[]

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 [𝐋𝐒𝟏𝟖] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

photo credits: Pinterest

Pairing: Lance Stroll x Fem!Reader

Summary: Asking the driver of the team you work for to attend a wedding with you as your fake date is possibly one of the dumbest ideas you’ve had ever.. but also one of the best.

Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, one bed trope oop

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter, you guys are incredible :') Here's Part 1 if you haven't read it yet or want a recap!

Word Count: 2.1k (8 minutes reading time avg)

…

"Your Dad, your sister, your brother, they're great." You didn't add anything on to Lance's sentence, heading out of the venue your brother had extravangantly booked for a rehearsal dinner.

Being a lawyer marrying a real estate agent must have its perks.

"Your mum is.. certainly a character." You scoffed, knowing he probably had no intention of clearing up what he meant, assuming you'd understand what he was trying to say.

The sun had barely begun setting, the weather was cooler, and your home wasn't that much of a walk so somewhere between the few minutes it took for you both to leave the venue and reach the corner of the street, you decided walking would be the best option.

Lance just inattentively followed you, knowing you were his only navigation system.

He took a few brisk steps to catch up with your pace, the only comfort offered to you that you'd accept after a long day would be under the covers of your bed.

"In a rush?" You exhaled through your mouth, watching the puff of air escape from your lips.

"No, just want this day to end." You felt bitter about how your mother was acting, ignoring Lance then shooting you looks as if you were in the wrong was so typical of her.

Yet you were still surprised she'd go that low on such a celebratory occasion.

"You're.. chipper." The corner of your mouth twitched upwards and you mumbled a barely coherent word of confusion.

Lance laughed at your expression, "I heard one of your uncles say it, I like it."

You breathily laughed, shaking your head. "Trust me, no one says that anymore. My uncle uses slang he thinks would make him fit in. It doesn't."

He shrugs, stretching his arms outwards and only satisfied when he hears an expected 'pop' sound. "I think he's pretty cool."

Your lips curve into a smile, turning your head towards Lance who has a similar grin on his lips. "You should tell him that, he'll blush bright red."

You undo the latch to the front gate, pulling it wide open so the F1 driver can slide through, then you shut it behind him.

"Do you have a key?" Lance asks you, hopping up the final step of the patio. He extended your purse out to you in case it was in there but before you could answer his question, you paused.

"Why do you have my purse?" Trying to recall if you handed it to him but nothing sprung to mind.

"You left it on the table, I recognised it from this." He fiddled with the Aston Martin keyring Sebastian left the entire team as a parting gift in Abu Dhabi last year.

He brought it to your line of sight, proudly smiling.

You smiled back at him, "sharp eye Stroll."

"Thank you darling." That same look of confusion arose on your face again.

You looked away, your face warming slightly as you kicked the corner of the doormat to reveal a familiar key beneath it.

"Another one of my Uncle's terms of endearment?" He chuckled from behind you, the keyring making a faint clank sound as it hit the chain of your crossbody bag.

"Afraid so." You shook your head for the second time in this conversation, bending over to grasp the key between the pads of your index finger and thumb.

Slotting it into the hole, you pushed the door open and similarly to before, Lance easily maneuvered inside and past you.

He toed off his sneakers and picked them up with his two fingers hooked into the back.

You pulled open the drawer to the shoe rack, and he pushed them inside one of the empty spaces. You followed in his movements.

"Hungry? Thirsty?" He accompanied you to the kitchen. You flicked on the light switch and he went over to the kitchen island, leaning his elbows on the cold marble counter.

"Nah, I ate my weight in almonds already." He grinned, watching you pull out a jug from the fridge.

"Sucks having a rehearsal dinner with no dinner." You commented.

You poured yourself a glass of some freshly-squeezed apple juice. Your mum was always hellbent on having fresh everything when you were growing up, guess that habit still hadn't faded over time.

After a brief moment of chatter, you slung your bag around your neck, both you and Lance ascending the stairs to your bedroom.

As you pushed the door open and your hand searched for the light switch on the wall, you came to a sudden halt when the room was eventually illuminated.

Your heart sank to your stomach as you stared at the double bed in the center of your room.

He shut the door, wondering why you'd stopped moving all of a sudden before the realisation dawned on him and his words faltered halfway in his throat.

You glanced at him as his shoulder ghosted yours to stand besides you, his gaze met yours and both of you had a very similar look on your faces: the one that said 'this wasn't part of the deal'.

"Do you want me to open a window? It's a bit stuffy in here." He nonchalantly questioned.

You refrained from telling him that it wasn't stuffy because of the humidity, it was stuffy because there was an obvious elephant in the room that needed to be addressed.

You don't answer him, your mind in somewhat of a haze as you're trying to comprehend when the fuck two twin beds that you remember moving out from suddenly turned into one double bed.

"I'll open a window." Lance states, passing the inanimate bane of your existence to crack open one of the windows.

The idea of sharing a bed brought on a sudden discomfort, and without obvious reason. You'd shared beds with so many people before; friends, cousins, on sleepovers, girls' nights.

You dismiss the memories of physical contact earlier: Lance's hand resting on your thigh, fingers intertwined, and his touch on your back.

