledon! You’ve got this Grand Slam in the bag!” Zoe exclaims as you laugh.
“Don’t jinx it, Zoe,” you say as you pull away.
“You can say I told you so when she does actually win,” Ryan adds, nudging Zoe with his elbow as she laughs. As the excitement begins to wear off, the reality of George being in the crowd crushes you like it weighs a thousand pounds, making you bite your lip.
“Girl, you just won Wimbledon and you’re pulling that face, what’s wrong?” Zoe quickly asks, noticing the shift in expression.
“George is here.” The words tumble past your lips a lot easier than you expected them to, both Zoe’s and Ryan’s eyes widening.
“George Russell? He’s here?”
“Do you want to see him?”
Zoe and Ryan’s questions come in tandem, making you blink slightly before nodding.
“Yes, and I want to see him,” you mutter softly, making Zoe nod before turning to Ryan.
“Go and find him,” she says, making Ryan’s eyebrows furrow.
“Why me?”
“Are you really going to deny y/n the chance to reunite with him? Go and find him, please,” Zoe says, nudging Ryan as you tell him where you saw George sitting, hoping he hadn’t moved too far in the time you’d been gone.
Back in the stands, George had gotten to his feet but barely moved. He wanted to see if he could find you somehow, but he didn’t know where to begin. He could hardly approach a member of staff and hope that his status as a Formula One driver and the claim of being an old friend would get him to see you. He knew you had seen him during the trophy ceremony, so all he could do was hope you’d find him if you really wanted to see him.
“Excuse me, you’re George Russell, right?” At the sound of a voice, George turned around, already plastering his media-trained smile on his face.
“Yeah, I am,” he replied, expecting to be asked for a photo or an autograph by the man standing in front of him.
“I’m Ryan, a friend of y/n’s. She told me she wanted to see you, so if you’d like to see her, you can follow me,” Ryan says, his words making George’s eyes widen slightly.
“Seriously?” George blinked, caught off guard by what had just been said to him.
“If you want to see her, I can take you to where she is,” Ryan offers, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Yes. Yes, I’d like to see her if I can.” George nods quickly.
“Alright then, follow me,” Ryan says, gesturing for George to follow him, which he does without hesitation. Ryan leads George to the room outside the changing rooms, where Zoe is waiting.
“y/n’s just sorting herself out. She shouldn’t be too long. I’m Zoe, by the way,” Zoe says before quickly introducing herself, holding a hand out for George to shake, which he does.
“I’m George, nice to meet you. Both of you. Have you been friends with y/n for a while then?” George asks with a polite smile.
“A few years now. My job was doing a collaboration with a brand she’s a spokesperson for, and the rest was history. She helped me and Ryan get together as well,” Zoe explains as Ryan’s hand winds around her waist, tugging her into his side as they both smile. Before George could respond, the door to the changing room opened, and you stepped out, now dressed in something more casual, yet you looked absolutely beautiful in George’s eyes.
“Hey George,” you mumble, a shy smile appearing on your face as George breaks out into a bright grin.
“Hey, y/n/n.” The familiarity of the nickname falling from George’s lips makes your smile grow wider, encouraging you to move closer.
“You kept your promise, huh?” you muse softly.
“I’m not a man to break my promises. Especially for my best friend, even if it has been years,” George assures, his smile refusing to fade as he watches you.
“It’s so good to see you again, George,” you say, memories of the times you and George would spend together flashing through your mind as you look at him.
“It’s good to see you, too. Hey, let’s go for some dinner to catch up and celebrate your win, my treat,” George says as you bite your tongue in thought.
“I did have plans with Zoe and Ryan…”
“No, you don’t! Ryan said we’re having a night in, just us two and some takeaway,” Zoe quickly insists, speaking over you as Ryan blinks in surprise.
“I did? Oh, yes, I did,” Ryan says quickly, plastering an innocent grin on his face as your eyebrows furrow slightly before turning back to George.
“I guess I’m free,” you shrug with a laugh as George nods.
“Okay, you can pick the place, and we’ll head over,” George offers, making you tilt your head slightly.
“You sure?” you ask as George nods.
“Of course, I’m sure. You just won Wimbledon, and you think I’m going to let you pay? I’m not that mean,” George jokes, his arm slinging around your shoulder naturally as he ushers you out of the room, leading you away from the courts of Wimbledon, leaving Zoe and Ryan behind.
“I give them until the end of the year before they’re together.”
You and George head into Central London together, walking side by side as you talk quietly together. You end up picking one of your favourite restaurants, and the two of you enter, being taken to a table and sitting down with a smile.
“You know, someone’s going to snap a picture of this, and it’ll be dating rumours for at least a week,” you laugh as you pick up the menu, eyes scanning the words on it.
“Let them have their fun. They don’t know that we were friends back in the day, so they’re obviously going to leap to conclusions. We know the truth, and that’s all that matters,” George says assuringly, his smile warm as he looks over at you.
