𖦁ׅ ࣪ ׂ lyra ៵ 🐇 ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆

music has a way of finding u in the darkest place https://linktr.ee/lylenora

[dracoflaco]

Waiting for you // Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader

contains: fluff, stressed out reader, use of y/n, flashbacks (in italics), 1.2k words

a/n: its been so long since I write so if it looks cranky, don’t blame me. Idk honestly 🤷🏻‍♀️ (no summary cuz I'm lazy lol)

I reach for the box under my bed, it has been covered in dust meaning it has been down there since forever. Bumping my head in the process of taking the box, I let out a wince, “ouch, this damn bed. I’m throwing you away one day I swear,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. I wipe the dust away to see the hidden words under those dust. ‘Love’ was written on the lid of the box, “I don’t remember having this before” furrowing my eyebrows, trying to remember anything. 

The song from my playlist continues to play, starting a sad tune. I turn to where I place my phone, confused as to why there’s some kind of sad song and to be precise Taylor Swift? I shrug it away and stares at the box in front of me, I’ve been cleaning my room since this afternoon and without noticing the time, the sun has started to set. Plopping on my bed, I take the lid off. My smiles starts disappearing just how he did…

~

I laugh at him when he starts cracking some jokes out of nowhere. We’ve been walking for 30 minutes after our date night. Both us close to each other, my purse in his hand. “Also Nick face was literally covered in it, we had to make a TikTok,” Chris laughed, swinging my hand with his softly.

~

“Happy Birthday my pretty girl. I’m sorry I had to! It was the plan, baby,” he winked, handing me the flower lego to me “my love will last just how this flower last” I laughed at his cheesy pickup lines, rolling my eyes playfully “I really thought you forgot about it, Chris. You better don’t do this again” I squint my eyes at him. “We’ll see princess, we’ll see.” He said, shrugging his shoulder making the ‘who knows’ face. I slap his arm playfully, he eventually starts laughing and bringing me closer into his arms, “I love you, y/n. Even the world can’t describe it” 

~

“This is so good, baby. Cook more often please please please” he begged, chewing the food I made for him. Chris stands up from his seat and walks towards me “Thank you, baby” He hugs me from behind and lift me off from the floor to twirl me. I laugh lightly “Chrisss, put me down” I whine playfully and he set me back on the floor, giving my face all the kiss it needed.

~

A solemn tear fell down my cheek, snapping me out of it. I blink my eyes a few times to stop it but the tears keep flowing down my face like a river escaping a dam. I try wiping it away as the door of my room creaks open, someone just came into my room. Luckily my back was facing the door, giving me times to prepare myself and turns around once I think I’m presentable enough. Nick stood there at my door frame, concerns could be seen on his face, “Nick? Hey, what are you doing here? Should’ve tell me before barging into my room,” I chuckled, eyes avoiding his

“You’ve been crying.” Nick stated, heading towards where I’m seated. One look of the things in my hands, he knew it straightaway. “Missing him? Everyday I passed his room, I could hear him sobbing his heart out. He still loves you, you know? Let him in again?” He suggests, rubbing my shoulder softly. Bringing me closer to his side, laying my head on his shoulder. I stare at the necklace which happened to be in the box, being on the top of the other.

“How? How, Nick? He was the one who ended it, I got no time to stop him from doing so!” I cry out, burying my face in his shoulder. My whole body is shaking from the amount of tears and sobs coming out of me. “Yet you still cry about it, y/n. It’s been what? Almost a year and you two still mourn for each other. I never believe you when you said you moved on from him. It was and still is in your eyes.” Nick whispered into my ears, his hand never stops rubbing my shoulder. 

“It hurts Nick, I still want him but God knows how my brain despise him when he said those words to me but my heart says the opposite” I sobbed, pouring my heart out. Nick only nods and comfort me softly, whispering sweetness to me till I slowly calm down from all the loud sob, non stopping flows of tears. My fingers taking the necklace from the box and turn it around. An engrave of ‘I love you - c.s’. I let my thumb stays on the engraving.

Minutes of staring it, I unclasp the hook and place it around my neck. Nick only observe my movement, saying absolutely nothing. I sigh lowly, resting the necklace on my collarbone. Sounds of a phone ringing starts to play, Nick take his phone out of the pocket of his trousers. The caller ID shows that it was Chris. I nod towards the phone, telling Nick to answer the phone call.

His thumb lingers on the decline button but finally pressing the green button, “Chris? Why’d you call?” He ask, talking to the phone. I shift away from Nick to give them both some privacy. I search for my phone only to be met with the battery logo. Grabbing the charger on the bedside table and plugging it in. “I’ll give you two some times but don’t ask again after this. You better not missed anything or even mess this up again, or I’m killing you myself.” The call comes to an end.

I walk back to my bed and peers at his phone, “what happened?” I asked, picking up the box from the bed and move it into my closet. “Nothing, Chris just asked about the juice from yesterday.” Oh. I nodded out of disappointment and settle down beside him. “Whatever happen, just let it flow naturally. Do not push it away. You better hear me out this time, y/n.” He said, looking into my eyes with seriousness. 

My brow furrows softly, confusion starts to spread on my face, “okay? Anyway why did you come here all of a sudden?”

“You weren’t answering the text I gave you and all my calls went straight to the voicemail. You expect me not to panic knowing you” He said, crossing his arms. “Anyway I’m gonna go buy some takeout with Matt, you want the usual?” 

“The usual I guess?” I shrugged, “up to you though, I don’t mind” 

Nick wave at me and left me alone in my room with my clouded thoughts. Sighing, I rose to my feet and drag myself to the bathroom to wash my face. My eyes are a bit red and puffy after the crying session and all. The sound of my door bell rings all over my house, I dry my face quickly. Rushing down the stairs to open the door. Time seeming to slow down, feeling as if I can hear my own heartbeat. There he stood, My Chris or what used to be. The tears in my eyes threatening to fall, “Chris…” I whispered-

-to be continued-

[francolapinto43]

"You came." "You called."

[f1tf]

the dangling chains

[mvclrc]

✦ across the hall — lando norris/reader

it's summer when lando norris moves in opposite you. you remember because it'd been 35 degrees celcius that day, you'd already been pissed, and he'd knocked on your door and had the nerve to stare at your tits.

 ever since then, you haven't been able to get rid of him. he teases you in the hallway, calls you pet names, brings girls home at two in the morning.

 you don't like lando norris. but it doesn't erase the fact that he's right across the hall, and he likes you.

includes — fem!reader, cocky, arrogant, obsessed lando norris, neighbours, unrealistic/inaccurate f1 calender, bad first impressions, slowish burn, pining, tension, eventual smut, p in v, LOTS of flirting, nicknames (baby, gorgeous, etc.), max fewtrell + pietra pilao appearances, misunderstandings, lando's incredibly bad at expressing his feelings, mild angst, alcohol usage radio check — first post in about a millenia but it's finally here!! i seriously had so much fun writing this one, thank you guys so much for waiting <3 word count — 15k

MONACO IS STUPIDLY HOT IN SUMMER.

It’s the one thing you’d quickly learnt after moving here years ago, after realising your French lessons from high school would not help you at all. 

You’re in a halter neck, strings tied around the back of your neck, shorts stopping just before midthigh. You’d never wear it out in public of course, considering it’d probably make the nearest Monegasque auntie faint, but you were safe in your apartment, where the only other apartment opposite you was empty.

The TV in your living room is playing some soap opera, background noise as you try figure out how the new blender you bought works in the kitchen. The buttons are all in French, incredibly unhelpful considering the fact this was supposed to be one of your first steps to ‘self-improvement’. 

“Eat healthy,” one of your friends had told you a couple days ago. “Or drink healthy. Helps with stress.” She’d downed a shot of vodka a second later, so you weren’t sure why you’d taken her up on her advice.

Maybe it’s because you were getting desperate. Moving to Monaco was supposed to unlock new opportunities, especially considering the fact you’d scored a contract with one of top modeling agencies in Europe. Your family and friends thought you were doing well—if your Ferrari sitting downstairs in the underground car park wasn’t indication enough, and in financial terms, sure. 

But you were stressed, loosing any kind of love you had for your career, and currently really wanted to figure out how to work this stupid, overpriced blender.

A fresh wave of mediterranean air breezes in through the open window. You frown, blindly reaching across the kitchen counter for the instructions again as if it’ll magically appear in english. It won’t. You know it won’t, but the same desperate delusion that’s taken over your life makes you reach for it anyway.

Your gaze is still on the blender, hand blindly searching through the mess on the marble countertop. The lid, perched dangerously close to the edge, makes contact with your arm, tumbling to the herringbone floor with a loud clatter. 

“Fuck me,” you mutter, running your hands through your hair. The TV is still playing—you think the lead has just confessed her love to the love interest, her voice high and whiney and dramatic. Hastily, you switch it onto the next channel, a news outlet with monotone speech and dull colouring.

“I think the word for it is burnt out.”

That’s what your agent, Emilie, had told you over the phone a couple days ago. You wanted to scoff at it now—throw the stupid remote on the floor too as a petty release for your frustration. 

Burnt out. You wouldn’t be burnt out if the entire universe seemed completely set on your demise.

Just as you’re about to snatch the lid back up from the ground, a sharp knock pierces through your apartment. You rise halfway, gaze snapping to the door, motionless like you’re trying to figure out if this is your mind playing tricks on you.

A minute later, there’s another knock, a little louder, one you do when you don’t think anyone is home.

Immediately, you drop everything else in your hands, ecstatic at the excuse to leave the blender behind and shove it away in the back of your cupboard.

You smooth out your shorts, trying to make them look a reasonable length, fiddling with the strap of your top. Probably another delivery guy, you think, delivering yet another impulsive purchase you’d made to make yourself feel better. 

You swing the door open.

Fuck.

“Hey.”

There’s a man standing there, someone who isn’t in the typical delivery guy getup like you’re expecting. He looks your age, relaxed, familiar. Familiar in the way you knowyou’ve seen him somewhere, maybe passing by on the street, on an advertisement, maybe. He looked like he could model too. 

You tilt your head, leaning against the doorframe.

Yeah, he could definitely fucking model.

“Need something?” you ask, and your voice comes out harsh, still not over the shitty day you’re having. It doesn’t click in your head that he’s a new face, standing on your apartment floor that only has one other, unoccupied, apartment on it.

“No—yeah,” he blinks, and you let your gaze stray, surveying his plain, white shirt, the grey joggers. “Was just saying hi.” You look up at his face again. He’s got tan skin, brunette, curly hair, a small scar on the bridge of his nose. 

He looks really fucking good, but you’re too annoyed to care. 

“Why?” you ask, frowning. You see him give you a once over too, eyes dragging up from your thighs, all the way up to your face again. “Bit creepy, no?” “I was just—” he moves aside, and that’s when it clicks. You see the luggage, the open apartment door with boxes strewn about inside. “We’re neighbours now. There’s only two apartments on every floor. Probably going to see a lot of each other.”

Some of the annoyance simmers, realisation taking its place.

“Oh,” you say, and he smiles. “Right.” “Lando,” he says, offering his hand. “Norris. Lando Norris.” “Have we met?” you ask, shaking his hand. “I know you from somewhere.” “Probably work.” “What do you do?” “Cars,” he shrugs, and you shift on the spot, head tilting. “I work with cars.”

It's a vague answer. Everyone you asked in Monaco 'worked with cars'. It's how you managed to get your Ferrari in the first place.

You watch his gaze stray again. You watch it stray to your chest.

“I—” “Are you staring at my fucking tits?”

He freezes, eyes snapping back up to your face.

“Well—” “Seriously?” “They’re right there.” “What?!” “How do you expect me not look? You’re hot, and you’re in shorts and a freakin’—” “Have some decency!” you say, already moving to walk back inside your apartment. “Jesus.” “No, wait,” he catches your wrist, pulling you back. “C’mon. I’m sorry. What’s your name?” “I’m not telling you. Not after that.” “Then what do you want me to call you?” you tug out of his hold, and he grins, like this is the funniest thing in the world. “Baby? Gorgeous? Prettiest girl I’ve ever—”

You slam the door shut. 

He doesn't don’t retreat for a good few seconds, though you hear a low laugh before he does. It’s silent after that. Silent enough you could pretend that some ignorant, asshole hasn’t just moved in opposite you.

You glance at the TV, face flushed red, hands slack at your sides. 

“On the topic of sport—Mclaren move up in the constructor standings with another win from their golden boy, Lando Norris.”

There’s a faint ringing in your ears, a mix of horror and disbelief. 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

That’s where you know him from. Lando Norris. A fucking Formula 1 driver, who’s picture you’ve probably passed countless times on the street. You hear him now, in an interview, that same laugh filling your apartment.

“I mean, that’s life. Almost costed me a win but I guess I'm just that good.”

You look at the TV, the door behind you, at the blender lid that’s still on the ground, and decide your life really couldn’t get worse than this. 

The next time you run into Lando is in the elevator, at 12 in the morning.

You’re in heels, a short minidress, head buzzing with alcohol from a post-shoot dinner. The strap around the back of your ankle digs into your skin, the minidress keeps falling and you’re so tired you’re half-inclined to let it.

The elevator doors open with a quiet ding.

Lando’s leaned against the wall, phone in hand when you walk in. You see him see you. You see his gaze drag over the hem of your dress, your sides, then back up to your face. He’s in jeans and a plain hoodie. You look like polar opposites.

Heat prickles at the back of your neck as you stop next to him, pointedly staring straight ahead.

“Hey,” he says, and you hear the smug grin in his voice. “How are you?” “Good,” you answer, short, sinking further back against the wall. “You?” “You’re not angry anymore?” “At you? Yes. I am.” “For what? Staring at your tits?” he crosses his arms, frowning. “I said I was sorry. It won’t happen again.” “I don’t give a shit.” He laughs again, the slight rasp in his voice sending something fluttering down your stomach.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, and you glance at the elevator panel. You and him lived on the 17th floor, one you’d specifically chosen because of the gorgeous view. You were regretting it now though, more every second as you feel his gaze burning into your skin. “You look good.” “Just out,” you choose to ignore the compliment. “Why do you care?” “I’m curious.” “Why are you out this late? Don’t you have some kind of strict, training regime to stick to?”

His eyebrows raise in a way that makes you want to take back the words. “So you know who I am.” “Hard not to. Monaco loves cars.” “And what do you think?” “About what?” “Living next to a Formula 1 driver. A good Formula 1 driver. A hot one.” “Shut up,” you mutter, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. “You’re not that good.” “Yeah? Who won the last race?” “How would I know?” “Don’t lie to me, babe,” he grins, hand tapping against the metal railing around the elevator. “You’re a bad liar.”

You hate the way the nickname makes your skin prickle, the way it makes heat crawl up your neck. Like he senses it, he moves closer. “You never told me your name. What else am I supposed to call you?” he says, amused. “No, that’s a lie. I asked the girl down at reception.” “You what?” you frown, turning to look up at him. “Surely that’s got to be illegal or something.” “Not when you promise her an autograph,” he shrugs. “Easy work.” “You’re a prick.” “Am I?”

The doors open with a quiet ding, and you rush to walk out, heels clicking on the marble flooring beneath you.

“But seriously, where’d you go?” “I said out,” you fumble for your keys. “Dinner.” “You’ve been drinking,” he observes, leaning against the wall. “Are you drunk?” “Get inside your apartment, Norris,” you say, sliding your key into the lock. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.” “Mm,” he hums. “No.”

You look up at him again, just before you open your door.

He’s smiling. Of course he’s fucking smiling. He smells like cologne, probably that Ralph Lauren one—you passed his advertisement on the way home for it. You’ve been noticing him everywhere now. Advertisements, posters, his last win replaying on screens.

“Fine,” he says, pushing off of the wall, moving to his own door. “Night, gorgeous.” You scoff out a laugh, turning the key and slipping into your apartment.

The door shuts, sending one last draft of cold air and cologne past. You don’t listen to him go this time. You drop your bag on the kitchen counter, kicking off your heels in the living room, before falling straight onto the couch in exhaustion.

The silence aches. You stare up at the ceiling, gaze tracing the ornate plaster moulded in the edges. The aperol from an hour ago is dull, barley buzzing anymore. 

You hate silence. It’s one of those things you career had conditioned—the fast paced model environment since your teenage years. There was always the click of a camera, the shouting of a director, the house music that for some reason seemed mandatory for every shoot you went to. 

Silence was uncomfortable. 

You shift your head to look at the door again, barely visible above the back of the couch. 

Maybe that was why coming home had always felt bittersweet. You’d finally get some rest at the cost of pure silence. Now though, Lando had moved in—loud, insufferable, Lando, and for some reason, it felt like something pivotal. Something incredibly major.

“Morning.”

You’ve dragged yourself through another night of endless doomscrolling, of fixed routine. Sun seeps into your apartment building’s hall, the silver numbers on your door glinting. 

You pause for a beat at the door, still not quite released from the grasp of sleep, staring ahead of you.

Lando’s shirtless. 

His tan skin is bare, toned, disappearing beneath the prominent lines peeking above his joggers. Like usual, he’s got a protein shake in one hand, looking completely refreshed like he’s been up for hours already.

“Sleep well?” he asks, watching you chuck something into the rubbish chute near both of your doors. “Looks like it.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, dusting off your hands. You glance over at him, eyes narrowing. “Why are you even out here? Do you just listen and wait for me?” “I’m not that obsessed,” he smiles, taking a sip of his drink. “Do you wish I was?” “No.” “Shame.”

You look past, at his open apartment door. It looks well furnished for the short amount of time he’d spent living there. You catch a glimpse of marble countertops like your own, a pictureframe off to one side of a Formula 1 car, clothes lazily thrown over the back of the couch. Cleaner than you expected for a cocky, millionaire-status athlete.

“Wanna come in?” he opens the door wider, voice teasing. “I see you staring.” “I’d rather drink acid.” “Liar,” he calls when you turn away again. “You know what we should do? Go out or something. Get to know each other." “Why would I ever do that?” “I’ll give you an autograph.” “That doesn’t work on me,” you glare. “Go bribe the receptionist downstairs.” “I’m not offering because you’re hot, sexy, and gorgeous,” he says, making you stop at the threshold of your door. “I’m asking because you’re my neighbour. I don’t plan to move anytime soon and I don’t think you do either.” “Are you calling me hot, sexy, and gorgeous?” “You are,” he says, then he smirks. “And I can say that without looking at your tits. I’m a changed man.”

The laugh that comes out of you is real. Slightly startled. Lando smiles wider at that, his hand mindlessly sliding up to rub at his shoulderblades.

“I can’t,” you say, and his smile falters slightly. “I’ve got work.” “Work?” he frowns, like he’d forgotten it existed. “Right. What do you do?” “That’s personal.” “Oh c’mon,” he says, dragging out the syllables. “That’s unfair. You know what I do.” “Everyone in the world knows what you do, Norris.” “So?” he steps closer, hand falling back to his side. “I’ll guess. Surely it’s something big if you can afford an apartment like this.” “I’m not telling you.” “Finance? Daddy’s money?”

You scoff, leaning against your doorframe. “Modeling.” “Oh?” he says. “Go figure.” He cocks his head, taking another sip of his protein shake and glancing over you like he’s observing, “You’re probably the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Makes sense you model.” 

You’ve gotten the compliment thousands of times before. It sounds no different coming from him, and yet you’re instinctively standing straighter, thank you on the tip of your tongue.

Lando shifts too, tongue poking at the side of his cheek, a slow grin taking over his features. 

You’d found yourself watching his interviews last night. He’s got a tendency to smile when things he says anything remotely personal. To laugh, scoff, redirect the conversation into something comedic. It makes you think it isn’t just a one-liner. Maybe he really does think you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. 

But you know better than that.

He opens his mouth, about to say something you know will be incredibly idiotic.

“Are you being serious? Or do you just want to have sex with me?”

Lando blinks, mouth closing, words dying in his throat.

“Well—you can’t—” he lets out an exasperated noise. “Obviously I want to have sex with you. But I swear I’m—” “Unbelievable.” “Baby, c’mon.” “I’m going to be late.”

You turn away, and he lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh.

“When will you admit you like me?” he calls, hand gripping your door to keep it open. You’ve got one hand on the door handle, giving it an experimental nudge. It doesn’t move an inch.

“Lando.”

He grins, slowly letting go. “Have a good day, gorgeous.”

You smile back, saccharine, before slamming the door shut in his face.

It’s been three days. 

Three days of Lando accidentally showing up in the hallway whenever you do. Three days of his teasing, his faux pleading to make you like him. You hear him at four in the morning, that low voice of his followed by someone else. A girl.

You weren’t jealous. Why would you be? You were more so annoyed at the fact it’d been four in the morning, and they weren’t exactly being quiet. She was nowhere to be seen the morning after, but he’d been there. In his doorway, shirtless, with a protein bar in his hand and a half-assed apology about the noise.

The elevator opens and you sigh, making your way down the hallway. Your clothes feel like they’re sticking to your skin, the leftover photoshoot makeup on your face is uncomfortable. 

Fucking Monaco heat.

Lando, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen for once.

You glance in your bag as you walk, sifting through for your keys. The bag—your first ever designer you’d bought with your own money, is full of items that have no business accompanying you to a photoshoot. There’s a sim card from France, an empty box of matches, a forgotten hotel room keycard from your last stay in Italy. More evidence that your life is currently a complete and utter mess.

Your fingers close around your keys just as you make it to your door. There’s no welcome mat outside, just plain, boring marble. You’d never bothered, considering the fact that it’d just been you coming home and you’d felt weird greeting occasional hookups with a fucking welcome sign at the door. 

You slide your key into the lock, turning it, hand instinctively already heading in the direction of the light switch. You’re a creature of habit. Of routine. Of the belief that there’s not a mat outside the door, but you’re heel catches on something there anyway.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, glancing down at the marble floor. It’s not a doormat. It’s a thick, glossy magazine, a note on the top and a paperclip marking a specific page. 

You snatch it up, the shiny cover smooth against your fingertips. 

You snort, plucking the note off of the cover.

Lando Norris — Formula 1’s sweetheart? 

He’s smiling in the picture, trophy clutched against him, champagne in his free hand. His race suit is half off, tugged down to show the black fireproofs below clinging to his skin. He looks smug, egotistical, like he’s saying I’m better than you even though the camera is looking over him.

You look at every inch of the cover, studying it, gaze greedy though your fingers are already sliding between the pages to the one he’d marked. 

Finally, you flick it open. Another podium picture takes up the entire page. It’s softer. His head is tilted back in pure relief, the smile on his face relaxed, eyes shut.

You skim-read the article beside it. The words compassionate and caring making a few appearances, followed by ‘what’s not to like?’. It talks about his rookie year, his home race win, the generic career-oriented stuff, but there’s a specific section towards the end that catches your eye.

“How do you handle relationships when you’re living such a public life?” “First off,” Lando laughs, looking away. “I have to admit I don’t think I’m too good at relationships in the first place. I’m much better at driving a car at 300 kilometres an hour than replying a text—a weakness of mine, actually.” He looks flustered to admit it, a slip in the usual playful person we see out in the paddock.  I ask, “Then what’s your ideal type in a person? Someone equally as bad at replying to text messages?” Again, he laughs, “Sure. I guess. Probably someone who can even put up with me in the first place. Someone who doesn’t just let me get away with everything all the time. Maybe bullies me a little. Also ideally someone who doesn’t know the first thing about racing—I wanna come home and not talk about freakin’ cars all the time, you know? ” “I see. And, I apologise if this is intrusive, have you found that person?” He smiles, leans back in his cushioned chair. It’s more of a smirk.  “No. Not yet. I—”

You stop there, at the end of the page, itching to flip over and finish the section. Instead, your gaze snags on the picture again. It’s perfect, really. His smile, the expression on his face. Probably would’ve fooled you if you didn’t know him.

“Asshole,” you mutter, shoving the magazine in your bag and hastily stepping into your apartment. You throw it onto the coffee table in the living room, tucked away like all your other problems. It doesn’t make a reappearance until a few hours later, when you’re in the kitchen, attempting to make one of those ‘nutritious, protein-filled’ meals off of social media that’s probably a sham.

Your phone buzzes on the countertop. Mindlessly, you swipe it off the surface, lazily throwing in more pepper into the pot on the stove. It wasn’t like you were too focused on cooking anyway. There was a 90% chance you’d give up and order takeout.

Unknown number —  like the gift?

You slam the pepper back onto the counter before you've even read the last word.

You —  why the fuck do you have my number?

Unknown number — guess jfc that girl at the reception is incredibly easy to convince should really learn her name

The pot hisses, spitting boiling hot water against your arm, throwing a tantrum you’re not paying attention to it. You curse and turn it off all together.

You — i need to file something against her what’d you bargain this time?

Unknown number —  another autograph and a picture this time

You — you’re insane strangely obsessed

Norris — but did you like the gift? thought it was a really good article if i’m being honest i look fuckin mint

You — sure

Norris —  don’t tell me i didn’t look hot did you stare at it?  for how long? 

You — two seconds max

Norris —  haha still a bad liar babe are you home?

You — might be why do you care?

Norris —  just curious fewtrell and his gf just landed in monaco  i’m waiting in the airport rn

You aren’t sure why he’s telling you that. It seemed too personal, like an update you’d tell your friend for no reason at all. 

You —  right are they staying with you?

Norris —  for a week gonna stream you should watch

You — i’m busy

Norris —  boooo fine

You chew the inside of your cheek, liking the message, before putting your phone face down on the counter.

He gets home an hour later. You hear another British accent, suitcases against marble, a feminine voice before it disappears into the apartment. Lando laughs, loud, making a joke with a very audible shut up in response. 

It makes you glance up from the couch at the door. There are boxes of takeout scattered on the coffee table in front of you, half eaten and waiting to be packed into the fridge. A bottle of wine is leaned against your side. Your laptop is open with a new campaign proposal, something to do with a Euro Summer, all prestigious exclusivity. 

Your gaze strays again to the hardwood coffee table, the magazine sitting there among the mess of takeout.

Lando Norris — Formula 1’s sweetheart? 

His perfect face, that trophy in his hand, the glint of pure happiness in his eyes.

You blame that smile when you open up Twitch on your laptop, half an hour later. You blame the wine, the stress that isn’t making you rational. You blame Lando Norris’ frustrating likeability.

He’s already live when you search his name.

As soon as you click onto it, his voice fills your living room. You can see his apartment clearer now, his office by the looks of it. He’s got helmets lined up on one of the shelves, racing sim behind him, trophies scattered here and there like he doesn’t know whether to display them or not. ‘Fewtrell’ is sitting beside him, whispering something that makes Lando let out a loud laugh you think you can hear through the walls of your apartment.

It sinks in then. 

You’re watching Lando Norris live, when he’s quite literally right next to you.

“Is this a new setup?” Lando reads from the chat, leaning back into his chair. He smiles, and it isn’t the smile from the magazine. It’s the one he uses in the interviews. “Yes. Yes it is. Moved recently.” “That’s why it looks so much cleaner,” his friend cuts in. “Cause you haven’t even fully unpacked yet.” “Fuck you,” Lando scoffs, nudging him in the side. “I’ve unpacked plenty. Everyone tell Max to shut up.”

You mindlessly click onto your phone, the live still playing on your laptop. 

Norris — gonna stream you should watch

Your fingers ghost over the keyboard.

You — its been a week since you moved in should really unpack

He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms up, a silver of tan skin revealed beneath his hoodie before he snatches up his phone. You watch as he reads the message, eyes flickering to stare straight at the camera, before he starts typing. 

Your phone buzzes again.

Norris —  knew you weren’t busy how long have you been watching?

“What’re you smiling about?” Max asks, and Lando shrugs, muttering ‘mind your business’.

You — barely a minute don’t get cocky

Norris — never could come over yknow i should introduce everyone to my gorgeously sexy stunning model neighbour

You glance at the live again. He’s smiling wider now, turned to the side like he’s hiding his phone.

“Lando, mate, can you focus?” “I am focused.” “No, you’re texting your freakin’ girlfriend or whatever.” “I don’t have a girlfriend.” “Sure looks like it.”

Lando scoffs, quickly typing something else before sliding his phone into his pocket.

Norris —  girlfriend, huh?

Your fingers clench around your phone, heart slamming against your ribs. 

“You’re washed,” Max says, and you slowly glance to the screen. “So fucking washed.” “I haven’t played this in like, a year,” Lando answers, dragging his chair closer to the table. He glances at the camera, smiling. It’s triumphant, like he knows you’re sitting there, flushed pink, unable to come up with a reply.

You slam your laptop shut, his voice cutting off mid sentence. The wine bottle beside you tilts, almost falls, until the world decides you’ve been through too much today and lets it perch on the edge instead. 

“Fuck,” you say, and it comes out breathy and dry, barely making a sound. There’s a muffled shout from his apartment, a bark of laughter. Clearly, he wasn’t affected as you were.

The thought makes the heat sink into your chest. It makes you snatch up the bottle of wine, turn on the TV to drown out the noise, and throw your phone somewhere else. Somewhere far out of reach.

Everything goes quiet two hours later. You hear his apartment door open, footsteps, the rubbish chute opening and closing, a pause just as he passes by your door.

His door slams shut. Yours doesn't open. Your agent texts you about another project, and you hate how you’re disappointed by the fact it isn’t him.

Lando likes you.

It’s obvious—probably clear as day to anyone who’s ever seen the two of you interact, which currently only happens to be the walls of your apartment hall. 

“Have you met your neighbour yet?” 

Max is sitting at the kitchen counter, a piece of toast in one hand. Lando’s blood goes rushing to his dick at the mere mention of you, and his hand tightens on his cup of protein.

“Yeah—she’s, um, yeah.” “Yeah?” Max frowns, taking a bite of his toast. “She nice? Rude? Fangirl?” “It’s complicated. We didn’t get off to the best start.”

He wants to say you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a girl. You’re gorgeous, to your eyes, your voice, your sharp, dry humor that no one else ever uses with him.

He’d been expecting some old couple—maybe a stuck up businessman, to open the door the day he’d moved in. Instead, he’d hit the fucking jackpot and found you. A girl his age, who was wearing the shortest shorts he’d ever seen in Monaco, and a face that looked straight from his dreams. 

The only problem was that you didn’t exactly like him back. 

Lando screws on the lid of the cup, eyebrows knit, a frown on his face. 

The girl of his dreams, who couldn’t stand him. His luck had to run out somewhere.

“Who’s this?” Pietra asks, sitting down beside Max. “New girlfriend?” “My neighbour.” “The girl you sent that magazine of yourself to?” she snorts, taking a sip of Max’s drink. “No wonder she doesn’t like you.”

Lando turns around, focusing on mixing together his protein shake. “I might’ve stared at her tits the first time we met.” Max lets out a heavy sigh, the kind that he uses on stream when Lando makes a stupid, un-media-friendly joke.

“I’d slap you,” Pietra says, serious. “Then find a way to kick you out of the building.” “I apologized!” Lando argues, turning around again. “And she’s a fucking model. She’s hot. She wears these tiny shorts around at home and fuck they’re—” Max raises his eyebrows, spreading butter onto his toast, “So you’ve got a crush? That doesn’t excuse staring at her tits, by the way.” “I think anyone who sees her would have a crush, honestly,” Lando says, leaning against the counter. The marble digs into his side, and he grimaces. “She still hates me though.” “I wonder why.”

Max sets down the knife to take a bite of his food, and Lando rolls his eyes, sliding his phone out of his pocket, swiping onto the messages with you like it’s second nature. He’s done that a lot recently—reading through each text with you, trying to figure out what you mean by every word you say.

You haven’t replied to that last comment. 

Lando — girlfriend, huh?

He winces, fingers hovering over the keyboard, debating on whether you’re too flustered or too creeped out to answer. 

Lando — morning

“You could always apologize again,” Max muses, reaching for his mug of coffee. “Buy her something. Take her out for dinner for a proper start.” “I offered breakfast once.” “In a polite way? Or in a ‘I’m inviting you over because I find you attractive’ way?” “Probably the second.”

Pietra shakes her head, muttering something under her breath before disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go with a frown.

“Try invite her out again,” Max says, and Lando’s phone buzzes in his hand. “Ask nicely. Explain why you want to take her out.”

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — finally stopped stalking me?

“Mm,” Lando hums, attention already slipping. “I will.” “Will you?” “Yeah.” Max scoffs, “Liar.”

Lando’s too focused on his phone to bother defending himself.

Lando — what’s that supposed to mean?

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — didn’t see you this morning weren’t standing outside waiting for me like a dog like usual

Lando — disappointed? knew you’d miss me

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — miss you? you can’t stay away from me for more than a day might as well have you on a leash

Lando — buy me a collar and i’d wear it

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — you wouldn’t

Lando — i would make sure it’s got your name in bold on the front

He smiles when you pause.

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — are your friends still over?

Lando — changing the topic? and yeah they’re still here did you wanna meet them?

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — i’m good

Lando — you could always come over y'know

You stop again. He watches the type bubble pop up, disappear, then start again.He probably sounds creepy. Like a weirdly obsessed neighbour that lived right opposite you. 

He frowns at that.

“Lando.” “Yeah?” “Are you gonna eat anything?”

Lando — what are you doing this morning?

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — i’ve got a shoot at 11 and no you’re not coming over

Lando —  want breakfast? seriously fresh start or whatever

Max is still talking. Lando can hear the scrape of his knife against ceramic, his cup of coffee thudding onto the table every time he sets it down. His heart is beating faster every second those chat bubbles start up again.

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — where?

“I’m making plans,” Lando finally answers, and Max stops mid bite. Lando raises his phone, waving it at him as if he can see the text on it. “Apology, right?” “You made plans with her?” “Yup.” “She said yes?” “Sure.”

Lando — there’s a few nice cafes by the port meet you outside in ten?

hot, sexy, and gorgeous — if you’re late i’m calling this off

Lando — couldn’t be late even if i tried

He shuts off his phone, sliding it into his pocket with a satisfied grin. Max frowns at him with mild disdain.

“You’re an idiot,” his best friend says, and Lando’s grin fades. “This is the worst way to pursue a girl.” “I think this is perfect.” “You stared at her tits the first time you meet her, you flirt and clearlydon’t do anything to back it up—you sent a magazine of yourself to her door—” “She kept it.” “Could’ve thrown it away.” “I would’ve known if she’d thrown it away.” “How?” “Because she throws her rubbish out every morning, and I watch her do it,” Lando answers, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “And she hasn’t thrown it out.”

Max stares at him in silence for a few beats.

“You’re insane.”

Lando shrugs, turning, “Got a breakfast date to get ready for.” “It isn’t a date, it’s an apology. Remember that,” Max calls.

Lando lets the words go in one ear and right out the other.

It’s nine-thirty in the morning, you’ve got a campaign to shoot in an hour and a half, and you’re sitting at a table across from Lando Norris for fucking breakfast.

He’s in jeans, a loose, button up shirt, the top few undone to show perfect tan skin. There are sunglasses resting on the top of his head, colorful fan-made bracelets stacked on one wrist, pink Richard Mille on the other. He cocks his head as he flicks through the menu, tongue darting out every now and then to lick his lips.

He looks unbelievably good. 

You shift on your chair, rustic iron scraping on the brick, outdoor flooring. Port Hercule sits right nearby—you see yachts pulling out of the dock already, a sign of Monte Carlo waking up. There’s french chatter, the occasional rumble of a sports car.

You’ve been pretending to look through the menu for the last five minutes. You know what you want already: the usual iced coffee and light meal you get before every shoot, but still pretend nonetheless.

“You’re staring.”

His voice still has the rasp of sleep at the end of it, and when you focus on his face again, he isn’t even looking at you.

“How would you know that?” “I can sense it,” he says, letting the menu fall back onto the table with a quiet thud. He grins, cocky like he always is, “You know I look good.”

You snort, settling back into your chair.

Egotistical, arrogant, idiotic.

Those three words you’ve been repeating to yourself are fading by the minute.

“You look hot. What shoot do you have to be at today?” “Some campaign,” you sigh, also setting aside the menu. “Clothing thing.” “I could probably get you into some F1 promo.” “And end up in the same magazine you were in? I think not.”

His smile widens, and he leans forward. “Did you keep it?” “Keep what?” “The magazine. With my face on the cover.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep any blush from creeping onto your face. The magazine is still sitting where you left it on the coffee table, like an accusation, like something so pointed that you don’t want to address.

“You kept it.” “Would be a waste of money if I threw it out,” you lie. “And it matches the colour scheme of my apartment anyway.” “When am I ever going to see your apartment?” “Never.” “You’ve seen mine.” “I’ve seen the door and the hallway.” “And the office,” he adds, eyes glinting with amusement. “Remember?”

You clear your throat, glancing over at the port. He laughs, his chair scraping back as he settles into it again.

“I’m not trying to tease you. This is supposed to be a fresh start, remember?” “Is it?” “I’m trying,” his face turns serious when you look back at him. “I’m formally apologizing for staring at your tits the day we met. It’ll never happen again. Unless you let me.”

You suddenly understand why people let Lando get away with being him. You’ve seen his interviews online—the ones post-race where he’s cocky, high off a win, grinning with sweat glistening down his neck. You’ve seen how he says the most arrogant lines, makes inappropriate jokes, and no one ever seems to reprimand him for it.

He picks up the menu again, only to thumb at the corner of the card, still staring at you. 

“Can we start over?” he asks. “Properly. Disregard everything you know about me—pretend I met you yesterday and asked you out.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, “Was this your plan? To lure me out under the ruse of an apology, then turn it into a date midway?” He grins, and you laugh despite yourself, reaching for your glass again.

Maybe if you’d met him earlier—maybe if he’d knocked on your door a mere ten minutes before he did, things would play out different. Maybe he would’ve actually complimented you and asked you out normally. You weren’t sure if Lando Norris was capable of asking a girl out politely, but just for now, you were choosing to believe he could.

“So,” you set down your glass, looking at him. “Lando, was it?” The look on his face is nothing short of delight, and he leans forward, forearms braced on the table. “Right,” he answers. “Lando Norris.” “And what do you do for work?” “I drive cars.” You smile, “What kind?” “Formula 1 cars.”

The waiter comes back around with your food. Lando leans back, eyes still on you, relaxed like he’s just taking you in. You don’t snap at him this time. You let him stare like you’d let someone you were dating, you let him appreciate the fact that you’d even agreed to come out with him in the first place.

The rest of your ‘date’ goes by quickly. He’s likeable. You’d learnt that a while ago, but just refused to let yourself believe it. You find out he’s leading the championship, that Max is his best friend from childhood, that he thinks you’re the hottest person he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I could drop you off, if you wanted.”

You don’t even realise you’ve been scraping your fork at nothing for the past ten minutes, subconsciously dragging out the conversation. His own plate is empty too, and his arms are crossed, another smile on his face.

“To my shoot?” “Yeah,” he answers, glancing further behind you at his car. It’s obnoxious. A McLaren P1, jet-black, the number plate a combination of LN and a bunch of fours. It screams ‘this car belongs to Lando Norris’, and the amount of stares it had gotten as he’d driven past only proved that further. 

“It’s only a ten minute walk.” “You’re in heels.” “Barely.” He frowns, like he’s genuinely offended, “I’m not letting you walk in heels. What kind of date would I be?” “You’re saying you’re one of those guys who’d carry me if my feet got sore?” “Of course,” he reaches for his glass of water, glancing over it at you. “You don’t believe I’d be a good boyfriend?” You raise your eyebrows at him, “I never mentioned anything about boyfriends.” “Still,” he sets the glass down again. “You don’t think I would?”

You’ve, reluctantly, been stalking his past relationships. You know the last two have been Portugese—both models, both the kind of gorgeous that seemed gifted by Aphrodite herself, and every single break-up addressment had said the same thing: praise and the stereotypical “we just want different things”. He seemed like a good boyfriend, but you weren’t sure if that was the PR talking or not.

“I don’t know,” you answer, truthful. “I’d give you about a six out of ten for offering to drop me off.” He lets out a laugh, laced with surprise, “A six out of ten?” “Point-five if you walk me in too.” “Seriously?” “No,” you scoff. “I’m kidding. You don’t need to drop me off.”

He sighs, heavily, and you hear the scrape of his chair before you register him moving to stand.

“What’s the address?” “Lando,” you start, but he reaches out a hand, holding it in the space between you. 

We’re still on a date, he seems to silently say, keep pretending you like me.

You haven’t been pretending. Not for the past hour. You feel like you should tell him—reassure him maybe, but then he’d tease you about it for the next month.

“Knew you’d cave,” he says when you let him help you stand. His hand trails to your waist, voice smooth in your ear. “You know, I think we’d be good together.” “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you say as he guides you past the various tables, briefly stopping at the front counter to tap his card. “This is a one time thing.” His grip tightens, thumb grazing the skin of your waist.

“Sure,” he says.

There’s a feeling in your gut that this’ll be far from a one time thing. You know that he knows it too.

Lando’s halfway through your Instagram feed when there’s a sharp bang on his door.

He pauses, thumb hovering over a picture from about two years ago, dragging his attention to hallway. He’s leaned against his kitchen counter shirtless, cereal half-eaten next to him. Max and Pietra had left for their early flight an hour or two ago. His own empty luggage he’s meant to be packing for the next few races lays strewn around his living room.

It’s silent. Slowly, he glances back at his phone.

There’s another bang, louder, someone knocking impatiently, then—

“Lando! Open the fucking door!”

Ah, fuck.

He drops his phone on the counter, stretching as he makes his way to the hallway. 

“Morning,” he says when he swings open the door. He leans against the doorframe, smiling, trying to blink away the sleep from his eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You glare at him, phone in one hand, hair slightly messy like you’d just gotten up too. 

“What the fuck is this?”

He glances at your phone, at the picture sitting there. 

It’s the two of you, his hand around your waist, you glancing up with your eyes slightly wide. It looks strangely intimate, actually. Lando saw it about twenty minutes ago on his own Instagram feed.

“Was hoping you wouldn’t see that,” he admits, taking your phone and swiping through the rest of the pictures. There’s more of the two of you at the cafe, some in his car, photographed perfectly so the angle makes it look like you’re closer than you are. “If it makes you feel better, I had no clue.” “No, that doesn’t make me feel better.” He grins, handing it back and turning to walk inside his apartment. The door is left open like an invitation, and you follow him, glaring. 

“Lando.” “It’ll blow off within a couple of days,” he answers, returning to the kitchen counter. He picks up the spoon from his bowl of cereal. “I promise. Don’t stress your pretty little head about it.” “I’m not stressed. I’m pissed. You—” “Isn’t it your job to be photographed?” “Not while I’m having breakfast with an athlete.” “A hot athlete.” “Go fuck yourself.”

He huffs out a laugh, muffled by the spoon in his mouth. Your anger wears off a little when you tear your attention off of him.

It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his apartment, you realise. 

It looks the same as yours—the same layout, marble countertops, herringbone flooring. It’s messier though, more photographs on the walls, trinkets he’d presumably gotten from fans. His apartment looks more lived in than yours, though he’s only been here for a couple weeks. It smells like him too—cologne, linen, a hint burnt toast like he’d failed at cooking breakfast this morning.

“Where are you going?” you ask when you catch sight of the suitcases. “Moving again?” “You wish,” he says, still eating his cereal. “Nah. Race this week.” “You’re gone for a week?” “Three. Triple-header and I’ll be in London for conveniency. Closer to MTC.”

You don’t understand a word he’s saying, apart from the fact he’s gone for three weeks. Three. 

“Oh,” you manage, and he stops, spoon pausing in his bowl. “Right.” “Gonna miss me?”

Probably.

The thought isn’t as startling as you thought it’d be. You’d gotten used to him recently—relied on him in fact, to fill the silence you’d dealt with every time you came home. You wouldn’t tell him that though, of course.

“No,” you say, and he smiles like he sees right through you. He pats the countertop, and you move without realising, pulling back the stool opposite him. “Might have some peace and quiet for a little.” “You’re gonna miss me.”