Consequently, you also disregarded the subsequent surge of butterflies in your stomach.

Those butterflies could have been easily set aside as mere surprise, and you also had no intention of experiencing them again. It took a considerable effort to convince the F1 driver to accompany you as your pretend date for a four-day weekend, so the thought of him ever entertaining any connection with you seemed entirely implausible.

Plus, you don't even like him like that.

Lance noticed you deeply lost in thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I can take the floor." Your eyes snap up to him stood on the other side of the room, leaned against the window pane.

Your eyes then flicker to the wooden flooring beneath your feet, shuddering while imagining how wildly uncomfortable that would be for a whole night, nevermind three nights.

"It's cold, and hard."

He shrugged, not caring much for his own discomfort. He reached over to grab his gym bag besides your suitcase, your parents had brought them in from your car this morning.

He unzipped the front pocket, fishing out his toothbrush.

"I dragged you out here so the least I can do is give you a bed to sleep in. I'll take the floor."

Lance hummed in disagreement, giving you a firm look. "Nope, not happening."

He pulled off his hoodie and dropped it on top of his gym bag, heading straight for the bathroom, already knowing where it was having had it shown to him before by your sister.

You took the time to change into your pajamas, digging through your open suitcase for your toiletry bag and simultaneously waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom.

After he had, he entered your bedroom once more and you found yourself staring at his bare arms, flexing with every little movement as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

The image of his muscles burned into your mind as you swiftly exited the room and set foot into the bathroom, locking it. You exhaled a shaky breath, taking out your toothbrush from your bag of skincare.

As you brushed your teeth then veered off into your skincare routine that followed, you only prayed that this weekend would go by quickly and smoothly. Something you'd been praying for since your brother had announced the dates of the ceremony.

After you finished up, you turned the light switch off and with a hesitant movement in your feet, you pushed open the bedroom door that hadn't been closed the entire way. Yet.

You saw Lance preparing to lie on the floor and told him to wait, hoping that if your parents hadn't been clearing out the remnants of your wardrobe as they had been with your bed, you'd find..

"Yes!" You exclaimed, tugging out the air mattress, keeping a hand on the tower of clothes you never took with you. Lance helped before laughing, you met his eyes as you lay the deflated cloud on your floor.

"Why do you have an air mattress in your room?" You blushed, "because of my sleepovers. I bought it spontaneously and look, now there's a purpose for it."

"Pump?" You whisked around again, now on your tiptoes as you tried to feel around the top of your wardrobe for a familiar cardboard box but ultimately failing because of your height, or lack thereof.

"Let me," Lance interrupted, extending his arm easily to the top. You looked down to the floor so your gaze wouldn't fixate on his bare bicep twice this evening, and eventually he lowered the box so it was within your grasp.

After pumping up the mattress, pulling on a fitted sheet and throwing him two of your pillows, you also threw him your thicker duvet.

Before he could complain, you stopped him. "I took the bed, you take the duvet. I've got a blanket." He gave in, sorting it out on his bed for the night, laying on his back after what felt like days.

You slipped into your blanket, resting your head on your pillow.

"Y/N?" You hum in return to his call of your name, turning your head to see him staring at the ceiling.

"The light's still on." You chuckled but before you could swing your legs over to the side, Lance was already up and going over to the far wall.

"Thanks." You add. He cautiously steps in darkness back over, careful as to not hit anything or hurt himself.

...

You wake up to find sunlight peaking through your windows, the cause of your slumber coming to its eventual end. But the man who fell asleep beneath the window isn't there, the blanket half falling off of the air mattress, the pillows tilted slightly.

Your eyebrows furrow when your eyes adjust to your room, but you also manage to half-remember that the blanket you were seeing on Lance's mattress was the one you'd fell asleep with a mere 8 hours ago.

The duvet you'd thrown at him now covering everything below your hips. You realised he must've swapped them at some point during the night when you were sound asleep.

After a few minutes, you sat up on your bed and left to brush your teeth, retying your hair into a low bun and splashing cold water over your face.

You skipped down the stairs, walking into the kitchen where most of the voices you were hearing were coming from, Lance's distinguishable accent being one of them.

"Morning sleepy," you smiled at him as he turned away from you and to the coffee machine, looking around to see only your sister and one of your cousins who'd stayed the night meeting your tired gaze.

"Where's mum 'n dad?" Daisy shrugged, "out."

She turned her attention back to your cousin so you headed for Lance, who, with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hand, swung around to see you.

You groaned happily at the sight of it, excitedly taking it into your hands. Coffee cheered you up. Lance chuckled, noticing the genuine twinkle in your eyes when he extended the mug out to you.

"Thank you." He nodded, and after a short moment's of silence, you looked at him.

"Did you.. swap the duvet 'round?" You questioned quietly, making sure the others in the kitchen couldn't overhear.

He smiled, taking a swig of his coffee before answering.

"You were shivering." He didn't add on anything else and from the gesture alone, that damned flurry of butterlifes erupted out of their cages again in your stomach.