“It will make for some good headlines,” you laugh.
“I can see them now, ‘y/n l/n spotted on date with gorgeous Formula One driver, George Russell’,” George says, his voice taking on an exaggerated reporter voice as you giggle.
“Haven’t stopped talking yourself up, have you?”
“I haven’t had you to bring down my ego.”
“Someone had to keep you humble back in the day,” you nod with a grin.
The two of you continue to talk, ordering food and drinks before returning to the conversation. You talk about everything you’d missed in each other’s lives. How your families are doing. What you get up to in off seasons. Soon, the conversation turns to your careers, and as the food is served, you find yourself being unusually honest with your old friend.
“So, how are you feeling about America? Think you can make it a Grand Slam?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to get my hopes up. But I also don’t want to sound too confident. You know what the media and the public get like when a woman sounds too confident,” you mutter as you poke at your food, laughing bitterly.
“They can get pretty harsh, huh?” George asks softly, no malice or judgment in his tone, just wanting to understand.
“Pretty harsh is an understatement. If anyone picks up on any confidence from me, I become a target. I’m too full of myself and need to be knocked down a peg or two. I need to be humbled by a male player because there’s no way I could be as good as they are. It’s just frustrating that I have to work ten times harder to prove myself. It’s like they’re waiting for me to do something so they have an excuse to rip me apart.” Your words were quiet as you looked down at your plate.
“They’re assholes.” George’s muttered words were laced with a slight anger, though you knew it wasn’t aimed at you.
“Don’t I know it?” You try to laugh, finally getting the courage to look up at George.
“I mean it. They’re truly assholes. You’ve worked so hard to get to this point in your life. I remember how long you’d stay at the courts after your training with your coach. Me and your parents had to practically drag you away from the courts, especially in the winter. You’re a force to be reckoned with out there on the court. Anyone who makes you feel bad for that, or like you can’t be happy or confident about yourself? Well, they’re not worth your time. We haven’t seen each other in years, and I could still see my friend who worked her ass off to get to where she is. Their opinions are nothing. Focus on yourself and not the people who don’t know a thing about you.” George’s words were soft, but you could hear his confidence in you.
“Still always know what to say, huh?” you joke, a soft chuckle escaping George’s lips.
“Well, when your teammate is only eighteen years old and in his rookie year, you get looked at for advice and wise words a lot,” George admits with a smile.
“I’ve been watching the races. He’s really good for how young he is. Getting a podium in his rookie year is something special. He’ll be giving you a proper run for your money next year, I bet you anything,” you say, spearing some food on your fork, grinning as George’s jaw drops in mock shock before it shifts into a grin and a nod.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Kimi’s got a lot of talent,” George agrees, thinking of his teammate's potential. The two of you fall silent for a moment before an idea sparks in George’s mind, making him look up at you.
“Hey, you should come to a race. The next one’s Belgium, I’d love to have you in the garage supporting me.” George offers quietly, studying your reaction carefully as you nibble on your bottom lip in thought.
“When is it? I have quite a bit of training before the US Open,” you mutter, trying to visualise your schedule.
“Belgium’s in a couple of weeks. If you can’t make it, that’s fine. Name any race and I’ll get you a pass. You don’t even have to come for the whole weekend, you can just come for Sunday if you want,” George says, studying your reaction carefully, almost worried you’d tell him no.
“I think I could make it to Belgium. I’ll have to double-check my schedule, but I think it’ll be okay. It’ll be nice to see you in your element. I bet it’s loads different to the karting days,” you say with a smile, remembering the times you’d spend at local karting tracks to support George as he raced.
“It’s definitely… busier.” George manages to laugh, the bustle of the paddock almost ringing in his ears at the mere mention of the chaos of a race weekend.
“Well, I can’t wait to see it first-hand,” you say, leaning back in your chair slightly, taking a sip of your drink.
“You know, with the way the championship is going. It might all come down to Abu Dhabi… I know it’s a few months away, but would you like to come to that race too?” George then asks, his gaze dipping to his glass in front of him.
“I mean, you kept true to your promise of seeing me win Wimbledon. It’s only fair that I be there to see you win the championship.” You didn’t even need to think about your answer. You knew George was right. Given how the championship was going, it more than likely would come down to the final race in Abu Dhabi, and you wanted to be there to see him win it all.
“Who knows? You might end up being my lucky charm. You were for my karting races,” George teases, shooting you a joking wink as you roll your eyes with a laugh.
“Don’t speak too soon. My good luck magic might’ve worn off over the years.”
The two of you continue to talk until you finish your food, and true to his word, George refuses to let you pay the bill, insisting that it’s his treat while you thank him. After you leave the restaurant, George, ever the gentleman, makes sure you get home safe, the two of you stopping outside your block of flats with shy smiles. The two of you exchange phone numbers, promising to have more regular contact. Before he leaves, George suddenly becomes sheepish, shuffling awkwardly.