You don’t agree or deny it this time. He finishes off his cereal, chucking his dishes in the sink before facing you again. You try ignore the fact that the sight of his back muscles moving sends a flush of pink crawling up your neck.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask. “Yesterday. That you were leaving.“ “Didn’t think you’d care that much,” he shrugs, resting his forearms on the counter. “Plus it’s only three weeks. You’ve lived without me for, what? Few years?” You don’t answer, and he stands up straighter, head tilting.

“I’m only gone for a little bit.” “I know.” “You seem—” he stops, eyebrows furrowing. “You seem like you actually care.” “Do you think I hate you?” “Sure looks like it.” “I don’t,” you say. “Hate you. I don’t love you, that’s for sure, but I don’t hate you.”

His head is still tilted at you, fingers mindlessly tapping on the marble countertop. 

“Will you watch?”

You blink up at him. He raises his eyebrows, fingers still tapping, restless. 

“Do you want me to watch?” “Yes,” he answers immediately. “Yeah. Obviously.”

His voice is softer than usual—careful, like he’s holding something in. You want to answer him, make a sharp comment that’ll ease the tension. Instead, you stay quiet, leaning forward the slightest inch without even meaning to. His gaze flickers to your neck, the thin strap of your top, stopping at where the counter blocks off the rest of you.

“You look good.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. 

“I just woke up.” “I know.” “You weren’t waiting in the hall this morning.” “It isn’t eight-thirty yet.”

The time you’re usually out in the hallway. Even you didn’t know that about yourself.

“I should go.” “Stay.” “I’ve got work.”

You push back your chair, and he’s instantly moving, trailing after you.

“Not even for another few minutes?” “I’m already off schedule.”

You pass by a framed picture of a car—his Formula 1 car. There’s a shelf next to it, one full of what looks like a bunch of magazines and decorative pieces. There are photos too, polaroids of his friends, a girl that you don’t recognize.

He catches your wrist just as you continue past it, almost at the threshold of the front door.

“Is there some kind of limit on how much you let yourself near me everyday?” “An hour. Max.” “It’s barely been ten minutes.” “More time for later, then.”

His grip tightens, and you swear you feel his thumb graze over your skin. “My flight is in two hours.”

He looks desperate now, his voice still soft, reasoning. 

“More time for when you get back, then,” you say, glancing at his hand. “In three weeks.”

Again, his thumb traces over your wrist. You swallow, an attempt at regaining any sense of rationality. His cologne is intoxicating now, and when you look up at him, his hand trails to your waist instead.

“You’re in my apartment,” he says, more to himself. “Jesus.” “I know that.” “Do you always look this good?”

You’ve learnt to stop expecting him to stay on a single thought. It’s like he says whatever crosses his mind first, without a care in the world about an answer.

His other hand settles at the small of your back, tugging you close. You can feel the heat radiating off of him—the tension, the intensity of him standing there.

“Lando.”

He hums in response, somehow not focused yet entirely fixated on you. 

You make the mistake of glancing away—glancing down, at his bare torso. At the defined lines disappearing beneath his joggers. When you look up again, a single thought runs through your head.

You want to kiss him.

You want to know how his skin feels, how he tastes, if his stupid, cocky exterior followed into his sex life. He lets his gaze roam too, and you know the same exact thoughts are circulating in his head.

Just at you move closer the slightest inch, he lets go.

“I think I’ll miss you,” he says, arrogance returning in full force. You’re still breathless, lips parted, heart pounding in your chest, but he’s already smirking, hands sliding into his pockets. “You and your gorgeous face.”

It’s silent for a few beats. He raises his eyebrows, standing there in all his infuriating glory, like he hasn’t just baited you into almost kissing him.

You can’t fucking believe him. 

“Fuck you.” “I’ll dedicate a win to you.”

You turn away, wrenching open his front door and storming out of his apartment. He follows, leisurely, stopping at the doorframe.

“Promise you’ll watch?” “Go fuck yourself.”

You slam your door shut, letting it ring in the hallway. It’s the last time you see him in a month.

Dates before hook-ups had never really been your thing.

Some people liked it—the whole package, being wined and dined before ultimately back to a hotel just to fuck. You liked getting it over and done with as quick as possible.

It sounded sad, and only after your friend from home had told you so, you’d decided to trythe entire process for once instead.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

You glance down at the man beneath you.

He’s got dark hair, dark features, the typical Monegasque, billionaire look. You think his name starts with an M. 

“Sometimes,” you smile, hands trailing up his chest. You resist the urge to look at your bedroom door, at the wall like you can see the apartment right across your own. You’d sat through an entire, boring dinner for this moment. You refused to let yourself get distracted.

It’s been three weeks since Lando left for his races in Europe.

You’ve settled back into normalcy. Routine. No one bothers you every morning in the hall, no one nags you with questions in the elevator. Your phone remains silent—your entire apartment floor remains silent.

It’s weird. 

Theoretically, it shouldn’t be weird. It should be the opposite of weird. You should be relieved, actually. Instead, you’ve been filling his absence with hookups, with the same impulsive purchases prior to him moving in, with races playing on your stupidly large TV. 

He’d won in the Netherlands. You’d wanted to text him then—to tell him you’d watched, that you were so happy you’d spilt a glass of wine as he’d crossed the checkered flag. But you hadn’t, and your last messages were still from when you’d scheduled that breakfast together a month ago.

You don’t realise your gaze has already strayed away from the man in your bed. He’s been talking this entire time, more compliments, probably. 

“Hello?”

You snap your head back to him, blinking. He’s got an irritated look on his face, and he sits up, making you fall onto the bed beside him. 

“Am I too boring for you?” “What?” “Clearly, I am, considering the fact a fucking wall holds your attention better.”

He stands, snatching up his discarded clothing around your bedroom. You sigh, heavily, watching him from your bed. You’re still in lingerie, a pale blue lace set, dainty, and something you probably shouldn't be wasting on a random hookup. 

“I knew you were entitled. An entitled, spoiled brat with an apartment she probably doesn’t even pay for herself.”

The man is still talking, and you roll your eyes, sliding off the bed when he walks out of your bedroom.

“You’re wasting an entire night, by the way,” you say, following him to the door. It wasn’t like you wanted to have sex with him anymore, but you did want an orgasm. You could probably shut your eyes and pretend it was someone else, and that was enough for you.

“I don’t care,” he says, and you stop at your front door, watching him tug on his shoes. “You’re a bitch.” You don’t answer that, stepping aside to let him pass.

“Spoiled fucking—” he mutters something else in French, shaking his head as he continues down the hall. You watch him, resting your head against your doorframe, still in your lingerie.

“Night,” you call, and just before he can press the button for the elevator, the doors open.

You freeze, blood turning cold.

Fuck.

Lando steps out of the elevator as the man steps in, suitcase and bag dragged next to him, hood thrown over his head like he’d just gotten off a flight. 

“Already called someone to replace me?” your hookup says, and you shut your eyes, sighing again. You want to die. You want to sink into the wall and disappear. “Real fucking classy.” “Shut up and go home,” you answer, and the elevator doors close. 

The hallway goes silent. 

You open your eyes again, and Lando is by his own apartment door, barely a meter away from you.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice makes something inside of you flutter. One hand is around the handle of his suitcase, the other slack by his side. He looks exhausted. You think there might be circles beneath his eyes.

“Hi,” you answer, suddenly too aware that you’re still in fucking lingerie. “You’re back.” “I’m back.” “And, um—” you gesture in his general direction. “Yeah.” “Who was that?”

You wince, looking away again.

“No one.” “Didn’t seem to like you very much.” “I know. I zoned out when we were about to have sex.” Lando laughs, and it’s raspy, tired—hot.

“Do you wear that for every hookup you have?” he asks. “Or did you know I was coming home tonight?” “I’m not wearing this for you,” you scoff, fixing the strap of your bra. “Do you wish I was?” “Obviously.” “Five minutes in and you’re already flirting.” “Negative,” he says. “You’re in a fucking lace set.”

A cold draft of air flits past, and you mindlessly wrap your arms around you. He tracks the movement, jaw flexing.

“You didn’t answer my question.” “Would you be jealous if I said yes?”

He releases his hold on his suitcase, stepping closer to you. 

This is what you’re used to now—what you’ve been missing for the past three months.

You know what you probably look like. The flush from earlier hasn’t exactly worn off yet, your hair is probably messy from hands tangling themselves in them, you’re in lace that you know makes you look good.

Lando smiles. It’s one of his cocky, smug, smiles. 

“Congratulations on your win,” you say, but it comes out breathier than you meant it to, softer. “And second place. Twice.” His smile falters a little.

“You watched.” “You asked me to watch.” “I know—I just—” he stops, glances at the strap of your bra, then turns away back to his suitcase. “Fuck.” “What’s wrong?”

When he turns back around, he’s got a shirt in his hands.

“Can’t focus when you’re dressed like that,” he admits, handing it to you. “Not that I don’t like it. Just wanna have a proper chat.”

It’s his Mclaren jersey, four clear on the back, black and orange. You thumb over the material for a second, before shrugging it on. 

Lando jaw flexes when you look at him again.

“Suits you.” “I knew you’d say that.” He scoffs, head tilting towards his apartment. 

“When did you land in Monaco?” you say, following him inside. “Couldn’t you have texted me?” “We haven’t texted for a month, gorgeous.” “I know, I just—” his door shuts behind you, leaving you still flushed, standing in the hall of his apartment. He throws his keys on the wooden console table by the door, lazily resting his suitcase against the wall. “Give me a heads up or something. So I don’t have a fucking hookup when you get back.”

He pauses, glancing back at you.

“You missed me,” he smiles. “Didn’t you?” “I—” “I missed you too.”

He moves closer, and it gives you a rush of familiarity. The blush on your neck must’ve spread to your face, because he lets out a soft laugh, hands settling on your waist.

“I thought about you a lot. On the plane home, on the podium,” one hand slides beneath his jersey, resting on your skin. “In my hotel at night.”

You try not to focus on his face too much. Ultimately, it doesn’t work, and you find yourself studying it instead. He looks exhausted, shoulders tense, his voice lower than usual. 

“What’d you think about?” you ask, but the words sound distant in your own head. “Coming home and tormenting me again?” “I thought about your pretty face,” he corrects. “The way you looked in my apartment before I left.” “When you baited me?” He smiles, palm warm on your waist, “I never baited you.” “Sure felt like it.”

You’re still mad at him for it. Mad that he hadn’t finished what he’d started. 

“Did you want me to kiss you then leave you for a month?” He says. “Would you have rather fucked and then lived through a month in silence?” “We wouldn’t have fucked.”

He laughs at that. It’s short and incredulous, so insufferably sure in himself it makes you want to slap him.

“Don’t kid yourself, baby.” “Fuck you.” “Is that your natural response whenever I know you’re lying?” “It’s my response when you’re being arrogant,” you answer. “You can’t just start something and not—” “You think I don’t want to finish this?” he says, still amused. “I want to kiss you more than anything—I’ve wanted to kiss you the second you opened the door two months ago. I want to fuck you and have you wear that set for me. Not some shitty fucking hookup you don’t even know the name of.”

You throat is dry, heart stuttering in your chest at the words. Heat spreads through you, through your thighs, still bare but covered by his jersey.

“Then why don’t you?” you ask, and it comes out softer than you intended. “Instead of waiting when you know it’ll happen?” “You deserve better than that,” he answers, and one of his hands move to your face instead, fixing your hair behind your ear. “You deserve to be obsessed over. Not to be taken out to dinner once just for the part that comes after.”

He pulls away, both hand sliding into his pockets. You take a step back, just to breathe, tearing your gaze away. His apartment looks untouched from a month ago, 

When you finally have the courage to look at him again, he’s smirking.

“I missed you,” he repeats. “I missed you a lot.”

Your fingers curl at your sides. 

“Congratulations on your win,” you end up on, reaching for the door. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t stop you. He stands there, relaxed in his ownapartment, gaze flickering to your thighs knowingly. 

“Goodnight, gorgeous.”

Lando hates being mature.

He hates making actual, rational decisions, ones that make him wait instead of giving things to him instantly. For example: not fucking kissing you when he’d had the chance. Twice.

He winces every time he thinks about it, sighs when he passes by the entry of his apartment. The image of you in his jersey, the pale blue set beneath it, continues to randomly flash in his head. Tormenting him. Except it feels less like torment and more like unshakable regret.

The stack of magazines in his living room seem to stare at him everytime he brushes past. Most are ones of himself, things he plans on planting outside your apartment with stupid notes attached.

The other half of the stack is magazines you’d sent him, back when everything had been fine. Magazines with you on the cover, so, incredibly gorgeous that he’d always stopped in his tracks when he’d picked them up. One of them is of Oscar. His teammate. Your own hand written note still attached: the better mclaren driver x, and he remembered immediately knocking on your door and playing hurt about it.

It was a joke. He knew it was a joke, but it didn’t stop the flare of jealousy that’d sparked inside of him anyway.

His gaze strays from the stack, to the white box on the table next to it.

It’s lingerie. Lacy, light pink, gorgeous, inside an equally as delicate box. It’d probably be even prettier on you—the whole reason he’d bought the damn thing anyway. It sits there like a shadow, like a guilty secret, waiting for the right moment he can give it to you and play it off like another fucking joke when you both knew it wasn’t.

He wants you. Badly. And yet he was holding himself back for some Godforsaken reason. 

He hasn’t seen or spoken to you for the past two weeks. The rhythm the two of you had settled into feels tense, throwing every possible interaction out of sync.

It feels like you’re avoiding him—it probably feels like he’s avoiding you. He’s not. He, for once in his life, just doesn’t know what to do or say.

It doesn’t help that another week later, you’re not even in Monaco.

He hears you leave, the sound of suitcases on marble, unfamiliar voices and laughter. Another two hours and, like some deranged, obsessed admirer, he finds out through your friend’s Instagram stories that you’re on a private jet halfway to Mykonos, Greece. 

When he drags himself through the rest of the day, through to the next morning, you’ve posted in a nightclub that he’s been to before. He studies the picture, the group you’re with, the men specifically. One of them is looking at you, but your eyes are closed, smiling, too caught up dancing with your friends to notice. Lando can’t tell if the man is staring at you in a casual, passing glance way, or a I wanna have sex with you way. 

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses his phone out of reach, and decides he really needs to keep himself distracted for the rest of the time you aren’t here.

He does. Well, he tries. 

He focuses on the upcoming triple header. He focuses on fulfilling every single one of Jon’s insane, training requests. He lets himself scroll on Instagram for a maximum of ten minutes everyday, as if he owes it to himself. 

You post from clubs, from hotels, from yachts. Your skin glows, you look more carefree than he’s ever seen you. He’s never been so mesmerized in his life. 

It’s five days into your absence when you post the picture he’d subconsciously been waiting for.

You’re leaned against a man. 

Lando’s fingers hover over the picture, hood pulled over his head, sitting on one of the benches of his gym. There’s a drink in your hand—champagne, and you’re leaning back, the man’s arms draped over your shoulders. The coastline of Mykonos beautiful in the background, the kind of picture that unintentionally makes you feel inferior. The kind of picture he’d sometimes post, albeit without holding a girl against him.

He shuts his phone, shoving it into his bag, restarting his reps with a newfound sense of determination to get you out of his head.

You get back a week later There’s no laughter or conversation this time. Just your suitcase, your keys, the quiet shutting of your apartment door. 

His heart is instantly slamming in his chest again, and yet for another excruciating seven days, he doesn’t see you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, tilting his head back against his couch.

He feels like shit.

For the entirety of this past month, he's felt like shit. He knows he should just knock—just talk to you, but he's gone so long without that he thinks he doesn't know how.

His apartment is awfully quiet for ten o’clock at night, silent apart from his nagging thoughts of regret. 

He wants you to be the girl he’s spotted with in headlines. The girl people speculate about, instead of some random model he’d danced with at a club in Ibiza. He wants you with him on yachts, on planes, standing in parc ferme after a win. He’s wanted you since he’d stared at your fucking tits almost half a year ago.

It’s then that he realises he needs to do something. Something that doesn’t consist of sulking about you, thinking about you, or frankly, anything to do with you. Maybe an evening run, or a session on his sim. Maybe he could call up Max despite it probably being about two in the morning over in London. 

Or, maybe, he could just knock on your door, kiss you, and see what happened from there.

He glances at the white box on the coffee table, the magazines beside it.

The media had always called him blessed. Mclaren’s golden boy. Incredibly, miraculously lucky. As he finally stands, slipping out of his apartment, he thinks it might be true. 

Jimmy’z is as loud as it always is.

He’d called up Carlos, asking what he was doing and where he was, and it’d led him here. To the most exclusive club in Monte Carlo. It smelt like alcohol, like intoxicating perfume, the music pulsing so loud in his head he can’t think.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Carlos asks him at the bar, waiting for their drinks. “Surely can’t be the championship. You’re leading by a mile.” “No—it’s not,” Lando answers, staring ahead of him. “Something else. Personal.” “When’s the last time you had sex?” He winces, glancing over, “Seriously?” “Two months, then.” “Fuck you.”

Carlos laughs, taking their shots from the bartender and sliding one across to Lando. He downs it instantly, savouring the burn in his throat and praying it’s enough to ease his tension.

“How about—” Carlos’s hands are on his shoulder, steering him to look in the direction of a girl. “Her. Blonde on your left.” “I’m not doing this, Carlos.” “No?” he surveys the crowd, before steering him again. “Her?”

Lando freezes. Carlos, too busy with his ongoing bit of listing random women, doesn’t notice.

You’re standing there, in a dress that glints beneath the strobing lights, drink in your hand, a carefree smile on your face as you talk to a group of your friends.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck—

Lando’s heartbeat is so loud in his ears it drowns out the music. 

You look beautiful.

It's the first time he's seen you in almost a month, but that's all that's running through his head.

He can see the way you’re talking, using your hands, more animated than he’s ever seen you before. Just as he can even choose to tear his gaze away, for both your sakes, someone’s approaching you. 

He’s tall, blonde, frame nudging past people with the clear goal of getting to you. When he does, you blink, smiling and shaking his hand.

It’s nothing like the first time you and Lando met. It plays out perfect—the man makes you laugh, complimenting you by the looks of it, and you’re already pulling your phone out of your purse.

Something sparks deep inside of him. Jealousy. A pang of something possessive when he knows it isn't fair. Still, he’s moving, cutting Carlos off mid sentence.

“Where are y—” “I’ll be back.”

He reaches you in under twenty seconds, managing to catch the ends of your conversation.

“Did you want another drink?” “Yeah, that’d be—”

The man steps aside just as Lando stops in front of you. He watches your attention shift, watches the recognition flash across your features.

“Lando?”

The man blinks, head snapping towards him. You’re frozen on the spot, gaze darting between the two of them. 

“Sorry, man,” he says, and Lando straightens. “Kinda busy h—” “Leave.”

The command comes out short. Rude, but Lando can’t bring himself to care.

“I’m sorry?” “Leave,” he repeats, and you’re silent, hands lowering to your sides. “Now.” “Excuse m—” “Get the fuck out,” he says, stepping closer. You tense, but stay quiet. “Do I have to make you?” The man scoffs, muttering something and disappearing into the crowd.

It leaves you and Lando silent again.

“What the fuck are you—” “Not here,” he says, grabbing your wrist to lead you out the back. “Fuck.”

You stumble outside, glass still in one hand, a glare on your face. The heavy door slams shut, and Lando releases his hold.

“What the fuck was that?” “I dont—” “What gives you the fucking right?” you say, voice raising. “You think you can dictate who I talk to just because we live opposite each other?!" “No, fuck, baby—” “You’re a fucking dick, Norris.” “I know.” “You’re arrogant, cocky, egotistical—” you shove him, and he doesn’t resist, staggering back. “You ignore me for a month and this is the first thing you fucking do?!”

He winces, rubbing his shoulder. You’re breathless, face flushed pink, looking at him with disdain. “I wasn’t ignoring you.” “Fuck you.” “I wasn’t,” he repeats, moving closer. You step back, and he doesn't try again. “I was just—I didn’t know what to—” “Is this a game to you? Am I a game? Are you testing to see how long you can keep me waiting for and how long I’ll keep letting it happen?”

He shakes his head, and you lean against the wall, exhaling.

“Were you…” he starts, and you look at him. “Planning on fucking him? And the guy in Greece—” “You’re unbelievable." “Were you?” “Would it matter?” “Yes. A lot.” “Tell me why.”

Because I’m in love with you.

“Because you’re out of his league.” “Lando,” you laugh, disbelieving. “Don’t fucking lie.” “Were you hoping I’d say something else?” he grins, then immediately curses himself. What the fuck was he doing? “That I’d say because I want to fuck you?” “Don’t you?”

His smile falters.

“What?” “We’re unfinished, remember?” you say. “What happened to wanting to kiss me? To fuck me more than anything? No, I wasn’t planning on have sex with him, or anyone, but God I sh—”

He’s moving before you even finish the last word, hands fitting around your waist, lips crashing against yours with six months worth of want. Of need. One hand slides up from your waist to your jaw, the other sliding beneath your dress, warm on your skin.

You smell so good, like vanilla and lip gloss and champagne. Like everything he’s ever been searching for. It’s overwhelming. Filling his head until all he can think about is your lips, your tongue against his. He feels you chasing him back—nails digging into his shoulder, head tilting, lips parting so easily for him. 

It’s better than any other kiss he’s had in his life. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “I’m sorry.” You let out something between a whine and a moan, quiet, probably accidental. He feels your hands tangle in his hair, the warmth of your body as you arch against him. Impulsive, his hand trails down again, skimming beneath the waistband of your panties. You whimper then, hand catching his wrist to keep it still.

“Lan—” you start, eyes shutting as his lips trail down to your jaw, teeth grazing beneath your ear. You find his lips again, and there’s a sense of desperation, urgency. “I—fuck. Just—”

He abruptly pulls away, breathless, stumbling. 

You stay still, face flushed pink, dress, creased from his roaming hands. He knows he probably looks the same, maybe worse. It’s silent, apart from the sound of ragged breathing and muffled bass from the club.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “I…” Your eyes are wide and startled, watching as he presses his fingers to his mouth, lowers them, then covers his face. “Lando—” “I’ve got a triple header this week,” he bursts out. “U.S, Mexico, Brazil. I leave tomorrow morning.”

You’re still panting, motionless, processing the words.

“So you’re gone for—” “Three weeks.” “A month.” “Almost a month.”

His heart is racing, fingers clenching and unclenching by his sides. Before you get to even open your mouth, he reaches for you again. You’re not even surprised, kissing him back with the same exact intensity. It feels different from the first two. It feels like another promise, one that he knows he’ll keep, one that says when I get back, you and me are real. 

“I'm not waiting for you any longer.” “I know,” he mutters, thumb grazing against your cheek. “I know that. I promise.”

He steps back again, and you’re already moving to your apartment door, pausing just as you turn the door handle.  You aren’t smiling at him. Your lips are parted, blush dusted across your skin. When he forces himself away, you stop him.

“Lando.” “Yeah?”

You smile then—pefect, fucking angelic, and he almost reaches for you again.

“I missed you.”

Fuck.

You’re not sure when you realised you might be in love with Lando Norris.

As far as you remembered, he’d always been the same. He’d run into you in the hall every morning, in the elevator, on the way in and out of the building. He’d make the same shitty jokes, flirt in the most arrogant way possible, slide his hand around your waist when you’d sift through your mailbox.

It’s hard to tell, because Lando is so, undeniably, him. 

You don’t know whether a shitty pick up line means something else. You don’t know if the small graze of his thumb on your skin is accidental or pointed. He calls you gorgeous, baby, a smile on his face that seems all too knowing, then you open your phone the next day to an article titled ‘Lando Norris spotted with model in Ibiza’.

You think you might’ve realised after that night in his apartment. It’d sat at the back of your mind like a shadow, a constant reminder that the two of you were ‘unfinished’. Whatever the hell that meant. 

Or maybe it’d been the silence that came after, the month of tension, of absence that’d felt like torture. You’d hated it so much you’d left for Greece in hopes you’d return home to normalcy. 

Mykono’s had been dreamlike. The coastline was gorgeous, you’d spent your days on yachts and nights in clubs. You’d met a guy called Elias—Greek perfection, and that had been it. You’d only met him. You hadn’t gotten his number, had sex, gone any deeper than knowing his name and age and the name of his dog.

All you could think about was home. Of your apartment and Lando, right across from it. You thought about his shitty pick up lines, his touch, the magazines always tossed outside your door. You thought about him, staring at the sea like you could see Monaco, and when you’d arrived home, he hadn’t been there waiting.

Naturally, you’d done the only thing you knew how whenever your life was thrown into disarray. You’d gone to Jimmy’z, with the sole purpose of getting wasted, but the universe, as you’d established almost six months ago when he’d moved in, absolutely hated you and you’d run into him anyway.

You remember being so, unbelievably frustrated. Frustrated at the sheer audacity of him, the shitty greeting after a month of pure silence.

But then he’d kissed you. You still couldn’t get the feeling out of your head—his hands on your waist, sliding up the planes of your stomach, your jaw, slipping down briefly to dip at the waistband of your panties. 

Then he’d fucking left. Again. Without another word. Leaving only another promise and a white box outside your door.

It’s been five days since the kiss. Four since he'd left, leaving another promise in his wake. Four since you’d opened that perfectly wrapped box he'd left outside your door.

Lingerie. Light pink, dainty, lingerie.

You were sure you were reading into it too much. This was Lando, after all. Someone who jumped at the opportunity to make things amusing when they got too personal—but the thought of it. The thought of him seeing the set and thinking of you.

You tear your gaze away from the box, over to the screen instead, the Grand Prix in Austin on lap 55. Lando’s leading, like you’ve discovered he usually is. When he crosses the line in first, you’re not even looking. Your gaze has slid over to the box again.

It’s then you decide you’re going to something completely and utterly stupid.

You —  [ 1 image attached ] congrats on the win

A wave of regret washes over you the moment you hit send.

The picture stares back at you on your phone: you, on your fucking knees on the plush, duvet of your bed, the pink lace flush against your skin. It’s a good picture. A really good picture, and yet you want to throw your phone off the balcony despite it.

He doesn’t answer for ten minutes. An hour. Two.

You swipe onto the messages again, debating whether to delete everything and block his contact, curled up in bed with the set still on, when—

Lando — fuck fuckfuckfuck what the fuck baby baby what the fuck

The torrent of messages makes you sit up, thighs pressing together, blush already making its way up your neck.

Lando — no you can’t do this not while i’m away for another two weeks i’ll book a flight back to monaco right now i’m not even fucking joking

You — be patient norris

Lando — are you still wearing it??

You shift slightly, debating on whether to send him another picture. 

You — [ 1 image attached ]

Lando — oh fuck  you’re gonna kill me

You —  what took you so long to answer earlier?

Lando — post race celebration debrief whatever the hell  knew i should’ve checked my phone sooner

You —  where are you?

Lando — hotel im meant to go out with everyone in twenty minutes fuck

You can imagine him in his room, his face tinted crimson. You can imagine his voice, picture his touch you so badly craved. 

Your phone lights up again.

Lando — if i win all three of my races  you wear that set for me when i get home

Your fingers clench around your phone.

You — deal

Then you slide your phone onto your bedside table, silent, like it’ll soothe your racing heart.

The day of the Brazil Grand Prix, two weeks later, you’re curled up on the couch, anxiously biting the pad of your thumb as you watch. You’d found yourself watching the recent races with more attention than any other. Probably because of the looming shadow of the deal you’d made with him, growing closer with every lap he spent in P1. He’d won Mexico last week with a 25 second gap, Austin with 10, but this one was different. It held more weight. 

The commentator raises his voice, saying words that have no meaning to you, until—

“Lando Norris wins the Brazilian Grand Prix!”

You can’t breathe. Your body rushes with adrenaline, with anticipation, heart thundering against your ribs.

An hour later, you get the text.

Lando — i’ll be back on monday

The day Lando Norris had moved in across the hall, you knew your life would change.

Did you think it’d change this much? No. But you knew it’d change, and the revelation gave you a sense of unexplainable comfort.

He gets home on Monday, eight pm. You’d spent the entire day pacing, then attempting to be productive, then pacing again. The lingerie had stared at you from its spot on your chair, accusationally, waiting for the moment you reached for it again.

You hear him walk into his apartment. You count the minutes until he comes out again, until he knocks. 

Lando’s already smiling when you open the door.

He’s in joggers, a cotton tee, backwards cap. He looks how he usually would on a regular day. One where he didn’t have a very blatant deal to have sex with you.

“Hi,” he says, and it comes out quiet. “Miss me?”

You drag your gaze up to his face, taking a step closer. It’s silent for a few seconds, weighted silence, before you give in.

“Yeah,” you breathe, and he’s already moving, hands on your hips to press you against him.

He kisses you soft. 

You sink into him, lips against his, letting him guide you. His tongue licks into your mouth—not desperate like the first time, but slow. Savouring. The surface of your door is cold against your back, and you blindly reach for the handle, turning it and sending the two of you stumbling inside.

He doesn’t comment on the interior, the stack of magazines, the box still on the couch. He just keeps kissing you, hands roaming idly, beneath your shirt and brushing against the lace of your bra.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes when he feels it, pulling away to catch his breath. “You wore it.” “That was the deal, wasn’t it?” He groans, muttering, “you’re killing me, baby”, hand sliding to your jaw.

Your hands reach up to his hair when he leans again, tossing his cap off to the side, tangling in the soft curls. A helpless moan escapes you when his hips move against yours. You can feel how hard he is, the pent up frustration and longing. You wonder if he’s been like this since Brazil, since his flight, and the thought sends heat pooling at your core.

“Bedroom,” you say between kisses, though you make no move to stop. “On the left.” You don’t register the length between the door and your room. You don’t register him nudging you onto your bed either, only the warmth of him on top of you, his hand tugging your shirt off. 

He pulls away again, just to take you in. His gaze surveys every inch of you, roaming freely, turning you inside out though he hasn’t said a word. He looks dishevelled—awestruck, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

“You’re—” he blinks, like he can’t believe he’s even here. “Gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous—” “Off,” you say, and your voice sounds so far away. You lean forward, pulling at his shirt. “Take it off.” He immediately shrugs it off, and you scramble to tug your own shorts off too, about to reach for his joggers until he does it for you. You let yourself be greedy, taking in the sight of his tan skin, the curve of his muscles, the lines that disappear beneath his boxers.  “Please,” you say, quiet. You don’t know what you’re saying please for. It might be please kiss me, please fuck me, please don’t keep me waiting any longer. Probably a combination of all three. “Lando.”

His palm skims up your thighs, tugging you effortlessly closer. You can see how hard he is now—the prominent outline of him against his boxers. It makes you clench around nothing, fingers curling in your bedsheets. 

“What do you want?” he asks, and you whine, his fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. “Tell me.” “I want you.” “Where?”

Everywhere, you want to say, thighs pressing together when he tugs the lace down. His hands push them apart again with a small murmur of stay still for me, and you think you might come right then and there.

“Lando,” you whine when he moves away, sliding up the planes of your back to the clasp of your bra. “Just touch me. Anywhere. Fuck me.” He laughs then, low, his touch so gentle and only adding to your desperation.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, then he’s back to your thighs, tracing idly. His fingers—finally, graze over your clit, and you immediately arch into him. “So wet and I’ve barely touched you.” He circles it, featherlight, making you gasp. His fingers move quicker at the noise, slipping down to your folds.

“Is this what you’ve been thinking about?” he asks, leaning down to trail kisses at your jaw. “These past three weeks—past few months?” His finger slides inside of you, barely, but it makes you moan, hips jerking in an attempt to pull him in deeper.  “I know you have, baby,” he says, slowly pulling out, just to fuck in deeper. “And I’m sorry for making you wait. Fuck.”

He moves swifter, thumb pressing against your clit, slipping in a second finger. It feels overwhelming already—too much, and yet you want even more. He curls his fingers perfectly, like he’s already learnt you. You already feel so full, his thick fingers quickening when he feels you tense. 

“Lan,” you say, and he groans at the name. “Please—” You come abruptly, hard, body trembling. He fucks you through it, murmuring praise in your ear, even as tears spring at your eyes in overstimulation. 

You whimper when he slowly pulls his fingers out again. Wordlessly, he taps the side of your cheek, and you open your mouth instinctively. 

“Jesus,” he rasps when you take his fingers into your mouth. You open your eyes to look up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and he looks devastated. Utterly ruined at the sight of you. “You’re perfect.” You keep your eyes on him, still slightly shaking, licking over his fingers and tasting yourself on your tongue.

His next movements are a blur. You watch him tug his boxers down, cock hard and leaking. It’s big. So fucking big and all it does it make you impatient. He grins when you try move closer, stopping you halfway.

“Relax for me,” he says, and you’re falling back onto the mattress, head hitting the plush pillows. He reaches over, grabs a condom from God knows where, rolling it on and settling between your thighs. Your eyes are wide, lips parted, but you relax, letting him guide you exactly where he wants. “That’s it, baby.”

He nudges against you, gentle, and you both tense. 

“Breathe,” he says, but it comes out strained, like he’s holding himself back. He pushes in, slow, stopping at just the tip. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” You whimper, hands fisting in the sheets, head tilting back when he eases in deeper.  “You okay?” he asks, stopping to brush your hair out of your face. “You look—insane. So fucking unreal.” “I’m fine,” you gasp, one hand moving to tangle in his hair. He leans forward, kissing you, reassuring. “Move. Please move.”

His hands settle on your waist when he slides all the way in, and you both groan at the feeling. You turn your head to bury it in the pillows, but he immediately tilts it back towards him. “Let me hear you,” he murmurs, starting to thrust in and out. “It’s just us. C’mon, gorgeous.” You moan at that, and he pushes in harder, deeper, hitting all the right spots inside you. 

You can hear his ragged breathing, your own name on his lips. He sets a rhythm, steady, the bed frame knocking against the wall with every moment. Your hands move to his shoulders, nails digging into his back, and he groans, thrusts turning rougher. 

“You take me so well, baby,” he says, and he sounds breathless, hoarse. “So fucking well.” “I can’t—” you clench around him, overstimulated. “Lan—I can’t—” “You can,” he breathes, sinking impossible deeper, filling you perfectly. “Come for me. I know you can.”

It feels so good, like heaven, like the world really only consisted of the two of you. He moves your leg higher, and you let him, pliant, overwhelmed with pleasure. You’re sure your nails have left scratches, deep marks, but it only seems to encourage him more. 

“Feels good, huh?” he says, and he’s grinning. You roll your hips against his in response, and the flash of confidence shatters, turning into something that sounds like a whine. “You’re so good—you’re so fucking good to me.” He ghosts his lips over your neck, and you turn your head to kiss him. It’s messy, hungry, his tongue against yours and his cock relentless inside you. 

The second time you come feels euphoric—dizzying, knocking all the air out of your lungs. All you can think about is Lando, his name, his touch, the months of craving of him all for this exact moment.

He shudders a second later, hips stuttering, grip bruising on your skin. “Fuck,” he groans when he comes, panting. He thrusts in again, rhythm faltering, his face pressed against your neck. “Fuck—I think I’m in love with you.”

Then he collapses, gasping, flushed a pretty shade of pink. You lay there, chest rising and falling, eyes half lidded, not yet processing his words. 

You’re not sure how long you stay there, trying to regain your breath. You whine quietly at him pulling out, barely sensing him moving to toss out the condom.

“Everything okay?” he asks, quietly. You’re too spent to answer, so you move towards him, letting him press kisses on your forehead, your neck, down your shoulder.

He looks completely wrecked, hair tousled and messy. When he turns away again to presumably find tissues, you see the marks on his back, the indents of your nails. You’re sure you don’t look much better, but you know if you asked he’d say you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

I think I’m in love with you.

“Lando,” you say, softly. He blinks, glancing back at you, concern in his eyes. “Did you mean that?” He cocks his head, like he’s trying to figure out what you mean. You see when it clicks, when the blush deepens into crimson.

“Yeah,” he says, and you sit up, flinching at the ache in your muscles. “I mean—I think so. You’re all I ever think about. Ever since I moved in.”

You study his face, the expression on it. He’s studying you back, looking for a reaction, a response in your eyes.

“I think I might be in love with you too,” you answer, and his shoulders physically relax. He falls back onto the bed, on top of you, face burying in your neck. “Even though you’re a cocky, arrogant, piece of shit.” “Thanks,” he mutters. “I try.”

You laugh and feel him smile into your skin. “Stay tonight,” you tell him, gently running your fingers through his hair. “If you want.” “If I want,” he repeats, grinning. “Right.” You scoff, settling back into the pillows. He kisses you, muttering something about finding a towel, and you let him go.

You wonder if all those months ago, if you’d opened the door to him in a better mood, if he hadn’t fucking stared at your tits, you would’ve had this sooner. Maybe you would’ve kissed him the first time you’d had the chance to, maybe you would’ve said yes to every single date he’d asked you on, and almost 10 months of wait would turn into one.

But it didn’t matter now. It didn’t matter because now, you finally had him.

It’s summer in Monaco, three months later, and there’s a magazine outside your apartment door.

The glossy cover is smooth on your fingertips, there’s a note stuck to the front, and a paperclip marks a specific page. You smile, leaning against the doorframe, plucking the note off and staring at the cover.

It’s you.

Well, not just you. It’s the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, it’s Lando in his race suit, it’s the two of you kissing after he’d just won the championship. 

You’re crying—you remembered crying, but hadn’t realised how obvious it’d actually been. There are tears streaks trailing down your face, his hand is resting on your jaw to tilt your face towards him.

Lando Norris — An Interview with Formula 1’s newest World Champion

Though the championship has been the center of attention for Lando Norris, it isn’t the only thing people have been talking about. We sat the British F1 driver down almost a year ago with the question: How do you handle relationships when you’re living such a public life? 

Back then, he’d responded with his usual, boyish charm—claiming he thinks he’s ‘much better at driving a car at 300 kilometres an hour than replying a text’. But now, after the events of his championship-winning Grand Prix, it seems as though that wasn’t entirely true.

“You said in a previous interview you wanted someone who can put up with you—who doesn’t let you get away with everything. You also said you hadn’t found them yet. What about now?” We ask Lando, fresh off his championship win and the reveal of his girlfriend.

“Now? Yeah. I’ve found her.” “And is she ticking all your boxes?” “Every single one. She puts up with me—she has since we met a year ago, actually. She doesn’t know a thing about Formula 1. She’s hot, sexy, and gorgeous—ticks all my boxes.” “And how did you meet?”

Lando smiles at the question, blushing.

“I mean—fuck, I wish I could say we met somewhere romantic, but no, it was quite the opposite,” his smile grows. “No further comment.” “Alright. Final question: Any messages for her? For anyone?” “No. She’ll get a message when she reads this interview anyway.”

You close the magazine, glancing at the note he’d attached on top.

© mvclrc 2026

[crazyunicornsparkles]

[saudadebunny]

[tsunodaradio]

honeybee ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

it's too hard to describe this in a way that feels honest, but even when i'm quiet / i love you, baby, i promise. (or: you, oscar, and the years that have come and gone.)

ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x childhood best friend!reader. ꔮ mixed media au. ꔮ includes: fluff, friendship, romance. suspended disbelief on timelines & flat wasps. inspired by olivia rodrigo's honeybee. ꔮ commentary box: let's get this show back on the road, baby. did all of this in one deranged sitting. thank you for always indulging me, @cinnamorussell.

[verstappenverse]

Nothing Personal

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader

Summary: After one disastrous weekend Max suggests that maybe you're not cut out for F1. He spends the rest of the season trying to rebuild what his words damaged.

6.1k words / Masterlist

You had only just made it back to the garage after a humiliating FP1 session a spin at Turn 8, a lap time that left you rooted to the bottom of the timing sheets, and nothing but clipped, uncomfortable silence from the pit wall as you limped the car back. By the time you climbed out of the cockpit, heat still trapped beneath your race suit and embarrassment burning beneath your skin, you already felt as though every pair of eyes in the garage was fixed on you.

Max didn’t need to make it worse.

“Maybe this just isn’t the place for you.”

The words hit you harder than any crash ever could.

He didn’t sound angry, somehow that would have been easier to take, his voice was calm and detached, delivered with the kind of cold certainty that made it sound less like an insult and more like a conclusion he'd already reached.

Your throat tightened so quickly it hurt.

For one awful second you could only stare at him waiting for something else, a flicker of regret, a sign that he'd spoken out of frustration rather than meaning it, but nothing came. His expression remained unreadable, already turning back towards the monitors as though the conversation was over.

You blinked twice and gave a small nod, because pretending to agree felt safer than letting him see how deeply he had cut you. Then you walked past the engineering desk without speaking, keeping your shoulders straight and your gaze fixed ahead until you were safely out of sight, where no one could see the tremble in your chin or the tears gathering behind your eyes.

You didn’t say another word for the rest of the day.

You avoided him for the rest of the weekend.

During team meetings you took the seat furthest from his. In briefings every answer you gave was clipped, addressed to your engineers never to him. You didn’t look his way once even before FP3 when you caught him watching you through the reflection in the garage mirror as you pulled your balaclava over your head. You saw the way his gaze lingered almost as though he wanted to say something, but you turned away before he could.

Then qualifying came and everything got worse.

You locked up into Turn 12, the front tyres protesting as the car skidded just wide enough to cost you two tenths through the final sector. Two tenths that might have been enough to save you. Instead your name dropped to sixteenth as the clock ran out, leaving you stranded in the garage and eliminated in Q1.

By the time you had climbed out of the car the headlines were already writing themselves.

RED BULL’S LATEST RISK FAILS TO DELIVER.

MAX’S NEW TEAMMATE CRUMBLES UNDER PRESSURE.

It didn’t seem to matter that you weren’t actually his teammate, not yet at least. You were still only a junior driver, loaned out for unknown period of time during Isack’s injury, a slight test for the future so you could find your feet without the full weight of Red Bull pressing down on your shoulders. The media had already decided what you were supposed to become though and every mistake was treated as proof that you would never be ready for it.

Max’s comment had only lit the match.

Now the entire paddock seemed determined to watch you burn.

Over the next couple of weeks you began to notice a change in Max, it was easy enough to dismiss at first. He no longer offered unsolicited advice over the radio or hovered beside your engineers while they picked apart your laps. Instead he kept his distance, watching from across the garage whenever he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You did notice but you just simply refused to acknowledge it.

In the hospitality tent you kept your headphones on and your head lowered over a sheet of telemetry, pretending to study the same sector analysis you had been staring at for nearly twenty minutes. The numbers had blurred together long ago, but concentrating on them was easier than looking around and risking another encounter with him.

The chair beside you scraped against the floor and your shoulders tightened before you could stop them. Max sat down without asking, close enough that the edge of his knee nearly brushed yours beneath the table. For a moment, he said nothing, then a Red Bull energy bar slid across the page, covering the corner of the graph you had been pretending to read.

“Eat something.”

You pulled one side of your headphones away from your ear and stared at the bar. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

His answer came quickly, but there was none of the coldness or impatience you remembered from the last race. Only a quiet certainty that made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You moved the energy bar aside and returned your attention to the data sheet. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, settling between you like wet concrete. Around you the hospitality suite carried on as normal cutlery clinking against plates, team members laughing near the coffee machine, someone discussing something as mundane as the weather two tables away, but the space between you felt strangely separate from all of it.

Max leaned back in his chair and released a breath, it wasn’t the irritated sigh you had grown used to hearing from him, he sounded tired, defeated, almost. When you finally glanced at him guilt sat heavily in the slope of his shoulders. His elbows rested against his knees, hands clasped loosely together as he stared down at the floor.

“I saw the headlines,” he said at last.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the paper.

“And I know I made them worse.”

You looked away before he could see the flicker of hurt cross your face. “Forget it.”

Before he could reply you pushed your chair back and stood, Max reached for your wrist, calling your name as though he could stop you, but you pulled away without looking at him and walked out.

Max stopped keeping his distance after that.