"Well, I appreciate it. I guess my body did too." You joked, Lance nudging your arm with his elbow, a grin on his lips.

...

Part 3

Masterlist

Comment if you want to be tagged in the next part!

Taglist: @tororossoseb-blog @hiphopdancer101universe @hc-dutch @love4lando @chonkybonky @angstyeighteen @natasharomanoffisbaebby @little-angel-07 @voidskywxlker @flowerchild-96 @vildetry06 @sharllec @aundercover @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @spicyclover @mloyer @alesainz @e-lisa-bettan @hockey-racing-fubol @cinnamonroll2003

this parallel makes me sad, thanks op 🥲

Azerbaijan Grand Prix 2018 -> Saudi Arabian Grand Prix 2024

and let the history books name joe biden, rishi sunak, justin trudeau, emmanuel macron, ursula von der leyen and every other world leader who did not step in to prevent the genocide of palestine as cold-blooded murderers. may they face a shred of the immeasurable pain and suffering they allowed to be committed against 2.2. million innocent lives.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 [𝐋𝐒𝟏𝟖] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟖

photo credits: Pinterest

Pairing: Lance Stroll × Fem!Reader

Summary: Asking the driver of the team you work for to attend a wedding with you as your fake date is possibly one of the dumbest ideas you've had ever.. but also one of the best.

Warnings: angst, Reader being very torn, lots of obliviousness, fluff, emosh, implies smut but none of it, little bit of back and forth but issa good ending ofc :')

Word Count: 4.1k words (15 mins reading time avg)

…

"What is it?"

Tom crosses his arms over his chest, glancing back at Lance and eyeing him suspiciously through the car door window.

He's occupied with his phone but his foot is tapping impatiently against the floor mat in the car.

"Now would be a great time to spit it out," you regain his attention through gritted teeth. Your patience was wearing thin, you had somewhere to be and your ex was holding you up frustratingly slowly.

He lets out a sigh, his eyes darting over your face. He seems on edge.

"I was on Instagram yesterday," his gaze fell to the concrete pavement underfoot and you shrug.

"Congratulations." You retort sarcastically and Tom brings one foot forward towards you, "did you really think nothing was going to come of it?"

You furrow your brows, "come out of what?"

He tuts, finding your stubbornness to read between the lines all the more familiar from when you used to date.

"You and Lance on a 'romantic getaway', maybe you've fooled everyone else but you haven't fooled the press." He air-quoted with his fingers and you felt like the wind had knocked the breath out of your lungs.

"I-I don't see your point." You raise a subconscious barrier, certainly overcome with the realisation that agreeing to speak to him was a big mistake.

Your jaw clenches and you resist the urge to look around you, as if you were going to find a camera blinking back.

"It got online, Y/N. Started from Daisy's Instagram story to the most trending topic on Twitter." He explains, with a level of smugness in his voice that you can't help squinting your eyes at.

He caught you in a lie, but right now, that was the least of your worries.

Fists form by your sides and panic begins settling into your chest. "And how did it get on Twitter in the first place?" The distaste in your tone when you bit back was surely evident.

Bit by bit, you start to feel a sense of chaos enveloping you, like you've somehow misplaced the capacity to hold everything together.

He shrugs mutely but the quirk of his lip makes you think he had a bigger part to play in this fuck-up disguised as a Monday morning.

As your gaze falls, you avoid meeting his eyes again, even when he nudges your arm to recover your waning attention. Detached, you're occupied in crafting a plan to get through the remaining six hours you have left with Lance.

Once that time is up, you'll be free from any scrutiny, whether it be from the media or your family, and finally be done with him.

With all of this.

...

You shouldn't have been so disengaged but you couldn't help it, your thumb endlessly scrolling through Twitter, confirming what Tom had been telling you earlier.

You'd seen only one or two tweets unrelated to the topic since you opened the app a few minutes ago.

You swallow, locking your phone and looking up from your lap. You try to involve yourself in your siblings' conversation but fail miserably, your wandering mind not allowing you to do such a thing as ignore this mess.

Lance is laughing at a video Kevin is showing him, and you wonder if he's seen anything about it yet.

He'd been on his phone in the car after your conversation with your ex had ended, and the object had been with him ever since. You were at the very least surprised nobody had even messaged him yet.

Unless he was playing dumb.

"Y/N, what time you heading out?" Your mind is in a bit of a scramble when your mother perks up with a question, meeting her eyes, you can't help but stutter.

Lance steps in.

"8 o'clock. We're both heading back to the factory." You're grateful but he eyes you questionably, you've had tougher questions than that come at you this weekend.

He smiles at the irony but you don't return it, looking away.

His eyebrows knit together and he presumes whatever your ex had told you was what'd gotten you in a distant mood, he makes a mental note to ask you about it later.

You can feel his eyes trained on you until your brother whisks him away into another conversation.

...

The ride back home's quiet, with the radio airing fresh songs whose lyrics you're not entirely familiar with. However, their tunes are infectious, prompting your fingers to rhythmically tap along.

Lance fidgets with the leather material of the steering wheel, glancing at you every now and again.

