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@idontbelongmybeloved
Oh hey! You’ve found my small corner of the internet! I’m Sydney but you can call me Syd!
Im usually reading or listening to music!
Big Taylor Swift and Pop girlies fan!!!
Romance Reader
Migraine Girly
On here I mainly repost Formula 1 fics and some cute pictures I find!
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Trouble
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader
Summary: You’re Charles Leclerc’s little sister. Off-limits. A little reckless. A little too flirty. Max has always called you trouble, usually while keeping a watchful eye on anyone who got too close. But now he’s the one looking at you like that, and suddenly trouble doesn’t sound like a warning… it sounds like something he can no longer resist.
8.5k words / Masterlist
The first time you met Max Verstappen you were twelve and hanging upside down from the scaffolding behind the paddock, daring one of the mechanics to race you on a stolen electric scooter. Your brother’s oversized hoodie swallowed your frame, the sleeves dragging well past your fingertips and both your knees were scraped raw from whatever stunt you'd pulled earlier that day.
You had a devilish glint in your eyes, grinning and fearless.
Max was meant to be focused, already burdened with the pressure of a career on fire. And yet there he stood, helmet in hand, watching you dangle upside down and the only thing he could think instinctively was:
“Trouble.”
He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it slipped out under his breath, half amused, half exasperated. You flipped upright, spotted him watching and flashed a cheeky grin like you’d just been handed a challenge.
And that was that.
The nickname stuck.
Even as the years passed, as scraped knees gave way to winged eyeliner and dangerous heels, as your wide-eyed chaos turned to sharp wit and flirtatious barbs, Max still called you Trouble.
He said it with a smirk when he passed you in the paddock. With a raised brow when you snuck around different motorhomes. With a warning edge when he caught you talking too close to a driver he didn’t like.
He was older than you by six years and that made Charles uneasy enough, but the real issue was that you never really saw Max as just your older brother’s friend. You pushed buttons. Challenged him. Teased him in a way that left him biting his cheek and avoiding your gaze. You played it light, always laughing, always teasing, but Max could feel it. The heat beneath it. The line you were daring him to cross.
And Max? He did what he was supposed to do.
He hid behind his loyalty. His self-control.
His internal rulebook that screamed, Don’t touch your friend’s little sister.
Don’t look at her like that.
Don’t want her like that.
But you made it so goddamn hard.
Especially now.
Because Monaco was hot and the season was long and tonight… you were back.
The club was dark and loud, drenched in red light and bass-heavy music that made the floor feel like it was breathing beneath Max’s feet. He stood by the bar, nursing a half-finished drink with the detached calm of someone who didn’t want to be recognised. He was planning an early night, a quick appearance, a few drinks, a vague nod to the DJ, but then—
“Maxieeee.”
The voice hit him first. Then came the smell, citrus and something dangerously sweet.
Then he saw you, you were back, he hadn’t seen you in months and you were no longer the girl he first met hanging upside down from the scaffolding. Now you were walking toward him with fire in your eyes and a look that said you knew exactly what you were doing.
Your arms wrapped around his shoulders without hesitation, pulling him into a hug that was more skin than fabric, more heat than greeting.
He pulled back slightly, eyes skimming over you.
You were wearing something short and black, all legs and skin and intention, red lipstick that made his head spin and that look in your eyes? It was a spark. No… an open flame.
“Trouble,” he said on instinct, but it came out lower than he meant. Rougher. Hungrier.
You tilted your head. “Haven’t heard that in a while.”
He tried to smirk, tried to keep it light, but he could already feel the warmth creeping up his neck. “Maybe I thought you grew out of it.”
You leaned in closer, your lips just barely brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe I just got better at hiding it.”
Max’s grip tightened around his glass as he nearly choked on his drink, coughed, then exhaled sharply through his nose, like he could laugh it off, like you weren’t affecting him. But you were, and you both knew it.
“Where’s Charles?” he asked, grounding himself, like saying your brother’s name would remind him why this was off-limits.
You rolled your eyes. “I’m a big girl Max I can be out without a chaperone.”
