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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

WHY HAVE I NEVER SEEN THESE?!???!!!

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 [𝐋𝐒𝟏𝟖] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

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, brief mentions of alcohol and being drunk, a tiiiiiny bit of sexual tension

Word Count: 3k words (11 mins reading time avg)

...

At some point, the boys had peeled away from the group after dinner when everyone headed for the club across the street.

After a little while of dancing with a few girls, and working your way through four or maybe six shots, you squeezed through the crowd to head over to an unoccupied table.

Despite your best efforts to try and balance yourself on the outsoles of your heels, you couldn't locate the brown-haired boy anywhere.

You groaned, plopping your bum on one of the stools and stretching your feet out ahead of you. It was that time of the night where you were beginning to curse younger you for choosing to wear heels.

"Don't tell me you're tired already!" Daisy called as she approached you.

She slightly stumbled from her drunken steps and you reached out your hand to help her keep both feet on the ground.

"I guess I'm getting old," you joked, observing as she clumsily positioned herself on the stool a few feet away from your legs, her tipsy movements betraying her level of inebriation.

She took a moment to herself, neither of you saying anything but you're eventually left alone when Daisy's pulled into the crowd again by one of her friends whom she'd invited rather late.

Deafening music pierced through your ears; while it may have elicited a surge of adrenaline a few hours ago, it now proved to be nothing more than a source of a throbbing headache.

You let out a sigh, contemplating whether to text Lance.

However, amidst the chaotic environment of a nightclub filled with alcohol, people, and loud music, the likelihood of a vibration or a ping in his pocket capturing his attention seemed slim.

You made your way to the bar and placed an order for another drink.

The bartender slid it to you across the smooth wooden countertop, and you took a sip through the straw, using your palm to cover the top.

Attempting to survey the club, you found yourself momentarily blinded by the flashing lights, hindering your vision for a brief moment.

You squinted your eyes and looked away, but then felt someone's hand brush against your shoulder. Startled, you jerked away from the touch, causing you to nearly lose your balance on your seat.

Lance quickly reacted, firmly pressing his hand into your waist to steady you. His touch ghosted over your side, ensuring that you remained stable.

"Oh.. hello." You say. The corners of his mouth curve upwards as he nods towards your drink, "how much have you had?"

You dismiss his question with a wave of your hand, "I thought you were with the boys."

"Everyone's coming back together," he spoke a little louder, aware that the crowd was becoming increasingly noisy the later it got.

“I came to find you," he added, ensuring his words reached your ears amidst the bustling club.

"You found me."

Lance's eyebrows knitted together, not understanding what you were saying and he instinctively lowered his head.

"What did you say?" Your lips are inches away from his neck, you swallow your words when you feel his hand press into your body again.

"Y-You found me." You repeated and the F1 driver chuckled, your eyes met for a brief moment as he turned his head. He promptly corrected his posture.

"Yes I have." You run the tip of your tongue across your bottom lip, and tuck it in, turning your head back to your drink to take another sip, feeling his gaze trained on you.

That stupid wave of disappointment came over you once more. Eventually, you finished your drink, all the while aware of his lingering presence behind you.

You swivelled around to face him again, determined to shake off whatever emotions had been plaguing you moments ago.

Your gaze travelled from his stomach up to his face, and in that moment, you realised just how tall he was. It hadn't fully registered until now, as you were sitting down and he was standing upright.

"What?" He looked like he was assessing you, but once you called him out on it, his eyes met yours.

"What?" He copied, you furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head. He shrugged in response, wiping the tip of his nose with his thumb.

You allowed yourself to appreciate the lights that played across his face in the dimness of the club, regardless of whether or not he noticed you staring at him.

You were starting to feel disoriented, and suddenly, he'd become a muse for only you to admire.

Even as Lance watched the two drunks on the other end of the bar socialise without there being much regard for discerning conversation, he knew you were staring.

Whether it was in admiration or confusion, it stirred on an onset of nerves he hadn't felt before with you.

"Come on, I think it's time to get you home," he suggested, your gaze growing sleepier. An urge came over you to lean your head forward and find solace on his sweater, which did look incredibly cosy and inviting but you fought it, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"You alright?" Lance tilted his head to get a better look at your face, once he'd registered that it was the tiredness consuming you, he shook your shoulder.

You forcefully blinked your eyes open, forming your hand into a fist and absentmindedly pressing it against Lance's stomach for support, preventing yourself from swaying forward.

"I'm fine," you reassured him, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

"Come on," he urged, firmly gripping your wrist and placing his other hand on your shoulder. With careful determination, he guided you off of the stool and maneuvered through the crowd, parting people to clear a narrow and cramped path as you stumbled along ahead of him.

It brought a sense of comfort to know that he was looking out for you, but at the same time, it left you with a bitter feeling because somewhere in your cloudy mind, you were aware that this display of care was just an act.