“Do you think I could give you a hug? I know it’s been so long and-”
You make the move, wrapping your arms around his middle as he quickly moves to hug you back, his tall frame enclosing you perfectly. The hug lasted the perfect amount of time, reminding you of how much you missed your friend, and how grateful you were that he was back in your life.
“Text me when you get back safe, okay?” you ask softly as you pull away from the embrace, looking up at George, who nods.
“Promise. I’ll see you in Belgium?” George asks, trying not to let hope sneak into his voice.
“I’ll be there, Russell. Can’t have you going without your good luck charm.”
True to your word, you soon flew out to Belgium on Sunday to attend the Belgian Grand Prix, with tickets and paddock passes courtesy of George Russell and Mercedes.
Entering the paddock was overwhelming, lots of fans and various team members all trying desperately to shelter themselves from the rain with umbrellas, coats, and hiding under canopies. With your jacket tugged over your head, you make your way to the Mercedes hospitality area, where George was waiting under the sheltered canopy area just outside, as you practically dive for cover while George laughs.
“I warned you that it was going to rain,” George says, holding out a towel for you to dry your soaked hair.
“I didn’t think it actually would. You know what the weather forecasts are like,” you grumble, immediately working on drying your hair as George chuckles quietly.
“Yet here you are, soaked. You’re lucky I remember what you’re like with the weather. I’ve got you some team kit you can wear since you’re going to be supporting me today,” George says, ushering you inside as you laugh.
“Bold assumption there. You invited me, sure. But who's to say I can’t root for Kimi?” you ask, making George gape slightly before he shrugs.
“At least Kimi’s Mercedes. You could’ve picked another team,” George says, flashing you a grin as he leads you to his driver’s room, where he’d squirrelled away some things for you, holding out a fresh Mercedes hoodie for you to put on before becoming distracted by something on his phone.
“I mean, Max has been performing pretty well so far…” You say, watching as George’s head snaps around to look at you, a look of utter betrayal on his face as you break out into laughter, doubling over as George shakes his head.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he warns jokingly.
“I would never. I’ll support my best mate no matter what team he’s on. Even if he was struggling in an Alpine,” you say with a grin, patting George on the shoulder as he rolls his eyes.
“Gee, thanks,” he replies dryly, his smile giving away his true emotion.
“George, we need you to start your race prep, so get down to the garage as quickly as you can,” Marcus, George’s race engineer, says, sticking his head into the driver's room, headset already on.
“Shit, really? I thought we’d have a little longer,” George says, groaning quietly.
“It’s fine, I was the one who took too long sorting myself out and getting out of the hotel. You get yourself ready, I’ll wait outside,” you say softly, nodding George’s direction before you make your way out of his driver’s room, finding a place to sit and wait for George to emerge. While waiting, you entertain yourself by scrolling through your phone, texting Zoe.
‘I ended up running later than I expected, only got to have a brief moment with George before he was summoned for race prep.’
‘You think they’re going to race? It’s still raining pretty hard.’
At Zoe’s text, you glance out of the large window of the Mercedes hospitality, seeing the rain falling heavily, dark clouds consuming the sky. You knew the chances of the race starting on time were low, but maybe the FIA would be willing to have a wet race.
‘I don’t know. We’ll have to see what the decision is.’
You are pulled from looking at your phone by George, now in his race suit, extracting your phone from your hand, making your head shoot up as he grins, holding your phone above his head teasingly.
“You’re an arse, give it back,” you say, attempting to sound threatening, but your laugh betrayed you.
“Why would I do that?” George teases, a shit eating grin on his face as he dangles the phone above his head.
“Because you’re supposed to go and get ready for a race, maybe?” you retort, holding your hand out expectantly.
“Yeah, but it would be more fun to hang out here and bug you,” George says.
“Fine, don’t blame me when Toto Wolff comes storming in here demanding to know why his championship contender driver isn’t where he’s supposed to be.” You raise an eyebrow, flexing your hand once more as George rolls his eyes with a smirk, returning it to your hand.
“You say that, but you’d be the one I’m hiding behind,” George grins, both of you laughing at the mental image of George trying to hide his tall frame behind you, shielding himself from Toto Wolff.
“Let’s head down to the garage; they’ll throw a fit if they have to wait any longer for you,” you say, gesturing with your head as George nods begrudgingly, not wanting his time with you to end. As you both step towards the door and the downpour waiting outside, George grabs his umbrella, opening it as he steps outside, ready to shelter you both from the rain as you step out from under the canopy.
It didn’t take the two of you very long to get to the garage, smiling as you greeted various members of George’s team, including getting a proper introduction to Marcus, his racing engineer. As you spoke with Marcus, listening intently as he describes how quickly conditions on track can change, George approaches, an arm wrapped around Kimi Antonelli’s shoulders.