Max let out a slow breath, trying not to look at your legs. “Just looking out for you.”
“Of course you are.” You sipped your drink, eyes locked on his over the rim of your glass. “But when was the last time you looked at me and didn’t just see scraped knees and bad ideas?”
Max met your gaze then. Held it. And for the first time in all the years he’d known you… he couldn’t bring himself to look away.
You saw it happen.
The shift.
And you smiled.
An hour later the two of you were tucked into a dimly lit booth in the farthest corner of the club, half-sunk into cracked leather cushions with drinks in hand. The music thumped through the walls, muffled but constant, like a pulse you couldn’t escape but in that little corner draped in red shadows and shared glances it felt like the rest of the world had gone quiet.
Max had stopped pretending a while ago.
No more polite distance. No more carefully averted eyes. His leg pressed against your bare thigh every time you shifted but he never pulled back. His hand sat casually on the booth, fingers twitching close to yours like they wanted to reach but didn’t dare. His expression was unreadable, sharp jaw, tense shoulders, but his body language was cracked wide open.
You threw your head back at something he said. That unfiltered, warm kind of laugh that made your eyes sparkle and your lipstick smudge at the corners.
Max’s gaze dropped to your mouth.
And without thinking, he murmured it again:
“Trouble.”
You leaned closer, your voice soft but sharp. “Still calling me that like it’s a bad thing.”
Max swallowed. “It is a bad thing.”
You smiled, slow and wicked. “Then why do you look like you’re enjoying it so much?”
He blinked, jaw tightening.
You watched the exact moment the leash around his control started to slip. The war inside him, crumbling brick by brick.
“You want the truth?” he asked, and his voice was hoarse now.
You nodded once.
Maybe it was the alcohol or the dark corner or the way you were looking at him, but before he could stop himself he leaned forward, breath brushing your cheek as he whispered, “Because I’ve been trying not to look at you like this for years,” he whispered. “And now that I am…” His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering. “…I’m fucked.”
You didn’t flinch. Didn’t tease. Didn’t try to cut the tension with a joke like you might’ve once.
You just whispered back, so quiet it made him ache. “So do something about it.”
His hand moved before his mind did slipping up to your jaw, rough thumb brushing your cheek. He tilted your head just slightly, just enough to really look at you, to make sure you meant it.
You did.
And Max kissed you.
Not like a friend. Not even like someone crossing a line. But like a man who’d been holding back a hurricane and had finally let loose.
The kiss was slow at first, deliberate like he wanted to memorise the taste of you. Like he couldn’t believe he was finally allowed. Your lips parted for him without hesitation, and his other hand found your waist, anchoring you to him.
You tasted like vodka and heat and everything he’d spent years trying to pretend he didn’t want.
Years of tension unraveled in a single, drawn-out kiss.
His lips moved with more urgency, tongue sweeping into your mouth as a low, guttural sound escaped from deep in his chest. Your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, bodies pressed flush like the space between you had always been too much to bear.
He pulled you further into him without breaking the kiss, his hand sliding down to your hip, gripping like he needed to leave a mark. You gasped softly against his mouth and it only made him kiss you harder.
You were the one who pulled back, just slightly, lips brushing his as you caught your breath. You were smiling, soft and smug, and so you it made Max feel dizzy.
“Took you long enough.”
He let his forehead fall against yours, fingers sliding gently along your waist, both of you still tucked into that impossible little world of red light.
“Charles is going to kill me,” he muttered.
You grinned. “That’s future Max’s problem.”
He laughed as his hand slipped under you pulling you close again.
“Yeah,” he murmured, stealing another kiss, “and you’re still trouble.”
This time, it wasn’t a warning. It was a confession.
Max hadn’t meant to take you home.
At the start of the night that wasn’t even a thought, but now, he couldn’t not. He just… didn’t want the night to end.
Not when you were holding his hand like that. Not when you looked at him like that.
And apparently neither did you.