You shoulders slumped when you neared the exit, blinking when nothing really happened for a moment. You turned your head, and it took a moment for you to register where Lance had gone.

His body shielded the person he was conversing with, prompting you to muster your remaining strength and stagger back towards him, to find out what was happening.

"Lance," his name rolled off of your tongue as you neared him, your shoulder grazing against his arm.

You straightened yourself and your gaze fell upon Tom. A frustrated groan escaped your lips, clearly indicating your annoyance.

"Give it a rest." You look up to find his hardened expression.

"Just saying." Tom comments.

Lance's fists clench at his sides and you find its the right time to intervene, whether or not either men have noticed your presence.

You decide to pay your ex no attention, one because he didn't deserve it but two because you were too tired to bother with him.

"Lan, can we go? 'Am about to drop dead." You didn't want to risk a full-blown confrontation between Lance and Tom tonight, especially considering how visibly drunk Tom appeared to be.

"Yeah," he breathed out when he met your eyes, his jaw unclenching.

Tom scoffed and ventured off elsewhere. Both of you left the club, walking only a few blocks before you crossed the road to get to your car.

Just as you pressed the button to unlock the vehicle, Lance stopped you.

"Don't you think you're a little.. under the influence to be driving?" Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you feigned offence.

"Are you suggesting I'm drunk?" You prodded shamelessly.

"No. But I'm not suggesting you're sober either." You rolled your eyes, swaying a little from where your feet were planted on the ground.

"You can't even drive a manual." He scoffed, giving you an unimpressed look.

"I got my driving license with a manual." You didn't believe him but you also knew you didn't have much choice.

Lance extended his palm out. "Keys." You dropped them into his hand, and teetered over to the passenger side of the car, dropping on to the seat and shut the door after you.

You could finally rest your head and it felt good to hear silence over the booming club music.

You felt the car underneath you start up, and with one eye cracking open, you turned your head to see the Canadian looking rather dumbfounded. You didn't say anything as his hands ghosted over the handbrake, then the steering wheel.

"Manual driving license huh?" You teased, "shut up, what is it?"

You chuckled, pausing while you were trying to visualise the movements in your head. "Clutch all the way to the floor, then put it in first gear." He hummed once he'd done that, and you continued giving him instructions.

He was about to move off and you pointed behind the wheel to where the indicators were located, "signal." He stopped and flicked it upwards to which the familiar sound followed, "just testing you." He replied and you smiled.

Amidst a half-yawn, you asked, "did I pass?"

"With flying colours," came the reply as you finally closed your eyes.

…

"Ow," you stumble along the concrete path to the house, taking the left side to the garden door.

Lance follows you, though he glances back at the front door, wondering if you even knew where you were going.

"Y/N, the front door is that w... okay." He gives up when he sees you unlocking the latch, pushing it open.

You settle onto the lounge chair while he places his phone beside him after retrieving it from his back pocket. He then occupies the chair opposite you, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

The chairs were positioned near the edge of your family's glistening swimming pool, softly illuminated by the pool lights beneath the water.

Neither one of you were drunk enough to want to take a dip, the moon cast its glow upon the water's surface, creating a reflection that danced along with the ripples.

"Peaceful at least." Lance drew his gaze back at you, doubled over to try and unclasp your heels. He realised you were struggling, having alcohol in your system made even the smallest tasks virtually impossible.

"Let me." He kneels on the concrete beneath him, his fingers navigating the straps of the heel and tugging on them to force them to come undone, he did the same for the other heel, and eventually Lance tugs them off.

You sigh with relief, watching as he rose rather effortlessly and took his seat again. You smile at him and he returns it, his gaze falling from your face to the floor then to the garden around him.

"I'll call for you everytime I need someone to take my heels off." Your joke earns a little chuckle and he nods, seeing no issue with your demand. "Always happy to do that."

You bite your lower lip, glad that the darkness of the night concealed the faint blush spreading across your cheeks. Though you'd just cracked the worst joke of the century, you couldn't help but realise that his mood had shifted rather quickly.

As his head was turned, bathing in the ethereal glow of the moon's reflection, his forehead bore faintly etched lines where his eyebrows were knitted together.

Lance was never really one to open up to you so you knew your chances of him doing so now were rather small. In place of that, you had quite possibly a more terrible idea.

You stood up from the lounge chair, and hopped down on to the concrete decking surrounding the swimming pool, wincing when the pain in your feet was a little more painful than you'd anticipated.

"What are you doing?" he calls out, his voice carrying across the short distance.

You look at him, your lips pursing together before forming into a small grin. "Take a guess."

"You want to go into the pool?" You hummed, like a teacher prodding a child for an answer who was close to getting it right. "Now?" You scoff, applying a bit of pressure on the bottoms of your feet to try and numb the radiating pain.

"It's perfect, peaceful." He stands up and follows you, but takes the steps on the side instead which you can't say wasn't a wise choice.