“Sorry to interrupt. I just thought y/n should meet my teammate. Kimi, this is y/n. y/n, this is Kimi,” George says as you hold a hand out to Kimi.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kimi,” you say warmly, shaking his hand with a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, too. George talks about you a lot,” Kimi says with a boyish grin, making George instantly flush red.
“Oh, is that right?” you tease.
“Well, I… how could I not?” George stumbles over his words, reaching up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. You couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at George’s sudden sheepishness, finding it sweet that even when you two weren’t in touch, he still cared enough to talk about you to the people around him.
“If it makes you feel any better, Zoe was probably sick to death of me talking about you all the time,” you confess shyly. Your quiet words made George’s heart flutter slightly, shocked that you had been talking about him to your friends.
“I think I hear Bono calling me. I’m going to go. It was nice to meet you,” Kimi excuses himself, scurrying out of George’s garage as you watch him leave.
“Did you hear Bono calling him?” George asks quietly, moving to stand alongside you.
“Nope.”
“Well, whether Bono was calling him or not, Kimi had the right idea to get ready. I should probably do the same,” George says, turning to where his helmet was placed, beginning to get himself ready while you moved out of his way, standing near Marcus, who, upon being asked, was happy to explain the various strategies teams may be using for the race.
Once George is ready and the national anthem has been performed, the drivers begin to head to their cars. George was starting in P2, a position he wasn’t thrilled about, but he knew it gave him at least a chance to fight for P1. The rain was still lashing against the track, the asphalt soaked through as the cars began their formation lap behind the safety car. You had been handed a pair of silver headphones to listen to the communication between George and his team as you stood before some screens to watch the race on.
“How’s the visibility out there, mate?” Marcus asks as the cars make their way around the track.
“I won’t lie to you. It’s pretty shit.” Came George’s reply, his voice laced with frustration as he tries to navigate driving behind Max Verstappen. Marcus falls silent for a moment, clearly looking at data and listening to the conversation from elsewhere.
“Okay, George, they’re going to delay the race start, follow everyone into the pits,” Marcus instructs, his eyes scanning the screens in front of him as you fold your arms across your chest. You didn’t know how long you’d be waiting for the race to start, but at least the drivers were allowed to get out of their cars and shelter for a while.
You wait patiently, an hour and twenty minutes passing before the race is cleared to restart, albeit under a safety car for a few laps to see how the track and visibility are. You watched as the cars peeled out of the pit lane, following the safety car, each driver warming up their tyres and reporting information to their engineers. George stuck as close as he could to Max, wanting to be ready for anything. When it’s announced that the safety car will end by the fourth lap and that there’ll be a rolling start on lap five, you fidget anxiously. George needed a good start to get past Max, and all you could do was hope he could get the start he wanted.
When the race officially begins, the cars roar to life, all the drivers eager to begin racing like a horse chomping at the bit. You watch as George instantly begins working at a way around Max. Max, of course, was not going to give up his position easily; he was as defensive as ever, as you expected from the current world champion who was now grappling for a fifth consecutive driver's championship. Luckily, George was able to use an unintentionally generous slipstream from Max to get past him on Kemmel Straight after he took Eau Rouge much cleaner than expected, drawing Max away from the racing line before diving past. You cheered happily when you saw the overtake, while Marcus praised George, instructing him to put as much time between him and Max to prevent Max from having drs and risking another overtake.
Once George was clear of Max, he was able to focus more on keeping his lead, discussing strategies with Marcus as they talked about pit windows and how the other drivers were faring in the conditions. Your eyes were glued to the screens, watching all the cars flying around the track, racing as hard as they could to get around each other.
Soon enough, cars started to pit as the track began to dry out. You watched as George’s Mercedes came through for a pit stop, coming out just in front of Max, who had pitted at the same time as him. With the close proximity as they emerged from the pits, George was urged to focus on maintaining a gap once more, so Max couldn’t get drs again.
The rest of the race was focused on George keeping his laps clean, making sure he didn’t lock up or slide on any wet patches still on the track, ensuring his win.
Soon enough, the checkered flag was waved, and George crossed the finish line in P1, getting himself yet another Grand Prix victory as you clapped excitedly. You followed the Mercedes team out of the garage to wait for George to come through to parc fermé.
Once he was out of the car, George dived into the sea of silver, the team congratulating him loudly as you captured the moment on your phone, taking photos and videos so George could have a way to remember the moment. After he had a moment with his team, George caught sight of you, pulling his visor up as he approached you, trapping you in a hug.
“You’re still my lucky charm, huh?” George muses teasingly as he pulls away.
“I don’t want to big myself up too much,” you reply, a teasing smile playing on your lips as George laughs.
“Well, I can report you’re able to keep your title as my good luck charm.”