After a while, he stretches his hand to the volume knob, reducing it. You sigh inwardly, knowing that he'd picked up on your subdued mood at breakfast, which meant the upcoming conversation was quite a predictable one.

"What did your ex want to tell you?" Lance asks, his voice curious. You press your lips together, absently twisting your cuff bangle around your wrist.

"Nothing." Perhaps if you avoided the topic for long enough, he'd drop it and choose to never touch on it again.

"You spoke for a while. He didn't say anything?" He persisted.

"Has Grace reached out to you?" You pivot away from his previous question by planting another in its place about the team's communications manager.

Lance seems confused as to why it's relevant to the conversation but answers nonetheless.

"Grace? No. Why would she?" You shake your head, not commenting further as you try to muster up a plan and the courage to tell him the truth.

You desperately hoped to avoid his anger, not wanting to sow any seeds of regret in his mind about joining you this weekend.

It's almost comical how rapidly things have unravelled since this morning.

As Lance parks a few feet away from your open driveway, you swiftly step out of the car, leaving him to catch up.

He manages to close the car door just as you round the gate, moving briskly to ascend the patio steps.

He jogs to try and keep with you, skipping the middle step and succeeding when his fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, keeping you from reaching into your bag for the house key.

"Y/N, what's bothering you?" He asks curtly.

Your jaw tightens, the conversation with your ex was replaying in your mind like a relentless torture, preventing you from forgetting it no matter how desperately you wanted to.

An uncertain feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, and you release a shaky breath, deciding to be straightforward.

"He said that-" Your words hang unfinished as you glance up at the front door swinging open. Your sister looks up from her phone, holding a plastic bottle in her other hand.

"Looks like you didn't manage to beat the traffic after all, huh?" She quips, tucking her phone into her jean pocket.

Her gaze shifts between the two of you, a hint of suspicion in her eyes, focusing momentarily on Lance's hand wrapped around your wrist.

He eases it, and Daisy casually tosses the plastic bottle into the recycling bin.

You offer an awkward smile. "Yeah, must be lunchtime at work," you explain. Daisy nods, stepping aside to allow you and Lance to pass before closing the door behind her.

"I'm going to get back to packing," you add, slipping off your flats and hopping onto the first step of the staircase.

You notice Daisy raising her finger at Lance, and you swiftly intervene, "Dais, he didn't do anything." You assert and she lowers her finger back to her side.

Despite being younger, she's remarkably swift to defend her siblings whenever necessary, often disregarding external opinions, even if those opinions are attempting to correct her misjudgement.

"Better not have," she mutters, giving Lance a once-over before heading off to the kitchen.

You release a sigh as the door creaks shut, avoiding his lingering gaze and resuming your retreat up to your bedroom to finish off packing your suitcase.

...

You delicately place your rings back into the small gaps amidst the cushions of the jewellery box, your throat tightening as the sound of Lance adjusting his gym bag reaches your ears from the distant corner of the room.

Silence hung between you both ever since he ascended the stairs a few minutes after you had entered your room.

Passing a hand through his hair, he looked up at you while you zipped up the jewellery box. You shifted to the opposite side of the bed, unlatching your closed suitcase then bending down to retrieve the laundry basket, placing it on to the bed with a gentle plop.

"Can you please talk to me? Tell me the truth or even tell me a lie, but just say something," he implores. Your shoulders slumping as you methodically fold your clean laundry into your suitcase, your actions momentarily faltering.

His voice carried a note of pleading, and your continued silence only reinforced the notion that something was wrong. It went beyond the subdued atmosphere during breakfast and the unrelated question in the car.

“The press knows, Lance.” You say firmly.

"What?" he responds, though he clearly heard every word.

You observe the shift in his expression, the gentleness giving way to a hardened look. Your words momentarily escape you, leaving you with an urge to resume folding, using it as a feeble distraction.

“What do you mean the press knows?” He says concisely and you shut your eyes, your gaze facing downward.

“About this, us, I don’t know.” your voice wavers as you try to explain..

“He told you that?” No name was mentioned but the contempt in his voice gives room for enough assumption to be made.

“Yes,” you confirm quietly.

“Of course he did.” He mutters under his breath but you hear it anyway. Your eyebrows knit together subtly, “what do you mean?”

He locks eyes with you, and if you said that the chill in his gaze didn't give you a slight shiver of intimidation, you'd be lying.

“What did I ask you when he showed up at the door? I asked you why you were still bothering with him?” He stresses breathily, overwhelmed by the situation.

“I told you it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t know this is what he’d tell me.” You counter.

“He probably had a part to play in it,” Lance assumes and you shake your head, “there’s nothing to gain. With Tom, it’s all talk. Going to the press just - it doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t need to make sense, how is he conveniently the only one who knows about it?” He lowers his voice and you blink, averting your gaze. He had a point.

“I’ll talk to Grace, this’ll be fixed.” You try to assure him, picking your phone up from the bedside table.

“By doing what, telling everyone this was a lie?” He bristles and a twinge of pain overcomes your chest.

“Guess that was the whole point anyway.” he grinds out the last part of his sentence in a harsh whisper, his jaw clenching. You stiffen, his words carry a sting with them.