At the next debrief he walked into the crowded conference room passed several empty chairs and took the seat directly beside you. You told yourself it was nothing, but when he did the same thing at the following session and again the day after that it became impossible to dismiss as coincidence.

Each time he arrived he would set his tablet down beside your notes and settle into the chair as though sitting anywhere else had never crossed his mind. While engineers filled the room and sector times glowed across the screens, Max remained at your side, listening more closely when your laps were discussed and quietly following every piece of feedback you were given.

He never tried to force a conversation, he simply listened, occasionally leaning closer to point out something on your screen or quietly asking one of your engineers to bring up a different lap comparison.

Then he began appearing in your garage after his own sessions. He would arrive with the sleeves of his team shirt pushed up to his elbows and an sheet of telemetery tucked beneath one arm, walking straight past the cameras and curious mechanics. Sometimes he had barely climbed out of his own car before he was asking for your telemetry.

It was strange, watching him study your laps with the same fierce concentration he usually reserved for his own. He replayed your onboard footage, compared steering traces and questioned your engineers until every small inconsistency had been pulled apart.

One evening, long after most of the paddock had begun to empty he stood beside you at the engineering desk, scrolling through a comparison between your fastest lap and the one that had been abandoned after a lock-up.

“This isn’t a braking issue,” he muttered.

You glanced away from the screen. “That’s what they keep telling me though.”

“They’re wrong.”

His tone was so blunt that one of your engineers looked up from the opposite end of the desk. Max either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He enlarged the tyre data and tapped the front-left trace with his finger.

“It isn’t coming up to temperature quickly enough. Look here.” He dragged the laps side by side. “You’re turning in expecting the grip to be there, but it isn’t. Then you’re compensating by braking later on the next lap which makes the lock-up worse.”

You studied the graph, following the lines he'd highlighted. Once he pointed it out, the pattern seemed obvious.

“You’re chasing grip that the car isn’t giving you,” he continued. “You could drive the corner perfectly and still lose time.”

You looked at him instead of the screen.

Max noticed after a moment, his hand still hovering over the tablet. “What?”

“Why are you doing this?”

The question came out more quietly than you intended.

His expression closed slightly, and he turned his attention back to the data. “Because someone needs to.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

His jaw tightened.

You waited, unwilling to let him escape behind another graph or technical explanation.

Finally, Max lowered the tablet onto the desk. “Because I should have said something useful that day.”

You said nothing.

“I knew you were struggling with the car,” he continued. “I knew the balance was wrong, and I knew you were already blaming yourself for all of it.” His eyes stayed fixed on the screen, as though looking at you would make the admission harder. “I could have helped and instead I made you feel like you didn’t belong here.”

The familiar ache returned beneath your ribs.

“And now you think fixing my setup will make up for it?”

“No.” His answer was immediate. For the first time since you arrived he met your gaze fully.

“But it’s something I can do.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of you still wanted to be angry. Anger was usually easier. It created distance between you, kept his words sharp enough in your memory that you wouldn’t risk trusting him again.

But Max was making it difficult to hold on to, especially when he kept showing up. Every evening, once the media duties ended and the garage began to quiet, you would find him waiting near your engineering station. Sometimes he had two coffees balanced in one hand. Sometimes he had already loaded your onboard footage before you arrived. He never asked whether you wanted his help anymore, but he never acted as though you owed him anything for it either.

On Friday evening, you returned from a meeting to find him leaning against the desk, your more recent data already open in front of him.

He glanced up as you approached.

“Come on,” he said, pushing himself upright. “Get your notes. We’re going over Turn 4 again.”

You folded your arms. “We went over Turn 4 yesterday.”

“And you’re still losing a tenth on entry.”

“You’re very annoying.”

“I know.”

There was the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, gone almost as soon as you noticed it. He picked up the laptop and started walking towards the back of the garage, clearly expecting you to follow.

For a moment, you remained where you were. Then you reached for your notebook and went after him.

It wasn’t until a media scrum a few races later that you understood just how much things between you had changed.

You stood behind the taped barrier beneath the harsh paddock lights, waiting for your turn while three different press officers attempted to keep the restless crowd of reporters moving. Your helmet bag hung from one shoulder, and you had already arranged the usual answers neatly in your head: the car was improving, the team was working hard, and you were taking everything one session at a time. Each response was measured, harmless and carefully constructed to give the journalists nothing they could twist into another headline.

A few feet away Max was halfway through his own interview when one of the reporters asked him about you.

“What do you make of her recent improvement? She seems to have found something over the last few races.”

You lowered your gaze, preparing yourself for the usual vague endorsement. Something about promising pace or needing more time. The sort of harmless answer drivers gave when they didn’t want to say anything at all.

Instead, Max tilted his head and squinted at the reporter as though the question had irritated him.

“She’s quick,” he said. “People forget how steep the learning curve is at this level. She’s had to learn a new car, a new team and tracks she’s never raced on before within a few weeks with everyone waiting for her to make a mistake. Give her time.”

Your grip tightened around the strap of your bag.

The reporter glanced down at his notes, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth. “It was a fairly rough start, though. You must have had doubts after the opening rounds.”

Max’s expression changed immediately.

“You ever driven a car at three hundred and twenty kilometres an hour while half the world watches your onboard and waits for you to get something wrong?”

The reporter’s smile faltered. “Well obviously not, but—”

“No?” Max interrupted, his voice still measured even as his eyes narrowed. “Standing here criticising her is easy. You’re very comfortable judging something you’ve never had the ability to do yourself.”

A murmur moved through the press pack, cameras shifted towards him, microphones lifting higher as everyone sensed the possibility of a headline. Max didn’t elaborate. He didn’t soften it with a laugh or look towards the press officer for rescue he simply handed back the microphone and stepped away from the barrier. He passed close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours, but he never looked at you.

You remained frozen in place, staring after him while the reporters around you whispered to one another and your press officer called your name for the second time.

For weeks Max had been helping you quietly, behind closed doors and dimmed garage screens where no one else could see, this was different, there had been a hundred cameras pointed at him, and he had defended you anyway, you wondered briefly whether guilt was still the only reason he kept showing up for you.

You found him alone at the back of the Red Bull motorhome after the race. The celebrations had already begun downstairs, your engineers opening bottles and passing around plastic cups because eighth place ordinarily meant very little, but today it meant everything. Your first Formula One points. A small mark beside your name on the championship table that proved, at least for one weekend, that you belonged there.

Max had disappeared shortly after the podium ceremony.

You found him slumped into the corner of one of the black leather sofas, still wearing his team kit, one ankle resting over the opposite knee. His phone was in his hand, but he didn’t appear to be reading anything. His thumb moved aimlessly over the screen, his expression distant in a way that made you think he'd come there precisely because he didn’t want to be found.

He looked up when you entered.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice quieter than you were used to hearing from him. “Your first points.”

You stopped a few feet from the sofa. “Thanks.”

Max studied you for a moment. “You don’t look very happy about it.”

“It’s not really enough still.” You shifted the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder, reluctant to let yourself feel proud of a result that had fallen short of what you wanted.

“You scored your first points,” Max continued. “That should be celebrated. It isn’t easy and you shouldn’t act like eighth means nothing just because you wanted the podium.”

“I wasn’t planning on celebrating eighth.”

“No?” The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “That’s disappointing. I was hoping I might finally get a smile out of you.”

Your eyes met his, and the warmth in them caught you off guard. “You’re not that charming.”

“I didn’t say I was.” His gaze dipped briefly down before returning to your eyes. “But you’re still trying not to smile.”

You looked away before he could see that he was right.

“You drove well,” he added, the teasing fading. “You stayed out of trouble, managed the tyres and took every chance when it came.”

The praise should have felt good, but it left a strange pressure beneath your ribs because you could still remember when his opinion had been the one you cared about most, before his words had hollowed you out and taught you not to look for his approval.

You nodded, unsure what else to offer him. “The changes helped.”

Max understood what you meant, the hours spent studying telemetry, the late evenings dissecting corners and the coffees left beside your laptop before early briefings.

His mouth tightened faintly. “They helped,” he agreed. “But you still had to drive the car.”

You could hear the muffled celebration below you, bursts of laughter rising through the floor whenever the doors opened. You considered leaving. You'd already started to turn when Max placed his phone face down on the cushion beside him.

“Wait.”

You stopped.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, eyes fixed somewhere near your feet. There was tension in the movement, as though the words had been sitting inside him for weeks and he still hadn’t worked out how to say them.

“I meant what I said that day,” he began.

Your entire body went still.

“Not like that,” he corrected quickly. “Not in the way it sounded.”

A humourless laugh escaped you. “Is there another way to interpret ‘maybe this isn’t the place for you’?”

He looked up then.

There was no anger in his expression and none of the defensiveness you'd expected. He looked exhausted in the way someone looked when they'd been carrying the same regret for too long and had finally realised there was no painless way to put it down.

“No,” he admitted. “There isn’t.”

You folded your arms over your chest, more to protect yourself than anything else.

“I was frustrated,” he continued. “With the car, with the team, with myself. Everything had gone wrong that day and then you walked into the garage looking so…” His voice faltered, and he glanced away. “You looked completely crushed.”

The memory returned with painful clarity, the heat beneath your race suit and the silence from the engineers. Max’s voice following you through the garage.

“And so you decided to make it worse?”

“I knew that feeling,” he said. “I knew exactly what was going through your head because I’ve been there. I know what it feels like when everyone is watching, when one bad session becomes proof that you’re not good enough and when every person around you has an opinion about whether you deserve to be here.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees. His hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles had begun to pale.

“I knew how much you were already blaming yourself and instead of helping you I gave you another reason to.”

You looked down because holding his gaze had become too difficult.

“I told myself I was trying to warn you,” he continued. “That maybe you needed to understand how brutal this place could be before it swallowed you but that isn’t what I did. It isn’t how it came out.”

“Why?” you whispered.

Max inhaled slowly.

“Because I was scared for you.”

You looked at him again.

His gaze remained fixed on his hands. “I know what this place does to people. I know what it did to me when I was your age, everyone tells you that pressure makes you stronger, but sometimes it just makes you believe you’re only worth something when you’re winning.”

His jaw tightened, the words becoming more difficult with every sentence.

“I could see you starting to disappear into it, every mistake or headline, every time someone questioned you—like it proved something. I wanted to tell you that it didn’t. I wanted to say that you’re allowed to struggle and that one bad session doesn’t mean you don’t belong here, you’re allowed to question whether you want to be here and that doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

A broken breath left him.

“But I didn’t know how to say that… in fact I said the exact opposite.”

The tears came before you could stop them, stinging at the corners of your eyes. You blinked quickly, but one escaped anyway, slipping down your cheek before you could turn away. His expression crumpled so briefly you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching him. He swallowed hard, eyes shining as he looked down at the floor again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice shook now, stripped of every trace of the certainty he carried in front of cameras. “I know saying it doesn’t undo anything. I know helping with the car doesn’t make it better, but I am so fucking sorry for making you feel like that.”

You stood there for a long moment. Part of you had imagined this apology countless times. In some versions, you shouted at him. In others, you told him exactly what his words had done to you and walked away before he had the chance to answer, but now that the moment had arrived, anger wasn’t the strongest thing you felt.

It was relief. Relief that he understood. That he hadn’t forgotten it the moment the words left his mouth, that every evening he had spent beside you had meant something more than obligation.

You crossed the room before you could overthink it and lowered yourself onto the sofa beside him. Max watched you carefully, almost warily, as though he didn’t trust himself to hope.

You shifted closer and gently rested your head against his shoulder.

For several seconds, Max didn’t move. Then his body softened beside yours, and he released a long, unsteady breath as though he'd been holding it since that first Friday afternoon.

His head tipped carefully against yours.

You never said the words I forgive you, but when Max’s hand settled beside yours on the sofa, his little finger brushing tentatively against your own you didn’t pull away.

By the time the paddock reached Austria Max had become woven so thoroughly into your routine that neither of you seemed capable of remembering when it had happened.

He was there during the quiet hours before briefings, leaning against the counter in hospitality while you waited for your drink, and again late in the evening when the garages began to empty and the conversations around you softened into the tired murmur of engineers preparing for the following day. What had begun as Max helping you understand an unpredictable car had become something far less structured. Some evenings you still spent hours studying telemetry and comparing onboard footage and on others the laptop remained open and almost entirely forgotten while he told you stories about his early years in the sport or tried to convince you that his terrible movie recommendations were somehow your fault for listening to him.

Whenever you climbed out of the car after a session your eyes would drift instinctively towards his garage. At dinner you saved the seat beside you before you had consciously decided to do it. When something went well Max had somehow become the first person you wanted to tell, even when he had already been watching the entire thing unfold.

The team had started to notice and the reporters had certainly noticed, but neither of you acknowledged it.

After qualifying seventh in Austria you found Max near the back of the garage, studying the final timing screen. He'd claimed pole by less than a tenth and should have been preparing for the media pen, but his attention shifted towards you the moment you approached.

You stopped beside him and folded your arms, allowing a deliberately smug smile to form.

“You’re welcome.”

Max glanced towards the screen and then back at you. “For what?”

“Pole.”

His eyebrows lifted. “My pole?”

“You were losing time through Turn 6 yesterday. I told you the wind was pushing the rear around on entry.”

“You said it felt like it ‘might be windy tomorrow’.”

“And then you went faster.”

A smile spread slowly across his face. “So now you are taking credit for my qualifying?”

“Only the successful parts.”

“What about the rest of the lap?”

“That was acceptable too.”

Max laughed, a warm sound that caught the attention of one of the nearby mechanics. A few months earlier you would never have spoken to him like this, you would have analysed every word before saying it and waited anxiously for some indication that he approved. Now you simply enjoyed the way his eyes brightened whenever you surprised him.

“Well,” he said, turning his body fully towards you, “thank you for securing my pole position.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“And congrats on seventh.”

Your smile softened. “Thank you.”

There was no joking qualification attached to it. Max did not point out where you had lost time or suggest that you might have placed higher with a cleaner final sector. He had never treated your progress like something he'd created, even after all the hours he'd spent helping you, when you did well the achievement remained entirely yours.

“You looked confident out there,” he said.

“I felt better.”

“I could tell.”

Something in his tone made warmth rise beneath your skin. “Were you watching?”

“I’d finished my lap.” Max’s gaze travelled over your face, amusement softening into something more intent. “You make it very difficult not to watch you.”

Your press officer called your name from the entrance to the garage before you could decide how to answer. You glanced towards her and then back at him, reluctant to let the moment end.

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

Neither of you moved immediately.

“Try not to lose the lead tomorrow. I would hate for all my coaching to be wasted.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You should, I have a reputation to protect now.”

Max shook his head, still smiling as you turned away and you could feel his eyes following you until you disappeared into the corridor.

The race unfolded more perfectly than anything you'd allowed yourself to imagine.

You gained a place before the first corner and emerged from the opening lap in sixth, the car balanced beneath you in a way it rarely had been at the beginning of the season. Max led several seconds ahead, but for once you weren't thinking about him or the expectations attached to being part of the same programme. Your focus narrowed to the car in front, the gap on your steering wheel and the calm instructions coming through your radio.

During the first stint you remained close enough to fifth to force the driver ahead into using more of his tyres than he wanted. Your engineer suggested extending the stint, trusting that you could maintain the pace while the others began to struggle.

It worked. You emerged from the pits later with clear air and tyres fresh enough to attack. By the time the strategy settled you were running fifth with fourth place less than three seconds ahead.

There had been a point earlier in the season when fifth would have felt too valuable to risk, you would have protected the result, terrified that wanting more might cost you everything. That instinct still whispered at the edge of your concentration, but it no longer controlled you.

With eight laps remaining you began closing the gap. The car ahead defended into Turn 3, forcing you to abandon the first attempt, but you stayed close through the middle sector. On the following lap, you positioned the car more carefully through the final two corners and pulled alongside before the braking zone.

For a fraction of a second your front-left threatened to lock.

You kept your foot in and trusted the car to hold.

The two of you swept through the corner together, but you had the inside line for the next turn. By the time you accelerated fourth place was yours.

Your engineer’s voice erupted through the radio.

“That’s P4! Great move. Absolutely fantastic.”

A breathless laugh escaped you inside your helmet. “That was close.”

You crossed the line three laps later in fourth, with Max taking the victory several seconds ahead.

The result registered slowly as you completed the cooldown lap. It wasn’t a podium, although you could almost touch one now, only three drivers had finished ahead of you and for the first time that knowledge felt exciting rather than cruel. You hadn't inherited the position through retirements or luck. You had raced for it and taken it.

When you returned to parc fermé your team were waiting against the barriers. Hands reached towards you as you climbed from the car, mechanics cheering loudly enough to be heard over the engines still arriving behind you.

You'd barely removed your helmet when someone caught you around the waist.

A startled laugh left you as your feet lifted briefly from the ground. You knew who it was before Max could set you down, his arms still loose around you and a victorious grin covering his face.

“Fourth,” he said.

“First,” you replied, looking up at him. “I suppose you managed without too much trouble.”

“I had excellent coaching.”

His hands remained at your waist and yours had settled instinctively against his shoulders. Around you cameras clicked continuously, but Max appeared entirely unconcerned by the attention.

“That overtake was brilliant” he said.

“Wha-How?”

“Because I was watching.”

“You were leading.”

“I had a gap.”

“You used it to watch my race?”

Max’s eyes moved over your face, his voice lowering despite the noise surrounding you. “I told you. You make it difficult not to.”

In the garage you had been able to blame the electricity between you on adrenaline from qualifying. Here, with his hands still resting against your waist and his attention fixed entirely on you there was nowhere for either of you to hide.

A member of the podium crew called for Max, he glanced reluctantly towards the stage and then back at you.

“You need to go,” you told him.

“Stay for the podium.”

“I usually do.”

“Stay where I can see you.”

Your heart stumbled, you tried to cover it with a smile. “Planning to dedicate the win to your coach?”

“Maybe.”

Max gave your waist one final squeeze before stepping away. The absence of him felt immediate although his gaze remained on you until someone placed a cap in his hands and steered him towards the podium.

When Max lifted the trophy he found you beneath the stage almost instantly. Champagne had dampened his hair and darkened the shoulders of his race suit, but his attention settled on you with such certainty that several photographers turned to follow his line of sight.

You raised your eyebrows and mouthed, You’re welcome.

Even from a distance you saw him laugh.

It was much later before the two of you managed to escape the celebrations.

The paddock had begun to quiet when you found Max on the terrace behind the motorhome, he'd changed into a clean team shirt although his hair was still damp from the champagne. His trophy sat on the table beside two bottles of beer, catching the last of the evening sunlight.

“You abandoned your own party,” you said as you stepped outside.

Max turned towards you. “I was waiting for someone.”

“Your coach?”

“She’s becoming very demanding.”

You walked towards him and accepted the bottle he offered. “Success changes people.”

“So does finishing fourth apparently.”

You leaned beside him against the railing. “I was delightful before.”

“You barely spoke to me.”

“You deserved it.”

“I did.”

The ease with which he accepted it removed any sting from the exchange, he looked out over the paddock for a moment, his shoulder resting against yours before turning his bottle slowly between his hands.

“You should be proud of today.”

“I am.”

Max glanced sideways at you, checking for any sign that you were only saying it for his benefit.

You smiled. “I really am.”

His expression warmed. “Good.”

“I wanted the podium.”

“I know.”

“But I didn’t leave feeling like fourth was a failure.” You looked down at the bottle in your hands. “That’s new.”

“You’ll get one soon.”

The certainty in his voice made you laugh. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

“What happens when I do?”

Max’s gaze shifted towards you. “When you do what?”

“Get a podium.”

He considered the question with exaggerated seriousness. “You stand on the stage. They give you a trophy. Usually there’s champagne.”

You turned until your hip rested against the railing, facing him properly. “I meant what happens afterwards.”

Understanding flickered across his face.

“Are you asking me to plan your celebration?”

“I’m asking whether you intend to be there.”

Max’s smile became more private replacing the teasing expression he'd worn moments earlier. “I intend to be there for all of them.”

The answer caught you off guard.

“All of them?” you repeated.

“Your first podium. Your first win.” His eyes remained on yours. “Whatever comes after that.”

The future opened quietly between you, carried in words that could still have been about racing if either of you needed them to be.

“You’re planning quite far ahead,” you murmured.

“I spend a lot of time looking at data. I can recognise a trend.”

“And what trend is that?”

“You keep getting closer.”

“To the podium?”

Max stepped nearer, leaving only a narrow space between you. “That too.”

Warmth climbed into your cheeks, but you resisted the instinct to look away. The confidence you had found in the car seemed to follow you here allowing you to hold his gaze and enjoy the rare moment in which Max appeared to be the less certain one.

“So,” you said, stepping slightly closer, “when I get my podium how exactly are we celebrating?”

His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’re still pretending you don’t know what I want.”

Your pulse quickened, but you managed to keep your expression composed. “Perhaps you should explain it to me.”

Max laughed under his breath. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

“This was much easier when you were nervous around me.”

“You hated it when I was nervous around you.”

His expression sobered. “I do like this version better.”

Months earlier his opinion had shattered something in you. Now he looked at you as though your growing confidence was not merely something he'd witnessed, but something he treasured.

“You helped.”

“You did the difficult part.”

He moved closer until his shoulder brushed yours and lowered his voice.

“Get the podium.”

“And then?”

“Then you won’t have to ask whether I’ll be there.”

You smiled. “Still avoiding the question about the celebration.”

“I already told you. It depends.”

“On whether I know what you want?”

“Yes.”

You tilted your face towards his, leaving so little distance that you felt his breath catch. “I think I’m beginning to work it out.”

For one suspended moment you thought he might kiss you.

Instead Max reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips trailing lightly along your cheek. The restraint in the gesture made it feel more intimate than rushing forward would have done.

“You drove beautifully today,” he said.

There was no joke to hide behind now, you let the praise settle without dismissing it.

“Thank you.”

His hand lingered against your cheek before falling slowly.

When you eventually returned inside Max placed his palm against the small of your back and guided you through the doorway. Several team members looked up, one of them smiled knowingly before returning to his conversation.

The podium felt close now.

Whatever waited after it felt closer too.

Taglist: @shigarika @rosesanddiaries @thecoolpotatohologram @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie@percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle@inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects1@fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh@lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa@wordskeeper @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak @taylordaughter @taetae-armyyyyy @kitty-m30w @abcdefghi09lmnopqrstuvwxyz @kevynnashley @robindrake13 @lilorose25 @sogoodtoheritsvicious @bestillmystuckyheart @alex1ella @nightrose-18

[dracoflaco]

THIS IS SO CUTE OH EM GEE

[slutty-taurus]

(x) lando and his overnight oats

[mostlymarvelgirl]

I really miss those old avengers tower fics

1. Clint in the vents

2. Bruce and Tony in the lab... science bros

3. Cap being accused and called out by his team ... either it's the "language" or "I understood that reference"

4. Loki for some reason being imprisoned in the tower by Odin to learn humanity blah blah

5. Thor and his poptarts

6. Natasha and wanda being the bestie

7. Reader either dating Loki or Bucky

8. Fury calling out reader initially as a threat as they were an orphan who was a lineage of witches type of trope. OR reader is Tony's kid.

9. Bucky randomly becoming besties with Sam and them having their own fights.

10. Peter and Shuri becoming besties with reader

11. Maria, pepper, wanda, Natasha and reader having sleepovers.

12. Tony having a party every time after a mission. Everyone ends up trying to lift thor's hammer and reader turns out to be worthy.

13. Loki teaching reader how to use magic.

And the list goes on....

[cassettemona]

[scuderiafemboy]

max and the verstappets.. MERRY CHRISTMAASS

[yourowncupcake]

[daydreamsharry]

i can do it with a broken heart — mv33 (part 1)

when max breaks up with you, you’re left heartbroken and confused. you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with him and your world is turned upside down. even more so, when his new relationship emerges. but you're determined to carry on and you're still perfectly capable of doing your job, even with a broken heart. (40.3k total; 21.0k in this part)

max verstappen x red bull strategist! reader

warnings/contents: please PLEASE read these carefully because there is a lot (these cover both parts)! swearing, suggestive content, mentions/references to struggles with eating, panic and anxiety attacks, mentions of the aftermath of a car accident, fainting incident, hospital visits, drinking and alcohol, there is a drink spiking incident, max and kelly’s relationship is a major focus but hate of any sort will be deleted and blocked (for plot purposes they only start dating in 2024), family dynamics mentioned, use of YN but only in texts and social media posts, some old ig handles lol

a/n: hello! first of all, once again, please read the warnings! this will deal with a lot, so please be aware! secondly, well this was an absolute heck of a fic to write! fun fact, it was meant to be a short fic that got me into posting but it spiralled and here we are... as you can see there will be 2 parts and there may also be an alternate ending... title from i can do it with a broken heart by taylor swift. soooo with that, make yourself a cuppa, a drink, a snack, whatever tickles your fancy, enjoy! and please let me know your feedback!

2022

You’re lying on the sofa with Max, head on his chest as you curl up into his side. His fingers are running through your hair gently as you both focus on the movie on the television. You hum quietly, perfectly content with where you are and you’re almost falling asleep to his soothing motions when Max speaks up.

“I’m going to marry you someday.”

“What?” You laugh, lifting your head from his chest to stare at him. He was staring back at you, a serious look on his face.

“I’m not saying now. I’m just saying that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re it for me. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too Maxie. Forever and a day.”

“Forever and a day.” He confirms, pulling you in for a kiss that only lasts for a few seconds before you pull away giggling. “How about, if I win three championships, I’m getting down on one knee and proposing.” 

“If?” 

“It’s not a guarantee, schat.” 

“I believe in you. You are amazing,” You take a break in between words to press kisses to his lips. “Plus, now you have extra incentive.”

“That I do.” Max beams up at you, one hand tangling in your hair. “I can’t wait to be able to call you mine. Forever.”

“I’m already yours forever. I always will be.”

“Then I can’t wait to put a ring on it.”

“Alright, well, when you win your third championship, we’ll get engaged.” You said through giggles as he wraps you in his hold, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“It’s a deal.” He breathes against your skin before pulling you for a long kiss and you spend the night in each others arms, quiet laughter and soft words spoken in your own little bubble. 

—&.&—

liked by maxverstappen, charlesleclerc, and others

yourusername its me and you, thats my whole world. forever and a day with you x

tagged: maxverstappen

maxverstappen forever and a day my love xx

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and others

maxverstappen holiday snaps 

tagged: yourusername

yourusername i love you x

landonorris invites much

↳ maxverstappen yes my first thought when i want to go on holiday with my girlfriend is invite you

↳ yourusername dont worry, you’re invited next time lan xx

georgerussell looking like a wonderful time team! i hope you're having a lovely time

↳ maxverstappen thanks mate!

liked by maxverstappen, georgerussell, and others

yourusername sleepy holiday mornings 

tagged: maxverstappen

landonorris can you please have a warning next time? i don’t need to see that many photos of shirtless max

georgerussell i agree with lando 

alexalbon i also agree with lando

charlesleclerc yeah we so need a warning next time please 

maxverstappen i love you x

user1 this is so cute, i want what they have 

user2 don’t know who im more jealous of tbh??? 

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, and others

yourusername i’m so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. i can’t imagine doing life with anyone else and im so grateful we get to go on this journey together

tagged: maxverstappen

maxverstappen i love you, forever and a day x

landonorris you guys are kind of cute i guess

redbullracing that’s our RB couple!

charlesleclerc less kissing at the barriers, there are kids around 

—&.&— 

January 2023 

“What are you saying? Do you… do you want to break-up?”

“I don’t know, I…”

“What’s bringing this on Max? I thought we were happy. I thought…” You’re unable to finish your sentence but the words flit through your head regardless.

I thought you wanted to marry me. I thought we were ready to spend the rest of our lives together. 

“We were, we are,” He insists, taking a step closer to you and grabbing onto your hand. “It’s just that I know the upcoming year is going to be so much and I don’t want to not be able to commit time to you, to us. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“We’ve never had an issue before. Not about this. That’s never been a problem.”

“I know that. But I can already see this season being bigger and more than ever -”

“We’ve literally never had that issue before so I don’t know why you think it’s suddenly a reason to break up. We’ve always been this, been us. There’s a reason it works well. We understand what the other goes through. I would never stand in the way of what you’re trying to achieve and if you want to take more time to train, put in the hours, whatever, you don’t have to worry about me. I get it and I’d support you however you need,” You’re trying not to let the tears overwhelm you but you know you’re fighting a losing battle. He’s got a determined look in his eyes, one you know only too well. “You don’t need to be by my side all the time. I’m a fully functioning adult with a full time job too. I don’t need you to entertain me and look after me every minute of every day. We can work around it all.”

“I know you are. I know you don’t need me there all the time. I just think you deserve someone who can give you the time and I don’t think that’s going to me next year -“

“Don’t tell me what I deserve. This isn’t the real reason and I know that!” The tears are fully falling down your face now but you’re beyond caring. “We have always been open about our jobs and what it entails and none of this has ever been a problem! I don’t know why you’re lying but I know there’s more to this. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course you didn’t.” Max breathes quietly, surprise flitting over his face that you could even ask that question. 

“Then why? I thought we were building a life together, I thought…” You swallow hard, wiping your face with your hands hastily. The words are still unable to be spoken out loud by you. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why you’re trying to lie. I… but I know you’re not going to budge on this. If this is what you truly want, then okay. I’m not going to make it hard on you…”

“Just give me time, give me… I… I still love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.” His voice is barely above a whisper and he stares at you, tears in his eyes.

“I love you too. You’re it for me. You’re the only person that’s ever felt like home.” You’re crying softly again now, tears slipping down your face but you don’t make a move to wipe them off your face. 

“I’m sorry. Give me… I’ll always love you.”

“Me too. I… I’m going to see if I can stay with Charles tonight. I…” You take a step back, unable to look him in the eye anymore. He has the same heartbroken expression on his face as you’re sure is on yours and it makes it all the more difficult to turn your back on him. You can't help the sob that leaves your throat as you exit the room and head towards the bedroom. 

YN: hey, are you busy?

CL: just at home. why? you alright?

YN: will you come pick me up?

YN: please? 

CL: yeah of course 

CL: give me 10 minutes

CL: everything okay?

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did you and Max get into a fight?” Charles asks quietly, as you scramble into the car, dropping your bag at your feet.

“You can say that. He broke up with me.” You choke out, trying not to let the tears fall as you turn to stare out the window and you hear Charles’ sharp intake of breath.

“Merde, shit, I… I’m sorry. Are you okay?“

“I don’t know, I just… I can’t even think straight,” You exhale shakily, shoving your trembling hands underneath your thighs. “Can I stay with you, just for tonight and then I’ll work something else out -“

“Stop being stupid, you can stay as long as you need or want.”

“Thanks Charlie.” You turn to give him a weak smile and he returns it, hand reaching to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“Anytime. I’m here for you. However you need.”

“Thank you.” You whisper quietly before you turn your head to look out the window, not wanting him to see the tears fall. But you know he’s already caught them from his quiet sigh and the hand he keeps over yours. 

The rest of the short car ride is silent and you don’t speak, not even as he guides you inside gently, taking your bag from you and carrying it into the guest room.

“I might just take a nap if that’s okay.” You murmur quietly, tears still glistening in your eyes as you turn to him and his face softens.

“Yeah, of course that’s alright. I’ll be downstairs, okay? Come get me if you need anything or text me.”

“Thanks Charlie.” You give him the best smile you can manage and an involuntary hitch in your voice comes out. He gives you a hand squeeze before drawing you into a hug.

“Anytime.”

“Not even going to reprimand me for calling you Charlie?”

“I’ll let it slide this time. Now, get some sleep in, okay? And drink some water.” 

“Yeah, okay.” He draws back, giving you one last smile before he closes the door gently behind him. You stare at the closed door for a few seconds, until the sounds of his footsteps are no longer audible. It’s not until you’ve changed into pyjamas and you’re under the covers, with the room plunged in darkness that you let the tears fall. 

You wake up a few hours later with your head pounding and dried tears on your face. It takes you longer than it usually does but you eventually make your way out of bed and wash your face. As you make your way out of the bedroom, you pull on a hoodie before you slowly make your way down the hallway.

“Hey.” Charles shoots up from the sofa when you shuffle into the living room and you give him your best attempt at a smile.

“Hi.”

“Want to come sit?” You slowly make your way and settle onto the sofa next to him. He passes you a blanket and you curl up underneath it as he wraps an arm around you. “Do you want anything? Is there anything you need?”

“No, I’m okay, thank you though.” 

“Okay,” Charles says softly, giving you a squeeze on the shoulder. “I was going to get started on some dinner. Is there anything you feel like?”

“I’m not that hungry.”

“You’re going to eat something for dinner. Don’t even bother arguing.” He says flatly, eyebrows raised at you and you hold his gaze for a few moments before sighing quietly.

“I’m fine with anything. Do you need some help?

“I was going to make chicken and leek pasta. How about you help with chopping some vegetables?” 

“Okay.” You give him a small smile, before moving off the sofa and shuffling behind him into the kitchen. He hands you everything he wants chopping and sets you up beside him on the bench. 

You know he’s trying to distract you as he talks away, telling you stories about Christmas and the antics him, Arthur, and Enzo got up to. He puts music on and dances, terribly, and teases you gently. When a slightly slower song comes on and he senses your mood drop, he gently takes the knife from you before pulling you into some open space. One arm wraps around your waist and the other takes your hand and he dances with you. You can feel tears building in your eyes as he spins you around before wrapping you tightly in his arms.

“It’s going to be alright, I promise.” He whispers in your ear quietly and you bury your head in his chest and try to believe him, even with tears slipping down your cheeks.

—&.&—

MV: hey

MV: how is she? 

CL: max… how do you think she is

MV: i know, i know i dont have the right to ask that but i just need to know shes okay 

CL: she’s… i don’t know what to tell you max

MV: the truth. is she eating and drinking water? because she’s really bad at that sometimes 

MV: she forgets especially when she’s working and she’ll try tell you its fine but don’t believe her

MV: and you have to make sure she doesn’t drink coffee after 4pm or she wont sleep 

MV: and she’ll try tell you it’s fine but it’s not 

CL: ill look after her. i promise

MV: thank you  

—&.&—

Max shifts from foot to foot as he waits outside the door. He knows that he shouldn’t be there, that he doesn’t have the right anymore, but his need to know you’re okay wins out. He doesn’t have to wait long as Charles opens the door almost immediately. His face is sympathetic but also guarded. He deserves it, he deserves Charles to turn around and slam the door in his face because he knows that you’re like a sister to Charles.

“Hey Max, do you want to come in?” 

“If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Charles lets out a soft sigh and steps back, letting him in and the two walk silently to the living room. “Can I get you anything?

“No, I’m okay, thank you,” Max says softly, sitting down as he ponders how to start talking. “I…”

“She’s not here anymore.” Charles takes pity on Max, answering the question he can’t even ask.

“What do you mean she’s not here?

“She… she’s moved back to the UK,” Charles says softly, giving him a sympathetic look. “She left yesterday.”

“What?”

“Max…”

“But this is her home. I… I… this is her home...”

“This was her home with you. She moved here to be with you.”

“But… but…”

“Imagine if the roles were reversed. Would you want to stay in a place that holds so many memories?” Charles asks gently and Max knows he doesn’t deserve his kindness. He would rather Charles berate him and yell at him, because he knows he deserves it. 

“Where did she go?”

“Milton Keynes. Close to the Red Bull headquarters.”

“Is she okay? Have you talked to her? She hates living by herself and being alone. She -“

“I’ve been calling her every day and I’m going to see her next week. George saw her last week and Lando’s got plans with her tomorrow,” Charles claps a reassuring hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s got a lot of people looking out for her.”

“She hates living by herself, it’s always too empty, too big.” Max repeats so quietly he may as well have been talking to himself. 

“We’ll look out for her. I’ll look out for her. If it gets bad, I’ll move her in with me.”

“Fuck.” Max drops his head in his hands and Charles pats him on the back softly. He doesn’t know what happened between the two of you and he doesn’t want to pry. But you’re both some of his closest friends and you both look as cut up about it as each other.

“Are you okay?”

“I broke up with her. I’m not really sure I have the right to not be okay.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I’m not going to ask what happened because it’s not my place and if you want to keep it private, then I respect that. You two are both my friends. But it’s quite clear you’re just as cut up about it.”

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love her,” Max says quietly, head still buried in his hands. “I was going to marry her. I just… This upcoming year, there’s something about it. There’s so much pressure and I don’t want her to be there if it gets ugly. I don’t want to take it out on her, even if it’s accidental. I don’t want to not be able to give her the time, and love, and attention she deserves. I…”

“Okay, but you two have been doing this for years together and it’s always worked. You two have been setting the standard for the rest of us since you got together,” Charles says softly, placing a gentle hand on Max’s back. “Why would this season be any different?”

“I don’t know, I just,” Max trails off, shaking his head and when he looks up, his eyes are glassy. “I feel so much pressure already and I’m scared I’m going to do something like snap at her and I don’t want to ever hurt her.”

“So, breaking up with her is the next solution? Max. You’re not your father, you know that right? She knows that. Of course the two of you will fight, but that’s normal. But you’d never treat her the way your dad treated you as a kid. You’re not him. Not even close.”

“I know, I just… Everything got in my head and…” “Everything? Or was it someone…”

“Someone, everyone, everything. God, I don’t know.” Max buries his head in his hands again, hiding away his red eyes and all Charles can do is pat him on the back gently and offer soft words of comfort.

—&.&—

February 2023

Of all things Max expected to happen on a Thursday night, your name flashing up on his phone isn’t one of them. He debates not answering it, but the need to know you’re okay wins out. 

“Max?” Your voice is shaky and you’ve been crying. You still are and he can hear you struggle to take breaths in. He’s immediately on alert, sitting up straight and turning off the television so he can focus on you.

”What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

”How can I be okay when we’re no longer together and I don’t know what to even make of my life anymore?” Your sobs break Max’s heart apart and he tries to remain calm, remain rational, but the more he hears your cries, the more frantic he feels. Because in the time he’s known you, in the time you’ve been together, he can count on one hand the number of times you’ve cried like this.

“Where are you? Are you safe?”

”I’m at Jimmy’z.”

”You’re in Monaco?” Max freezes, before standing up and striding towards his front door, gathering his keys from the key hook by the door. He tries to ignore the fact that you’re the one that had gotten it, years ago, teasing him about how he always misplaced his keys.

”Yeah.”

”I’m coming to get you. Can you stay there?”

”Okay.” You sniffle and before he can tell you to stay on the phone until he gets there, you’ve already hung up. 

He drives as fast as he safely can, pulling up to a space just outside the club. It’s relatively quiet, unsurprising given the day. You must have been waiting just inside the doors, because you come out the moment he pulls up. Your arms are wrapped around yourself as you walk towards him and he can already spot the tear tracks on your cheeks and the redness in your eyes.

”Hey, are you okay?” Max is thankful for his quick reflexes because the moment you’re close enough, you’re collapsing into his arms, face buried in his chest as the tears start again. He wraps his arms around you, holding you up as you cling to him. 

”No.”

”Come on, it’s alright. Let me take you home, okay?” He tries to soothe you, seeing the way you have a visible reaction to the word home, because it’s not really your home. Not anymore. 

“Okay.” You let him bundle you in the car and neither of you speak until you arrive back at the house, following him inside silently and moving to sit on the edge of the sofa next to him.

”Come here.” Max doesn't have to ask twice and you’re in his arms, the tears flowing again. You can’t even form the words you want to say, the sobs racking your body as you bury your head in his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You don’t know how long you’re there for but when your tears finally stop, you have a headache and you’re exhausted.  

“I’m sorry, I…” You sniffle quietly, sitting up and shuffling away slightly from him. You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, pulling them close to you. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“I didn’t even mean to call you. You’re just… you’re the first person I thought of.” 

“I’ll be here every time you need.” 

“Okay,” You say after a few minutes of silence. You want to argue but decide to drop it at the last minute and you give him a small shrug and an attempt at a smile. “Thank you.”

“Do you want a shower and something to change into?” 

“Yes, please. If that’s alright.” 

“Yeah, of course that’s okay,” He lets out a quiet sigh before standing up and offering you a hand. You take it without hesitation and he leads you into the bedroom and the adjoining ensuite. “I’ll leave some clothes out for you, will you be okay by yourself?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“I’ll fix us some tea and maybe a snack, how about that? Come down when you’re ready.”

“Okay.” You gave him a faint smile and Max watches as you disappear into the bathroom and he listens for the water to turn on. There’s a few shuffling sounds from inside as he leaves some joggers and a cosy shirt he knows you’ve always favoured out on the bed, alongside a hoodie, before he leaves.

You emerge from the bathroom and a faint smile comes over you when you see the outfit he’s laid out. The familiar feeling of the shirt against your skin and the thought that he still remembered the little details made your heart twinge. 

“Hey, I made some tea,” Max smiles softly at you when you pad your way into the living room. He stands up and waits until you’re settled in the corner of the sofa before passing you a mug. “And I’ve got some biscuits.”

“Thank you. For everything. For picking up the phone and picking me up. I… I’m sorry that I called you.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you called.” 

The two of you share a soft smile and you burst into laughter when he attempts to dip his biscuit in his tea and ends up dropping the entire thing in. It feels like it used to - there’s no awkwardness or uncomfortable silences. It could be just like every other night where you’re both snuggled on the sofa at the end of the day. But it’s not and that much is apparent when later on, you come to a halt outside the bedroom, suddenly unsure about everything.

“Can I stay with you? Please?” 

“Yeah. ‘Course you can.” Max breathes quietly, grabbing your hand and leading you into the bedroom. He can hear your shaky breaths from behind him and he turns around. You look nervous, shifting from foot to foot and the hand not attached to his is fiddling with your top. With his top. “Hey, it’s alright. Come here.”

You let him pull you closer and after a brief hesitation, he bundles you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest. The tears fall faster than you can even comprehend, but you can’t even think about that, because all you know is you feel safe in his arms. He heads for the bed and brings you with him, holding you close to him.

“You’re alright, sweet girl, it’s okay.” Max runs a hand through your hair gently, continues to murmur to you quietly and you just stay stuck to his side, curling your body into his. 

“I’m sorry -”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s okay, you can sleep, alright? You’re safe. I’m here.” Max murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he tightens his arms around you. You let out a soft sigh and your breathing evens out as you rest your head on his chest. You already feel calmer, his familiar touch grounding you. The past month on your own has been more difficult than you could’ve imagined. Sleep has been futile, you’re not used to sleeping alone anymore, and you had been tossing and turning every night until you had given up. It had resulted in you going days without sleep until you finally crashed.

“I miss you so much.” Your voice is barely above a whisper and Max feels you crowd even closer to him, pressing yourself into his side. He moves a hand to the back of your head, stroking it in gentle movements. 

“I know, me too.”

“Why did you break up with me? What did I do wrong?” A fresh wave of tears starts and he can feel your body shake with the sobs and his heart breaks even more.

”You did nothing wrong. It’s not anything you did.” He whispers against the crown of your head, tightening his arms around you.

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“I’m sorry.” Those are the only words he can muster up and this time you don’t respond. He hears the quiet whimper that leaves your lips and the way you cling tighter to him. Only quiet sniffles escape your mouth once in a while but soon he can feel you relax fully against him and your breathing slows. He glances down to see you fast asleep, tucked against him, and although there are still tears glistening on your cheeks, there’s a look of peace and calm that wasn't there before and he just tightens his grasp around you.

—&.&—

Max misses the first call from you, having left his phone in the kitchen whilst he was finding something in the bedroom. He sees the second one but stares at his phone until it stops ringing and your photo disappears from the screen. Almost every part of him is screaming to pick up, because its you. But the call ends before he can make a decision, it falls silent again and he’s left staring at the black screen of his phone.

Then it rings again not even ten minutes later and dread and curiosity fills him because something in his gut says there’s something terribly wrong. And he’s right because though it’s your number, it’s not your voice that answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, who is this sorry?”