“I’ll put it on a t-shirt,” you laugh as George shakes his head, chuckling to himself.
“Look, I gotta go. I’ll find you after, yeah?” George says quickly, aware of the interviewers getting ready for the post-race interview.
“Of course, I’ll be watching the podium,” you say assuringly, patting George on the shoulder as he moves away from the group.
You remain standing with the Mercedes team, chatting amongst them until the podium starts, clapping politely for Max and Oscar as they make their way onto the podium, and then cheering loudly when George steps out, waving to the crowd. You smile proudly as George is presented with his trophy, watching as the three drivers pop their champagne, spraying each other as they laugh.
True to his word, after the podium and his media duties, George tracked you down and found you in the Mercedes hospitality building, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat's.
“There’s the man of the hour,” you announce loudly with a laugh as you catch sight of George, making him laugh, shaking his head jokingly.
“Alright, let it all out now,” George jokes as you sit up slightly.
“I would give you another hug, but you’re covered in champagne,” you muse, not missing how George’s race suit and his hair were drenched and sticky with the champagne he’d been spraying on the podium.
“I see how it is. You’re above hugging your best mate when he’s celebrating a race win, huh?” George teases as you scoff lightly.
“I am when I’m in nice clothes and my best mate is covered in champagne,” you say.
“You’re wearing one of my team hoodies, so I think as the owner of the hoodie, I have every right to hug you,” George says, quickly grabbing your hands and hauling you to your feet, hugging you before you have a chance to react.
“Oh, George, really?” you laugh, barely even trying to escape his embrace.
“You complain, but here you are, hugging me.” George’s words were filled with a light smugness as your arms tightened around his middle.
“Only because I know it’s the only way to get you to let me go, you oaf,” you tease, looking up at him as he holds you even closer, his arms tightening around you.
“You love it, really. You used to hug me all the time after karting races, even with that shitty non-alcoholic stuff they gave us all over my race suits,” George insists, grinning widely as you think back on your childhood.
“I hope you also remember how much I hated it when you were right,” you say, although there was no malice in your voice.
“Yet you still loved me anyway,” George says, finally pulling away from the embrace.
“I did, you’re right,” you reply, your smile matching his.
“And you still do,” George says with a wink before excusing himself to shower and change, leaving you standing alone in the room, eyes slightly widened as your cheeks heated up. Now alone, you couldn’t help but mutter to yourself.
“Yeah… I still do.”
After returning from Belgium, you threw yourself into your training for the US Open, hoping it would distract you from your overwhelming feelings for George. You thought it would be okay. But each text made your heart leap. Every Facetime made your stomach do flips. George was beginning to occupy your thoughts the same way he used to when the two of you were younger, and while reconnecting with George was a more than welcome adjustment in your life, you weren’t prepared for how strongly all the feelings would come rushing back.
With the US Open looming, you extended an invitation to George, wanting to have him in attendance if you were to finally win your first Grand Slam. You wanted the Grand Slam more than anything. It had been everything you had wanted since you had gotten into the tennis world. Having your best friend there to see you win the Grand Slam had been a dream of yours since you had promised each other you’d be there to see each other’s big wins.
You knew you had to get everything right in America. You had been on top form the last few championships, and you didn’t want to falter so close to the finish line. You had trained intensely with your coach, taking in every bit of advice you were given and committing it to memory.
When you arrived in America, ready for the final tournament of the summer, you were one hundred percent focused on your performance. You won your opening rounds, working your way up towards the finals. You almost slipped up at the semi-finals, your whole journey almost falling apart then and there, but you picked yourself back up and won the match the way you knew you could.
On the day of the finals, you found yourself alone in the changing room, staring at yourself in the mirror as you tried to calm your racing heart. Usually, by now, you’d lost at least one tournament, so you had no pressure on yourself to perform well, but now, with three tournament wins under your belt, the pressure was immeasurable.
“Come on, y/n. You’ve got this. You’ve done it three times so far. It’s just once more,” you mutter to yourself, steeling your expression before grabbing your racquet and heading out onto the courts to a surge of applause and cheering. You waved to the crowd as you placed your water bottle alongside your towel before crossing to your opponent, shaking her hand with a smile and wishing her good luck in the game before you both took your positions after the coin toss.
You quickly focused on your performance, keeping your eyes on the ball, making sure that you didn’t allow the fluorescent ball to slip past your defences. The rallies were long and careful, both players looking for any opening they could find.
George watched your every movement carefully, noticing how precise your moves were and how you carefully tried to predict your opponent's moves before she made them. He muttered words of support under his breath, his hands clasping together as he leaned forward in his seat.
The atmosphere in the court was tense, with each eye on the ball as it bounced back and forth. The points came sparsely and were evenly split, almost a back-and-forth scoring of points. You were close to the win, one point away, with a semi-uncomfortable one-point lead on your opponent, so all you could do was tune your surroundings out, focusing on your opponent’s moves. When the moment came, you hit the ball with as much momentum as you could, sending it spinning exactly where you wanted it to land, bouncing twice and securing you that all-important point you needed to win.