The realisation of the situation hits you, what he had mentioned to your mother about the challenges of maintaining a relationship in the public eye had practically come to fruition.

Though a relationship was far from what you had.

“This was all fake, wasn’t it?” you murmur, directing the question more towards yourself than the man standing before you.

"What?" He asks, having caught only a faint mumble escaping your lips. You shake your head, swallowing your words, focused on not letting them slip out again.

…

“Okay, yeah, we’re uh, we’re on our way soon.” You conclude the call, a small sense of relief washing over you after speaking to Grace.

She'd appeared relatively composed despite you having explained the situation to her in an undeniable panic.

You slide the phone face down on to the counter in the bathroom, leaning your head on the door, hoping that no one needed to relieve themselves in the next five minutes it would probably take for you to process your own thoughts.

You wince a touch as you recall the words that last fell from Lance’s mouth.

A lie was what it was, but it was strangely intense hearing it tumble from his lips.

Considering the feelings you only recently and barely had admitted to yourself and him, the weight of all of that felt as if it was coming down on you now.

But the bandage around your knee, the burden of responsibility, the dancing, the kisses, the way his gaze held you. Him. They all form as a defence argument inside your mind as you rattle through the weekend, it can't all have been fake.

You carelessly yearn for the weekend's routine – his presence, sharing laughter over the words he adopted from your uncle, the pushes into the swimming pool, the undeniable escalation of tension between you.

You realised it yesterday, though you never wanted to admit it. When his lips gravitated towards yours and his grip on your waist tightened, you realised.

You realised you’re in love with Lance Stroll. How irresponsible.

...

You quickly wipe away the tear sliding down your cheek, stealing a glance at the taxi driver who thankfully remained oblivious. You were a few minutes away from the factory, Grace emailed you this morning to call you in for a PR meeting but the topic of it was naturally foreseeable.

You hadn't yet managed to build up enough courage to text Lance, thank him for the days he wasted away to fabricate a relationship, despite it not lasting long. By the time you'd arrived back at your apartment, your sister had left you a few messages, screenshots of her Twitter feed.

She had reluctantly agreed not to inform your parents. The situation was already fraught with complexity, and having your parents involved would only make matters worse.

You offer a small, not overly enthusiastic smile as you step into the meeting room and catch sight of Lance, Grace, and the familiar members of the communications department all awaiting your arrival.

While Grace briefed everyone on the purpose of the meeting, the only faces that didn't register surprise were yours, hers, and his. You kept your gaze directed downward, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, your expression revealing nothing.

"Y/N, you mentioned you had something to share," Grace prompts, and you lift your gaze, nodding slightly. You take a moment to gauge the atmosphere in the room before you begin speaking.

"Yeah, thank you. I just wanted to say I'm uh I'm sorry for this. Perhaps I was being reckless for not thinking about the damage it might do beforehand, it was only supposed to be a simple favour." You admit, accompanied by a nervous smile.

Lance glances at you, his hands diving deeper into his pockets, inadvertently tearing apart the tissues crammed within them with his fingers.

You couldn't find any faults in their strategy to handle the potential public backlash, though at the moment, there wasn't much of it. However, Grace didn't omit the fact that the fallout could arise if indirect communication between the team and the fans was completely severed.

Several team members chimed in, contributing potential pros and cons to each of the strategies Grace had outlined. After around an hour of deliberation, with back-and-fourths aplenty, the group finally settled on the most suitable course of action.

“Lance, anything to add?” He broke his gaze away and looked up at the manager, “no. Sounds good.”

You acknowledge the fact that he seems entirely disinterested in what was happening in front of him but for good reason. You were the one who dragged him into this so in turn, it seemed unfair that he was one who had to bear the consequences of dealing with it as well.

When the meeting wrapped up, Grace allowed everyone to leave the room but you. You hoped this wouldn’t be a reprimand but you can’t deny that you had been holding a faint expectation of one.

“Y/N, I’m not that old,” your eyebrows draw together in confusion and she continues, “but I can pick up on a few things every now and again.”

You struggle to maintain the conversation, your lips parting as you respond, "I-I'm not sure what you mean."

"I'm certain this past weekend has been quite eventful, full of surprises," she emphasises, and perhaps you're leaning on the side of obliviousness because you still can't quite grasp the significance of her words.

Seemingly filled with riddles, you couldn't help but think.

“There’s a way that this entire situation could be fixed before we’d even have to step in.” Grace concedes, her words leaving a weighty impression on you, their meaning gradually becoming clearer as her sentences unfold.

“I see the way he looks at you,” she confesses quietly and you swallow.

Your gaze drops and her eyes narrow, “what is it that you’re not telling me?” Her attention to detail leaves you slightly frustrated, yet you can't help but acknowledge that it's this very trait which helps her excel at her job.

You waver in your decision, but you'd been carrying this weight within you for nearly a week. Thus, when the words begin to spill out of your mouth, you don't feel any remorse for your lack of restraint.

“He told me it was a lie. How can I tell someone who told me this was practically bullshit that I lo-” You cut yourself off, the words catching in your throat as you shift uneasily on your feet, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

"Do one better. Tell him the truth."