"It's also dark and cold." He adds but you dismiss him. "Hey, the darkness and the cold.. ness don't bother me." Lance raises his eyebrows before smiling, hardly taking you seriously.

"Alright Elsa, let's do this another time, come on.” You whine, as a means of trying to convince him that this may be fun, and he sighs, squatting to dip his hand into the water.

“That’s not how you swim.” He rolls his eyes, making sure his hand was fully wet before turning his head to you.

He flicked the water from his fingertips up to your arms and face, and you flinched, feeling the cold droplets prick at your skin. “Dude.” You kiss your teeth, rubbing your arm down your face, feeling yourself sway back and forth.

“Careful,” He gets up rather quickly to create some distance between you and the edge of the pool, to be sure you didn’t fall in. As he checks to see if you’re alright, your eyes glance to his face then to the pool and you bite back a grin.

“What’s that?” You question, feigning captivation by something at the far end of the garden. When Lance follows your line of sight, you use your force and the distraction to push him into the pool.

Amidst the bursts of laughter, he eventually emerged to the surface, running his hand down his face and then back up through his hair. Gasping for a brief moment, he released a sigh and shook his head in a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“You’re.. oh you’re a prick.” He exclaimed, exasperated and cold from the unpleasant temperature of the pool.

“You gotta stop talking to my Uncle and learning all these words, you’re hurting my feelings.” You placed a hand over your chest, playfully fanning your eyes as if you were blinking back non-existent tears.

He smiles warmly despite being one-upped and you return it proudly, placing both hands on either side of your hips, accepting the small victory. “Alright alright, now help me up, please it’s freezing.”

You knelt down to reach for his extended hand, and because of your own foolishness or the possibility that you were a little too intoxicated, the mischievous smirk on his lips as he eagerly grasped your hand flew right over your head.

You yelped as you felt yourself lose balance very quickly, and in a matter of seconds, you hit the surface of the water then felt your entire body be embraced by the pool.

You could hear Lance’s deep laughter despite being underneath the water for the brief moment it took for you to swim back up.

Once you resurface, you quickly turn around to find Lance holding his hands up in a playful mock surrender. Determined to retaliate, you attempt to reach over and slap his arm, but he pulls away just in time.

"Hey, you get what you give," he teases, reminding you of the playful exchange and the consequences it entails.

A faint shiver coursed through your body as a gust of wind swept over the pool. You had no doubt that Lance was feeling it too, noticing a light red tint of colour on his nose and cheeks.

Curiously, you raise your arm above the water’s surface, witnessing goosebumps forming on your skin. "Me too." You glance up, finally realising that the F1 driver had closed the distance, leaving only a mere quarter of a meter separating the two of you.

The proximity between you becomes apparent right in that moment and almost immediately, another spark ignites in your body, but you’re not so sure it’s solely because of the cold.

Your gaze fell to his arm, he pulled his soaked sleeve up and you noticed the similar goosebumps on his skin. You couldn’t help the smile that overcame your lips and Lance grinned, “stupid idea.”

You let out a chuckle, which emerges slightly breathier than you had anticipated, and you notice your teeth starting to chatter a little from the cold.

You swallow nervously as his gaze fixates on you, reminiscent of this morning and in the club when you called him out for his lingering stares.

The air between you carries a hint of tension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection. Rather this time, you didn’t have the intention to say something about it, whether or not it was the alcohol talking, you wanted to see what he’d say or.. do.

He draws closer to you but you don’t move away, your hand beneath the water instinctively gravitates towards him, as if guided by a force of some kind.

But, much to your disappointment, his attention is abruptly diverted as the kitchen light flicks on, capturing his focus. You shift your gaze and notice your sister stumbling her way into the room, followed closely by your parents.

You mask your sigh, attributing it solely to the cold, and Lance tilts his head towards the ladder, suggesting it's time to dry off.

The words you had on the tip of your tongue seem reluctant to escape, so you simply nod in agreement and follow him out of the pool. Accepting the towel he throws your way from the rack, you begin the process of drying off, silently acknowledging the untaken paths of conversation and connection that now retreat into the background.

When you walk into the kitchen to acknowledge your family that had returned, well your parents since your sister had already passed out on the couch, they only exchanged weird looks between them.

Neither of you were dripping wet but neither of you were dry either. You both eventually carried yourselves upstairs and you allowed Lance to go before you, as you settled on using your sister’s bathroom.

The night finally began to wind down after the pool escapade since neither you nor Lance had initiated another conversation. The lingering excitement and connection that existed earlier seemed to have faded away, perhaps because neither of you knew what to say or how to address what had happened.. or what was happening.

...

Part 5

Masterlist

Comment if you want to be tagged in the next part :)

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tumblr sent me this post, written with “your favourite man-crush” or some shit 😭😭 yes tumblr you are correct

walk walk fashion baby [x]

actual children omg

max and daniel playing imaginary padel with each other [x]