“This is Carolina, from the Princess Grace Hospital. You were the emergency contact on this phone -.” But everything else fades and he doesn’t take a single word in the moment he hears it’s the hospital. He’s already moving for his keys and out the door as the other person on the phone keeps talking. “Hello? Are you still there?”

“Sorry. Yes. I’m still here. What happened? Is she okay?”

“There was a car accident - someone crashed into her. But she’s stable and sleeping right now.”

“I’m on my way now. Thank you for calling.” Max hangs up the phone, half running to his car as the dread in him continues to rise. Guilt pricks at him for not picking up the phone earlier and he’s imagining the worst case scenario in his head. He drives faster than he probably should but he’d take all the speeding tickets right now. All he can think of is getting to you. 

He rushes into reception and when they finally get around to telling him where you are, he’s striding the hallways until he finds the room you’re in. He doesn’t think anything could’ve prepared him for the sight of you in the hospital bed, a bandage around your head and around your left forearm. A bruise is already blossoming down your neck and he sees tiny nicks and scratches amongst the IV and lines coming from you.

His footsteps are slow and cautious and you don’t stir, not even as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. One hand moves to brush the hair off your face and he’s struck by how fragile you look. All he can do is stare, almost afraid of touching you in case he hurts you. He hates that he wasn’t there for you and he’s just imagining how terrified you must have been.

“They’ve given her some strong pain meds, she might be sleeping for a while.” A soft voice says and he looks up to see someone in scrubs standing in the doorway, a tablet in hand. She walks in quietly, giving Max a gentle smile. 

“Is she okay?”

“She’ll be sore for a bit, but she should be fine. It seems mostly superficial but we are monitoring her for a concussion.”

“But she’s okay?” Max repeats, looking up from you to her again. 

“I’m not going to make any promises, but it does look good.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” His voice is soft and he glances back at you, hand tight around yours. 

“She was asking for you earlier. I’m sure she’ll love to see you when she wakes up. I’ll leave you to it. Just press the call button if you need anything.” She says quietly, a smile stretching across her face as she watches how lovingly he looks at you, before she leaves and shuts the door quietly behind her.

Max settles himself in the chair in the corner, throwing a blanket over his legs and getting comfortable. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be here, but all he knows is he’s going to make damn sure he’s going to be here when you wake up. His fingers hover over a contact in his phone, hesitating slightly, before he presses call.

“Max? Is everything alright?” The familiar voice of his mother fills his ear and it immediately puts him at ease.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I don’t know… I’m at the hospital -”

“What? Are you okay?!”

“I’m okay, it’s not for me… I…” Max’s voice tells Sophie everything she needs to know and she lets out a long breath. 

“Is she okay?”

“I… I think so… She was in a car accident and I was still her emergency contact so they called me. When I heard it was the hospital I was so scared… I… The doctors said she’s just a bit banged up but seeing her in the bed, she looks so fragile and there’s nothing I can do.” 

“Sweetheart, you’re there for her. That’s all you can do.” Sophie says gently, her voice soothing and quiet. 

“She must have been so scared and she was all alone -”

“Max, listen to me. You can’t change what has happened, okay? But you can be there for her. You’re there for her now and that’s what matters. You showed up.”

“Yeah…”

“Do you want me to fly over?”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s fine. Thank you, though. I appreciate it,” Max lets out a long breath, pausing momentarily when he sees you shift slightly, but you remain asleep. “I’ll wait for her to wake up and then see what the doctors say. But she’s not flying back to the UK by herself, not like this.”

“I think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I think she’s waking up, I should go.” Max’s eyes snap to you again when you shift again, this time a little more aggressively. 

“Okay, give her my best and give me any updates. I love you.”

“I love you too. Thank you.”

“Of course, any time.” Sophie says softly and they hang up, Max shoving the phone back in his pocket when he sees you blink awake, head turning to take in your surroundings.

“Hey, hi, be careful, let me help.” Max shoots off his chair when he sees you try to move and he’s by your side in a blink of an eye, his arms supporting you as you sit up against the headboard.

“You came.”

“Of course I came. Do you know how scared I was when I got that call saying you were in the hospital?”

“I… sorry.”

“What on earth are you apologising for?”

“I forgot you were my emergency contact. I’ll change it, I promise -“

”Stop being a bloody idiot,” Max mutters quietly, cutting across you. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. And don’t change your emergency contact.”

“Max -”

“We travel together so much anyway. It just makes sense.” 

“I don’t want to overstep. Hannah’s mentioned I can use her -“

“You’re not overstepping. Keep me as your emergency contact, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Don’t be stupid.” Max’s voice is gruff, but his gaze softens when he catches your gaze. 

“Okay, thank you.”

“Do you remember what happened?” 

“Some idiot just decided to run a red light. I’m fine. Just a little bruised.” You let out a laugh, but stop when you feel pain course through you. You wince slightly and he notices it immediately, because of course he does. 

“Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Do you want me to call someone in here?”

“No it’s okay, just a little bit bruised and battered. Some rest will be fine.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just trying to put on a brave face or anything like that?”

“I’m sure. I’m just a bit sore.” You’re saved from trying to convince him further when there’s a knock at the door and the same woman from earlier walks in.

“Hi, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“Just a bit banged up, but that’s it.”

“That’s good to hear. We still want to keep you at least overnight, just to make sure, but you should be free to go tomorrow morning. Do you live alone or?”

”She’s coming home with me.” Max says immediately and you go to open your mouth but he raises his eyebrows at you and you know you’d be fighting a losing battle if you tried to argue. 

“Okay, she mainly needs to rest. She’ll be a bit sore for a while, but just keep an eye out for concussion symptoms. I’ll grab you some pamphlets and get all the paperwork sorted.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Max nods and smiles and the nurse leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“It’s fine, Max. I’ll just fly back to the UK -“

“Are you sure you don’t have a concussion because are you actually insane? You just got in a serious car accident. There’s no way you’re in actual shape to do anything, let alone get on a plane.”

“I just don’t want to be a bother.” You mumble quietly, staring down at your hands as they twist themselves around the bedsheet.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re never a bother. At least stay for a few days and make sure you’re okay. Then I’ll fly back with you and help you get settled.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t. Besides, I was going to call Christian anyway, so may as well go see him in person.”

“Max.”

“We’ll talk about it later, okay? We don’t have to decide anything right now.” He decides on an ambiguous comment, knowing you weren’t going to let the discussion go. But he was just as stubborn as you, and there was zero chance he was letting you leave by yourself at this very moment. 

You stare at him silently, but you eventually cave, realising that he wasn’t going to budge. He sighs happily as you collapse back onto your pillows silently and you let him organise everything with the doctors.

Several hours later you’re back in Max’s flat, with everything you need and an incident where you tripped getting out of the car, that almost had Max calling the hospital back. Despite your insistence that it was due to your clumsiness and not a product of a concussion, you had to practically knock the phone out of his hand to ensure he didn’t press call.

“Alright, are you comfy? Do you need anything? Do you want another blanket?” Max hovers over you protectively as he immediately goes to grab the blanket on the other side of the sofa and tucks it around you gently.

“Max -”

“I’ll get you some water and some tea and then we can talk about dinner. I’ll see what I have in or I can do a shop or order something in. I’ll make sure it’s healthy and nutritious.”

“Max -”

“You should use the bathroom in the main bedroom because its got the bath as well and there’s more space so you can get around -”

“Max.” Your insistence finally gets his attention and he spins around to see you trying to extract yourself from the cocoon he’s wrapped you in. His eyes widen and he rushes over to help you and when your arms are free, you grab onto one of his hands before he can run off again. “Max, I’m fine. Why don’t you sit down and just take a breath?”

“But -”

“I’m fine, I promise. I just need to rest and sleep.”

“You sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. Why don’t we just watch a movie or something, yeah?” You tug at his hand until he focuses fully on you.

“Okay. Can I at least get you some water or something to drink?”

“Some water would be really nice, if that's okay.” You offer him a smile, knowing that he wouldn’t rest until you accepted his help. 

“Of course.” Max shoots up from the sofa and he’s halfway across the room before he spins around and heads back towards you. Despite your protests, he tucks the blanket back around you, offering you another pillow that he helps wedge behind your back. He’s back in a flash, handing you a glass of water and hovering close by as you drink from it.

“Max, I’m okay. You can relax a little.” Your voice is soft and when you grab onto his hand again, he slowly sinks into the sofa, eyes on you the whole time.

“I was so worried when I got that phone call and I heard you were in a car crash. Then seeing you in the hospital bed…”

“I know, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You’re the one who got in a car accident and you’re the one apologising? Same old you.” Max gives you a wry smile and you can’t help but smile back at him.

“I’ll be okay. Let’s just watch a movie and relax for now, yeah? And if anything feels weird or off, I’ll say something.”

“Yeah, alright. Okay. As long as you promise you’ll say something.”

“I promise.” You hold out your pinky finger and he chuckles quietly before linking your pinkies together, shaking your hands up and down. As Max gets himself comfortable, he draws you into his hold, movements cautious at first as if he's still afraid you’ll break. 

You spend the night in his bed, curled up close to his side. He had initially proposed sleeping on an air mattress, just so he could be there if anything happened. But you had promptly dismissed the idea and pulled him in next to you. The two of you fall back into a comfortable routine the next few days, except for the fact Max doesn’t let you lift a single finger. You have to stop him from panic-calling the hospital twice. Once when you get the day wrong and he’s convinced you have a concussion and the other when you slip on the floor and narrowly miss banging your head on the floor. So you really shouldn't have been surprised at his reaction when you come to him a week later with your news.

“I booked a flight. It’s going to leave tomorrow.”

“What? I said I’d take you back, that I’d come with you and help you get settled.” He looks up at you in shock and alarm, immediately dropping the chef’s knife he’s using onto the counter.

“I know. And I really appreciate that, but I… I need to do this myself. I want to rely on myself.” You say quietly and his face crumples. Because he knows what you mean when you say that. Because it’s a reminder that you two are no longer together and to you, it means you’re alone and by yourself. You’re so fiercely independent and it's one of the many reasons he loves you, but he knows that you see it as further evidence you can only rely on one person. Yourself. 

“Can I change your mind?”

“No. I’m sorry, I… I have to do this.”

“Okay, okay. Can I at least drive you to the airport tomorrow?” Max asks quietly, eyes searching yours as if he’s looking for something that he can use to help change your mind. 

“I would really like that. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Well, dinner’s almost ready.” 

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Maybe just setting the table if that’s alright.”

“Of course. Do you want anything to drink or just water?” You call over your shoulder as you gather some glasses and at his response you pour two glasses of water before heading towards the dining room. You hum quietly to yourself, still hearing the faint tunes of the music Max has playing in the kitchen. 

The two of you spend the rest of your night in your own little bubble, talking and laughing together. There’s an ease you feel around Max that you’ve not felt around anyone else. You don’t have to pretend or put up a front or anything around him. He’s home. 

—&.&—

March 2023

You thought you’d be more prepared for it, seeing him again. He’s greeting some of the team, slapping hands and bumping fists as they catch up on the last few months. His hair has been freshly cut you notice and he’s shaved recently.  You haven’t seen him since the aftermath of your car accident in Monaco and it’s certainly the first time you’ve been around friends, around colleagues, around everyone since you’ve broken up. 

You shift from foot to foot, wondering whether or not you can make a break for it when he spots you. His eyes light up and he wraps up the conversations he’s in and soon enough, he’s right in front of you.

“Hi. It’s good to see you.” He says softly, blinking at you a few times before he steps forwards and wraps you in a tight hug. 

“Hey Max, yeah you too.” You breathe quietly as you step out of his embrace, immediately missing the safety of his arms.

“And you’re alright? After the car accident and everything?”

“Yeah, yeah, completely fine.”

“And you got a follow-up to make sure everything’s alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I promise.” You give him a smile and reach out to squeeze his hand, which seems to calm him down. 

“Okay. Good. I’m glad.”

“Thank you. I know I’ve said it before, but thank you for coming and all the help and… Taking care of me.” 

“I’ll always take care of you,” Max says quietly, his hand still intertwined with yours and his thumb brushes featherlight touches against the back of your hand. “I know how much you hate hospitals and I couldn’t let you be there by yourself.”

“I really appreciate it. All of it. You,” You let out a quiet exhale and give him a small smile and he returns it. The two of you are broken out of your small bubble when there’s a small crash and you jump apart, turning to see a box with its contents all over the floor. Bystanders jump in to help gather it up and it's then you realise where you are and you put space in between the two of you. “I’ve got a meeting to go to. Um, I’ll catch you later?”

“Yeah, later will be nice. I’ll see you soon.” Max says quietly, taking a small step towards you and hesitates slightly before pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“See you soon.” You echo and walk down the hallway and towards your meeting. Max wants to call after you, to say something, but he doesn’t know what. So, he just watches you until you’re gone and then heads towards his own meeting with a heavy heart.

—&.&—

April 2023

Max frowns when he sees the missed calls from you on his phone - he hasn’t spoken to you since the race in China, and you seemed fine, if not just a bit tired. But something in his gut tells him there’s something wrong and when he sees a three minute long voicemail you’ve left half an hour ago, the feeling gets worse. You haven’t tried to call him since you’ve left the voicemail and he hesitantly presses play and the sound of you crying fills his ears.

“I miss you so much and I don’t know how I’m even supposed to live without you.” You’re sobbing and he can hear you struggle to breathe, your words punctuated by small gasps. “And I hate living alone, I hate it so much. It’s scary and I feel so anxious all the time. And it feels so lonely and empty. Nothing has ever felt like home except for with you.”

Max’s heart sinks with every word and all he can do is listen to you cry. There’s nothing he can do and he knows you’re panicking and he’s just praying you’re okay.

“And I don’t even know why I called you but you’ve been the one person I’ve been able to count on for the last few years and you’ve always picked up. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when you still tell me you miss me and you let me stay and you say you still love me, and you hug me until I fall asleep.” A series of hiccups breaks up your words and you pause for a few seconds. “You tell me it’s not because of me and that you still love me. That it’s because you don’t think you can give me or us the proper time but that’s never been an issue for us. We’ve always been a team and we’ve always worked like this. Our whole relationship has been us in these roles so I don’t understand why now it’s a problem? And if you needed to take some time away from us to focus on yourself and racing or whatever, that’s okay. You could’ve done that. I would have supported you in whatever you needed. I still would, I always will. It’s just always been us and now it’s not and I don’t know what to do.” 

There’s silence for a few moments, only the sounds of you sniffing audible. Your cries have slowed down but one still slips out once in a while. 

“I don’t even know what I’m trying to say anymore but I miss you so much. Loving you has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anymore…” Your voice trails off again and the sounds of your shaky breathing fill his ears. Then all of a sudden the voicemail ends and the dull beeping tone fills his ears.

He immediately hangs up and tries to call you but he’s immediately sent to your voicemail. He know its futile but he tries again and again, only to be met with the same result. 

MV: long shot, but are either of you close to milton keynes right now??

GR: im up north at the moment sorry

GR: is everything ok?

LN: im home for the next week, i can get there if needed

LN: what’s wrong

MV: she’s just called me a few times and left a… voicemail and im just worried 

MV: like really worried, ive never heard her like that

LN: let me try call her 

GR: ill give her a quick text as well

GR: im sure itll be fine mate

—&.&—

YN: im sorry, i shouldn’t have left that voice message

YN: im fine 

YN: i just… didn’t think 

MV: call me 

MV: please x

YN: im fine, i promise

MV: call me 

MV: please

—&.&—

August 2023

liked by maxverstappen, alexandrasaintmleux, and others 

yourusername another lap around the sun. thank you for the love and birthday wishes x

charlesleclerc joyeux anniversaire xx thanks for being the bestest friend ever, lots of love for you xx

↳ yourusername love you charlie x

alexandrasaintmleux HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRETTY GIRL! love you so much. can’t wait to celebrate with you soon xx

↳ yourusername love you alex xx

landonorris happy birthday baby bull!! i love you, can’t wait to celebrate soon!

↳ yourusername love you lan xx

maxverstappen happy birthday, i hope you have a wonderful day xx

↳ yourusername thank you max x see you soon x

oscarpiastri merry birthmas!!! time to go drink and celebrate soon! xx

↳ yourusername osc, merry birthmas isnt a thing…

↳ yourusername but thank youuuu can’t wait to party soon! x

georgerussell happy birthday baby bull!!xx

↳ yourusername thanks georgie x

francisca.cgomes happy birthday beautiful girl!! love you to the moon and back xx

↳ yourusername love you kika xx

carlossainz55 feliz cumpleaños! xx

↳ yourusername muchas gracias carlito! xx

victoriaverstappen happy happy birthday from all us!! we love you so much and cant wait to see you xx

↳ yourusername so much love to you and everyone, miss you xx

sophiekumpen happy birthday lieverd! cant wait to see you soon sweetheart xx

↳ yourusername thank you, i cant wait to see you xx

user1 max not posting a birthday tribute to her and their love story feels so wrong 😭

user2 HAPPY BIRTHDAY 

user3 still the best wag ever, happy birthday hope you have a great day! 

user4 THEY CALL HER BABY BULL?? why did we not know this earlier?? why is that so cute?!

user5 her telling max she’ll see him soon, victoria and sophie saying they can’t wait to see her soon?? the fact they’re still all so close, like shes still family to them?? 

comments on this post have been limited.

—&.&—

MV: happy birthday, hope you have a good day and thinking of you xx

MV: looking forward to being able to celebrate you soon x

YN: thank you x see you soon max x

—&.&—

October 2023

You watch as he lifts the trophy above his head and tears fill your eyes as pride fills you. You know how hard he’s been working, how much he deserves this. It’s been a dominating season for him and it’s all culminated in his third world championship. And suddenly the memory comes rushing through you and you feel like you can’t breathe.

“When I lift that third championship trophy, I’m getting down on one knee straight after and proposing.” 

The words flit through your head on repeat as you think of that scene from all the time ago and it's suddenly all too much. You choke back your tears and take a few steps back. You bump into Hannah, who reaches for you, a concerned look on her face but you shake your head.

“I’ve, I’ve got to go, I… I’ll see you back in the garage.” You manage to get out before you turn and push your way through the throngs of people. The tears have already started flowing and you wipe them away hastily, tugging at the cap on your head to mask your face.

The image of him on the podium with his third championship trophy combined with what you had promised each other is tearing you apart inside and soon you’re sobbing, unable to stop the sharp rises and falls of your chest. You’re not even paying attention and you end up walking right into someone.

“I’m sorry -“

“Woah, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” It’s Alex, who catches you by the arm, stopping you in your tracks before you can slip into the Red Bull garage and concern floods her face when she takes you in. 

“I just can’t do it, I can’t, it hurts too much.” You’re past the point of caring as you sob into Alex’s chest as she pulls you in, wrapping her arms tightly around you. 

“Oh, lovely, I’m sorry. Hey, hey, take a breath okay?”

”I thought I was finally getting over him, but seeing him up there and everything we’d talked about. I, just, I can’t.” The rest of your words are lost in your sobs and Alex shushes you quietly, tightening her arms around you, a hand coming to move up and down your back.

”Okay, okay, how about we sit down for a bit okay? Just to catch your breath.” She pulls back from you, only to wrap and arm around you and lead you towards the Ferrari hospitality and into an empty room. She sets you gently down on the sofa, sitting beside you and you can’t stop the tears from falling.

“We agreed, he said… he said he’d propose when he won his third championship. We had talked about it and seeing him up there winning… All I could think of is how we were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together and now we’re just…” You sob into your knees, arms wrapped tightly around your legs.

”Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Alex murmurs quietly, nudging your head onto her shoulder as she wraps an arm around you. You can’t even respond, tears wracking your body as the feelings overwhelm you. 

You don’t know how long you spend there, sobbing into Alex’s shoulder. But when you finally feel the tears easing, you’re exhausted and your eyes are puffy.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, using the sleeve of your shirt to dab at your eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“It just feels so stupid sometimes.” 

“It’s not stupid. You’re allowed to be upset and feel what you feel. Never apologise for it.” She says softly, squeezing your hand and giving you a gentle smile.

“Yeah… I… I should get back. I… I… It’s been too long.” You whisper, voice hoarse and Alex hesitates, as if though she wants to argue. But then a quiet sigh leaves her lips and she just wraps you up in a tight hug.

“Okay. Call or text me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“And I’ll come get you later tonight and we can go together.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Charles and I both want to. So, we’ll see you later, okay?” She says firmly and you give her a shaky smile.

“Thank you. Both of you,” You stand up, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “How do I look? Not too terrible?”

“You look beautiful,” Alex smiles at you and wraps you in one last hug before she walks you back to the Red Bull garage, your hand in hers. You can already see and hear the celebrations and you hesitate for a brief moment. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank you. I’ll see you later.” You squeeze her hand and she smiles gently before she disappears and you’re left to walk into the garage. It’s chaos in there and someone grabs you a tight hug, cheering loudly. When you look around, you catch Max’s gaze and the two of you stare at each other. He looks as if though he’s making a move towards you, but there’s too many people in the way and everyone is stopping to congratulate him. You mouth a congratulations to him, offering up a smile when you see his thank you, and you melt into the crowd.

—&.&—

You sigh quietly, turning to each side a few times as you watch your reflection in the mirror. You’re suddenly regretting your choice in dress and even going in the first place. But the buzz from your phone and the resulting text from Charles letting you know he was waiting for you downstairs has you reluctantly heading out the door.

“Hey, you look beautiful.” He smiles gently at you and wraps you in a tight hug. 

“Thank you. You don’t clean up bad yourself.”

“Something I found in the back of my closet.” A grin spreads across his face and you can’t help but laugh. Charles offers you a hand and you walk together to the car, where Alex gives you a smile and a wave from the front seat.

“That dress is lovely on you, you look gorgeous!” She beams, reaching over to squeeze your hand in lieu of a hug as you settle in the car.

“Thank you, you too.” You smile, but there’s a shakiness to your voice that has both of them giving you a sympathetic look as you start moving.

“You don’t have to go tonight, you know that right? It’s alright.” Charles says quietly, eyes moving to glance at you in the car. 

“I have to.”

“You don’t.”

“It’s not just about celebrating him. It’s about celebrating everyone, the team. I want to be there for everyone.” 

“Okay. We’ll be there if you need us. And if you want to leave, then tell us, okay?” Alex shoots Charles a sharp look before turning to you, smiling gently as she reaches over to squeeze your hand.

“Okay. Thank you.” 

The two of them draw you into conversation and laughter for the rest of the car ride. You know they’re trying to distract you, trying to keep your mind off of everything, and it almost works. But all of that goes away when you step into the venue and see  Max right by the entrance. His eyes immediately find yours and he’s walking towards you before you can even formulate a response in your head. You turn to see Charles and Alex have been caught talking to someone else and you’re alone when Max steps in front of you.

“Hi. I’m so glad you’re here.” He says softly, hovering in front of you. He’s slightly out of breath and his hand drifts to the back of his head again, rubbing slightly, but he stops when he catches your eye.

“Hey. Congratulations world champ,” Your voice wavers slightly and you step forward and wrap your arms around him. Your breath hitches when you feel him wrap his arms tightly around you, head buried in the crook of your neck. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. Any of it.” He breathes quietly, lips right by your ear, hugging you close. You shut your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay but tonight and what it could’ve been is bringing up waves of emotions you’d rather keep hidden. Taking in a deep breath, you step back from his arms, putting a few feet of distance between you.

“Yeah, you could’ve. You always had it in you.” 

“Thank you. You look beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do, but you look extra gorgeous tonight.”

“I, thanks Max. That’s very kind of you.”

“Thank you for coming tonight. I’m glad we can celebrate it together.” He says softly and you know from the look on his eyes that he also remembers every word you two had shared. That you’d be celebrating something else had you still been together. That it’d be the start of your new life together. 

“Always. I’ll, um, I’ll see you later, okay?” You cast a scan around you, seeing multiple people wanting to congratulate him and you take a few steps back.

“Yeah. I’ll find you.” Max smiles softly at you and you give him a small smile and a nod before melting away into the crowd, letting him accept his well-deserved accolades. You keep to yourself for most of the night, ducking in and out of conversations, and now you find yourself tucked in a corner, hand wrapped around a glass of water. You had long stopped drinking, the alcohol intensifying all the feelings you’d rather keep buried deep within you. Both Charles and Lando had convinced you to venture onto the dancefloor, but after a while, you had snuck off back to your corner. 

After a few hours, you tell Lando you’re leaving and after you assure him you’re okay and that you just want to sleep, he sends you off with a giant hug and multiple promises that you’ll text him when you’re back. 

The moment you’re back you strip off your make-up and get into pyjamas, curling up under the soft covers. In the darkness of the room, you’re left to your own thoughts and once again you can’t help but think about what tonight could’ve been in another lifetime. 

A few hours later, you’re still able to get to sleep, continue to toss and turn in the bed. You’re saved from the overwhelming thoughts in your head when you hear a quiet knock at your door. You debate not answering it, sure they’ve got the wrong door. But when the knock sounds again, more insistent this time, you reluctantly swing your legs out of bed and open to the door to find a slightly disheveled looking Max. 

“Hi.” 

“Max? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” You blink, staring at him for a few seconds before you step back and he slips inside, the door shutting with a soft thud.

“Is everything okay?” 

“I… You left. I was looking for you and you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, I… Sorry, I was tired. I wanted to get to bed.”

“I missed you.”

“You’re drunk. Go back to your room.” You say softly, watching him carefully as he takes another step closer to you.

“I’m not. I stopped drinking hours ago,” He immediately responds, shaking his head vehemently. “I’m not drunk.”

“Okay. But it doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” A soft sigh leaves your lips and you continue on when you realise how harsh it sounds. “You should be celebrating. Having fun.”

“It’s not the same without you. You should’ve been there by my side. Tonight… tonight should’ve been so different.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that. I…”

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t fair to you. I just… I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Max.”

“Can I stay with you? Please.”

“Are you sure you want to?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you just won your third world championship, that you can get any girl you want. You don’t have to spend it with me.”

“I don’t want them, I don’t want any of them. I want you.”

“Max…”

“If you want to kick me out, then you can. But don’t think it’s because I want to be with some other girl. Because I don’t.”

“You’re… allowed to, you know? It’s okay.” You whisper softly but inside every part of you breaks at the thought of someone else loving him. Of him loving someone else.

“I want to be here. With you. If you want me.”

“Of course I want you here,” You say quietly and you let out a quiet exhale. “Come on, I’ve got some clothes you can probably sleep in.”

“Thank you.” Max watches you closely as you hand him an old shirt you both know are his and a pair of boxers you’ve been using as sleep shorts. He disappears into the bathroom and when he re-emerges, you’re already back under the covers. There’s hesitation in his movements when he’s at the edge of the bed and you reach out to grab onto his hand.

“It’s alright. Come on.”

“Okay.” He lets you tug him into bed and the moment you’re both under the covers, you’re already entangled together.

“I just want you to know I’m so proud of you.” You whisper quietly into the night, wrapped tightly in his arms. Your head is on his chest and one hand traces patterns into your upper arm ever so gently.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Not just what you do with the team. But what you’ve done for me. To be by my side through it all. Thank you for everything.” 

“You’re welcome. I’m glad that I could be around to witness this.”

“I’m glad you were there too. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” He pulls you closer into him and between his familiar hold and the soft, soothing touches on your skin, you’re asleep in minutes.

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yourusername max, im proud of you forever. congratulations on your third wdc, you deserve this so much and it’s been a pleasure to witness what you’ve done. thankful to the red bull family and very grateful to be a small part of a much bigger team and family x

tagged: maxverstappen, redbullracing

maxverstappen thank you for everything. you’re a much bigger part of this than you even realise, in so many different ways and i wouldn’t be able to do this without you. thank you for everything and for being you xxx

redbullracing what a season, let’s go!

user1 her saying forever but not following it up with and a day feels wrong… 

user2 god she’s still supportive of him and he acknowledges and loves it so much 

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—&.&—

December 2023

You collapse onto your sofa, leaving your bags by the front door, only bothering to grab your phone, keys, and wallet out. Flopping back on to a pillow, you drag a blanket over yourself, turning the television on. The screen immediately illuminates the dark room and you mindlessly choose a cheesy Christmas movie that pops up. 

It’s been a long week - you’ve driven from your place in Milton Keynes, to South Cambridgeshire to see your mum, step-dad and younger siblings, before heading to Norwich to see your dad, step-mother and your siblings there. In all honesty, you were meant to stay longer, to spend Christmas day with your dad, after spending the week with your mum. However, you had shortened your stay to only a few days at each house, claiming you weren’t feeling well and didn’t want to get anyone else sick. 

But the truth is, you weren’t in a festive mood and you didn’t feel like you truly belonged in either household. You loved your parents and you were lucky that both your step-parents were lovely people. You loved your younger siblings, them never failing to put a smile on your face. But the reality was they had started their lives again and you felt like an outsider looking in sometimes. 

You didn’t want to dampen anyone else’s festive spirit so you had driven back earlier, having to pull over several times due to the tears slipping down your face. It was your first time in several years not being with Max during the holidays and it had left you feeling impossibly lonely. 

You’re half an hour into your movie when there’s a knock at your door. You’re not expecting anyone and you’re wondering if you can ignore it, when a few more knocks ring out. Reluctantly, you sit up, abandoning the cocoon you’ve wrapped yourself in and head to the front door. Your eyes widen when it swings open to reveal Max, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat and his face lights up when he sees you.

“Max? What are you doing here?” Seeing him on the other side of your doorstep was the last sight you expected. “I… Do you want to come in?”

“Thanks.” He steps inside and you close the door behind him, watching as he hangs his coat up and removes his shoes.

“Um, can I get you a tea or anything like that?”

“Just some water will be fine, thanks.” He follows you quietly into the kitchen, eyes flitting around. It’s the first time he’s been here. But it’s not the first time he’s wondered what your flat is like. It keeps him up at night and when it’s not a race weekend, he worries about how you’re doing, living by yourself when he knows you hate it.

“Here,” You hand him a glass of water, shuffling from foot to foot before pouring one for yourself and you lead the way back into the living room and onto the sofa.

“Thank you.”

“So, um, is everything okay? What are you doing here?”

“I got the notifications you had been doing drives and then I saw you were back here. I knew you said you were going to stay with your dad until boxing day so I got worried. I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

“Yeah… I… I’m fine,” You forget that you had never removed each other from your live locations. There was little point in a way, you saw each other for most of the year when you travelled for races. “Wasn’t really feeling great so just decided to come ho -, come back here.” You shrug and you hope he doesn’t pick up on your slip but of course he does. Because it’s Max and he knows you.

“This place doesn’t feel like home yet?” His voice is soft, gentle, like he’s trying to reassure you. But as he looks around, he notices how the flat is void of personal touch, not like you had done with your place in Monaco. There are no photographs up and no form of decoration. As if though this is only temporary. He sees a few books scattered on your coffee table alongside a journal and pen but other than that the place seems empty. 

“It’s… it’s… I’m not really here enough with all the travelling, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You still deserve a place that feels like home. That’s yours.”

“Only one place felt like home in a long time and now it’s… It’s not mine anymore.” You whisper quietly, the confession spilling out of you almost unwillingly and he gives a visible flinch. 

“You’re always welcome there, you know that right? It’s your home as much as mine.”

“That’s very kind of you but it’s not the same anymore and I think we both know that.” You offer him a soft smile, trying to ease his discomfort because the words weren’t meant to hurt him. 

“It will always be open to you. Always.”

“Thanks.” You say softly, looking away from him and into your lap. “Look, you don’t have to stay. I’m sure you had other plans in the UK.”

“I mostly came to see you. I wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m fine. Just tired. There’s been a lot of driving,” Max watches you carefully as you shrug, but he knows that you’ve never liked to drive all that much. Especially long distances and he wonders how you fared doing that many miles in such a short amount of time. “You really don’t have to stay. I’m okay.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He says firmly, squeezing your hand gently and your heart stutters at the contact. “Now, what Christmas movie are we watching?”

You let out a slightly strangled laugh, handing him the remote as he gently teases you about the movie you have on, before you both settle on Home Alone, a movie you both love and watch every Christmas.

The both of you move into the kitchen, you set about making two mugs of hot chocolate while he rummages about in your cupboards for some snacks. You move about with a practised ease around each other, despite him never being in this flat before. When you two collapse on the sofa with a blanket thrown over both of you and you tucked into his side, it feels like things have never changed. 

When Max looks down at you barely an hour later, he smiles softly. You’re fast asleep, chest rising and falling evenly and you’re curled into his side, a blanket thrown over you. He sees the dark circles under your eyes and he wonders how many sleepless nights you’ve had in the months you’ve been broken up. Your sleep schedule has never been great, years of working all throughout the night the culprit. The constant travelling and being on the go also didn’t help, but the two of you had fallen into a routine together. 

If he had to guess, he would say you hadn’t been sleeping well at all. You had looked exhausted every time he’d seen you in the garage, in the offices, at races, a cup of coffee with you almost every time. He had also stumbled across you multiple times taking a nap during a break, hidden away in a back room. And every time he had put a blanket over you and closed the door, making sure everyone knew not to disturb you.

He watches you for a few more seconds before he shifts as gently as he can without disturbing you. He stands up and scoops you in his arms and you barely even stir. He carries you to your bedroom, settling you down before he tucks you in. Your room seems as empty as the rest of the flat - there are only two photos of you and your family, both tacked on the wall and something in him twists when he sees a framed photo of the two of you. It lies on top of a box in the corner, as if though you’ve unpacked it and left it there because you didn’t know what to do with it. He recognises it from Christmas last year, where you had spent it with his family. You’re wrapped in his arms beside a Christmas tree, snow falling in the window behind you. You’re both laughing, not even looking at the camera properly, eyes only on each other.  

“Max?” You stir from your slumber, rubbing your eyes a few times to clear your vision. You push yourself into a sitting position, eyes searching for him and they land on the picture he was staring at. He sees the lump in your throat as you swallow but both of you choose to ignore it.

“Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. It’s okay.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Yeah… I… Will you stay? Please?” Your voice is barely above a whisper and he sees the fear in your eyes that he’ll say no.

“Yeah, of course I’ll stay. Just sleep, I’ll be here.” Max says softly and presses his lips on top of your head. You let your eyes flutter close and you curl into him, head on his chest as his arm comes around you. He falls asleep soon after you , just as easily as you do, because having you by his side is so normal, is so second-nature, is so right. 

—&.&—

Morning comes and neither of you mention what occurred the night before, except a quiet thank you for staying, courtesy of you. But you go about making breakfast from what little you have in the kitchen after being away for a week and you eat it together as he updates you on his family and what he’s doing for Christmas. 

He tries to convince you to come with him, that you can’t spend Christmas alone. But you fend off his attempts, feeding him the same lie you’ve told your parents. That you’re not feeling well and you’d rather just get as much rest as you can before the season starts. He doesn’t pull you up on the lie and promises to send you updates. He tells you his nephews and niece miss you and that he’ll call you, so they can talk to you. 

Max reluctantly leaves your flat after wrapping you in a tight hug and the texts come through almost immediately after he’s out the door. He updates you on the drive to the airport, during the flight, and you know when he’s gotten home because suddenly selfies of his nephews and niece start coming through. You video call whilst you cook dinner and eat, and then the call is hijacked by three tiny children who are all clamouring to speak to you. Then at the end of the night, you fall asleep with him on the other end of the phone, a small smile on his face because he feels comforted that you’ll get a good night’s rest.

—&.&—

MV: merry christmas x

MV: i hope you have a wonderful day. take care of yourself x

YN: happy christmas to you too xx 

YN: give my love to everyone x

MV: they all pass on their love and say they miss you a lot xx

MV: i also miss you

YN: i miss you too 

MV: can i see you after christmas?

YN: you don’t have to come check up on me, i promise im ok

MV: im not, i promise. i just want to see you 

YN: you’re always welcome, wherever i am x

—&.&—

“Hi.” Max beams when he sees you on the other side of the door, eyes crinkling when you catch his gaze. You step back to let him in and when the door closes and he drops his bags on the floor, he wraps his arms tightly around you.

“Hi Max.” 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You breathe softly, burying your head in his chest. His lips brush the top of your head and you remain in his hold for a few more moments before reluctantly stepping back.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” You fall in line as you walk towards the living room and when you settle onto the sofa, Max sits down and pulls you right beside him, one hand interlacing with yours.

“It was alright,” You shrug and you can see the frown on his face, but you continue so he can’t interject. “How about you? How is everyone?”

“They’re good. They all really miss you. Half my bags are full of presents and handmade cards all for you. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get the glitter out.”

You burst out laughing when he reaches for a few neatly wrapped boxes that indeed does bring a shower of glitter with it, coating your floor. He grimaces slightly in apology but you wave him off with another laugh. The two of you spend the night opening the presents as he patiently explains everything the kids have made him promise to say and you end up on a call to them. They’re ecstatic when you show them that you’ve pinned their cards up and how much you love their presents. 

The two of you spend the rest of the night curled up on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. And when you fall asleep within the same minutes in the same bed, you feel like this is right where you’re supposed to be. 

—&.&—

May 2024

f1gossip almost a year and a half after his break-up with long-time girlfriend and red bull strategist, max verstappen has been spotted on a date with model kelly piquet in monaco ahead of the miami grand prix in a week. she is the daughter of former f1 champion nelson piquet and shares a daughter with ex-f1 driver daniil kvyat. the couple were spotted grabbing dinner before going for a walk, holding hands and seemingly very close.

ASM: hi, we saw the news. im really sorry. are you okay? x

YN: no, not really. it’s been over a year but I’m just still not over him and i hate that i have to see him every day and be okay 

YN: and she’s so goddamn gorgeous its really hard not to be insecure

KG: im sorry. we love you so much

KG: you’re beautiful and smart and the kindest person i know 

LH: im so sorry lovely, we’re here for you. what do you need? 

RD: im in scotland for a shoot but im done tomorrow. im going to drop by for a few days before going to spain to see carlos x

YN: you really don’t have to do that, i dont want to be a bother

YN: ill see you guys in miami anyway x

RD: dont be silly, you are NOT a bother 

ASM: i can be there too just give me the dates

LH: me too x

KG: and meeee

YN: guys you really dont have to drop everything just for me

ASM: we’re not. youre our friend and we care about you and we love you

ASM: we know you’re going through a hard time. we want to be there for you x

RD: you show up for the people you care about and we care about you.  if we can all come to see you, we’re going to take that opportunity x

LH: plus girls night! xx

KG: GIRLS NIGHT!!

—&.&—

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yourusername forever grateful x

tagged: alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad, lilymhe, fransisca.cgomes

alexandrasaintmleux love love love you to the moon and back x

iamrebeccad more girls nights in future my love x

↳ carlossainz55 and what am i??? 

↳ charlesleclerc a side piece, get used to it

lilymhe LOVE YOU THE MOSTEST FOREVER 

↳ alexalbon um, hello???

↳ charlesleclerc you should know the drill by now

charlesleclerc glad you had a wonderful night xx

↳ yourusername thanks charlie x

landonorris I DEMAND AN UNO REMATCH x

↳ yourusername time and place x

fransisca.cgomes yay for girls night!!! love you forever wifey xxx

↳ pierregasly you’re my girlfriend, you know that right? 

↳ charlesleclerc just accept its like this and move on mate

charlesleclerc where was my invitation 

↳ alexandrasaintmleux its called GIRLS night for a reason

user1 news of max’s new relationship drops and girls night? no way its a coincidence 

user2 this is so cute LET ME IN THE DOOR

user3 how do i be a part of this

user4 aww hope you guys had a lovely time!

user5 charles telling all the boys to get used to being second best in their girlfriends lives because he knows how much they love her 

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—&.&—

“Hi, can we talk?” You wince when you hear the voice behind you and you’re debating whether you can make a run for it but you decide you’d probably not make it very far before he caught up. Tightening your grip around your laptop and notebooks that are bundled in your arms, you slowly turn around to face Max. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since the news of him and Kelly surfaced and it hurts more than you expect. 

He looks slightly out of breath, and one hand moves to rub the back of his neck, something you know to be a nervous habit of his. When he notices you watching, he drops his hand back to his side, giving you a sheepish smile.

“Um, yeah, I guess, everything okay?” You fall into step as he leads the way to a small bench and you both take a seat. He clears his throat a few times as the silence ebbs between the two of you and you fixate your gaze on where his knee is bouncing up and down gently.

“Yeah. I just wanted to… I’m guessing you’ve seen the articles and I wanted to say I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you in private first but… well clearly the media outlets beat me to it.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Max.”

“I still care about you, I still love you. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t owe me anything. We broke up… You’re allowed to be in a new relationship.”

“I know… I… I know when we broke up I said I wasn’t in the right place for a relationship anymore and I wasn’t. Not then. But now, I am and I just don’t want to hurt you. It’s nothing to do with you or what we were. I…”

“Max, it’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself,” You offer him a soft smile, trying to ignore the tightening in your chest. Because that’s all that’s been going through your brain since you’ve seen the news. That he wasn’t in the right headspace for a relationship, with you. That it was your problem and you were the issue. It had kept you up for hours last night until you had finally dragged yourself out of bed and to work in the wee hours of the morning. “I… we’re fine.”

“It still should have come from me. You shouldn’t have to have found out from the Internet.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I do. I owe you a lot. This should have been something you heard from me, not someone else, and certainly not some online gossip trail.”

“Well, thanks, you know, the thought was there. I appreciate it.” You smile gently, shrugging your shoulders as you sweep your gaze over him. “It’s not your fault it got leaked. These things happen.”

“I hope you know that I’ll always care about you. That… us breaking up wasn’t ever about you not being enough, or anything silly like that. Because I know how your brain works. I just… I genuinely didn’t think I was in the right headspace to continue to be in a relationship… And I… I still love you and I still care about you. A lot.”

“I know. Me too, Max.” You try to keep the smile on your face but you know it’s wavering. His words, meant to be comforting, instead hit you like a ton of bricks. You know the cause of your breakup wasn’t due to a lack of love. Which made it all the more difficult. 

“I saw some of the girls came over to see you.”

“Um, yeah, yeah. We’re still friends, I…”

“Of course, sorry. I’m not trying to say you can’t still be friends with them. I’m glad you’re still friends and they can be there for you.”

“Yeah. I’m very lucky to have them… Look, um, I should go. Got lots of data to crunch so we can get you a win this weekend.”

“Okay, yeah, alright. Don’t work yourself too hard. Remember to drink enough water and eat.” He gives you a soft smile, knowing of your tendencies to be so invested in your work you forget to look after yourself.

“I’ll do my best. See you later Max.” You offer him a smile and a wave before walking off. Max watches you go, your head already buried in one of your notebooks. You always had a habit of reading on the go and the amount of times he had to pull you out of the way of something or someone were countless. A slight twinge pulls at his heart but he doesn’t have the courage to call after you and all he can do is watch you walk off.

—&.&—

“You’re here early.” Your head snaps up at the familiar voice and you meet the gaze of Max. He’s dressed in Red Bull gear, a travel mug in one hand, and his eyes sweep over you in concern.

“So are you.” 

“Early morning meeting. You?”

“Couldn’t sleep so I went for my run and gym, and then came here.” 

“Did you eat breakfast?” A frown settles on his face and he slips into the seat in front of you.

“No, don’t really get hungry after a workout. You know that.”

“Did you eat enough dinner last night?”

“I was working late so had some toast and then a bunch of fruit.”

“That’s not dinner.”

“I wasn’t that hungry and I didn’t want to have a big meal that late. It’s fine.” 

“It’s not fine. You have got to start taking care of yourself.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“What does that even mean? What are you trying to say?” Panic replaces the previous disapproval in his tone and he grabs onto one of your hands, tugging until you look at him.

“Nothing, it was a stupid comment. I’m fine, I’m just tired. We’ve been pulling a lot of late nights.”

“You say the words I’m fine so many times they don’t even sound like fucking words anymore,” His sharp tone and vulgarity cause you to wince and his face softens, grip tightening on yours. “I’m just worried about you. 