...

The Friday morning, two days after your brief conversation with Grace left you realising that she was right. The words you needed to express couldn't linger unsaid any longer. They had been gnawing at you, a constant replay of Lance's words echoing in your mind.

She appeared rather pleased that you chose to heed her suggestion when you approached her in the office. With her help, you managed to secure permission from the chief engineer, granting you the opportunity to visit the pit garage during track time at Silverstone.

Deciding to give him some time for his laps, you instead opted to stand on the balcony directly above the track, taking in the view. As you watched, nerves arose again upon seeing the engineers guide his car back into the garage.

It takes you a bit of time to reach the garage, as it's quite a distance to cover. However, the absence of crowds and the limited presence of other teams in the paddock make your journey a little quicker. You glance around his section of the garage, trying to spot him, but it's him who spots you first.

His smile wavers, and his ongoing conversation with an engineer comes to an abrupt stop. His race suit hangs around his waist, and his helmet rests on the counter behind him.

Navigating past a couple of engineers, you approach him, and he moves toward you with measured steps. His gaze roves across your features, seeking clues about your unexpected presence, but your expression reveals little beyond a gentle demeanour.

You take a breath through your nose, forcing a smile to greet him instead of merely gazing in silence. It's the first time you've been in such close proximity to him since the wedding day, a time that holds positive memories for a change.

"I, uh," your words falter in your throat, and you clench your jaw in an attempt to gather yourself. He remains silent, admiring.

“Do you have a minute?” You ask, a little quieter. He nods curtly, prompting you to follow him, probably to a place that wasn’t full of engineers and various personnel.

You allow him to guide you into what appears to be a communal drivers' room, presumably accessible to any driver in need. Once you're inside, he shuts the door behind you.

The confined space of the room doesn't escape your notice, but you choose not to focus on it. Instead, you concentrate on gathering your words.

Eventually, the only thing that does manage to come out is, “was it all a lie?” You ask in a whisper, though audible enough for him to hear.

Lance lifts his eyebrows in surprise, clearly not anticipating the direction that the conversation has taken. It seems your question caught him off guard.

As he remains silent, you interpret his lack of response as an invitation to elaborate on what you're asking, “what you said. There being something between us.”

He approaches you in the small space, his lips parting as he searches for the right words. “You know it wasn’t a lie.” You exhale a quiet sigh of relief, the similar emotions you’d been feeling the night on the dance floor stirring within you again.

It was a warm feeling. A comforting one.

His presence evokes memories of that night at the club, a feeling of protection enveloping you as if he were a shield of safety. However, the current proximity feels incomplete, lacking his touch on any part of your body – not around your waist, not on your arms, nor on your hips.

Perhaps, after pulling him into your mess, you deserved this sense of deprivation, as if it were a consequence of your own actions.

Several moments pass in silence within the room, a lapse in time that you're only drawn out of when he places his hand on your neck, his thumb gently tracing your jawline.

The touch pulls you back to the present, and his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips, his intention clear.

“I think I might go crazy if I don’t tell you this in the next ten seconds,” you breathily admit and Lance’s eyebrow quirks up in curiosity.

“Want me to start counting?” You scoff, a small smile tugging at your lips as you shake your head. His lack of seriousness manages to alleviate the tension slightly, making the impending conversation a touch more manageable.

"I, uh," you stutter, and he senses your nervousness, granting you a bit more time even though the ten seconds were swiftly ticking away.

"I'm in love with you," you blurt out, and a slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips. His gaze locks onto yours, the tension between you escalating threefold more than the time you had left things unresolved by the swimming pool all those days ago.

"I, uh, I didn't quite catch that," he replies and your eyes narrow. You tilt your head, offering him a silent caution. He grins, "what?"

"Don't. Don't make me do it again," you warn him playfully. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, and you can't help but smile in response.

"Why? Did you not mean to say-" Refusing to let him complete his sentence, you fist his shirt in your hand and pull him towards you. Your lips crash together in a fervent kiss, and he yields to your lead as you guide him backward until his back meets the wooden cupboard.

His hands tenderly cradle your cheeks before sliding down to your waist, drawing you closer to him. You succumb to the sensation of his touch, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your top. The warmth of his palm against your bare skin rekindles a familiar sensation within you, one you had sorely missed.

A soft moan escapes your lips as his hand exerts pressure on your skin. "Lance," you murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly, but only by a few inches. His hand shifts to your back, preventing you from retreating any further.

Guilt washes over you as you come to the realisation that you could have had this moment much earlier. "I wish I had listened to you. I wish I hadn't heard him out," you confess, whispering.

"Hey," he murmurs, his touch gentle as he traces over the skin you only ever want him to touch. His gaze meets yours, and his eyes reflect a desire that you're certain he had kept hidden until now.

“I’m way too fucking in love with you to give a shit about that.. prick.” You chuckle softly, but his gaze remains fixed on you.

"I'd offer to take you out to dinner, but that seems like too small a repayment now," he says, and you blink, acutely attuned to his words.

“What do you have in mind?” Your fingers gently threading through his hair as your hand settles at the back of his neck.