The crowd erupted as you pumped a fist into the air proudly. You had finally done it. You’d managed to win yourself a Grand Slam. You could feel tears of happiness welling in your eyes as you crossed to shake hands with the woman you just had an intense championship battle with, thanking her gratefully for a great game, and praising her performance before you were ushered away by journalists.
“y/n, what a performance today. You have officially won yourself a Grand Slam title after years in the sport. How does that feel?” You’re asked as you take the towel and water handed to you by one of the young girls who would collect the balls that bounced out of bounds, thanking her with a grin.
“I can’t express how much this means to me. It’s been something I’ve been working towards for years now. My coaches, friends, and family have been nothing but supportive in my journey, and to be here today in front of this crowd, winning this Grand Slam is just incredible. This moment is so special to me. I won’t ever forget it,” you say with a grin, waving to the crowd as they cheer once more.
“I’m sure this is just the first Grand Slam of many. You’ve shown up and put up a performance of the year. You were brilliant, and you can truly be so proud of your achievements this year,” the interviewer says happily, her free hand reaching out to squeeze your upper arm with a soft smile.
With a nod, you thank the interviewer and turn back to the crowd, soaking in the applause before you catch sight of George, his mega-watt smile easy to pick out in the sea of smiling faces. When you lock eyes, his smile widens further, offering you a wave you’re happy to return, eager to see him after you complete all your duties.
George watched proudly as you received your trophy, clapping louder than he ever had in his life as you hoisted it up, your eyes sparkling with joy as you glance around at the crowd. He couldn’t stop the feeling of his heart fluttering in his chest when you made eye contact with him the second him, his heart surging with both overwhelming pride and the love for you that he concealed deep down to protect your friendship.
After what felt like an age, you were finally able to get changed, grabbing your belongings and heading out of the changing room, instantly being greeted by George, who sweeps you up in a hug without hesitation.
“Grand Slam winner, huh? Knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you, you have no idea,” he muses, a smile in his voice as you grin against his blazer.
“Your turn next, Russell. Can’t have one of us being a champion without the other,” you say softly as you pull away, looking up at him.
“Can’t let the team down now, can I?” George jokes, making you chuckle.
“You’ll do it. I know you will,” you say assuringly.
“Enough about me. We need to celebrate this Grand Slam of yours. Dinner again? My treat since you worked your ass off to earn that fourth championship?”
“You do know how to woo the women, don’t you?” you tease, making George laugh as he allows you to step back.
“What can I say? I’m a charmer,” George says shamelessly, his words making your stomach flip as you fight back the burning sensation building in your cheeks.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you say, attempting to joke your way out of the situation as George rolls his eyes with a laugh.
“C’mon, we’re in New York, we gotta make the most of this,” George says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders without so much as a second thought, and leading you out to the streets of Queens.
The two of you roam the streets, searching for somewhere to eat as you chat about everything and nothing. Eventually, you find a small, quiet restaurant and opt to eat there, being seated before being handed menus, immediately looking through them to find something to eat.
The meal was delicious, the perfect meal for you to have after the intensity of the day you had just had. Spending time with George was always special to you, too. Since reconnecting, you’d been practically texting day in and day out, and it felt so good to have your best friend back by your side again.
When you finish the meal, with George once again graciously paying, he walks you back to your hotel, the conversation quiet yet comforting. As you turned to face George, thanking him for the meal and for walking you back, you felt a shift in the air. George was looking at you in a way he’d never looked at you before. His gaze was soft; he was studying you like he was memorising every inch of your face. You felt yourself inching closer to him, your eyes flicking from his to his lips while he mirrored your actions.
Your lips were almost touching, your breath mingling with his as your eyes fluttered shut.
Then a car honk blared down the street, making your eyes fly open as you jumped back. The sudden reminder of the outside world is enough to shake you from the moment and return you to reality. Before George could find the courage to speak up, you cleared your throat awkwardly, taking another step back.
“I should go. Thank you for dinner again, George… good night,” you say quickly, excusing yourself, turning away as George fumbles to speak, desperately trying to call you back before you retreat into the hotel, leaving him standing alone on the streets of New York.
The months that followed that evening in New York were awkward. You still spoke to George, although you didn’t text him back as quickly as you used to, and calls became a lot more sparse. You couldn’t stop reliving that moment. How you had almost kissed your best friend. You didn’t want to risk ruining the friendship that the two of you had, even if it was awkward right now. You needed to tuck your feelings away to protect your friendship with George.
However, as December drew closer, you were lounging in your flat when a text came through from George.
‘Abu Dhabi’s next. Are you still down to come?’