“It’s just been busy. You know better than anyone how crazy it all gets. I’m okay.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Let me take you to dinner when we’re both done at the track.”

“Max, you really don’t need to that -”

“I want to.”

“Max -“

“You know I’m not going to leave until you say yes.”

“You have to be up early tomorrow to be here. We both do.”

“Right, so you better say yes quickly so we can both go back to work and then can leave for dinner sooner.”

“Max…”

“I’m not going to budge, you know that. So, we can do this the easy way, where you say yes. Or we can do this the hard way, where I won’t leave you alone and I’ll physically pick you up and drag you if I need to.”

“Okay, yeah, fine. That sounds… Really lovely.”

“Great. I’ll see you at the end of the day.” Max smiles widely at you, giving your hand one last squeeze before he stands up.

“See you later.” You echo quietly, watching as he heads down the hallway and disappears. 

True to his word, he turns up at the end of the work day and he waits quietly, even as you finish off the work you’re doing and try to drag it out. Eventually, you have to admit you’re done and you slowly pack up your belongings. Max patiently waits for you, not speaking, not fiddling on his phone, just watching. Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself sitting opposite him, at a small family owned restaurant you two used to frequent. The couple who own it immediately wrap the two of you in a hug when they see you, talking about how long it’s been and sit you down at your favourite table.

“Does it not taste good? Do you want to order something else?” Max frowns at the sight of you pushing your food around the plate, taking small mouthfuls here and there.

“No, it’s delicious. I’m just not that hungry.” 

“You had what could barely count as dinner last night, went for a run and to the gym this morning and didn’t have breakfast after. I’m guessing you barely had lunch considering I’ve seen you do nothing but run around and work. There’s no way you’re not hungry.”

“I’m just… not. Okay?” You let out a quiet sigh, dropping your fork and looking at him. “I’ll take it back with me and eat it for lunch tomorrow.”

“Except you won’t eat it tomorrow,” He says flatly, staring at you, a challenge in his eyes. As if daring you to argue with him. “Just… try a few more bites, okay? Please.”

“I’m just not that hungry.” You mumble quietly, looking down at your food but you spear a bit onto your fork regardless and chew it slowly. When you finally swallow it, you mindlessly push things around for a few minutes before taking another small bite.

“So, how are you doing?”

“Max… Please let’s, just… not.” You let out a quiet sigh, looking up from your food to meet his gaze. You were exhausted, having barely slept last night and being alone with Max was putting you on edge.

“I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m -“

“If you’re going to say you’re fine, don’t even bother. I know you. I know you’re not doing okay.”

“What do you want me to say Max? That seeing you with your new girlfriend doesn’t hurt? That having to be around you doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s… Whatever. It’s not your fault,” You mumble softly before pushing your bowl away forcefully. “I’m done, I’m not hungry.” 

“Come on -“

“No. I said I’m not hungry, okay? Now do you want to finish it or shall I ask for a takeaway container?” Your tone is more sharp, with a bite to it that has Max surveying you before swapping your plates with a quiet sigh. But he shoves a few bites onto the plate in front of you and he stares at you until you pick up your fork, pushing the food around before taking small bites.

“I’m still… me. We’re still us. I’m still always going to be here for you.”

“Yeah,” You blink at him a few times and then look down at your plate. You know he truly means it but you also know that everything has changed and that nothing will ever go back to the way it was. “If you’re done eating, can we please go? I have an early start tomorrow.”

“You don’t even want your favourite dessert from here?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” You say quietly and Max meets your gaze, eyes searching you closely and when he knows you're not going to budge, a quiet sigh leaves his lips and he nods.  

“Okay, yeah. We can go,” He settles up the bill and you follow him silently to the car. You don’t miss the small paper bag he holds onto and when he walks you to your door, he presses it into your hands. “Just… Take it okay? You deserve it.”

“I… Thank you. Thank you for taking me to dinner - it was really nice.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. Definitely. Good night, sleep well.”

“Night,” You reply softly, watching as he gives you a soft, sad smile. “Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Drive safe. Text me when you’re back, okay?”

“I will. Bye,” He lingers, before stepping closer again and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Always.” You give him a final wave and you watch as he walks back to his car and he’s still for a few minutes, head resting against the steering wheel. The car eventually starts and you watch him drive off until you no longer see the tail lights. Only then do you make your way into the kitchen and open the paper bag. You’re not surprised at what you find inside - you almost always got the same dessert when you two visited that restaurant and so you slowly start eating it with a slightly heavy heart and memories swirling in your head.

—&.&—

May 2024

You knew she was going to be here, you had tried to prepare yourself but you were stupid to think you could ever be okay seeing Max with his new girlfriend. You turned on your heel before he could spot you, heading back to your workstation as quickly as you could. 

You’re not beyond admitting you had stalked her the moment the news had come out and it had caused all your insecurities to surface. She was gorgeous - a model, and exactly the type of girl that people expected to be the partner of a Formula 1 driver. You couldn’t help the spiral you had gone on, scrolling and scrolling until the thoughts consumed your brain. And now seeing her in person made everything worse.

CL: where are you?? i thought we were meeting outside red bull garage and getting lunch?? 

CL: lando and i are here 

YN: we are 

YN: sorry 

YN: im just… stuck

CL: you’re stuck?? what do you mean? are you okay?

YN: stuck because max is in my direct line of path with kelly and i can’t do it

CL: you can x

CL: do you want me to come in to get you?

CL: lando says he will make a scene to distract everyone and then you can sneak out x

YN: no it’s fine, gimme a minute 

You take a deep breath before releasing it, clutching your phone in one hand and you peek your head out from around the corner again. Max and Kelly are still right in your path, the only path towards the exit and you duck back around, back flat against the wall. You’re internally cursing yourself, there’s no way this needs to be so difficult and a frustrated huff leaves your lips.

“Stop being an idiot.” You mutter quietly and you take one more breath before you stride out towards the entrance. You wave and greet a few of your coworkers, smiling at them as everyone mills about. You start to walk towards the entrance, eyes fixated on where you can see the figures dressed in red and papaya, and you almost make it when you hear your name.

“Hey.” Max calls after you in a soft tone and you curse in your head before turning around. Of course you couldn’t get by without him spotting you, because he seems to have a knack for knowing where you are no matter what. 

“Hi. You alright?” You plaster a smile onto your face, one you know doesn’t fool him based on the slightly frown on his face, but you turn away from him and towards the woman by his side. “Hi, you must be Kelly. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yes, you too. Max has nothing but good things to say about you.” She smiles warmly at you, wrapping you a quick hug, with nothing but honesty and genuine kindness in her tone. You almost wish she wasn’t because it’d make it so much easier to dislike her. But you can’t. 

“Oh, I’m sure he’s just being kind.” You turn to him with a quiet laugh and he just gives you a shrug and a lopsided smile.

“Only telling the truth.”

“Are you enjoying the weekend so far?”

“Yeah, it’s been very fun. I’m glad I could make it. It must be busy for you.”

“Oh, yeah, race weekends are always hectic. I always feel like I’m running around like a headless chicken,” I let out a quiet laugh as they join in. “Probably look like one too.”

“You always do an amazing job. Always.” Max interjects quietly, eyes fixated on you and you fight the urge to fidget under his scrutinising look.

“Thank you. It’s not just me though, a small part of a very big team… I, um, I’ve got to go, though. I’m really sorry. Charles and Lando are waiting for me so we can go to lunch,” You take a tiny step back, raising your hand in a wave. “It was really nice to meet you. I’ll see you guys later.”

“It was nice to meet you too.” Kelly smiles at you, a large, genuine one that eats away at you. 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Max asks quietly, hesitation in his voice as his eyes sweep over your face.

“Yeah. Definitely. Bye.” You give them both a wave before letting your feet carry you towards the entrance, where the figures of Charles and Lando are getting closer. They’re talking in quiet tones but they fall silent and turn to you as you walk up to them.

“You alright?” Charles asks softly, nudging you gently with this shoulder. 

“Yeah. Not as bad as I thought, but doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.” You let out a strangled laugh, sneaking one look over your shoulder at the couple, only to find Max already staring at you, a faraway look in his eyes. You quickly turn back around, face flushing and Charles and Lando are both kind enough to not say anything. 

“Hey, let’s go get some food, okay?” Lando smiles gently at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you away from the Red Bull garage. The two of them distract you with chatter and jokes that make you roll your eyes and clutch your stomach with laughter. It’s almost enough to make you forget seeing Max and his new girlfriend. Almost. 

liked by charlesleclerc, maxverstappen and others 

yourusername thanks for always being my second home monaco, ive missed you. charlie, congratulations on winning your home race, words cant explain how proud i am of you, feeling very lucky to be your best friend xx good work from the team and as always, upwards and onwards.

tagged: charlesleclerc, redbullracing 

charlesleclerc you’re the best, always grateful for you and your support. you’re the greatest friend. you’ll always have a home in monaco xx

↳ yourusername love love love you x

landonorris always got a room at mine, monaco misses you too x

↳ yourusername thanks lan, love you xx

redbullracing 💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼

alexandrasaintmleux move back, we can live together with leo and get another dog

↳ charlesleclerc excuse me?? you’re MY girlfriend and that’s MY dog ?? 

↳ yourusername maybe one day ill move back, just not now x 

↳ fransisca.cgomes you could come live with me 😘

user1 her still calling monaco a second home when she’s obviously moved away since the breakup but she clearly loves it there 😭

user2 we love you 💓

—&.&—

You sit in a booth at the back of Jimmy’z, doing your best to stay hidden. You’re by yourself now, Alex, Kika, and Rebecca unsuccessful at dragging you onto the dancefloor. Your eyes flicker over the scene, you can see the girls dancing around and laughing, smiles etched onto their faces. Some of the drivers are by the bar, ordering more drinks and the room is filled with people, music and lights flashing across the space. 

You’re doing your very best to not look for Max who you know is somewhere in the club. You had greeted him when you had first arrived, trying not to let the sight of Kelly by his side shake you. But you had spent the next fifteen minutes after that in the bathroom trying to collect yourself. Seeing him with someone new is something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

“Hey, you alright?” You look up to see Max slipping into the booth next to you and it takes everything in you to not burst into tears. The images of him kissing Kelly when he got out of the car still run through your brain and seeing them at the club together had been another blow. You also knew the amount of alcohol you had wasn’t helping, you had never been a huge drinker but you were hoping it would help dull the feelings, make you forget. However, all it had done was make you even more sad, the emotions rising and crashing over you. 

“Fine. You?” You give him your best attempt at a smile and a shrug, but it doesn’t fool either of you. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Please just drop it, I really can’t do this right now Max.” The words come out of you in a whisper and you drop your face into your hands when you feel the tears rising. You hear and feel him shifting about and when you look up again, he’s in front of you, blocking you from the view of anyone behind him.

“Do you want me to take you back?” He asks quietly, eyes scanning over you carefully.

“It’s fine. You’re having a nice time and you can’t just leave Kelly here.” 

“She went home already. And even if she was still here, she’d understand I would want to get you back safely.” It’s the first sentence that gets you, because you realise that home probably means his place and that alone makes more tears fall down your face.

“Please, please, let me help. I just want you to be okay.”

“There’s nothing you can do, it’s fine. I’ve just been drinking and I’m just tired, it’s been a long weekend.”

”Then let me take you back.”

“It’s not your job to take care of me anymore.”

“So, what does that mean? I can’t care about you anymore?”

“It means… It means we’re not in a relationship anymore and that you have a new girlfriend. It means you can’t come and cater to my every whim. It means… I’m by myself and I have myself to rely on.” 

“You will always have me. I will always pick up your call. Always. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” 

“That’s not the point. The point is that we aren’t together anymore and I shouldn’t be coming to you for everything. I, just, I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t want to get in the way in your new relationship.” You swallow hard, some of the harsher comments on the internet you’ve seen floating around swirling in your head.

“You shouldn’t be reading any of that. You know that. You know it's bullshit.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Let me take you back.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. Look, just… Have a nice night, Max. I’ll… I’ll text you when I’m back, okay?” You use the back of your hand to wipe away the tears as you stand up and move away from the booth. You don’t stick around to hear what he has to say and you’re heading towards the entrance when you walk straight into someone.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Lando grabs onto your hand, eyes widening when he sees the tears in your eyes. He tugs you closer to him, offering you a tissue before wrapping an arm around you. 

“Even if I said yes, would you believe me?”

“Probably not, sorry.” He gives you an apologetic smile and you let out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I didn’t think it’d be this hard, you know? But I also never saw us apart, so what do I know?” 

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help. I wish there was something I could do.”

“It’s fine. Thank you for being my friend and being there for me.” You give him a shaky smile and he tightens his grip around you, pulling you into his embrace.

“Hey, anytime baby bull. You know that.”

“I’m just… I’m going to go. I really just want to be in bed.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine. Let me walk you out.” You can see him scan your face carefully and he can clearly see that you’ve made up your mind. 

“You don’t have to do that, Lan. You should be enjoying your night.”

“I want to.” 

“Okay, thank you. I’d really like that.”

“Come on then.” Lando gives you a smile and nudges you gently as the two of you walk out, before his arm wraps around your shoulders holding you close to him. Meanwhile, Max is staring at you, watching you fall apart and it breaks him in a way he can’t explain.

—&.&—

f1gossip red bull strategist and former long term girlfriend of max verstappen was seen leaving jimmy’z in tears. drivers and loved ones were seen entering the exclusive nightclub after the monaco grand prix. inside sources say it was her first time seeing her former partner verstappen and his new partner together. she was with verstappen’s fellow driver lando norris with whom she remains close friends. click the link in our bio to learn more and see the exclusive photos.

user1 christ leave her alone! 

user2 jesus how would YOU react if you had to see your ex be with someone new? they were together for years!! people taking photos and submitting them online is low

user3 oh that’s heartbreaking, i can’t even imagine what she’s going through 

user4 it’s a break up get over it she just wants the attention

user5 i cant believe fans took photos and posted them online…

user6 she has to work with her ex bf and now see him with his new gf? poor girl 

—&.&—

August 2024

“Hi baby bull, you look gorgeous.” Lando smiles at you, wrapping you in a hug before giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Come on, give us a spin.”

“Lan,” You let out a laugh, but you let him take your hand and spin you around, the skirt of your dress fanning out around you as you do so. He gives you a smile and a wink as you turn back to face him and he steadies you with a reassuring hand on your waist.

“See? Beautiful.”

“Thank you, Lando. That’s very kind of you. And thank you for coming with me, I really appreciate it.” 

“Hey, any excuse to have a gorgeous girl on my arm.” He grins as you blush again, slapping him on the shoulder gently. You’re used to his antics - he’s always been charming and sweet and you wish you possessed even an ounce of his charisma.

”Stop,” You roll your eyes at him, sticking your tongue out at him but he only laughs, offering you his arm and you take it gratefully, linking your arm through his. “So naturally charming. How is it you don’t have a girlfriend?” 

“Because I only have eyes for you.”

”Alright, alright, settle down.” You shake your head at him but there’s a smile on your face. You and Lando have been friends for years now. He knows when to tease you to put a smile on your face and when you just need a hug and someone to talk to.

“You do look beautiful though. I’m very honoured to have you on my arm tonight.”

“Thanks Lando.” You give him a soft smile and lean into him, giving him a side hug. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing tightly.

“Anytime baby bull. I’m always going to be here for you.”

“I’m very lucky to have you as a friend.” You rise up on your tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek before stepping inside the car and he closes the door behind you before getting in the other side.

“Hey, it’s going to be a fun night. We’ll have a drink, a small boogie, and then we can go anytime you want.” Lando whispers softly, reaching for your hand and squeezing it gently. 

“Yeah.” You turn to him with a shaky smile. He sings along to the songs on the radio in a loud, exaggerated voice, making you giggle and eventually you find yourself singing along.  

It’s not until you get inside the venue for the wedding reception that the nerves start again. You come to a sudden stop by the entrance, tugging back on Lando’s hand causing him to turn back to you. When he sees the expression on your face and your sudden stillness he steps back towards you.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, I just, I…” You trail off when you see Max and Kelly over his shoulder and at your sharp intake of breath, he follows your gaze. Max has immediately clocked you and raises his hand in greeting and is already making his way towards you.

“Hey, breathe, you got this. And I’m right here.” He whispers softly, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. You give him a weak smile and you take a tiny step back into his arms. You can feel the panic rising in you as Max and Kelly come closer, and before you know it, they’re standing right in front of you. 

“Hi, you look lovely.” Max says softly, stepping forward and wrapping you in a hug, lips brushing the side of your cheek. He lingers there for a few seconds before stepping back.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat, taking another tiny step back, bumping into Lando on your way and he puts a reassuring hand in the small of your back.

“Hey, mate. How are you? Good to see you.” Max turns to Lando and the two slap hands, patting each other on the back.

“Hi, you look beautiful. I love your dress.” You smile, almost shyly, at Kelly. In truth, she intimidates you a little. She’s older, more mature. She’s beautiful. She carries herself with a grace and elegance you wish you possessed even an ounce of. She’s never been anything but kind to you, never holding your previous relationship with Max against you. You wish you could have a reason to dislike her. But you don't. 

“Thank you. You look stunning too. You really suit that colour.” 

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” A quiet breath leaves your lips as you smile, crowding closer to Lando as you feel Max’s gaze flicker over you. You haven’t seen him since Spa and seeing him now, at an event you were supposed to attend together, hurts you deeply.

“Can I tempt you for a spin on the dance floor?” Max asks softly, offering you a hand and you stare at it for a few seconds before taking it hesitantly. There’s already a small crowd dancing to the music that’s coming from the live band.

“Yes, sure. That would be lovely.” 

“How about we go get a drink then?” Lando turns to Kelly with a smile on his face after giving me a soft pat on the back.

“Sure, that sounds great.” She gives us both a smile before her and Lando walk off, conversation flowing easily between the two of them. You stare after them for a few moments before a gentle tugging on your hand turns your attention back to Max. 

“Shall we?” 

“Okay.” You let him lead you into the middle of the dance floor and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in and when you hesitantly wind your arms around his neck, his other hand settles on your waist as well. You avoid looking directly at him, your heart skipping erratically at his familiar touch around your waist. 

“You really do look beautiful. You always do.”

“Thank you.” You say softly, your gaze fixated on his bowtie. It’s the exact same shade of blue as the dress you left hanging on the back of the spare bedroom in Lando’s home. It’s another reminder that you were supposed to be here with him. That you made plans that had stretched months, years, into the future. Now all of that was in the past.

You avoid eye contact the entire dance, mostly silence stretching between the two of you as you let yourself be swept across the dance floor. You let yourself imagine what this moment could’ve been like in another universe and you hold onto that until the song ends.

“Still a wonderful dancer I see.” Max says quietly, giving you a small smile when you finally turn to meet his gaze. You let your arms drop back to your sides and you keep a small gap between the two of you as you make your way back towards Kelly and Lando. 

“And you.”

“I suppose I had a good teacher,” He chuckles quietly, almost to himself as you reach the table where the others have settled themselves. “Thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Hey, looking very flash out there. You’ll have to teach me a thing or two later.” Lando smiles at you and you settle close to his side again, craving his comforting presence. 

“Sure.” You give him a small smile and you settle into a conversation, soon interrupted when you see the bride and groom. There are hugs and compliments and congratulations exchanged. The rest of the night is a whirlwind of music and laughter. Lando does this best to make you at ease, make you feel comfortable and to just enjoy the night. You really do enjoy the night for the most part, but you can’t ignore the small twinge in your heart every time you catch a glimpse of Max.

—&.&—

You press the doorbell, shifting from foot to foot as you stand in front of Max’s door. You’re still in your dress from the wedding, except you’re drenched from the rain and the wetness on your cheeks is a mixture of tears and the weather. There seems to be no answer, and you’re already turning away, convinced you’ve made a terrible mistake when the door opens. Max is staring at you with wide eyes, but there’s concern all over his face.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Max demands, but you act like you haven’t even heard him, a faraway look in your tear-filled eyes. “How did you get here?”

“I walked.”

“You walked? In the rain?! Are you crazy -”

“Hey, who was at the door - oh goodness, Max, why haven’t you asked her inside?” Kelly stops short when she sees the two of you, cutting off the rest of his sentence. She shoots him an exasperated look before reaching past him and guiding you inside gently. “Oh, you’re freezing. Let’s get you into the shower and into some warm clothing.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m here… I, I… I’ll leave.” You make a move to turn around but this time it’s Max who grabs onto your arm. 

“No. You can’t leave like this, you’ll get sick.” 

“Why don’t I make some tea for us while you get warm and dry? Max?” Kelly smiles at you gently before placing a hand on Max’s shoulder, who seems to jolt to attention. 

“You need to get in the shower or you’re going to get sick.” He says firmly, placing a hand in the small of your back and guides you upstairs. Your feet automatically take you to the guest bedroom and into the bathroom where you stare blankly at the wall. “Hey. Will you be okay to take a shower? I’ll leave some clothes for you on the bed, okay?”

“Um, yeah, okay. Thank you.” You mumble quietly, blinking at him and he casts you a worried look before closing the door behind him. It takes you another minute or so to snap back to attention, stripping off your soaking wet dress and into the shower. You spend the next few minutes letting the hot water scald your skin, scrubbing at your face as if that would help with your red-rimmed eyes.

When you’re dressed, you stare around the guest bedroom for a while. It’s mostly the same as it used to be, but there are subtle differences. The duvet cover is one you haven’t seen before. The vase on the dresser that is home to a fresh bouquet of beautiful pale pink peonies is new. As is the crocheted blanket that lies at the foot of the bed. You turn away and head towards the door, no longer able to look at the reminders of how this is no longer your home.

“Hey, are you feeling better?” Max shoots to his feet when you appear in the living room and is by your side in an instant. “Warm?”

“Yeah, fine. Thank you.” Your voice is slightly scratchy and you hover in your spot, not sure what to do. Max leads you gently towards the sofa and settles you in the corner spot. Your favourite spot. The fluffy blanket that he gently places over you is also new, you realise.

“I have some tea.” Your small inner spiral is interrupted when Kelly hands you both a steaming mug of tea and you take it gratefully.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for ruining your night, I -” 

“It’s alright, you didn’t. How about I let you two have a chat?” Kelly gives you a genuine smile, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and squeezing Max’s hand, before disappearing from the living room.

“I’m sorry,” You repeat quietly, looking down at where your hands were wringing themselves together. “I didn’t meant to ruin your night -“

“You didn’t. It’s fine. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“It was only like a five minute walk.”

“And it’s raining outside.” 

“Really? Didn’t notice.” You say wryly, managing to crack a small smile and Max chuckles quietly.

“Sarcastic as ever I see,” He shakes his head, fighting the grin on his face, because you joking around is a good sign. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“I just… I… You know, we were supposed to go together and that’s all I could think about.” You say softly, wrapping your arms around yourself as tears form again. Your hair is still damp, hanging down your back, and you look so vulnerable that Max wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and hold you tightly. 

“I’m sorry.” Max whispers, because there’s nothing else he can say or do to make you feel better. 

“You’ve moved on and I’m so happy for you. You deserve all the love in the world. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Everything reminds me of you. Everything in my life has you in it. Everything.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse as he repeats the apology. His heart is breaking seeing you in this state, especially when he’s the cause of it. 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You continue as if you didn’t hear him and he sees you swallow hard before meeting his gaze with teary eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” Max doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what to do when you’re breaking down in front of him and he’s the cause of all your pain.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come like this. It’s not fair for me to come here and say what I said… I… I’m going to leave.” You exhale after a long silence, giving him the best smile you can muster. Max wants to argue with you, insist that you can’t just leave but he knows you’ve made up your mind.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Look… I.... I’ll give you a lift back to Lando’s.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I’m not taking no for an answer. So, come on.” He offers you a hand and leads you to his car. You spend the short car ride in silence, only the soft music from the speakers breaking the silence. When you arrive, he kills the engine and the two of you continue to sit in silence before you clear your throat.

“Thank you.”

“Come on. I’ll walk you in.” Max says softly, opening your car door and offering you a hand. You take it silently and let him lead you to the front door. He knocks quietly and it doesn’t take long for it to swing open, Lando on the other side, looking comfortable in some joggers and a hoodie. 

“What? Are you okay? When did you leave? I thought you were asleep.” Lando’s eyes widen in shock when he sees you on the doorstep with Max behind you and he immediately steps back to let the two of you in. 

“I went for a walk.” You say softly, your voice scratchy as you stand between the two boys, not looking at either one of them. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just want to get into bed.”

“Okay. Why don’t you head in and I’ll come by with a cup of tea in a bit, okay?” Lando gives you a soft smile, placing a hand in the small of your back and the touch is comforting and you welcome it, taking a step closer to him. 

“Okay,” You do your best to offer him a smile and he responds by squeezing your shoulder gently. “Um, thank you again, Max. And Kelly too. I’m sorry for ruining your night, both of your nights. Tell her I’m really sorry and I really appreciate… Just everything.”

“Don’t be silly. You didn’t ruin anything. You can come to me any time you need.”

“Thank you.” You give him a small smile before backing away slightly, turning to face Lando. “I’ll be, um, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Yeah, I’ll be in soon.” He squeezes your hand before you turn your back and disappear from sight. You can hear the quiet murmurs from the two boys, but can’t make out what they’re saying. Lando doesn’t take long to appear in the living room where you’re already buried under a fluffy blanket. 

“Hi.”

“Hey. Do you want a hug?” Lando asks gently, taking a seat next to you. When you nod silently, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into him, squeezing tightly. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble against his chest, feeling the tears start to fall again.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I’m a mess. I have been since the breakup. And all I do is cause trouble and you guys have to constantly look after me and look out for me and -”

“We do that because you’re our friend. You’re family. You always have been and you always will be. We all care about you,” Lando says firmly, cutting off your words and he tightens his grip around you. “You are allowed to grieve and process your breakup however you need or want.”

“I love you, Lan.”

“I love you, baby bull.” He presses a kiss against the side of your head and squeezes you one last time. “Now, come on, what movie shall we watch?” 

You let out a quiet laugh, pulling the blanket tighter around you as you go back and forth on movie suggestions before you both settle on one. You don’t make it to the end of the movie, falling asleep halfway through. Lando just turns off the television and lifts you gently into his arms, settling you into the guest bedroom. You don’t even stir and he closes the door quietly behind him, letting you sleep.

[dracoflaco]

this physically and mentally abuse me lmaooo

[harrysfolklore]

labyrinth - fc43

summary: as the only female driver on the grid, everything in yn's life was planned like a perfect qualifying lap. then franco colapinto had to show up. first, he was just that annoying new guy who took her best friend's seat. then he became the driver she absolutely couldn't stand (or at least that's what she kept telling herself) word count: over 13k + social media posts

folkie radio: GUYYYYSSS SHE'S HERE! i started writing this fic in september and it's finally her time to shine!! this is my first time writing driver!reader so please be gentle with me. also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! may all of your wishes come true

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,027,537 others

yourinstagram p6 in zandvoort ! happy to see max on the podium for his home race. see you soon monza 🇮🇹

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username1 LEGEND

username2 p6 with that tractor feels like a podium finish fr

username3 give your seat to danny already

oscarpiastri Well done stinks 👊

↳ logansargeant Don’t praise her, her ego gets inflated

↳ username2 BEST TRIO ON THE GRID

↳ yourinstagram you’re both so jealous of me

redbullracing Keep pushing ! 💙

↳ username1 FIX HER FUCKING CAR

username4 p6 in a redbull? just hand the seat to someone more deserving

francolapinto Amazing 🙌🙌

↳ username2 franco is such a fannn

danielricciardo Proud of you 👌👌

↳ username1 haters want to create this beef between yn and danny for the seat but him adores her

maxverstappen1 Look she’s a nice teammate

↳ yourinstagram you adore me 😤

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

A knot forms in your stomach as you read the messages. Something about the tone doesn't sit right with you. You quickly head towards Logan's motorhome, your mind racing and your axiety creeping in.

When you arrive, Oscar is already there, leaning against the wall with a concerned expression. Logan sits on the couch, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Logan?" you ask softly, stepping into the room. "What's going on?"

He looks up at you, then at Oscar, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and resignation. "I… I'm not coming back for the next race," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You feel like you've been punched in the gut. Deep down, a part of you had known this was coming. Rumors in the paddock spread faster than a Formula 1 car on a straight, and there had been whispers about Logan's seat for weeks. But you hadn't wanted to believe it. You'd pushed those thoughts aside, convinced that if you just ignored them, they wouldn't come true.

"What? What do you mean you're not coming back?"

Oscar pushes off the wall, his brow furrowed. "Mate, what happened?"

Logan takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Williams… they're replacing me. I'm out."

The room falls silent for a moment as the news sinks in. Then, all at once, you feel a surge of anger coursing through your veins.

"They can't do that!" you exclaim, your voice rising. "It's mid-season! You've been improving, you've been working so hard. How can they just… just throw you away like this?"

Logan shrugs, a bitter smile on his face. "Apparently, they can. And they have."

A wave of emotions come crashing to you. Anger at Williams for their decision, frustration at the ruthless nature of the sport, and an overwhelming sadness for Logan.

Oscar moves to sit beside Logan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, mate. This is bullshit."

You start pacing the room, your anger building with each step. "Who are they replacing you with? Some pay driver? Some rookie who's never even touched an F1 car?"

"Franco Colapinto," Logan says quietly.

You stop in your tracks, whirling to face him. "Colapinto? The F2 kid? Are they out of their minds?"

Oscar tries to interject, his voice calm. "YN, maybe we should-"

But you're too fired up to listen. "No, Oscar! This is wrong. It's so wrong. Logan deserves better than this. He deserves a chance to prove himself. How is he supposed to do that if they don't even give him a full season?"

Logan looks up at you, a mix of gratitude and sadness in his eyes. "I appreciate you having my back, stinks. But it's done. There's nothing we can do about it now."

You shake your head. "No, there has to be something. They can't just replace you with some F2 kid like that. They're out of their minds."

"YN," Oscar cuts in firmly. "I know you're angry. We all are. But right now, we need to be here for Logan. This isn't about us or what we think is fair. It's about supporting our friend."

As Oscar's words sink in, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you. He's right, of course. This isn't about your anger or your sense of injustice. It's about Logan, your friend who's just had his dream ripped away from him.

The three of you have been racing together since you were kids, climbing through the ranks side by side. You've shared victories and defeats, laughter and tears. You've pushed each other to be better, to chase your dreams relentlessly. And now, one of you is being left behind.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I just… I can't believe this is happening."

Logan manages a small smile. "It's okay, stinks. I appreciate your passion. It's one of the things I've always admired about you."

"Remember when we were in karting, and YN nearly got into a fist fight with that kid who tried to push Logan off the track?" Oscar says with a small smile, trying to light up the mood.

"How could I forget?" +

Logan chuckles softly, "She was like a tiny ball of fury."

You feel a smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. "Hey, nobody messes with my boys and gets away with it."

"And nothing's changed," Oscar adds, giving you a fond look. "We've always had each other's backs, through everything. This is not the exception."

Without another word, the three of you come together in a tight group hug, a physical representation of the bond you've shared for so many years.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 2,017,697 others

yourinstagram logan, you’re more than just a friend — you’re family. we’ve raced together since we were kids, dreaming of f1. to see that dream cut short for you is heartbreaking

your talent, dedication and kindness have always shone through. you deserved better than this mid-season swap. this sport can be cruel, but this feels especially unfair and i’m angry that my friend’s journey has been interrupted

but i’m also incredibly proud of you, logan. you have handled this with grace and strength and this isn’t the end for you — it’s just a detour. love you, stinks 🥲

view all comments

username1 IM SOBBING

username2 i still can’t believe this

username3 well hold your tears because you’re next

pierregasly Chin up, mate @/logansargeant you’re a champ 👊

alex_albon You will always be family @/logansargeant, It’s so sad to see you go

username4 that was cute now hand your seat to daniel or yuki

username5 THE FIRST PIC 🥺🥺 IM NOT OKAY

username6 oh she’s PISSED

username7 this is so unfair for logan

username8 colapinto has an enemy on track already and it’s her 😭

username9 the best trio will be incomplete now i’m not okay

username10 YOU NEXT BYE BYE

logansargeant Thank you for everything, go make me proud 💙

↳ username1 IM SOBBING AGAIN

liked by francolapinto, landonorris and 410,764 others

williamsracing Franco Colapinto to race for the remainder of the 2024 season.

username1 VAMOOOS

username2 hello?? hes cute

username3 OKAY I SEE

username4 good thing for the team, sargeant was just not it

alex_albon Welcome to the fam @/francolapinto 👊

username5 KIIING

username6 an f1 kid who's not even top 5 right now in the championship? risky move

yourinstagram not even giving logan a proper goodbye? yall suck

THIS COMMENT HAS BEEN DETELED

username1 OMFG YN WE SAW THAT

username2 YN 😭😭

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Monza is always a race to look forward no matter what team you drive for, but today, your excitement is just not there.

The paddock feels different without Logan's presence, you have always raced alongside him, and not seeing his face during a race weekend feels wrong.

As you make your way through the bustling crowd, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness and anger. Inside the Red Bull hospitality area, you find Max already settled in, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you approach, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?" he asks, gesturing for you to take a seat next to him.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," you slump into the chair, running a hand through your hair. "It just feels wrong, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," Max nods, his expression thoughtful, "How's Logan doing? Have you talked to him?"

The mention of Logan's name ignites that spark of anger inside you again. "He's… he's putting on a brave face, but I know he's hurting. This whole situation is such bullshit, Max. Williams made a huge mistake."

Max raises an eyebrow, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm exterior. "You want to talk about it?"

That's all the invitation you need. The words start pouring out of you, your voice rising with each sentence.

"It's just so unfair! Logan was improving every race. He was working his ass off, putting in the hours, doing everything the team asked of him. And for what? To be tossed aside mid-season for some rookie?"

Max tries to interject, "Well, Colapinto has been pretty impressive in F2-"

But you're on a roll now, barely registering his words. "Impressive in F2? So what? F1 is a whole different ball game. Logan was just starting to get comfortable, to really show what he could do. And now they've brought in this Colapinto kid who's never even driven an F1 car, who's probably a paid driver who's just going to waste everyone's times. What kind of message does that send?"

You stand up, pacing back and forth as you continue your rant. "Williams is making a huge mistake. They're throwing away all the work Logan put in, all the data they've gathered. For what? A gamble on some unproven talent? And don't even get me started on how they handled it. No warning, no real explanation. Just 'Thanks for your service, now get out.' It's disrespectful, it's short-sighted, and it's everything that's wrong with this sport sometimes."

Max watches you, a mix of concern and surprise on his face. He's never seen you this fired up before. "YN, I understand you're upset, but-"

"No, Max!" you interrupt him, "You don't understand because you'll never have the fear of having your seat taken from you out of nowhere. You're Max Verstappen. You're safe. But for the rest of us… we're always one bad weekend away from losing everything."

Max's brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your statement. "YN, that's not true. I worked hard to get where I am-"

"I know you did," you interrupt again, your voice softer now. "I'm not saying you didn't. But you have to admit, your position is different. You're a world champion. You're untouchable. But for drivers like Logan, like me… we're always looking over our shoulders, always wondering if this race will be our last."

Max is silent for a moment, processing your words. "I guess you're right, I've been in a secure position for so long, I forgot what it's like to worry about your seat." He pauses, then adds, "But you know, you're in a unique position too. You're the only woman driving a Formula 1 car. That's pretty special. You should feel-"

You cut him off, your frustration flaring up again. "Exactly! I'm the only woman here, Max. Do you have any idea how much more pressure that puts on me? Every move I make is scrutinized. Every-"

Before you can continue, you spot Franco Colapinto walking past the Red Bull area, chatting animatedly with his new race engineer. The sight of him in Williams colors sends another wave of resentment through you, and you turn away abruptly.

"I need some air," you mutter, storming out of the hospitality area, leaving a bewildered Max in your wake.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun beats down as you stand next to Oscar on the flatbed truck, waiting for the drivers' parade to begin. The usual buzz of excitement surrounding Monza feels muted to you, overshadowed still by Logan's absence and the presence of his replacement.

"Oi, what's with the long face?" Oscar nudges you playfully with his elbow. "You look like someone stole your last Tim Tam."

"Oh shut up, you dork," you can't help but crack a small smile, "As if I'd ever let anyone near my precious Tim Tams."

"Too right," Oscar grins. "But seriously, how are you holding up?"

You shrug, trying to keep your expression neutral for the cameras. "Oh, you know, just peachy. Nothing like a bit of midseason drama to spice things up, right?"

"Always the optimist, aren't you?" Oscar rolls his eyes, "Come on, I bet you twenty quid you can't name all the Italian F1 circuits without googling."

"You're on, Piastri," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Monza, Imola, Mugello…"

As you're racking your brain for more, you notice Franco Colapinto approaching. Your playful mood evaporates instantly.

Franco's eyes widen as he gets closer, clearly starstruck. "Uh, hi," he says nervously. "I'm Franco. I just wanted to introduce myself."

Oscar, ever the diplomat, smiles and extends his hand. "Hey mate, welcome to F1. I'm Oscar."

Franco shakes his hand before turning to you, his expression one of barely contained awe. "And you're YN. I… I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're such an inspiration. The way you've broken barriers in this sport, it's incredible. I've followed your career since your F3 days and-"

You cut him off, your voice cool. "Thanks. Welcome to the grid."

Franco's smile falters, but he presses on. "I just wanted to say how much I admire what you've accomplished. You've paved the way for so many young drivers, especially women in motorsport. It's an honor to be racing alongside you."

You nod stiffly. "Thanks," you repeat, your tone making it clear that you're not interested in continuing the conversation.

An awkward silence falls over the group. Oscar, sensing the tension, tries to smooth things over. "So, Franco, how are you finding the step up to F1 so far?"

As Franco turns to answer Oscar, you take the opportunity to step away, moving to the other side of the truck. You can feel Oscar's gaze following you, but you can't bring yourself to engage in small talk with Logan's replacement, no matter how well-intentioned he might be.

As you're standing alone, Alex approaches, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Hey, mind if I join you?"

You shrug. "Free country, Albon. Or free truck, I guess."

Alex chuckles softly. "How are you doing? I know this can't be easy for you."

You sigh, your guard dropping slightly with Alex. "It's… complicated. I'm angry for Logan, but I know it's not Franco's fault. It's just…"

"It's the reality of the sport we're in," Alex finishes for you. "Trust me, I get it. Been there, done that, got the Red Bull rejection t-shirt."

Your stomach twists at the mention of that, suddenly remembering the endless conversations and warnings from your team. And how despite having a contract for next season, there's threats about your seat being take away after every race weekend. But you push the thought away.

"Always the comedian, aren't you?"

"Someone's got to keep the mood light around here," Alex grins. "But seriously, I know it's tough. Franco's a good kid, though. He's been working really hard, trying to learn as much as he can."

You nod, not quite ready to let go of your resentment but appreciating Alex's perspective. "How's he settling in?"

"As well as can be expected," Alex says. "He's got a lot to learn, but he's eager. It's a big step up from F2, but he's handling the pressure well so far."

You're about to respond when the parade starts moving. Alex gives you a supportive pat on the shoulder before moving back to his spot. As the truck rolls down the straight, the cheers of the Tifosi wash over you. You lift your hand to wave, a mix of emotions swirling inside you that go beyond just Logan's replacement.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,638,578 others

yourinstagram p8. it is what it is. ciao monza 👋

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username1 you will always be the moment

username2 FIX THE FUCKING CAR ALREADY

username3 ouu shes DONEEE

username4 most undeserved seat on the grid i swear

username5 anyway RICBULL IS COMING

francolapinto Such a pleasure to race alongside you!

↳ username1 franco respects and admires her so much i love it

↳ username2 im pretty sure yn hates him tho

username6 the constructors championship is gone thanks to her

logansargeant Chin up, love you 💙

↳ username2 i miss them so much

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,739 others

f1gossip YN arriving at Red Bull HQ in Milton Keynes

Tensions running high as rumors swirl about potential driver shake-ups. Sources say YN’s recent performance has bosses considering options

Is the Honey Badger eyeing a comeback or could young Liam Lawson be making the leap to F1? 🤔

view all comments

username1 bro...

username2 they better fix her car NOW

username3 RICBULL RICBULL

username4 honestly the best thing for the team would be her getting replaced

username5 YAAAS SHE'S OUT FINALLY

username6 oscar is the only 2023 rookie who actually puts in the work

username7 some people need to start putting some respect on yn's name bc yall keep forgetting she was third in the championship and got her first win during her ROOKIE SEASON and the reason she's struggling rn is bc redbull is not getting their shit together

↳ username1 right??? they're just saying shit

↳ username4 you said it yourself, she has a championship winning car and she's not delivering. she should be out

username8 YN GET BEHIND ME

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,638,538 others

yourinstagram great quali, we should have some fun tomorrow 😚

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username1 SLAYYY

username2 p4 after all the nonsense surrounding her seat? feels right

username3 THE QUEEN OF BAKU FOR REAL

lilyzneimer my favorite supergirl 💙

username4 she got lucky

username5 don't care, we still want danny or liam in that seat

username6 enjoy the race bc it might be your last

username7 watch her on that podium tomorrow

logansargeant Super proud always

↳ username2 LOGAN WE MISSS YOUUUU

francolapinto 🤩

liked by username1, logansargeant and 270,847 others

redbullracing Solid race and a bunch of points for the team 👊

Result 🏁PIA, LEC, YN P3, NOR, Max P5, ALO, ALB, COL, HAM, BEA

#F1 #RedBullRacing #AzerbaijanGP

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username1 SO DAMN TRUE

username2 yn back on the podium FINALLY

username3 yn saw the rumors about her seat and decided to shut them up

username4 SHES BEATING MAX FINALLY

username5 did they finally fix the car

username6 i don't want anyone commenting on her seat anymore

username7 i knew she got into that care absolutely PISSED

username8 QUEEN OF BAKU

liked by oscarpiastri, francolapinto and 1,764,933 others

yourinstagram was that entertaining? 😙 so happy to be on the podium for osco's second win, i love you so muuuch you diva

view all comments

username1 LEGEND

username2 she's so smug

username3 TELL THEM QUEEEN

landonorris The third pic is definitely your best @/oscarpiastri

↳ yourinstagram IKR

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM

logansargeant Congrats to both of you @/oscarpiastri @/yourinstagram I'm always proud of everything you achieve ❤️

↳ username2 logan should be there too i'm sad now

↳ oscarpiastri Love you mate

↳ yourinstagram this paddock will never be the same without you

maxvertsappen1 🙌🙌 So proud of you little sister

oscarpiastri Love you stinks

francolapinto Congrats! Always an honor to race alongside you

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The drivers' briefing has just concluded, and you find yourself lingering in the room, chatting with your friends.

"I swear, I almost peed my pants at that press conference!," Lando says, his eyes widening as he recalls, "When Max and YN just sat there in silence, staring down the journalists… I thought I was going to lose it!"

Pierre chuckles, giving you a knowing look. "I knew YN was the mastermind behind that. It has her written all over it."

"Well, someone had to make a point about these ridiculous penalties," you can't help but grin.

The group's laughter is interrupted as Franco approaches, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey guys, mind if I join?"

The others welcome him warmly, and you feel a knot forming in your stomach. You force a tight smile, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Franco, mate!" George exclaims, patting him on the back. "That was some impressive driving in practice. You're settling in well."

Alex nods in agreement. "Yeah, you're really holding your own out there. Williams made a good choice."

You feel your jaw clench at Alex's words, but you remain silent, watching as Franco's face lights up with pride and gratitude.

"Thanks, guys," Franco says, his voice humble. "I still have a lot to learn, but I'm giving it my all."

"Well, it's paying off," Lando chimes in, "Points in just your second race? You're pushing that Williams harder than we've seen in a while."

As the conversation continues, with each driver offering praise and encouragement to Franco, you feel your frustration and anger building.