"A few things," he replies, his smile warm and suggestive.

He continues and you blush when you feel his thumb fiddling with the band of your bra. “Just me and you, what do you say to another weekend away?”

...

A/N: AND THAT IS A WRAP! Seriously though, thank you all so much for your support during this lil mini-series, it’s truly been so motivating <33 I’ll be hard at work writing again after a lil break so this is a reminder to make you sure you take care of yourself too, and put yourself first!!

Mwah, love you all loads ;)

Masterlist

Taglist: @fantasticbouquetwitchsthings @topguncultleader @spicyclover @amirahart @softiecaro @alilstressyandlotdepressy @eugene-emt-roe @e-lisa-bettan @strolleclercs @jjsprobablywrong @carmelita-holland @flowerchild-96 @honethatty12 @gaslysainz @pierre-gasssllyy @lestappenloverr @chiliwhore @mentallyunstablebish @mcmuppet @xscorpioxmoon @ferrariloverr @rivivie @starkeyellow @vanillascreams @tororossoseb-blog @hiphopdancer101universe @hc-dutch @chonkybonky @natasharomanoffisbaebby @little-angel-07 @lxnceclercs @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @hockey-racing-fubol @honeyric3 @purplephantomwolf @mindflay3r @ttzjune @xitsyaiizax @dylylylylyly @rd14 @secretlyangrymagazine @love4lando @vildetry-06 @sharllec @aundercover @mloyer @alesainz @cinnamonroll2003 @nikki01234 @junhuilvrrr @f1-hyperfixation

these photos are 😚🤌 chef’s kiss fr

essere ferrari © vittoria vanigli

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 [𝐋𝐒𝟏𝟖]

photo credits: Pinterest

Pairing: Lance Stroll x Fem!Reader

Summary: Asking the driver of the team you work for to attend a wedding with you as your fake date is possibly one of the dumbest ideas you’ve had ever.. but also one of the best.

Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers romance also fake dating trope so we’re going all in baby

A/N: I love this man, this man is very underrated and this is going to be a mini-series, probably 7/8 parts but we’ll see how it goes

Word Count: 1.7k (7 minutes reading time avg)

…

Lance oddly glances over your face, definitely dumbfounded by your ask.

Trying to persuade one of the two drivers for the team that you work for, that going as your pretend date to your brother’s wedding was quite possibly the weirdest favour you could ask of anyone.

You tilt your head, reasoning with him. “Whatever you need, I will do it and I’ll do it to the best of my ability.”

He hums, “I don’t need anything.”

You inhale through your nose, “I’ll wash your race suit and even bring it to the remaining.. 20 races."

With pursed lips, he appears untempted by your proposal.

“Okay, then I’ll do all your laundry, not just your race suit.” You say.

“There’re people in the team who do that anyway?” You sigh, leaning your elbows on the table.

“I’ll clean your driver’s room, after every practice session, after every qualifying, and after every race.”

He feigns offence, “my room is very neat for your information.”

You scoff, not wanting to but getting all the more closer to giving up.

“Then do this for me as a friend, you just said you had nothing to do between now and Baku anyway.” You countered, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Lance smiles slightly. “It’s a massive favour Y/N, I can’t just drop all my plans.”

You half-frowned, knowing he had a point. “Look, the moment I set my phone down, I know my mum would’ve been rounding up all the bachelors from here to Canada.”

He laughed and you smiled, though you were pretty sure your mum really was doing so.

“Have you asked anyone else?” He questioned, out of sheer curiosity on why you came to him first.

“No I haven’t, should I?”

“I don’t know.” His answer makes you groan, “one weekend Lance.”

There was a shift of emotion in his face and you jumped at the opportunity to try and make it as convincing for him as possible, “one or two photos, my dad loves racing so tell him about Bahrain. I have a nephew who’s into motorcycles so talk away about them.”

“With an 8 year old?” You blinked at him, “I admit the conversations may not be enthralling but toy motorcycles really get his gears turning.”

The F1 driver weighs out the pros and cons of your request, circling the rim of his glass with the tip of his index finger.

His eyes flicker to your pleading expression, your fingernails digging into the underside of your chin, your hands brought together in a praying gesture.

“Is a weekend with me going to be that horrible?” You inquire.

“No,” he admits, casually falling back on to his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I was never going to say no, I just wanted to see how far you’d go.”

He grins cockily and you reach over to slap his arm which he manages to pull away from in time.

…

The few days after the Australian race, you'd been hammered by your parents and your siblings, on who the mystery boy was. It was pretty well known that they'd meet him at some point next weekend but that obviously wasn't reason enough for them to stop asking every question under the sun about him.

When the build to that weekend officially began, you prayed that it would pass smoothly, you'd tell a few little white lies along the way and should they ever ask about him following the wedding, you and Lance would've been peacefully broken up by then.

Easy.

"Oh gosh, here we go." You lower your head to your lap while Lance takes a single sip from his champagne glass, setting it down on the coaster.

You knew bumping into a relative who asked a million and one questions during the rehearsal would be a given so you'd prepared your 'date' as best you could.