‘I could really use my good luck charm at the race. But it’s up to you.’
You stared at the text for a few moments, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you carefully pondered how to respond. You had promised you’d be there for George, and you knew this race was it for him; it was the make-or-break of his championship. He needed to win to secure the championship for himself. Eventually, after a moment of deliberation, you typed out a message to George.
‘I’ll be there.’
You soon found yourself on a flight to Abu Dhabi, soaking up the sights and the sounds of the city as you made your way to the hotel. As you settled into your hotel room, you reminded yourself of what you were there for. You were there to support George and to be his best friend. You had to push the near kiss to the back of your mind and just focus on being a supportive figure for George. No awkwardness. No reminders of that night in New York. Just a friend supporting her friend in what could be the biggest race of his career.
When race day arrived, you made your way to the paddock with a pass in hand, making your way to Mercedes hospitality once more, unable to stop the smile from covering your face when you catch sight of George waiting for you.
“One last race, huh?” you say as you approach George, who quickly perks up at seeing you.
“Yep,” he agrees, not moving from where he was standing, too nervous to approach you. In a moment of courage, you step forward, wrapping your arms around his middle. He quickly reciprocates the action, wrapping his arms around you and dropping his chin to the top of your head, a happy sigh escaping his lips as he squeezes you softly.
“You’ve got this, George. I’ll be cheering for you the loudest,” you mutter, glancing up at George with a soft smile.
“I appreciate that. I’m lucky to have you around,” George whispers, although it was mostly to himself. He was so relieved when he got your text that you’d come to Abu Dhabi to see the final race. He thought he had ruined everything with that moment in New York. He didn’t realise how much he had missed you and wanted you around until you were back in his life. The idea of scaring you away was the last thing he ever wanted to do, and he considered himself beyond lucky that you chose to stick around.
“I would say you should get ready for the race, but you appear to have sorted that out yourself,” you laugh lightly, pulling back enough to take in the fact that George is already in his race suit.
“I don’t want to be rushing around at the last minute. I need to be focused,” George says with a nod, his eyes shining with a determination you had seen many times growing up. A determination to win and prove not only to the world, but to himself, that he can do it. He had the Driver’s Championship in his grasp, and he wasn’t about to let it go.
“Let’s head to the garage, I’m sure you have some things to talk through with Marcus before the race,” you say, patting George on the shoulder as his head dips, nodding slightly before he looks back at you.
“I do. You’re right,” George says, gesturing for you to follow him.
“I often am,” you tease, nudging George with your shoulder as the two of you cross the paddock, completely ignorant of all the pairs of eyes watching you both.
The two of you make it to the garage, slipping back into the normal rhythm you were used to, the awkwardness of that night seemingly forgotten as you loosen up.
You greet Marcus and the rest of George’s team as you enter the garage, instantly tucking yourself out of the way while George goes to talk about data with Marcus, both men studying the screens intently. You could see how focused George was on the data, committing it all to memory as he took it all in.
Before you knew it, George was getting ready to head out to the grid, turning to you with a nervous smile.
“Wish me luck,” he mutters quietly.
“Good luck. You’ve got this,” you say assuringly, squeezing George’s arm softly as he exhales sharply, nodding as his shoulders relax slightly.
“I’ll see you,” George says softly before turning to make his way out of the garage.
“I’ll see you when you’re a World Champion,” you call after George, smiling when you hear him chuckle to himself before exiting the garage.
The race, as you expected, was as tense as it could possibly be. The battle for P1 was close between George and Max, both battling it out when they got close to each other. Max attempted to dive bomb more times than you could count while George defended like his life depended on it.
The battle was long fought, both drivers extending their tyre stints as long as possible to avoid being undercut by the other, eventually both pitting at the same time, which then became a race on which pit crew was quicker. Thankfully, the Mercedes pit crew were on their A game and got George’s tyres swapped in what felt like record time, sending him back out mere seconds before Max was released.
You almost wanted to cover your eyes for the final few laps of the race, your heart leaping into your mouth every time Max closed in on George. Before you knew it, the final lap had begun, and after what felt like the hundredth battle in this race alone with Max, George rounded the final turn and hurtled towards the finish line where the checkered flag was being waved.
“An absolutely brilliant championship battle has been fought over this year, but it can only be won by one! For the first time ever, George Russell is champion of the world!” The Mercedes garage explodes in cheers as George crosses the finish line, the team crushing each other in hugs as you clasp your hands together, happy tears welling in your eyes.
“You did it, mate. World Champion.” You hear Marcus say into his headset as George whoops and cheers on the other end.
“I can’t fucking believe this, mate. We did it! World fucking Champion!” George’s voice was loud and laced with joy as he pumped a fist into the air, waving to the crowd on his cooldown lap on his way to parc fermé. You watched on the screens as multiple cars pulled up alongside George one at a time to give him a thumbs up, congratulating him over their own radios. Lando, Alex, Kimi, Lewis, and even Max Verstappen. You watched as all the drivers came together to congratulate George on his achievement before they pulled into parc fermé.