The memory of Logan's disappointment and unfairness of it all, mixed with the ever present threat of you seat having the same fate, bubbles up inside you until you can't contain it anymore.

"And what about Logan?" you snap, your voice cutting through the friendly chatter like a knife. The group falls silent, all eyes turning to you in surprise. Franco's smile fades, replaced by a look of discomfort and guilt.

"YN…" Oscar starts, his tone cautionary.

But you're too fired up to stop now. "No, seriously. Everyone's so quick to praise him, but what about Logan? He was improving every race, working his ass off, and for what? To be tossed aside mid-season?"

The atmosphere in the room becomes tense. George and Alex exchange uncomfortable glances, while Pierre shifts uneasily.

Franco, looking distressed, speaks up. "I never meant for Logan to lose his seat. I just took the opportunity when it was offered to me. Any driver would have done the same."

"Oh, so that makes it okay?" his words only fuel your anger. "You just 'took the opportunity'? Do you have any idea how hard Logan worked for that seat? How much he sacrificed?"

"YN, that's enough," Oscar says firmly, placing a hand on your arm.

But you shrug him off, your eyes blazing as you face Franco. "You waltz in here, taking a seat you didn't earn, and everyone's falling over themselves to congratulate you. It's not right. It's not fair."

The room falls into a shocked silence. Franco looks like he's been slapped, his earlier excitement completely deflated. The other drivers are staring at you with a mix of surprise and disapproval.

It's George who finally breaks the tension. "YN, I think we all understand you're upset about Logan. We all are. But this isn't Franco's fault. He's just trying to make the most of his chance, like any of us would."

You feel a flush of shame creeping up your neck, but your anger is still simmering. "You don't understand," you mutter, but the fight has gone out of your voice.

Franco, looking genuinely distressed, takes a step towards you. "I'm sorry about what happened to Logan. I really am. I have nothing but respect for him, and for you. I never wanted to cause any problems."

His sincerity catches you off guard, and for a moment, you see not the driver who replaced your friend, but a young, talented kid trying to navigate a difficult situation. However, your anger and frustration gets the best of you.

"Whatever," you mumble, pushing past the group and out of the room, leaving a stunned silence as you disappear.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon and 709,639 others

francolapinto still buzzing from singapore 🇸🇬growing up watching Lewis battle in marina bay and now getting to race wheel to wheel with him... surreal doesn't even begin to cover it 🤯 and that fight with YN for position was proper racing - those last few laps were intense! thank you to the team for giving me a car that could fight at the front. vamos 💪

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username1 he’s an f1 driver now but he’ll always be a fanboy

lewishamilton Good racing kid, you've got a bright future ahead 👊🏾

williamsracing Our boy! 💙

username3 Did anyone else notice how aggressive YN was when overtaking Franco? Almost pushed him into the wall...

↳ username1 fr she looked like she wanted to crash him

↳ username4 they were racing for position, that's what racing drivers do 🙄

username5 the way he always mentions YN in his posts but she never acknowledges him 👀

username6 that move from YN was unnecessarily aggressive, could've ended badly

landonorris Great drive mate!

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 2,370,739 others

f1 BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced. Liam Lawson will race in place of Ricciardo for the remaining six races of the season for the team.

view all comments

username1 DANNY NOOOO

username2 this sucks man

danielricciardo Been a hell of a ride! Thank you RB family ❤️

maxverstappen1 Going to miss you mate!

username3 Wrong driver leaving... YN should be the one out

↳ username1 exactly! she's been underperforming all season

yourinstagram always grateful for everything you taught me DR. more than a driver - you've been a big brother, mentor, and friend since day one. going to miss our pre-race dance parties 🥺🤍

↳ username3 now give him your seat

↳ username1 it's no annoying to see that drivers like her have an undeserved contract extension and talented drivers get left out

↳ danielricciardo Love you kiddo! Make me proud

username5 Gutted to see Danny Ric go 💔

landonorris Won't be the same without you mate!

username7 @/yourinstagram Maybe focus more on racing than dancing 🙄

↳ username8 she's literally P5 in the championship, shut up

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As you step off the plane in Florida, the warm air envelops you, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn weather you left behind in Europe. Your heart lightens as you spot Logan waiting for you, his familiar grin a welcome sight after weeks of tension and stress. You missed your best friend so much.

You rush towards him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. "I missed you so much," you say, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "That paddock sucks without you."

Logan chuckles, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm. "I missed you too, stinks." He pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Now, let's grab a beer since you're out of race cars for a while."

You nod eagerly, letting him lead the way. He drives you to a nearby bar, one you've learned over the years of knowing him was the one he used to go to during his teenage years. The casual atmosphere is a refreshing change from the high-pressure environment of the paddock. As you settle into a booth with cold beers in hand, you feel some of the tension from the past few months start to melt away.

"So, how's life outside the F1 bubble?" you ask, taking a sip of beer.

Logan grins, leaning back in his seat. "It's… different. But not all bad. Actually, I've got some news." He pauses for dramatic effect. "I've been in talks with a few IndyCar teams."

Your eyes widen with excitement. "Logan, that's fantastic! Tell me everything!"

For the next hour, Logan animatedly describes his meetings with IndyCar team principals, the tracks he's excited to race on, and the new challenges he's looking forward to. You listen intently, genuinely happy for your friend's potential new chapter.

"It's not F1," Logan admits, "but it's a hell of a racing series. And who knows? Maybe it'll lead me back to F1 someday."

"I have no doubt," you assure him, raising your bottle in a toast. "To new beginnings!"

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in months. You chat about mutual friends, swap funny stories from your junior racing days, and discuss the latest paddock gossip.

Eventually, Logan's expression turns a bit more serious. "So, Oscar's been keeping me updated on what's been going on in F1. Sounds like things have been… tense with Franco."

You feel your mood shift at the mention of Franco's name. "Yeah, you could say that," you mutter, taking a long swig of your beer.

Logan leans forward, his voice gentle but firm. "YN, I know you're upset on my behalf, but you can't keep this grudge going forever. Franco's just a kid trying to make his way in the sport, like we all were not too long ago."

"I know, I know. It's just," you sigh heavily, "Every time I see him in the garage, in your overalls, talking to your engineers… it feels wrong, Logan. Like he's stolen something that belongs to you."

"But he didn't steal anything," Logan counters. "The team made a decision. It sucks for me, yeah, but that's not on Franco. He just took an opportunity that was offered to him. Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same in his position?"

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Logan has a point, and you know it.

"Look," Logan continues, "I've had some time to process all this, and I've come to terms with it. It's a cutthroat sport, YN. We all know that. Franco's not the villain here."

"But the way it happened," you protest, "mid-season, with no warning. It wasn't fair to you."

"Fair doesn't always come into it in F1. It just happens," Logan shrugs, "Besides," he adds with a hint of a smile, "I hear he's doing a decent job. The kid's got talent."

"He's alright," you grudgingly admit. "But he's not you."

Logan laughs. "No one's me, stinks. I'm one of a kind."

You can't help but crack a smile at that. "True enough."

"So," Logan says, his tone turning serious again, "can you promise me you'll try to ease up on Franco? Give him a fair shot? For me?"

You sigh deeply, considering his words. "I'll try," you finally concede. "But I'm not promising to be his best friend or anything."

"That's all I ask," Logan says, looking relieved. "Now, is this just about Franco replacing me, or is there something else going on? You seem… I don't know, more on edge than usual."

For a moment, you consider telling him about the talks with Red Bull, about the uncertainty surrounding your own seat. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but something holds you back. Maybe it's not wanting to burden Logan with your problems, or maybe it's not being ready to voice your fears out loud.

"No, nothing else," you lie, forcing a smile. "Just the usual F1 stress, you know how it is."

Logan nods, though he doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, if there ever is anything, you know you can talk to me, right? Even if I'm not in the paddock anymore."

"I know," you say, feeling a pang of guilt. "Thanks, Logan. Really."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and 1,289,673 others

yourinstagram florida !!! is one hell of a drug

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username1 AHHH she visited logan

logansargeant Next time we're doing the gator tour 🐊

↳ username2 i love them sm

oscarpiastri No invite for your favourite Aussie? Rude

↳ username2 we need the iconic trio together again

username3 they've been friends since forever, love how they support each other

username4 Logan and YN's friendship >>>>>

username5 Why is she on holiday when she should be working on her driving?

username6 the way logan always has her back 🥺

username7 surely there are better uses of time with 4 races left and her seat under threat?

francolapinto Amazing 🙌

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You arrive at the Red Bull hospitality area in Austin, the excitement of being back after the break palpable in the air. As you walk in, you spot Max lounging on one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Max grins, looking up from his device. "Did you get lost in the Texas wilderness?"

You roll your eyes playfully, dropping your bag on a nearby chair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. Did I keep you waiting? I was busy signing autographs for all my adoring fans. You know how it is… oh wait, you don't."

"Ouch, that hurt," Max clutches his chest in mock pain, "And here I was, about to show you something interesting, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. The banter with Max always helps you relax before a race weekend, and you've missed this during the break. "Oh come on, spill it, Verstappen. You know you want to. Don't make me steal your phone."

Max chuckles and pats the seat next to him. "Alright, alright. Sit down before you hurt yourself trying to reach my phone."

As you sit down, he pulls up a video on his phone. "Check this out. It's an interview with your biggest fan."

It's an interview with Franco. Your initial instinct is to look away, a mix of guilt and stubbornness rising in your chest. But something in Max's expression makes you watch.

"Lewis Hamilton and YN are my biggest idols in F1," Franco is saying, his face earnest. "The way YN races, her dedication and skill, it's truly inspiring. She's broken so many barriers and shown that talent knows no gender. I feel honored just to be on the same grid as her."

As the interview continues, Franco heaps more praise on you, his admiration clear in every word. You feel a twinge of guilt, remembering how cold you've been towards him. The genuine respect in his voice makes you uncomfortable, forcing you to confront your own prejudices.

"Her overtake on Leclerc in Interlagos last year? That was pure brilliance," Franco continues. "I've watched that move countless times, trying to learn from it. YN's not just a great driver, she's changing the face of the sport. I hope one day I can race wheel-to-wheel with her and show her the respect she deserves on track."

Max turns off the video and looks at you expectantly. "I think you owe someone an apology," he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod slowly, the realization sinking in. A wave of shame washes over you as you remember your cold behavior towards Franco. "I think I do," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, we all make mistakes. What matters is how we fix them. Franco's a good kid, and he really looks up to you. Maybe it's time to give him a chance?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I actually talked to Logan last week," you confess, watching Max's eyebrows rise in surprise. "He's doing well, actually - focusing on IndyCar now. But we talked a lot about… everything."

"Yeah?" Max shifts in his seat, clearly intrigued. It's not often you open up about these things.

"He basically told me I needed to stop fighting battles that weren't mine to fight. Said he appreciates me having his back, but Franco isn't the enemy here. He's just chasing his dream, like we all did. Logan said he remembers how it felt, getting his first chance - we all do."

Max nods thoughtfully. "Logan's right, you know. We've all been there at some point - getting an opportunity because someone else lost theirs. It's just how F1 works sometimes."

"I know," you admit, standing up. "And I've been unfair to Franco. He's actually doing a really good job with Williams, fighting in the midfield with a car that's not the easiest to drive. And here I am, making him feel unwelcome when I should be supporting talent. Some role model I am, right?"

"So what are you going to do about it?" Max asks, though his smile suggests he already knows.

You spot Franco heading towards the Williams hospitality area. "I'm going to make it right."

Walking over to Williams, you feel your heart pounding a little faster with each step. You find Franco sitting at one of the tables, going through data on his laptop with his race engineer.

"Franco?" you call out. "Could I steal you for a moment?"

He looks up, surprise evident on his face. "YN? Hi… yeah, of course." He glances at his engineer, who nods and excuses himself.

"Mind if I sit?" you ask, gesturing to the empty chair. When he nods, you take a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. A proper one."

Franco starts to shake his head, but you hold up a hand. "Please, let me finish. I've been unfair to you, and it wasn't right. I let my loyalty to Logan blind me to the fact that you're just a talented driver making the most of your opportunity. I've been cold, sometimes even hostile, and you didn't deserve any of that."

"I… thank you," Franco says quietly. "That means a lot. I want you to know, I reached out to Logan when-"

"I know," you interrupt gently. "He told me. That's partly why I'm here. You showed real class doing that, Franco. And you're doing a great job with the car. That P8 in Baku? That was proper racing."

A genuine smile breaks across his face. "Coming from you, that really means a lot. You know, I've watched your races since I was in F3. The way you fought through all the doubters, proved everyone wrong… you're really an inspiration."

You feel your throat tighten unexpectedly. "I had no idea."

"That's why your opinion means so much," Franco admits, fiddling with his water bottle. "When you seemed disappointed in me being here… it hurt, you know?"

"I'm sorry," you say again, meaning it more than ever. "How about we start fresh? Maybe you can talk me through that overtake in Baku - I noticed you used a similar line to what I did in Interlagos last year."

Franco's eyes light up. "You caught that? I actually studied your move while preparing for the race! The way you positioned the car on entry…"

You spend the next twenty minutes discussing racing lines and overtaking techniques, the earlier tension completely dissolved. Franco's enthusiasm is infectious, reminding you of your own early days in F1.

When you finally walk back to Max, you feel lighter than you have in months. He greets you with a knowing smile. "Feel better?"

"Much better," you admit. "Sometimes you need a kick in the right direction So thank you, I needed that wake-up call."

"Anytime," he smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders, "Can't have my teammate being the paddock villain, can I? That's my job."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,667,459 others

yourinstagram rookies keeping us on our toes 😤 good battles today @/francolapinto

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 franco is going to piss his pants

williamsracing Our rookie giving the Red Bull a run for their money 💙

username4 she shouldn’t be acknowledging that a rookie in a williams is making it hard for her… embarrasing

username5 the start of YN and Franco's friendship? 👀

username7 the tension between these two was getting old, glad they're friends now

username8 HANDLE YOUR SEAT

username8 MY DUO 😭❤️

francolapinto Next time I won’t make it easy for you!

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The private jet hums quietly through the night sky towards Mexico City. Most of the other drivers are asleep, exhausted from the intense Austin weekend. You find yourself unable to sleep, your mind still racing from the events of the day. Glancing around the dimly lit cabin, you notice Franco is also awake, absently flipping through a magazine.

Catching your eye, he gives you a warm smile and moves to the empty seat across from you. "Can't sleep either?"

"Too much adrenaline still," you admit, adjusting your position to face him better. "Great drive today, by the way. That point was well-deserved."

Franco's face lights up at the compliment. "Thanks! Though it's nothing compared to your battle with Lando. I was watching it from behind and thought 'there's no way she's going to make that stick' but then you just… did. It was incredible."

You laugh softly, careful not to wake the others. "There was a moment there where I wasn't sure either. But sometimes you just have to go for it, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Franco grins. "Like that time in F3 when I tried to go around the outside at Spa and ended up practically in another timezone."

"Please tell me there's video of that," you snicker.

"Unfortunately for my dignity, yes. I think my engineer still uses it as an example of what not to do."

The conversation flows naturally, jumping from racing stories to childhood memories. You find yourself genuinely enjoying his company, something that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

"So what made you want to be a racing driver?" you ask, genuinely curious.

As Franco launches into how he found his passion for the sport, you find yourself really looking at him properly for the first time. The soft cabin lighting catches the angles of his face, and you notice details you'd overlooked before. His eyes are warm with flecks of gold, crinkling slightly at the corners when he smiles. There's a small scar above his right eyebrow, barely noticeable unless you're paying attention. His dark hair is slightly disheveled from the long race day, a few strands falling across his forehead.

You catch yourself thinking how handsome he actually is, in that classic way. His animated expressions as he talks about racing make him even more attractive, his passion for the sport evident in every gesture.

"...and that's when I knew I wanted to do this forever," he finishes, then looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I tend to get carried away when talking about racing."

"No, don't apologize," you say quickly. "It's refreshing to see that kind of enthusiasm. Some of the guys get so jaded after a while."

Franco's smile turns a bit shy. "Speaking of enthusiasm, I'm really excited about racing in Mexico this weekend. It's one of my favorite cities - the atmosphere is just incredible."

"The fans are amazing there," you agree. "Though I still haven't found a really good place to eat in Mexico City. The hotel restaurant gets old pretty quickly."

Franco's eyes light up. "Oh, you have to let me help with that! I know a couple of amazing restaurants in the city. There's this incredible place that serves the best traditional dishes you've ever tasted, and another one in that does contemporary Mexican cuisine that would blow your mind."

You find yourself intrigued, both by the suggestion and the eager way he's describing it. "That sounds way better than room service."

"We could..." he hesitates for a moment, then continues with determination, "we could go together, if you'd like? After Thursday's media duties maybe? I'd love to show you my favorite spots."

There's something endearing about the way he's trying to sound casual while clearly being nervous about asking. You feel a flutter in your stomach that you definitely weren't expecting.

"You know what? That sounds great," you say, surprised by how much you mean it. "It's about time I experienced proper Mexican cuisine."

Franco's face breaks into a brilliant smile. "Perfect! I'll make a reservation for Thursday evening then. Trust me, you won't regret it."

As the conversation continues, you can't help but notice how natural it feels now, how easily you're laughing at his jokes and sharing stories. It's hard to believe this is the same person you were avoiding just a few weeks ago.

As other drivers start stirring from their sleep, Franco returns to his original seat, but not before confirming your dinner plans one more time.

Watching him walk away, you find yourself looking forward to Thursday evening more than you probably should. It's just dinner with a colleague, you tell yourself, even as you catch yourself smiling at the thought of it.

"Just dinner," you whisper to yourself, but somehow, you're not entirely convinced.

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yourinstagram has added to their close friends stories

replies:

georgerussell63 So that was all the giggling I heard during the flight

oscarpiastri I’m so telling Logan

maxverstappen1 Can I say “I told you so” now?

francolapinto close friends privileges already? wow

↳ yourinstagram don’t push it colapinto

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The hotel lobby is relatively quiet as you wait for Franco, having agreed to meet there before heading to the restaurant. You've opted for casual - a simple black dress that makes you feel confident but not overdressed.

"Ready to have your mind blown by the best food in Mexico City?" Franco's voice makes you turn. He's wearing dark jeans and a well-fitted navy button-down, and you try not to notice how good he looks.

"Big claims require big proof," you tease, falling into step beside him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Lando's familiar accent cuts through the lobby. He's just coming in from what looks like a gym session, and his surprised smirk makes you want to roll your eyes. "Interesting dinner plans?"

"Just showing YN the local cuisine," Franco says smoothly, though you notice his ears turning slightly pink.

"Right, right," Lando drawls, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The local cuisine. In your nice shirt. At that fancy place you've been talking about for weeks-"

"Goodbye, Lando," you cut him off, grabbing Franco's arm and steering him toward the exit, trying to ignore Lando's knowing chuckle behind you. You knew it was a matter of time before the entire grid finds out you went out with Franco.

The restaurant is everything Franco promised and more. The conversation flows easily between you, and you find yourself charmed by the way he seamlessly switches between Spanish and English while ordering, the way he leans in slightly when you're talking, the way his hand occasionally brushes yours across the table.

"No way," you laugh, taking another sip of wine. "You did not challenge your friend to a dance-off."

"I absolutely did," Franco grins. "And I won, by the way. Though there might have been some tequila involved."

"I would pay good money to see that."

"Play your cards right," he says with a playful wink, "and maybe you'll get a private demonstration."

The flirtatious comment catches you off guard, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. Franco seems pleased with this reaction, his confidence growing throughout the evening.

The evening continues, warm and comfortable. Franco insists on ordering dessert - "You haven't lived until you've tried their churros con chocolate" - and you find yourself sharing stories between bites of perfectly crispy churros.

"So," Franco says, wiping chocolate from his lip with a napkin, "you, Oscar, and Logan - that's quite the trio. How did that happen?"

You laugh, fondly remembering those early days. "We practically grew up together in karting. I was this tiny kid trying to prove myself, Oscar was already sassy even at eight years old, and Logan… well, Logan was Logan."

"Let me guess - immediate chaos?" Franco grins.

"Oh, absolutely. We used to drive our parents and coaches crazy. These three kids who wouldn't stop racing each other even after practice was over." You smile at the memory. "We've been inseparable ever since. Though now Logan's living his best life in Florida."

Franco's eyes soften. "You really miss having him in the paddock, don't you?"

"Yeah," you admit quietly. "I do. But he's happy, and that's what matters. Plus, he texts me stupid memes at least twenty times a day, so it's like he never left."

After asking for the bill — one that Franco didn't let you pay no matter how much you insisted — you decided to walk back to the hotel. You were aware that his hand was close to yours as you walked side by side, almost brushing your fingers, but you didn't dare to take that step, and neither did he.

You reach the hotel, but instead of heading straight for the elevators, Franco suggests taking the scenic route through the garden. The night is too nice to end just yet.

"I have to say," he remarks as you walk, "you look beautiful tonight. That dress is…" he makes an exaggerated chef's kiss gesture, making you laugh.

"Smooth, Colapinto. Very smooth."

"I try," he winks, and you roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

The walk to your room comes too quickly. Outside your door, Franco turns to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you for tonight," he says. "It was… nice. Really nice."

"It was," you agree, finding yourself meaning it completely. "Thank you for showing me your favorite spot."

There's a moment where you both just look at each other, the air charged with something unspoken. Franco takes a small step closer, then seems to think better of it.

"Goodnight, YN," he says softly, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

"Goodnight, Franco," you reply, watching him head down the hallway.

As you close the door behind you, you lean against it, smiling to yourself. You can already hear Max's smug "I told you so" tomorrow, but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 14,892 users

f1gossip🚨 Franco Colapinto and YN spotted having dinner together in Mexico City. They spent over two hours at the restaurant according to witnesses.

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username2 This is getting interesting... 👀

username3 STOP I'M CRYING 😭❤️

username4 they're just friends guys, calm down

username4 the way he makes her laugh though!!!

username5 watch how they'll deny everything tomorrow

username6 MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS

username8 this has to be more than just friendship...

username10 I MANIFESTED THIS

username12 focus on racing instead of dating maybe?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Brazilian rain hammers down relentlessly on the Interlagos circuit. It's barely 6 AM, but the paddock is already buzzing with nervous energy for the early sprint qualifying. You stifle a yawn as you check your phone for what must be the hundredth time that morning. Another message from Franco pops up - a picture of himself looking comically miserable in the rain with the caption "Maybe if we all pretend we didn't see the rain, they'll cancel quali?"

The past week has been unexpected in the best way possible. After that dinner in Mexico, something shifted. What started as sharing breakfast in the hotel turned into spending every free moment together. During the long flight to São Paulo, George had dramatically sighed and switched seats with Franco, muttering something about "not being able to take the longing looks across the plane anymore."

"Someone's cheerful for 6 AM," Max comments, walking into the garage as you quickly type a response to Franco. "Let me guess - Argetinian company keeping you entertained?"

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably. "Shut up and focus on qualifying."

"Oh, I'm focused," he grins. "Unlike someone who keeps looking at their phone every two minutes."

"I'm just-"

"YN," Max interrupts, counting off on his fingers, "he waited outside our debrief yesterday just to walk you to dinner. He somehow always knows your coffee order. And don't think I didn't notice him giving you his jacket yesterday."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "We're just friends."

"Right," Max smirks. "Friends. Like how Charles and I are 'just friends' when we're trying to punt each other off track."

"Shut up, as if you weren't secretly in love with each other."

A few hours later, as you prepare for the drivers' parade, Oscar sidles up next to you with his trademark grin.

"Well, well, if it isn't the stranger," he says dramatically. "Remember me? One of your best friends? Though I suppose you wouldn't know, being attached at the hip with a certain Williams driver these days."

You roll your eyes, but there's no heat in it. "Miss me that much, Piastri?"

"Just saying, used to be we'd get coffee before parade, now it's all 'Sorry Oscar, Franco already got me coffee,'" he mimics your voice terribly.

You're about to retort when Franco appears, and Oscar's grin widens. "And that's my cue. Have fun, kids!" He winks before sauntering off.

"Ignore him," you say when you notice a small smile in Franco's face, "He's the perpetual pain in my ass."

"He's okay," Franco says, standing closer to you. You're trying to get your hair in order when you realize something's missing.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your pockets. "I forgot my hair tie."

"You always braid it before races, right?"

"Yeah," you sigh, still searching. "I'm stupidly superstitious about it. Haven't gotten into the car without a perfect braid since F3."

"Here," Franco pulls a hair tie from his wrist. At your surprised look, he shrugs. "I started carrying one after Mexico. Just in case," he shrugs, as if he was saying the most obvious thing ever, "Turn around."

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Sisters, remember? I'm practically a professional." His fingers are gentle as they work through your hair. "Besides, can't have you breaking your streak because of a missing hair tie."

You're acutely aware of the other drivers watching with varying degrees of amusement. Lewis gives you a knowing wink as he passes, while Charles not-so-subtly elbows Oscar and gestures toward you two.

"There," he says finally, securing the end with your hair tie. "Perfect braid for perfect racing."

You reach back to feel it - it is indeed perfect. When you turn to thank him, you find him much closer than expected, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

"Show off," you manage to say, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing.

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, and you hear what sounds suspiciously like Alex whispering "Just kiss already" to George.

The moment is broken by the announcement for drivers to take their places on the parade truck. As you climb aboard, you catch Oscar making exaggerated swooning gestures at you, while Max simply mouths "Just friends?" with a knowing smirk.

Franco takes his place beside you on the truck, close enough that your shoulders touch, and somehow you find you don't really care who's watching.

"Nice braid, by the way," Charles calls out teasingly from behind you. "Franco, think you could do mine next time?"

"Get your own hair stylist, Leclerc," you call back, and Franco's laugh next to you makes everything - the bad qualifying, the rain, the teasing - worth it.

The truck starts moving, and Franco's hand finds yours, hidden from view between you. You intertwine your fingers with his, and neither of you let go for the entire parade.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 21,765 others

f1_insider🚨 Christian Horner spotted leaving Williams hospitality after a 2-hour meeting in Brazil. This comes amid increasing speculation about driver changes for 2025.

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username1 They're not even trying to be subtle anymore…

username2 leave YN alone challenge

username3 Franco to Red Bull confirmed? 👀

username5 WAIT WHAT

username7 the timing of this… right before quali 😬

username8 everyone acting surprised like this hasn't been brewing for weeks username11 They're trying to destabilize her before the race

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 2,093,032 others

yourinstagram brazil never disappoints. p15 ➡️ p2. proud of this one.

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username1 IM STILL CRYING

username2 MIC DROP

maxverstappen1 Proper racing today 💪🏻 That defense in the last 10 laps 🔥Love you kiddo, couldn't ask for a better teammate

↳ username1 max said SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE

danielricciardo THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! That's my girl!

username3 EVERYONE'S PRIDE AND JOY

username4 she got lucky and still no win this season

landonorris Absolute monster in the wet

logansargeant THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND

username5 this is why she deserves that seat

username6 where are all the haters now? 🤫

username7 that battle through the midfield was masterclass

username8 Silencing critics in the best way possible

liked by username1, username2 and 14,088 others

f1gossip YN's radio messages during Franco's crash show a different side to their "rivalry." Listen to how her voice changes when she finds out it's him. Sometimes the real feelings come through in moments like these.

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username2 this doesn't sound like someone who "hates" him

username3 top I'm crying 😭

username4 "tell me he's okay" broke me

username6 forget the rivalry narrative, that's genuine concern

username7 MY DRIVERS STOOOOP

username8 this is the most emotion we've heard from her all season

username9 notice how she's been cold towards him for weeks but the second he's in danger…

username10 SOMETHING SHIFTED

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The easy banter has become your normal over the past week. Ever since Brazil, where you fought your way from P15 to P2 in treacherous conditions, something has shifted between you. The walls you'd carefully maintained started crumbling during that rain-soaked weekend.

Your phone buzzes again - this time it's Christian Horner requesting a meeting. Your stomach tightens instinctively. These meetings have become more frequent throughout the season, always with subtle undertones about your future with the team.

Franco: "Meeting with James in 10. Wish me luck not falling asleep in the sim debrief. Call you after?"

You: "Sure, good luck x"

The 'x' slips out before you can stop it - you've never added that before. Your finger hovers over the delete button, but he's already seen it.

Franco: "Did THE YN just send me a kiss? Screenshots being taken. This is historic

You're still smiling about your early interaction with Franco when you walk into Christian Horner's office, but his expression is serious enough to make your smile fade. You've been here before - these "casual meetings" that could determine your future.

"YN, thanks for making time," he gives a polite smile, "Please, take a seat."

You sit, trying to read his expression. Last week's podium trophy sits on a shelf behind him - your trophy, earned after fighting through half the grid.

"As you're aware, your contract includes certain performance clauses. While your recent results, particularly Brazil, have been impressive, we need to consider all options for the team's future."

That familiar knot in your stomach returns. "What kind of options?"

"I was at Williams recently," Christian says carefully, "discussing various possibilities, including Franco Colapinto."

The world seems to tilt slightly. Franco. At Williams. Meeting about possibilities. Just like with Logan.

"I got P2 in Brazil," you say, hating how defensive your voice sounds. "Started P15. In the rain. I battled with the entire grid while also defending for Max to secure a double podium."

"Yes, and it was an exceptional drive-"

"I'm fifth in the championship. I've scored podiums consistently despite the car being a nightmare to drive most of the times. What more do I need to do?"

Christian's expression remains neutral. "This isn't about any single result, YN. We need to evaluate all potential scenarios for the team's future."

"So you're considering replacing me," you say flatly. "With Franco."

"I trust you understand this is just business, YN," Christian says as you stand to leave. "We have to explore every option."

You pause at the door, turning back slightly. "Of course. Business." Your voice is perfectly controlled. "Just like my P2 in Brazil was business. My podiums were business. Everything I've given to this team has been business."

"YN-"

"No, I get it. Really." You manage a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have some sim work to review."

It hits you as you drive back to your apartment - every friendly conversation, every shared coffee, every late-night text… none of it was real. Franco isn't your friend. He's just another driver who sees you as an obstacle to overcome, a seat to claim. Just like everyone else since you entered F1, smiling to your face while plotting to take what's yours.

Back in your apartment, your phone keeps lighting up with Franco's messages, each one making your chest tighter. You can't bring yourself to block him - that feels too much like acknowledging how much this hurts. Instead, you just... stop responding. Set the phone aside. Focus on your laptop, on race data, on anything else.

Your phone rings - Oscar's familiar face popping up on the screen.

"Finally!" he exclaims when you answer. "I've been trying to reach you all day. You missed the most hilarious thing - Lando tried to make vegemite pasta."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. "Please tell me someone filmed it."

The conversation flows easily, almost making you forget about everything else. Almost.

"Oh yeah," Oscar adds casually, "ran into Franco at paddle today. He seemed pretty worried-"

"He better focus on preparing for his Red Bull seat instead."

"His what?" Oscar sounds confused. "Stinks, what are you on about?"

"Horner had meetings at Williams. About Franco. About possibilities. Sound familiar?"

"Hang on, hang on. Did you even talk to Franco about this? Because he genuinely seemed concerned-"

"Of course he seemed concerned, Os. That's the whole point."

"YN, I know you. You're doing that thing where you push people away before they can hurt you. But stinks, I really don't think-"

"I have to go. Sim data to review."

"At least talk to him-"

You end the call, turning back to your laptop. Three races left. Three chances to prove everyone wrong. No more distractions, no more letting your guard down.

You'll do it the only way that matters in F1 - on track, where lap times speak louder than friendly texts, and championship points mean more than shared coffee breaks.

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You've managed three weeks. Three weeks of perfectly crafted indifference, of calling him "the Williams driver" in interviews, of taking different routes through the paddock just to avoid those chance encounters that used to make your heart skip. Three weeks of pretending you don't miss his stupid sparkle messages, or the way he always saves you a coffee during early practice sessions.

But now your hands won't stop shaking as you stare at your dark phone screen, trying to ignore the screens showing the mangled Williams in the Las Vegas Strip. You've watched the replay seventeen times without meaning to, each time feeling your heart stop at the impact.

"This is getting ridiculous," Max's voice is quiet beside you, making you jump. You didn't even hear him approach. "Stop with this nonsense."

"I'm fine," you respond automatically, thumb still pretending to scroll on your black screen. "Just checking the timing sheets."

"Your phone isn't even on." Max's hand appears, gently taking the phone from your trembling grip. "They've taken him to UMC. Just go."

"I can't," you whisper, finally looking up at your teammate. You hate how your voice catches. "Everyone will—"

"Who cares what everyone will say?" Max interrupts, already reaching for your bag. "Hannah's got a car waiting. Go."

"I don't want to," you protest weakly, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds. "I don't need to—"

"Stop," Max's voice is firm but gentle. "You're not going back to this. Not after everything. You care about him, stop pretending you don't."

You take a shaky breath, then nod once. You're out of the garage before you can change your mind and rebuild those walls you've spent three weeks perfecting. Because Max is right – you do care. You care so much it terrifies you. And right now, nothing else matters except knowing he's okay.

You hate hospitals. You've spent too many hours in them after your own crashes, but somehow this is worse. Standing outside his room, you're suddenly unsure of everything. Three weeks of carefully constructed distance seems ridiculous now.

"You can come in instead of hovering at the door," Franco's voice carries from inside, slightly hoarse but still holding that hint of amusement that always used to drive you crazy. "Unless you're planning to run away again."

You step inside, trying to maintain some composure even as your heart clenches at the sight of him. "I wasn't running away," you say automatically, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"No?" He raises an eyebrow, wincing slightly at the movement. "So you just happened to take different paddock routes?"

"Franco—"

"It's back to Franco now? Not 'the Williams driver'?" There's hurt beneath his teasing tone, and it makes your chest tight. "That last interview was particularly cold, by the way. Very convincing."

You stay by the door, arms crossed. "I thought that's what everyone wanted. Space. Distance. Rivalry."

"You're here now though."

"Max made me come," you lie.

"Sure he did." Franco's small smile tells you he sees right through you. "Nothing to do with how many times you asked if I was okay over the radio?"

You feel your cheeks heat up. Of course he's heard the radio already. "I would have asked about any driver."

"YN," his voice softens, and it breaks something in you. "Stop pretending. Please. I miss my friend."

The last words hit you hard, and you finally let your arms drop, taking a step closer. "I miss you too," you whisper, and it feels like admitting defeat and victory all at once. "I was so scared when I saw the crash."

"Come here," he says quietly, patting the edge of the bed.

You hesitate for just a moment before crossing the room, carefully sitting beside him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "For these past weeks. For being harsh. For—"

"I know," he interrupts, his hand finding yours. "I know. But you're here now."

You squeeze his hand gently, feeling the walls you've built crumbling completely. "You could have died today and I would have never—" you stop yourself, running your thumb over his knuckles without thinking. "All because of this stupid seat."

Franco's quiet for a moment, then lets out a small laugh that turns into a wince. "Is that what you think? That I'm after your seat?"

"Aren't you?" You try to pull your hand away but he holds on. "The meetings with Christian, the—"

"YN," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him. "I never got any offers from RedBull.”

You freeze. "What?"

"I'm not taking your seat," he says softly. "In fact, I still don't have a seat."

"But...the meetings with Horner?" You're struggling to process this. "He basically told me they were considering options for next season, and those options were you in my seat."

"Sounds to me that he was pressuring you." His eyes hold yours. "My team had meetings with RedBull, yes. But we never got a solid offer, not even for VCARB."

You feel slightly dizzy. Three weeks of avoiding him, of building up walls, of convincing yourself he was just another driver trying to take your seat...

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" you finally manage.

"Well, you've taken the long way through the paddock just to avoid me," he teases, then becomes serious. "I wouldn't hurt you like that. You know that. Or at least, you used to."

"I got scared," you admit quietly. "When I heard about the meetings, I just... it was easier to push you away than to admit that I care about you."

The silence that follows feels heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, Franco squeezes your hand gently.

"Well," he says softly, "nearly dying seems to have worked out well for me then."

"That's not funny," but you're fighting a smile.

"Made you come see me though, didn't it?"

"I hate you," but there's no heat in it.

"No, you don't," he says confidently. "You just admitted you care about me. No taking it back now."

You roll your eyes but don't deny it. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Like I crashed a car at 200mph," he grins, then softens. "Better now though."

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liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,908,479 others

yourinstagram champion x4 🏆so proud to be part of this journey. no one deserves it more than you @/maxverstappen1. thank you for being the best teammate anyone could ask for, on and off track.

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username1 IM CRYINGGGGG

username2 this is my family

maxverstappen1 Couldn't ask for a better teammate and bonus little sister. Thanks for having my back all season 💪🏻

↳ username1 HE SAID SHE'LL ALWAYS BE MY TEAMMATE

danielricciardo Look at my kids making me proud 🥹

christianhorner Fantastic team effort all year. Proud of both of you.

↳ username1 FIX HER CAR AND STOP FEEDING HER TO THE PRESS!!

username5 the way max waited to celebrate until she crossed the finish line

username6 remember when they said they wouldn't get along

username7 brother sister energy we love to see it

francolapinto Amazing work 🙌

↳ username8 bro ready to take her seat

username9 their relationship is too pure. max adores her like she's his little sister and yn would take a murder charge for him pretty much

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After showering and changing post-race, you're walking back to your hotel room when your phone buzzes. Franco's name lights up the screen: "Hey... could you come to my room? Need to get my mind off today. Room 412."

You hesitate only briefly before responding. After everything that's happened - the crash, the hospital, the conversations that followed - things between you have felt different.

Qatar had been grueling, you managed to score a solid P4 but the story for Franco had been different. He was part of a collision during turn one that ended his race right there. You heard it on the radio and your heart couldn't help but ache for him.

When you knock, Franco opens the door looking drained, his usual spark dimmed by the day's events. He's changed into soft sweatpants and a team shirt, hair still damp from his shower.

"That bad, huh?" you say softly, following him into the room.

He drops onto the bed with a sigh. "First lap incidents are the worst. All that preparation, all those hours in the sim… gone in seconds."

You settle into the armchair across from him. "I saw the replay. That wasn't your fault - Hulkenberg came across way too aggressively."

"Doesn't matter whose fault it was. Points are points, and I need them." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to recognize as stress. "The pressure's getting intense. Everyone keeps asking about next year's plans, and I just… I don't know."

"Hey," you say gently, moving to sit beside him. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there. Everyone sees it."

"Do they?" His voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Because right now it feels like every mistake is being magnified. One DNF and suddenly everyone's questioning if I deserve the seat."

"I know that feeling too well," you admit. "I mean, I spent three weeks avoiding you because I thought you were after my seat."

That draws a small laugh from him. "Not my finest moment in the hospital, guilt-tripping you about it."

"It worked though, didn't it?" you nudge his shoulder playfully, "Plus, I guilt tripped you about Logan's seat for the longest time, it's only fair."

"Yeah, well, I was desperate. Do you know how hard it was watching you take different routes through the paddock just to avoid me?"

"About as hard as it was taking those routes," you say softly. "I missed you."

"You did manage to find some creative paths though," he teases, his mood lightening slightly. "I particularly enjoyed watching you duck behind Lando in the airport."

"I did not duck!"

"You absolutely did. Practically dove behind him. Poor guy had no idea why you suddenly needed an urgent conversation about sim settings."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "Well, what about you? Mr. 'Oh sorry, I didn't see you there' when we literally made eye contact in the media pen?"

"That was Oscar's fault! He told me my hair looked weird and I got distracted."

"Your hair always looks weird."

He gasps in mock offense. "Take that back! This hair has its own fan accounts."

"Yeah, horror fan accounts maybe," you tease.

"Says the person who needed my expert braiding skills before races."

"Which you learned from your sisters, if I remember correctly?"

His expression softens. "Actually… I might have YouTube'd it after Mexico."

That catches you off guard. "You… what?"

"Yeah," he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "Spent like three hours practicing on a rope I found in the gym. Alex caught me and wouldn't stop laughing."

"That's…" you feel something warm bloom in your chest. "That's actually really sweet."

"Don't tell anyone," he grins. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Oh yeah? What reputation is that?"

"You know, cool, mysterious, definitely not the type to watch hair braiding tutorials."

You laugh. "Hate to break it to you, but anyone who's seen you try to work the coffee machine knows you're not mysterious."

"That machine is complicated!"

"It has three buttons!"

"Three very confusing buttons," he protests. "Besides, you're the one who always shows up right when I'm struggling with it."

"Pure coincidence."

"Right," he smirks. "Just like how you 'coincidentally' started showing up earlier to breakfast after I mentioned that's when I usually go?"

You feel your cheeks warm again. "I just… wanted to beat the rush."

"The rush of exactly two other drivers who eat that early?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.

The air between you changes, becomes charged with everything unsaid. You're suddenly very aware of how close you're sitting, how his eyes have dropped to your lips.

He doesn't say anything else, instead, he leans forward and kisses you, soft and careful, like he's afraid you might pull away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you feel yourself melting into the touch.

When he pulls back, you blink at him, slightly dazed. "You kissed me."

His familiar smirk returns, though his eyes remain soft. "Well done, Sherlock."

You roll your eyes at his sass, but can't help smiling. This time, you're the one who leans in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is deeper, more certain. His hand slides into your hair as you press closer, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"You know," he says softly, playing with a strand of your hair, "besides being one of my racing idols, you've also always been my crush."

You pull back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't let it go to your head," he grins.

"Oh my god," you laugh. "You were such a fan! Did you have posters too?"

He groans, hiding his face in your shoulder. "I'm never telling you anything again."

"No, no, this is great," you tease. "I'm just a year and a half older than you, Colapinto, and you completely idolized me."

"I hate you," he mumbles into your shoulder.

"No you don't," you say confidently. "You just admitted you had a crush on me."

He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. "Still do, actually. Although the real you is much more annoying than poster you."

"Poster me didn't call you out on your coffee machine struggles."

"Poster you was much nicer," he agrees, but he's smiling as he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, deeper, filled with everything you've both been holding back. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his.

"Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits softly.

"Even when I was avoiding you? Or giving you crap to defend my best friend's honor?"

"Especially then. Do you know how adorable you looked trying to pretend you didn't see me in the paddock?"

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Never," he grins, pulling you closer. "I have years of fan stories to make up for."

You kiss him again just to shut him up, but you can feel him smiling against your lips, and you think maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you're meant to be.

"You're never going to let me live down the fan thing, are you?" he asks when you break apart.

"Not a chance," you smirk. "I bet Alex has pictures of you practicing those braids too."

"Don't you dare!"

But you're already reaching for your phone, laughing as he tries to grab it from you, and somehow you end up tangled together on the bed, both laughing too hard to care about anything else.

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You're halfway through your coffee when Franco appears, wearing his team polo and that signature grin that used to irritate you but now makes your stomach flutter. It's still surreal how much has changed - from despising him for taking Logan's seat, to avoiding him over your seat rumors, to… whatever this is now. He slides into the seat next to you, leaning in for a kiss. You quickly place a hand on his chest, pushing him back playfully.

"Easy there, hotshot," you tease. "Let's keep it professional."

"Professional?" He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't be shy now. Not after last week."

You feel your cheeks warm at the memory. "Last week was different. We were alone."

"Oh, so that's the rule? Only when we're alone?" He leans closer, lowering his voice. "Should we discuss what else happened when we were alone?"

"Franco!" You swat his arm, but you're fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just saying, for someone who used to avoid me like I had the plague, you sure changed your tune."

"Yeah, well," you stir your coffee, trying to maintain your composure, "turns out you're not as annoying as I thought."

"High praise," he chuckles. "Remember when you wouldn't even look at me in driver briefings?"

"Remember when you replaced my best friend and then tried to steal my seat?"

"I didn't try to steal your seat!" he protests. "That was all media speculation."

Before you can respond, Max drops into the seat across from you, already looking amused at finding you two together.

"Well, well," he says, reaching for the coffee pot. "If it isn't my favorite teammate and her… what are we calling this now?"