You instinctively reach for his hand, settling the palm of yours on the back of his. He's slightly disconcerted at the contact but doesn't move an inch, he glances at you sat on the seat besides him as you do the same.

You release a shaky sigh, "my sister's going to interrogate you like she's trying to put the FBI to shame. You remember what I told you right?" You ask quietly.

He nods faintly, "yeah, of course I do." He assures you.

You muster a sincere smile before retracting your hand from his and allowing it to fall on to your lap again. You then rub your palms on your thighs and stand up to embrace her.

Lance straightened on his chair, allowing your sister to approach the table before he followed your movements. You swallow when his hand rests on your lower back, but you reminded yourself it was just a part of the act.

It was amusing in hindsight how you'd pleaded, borderline begged, for him to be your pretend boyfriend for a weekend but you hadn't actually thought about what that might necessitate.

"Hi!" Your sister was ever the bubbly one who could rave about her passions for days while remaining oblivious to the other person's lack of interest.

She flung her arms around your neck and brought you in for a hug, to which you chuckled and winded your arms around her back. Lance's hand fell to his side, his gaze falling to his feet.

Once you'd pulled away, she sighed happily then glanced at him expectantly. You cleared your throat and he swiftly turned his head towards you, then at her.

"Dais, this is Lance," you realise he probably needs no further introduction. "Lance, this is my sister, Daisy."

He gives her a genuine smile, taking her hand that she holds out as a formal introduction. "Is this the boyfriend I messaged you a million times about?"

You scoff with a smile, feeling his eyes fall to your face, as if he was watching for something. "Yep, in the flesh." He swallows, nodding.

She gasps, pointing a finger towards him and you panic for a moment, if there was a single hidden talent your sister had, it was putting two and two together at record speed.

Luckily, Lance remained unphased despite the stark contrast between yours and his tension levels.

"You're the F1 driver Dad was telling us about, the one with the broken wrists." She announced loudly, though it was only a surprise to her.

"That's my reputation I guess." He comments, turning his head to your side, directing it at you. You smile, continuing to fidget with your two intertwined hands.

But he confirms it nonetheless, "that's me."

"Wow, F1. Must be cool having the girl you date at the garage for every race." He gave her a polite smile, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

“It has its perks.” You agree with him, not vocally saying what those supposed perks were.

“What kind of perks?” Your sister asked craftily and you sigh, dismissing her question.

“Behave, now go and find Kev, we want to congratulate him.” As your baby sister, with a huff, she agreed and sauntered off elsewhere.

“She’s nice.” You hummed, turning your body to Lance’s so your back was facing the crowd of people that would occasionally glance in your direction.

“She’s one of many,” He smiled, seeing the deflation on your face form when you realised this was going to be a very long weekend of lying.

“Regretting it?” You meet his eyes, he meets yours. “No. Just wondering if it was the best decision.”

“One question less, 20 more in its place.” You chuckle knowing he was referring to the inevitable question on where your date was had you not brought one, but because you had, it was flipped on its head.. then multiplied.

“Should I apologise for bringing you here now?”

“How bad are they?” He asks.

“Enough.”

…

"I haven't seen anything about you two online, considering you're famous and all." Your words remained stuck in your throat as you scrambled to try and find an answer for it in your head, Lance chuckled a little nervously.

"We keep it on the down low, trying to navigate through a relationship while being in the spotlight has its own challenges." You looked up at him and gave him a sympathetic look, a doubtful smile on your lips.

You turned back to your mum who hummed, almost with a certain distaste in her tone, a sour look on her face which you really weren't in the mood for. She was never fond of the guys you 'picked' for yourself, but instead the male specimen she spoke to once were going to be your Prince Charming, God forbid you ever went against that.

"Look, me and Lance are a little jet-lagged so can we carry this on sometime else?" You gave her a pointed look and she took the hint, though not without shooting you a knowing glance.

"Well, your room's all ready for you at home." She says.

Home. You hadn't heard that word from your mother's lips for some time, having moved away and working everywhere in the world, it was rare you found time to go and see your family.

"Thanks mum." She kissed you on the cheek before walking away, ignoring Lance's existence entirely. Your shoulders slumped once her attention had turned towards your brother and his soon-to-be wife, whom you'd already congratulated.

He exhales through his nose and you lift your eyes up to his face, "Okay, getting slightly worse." You shake your head, your fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose. At this point, you were wishing for the night to be over.

By the time the night is coming to its eventual end, you and Lance had managed to convince most people with your act of being a couple. That entailed a lot of hand-holding and lovesick smiles but you'd pulled it off, a little too well.

With his hand splayed out on your thigh, your hand was wrapped around his bicep. Along with every little gesture and movement, there was a fresh wave of goosebumps forming on your skin. You didn't think Lance knew that he was stroking his thumb along the fabric of your leggings.

"We should get some sleep," You turned your head to him and he looked down at you, his attention turning away from the current conversation your sister had everyone tuned into.

"Ready when you are." He added and minutes later, you and Lance were leaving the table, a few of your folks extending their fair shares of goodbyes and nice to meet you's to him.

...

Part 2

Masterlist

Comment if you want to be tagged in the next part!