You and the entirety of the Mercedes garages ran out to be there as George pulled in, cheering loudly as he got out of the car, immediately tugging his helmet, balaclava, and radio off, discarding them quickly before diving into the team as they hoist him over their heads.
When George was put down, he immediately worked on finding you, embracing you tightly as he laughed tearily into your shoulder.
“You did it, George. You’re the World Champion. The best driver in the world,” you praise proudly, hugging George as tightly as humanly possible.
“I just can’t believe I did it,” George says as he pulls away, his eyes shining with tears of happiness. One tear slipped past his defences, and without thinking, you reached out to catch the tear on your thumb, wiping it away with a soft smile.
“Feels surreal, huh? I know the feeling. But you did do it. You worked your ass off, and you were brilliant. You deserve this so much. I am so fucking proud of you,” you say, your smile matching his as he leans ever so slightly into your touch.
“George, can we steal you for an interview?” The sound of an interviewer makes you jump, your hand returning to your side as George rolls his eyes slightly at the interruption before turning to him with a smile.
“Of course. I’ll be over in just a second,” George says with a nod before turning back to you.
“Go and soak it all in. This is your moment.”
You watch proudly as George completes his interviews before his podium, receiving not only the trophy for winning Abu Dhabi, but the World Driver’s Championship trophy too, hoisting both trophies proudly as those gathered cheer loudly. When the champagne was popped, George was caught off guard by both Max and Charles directing their bottles right at him, immediately getting champagne to the face as the three men laughed, embracing each other in congratulations before they all left the podium while fireworks exploded in the night sky.
Like you had in Belgium, you returned to the Mercedes hospitality building, lounging around as you waited for George’s return, now a World Champion. You scrolled through social media, smiling at the abundance of posts from fans about George’s championship win. You got so lost in your scrolling that you almost missed George’s entry into the building entirely if you hadn’t heard him chatting to the Mercedes social media admin, recapping the race for the team’s Instagram.
“There’s the World Driver’s Champion,” you say grandly, as if it were a title worthy of the Royal Family, as George chuckles, unconsciously reaching a hand out to help you to your feet, which you take without hesitation, getting to your feet and hugging George once more.
“It’s a good title on me, yes?” George gloats jokingly, puffing his chest out as you step back with a laugh.
“Already gone to your head, has it?” you tease. George only laughs for a split second before sobering up, glancing around at the watching eyes before focusing on you.
“Do you think we could talk alone?” George suddenly asks, making your heart pound in your chest as you nod nervously, allowing him to lead you to his driver’s room, waiting for him to close the door before speaking.
“Is everything okay?” you ask quietly as George turns to look at you, an almost unreadable expression on his face.
“I don’t know. Are they? I know things after New York have been awkward, and the fact you’re here today is quite frankly a miracle and-”
“George, slow down. We’re good. I promise,” you say assuringly, plastering a smile on your face, one that you hope will hide the heartbreak at having to be forever friend-zoned by George Russell.
“You promise? But are you being honest? Can you seriously look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t want me to kiss you that night?” George asks, taking a tentative step closer as your heart pounds even more, your movements becoming more fidgety.
“I…”
“y/n. Please don’t lie to me. If you say it’s not something you want, then I’ll back off and we’ll never discuss it again. But if this is something you want, then I’m gonna have another question to ask you.” George’s words were low, yet held no harshness, only a soft tone that made your cheeks heat up rapidly.
“What’s the question?” Curiosity got the better of you as the question slipped past your lips, encouraging George to take another few steps forward until he was right in front of you.
“I was going to ask if I could kiss you. For real this time,” George says softly, his eyes searching yours for any doubt, any shred of hesitation.
You choose not to answer his question verbally, instead choosing to press your lips to his, your arms winding around his neck as his hands come to sit on your waist as he reciprocates the kiss. The kiss was slow, a way for you to express your feelings without words. The two of you kissed until the need for air became too much, pulling apart but only enough to press your foreheads to each other.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” you whisper, scared to disturb the atmosphere the two of you had created.
“I imagine it’s been about as long as I have,” George muses with a grin, his nose brushing against yours.
“We’re idiots, aren’t we? For taking so long to find our way back to each other,” you mumble.
“But we’re championship-winning idiots. We found each other again, and that’s all that matters. I want you by my side forever,” George says, his lips meeting yours for a brief kiss before pulling away properly.
“If we’re going to give this a try. We might as well start with dinner. My treat this time, for the Driver’s Champion.”
You had no idea that one fateful day in Wimbledon would lead to you not only reconnecting your friendship with George, but leading to a relationship. You would never complain, though, because now that George was back in your life, you never wanted to let him go again. It was you and him against the world.