You roll your eyes. "We're calling it none of Max's business."

"Everything is Max's business," Max says cheerfully. "Especially when said business involves my teammate getting cozy with the competition."

Franco's phone buzzes and his expression shifts slightly as he reads the message, and you catch that flicker of worry he's been trying to hide all weekend. The weight of it being potentially his last race in F1 has been hanging over both of you.

"Engineers?" you ask softly.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Last pre-race meeting of the season. Hopefully not my last ever," he adds, attempting a joke that falls flat.

You reach for his hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. "Hey, you've shown what you can do this year. The pace is there, the talent is there-"

"The results aren't," he cuts in, running his free hand through his hair. "DNF and crashes don't exactly scream 'keep me for next year.'"

"The car's been shit though," Max speaks up, "Everyone knows that. You've outqualified your teammate and scored points."

"Try telling that to the team principals," Franco says, attempting a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, better go before they add 'chronically late' to my resume." He stands, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "See you later?"

"Of course," you say softly. "Good luck in the meeting."

Once Franco leaves, Max leans forward, "Okay, spill. Everything. Now."

"There's nothing to spill."

"Nothing to spill?" Max scoffs. "Last month you were convinced he was plotting to take your seat, and now he's kissing you goodbye at breakfast? That's not nothing."

"You don't need to know everything about my life, Max," you try to busy yourself with your coffee, that's pretty much cold by now.

"I'm the older brother you never wanted but got stuck with anyway, so I do need to know about these things."

You sigh, knowing he won't let this go. "Fine. After Qatar, things changed. We… spent time together."

"Spent time together?" Max wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Not like that!" you protest, then lower your voice. "Well, not just like that. We talked a lot. About everything again - the rumors, the misunderstandings, why I was so angry about Logan, and… I don't know. It's different now. Good different. When I'm with him, everything just feels…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

"Right?" Max supplies, his teasing tone softening.

"Yeah," you admit. "Which makes this whole situation even harder. If he doesn't get a seat…"

"Then you'll figure it out," Max says, "But let's not write him off yet. Season's not over until the checkered flag."

You nod, but can't help glancing at the door Franco left through. "You know what's ironic?" you say, turning back to Max. "A few months ago, I was worried about him taking my seat. Now I'd give anything for him to have one, anywhere on the grid."

Max smiles knowingly. "Amazing what a few kisses can do."

"It's not just that," you protest. "He deserves to be here. He's so talented-"

"And you're completely smitten," Max interrupts, grinning.

"Shut up," You throw a napkin at him. "I'm getting a new teammate next year," you declare.

"No you're not," Max laughs. "You love me." He pauses, suddenly looking both nervous and excited. "Actually… want to know a secret?"

Something in his tone makes you lean forward. "Always."

"Kelly's pregnant," he says, a huge grin spreading across his face. "We just found out last month"

You practically leap across the table to hug him, nearly knocking over both your coffees in the process. "Oh my god! Max! I'm going to be an auntie!"

He laughs, hugging you back. "Actually…" he pulls back slightly to look at you, "What do you think about being a godmother?"

Your eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

"Of course," he grins. "Who else would I trust to teach my kid how to properly terrorize the paddock?"

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm going to spoil them so much," you warn, hugging him again. "Like, an absolutely ridiculous amount."

"I know," he laughs. "That's kind of counting on it."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just family for now," he says. "And you, obviously. Because you are family."

You're definitely crying now. "I hate you for making me cry before a race weekend."

"Sure you do," he grins. "Just like you hate Franco, right?"

You wipe your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment. "God, I can't believe you're going to be a dad!"

"Me neither," he admits, and there's something soft and vulnerable in his expression that makes your heart squeeze. "It's scary but… in a good way, you know?"

"You're going to be amazing," you tell him seriously. "The best dad ever."

His smile turns mischievous. "Just wait until Franco gets you pregnant-"

"And that's my cue to leave," you gather your things. "Congratulations again, future dad. I love you, even when you're the worst."

His laughter follows you out of the room. "Love you too, future godmother!"

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liked by maxverstappen1, francolapinto and 2,099,437 others

yourinstagram ABU DHABI WINNER! 🏆✨ still feels surreal to type those words. to win the last race of the season, after everything… no words can describe this feeling. thank you to every single person who never stopped believing in me, even when things got tough. to my incredible team - this one's for you. we did it! 🧡

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username1 SHE FUCKING DID IT

username2 first win of the season in the last race - poetic justice

username3 the way everyone doubted her at the start of the season and now look at her QUEEN BEHAVIOR

logansargeant YESSSS! That move was legendary! So proud of you!

username4 this feels so RIGHT

francolapinto Mi campeona 🖤 That last lap move was 🔥

↳ username1 IM CRYING OMFG

↳ username2 THEY'RE SO TOGETHER I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

username5 brb i'll be crying while i watch that video of her hugging franco

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You're still riding the high of your Abu Dhabi win as you unlock your apartment door. Your first win of the season, in the last race - it feels poetic, somehow. Like a final "fuck you" to everyone who doubted you, who questioned your seat, who spent the entire season speculating about your future.

The trophy sits in your bag, along with the champagne bottle Charles insisted you keep. Franco follows you in, still wearing that soft smile he's had since he watched you cross the finish line.

He's staying at your apartment since he doesn't have a place in Monaco and the now traditional drivers dinner is happening, after all you time together, inviting him over felt...natural.

The past few days have been a whirlwind - the podium, the celebrations, the multiple kisses stolen in your motorhome between media duties. The flight to Monaco where you both pretended to sleep but kept "accidentally" touching hands. It should feel fast, rushed, but somehow it just feels right.

"Still can't believe you pulled that move on the last lap," Franco says, dropping his bags by the door. "Even Max was impressed, I think you broke his brain a little."

"Speaking of broken, try not to destroy anything while you're here," you tease. "Some of us actually live in Monaco full-time."

Franco turns to you with mock offense. "When have I ever broken anything?"

"Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?" you raise an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember a certain incident with Lewis' scooter…"

"That was a manufacturing defect and you know it," he protests, moving closer.

"Sure it was," you laugh. "Just like the tablet in Singapore was a 'technical malfunction'?"

He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that's been driving you crazy since Qatar. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never," you confirm, but your voice comes out softer than intended because he's looking at you the way he has been since that first kiss in his room - like you're something precious.

"Guest room's down the hall," you say quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Bathroom's across from it, you know the drill."

Franco raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes that you're starting to know too well. "You're really going to make me take the guest room? After all our bonding?"

"Bonding?" you scoff. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Well, what would you call making out in your motorhome? And the plane bathroom? And-"

You cut him off by pressing your hand to his mouth. "Those were… moments of weakness."

He kisses your palm before moving your hand, and the simple gesture shouldn't make your heart race like it does. "Lots of moments."

"I was emotionally vulnerable," you argue weakly.

"Uh-huh," he steps closer, backing you against the wall. "And now?Are you emotionally vulnerable now?" His hands find your waist, and you try to ignore how right they feel there.

"I'm…" you start, but then he's kissing you, slow and deep, and you forget what you were going to say.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "We should get ready for dinner," you manage.

"We should," he agrees, but kisses you again.

"Franco," you mumble against his lips. "We're already late."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck.

It ends up being fifteen minutes before you finally push him away, your lips swollen and hair slightly messed up.

"Guest room," you point firmly. "Get changed."

He grins, stealing one last quick kiss before grabbing his bag. "Yes, boss."

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yourinstagram has added to their close friends story

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You arrive at Lewis' Monaco penthouse a fashionably acceptable ten minutes late, Franco's hand resting casually on your lower back as the elevator opens to the top floor. The space is already filled with the familiar chatter of your fellow drivers, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Look who finally made it," Charles calls out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Got lost on the way from your apartment? It's only three blocks…"

"Traffic," you say smoothly, ignoring Franco's poorly concealed laugh beside you.

"Must have been terrible," Alex joins in, eyes twinkling. "Considering you live literally around the corner."

Lewis appears, saving you from having to respond. He hugs you warmly before turning to Franco with a grin. "No scooters allowed inside this time, mate."

"That was one time!" Franco protests as everyone laughs. "And it was definitely faulty manufacturing."

The evening flows easily, conversation and wine flowing freely as everyone celebrates the end of another season. You find yourself constantly aware of Franco's presence - the way he automatically hands you your favorite wine, how his hand finds yours under the table, the soft looks he gives you when he thinks no one's watching.

(They're all watching. These are racing drivers - subtlety isn't their strong suit.)

"Get together, everyone!" you call out later, holding up your phone. "I want a picture."

There's the usual chaos of twenty-odd drivers trying to arrange themselves, plenty of shoving and laughing as everyone finds their spot. Franco ends up behind you, his chest pressed against your back, hands resting lightly on your waist.

"Alright, someone else take it," Lando announces. "YN's too busy making heart eyes at Franco to frame it properly."

"I am not-"

"You kind of are," Pierre interrupts with a grin.

"Just like in Abu Dhabi," Oscar adds. "And the flight home. And baggage claim. And-"

"I hate all of you."

The night continues with more conversation, more drinks, and constant teasing from your friends. Even Charles joins in, muttering something about "finally dealing with all that sexual tension in the briefings."

By the time you leave, you're both pleasantly tipsy, walking back to your apartment with slightly unsteady steps. The moment your door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts.

"So," he says finally, stepping closer. "About that guest room…"

"What about it?" you ask, but you're already moving toward him.

"I'm thinking," he cups your face with one hand, "that it would be a shame to use it."

"Would it?"

"Mhmm," he's close enough now that you can feel his breath on your lips. "Especially when the winner deserves proper celebrations."

"Or maybe you're just being a horndog," you tease, even as your hands find their way to his chest.

"Maybe," he concedes. "Or maybe I just can't stop thinking about kissing you."

Your breath catches. "You've already kissed me plenty today."

"Not enough," he murmurs, then proves his point by capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is different from all the others. Those were stolen moments, quick and heated. This is slower, deeper, like he's trying to memorize every second.

"Don't make me take the guest room," he murmurs against your lips.

You pretend to think about it, even as your hands slip under his shirt. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

"I can be very nice," he grins, then kisses you again, backing you toward your bedroom.

"Prove it," you challenge.

The guest room remains empty that night. And many nights after.

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liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and 2,044,387 others

yourinstagram i love my little dysfunctional family !! yes i'm the one behind the camera

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 FRANCO'S FACE ??? DEVASTATED BC HIS GIRL IS NOT NEXT TO HIM

lewishamilton Always family ❤️

oscarpiastri Never sitting between you and your lover boy again..

↳ username1 HUH??

↳ username2 oscar spill the deets PLEASE

↳ logansargeant to the gc NOW

↳ username3 LET ME INNNNN

↳ username4 im crying

↳ yourinstagram i hate you both

francolapinto ❤️

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yn's biggest fans groupchat

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You're curled up on your couch, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle through your window as snow falls softly outside. Franco's just finished unpacking his bags, having arrived from Argentina an hour ago. The past weeks without him felt strangely empty, even though you'd been surrounded by family for Christmas.

"Mama keeps asking about the foods I mentioned you cook," Franco says, settling beside you with a grin. "She's convinced I'm making it up."

"Did you tell her it's mostly pasta and those empanadas you taught me to make?"

"Si, but she says my standards have dropped since moving to Europe," he laughs, stealing some of your blanket. "How was your family?"

"Good. Dad's still buzzing about Abu Dhabi. He's watched the replay about fifty times, especially that last lap battle with Max," you grin, throwing your legs over his lap. "How was home?"

"Hot," he sighs contentedly. "Really hot. Nothing like a proper Argentinian summer."

"Meanwhile I was freezing in London," you poke his side. "Speaking of which… don't you have some news to share?"

He raises an eyebrow. "How did you-"

"Carlos texted me. He's terrible at keeping secrets."

Franco runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you've come to recognize. "I signed with Williams. As their reserve driver for next season, there's talk about 2026, but nothing concrete yet."

"Franco!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. "That's amazing!"

He hugs you back, letting out a relieved laugh. "You think so?"

"Of course I do!" you pull back to look at him. "Williams is doing great things, and with Carlos and Alex there…" you trail off, seeing something in his expression. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing bad," he assures quickly. "Just… I'll be based in England a lot. For simulator work and development."

"Oh," you say quietly, understanding dawning. You'd gotten used to having him here, in your space, in the paddock, in your life.

"Hey," he tilts your chin up. "It's not that far. And I'll still be at all the races. Plus," his lips quirk up, "I hear Nice has a pretty good airport."

You can't help but smile. "True. And I suppose I could be convinced to visit Grove occasionally."

"Only occasionally?" he teases.

"Well, I am very busy and important," you say loftily, making him laugh.

His eyes drop to your lips. "I'm sure you can save some time for me," he murmurs before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft and familiar, like coming home after a long trip. When you pull back, he's wearing that small smile that always makes your stomach flip.

You settle back against him, comfortable silence falling between you. "Talk to me about next season," he says eventually. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Honestly? I'm nervous," you admit. "Abu Dhabi was amazing, but what if it was just luck? What if I can't do it again?"

"The same way Suzuka was luck? And Singapore? And that insane qualifying in Baku?" Franco shifts to look at you properly, "You've been fast all season. Abu Dhabi just proved what everyone already knew."

"Smooth," you laugh, then remember something. "Oh! Speaking of next year - what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

"Nothing yet. Why?"

"Logan's throwing a party in Florida for his birthday. Want to come?"

Franco hesitates. "Won't that be…"

"What? Weird because you stole his seat?" you tease, making him groan.

"I thought we cleared that up months ago," he protests.

"We did, I just like messing with you," you grin. "Come on, it'll be fun. There'll be cake."

“You know my weakness,” he sighs dramatically. “Does this mean I get to kiss you at midnight?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be my midnight kiss,” you tease, even as you lean into him.

“No? Planning on kissing someone else?” he raises an eyebrow, hands settling on your waist.

“Maybe. Logan might have a hot friend…”

"Terrible," he murmurs against your lips. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you whisper back, just before he kisses you again.

When you finally break apart, he's already reaching for the remote. "Want to watch Qatar?"

You groan, but you're smiling. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he says confidently, pulling up the race highlights.

And as he starts his terrible commentary, making you laugh despite yourself, you think about how easy this is - whatever this is between you. No labels, no pressure, just… this.

Outside, Monaco continues to sparkle under the falling snow, but in here, with Franco's warmth beside you and his voice in your ear pointing out "that brilliant move you did in turn 4" for the hundredth time, you think maybe some things don't need defining to be perfect.

Plus, you already know who your midnight kiss is going to be. Not that you'll tell him that - his ego's big enough as it is.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,870 others

f1gossip Spotted: F1's power couple enjoying a day out in Monaco! Franco Colapinto and YN were seen strolling around today, looking very cozy! The pair, who have been subject to dating rumors seemed to have no interest in hiding their relationship anymore.

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username1 THE FUUUUUCK

username2 i don't like this..

username3 FRANCO GET AWAYYYY she's going to distract him

username4 why is this lowkey powerful

username5 THIS PLOT TWIST OMFG

username6 i thought they hated each other ??

username7 oh how the tables have turned

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Music pulses from Logan's Miami beach house as you and Franco make your way up the palm-lined driveway. The December air is surprisingly warm, fairy lights twinkling in every tree and reflecting off the pool visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your hand is loosely intertwined with Franco's, something that still gives you butterflies even after weeks of... whatever this is between you.

"Birthday boy!" you call out as Logan spots you from the entrance, where he's greeting guests in a ridiculous party hat and an even more ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

"If it isn't my best friend and the guy who stole my seat," Logan grins, pulling you into a tight hug before turning to Franco with an exaggerated suspicious look that quickly breaks into a genuine smile. "Good to see you, man."

"Happy birthday," Franco offers with a grin, accepting Logan's enthusiastic handshake-turned-hug. "Nice shirt."

"Right? YN said it was terrible, but what does she know about fashion?"

"Hey!" you protest, but you're laughing. "I have great taste."

Logan's eyes drift meaningfully to your joined hands. "Clearly," he smirks, making you blush and Franco chuckle. "Drinks are everywhere, food's by the pool, try not to fall in."

"That was one time," you mutter as Logan gets pulled away by more arriving guests.

Franco raises an eyebrow. "One time?"

"Don't ask. Come on, I need a drink before I tell you that story."

After getting drinks, you find yourself drifting between groups, Franco's hand a constant presence at the small of your back or linked with yours. It's nice, you think, not having to overthink every interaction, every touch. Here, away from the paddock and the cameras, you can just... be.

It's about an hour into the party when Logan finds you again, now sporting two party hats and what looks suspiciously like glitter on his cheek.

"Stinks! Just the person I wanted to see," he announces, dragging you away from where Franco is deep in conversation with Alex. "Back in five," he tells Franco with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Subtle," you comment as Logan leads you to the makeshift bar.

"Please, subtle went out the window when you two showed up holding hands like teenagers at prom," he snorts, mixing drinks with practiced ease. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't start," you warn, but you're fighting a smile.

"Me? Start something? Never," he puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I just find it interesting that the same person who spent three hours ranting to me about 'that arrogant Argentine who stole your seat' is now making heart eyes at him across my party."

"You're impossible."

"And you're happy," he says softly, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. "Like, really happy. I haven't seen you like this in… well, ever."

You look down at your drink, feeling your cheeks warm. "Yeah, well…"

"Hey," Logan nudges your shoulder. "It's a good thing. You deserve this, YN. Someone who gets you, who understands the pressure and the crazy schedule and still looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He doesn't-"

"He absolutely does. Trust me, I've been watching him watch you all night. It's disgustingly cute."

"I'm kind of scared, Logan," you look down at your hands nervously, "Six months ago, I hated him. And now I can't picture myself apart from him. It's all happening really fast and I'm not quite sure when everything shifted, but I feel like there's no going back now. And that's terrifies me."

"Stinks," Logan says gently, "you didn't hate him. You were hurt because of how everything went down with the seat, and you projected that onto him. I get being scared. This sport… it complicates things. But I've seen how he looks at you and how you look at him. It's okay to have feelings for him."

"How do you always know what to say?" you look up at him.

"Because I'm your best friend," he squeezes your shoulder. "Now go get your man. And please kiss him at midnight so I can win the bet with Alex."

"You bet on us?!"

"The whole grid did. I have fifty bucks riding on tonight!"

Later, as midnight approaches, you find yourself on the beach with Franco, fairy lights and stars twinkling above. Your conversation with Logan keeps playing in your mind, making you fidgety.

"You okay?" Franco asks softly, touching your arm.

"FIVE MINUTES!" someone shouts from the house.

"I have feelings for you," you blurt out. "Like, real feelings. And I know it's fast and complicated and I was horrible to you at first because I was hurt about the seat thing but then you were so nice and understanding and you brought me coffee after bad practice sessions and you defended me to the press and you make me laugh even when I'm trying to be mad and your accent gets thicker when you're tired which is unfairly adorable and-"

"THREE MINUTES!"

"-and sometimes I catch you looking at me in debriefs and it makes me forget what I'm saying and Oscar keeps making these knowing faces at us and I pretend to be annoyed but actually I kind of like it and-"

"SIXTY SECONDS!"

"-and I know this could complicate everything but I can't stop thinking about you and the way you smile when you see me in the morning and how you remember how I like my coffee and-"

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"-and maybe this is crazy but I really really like you and I know we should probably talk about what this means for next season but-"

"FOUR! THREE!"

"-and I just needed you to know-"

"TWO! ONE!"

Franco cuts off your rambling with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other pulls you closer. You melt into him as fireworks explode overhead, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the celebration around you.

When he pulls back, he's wearing that soft smile that always makes your stomach flip. "You're so cute when you rant."

"I don't rant," you protest weakly.

"Mi amor, you just spent ten minutes listing all the things you like about me, including my accent."

"Shut up."

He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want to be with you, YN. Officially, properly, no more undefined territory. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours. I want morning coffees and post-race celebrations and quiet moments like this. I want all of it, with you."

"Yeah?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah," he confirms, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I'm crazy about you, in case my terrible attempts at flirting haven't made that obvious."

"Your flirting isn't terrible."

He kisses you again, laughing against your lips. "So… is that a yes?"

You pretend to think about it. "I don't know, Logan's friend is looking pretty good tonight…"

"Terrible," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I like everything about you."

Your heart skips. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirms. "Even your terrible taste in coffee."

You laugh, bright and happy, before pulling him down for another kiss. Around you, the party continues, music and waves and distant fireworks creating a perfect backdrop to this moment. When you finally break apart, you're both breathless and smiling.

"Happy New Year," you murmur.

"The happiest," he agrees, and as he leans in again, you think that maybe some feelings are worth being scared of, especially when they lead to moments like this.

Plus, you just won Logan a bet. Not that you'll tell him that.

[dracoflaco]

mi favoritaaa

[cheftsunoda]

grid kids or cupids?— mv1

smau + written blurbs

max verstappen x !driver reader

2025 rookies x !platonic driver reader

your ex cheated. you dumped him. simple, clean, no tears—just a block, a race win, and an innocent instagram post. you are over it. but your rookies? not so much.

somehow, they’ve formed a secret matchmaking club and are now trying to set you up with half the grid. you know. max knows. (he’s your very smitten, very amused boyfriend.) but neither of you say a word.

because watching them try? is way too entertaining.

fc : luvstruck on ig (love a tattooed baddie as a face claim)

original request is here.

(a/n) : this was so much fun for me. i hope you all enjoy! love youuuu

—

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, isackhadjar and 4,550,700 others.

yourusername : his loss.

—

view 285,003 other comments.

username000 : did she finally leave that ugly demonic man?????

liked by yourusername

↳ username1 : oh thank god. we got our baddie back🙏🏻

liked by yourusername

yourbff : man just couldn’t handle having a baddie. the funny thing is he can’t watch the race without seeing your name or face 😏

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : he shall never know peace.

liked by yourbff

yoursister : i can hear the streets callin’🧏‍♀️

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : call me pluto cuz im alr in them

liked by yoursister

↳ yoursister : where are your children? its rare i make it here before they do.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : oh they will be here within like the next 10 seconds

liked by yoursister

↳ olliebearman : heyyyy so what’s his address? so i can send a hitman.

liked by yoursister, yourbff and yourusername

isackhadjar : if i see that man IT IS ON SIGHT.

liked by yourusername

lando : if i were him id never leave the house ever again, not just because of the 6 angry children at my door but just out of sheer embarrassment from what i fumbled.

liked by yourusername

kimi.antonelli : im small but i can bite ankles. he is a dead man. im going to kill him

liked by yourusername

gabrielbortoleto_ : yn i cannot handle these vague captions. pls answer the group chat. im spiraling and about to hire someone to do horrible things.

liked by yourusername

↳ isackhadjar : i feel sick to my stomach.

liked by yourusername

↳ olliebearman : i just threw up

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : i am pacing

liked by yourusername

↳ jackdoohan : just threw my phone across the room

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : guys, im fine. truly. it was for the best. i will call you all later!

↳ kimi.antonelli : yn did he hurt you?? i destroy his entire bloodline

↳ isackhadjar : stop lying. you are ignoring our texts. you never do.

↳ olliebearman : ok well he hurt you so we will just find him and kill him. its all taken care of

↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : cannot believe you are just ghosting your six emotionally unstable children.

username07 : the rookies falling apart in the comments while yn is unfazed is taking me OUT.

alex_albon : he peaked in high school and drives a toyota 💀 and now fumbled an f1 driver…him being him is punishment enough

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : i can’t with you 💀

oscarpiastri : absolutely no clue what happened but i instantly take your side. he is a dick.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : he fumbled so i could have you😇

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : mmm yes gimme (making grabby hands at you)

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

olliebearman : yn we are coming over

↳ kimi.antonelli : you let us in or we break the door down

↳ yourusername : im sure that breaking and entering is already somewhere on oliver’s crime list so lets not add to it. come on over kids.

↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : YAYYYYYYYY

↳ jackdoohan : on my way! (already outside of your apartment)

↳ isackhadjar : i have been sitting in the hallway since this was posted.

↳ yourusername : get in here🙄

username15 : these kids love their grid mum 🤧

—

flashback

You hadn’t expected the night to end in a breakup. But maybe you should’ve.

It started with his phone—left unlocked, screen facing up, buzzing like a warning. You hadn’t meant to look. But you did. A message preview lit up like a punch to the chest.

last night was the best;) miss you already xx

You didn’t open it. You didn’t need to. The way your stomach dropped told you everything you weren’t ready to admit.

You sat there for a few seconds, staring at the screen. His voice filtered in from the bathroom—some off-key humming, clueless and careless. It made you feel numb. Or maybe free. You weren’t sure which yet.

When he walked back in, grinning like he still had you, you held the phone up.

“You should really be more careful with your passwords,” you said calmly.

His expression dropped. “Babe, it’s not what it looks like—”

“It looks like you’re sleeping with someone who isn’t me.”

You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even let him finish his half-assed explanation. You just grabbed your heels, your pride, and your keys, and walked out the door like it owed you nothing.

You texted your girls on the way out.

club. now. i finally left the bum.

By midnight, you were wrapped in black mesh and revenge-red lipstick.

The bass vibrated through your bones, and the margarita in your hand burned in the best way. Your friends were already dancing like the world was ending, and for the first time in months, you felt alive.

And then you saw him. Max.

Standing at the bar with a half-finished drink and that usual unreadable expression—until he looked up and saw you.

His eyes flicked over you once, slow and deliberate, before his lips curled into the smallest smirk. He lifted his drink in silent acknowledgment, and you raised your brow like, Don’t test me. But he didn’t walk away.

No, he walked toward you—unhurried, completely sure of himself, like he’d been waiting for you to show up all night.

“You good?” he asked, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music.

You shrugged, grinning. “Better than ever.”

He studied you for a second longer. “You look free. Like you finally let go of that one thing that was dragging you down.”

You met his gaze head-on. “Maybe I did. But I don’t regret it.”

Something about your voice—clear, certain, maybe a little dangerous—made him nod slowly. Like he knew that version of you. Like he’d met her before in himself.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just offered his hand. “Come dance with me.”

And God help you, you said yes. One song bled into another, and suddenly you were dancing like your skin was on fire, like the world couldn’t touch you anymore. Max wasn’t just keeping up—he matched you. Step for step, stare for stare, like the two of you spoke the same language in a rhythm only you could hear.

You didn’t remember leaning in. You didn’t remember whose hand touched whose waist first.

But you do remember the way his lips brushed yours, soft and warm and slow at first—like he was asking a question. And how you answered with a kiss that tasted like tequila and freedom.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Max just looked at you with that same amused smirk and said, “Definitely his loss.”

You laughed. You weren’t just fine. You were starting over.

—

The sunlight hit your face before the memory did. Warm. Gentle. Relentless.

You blinked a few times, groggy and still wrapped in that heavy limbed softness that comes from too many drinks and not enough regrets. The room smelled faintly of something distinctly Max—clean, expensive, and just a little smug.

You rolled over. He was already awake.

Lying there, one arm folded behind his head, chest bare, the sheets dangerously low on his hips. His other hand held his phone, which he casually tossed aside when he noticed you looking.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough, sleepy.

You groaned into the pillow. “Tell me we didn’t do something stupid.”

Max tilted his head. “Define stupid.”

Your eyes narrowed. He smiled.

“We danced,” he said. “You kissed me. Twice. And then you tried to start a debate about tire compounds in the elevator.”

You winced. “Sounds like me.”

He laughed under his breath, that low rumble sending a shiver down your spine.

“But no,” he added, softer this time. “You were upset. So I brought you back here. You changed into my shirt, stole all the covers, and fell asleep with your face in my shoulder.”

You blinked. “I didn’t kiss you again?”

He hesitated. “You almost did. Then you said something about how ‘this doesn’t count when you’re drunk’ and knocked out cold.”

You groaned again. “God. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, without missing a beat. “It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

You looked over at him, eyes soft. “You sure? I was kind of a mess.”

Max shrugged. “You were real. That’s what I want to see.”

For a second, the air stilled between you. No jokes. No tension. Just quiet understanding. You’d kissed him the night before thinking it was a one time thing—sparked by adrenaline, tequila, and heartbreak. But lying here now, in his bed, wearing his shirt and breathing in his space.

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “So… breakfast?”

You blinked. “You’re offering to feed me now?”

“I’m offering to bribe you with pancakes so you don’t ghost me later.”

You smirked, climbing out of bed and grabbing your phone.

“I don’t ghost,” you said, pausing by the door. “But fair warning—once I post a thirst trap, our children are going to lose their minds.”

Max grinned, already reaching for his shirt. “Perfect. Let them panic.”

And as you headed to the bathroom, still wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a smirk, you realized something—You really, really didn’t miss your ex.

—

present day

It’s been a few weeks since that night. Since tequila and heartbreak and Max Verstappen.

You’ve seen him a few times since then—quiet dinners in hotel rooms, lingering handholds between debriefs, shared glances across the paddock that made your stomach flip like a rookie on their debut lap. It’s easy, exciting, safe in the strangest way. No pressure, no labels.

And somehow, for once, no noise. Just the two of you, figuring it out behind closed doors. Which is exactly why you should’ve known that post would send the entire grid into DEFCON 1. Because you barely have time to finish brushing your teeth when it sounds like your whole front door is being broken down.

You freeze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth. Then—

DING DING DING DING.

“YN OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW.”

You peek through the peephole. And there they are. All six of them. Kimi. Ollie. Isack. Jack. Franco. Gabriel.

Every last one of them in complete disarray. Jack’s hair is still wet. Gabriel’s holding a box of oreo’s, one stuffed into his mouth. Franco has absolutely no shoes on.

You blink. “Good morning?”

“You can’t just post that and disappear,” Ollie blurts.

“Disrespectful,” Franco agrees. “Honestly rude.”

“You owe us answers,” Jack adds, pushing inside like this is a crime scene. “Did he cheat? Did you dump him? Do I need to start training for violence?”

“I’m already in shape for violence,” Isack mutters.

“I brought Oreo’s,” Gabriel says, holding them up as a gift of peace.

Kimi just crosses his arms and stares you down. “What happened.”

You close the door behind them and sigh.

“Nothing crazy,” you say, voice steady. “I found out he wasn’t who I thought he was. So I ended it.”

You head to the kitchen and start making coffee. Like this isn’t the opening scene of a Netflix special where the 2025 F1 Rookies begin a manhunt.

“But… are you okay?” Franco asks gently.

You turn and smile. “Honestly? I’m great. It’s probably the healthiest decision I’ve made in years.”

Kimi leans against the counter. “You don’t have to be fine right now, you know.”

You sip your coffee and shrug. “I am fine. Genuinely. I don’t miss him. There’s nothing to cry over.”

There’s a beat of silence. Six sets of eyes narrow, exchanging looks like they’ve rehearsed this. You can feel the shift in the air. The whisper of an unspoken plan forming. But no one says it. No one says “we’re going to find you someone better.” No one says “we’ve already made a list.”

Instead, Gabriel sits beside you. “Okay. Well, if you’re fine… we’re still staying for brunch.”

“Obviously,” Franco says.

“Non-negotiable,” Isack adds.

Ollie leans forward, fake-casual. “So… no one new in the picture yet?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you taking attendance for my love life now?”

He shrugs. “Just making conversation.”

You laugh. “Well, no. There’s nothing to report. I’m enjoying being single.”

Half-true. You take another sip of coffee and hide your smirk. They all nod slowly. Quiet. Suspicious. Too quiet.

Gabriel’s already texting someone under the table. Jack’s typing into his Notes app. Franco looks like he’s trying to remember every eligible man on the grid. Kimi is definitely plotting a background check. You say nothing.

Because letting them believe you’re freshly single, emotionally vulnerable, and in need of saving? Is way too fun to correct.

—

The brunch was meant to be a quick thing. A little comfort, a little check-in, maybe a pastry or two.

But somewhere between the third round of pancakes and Kimi yelling at Jack for putting ketchup on eggs, it turned into something else.

You knew you were doomed the moment Ollie declared, mouth full of toast.

“You’re not allowed to be alone today. We’re going with you.”

You’d laughed. Thought it was a joke. But now it’s two hours later, and they’re all still here. You walk into the training facility like usual, hoodie up, bag slung over your shoulder, calm and collected. Behind you? Six men trailing in a chaotic single file like toddlers on a leash.

Gabriel’s rapidly texting on his phone. Franco’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Jack’s humming. Isack is trying to arm wrestle Kimi mid walk. Ollie keeps speed walking ahead of you, then backpedaling like a mall cop on edge.

“You guys don’t actually have to stay,” you say for the fifth time, mildly exasperated.

“Yes, we do,” Ollie insists. “What if your ex tries to talk to you again?”

“I blocked him.”

“What if he makes a burner account?”

“I blocked five burner accounts.”

Kimi snorts. “I told you she’s too smart for him.”

Isack stretches like he’s preparing for a UFC match. “Still. You’re emotionally delicate right now.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m emotionally fine.”

“She’s in denial,” Jack whispers. “Classic phase two.”

You groan, swiping your pass at the entrance and holding the door open for your band of feral ducklings.

—

You’re halfway through your warm-up laps when it happens. You jog around the corner of the facility and pass by a small group of guys—some local trainers and junior athletes. You nod politely at them, earbuds in, barely noticing.

But they notice you. One of them—tall, maybe twenty-five—stares for a second too long. Not creepy. Just curious. And apparently, that’s enough to start World War III. Because from across the room, you hear a voice yell.

“HEY. EYES UP, BRO. THAT’S MY MOM.”

You stop in your tracks. Spin around. Ollie is storming toward the guy with a hand on his chest like he’s about to deliver the sermon of the year.

The poor guy looks so confused. “I—what?”

“She’s a national treasure,” Ollie says, dead serious. “You don’t ogle national treasures.”

You jog back over, cheeks already burning from embarrassment. “Ollie. He just wanted an autograph.”

“No he didn’t.”

“Yes. He’s holding a pen.”

The guy timidly raises his hand. “I just wanted to say hi. I’m a fan.”

Ollie glares. You sigh and pat the fan on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I appreciate it.”

Behind you, Isack leans toward Franco. “Should we start screening everyone she interacts with?”

“Already doing it,” Franco says, typing something into his phone. “I have a form.”

—

By mid-afternoon, they’ve followed you to recovery. Then to the simulator. Then back to your place, where they claim they’re “just checking your locks.” Kimi installs a door camera. Jack offers to sleep on your couch. Gabriel keeps offering to cook for you.

Every time you so much as look at your phone, someone leans over your shoulder.

Ollie squints, head on my shoulder. “Who’s that?”

You sigh and chuckle. “My nutritionist.”

Franco looks up at you. “Okay. What’s his intention?”

”My nutrition.”

Eventually, you collapse onto the couch, arms folded, finally fed up.

“Guys,” you say flatly, “I’m not a baby deer in a storm. I am fine. No one needs to be screened. I don’t need a 24-hour security team. And I definitely don’t need—”

Ding. Your phone lights up. A message from Max.

You alive or are they still holding you hostage?

You smile at the screen—just a little. Just enough for Isack to notice.

He leans forward. “Who was that.”

“Just… a friend.”

Six heads whip around.

“WHO.”

You roll your eyes and stand. “I’m going to shower. Please, for the love of god, do not follow me.”

They groan like they’re being abandoned on a battlefield. And as you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear Jack whisper.

“We need to escalate. Operation Boyfriend starts now.”

—

f1gossipgirls

785,090 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Mercedes driver YN LN made her first paddock appearance since her rumored breakup — and if anyone’s heartbroken, it’s definitely not her. Looking radiant and unbothered, she was welcomed with a big hug from teammate Kimi Antonelli and closely tailed by Isack Hadjar, who appeared glued to her side all day.

The real kicker? Her full squad of rookie ducklings followed her everywhere — from the garage to the grid walk to the drivers parade, forming what can only be described as a personal security detail (or cult? unclear). But we love this new and radiant Grid Mum! 

—

view 185,090 other comments.

username000 : kimi hugging her like a baby koala was not on my 2025 bingo card but i’ll take it

username00 : ollie: “she doesn’t need us” also ollie: breathing down the neck of anyone who looks at her for more than 0.2 seconds 😭

username0 : franco, gabriel, jack, ollie, kimi, and isack acting like sons to a woman only a few years older than them… peak formula 1 content

username1 : Grid Mum is such an accurate title like they would all FOLLOW HER INTO BATTLE 😭

username5 : i’ve never been more proud of a woman i’ve never met in my LIFE. she won. she’s glowing. she has six rookies as her army. iconic behavior only.

—

The date with Carlos was scheduled with precision.

Ollie booked the restaurant himself, despite forgetting to ask whether you were allergic to seafood. Isack made a shared Google Doc of outfit suggestions. Franco literally coached Carlos on what not to say during the car ride there. Gabriel told you to “just act natural,” which was rich coming from someone who panics ordering coffee.

Carlos, for his part, handled it like a champ.

“You know they sent me a PDF,” he tells you, raising an eyebrow as the waiter pours wine.

You blink. “A PDF?”

He nods, fighting a smile. “Title was ‘So You Think You Can Date YN.’”

You nearly choke on your water. “I swear to God.”

He grins. “Very detailed. They had a whole section on things not to mention. Like your ex. Or 2019 qualifying in Monaco.”

“Fair,” you say, smirking.

To his credit, Carlos is very good at this. Charming, confident, a little teasing, but never pushy. He asks about your training, your favorite circuits, the meaning behind the small tattoo on your wrist. He compliments your eyes like he means it.

And for a second, you let yourself lean into it. Until you spot them. Behind Carlos, tucked into a booth near the corner?

The Ducklings.

Poorly disguised in sunglasses, hoodies, and baseball caps—like a weird boyband on the run.

Jack has a menu held upside down. Gabriel is clearly filming on his phone. Ollie is wearing a fake moustache. Franco waves when you make eye contact. Kimi sits with his arms crossed like a bodyguard. And Isack’s just… staring at Carlos. Like he wants to  wrestle him across the table.

You bite back a laugh. Carlos follows your gaze, glancing over his shoulder. He turns back, grinning.

“Should we tell them I saw them an hour ago?”

“No,” you say, sipping your wine. “Let them have their fun.”

He raises his glass. “To the worst spies in F1 history.”

—

You don’t know how they convinced Pierre to do this. Maybe it was Franco’s charm. Maybe it was the rookie group chat descending into madness after “Carlos Date Day.” Or maybe Pierre’s just here for the chaos, as always.

Either way, here you are. Dress. Dinner. Dim lighting. And Pierre, in an offensively good shirt, holding out a chair like he was born for this.

“I must say,” he smirks, “the moment they approached me with the idea, I said finally. Someone’s letting me take the prettiest driver on the grid out.”

You snort. “Do you use that line often?”

He grins, absolutely unapologetic. “Only when it’s true.”

You sit, trying not to smile too much. The restaurant is all low lighting and flickering candles—Pierre’s choice, obviously. He orders a bottle of wine in French, and the waiter actually blushes. You already regret letting Franco be in charge of the location.

“So,” you say, narrowing your eyes playfully, “what did the Ducklings promise you?”

“Ah,” he leans back dramatically, “they said if I sweep you off your feet, I get Kimi’s sim time for the month.”

You blink. “That’s… weirdly generous.”

“I know.” He raises his glass. “They’re getting desperate.”

You clink. “They are insane.”

“Insanely devoted to you,” he corrects.

You pause. Let that sit. Because he’s not wrong. And that’s when you spot them. The Ducklings. At it again.

Ollie and Isack behind the wine rack. Kimi pretending to be a server with an apron and a scowl. Jack crouching behind a decorative plant that is way too small. Gabriel and Franco sitting two tables over with fake menus covering their faces, whispering like spies.

You sigh into your wine. “They are so bad at hiding.”

Pierre glances over, raises an eyebrow, and smirks. “Should we give them something to talk about?”

You lean forward, amused. “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just raises a brow and slowly reaches across the table to take your hand, smooth and steady. In the background, someone gasps audibly. Definitely Isack. Pierre doesn’t flinch.

“They need to believe I’m a threat,” he says lowly, thumb brushing your knuckles. “Otherwise, what’s the fun?”

You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m French,” he says with a wink. “Same thing.”

—

over with the rookies…

“HE’S HOLDING HER HAND. HE’S HOLDING HER HAND.” Ollie panics into his little earpiece.

Isack sighs. “Deploying emotional damage protocol. Permission to interfere?”

Kimi sets the glass of water down at the table he is pretending to serve. “Negative. We observe. We do not assassinate.”

Gabriel smiles from behind the menu. “She just looks so pretty. I wouldn’t be able to let go either.”

Franco starts panicking and fanning himself with said menu. “Guys. She’s smiling.”

Jack puts his head down. “It’s Carlos all over again. This is a spiral.”

Ollie face palms. “I told you we should’ve gone with Alex first. He would’ve been soft. Safe. Pierre has an agenda.”

—

Pierre’s still holding your hand when you laugh—genuine and loud and a little tipsy. The date has been fun, even if it feels like an elaborate school play. He’s charming, flirty, just the right amount of dangerous. But still…

Not the one who sent you a photo of your coffee order this morning. Not the one who smirks every time the rookies panic. Not the one who hasn’t stopped texting you versions of “good luck surviving them” all day.

You finish dessert—chocolate tart and rookie glares—and stand with Pierre as the waiter brings the bill. He leans close, lips brushing your cheek.

“Merci, chérie,” he murmurs, warm and quiet. “This was fun.”

And it was. But the second you step outside and the rookies swarm you, dramatic as ever—

Ollie checks you over quickly, holding your arms. “ARE YOU OKAY? DID HE POISON YOU WITH COMPLIMENTS?”

Isack rushes over, out of breath. “DO YOU HAVE EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH??”

Gabriel reaches up and brushes your hair. “Did he touch your hair???”

You just laugh, shrugging them off as you walk to the car. Because even though Pierre was perfect on paper— He wasn’t Max. And maybe the rookies haven’t figured it out yet.

—

You were promised a casual night.

“Low pressure,” Gabriel said.

“Light-hearted,” Jack promised.

“Just Alex,” Franco winked. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words.  Because ten minutes into sitting across from Alex Albon at a cozy Thai restaurant — one he picked himself — you clock all six rookies sitting in a booth across the room in matching black hoodies like they’re in a rogue choir.

Alex leans in, smiling wide as he watches you clock them. “So. We’re ignoring the Secret Service detail?”

“Apparently,” you deadpan. “Their idea of ‘stealth’ is coordinated outfits and Jack holding a menu upside down.”

Alex chuckles, offering you a piece of spring roll with his chopsticks. “I’ll admit, I kind of love the chaos. Makes me feel like I’m in a sitcom.”

You grin, accepting it. “Is this their idea of soft-launching us?”

“Please,” Alex says, mock offended. “If I was soft-launching you, it’d be on a boat, golden hour lighting, maybe a quirky caption.”

You laugh out loud. Truth be told, this is the most normal of the “dates” so far. Alex is sweet, calm, and effortlessly funny. He talks to you like you’ve known each other for years. No pressure, no forced charm. Just vibing over pad see ew and Thai iced teas. Still, something’s… off. Not with him, exactly. Just… something.

—

duckling commentary…

Ollie whispers lowly. “Why is she laughing that hard? What did he say? I need a transcript.”

Isack squints. “She looks relaxed. TOO relaxed.”

Kimi shrugs. “He’s got soft energy. I’m not threatened.”

Franco sighs. “But what if she likes soft energy.”

Gabriel with a mouth full. “I like Alex. He’s soft. Like tofu.”

Jack moves the menu from his face. “I will literally flip this table if he touches her hand.”

—

back to you and mr. albon…

“You know,” Alex says, mid-bite, “I told them this was ridiculous. I said, ‘She’s not looking for someone. She’s got that look in her eye like she already found someone and hasn’t told them yet.’”

You go still.

He looks up at you. “Sorry—was that too much?”

You stare at him for a second.

And then: “No. That was… very on point.”

Alex smiles, a little softer now. “It’s not me, is it?”

You shake your head slowly. “No.”

He sits back, letting out a small breath. “Didn’t think so. Just wanted to be sure before I told Isack to stop plotting date number four.”

You laugh. Like full body laugh.

“God, they’re so intense.”

“They’re obsessed with you,” Alex says easily. “I get it. You’re kind of their mum. But also their queen. Their general. Their—”

“Duck wrangler.”

“Exactly.”

You sip your drink. “You’re handling this well.”

“I like being a decoy,” Alex shrugs. “Gives me a front row seat to the Max Verstappen Situation.”

You choke. “The what?”

He smirks. “Oh, come on. You don’t think we all saw him volunteer for the draft room? He showed up like he’d already won.”

You press your lips together. “It’s… complicated.”

“Is it?” Alex grins. “Because I think the only people who haven’t figured it out are the rookies. And honestly? I’m not telling them. Watching this slow unraveling is the best thing to happen to the paddock since Pierre got stuck in that bathroom in Baku.”

—

You and Alex step out of the restaurant into the night air, the six rookies immediately materializing from inside.

Isack approaches quickly. “Rate the date. Out of 10. Be honest.”

Ollie checks you over, again. “Did he hold you?”

Kimi crosses his arms. “I brought pepper spray in case things got weird.”

Gabriel sighs dramatically. “Alex, are you in love with her?”

Jack stares at you. “Was it mid?? Be real.”

Franco stares down Alex. “You better not hurt her or I’ll flatten you on the sidewalk.”

Alex just throws his hands up. “Guys. I’m literally the safe option. You picked me for vibe control.”

—

The place is quiet. Max picked a rooftop bar just outside the city — warm lights, open air, panoramic views, and most importantly—no cameras. Well. Except the ones hidden behind a concrete planter across the deck. You glance toward it and spot the very obvious outline of Ollie’s curly hair. You don’t even say anything. Max sees it too. He smirks.

“They really don’t know how to blend in, huh?”

“Nope.”

“I think he is wearing the fake mustache again.”

“I give them points for commitment.”

You clink your glasses together — you with a ginger beer, Max with something dark and still half-ignored — and settle into the kind of silence that feels earned, not awkward. The breeze lifts your hair slightly. His eyes follow the movement, just for a second.

“You’ve been humoring them,” he says after a while.

You glance at him. “You’ve been letting them spiral.”

He grins. “I don’t intervene in things I already won.”

Your heart does a thing. You sip your drink to cover it.

—

meanwhile at the rookie watchtower…

Jack smiles, looking satisfied. “Okay, we’re officially in the final boss round.”

Isack eyes the both of you. “Do we think he’s actually playing the game or just… winning by default?”

Gabriel shrugs. “He’s not even trying to flirt and it’s working. I hate it here.”

Ollie squints at Max. “He’s got that smug ‘I already kissed her’ look—”

Franco shrieks. “Wait. Has he???”

Kimi eyes all of the boys. “Do we interfere if tongues happen.”

All of them erupt. “YES.”

—

back with you and maxie…

Back at the table, Max leans forward slightly, eyes on you like he’s choosing every word carefully.

“I’m glad you let them do this.”

“Yeah?”

“Gave me a front-row seat to your smile. And their chaos. Win-win.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what’s your plan? You know they’re watching.”

He shrugs. “Not here to impress them.”

“Oh?”

Max sets his drink down.

“I’m here to kiss you in front of them and end this game.”

You go still. Heart? Racing.

“You’re serious.”

He stands. Offers his hand. You take it. And then he pulls you in gently, tilting your chin up just enough, and kisses you like it’s not even a question anymore. Like it never was. Warm. Certain. Slow. Soft. And behind you—

“OH MY GOD.”

“THAT’S ILLEGAL.”

“THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES.”

You don’t even break the kiss until Max pulls back with a laugh, turning just slightly toward the human pile of rookies currently losing their minds behind a planter.

His arm stays looped around your waist.

“That’s against the rules!” Ollie yells again, hands flailing.

Max smirks. Shrugs.

“I don’t follow rules,” he says simply, “when she’s already mine.”

Jack screams into a napkin. 

Franco blinks in disbelief. “HE SAID WHAT—”

Isack looks like he is going to faint. “I NEED TO SIT DOWN.”

Gabriel clutching his chest. “I think I just blacked out.”

Kimi smirked. “I knew it. I KNEW IT.”

Ollie crumbles quickly. “They made us schedule a date with Alex when she was already WITH HIM—”

You turn toward Max, cheeks warm, heart light, still half-shocked and entirely melted.

“That was… dramatic.”

“Worth it.”

“You really planned to one-up the rookies?”

He grins. “No. I planned to end the game before they tried to match you with Lando.”

You laugh and kiss him again — brief, bright, completely yours. Alongside the two of you, six ducklings begin planning a joint wedding speech.

—

maxverstappen1

liked by gabrielbortoleto_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and 5,505,023 others.

maxverstappen1 : grid mom and dad making it official. love you, schat❤️

tagged : yourusername

—

view 250,000 other comments.

gabrielbortoleto_ : i feel like i found out santa isn’t real but also found out my parents are canceling the divorce on the same day.

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↳ yourusername : idek what that means but okay my little ducky.

↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : im betrayed but overjoyed

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francolapinto : mama y papa

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olliebearman : we scheduled dates. we made color-coded spreadsheets. we googled how to flirt respectfully. AND YOU WERE ALREADY KISSING.

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↳ isackhadjar : i was ready to flatten pierre with my car for this woman. AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME???

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↳ jackdoohan : we booked a RESTAURANT. i WORE A COLLARED SHIRT. i told a waiter “it’s her big day.” for WHAT.

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↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : i was her emotional support water bottle holder. do you know how much responsibility that is???

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↳ kimi.antonelli : i knew. i always knew. but i let the others spiral because it was funny.

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↳ olliebearman : don’t even talk. i wrote her a DATING PROFILE. with bullet points.

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↳ isackhadjar : they KISSED ON THE DATE I WAS HIDING BEHIND A PLANT FOR. i need financial compensation.

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↳ olliebearman : HEY. i wore that itchy ass mustache four dates in a ROW.

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↳ yourusername : i would trust you all with my life. just not my love life ❤️

—

bonus scene!

The checkered flag waves. You don’t even hear the roar of the crowd at first — not over the static-crackling voice of your race engineer, screaming so loud he’s probably broken something in the garage.

“P1! YN, that’s P1 — you did it! YOU BLOODY DID IT!”

You’re not breathing. Your hands are shaking around the wheel, your visor fogged slightly with heat and adrenaline. You let out a noise — somewhere between a yell and a laugh and a sob — and punch the air so hard you might’ve dislocated something. And then another voice cuts in. Kimi. Completely unprofessional. Totally euphoric.  “GRID MOM WINS. THE GRID MOM WON!!!”

You let out a laugh, heart racing, vision blurring. Your car rolls over the finish line and onto the cooldown lap, your fingers white-knuckled around the wheel.

By the time you’re climbing out of the car, the world is already screaming. Fans at the fence chant your name. The Mercedes crew is piling over the pit wall like lunatics.

You tear your helmet off and throw your arms in the air. You’ve barely taken a full breath when you’re tackled from the side — Kimi, jumping on you like a golden retriever with too much kinetic energy.

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU,” he yells, muffled by your shoulder.

“You got your first podium!” you laugh, hugging him just as tightly.

“And YOU WON. So, respectfully — I will get in line, this is your moment.”

He lets you go with one last enthusiastic pat on the back, and that’s when you see him.

Max. Standing a few paces away, helmet off, hair messy, eyes only on you.

The way he looks at you? Like you painted the sky.

He doesn’t rush you. Just walks forward with that calm, smug patience he always has — but when you meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around his neck and laughing into his shoulder, he lifts you slightly off the ground without hesitation.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says softly into your hair.

You pull back just enough to see his face. “Still think you let me win?”

He grins. “Only because you’re hot.”

The champagne sprays. The flashbulbs explode. The crowd is still roaring when Max steps off his podium block, strides across to you — and kisses you. It's not subtle. It's not quiet. It's a hard launch in high definition. He pulls back only slightly, curls his arm around your waist. Your eyes go wide, but you're already smiling. Laughing, even. You press your forehead to his and exhale one word through your grin.

“Dramatic.”

“Correct.”

But before either of you can bask in it for too long— CHAOS.

Suddenly, there’s yelling. Sprinting. A commotion behind the barriers. And then— A ROOKIE STAMPEDE.

Ollie is first. He launches himself up the side of the podium steps like it’s the final stage of Ninja Warrior. Franco and Gabriel follow, scaling like climbers on caffeine.

Jack does a running leap. Isack vaults the barrier with no regard for ankle safety. And Kimi, of course, simply walks up — nods at the FIA official like this is normal, and joins the crowd. They pile onto the podium. No one stops them. Security gives up. Fans are shrieking.

Franco hugs your waist and yells, “MY MOM WON!!”

Jack flings an arm around Max and shouts, “DAD HARD LAUNCHED! HISTORY HAS BEEN MADE!”

Ollie collapses onto the floor of the podium and moans, “I feel so emotionally unsafe right now, but I’m also so proud.”

Gabriel is taking selfies mid-hug.Isack is clinging to your arm like it’s the last flotation device on the Titanic.

Kimi sighed happily. “It was time. The people needed to know.”

And in the middle of it all, Max just throws an arm around your shoulders and says with a completely straight face. “These are our children now.”

—

Later that night, Max throws his phone on the hotel bed and flops down beside you, still smiling.

“I think we broke the Internet,” you murmur.

“I think we adopted six grown men.”

You laugh. “Worth it.”

He turns his head, grinning. “They love you, you know.”

“I know.”

You pause. “They love us.”

He kisses you again — soft this time, slow — and the world outside fades. For now, it’s just the two of you. And the six rookies already planning family brunch in the group chat.

—

[dracoflaco]

this is too sweet jdhsjshsjs

[rex-rambles]

➤ THE (OTHER) COSTUME | LANDO NORRIS

pairing: lando norris x single mom!reader

summary: after lando surprises your son for his birthday, you decide to surprise him by dressing up for silverstone, only this time, it's not spider-man: milo dresses up like lando himself. 

wc: 7.6 k

warnings: none!

authors note: okay so the love 'the costume' has received has been wild?? y'all are fantastic

➤ MASTERLIST - part one

You wish orange were a more common colour for clothes. After all, it could be bright and colourful or muted and rusty, a nice warm tone to add to your everyday wardrobe. 

It totally didn't have anything to do with the fact that you and Milo had nothing to wear to Lando's race next week.

Not remotely.

"You could dress like a car?" Milo says, running his hands along a display of dress pants, much to the disdain of the shopping attendant. 

"We want to wear Lando's team colours, silly." Despite all the time you had spent with the driver, you had yet to have a real piece of McLaren merch, or Lando's, or anything even remotely F1 related. If Lando were currently in England, you fantasize about the idea that you could call him up and ask him to borrow something of his, a daydream of wearing something that he'd worn before. 

It's the kind of thought that makes you blush in the middle of the store, the ridiculousness of it all getting to you. It's a childish thing, the sort of act a teen would blush over, but you couldn't help it. Lando had returned you to a youthful, bubbly sort of romance that you had thought you'd never get the chance to experience again. Well, you hope it's a romance, at least, and not just another doomed infatuation.

After all, it was hard to call something a romance when you hadn't seen the man in two weeks.

Lando hadn't been back to England since the birthday party, which was expected of someone like an F1 driver. A race in Austria, a movie premiere in New York. You, on the other hand, were a single mom halfway across the world. You had kissed him, sure, but that wasn't anything concrete. You knew how whirlwind romances could end, what those quick kisses could turn into. 

The evidence of it was currently trying to sneak his way into a rack of coats. "Milo, I don't think we're finding anything in there." You hold out your hand, and he happily runs to grab it. "How about we try another store?" 

"Won't Mr. Norris have things for us at the race?" He asks as you lead him out of the store, and it's a fair question. Lando certainly could surprise you with merch, but seeing as you have a week until the race, and that he's off travelling the world with far more important people, getting McLaren hats and shirts for you and Milo wouldn't be top of his list. 

Well, perhaps not for you. After all, despite the connection you hoped to grow with the racer, it was obvious he already loved Milo. He'd come dressed as Spider-Man, got Milo gifts, babysat when he could, hell, he was paying for you to go to Silverstone!

Really, the fact that he kissed you almost takes a back burner to just how involved he is in Milo's life. So, who's to say he wouldn't be thoughtful enough to remember merch?

Then, just as soon as the thought arises, it leaves a strange feeling in your stomach. Lando was an unfathomably wealthy person, compared to your situation. How could you possibly want more?

Oh, you don't have something orange to wear to support him, so you need whatever ridiculously expensive merch he has? 

You don't want him for his money, and more than anything, you don't want him to think you're ungrateful. Milo tugs at your hand, breaking you out of your thoughts, and he grins so wide that for a moment, you forget what you were thinking of entirely. "Mum, look!" He says, pointing to a charity shop. "A race suit!" 

And, because maybe miracles do happen, or some parent was cleaning out their kids' clothes, there's an old Lightning-McQueen race suit costume slung over the back of a chair in the shop's display, with a five-pound note sticker attached to it.

All you need now, you think, is some black dye, some orange paint, and some white paint markers. 

-

Lando makes it exactly three weeks before he cracks. Well, that's not exactly true. He sends you an Instagram reel on Wednesday night, questions about hotel preferences on Saturday morning, train times the following Tuesday. 

However, he hadn't talked about the party, or the aftermath, or the fact that he kissed you at all, and it was sort of driving him mad. He was given a glimpse of the domestic life, of what his days could look like off the road and off the track, and it was eating him away inside. 

How do you not fall in love like that? 

Well, love might be a strong word, but Lando was feeling things for you he'd never felt this fully before, and he had no way of knowing if that was a pity kiss, or a kiss with no strings attached, or if maybe, just maybe, you did like him back, and Lando had to consider a lot of things about his future if you did. 

However, none of that mattered right now, because Lando was slightly tipsy, and he just really, really wanted to see your face. FaceTime rings twice before you pick up, looking at him rather confused. "Lando? Everything alright?" 

"M' perfect." He says, sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, loosening the tie around his neck. "You?" 

"I'm doing alright," You say with a laugh, and as Lando squints down at his phone, he realizes you have a streak of orange paint near your chin. "Busy getting ready for the race this weekend." 

"Is that Mr. Norris?" Lando hears faintly, and he perks up instantly. 

"Milo! Can I say hi?" You pause, glancing down to where he imagines Milo stands by you, and something stutters in his chest. Did he do something wrong? 

Do you not want him to see Milo? 

He fully well could've overstepped some boundaries, tucking you both in like that, reading, invading your personal space. It had felt right for Lando to have been part of that equation, but it didn't mean-"You can, but you're not allowed to say anything. It's a surprise." 

"A surprise? For me?" With a slowly easing heart, you pass off the phone, and Lando laughs so hard he has to fall back on the bed. 

Milo is just covered in orange paint. It's on his hands, smudged on his face, splattered on an old t-shirt he's wearing. It was very obviously a surprise for the race, probably a sign, he thinks, and he takes screenshots as he stares at Milo grinning at him. "Hello, Mr. Norris!" 

"Hey, you muppet. Did you get into some paint?" Milo nods, turning to show him something, and your hand covers the camera. "Aw, come on!" 

"It's a surprise, sweetheart." Lando knows you're talking to Milo, not him, but god, does the name do things to his insides. "You can't show him yet." 

"Oh," Milo says, as his face returns to the camera. "Mum says you can't see." 

"I'll just have to wait. You excited for the race?" Milo nods excitedly, once again trying to show the camera something, but your hand covers it once more as you laugh, an unexpected sound. 

"Milo, what did I just say?" 

"I was just going to show how excited I am! Here." Milo steps back from the camera, and he spreads his arms super wide. Rather than focusing on the cute moment, however, Lando's gaze drifts to the background of Milo's bedroom. His McLaren Lego car box is proudly on display, however, all the Spider-Man decor is not. Or, at least some things were missing from when he tucked Milo and you in. Not that he memorized the room, or anything, but simply that he'd been replaying that memory in his head so often, it felt like he knew what the decorations should be.

"Wow, that's pretty exciting." He says, tuning back into the conversation. When you flip the camera around to show yourself, you immediately catch the furrow in Lando's brow. 

He's sure it's just from you being attentive to your own child's needs, but something is telling in the way that, just from looking at him, you know what he's thinking. "Everything alright?" 

"Where's all the Spider-Man stuff?" It couldn't have been long enough that Milo had changed interests. Sure, kids go through different interests, but Lando had got Milo web shooters, he had posters on his walls, comic books on the shelves. Now, it was oddly bare, and Lando's immediate first thought, his first fear, is that you could be moving, and he refuses to allow it to take root in his brain. 

You would have a nice and simple and not scary explanation. You had to. "He's going through a bit of a phase, right now." You explain, turning the camera back to Milo, who is still grinning up at you, gap-toothed and all. "Milo, who's your favourite hero?" 

And there, Milo says the one sentence that makes Lando wonder if he should abandon everything to fly home early just for you, and more importantly, just for Milo: "Mr. Norris!" 

"Me?" Lando squawks out, words caught in his throat. "But I'm not a hero." 

"Well, you are in this house." You'd just shot him in the heart, he thinks. He can't imagine an appropriate response, just staring at Milo, who keeps grinning. In this house, which means Milo and you. Lando was his favourite hero now, for reasons even Lando didn't quite understand. Sure, he was a F1 star, a celebrity, but he wasn't anything important. He wasn't a hero, by any means, but with Milo staring at him like that? He just might believe it. "He wants to do another birthday party Lando-themed." 

"Can Milo hear me right now?" You shake your head, and Lando dramatically throws an arm over his face, trying to cover his growing blush and crack a joke, because if he doesn't, he might cry. "So I dressed up for nothing?" 

"Lando!" You're laughing in unison now, and he wishes, above anything, that it wasn't just over the phone. Seeing you in person might ease the ache in his heart or the anxiety growing in his head. Honestly, it could just make it all ten times worse, but all Lando can think is that you had to like him back. Even if there were concerns of how Milo might fit into the equation, or his racing career, or your own past, you had to.

He was a hero in your household, anyway. 

Which meant he might be a hero to you, and really, Lando would give anything to be that knight in shining armour, whisking you away to experience the finer things in life, to give you and Milo the happiness you deserve. 

He just sort of has to get off of Facetime and into your life to make it happen. 

-

"Mum," Milo whispers up to you, "Why are they taking our picture?" 

The cameras flash around you as you enter the Silverstone track, however, even as your heart rate picks up, and the fear sets in of what Lando's world means, you know exactly why the cameras are flashing: because a little Lando Norris just walked in, decked out in a little McLaren racesuit, made as accurately as you could. "Because they love your costume, sweetheart." 

"I made it myself." Milo then says up to one of the photographers as you pass. "Mum helped." 

"I'm sure mum helped a lot!" The woman says with a laugh, and you offer her a warm smile. You're sure, if people knew you were here at Lando's request, after he dressed up as Spider-Man for Milo's birthday, they'd be acting much differently. 

But, for now, you're fairly invisible, able to walk through the paddock with Milo and enjoy the morning for what it is. Lando had told you to message him when you arrived, but had so far been MIA. It was qualifying today, so he was probably just swamped with media, or training, or getting ready to race, or more important people. 

Milo, however, very obviously notices Lando's disappearance. "Where's Mr. Norris?" 

"I'm sure he's getting ready," You say, stopping under the shade of an umbrella. It was a ridiculously hot time for England, and coming in an all-black outfit wasn't the best decision, but it was the nicest thing you owned for this kind of event. "We'll see him later, sweetheart." 

"I want to show him my suit." Milo says, tugging at your hand toward the bright orange McLaren hospitality. You were a guest of McLaren, technically, so if you were to be anywhere, you think this might be it. Milo, marching his way toward the building, draws the attention of even more cameras, and even more people. In your eyes, Milo truly was adorable, and deserved to be the centre of attention, but even this was a bit much.

"Look, it's a mini you." Someone says, and to your surprise, you look up to see the other McLaren racer standing by the doors. 

"Oh, wow." Oscar says, offering a little wave to Milo, who, for some reason, immediately hides behind your leg. You squat down to his height, gently carding your hand through his curls, as you try to figure out how he'd become so shy so fast.

"Look who it is!" You say, as Oscar approaches with even more flashing cameras, and Milo stares up at him, wide-eyed. "Can you say hi to Mr. Piastri?" 

Oscar crouches to also be Milo's height, which helps somewhat, but the boy is obviously wary. "Hello," Milo says shyly. "Mr. Pias-tri." 

"Hi there," Oscar says, holding out a hand for a high five. Much to your horror, Milo leaves him hanging. "I like your race suit." 

"It's for Mr. Norris." Milo says, pulling at the front of it. "We made it at home." 

"You must be Milo," Oscar says, and for a moment, your heart stops. Lando spoke about Milo. And, probably not just Milo, but you, and you're not sure what to do with that information. "Lando told me you were coming today. Are you having fun?" 

Milo nods, turning to look at you with a strange sort of look in his eye, and you still can't figure out why. Sure, it's not Lando, but Oscar is just as impressive! "It's okay, sweetheart. Mr. Piastri is also a pretty cool car driver." 

"Lando and I are teammates," Oscar says, and Milo shoots him an unimpressed look. After all, considering the little racing fan Milo was turning out to be, he seemed to believe Oscar was underestimating him.

"I know." He says defensively, and Oscar cracks a smile. "I saw you on TV." 

"Do you want a photo?" Someone says from above, and Oscar shifts to kneel beside Milo as you rise, giving the two of them space.

Milo finally seems to warm up to Oscar, offering a little smile, and without much thought to the action, Oscar takes off his hat and puts it on Milo's head. Milo gasps, grabbing the brim as he tries to look up at the hat, and ends up pulling it over his eyes. The small group laughs, including Oscar, who folds in on himself as he rises. "He's adorable," He says, reaching down to gently pat Milo's head. "I get why Lando loves him so much." 

Loves. 

I get why Lando loves him so much. "Oh, well, thank you," You manage to stutter out. "Milo, what do you say to Mr. Piastri?" 

"Oscar," Oscar says, extending a hand. "You don't have to call me Mr. Piastri." 

You shake his hand, and somewhere in the universe, you feel a change you can't describe, a cord unplugged from something too early. You turn to your right instinctively, where you find Lando a few steps away, out of breath and panting, staring you down, like a man who'd just spotted his lost love coming home from war. 

At least, that's what you hope that expression means. "Mr. Norris!" 

-

Lando's going to fucking die, and so far, there's at least like three potential reasons for it. He missed your text of your arrival, missed sending his attendant to gather you to bring you back to his drivers room and the paddock early, and then couldn't find you. He'd run around, probably looking a little mad, until he thought to stop by the McLaren hospitality, where he finally did find you. 

However, you were looking at Oscar and blushing and stuttering out something before shaking his hand, and his heart turned into something he could only describe as shrivelled. You were supposed to look at him like that, like when he stopped to help you bring groceries in, or fix your wifi router, or when he held the door. That hand you were shaking, even if it was just Oscar, wasn't right. Oscar shouldn't have been the first person to greet you, it should've been him. Lando should've been here, for you, and he wasn't, and how did that show he was dependable? That he cared? 

However, all of that sort of went out of the window when he heard Milo call his name, and then his shrivelled heart exploded, because all the orange paint made sense now. 

It wasn't for a sign, it was for an outfit. Milo was stood in a perfect little replica race suit, running at him full tilt with his arms spread out, and Lando wasted no time bending down to scoop the boy up, happily holding him in his arms as he babbled on about something, but Lando was sort of too far gone to hear it. 

You had made Lando's race suit. You got all the details right, even the little sponsor names, the little British flag and the name Norris on his hip, and for a moment, Lando has the realization that if, one day, you took his last name, Milo would too. Milo Norris, he thinks, is a perfect name for a perfect kid. 

Then, Milo pulls the hat off his head, and Lando gets a glimpse of the number on it. "What! 81?" He says, taking the hat and happily tossing it at Oscar, who catches it with a laugh. "That's betrayal! That's-that's enemy territory, Milo. What number should it be?" 

"Four!" Milo says as Lando reaches up to take his own hat off his head and place it on Milo's. 

"Exactly. 81's for ass-" Well, that's certainly not a word you would approve of him saying in front of Milo. "Uh, Australians." 

"Nice catch." You tease, coming to stand beside him, and there really must be something wrong with him, there's got to be. Because with you at his side, adjusting Milo's hat, smiling at him like that? All he can picture is this one day being his, and he's only kissed you once. "Did you just come from a work out?" 

A work out? 

Oh, him being out of breath and sweating. 

"Yeah, getting ready before qualifying." Totally not because he ran here. 

Not at all. "Can mum have the hat?" Milo asks, and Lando blinks a couple times before realizing he's never given you any merch, and for a moment, he just sort of hears ringing in his ears. 

Because how could he have never given you merch? Both McLaren or his own? How could he have never seen you in his shirts, wearing his number, god, maybe even just some of his own worn clothes? It's all he can picture, of you curled up beside him, repping him, and he has to think about rather terrible things to keep his body from reacting. "You know what? Let's take a trip to my store." 

"Lando, you don't have to-" Lando holds up a hand, cutting you off, and he then beckons you to follow. 

"I hope you brought a bag," He says. "Cause you're getting everything." 

-

Lando gets it, now. 

Why the guys like having their partners at races. It's sweet to have anyone come to watch, to celebrate, but coming off third, a not-so great result, coming back to his drivers room, and coming back to you? 

Oh, it takes so much restraint not to just kiss you senseless, because you're in his jersey, grinning at him with Milo in your arms, the image of perfection. Who cares about third when you have this?

Lando gets it, now, as you wrap an arm around him in a hug, squeezing Milo between the two of you as you laugh. 

He gets why guys put everything on the line to come home to something like this. 

-

McLaren having a partnership with Hilton is, you think, maybe one of the best perks Lando comes with. Sure, there are the fancy cars and free t-shirts, but a two-room hotel suite for you and Milo? At no cost at all? 

Well, that's the sort of thing you could see yourself getting used to, and as you wrap yourself in one of the comfy, complimentary robes, the thought doesn't bring about giddiness of the future, or of Lando, but a strange unease. This was a whole new world, where things were just handed to you on a silver platter when before, you had to fight tooth and nail for the same kind of respect. You got the free merch, the complimentary food and drink, the beautiful hotel suite, and it was all because of Lando. 

Lando was out there wearing watches more expensive than your apartment, and Milo was in a charity shop jumpsuit that you hand-painted. It was a very new world to step into, and one you're not sure exactly how to adjust to. There's a soft, tentative knock on the door, and you press your face to the peephole to spot Lando with a plastic bag in hand. 

"I hope I didn't wake Milo?" He says as you open the door, gesturing to the bag. "Just wanted to drop off something." 

"I just put him down," You say softly, letting him in. "Poor guy fell asleep on the way home." 

It was also a stupid thing to get caught up on when you and Lando had only kissed once. He probably had made out with countless women and let them go in a single night. Doesn't mean you didn't value his presence, or that you didn't miss the absence he filled. The empty side of the bed, the empty plate at dinner. Lando had played that role only once, and yet it had just felt so right. It was delusion, probably. Having fallen so quickly, after a single day, but you can't forget how right it felt, how much you wanted it, how long you'd seen him with Milo before it finally tipped over the edge. 

"You're something else, you know that?" Lando says, sitting down on the edge of your bed with a grin. "For dressing him up like that. Think it might've stopped my heart." 

You come to stand between his open legs, and somehow not quite getting the message, Lando extends the plastic bag. "It was all his idea," You say, taking the bag. "He wanted to dress up like his hero, after all." 

"Oh, you can't say that!" Lando covers his face and leans back on the bed as you crack open the bag. "I'm not a hero, I'm just-" He props himself up on his elbows when he hears the crinkling of the bag. "Oh, that's for you." 

In hand is a worn McLaren sweater you're pretty sure you've seen Lando wear at least ten times, which isn't a lot, but considering how little you saw him? It was a staple piece of his wardrobe. You must turn bright red, because Lando turns a matching shade as he quickly gets up, leaving little space between you. 

"It's just-I thought it might be a better everyday colour than the...the green." He tries to take it from your hand, and you pull it away from him, much like a child refusing to share. "If you don't want-" 

"Oh, you're never getting this back now." He gave you. 

His sweater. "I thought it matched you more." Then, because saying you matched an old worn hoodie, more than you did brand new, expensive merch might not exactly be taken the best, you watch his face fall in real time. "Because you should be comfortable! And it's like, the most comfortable thing I own! I-" 

"Lando." He immediately shuts his mouth, and sits back down on the bed, and you can't help but laugh, coming to sit beside him. So maybe you weren't alone, in how new this all was, the strange territory you toed the line on. "It's very sweet." 

"You're laughing! I gave you my jumper and you're laughing." He lets out a low breath, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting his own smile. "And to think I flew you out here." 

"We took the train, actually." You correct, folding the sweater up and leaving it beside you. "Which I never got to thank you for. All this has been...so much." And as much as you hate to admit it, you need to start being honest at some point. "Maybe too much." 

Lando pauses as he watches you, you fiddling with the tie of your robe as you wait for his response. Telling him this was too much, to his face, was probably an idiotic decision, but this was all so foreign. The glamour, the respect. People didn't just do these sorts of things for you, didn't do anything anywhere near as close. 

But Lando? He came dressed as Spider-Man, and invited you to races, and for the first time in a long time, made you feel something in a heart normally reserved for Milo and Milo alone. "I couldn't tell you the last time I went on holiday." You finally say, just barely above a whisper. "Had someone pour me champagne, got more free, fancy things than I could ever name. And I'm so grateful for all of it. For you, Lando. I just..." 

"It's a lot." Lando finishes for you, rubbing his hands together. "It's okay, if I'm too much too." 

"You?" You turn to look at him, and Lando refuses to meet your eye, staring a hole into the carpet. "I don't think I could ever get enough of you, honestly." 

"I just really want this to work, you know." Lando suddenly blurts, cheeks tinted pink from your comment. "And I don't know how to do that without just fucking going crazy. Like the Spider-Man suit, paying for you to come to a race? Who does that?" Lando Norris does, apparently. "I just...I want you, and I want that little guy at all of my races, in that little suit, cheering me on." It all sort of comes out in a tumble of a confession that just keeps going. "And not just at races. I want to come home to this, to the Spider-Man webs on the walls, reading him a bedtime story, and I want to come home to you. Wearing my jersey, or my jumper, being with me, kissing me over the backs of couches." Lando looms nearer, then, and in another life, you might grab his face and kiss him, if it weren't for that little, minuscule fear that held everything back. Your words, your future, your feelings. "I think I'm sort of going crazy about it, actually." 

"Oh." You were supposed to be confessing your feelings of inadequacy to him, not him confessing actual feelings for you, but you truly don't mind the flip in conversation. However, he looks on the edge of something, a word that he just can't quite get out. "But?" 

He drops his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his curls. 

It's something he doesn't want to say, and it's something you've had to face for the past four years. "But having that is more than just races and little orange track suits." You fill in for him this time. 

"It's a lot of travelling, and a lot of away days, but...other drivers do it?" 

"With their own kids, Lando. That's a bit different." You break slowly,  because it's the truth. 

Lando adored Milo. It's one of the things that made the man so dear to you, but there was a difference between being good with kids and being good at raising kids, between being a babysitter and a potential father. "Milo's pretty much mine, if you want him to be." Lando admits quietly. "D'you see what number he was wearing? Whose name you put on that suit?" 

There's a part of you that wants to yell at him to be realistic. His world is so far from yours, with so much more to offer. There must be models and actresses and others cut out for this, not you, not Milo. But when he says things like that? When he looks at you like that? It's a lot harder to make that argument believable. "Kids are a lot of responsibility, Lando. There's more than one heart at stake here. I need you to think about this seriously." 

"Mum?" Both of you jolt at the sound of Milo's voice, somehow having gotten out of his room without either of you noticing. You have half a mind to put some distance between you and Lando, considering how close you're sitting, but Milo doesn't seem to care, scrambling up the other side of the bed to sit near you. 

"Missing out?" Lando says, turning to sit cross legged on the bed, and letting Milo join the little huddle. It's an act that shouldn't be as heartstopping as it is, but it was Lando, and it was Milo. 

It was the realization that you could have someone else to turn to on those sleepless nights, someone at your side who accepted Milo, not rejected him. It was someone in your corner, who wanted you, and it was the first time, in a long time, that anyone's made you feel so...whole. You'll cry about it later, you decide, when both your boys aren't present. 

"You should be in bed, love." You whisper, gently pressing a kiss to Milo's forehead. "So should Mr. Norris." 

"Sleepover?" Milo asks behind a yawn, and Lando laughs softly, shaking his head. 

"We've got a big day tomorrow. We can't stay up." Lando pats the pillow at the head of the bed, and Milo crawls up to lie against it. "How's that?" 

"I'm sure it's great, stealing my bed." You tease, coming to lie on one side of Milo, tickling his stomach as he cackles with laughter. Lando falls onto the bed on the other side of Milo and looks over at you with a grin.

As much as you would like to continue your conversation, some things in life are just more important. Seemingly tired of your presence, Milo rolls away from you, and plants his head on Lando's chest. Lando doesn't move, freezing immediately as the boy curls up into his side. "Picking favourites, are we?" You ask softly, and Milo yawns into Lando's ribs. 

"I am a pretty good pillow." Lando says, shooting you a wink, and you move onto your side, your arm splayed over Milo and onto Lando's chest. Your palm flattens against him to feel his pounding heart, the movement quick enough to convince you that he'd just run a marathon, or maybe won a race, instead of lying next to you. 

It would be a more intimate moment if Milo didn't wipe his drool on Lando's t-shirt, who luckily takes it in stride. "I should take him to races more often," You say absentmindedly, stuck between watching Milo and watching Lando. "He's pretty tuckered out." 

"You can come to every race," Lando says softly, rolling his head to the side to look at you. "I'll pay for every one." 

"Lando..." The thing is, when he said things like that, you knew he meant it. You knew that this could be your future, such an opportunity for both you and Milo, but it shouldn't be yours to take. At least, it shouldn't be yours to take, unless Lando considers all the little repercussions that come with dating you. "I just want you to think about this." You peek down at Milo, whose eyes are fluttering, still fighting sleep. You move your hand from Lando's chest to gently rub at his back, and in seconds, he's finally dozing. Only when you're sure he won't wake from your whispers do you continue. "You mean more to me than you know, so if we're doing this, I don't want...I just, I need you to know that I need all of you." 

"You have all of me." Then, because he knows it's not a fair thing to say, "I'll think about it." 

As gently as you can, you pull Milo back off Lando's chest and onto the bed. Lando's face falls at the loss, and you have to steel yourself to stop from confessing something catastrophic then and there. Despite all the doubts you have, the way Lando looks at Milo stirs something deep in your heart. "Don't worry about it at the race, either." You warn, knowing how he might stew over this long enough to hurt his performance tomorrow. "Just...when you know, tell me." 

Lando leans over, and you expect him to say something, but instead, he presses a kiss to your cheek. "Trust me," He says, "You'll be the first to know. Goodnight." He then gently places his hand on Milo's head and whispers, "Goodnight, Mini-me." 

-

So, maybe Lando's love confession didn't exactly go as planned last night. He had gotten the two-room suite for a reason: Milo goes to bed, you stay up, he confesses everything he's been dying to say, maybe you kiss him, it all works perfectly. 

However, that sort of love confession wasn't realistic, and he'd ended up not beginning a relationship with you, but he did kiss you on the cheek, and got a reminder to think about the relationship, you, and Milo. Despite your warning, it's all he can think about the entire time he's in the car, which most certainly isn't helpful. 

He wanted this. 

He wanted you. And Milo. 

And despite what those around him might think, it was realistic. It could be, anyway. He was young, he was well aware, but he had the energy to be a father. Other people had kids at his age! I mean, Milo wasn't exactly a teenage pregnancy, you were both in your twenties. You could handle this. He could handle this. Or, at least, he was pretty sure he could. 

He had already cornered Max in the Red Bull Motorhome to annoy him with enough questions about being a step-dad that the man now refused to answer his texts. He had done the research. He'd seen Milo in that race suit. He knew how his own father raised him, the kind of kindness that he couldn't believe others never received. 

That was enough. You were enough. And, as he overtakes Max, he hopes you know that. He hopes that you delaying this wasn't coming from your view of yourself, because he knew what the media could be like. You weren't what most people might expect from him, but that didn't make it wrong, didn't make you any less of a partner. Milo was a glorious part of this, not something for you to ever feel ashamed about. 

He had meant it, when he said Milo was his. He might not know exactly how to be a dad, but he knows how to be himself, and everytime he is himself, around you, around Milo, it feels right. It feels like he belongs, like that kid was always supposed to be his, like you were always supposed to be his. 

Mr and Mrs Norris, and Milo Norris. 

As he pits, he wonders where you're watching from, if you'll get to the Parc Ferme in time, or get to the barrier. It's cocky to think of, halfway through a race, but he can't help it. It's his home race; he might die if he loses, especially now that you're here. His mind drifts, as he takes off, wondering if he'll get to kiss you.

Then, as Lando gets back out on the track, weaving his way back to first, he lets himself wonder, just once, if this is the right decision. 

Because what if he did make a mistake? What if he screwed up? What if he messes up Milo? If he messes up what you have? He'd never forgive himself. A child is such a large commitment, and honestly, if he ignores Milo, a very hard task to do, you're a big commitment too. Lando's not sure what happened to you in the past, to leave you with Milo and no one else, but he couldn't fathom hurting you further, seeing you hurt at all.

God, if he fucked this up, he could never-

"Message for you, Lando." A voice cuts through his earphones as the worst of the thoughts spiral, giving him just enough of a branch to cling onto. 

"Mr. Norris?" Milo says, "There's a-what is it? Oh, there's rain expected in ten minutes." 

Lando has to suck in a breath to respond, his mind going blank. "Yeah?" 

"If you win, will you give the trophy to mum?" And there, on the Silverstone track, Lando realizes he could never screw up. 

Not with Milo or you on the line. Not with this. He might be young, and this might be new, but he knows he'd give everything up in a heartbeat to have this at every race. 

To have someone to give his trophies to, to have someone to come home to, to have you, and Milo. To have a happily ever after that didn't depend on a race car, or winnings. One that simply depended on you saying yes in a white dress someday. And, long before that, of you meeting him at the barrier after this race. "Of course, you muppet." 

-

When Lando wins, because of course Lando wins, Silverstone goes ballistic. It's the sort of celebration you'd never witnessed before, all the mechanics, all the orange staff, all the fans in the stands, they all erupt in cheers and hugs, a morphing, crushing mob that rushes towards Parc Ferme with a speed that forces you to pick up Milo to avoid him getting trampled.

"The trophy!" He says, smacking against your shoulders as you join the rush, jogging to keep up. "He promised you his trophy!"

"I think I'll keep it in the kitchen," You say with a soft laugh, taking off your earmuffs to let them hang around your neck, settling nicely against Lando's jumper. It might not be the prettiest of things to wear to an F1 race, but who else could say they were wearing Lando Norris's clothes when he won his home race? "We can serve pasta out of it."

"Or sweets!" Milo says, trying to get up out of your arms to see over the crowd as you approach. "Or apple juice!"

Lando stands on top of his car, and for a moment, you regret not keeping the earmuffs on, because the screams around you are deafening, your own included. It's the sweetest possible sound of victory, Lando jumping up on his car and shaking his fists in the air, a ball of energy that belonged there.

He makes his way around the crowd, throwing himself at mechanics and other staff, embracing family and friends, celebrating like he deserves to. As he takes off his helmet, you watch him pause, jumping up on the tips of his toes to try to scan over the crowd, and it's Milo who figures it out before you do.

"MR. NORRIS!" He screeches, startling the few people in front of you. They awkwardly shuffle to the sides to let you and Milo through, and Lando is instantly reaching for the boy, swinging him over the barrier and hoisting him on his shoulders.

It's the sort of view you don't think you could ever get tired of. In fact, it's the sort of memory you want burned into the back of your eyelids to see every time you blink, or sleep, or dream. It's Milo and Lando, matching suits and curls and grins, stretched from ear to ear. The crowd keeps chanting, hollering at the two of them, but all the noise sort of fades as you watch.

That, you think, is how you want Milo to look at a man, at someone who might be your partner. That's the kind of care you want your partner to have, holding Milo like his own, spinning around in circles as the cameras flash and the world applauds them. At least, you think, the world sees your boys as you do.

Absolutely perfect. Lando catches your stare as he ends his celebratory dance, stopping a few feet away as he watches you right back. And that smile, that ridiculous, contagious smile, only grows.

"I thought about it!" He has to shout, words barely heard as he approaches.

"What?" You ask, leaning against the railing to try and make out the meaning.

"I said," He repeats, ducking forward to hover just above you, "I thought about it."

His lips are on yours before you can even react. To some, it probably isn't the most pleasant kiss in the world, with the sweat and the heat and the crowd crushing in, but you find there's not a single thing you could ever complain about as your hands come up to cup his cheeks. It's Lando, in the clearest declaration you've ever seen, calling you his, in front of Silverstone, in front of everyone, in front of Milo, in front of you. It's not a soft thing over the back of the couch in a Spider-Man costume, but it's so much more real, heavy and yet somehow lightening all the weight on your shoulders, all the worries preying at the edge of your mind.

This is how it should feel when you kiss someone. This is how it feels when you know it'll last, when that love extends past you and into the boy resting on Lando's shoulders. It's how it feels when you know, and he knows, and there's nothing else to say about it. "You won!" You say against his lips with a smile, and he pulls back to practically cackle at you.

"I won!" Later, when you tell him there were tears in his eyes at this moment, he'll deny them, but you watch the way they shine, all that hard work and effort paid off. "I've got my good luck charms with me. Now you have to come to every race."

"Oh, we'll be there." Lando reaches over the railing to pull you somehow closer into him, bending his head to press a kiss to your cheek, and whisper something without the world to hear.

"Thank you," He says, almost choking on the words. "I'll make this work, I promise."

"I believe you, Lando." You say, and you'd say more, but the moment gets interrupted by a certain someone.

"Mr. Norris!" Milo says, pulling softly at Lando's hair. "You kissed my mum."

Lando freezes, realizing that, as much as you might be happy about this relationship, Milo might not be. "That okay?"

Milo thinks for a moment. "Can I get your trophy?"

"I'll give you all my trophies from now on," Lando says, letting the boy down and back into your arms. "Do we have a deal?"

"Deal." Lando laughs, a pure, bright thing, and heads back to do whatever it is he does after a race, and you let reality settle in. There are cameras, and people staring, and questions to be asked, but you find that they don't quite matter, because you can't stop grinning like an idiot.

This, you think, was how it should feel, being in love. 

It's the way your heart calms, watching Lando get up on that podium, accept his award, knowing he deserves it all and more. It's you screaming until your lungs are raw in celebration, watching him spraying champagne, holding his trophy high, beaming down at you.

It's the Lego trophy that's in Milo's hands mere minutes after it's given to Lando, who, in his post-race celebration, hoists the boy back up on his shoulders, looking more proud of the boy above him than he was to win. They match, in their outfits, and their trophies, and their smiles, and their curls, and the way you're so utterly smitten for both of them. 

It's the sort of joy you hope will never fade, and after it's all done, and the fans go home, and the energy wears off, you doubt it ever will, as you discover Milo and Lando passed out together in his little en-suite room. The man had insisted on coming over to read Milo a bedtime story, but it seems the two never got that far, the book still open in Lando's lap.

Without much thought to the action, you press a kiss to Lando's temple and Milo's forehead, close the book, and turn off the light. 

It's this sort of love you hope to experience every day for the rest of your life.

a/n: i tried so hard to balance cute and realistic in this one, so i really hope i did them justice <3 (also i rewrote the ending eight times.)

[dracoflaco]

oh gawd