You’d clung to his hand outside the club, the cool Monaco air brushing your skin as you leaned into him, shoes dangling from your fingertips, bare feet on the cobblestones. You didn’t say anything when he hailed a taxi. Didn’t let go when he said, quietly, “Mine or yours?”
“Yours,” you said without hesitation.
And that was that.
Now, hours later, Max was wide awake.
The apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that only exists in the middle of the night, soft, sacred, suspended.
You were curled up beside him breathing slow and even, your cheek pressed to his chest, one arm flung across his waist like you belonged there. Like you always had.
You hadn’t slept together. You’d just curled up beside him in a borrowed pair of his pyjamas, warm and quiet, your body pressed to his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He stared up at the ceiling eyes wide open, his fingers tracing light absent-minded circles on your bare arm.
He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his. The taste of your kiss. He could still hear your voice, low and quiet from earlier that night when you had first got back and laid side by side on his couch:
“Do you remember when I tried to set you up with my friend from university because I needed someone to double date with?”
“Yeah,” he’d chuckled, “she asked if I could name three books and I panicked.”
“You told her your car manual counts.” you giggled.
“Technically it does have chapters.”
“Max.”
“Okay, yeah, I was an idiot. I didn’t want to be on that date anyway.”
“Why’d you come then?”
He’d looked at you, soft and honest. “Because you asked me to.”
You’d gone quiet after that. Max had realised that he couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t pulling him into your orbit. A slow, steady gravitational force he’d never quite been able to fight.
And now, lying in bed with you in the dark, heart pounding beneath your cheek, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to try.
He turned his head to look at you. Your lips were slightly parted. One leg had tangled itself between his. Your makeup was smudged and your hair was a little wild and you were so fucking beautiful it made his chest ache.
But then came the weight.
Charles.
Charles who trusted him.
Charles who once glared at Max for an entire day after making you laugh too hard during a press event.
Charles who used to lean on Max for advice about how to protect you from the chaos of this world.
“She’s always been too fearless,” Charles had muttered once, pacing outside the paddock hospitality lounge. “Too flirtatious. She doesn’t understand what kind of attention she draws. I’m not blaming her for that but I just want her to be okay.”
And Max had said:
“I’ve got her. I’ll look out for her.”
He meant it at the time. He still did.
But this? Was this looking out for you?
He hadn’t meant to let the teasing evolve into something warmer. Hadn’t meant to feel jealous every time you dated some new guy who didn’t get your jokes or understand the way your mind worked. Hadn’t meant to start craving your attention. Your chaos. Your company.
Max let out a slow breath and closed his eyes, letting the memories swirl like smoke, familiar, intoxicating, and far too late to run from now.
There was the time you’d snuck into the Red Bull motorhome with a stolen pass and a grin that could get you out of anything.
Max had spotted you crouched at the snack table, wrist-deep in his stash of gummy bears.
“What the hell?” he laughed, already shaking his head.
You glanced up, wide-eyed and unbothered.
“Don’t tell Charles you saw me,” you whispered.
“You are so much trouble.”
“You like it.”
And maybe… even then he had.
Even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud for years.
One year you’d show up in the garage during testing in Barcelona, bold as ever, notebook in hand.
“Doing research,” you announced, sliding up beside him.
“For what?” Max asked.
“Future team principal. I need to understand the enemy.”
“Is that what I am?”
“Only on paper.”
“And off paper?”
“I’ll let you know.”
You were always toeing the line. Always keeping him guessing. Always staying just on the edge of something neither of you had the nerve to name.
He remembered another day, one that haunted him right now.
He and Charles were walking back to the paddock after media day. You’d been in the hospitality suite earlier, charming every single person in the room with your adorable smile and quick wit.
Max had said something stupid, without thinking more amused than serious. “She’s going to ruin some poor guy’s life one day.”
Charles barely looked up from his espresso. “Yeah. Which is why none of you are allowed anywhere near her.”
Max turned, eyebrows lifting. “What?”
Charles didn’t smile. “I’m serious.”
Max forced a laugh, trying to play it off. “Relax mate. I was just saying.”
“If any of my friends touch her… I think I’d kill them.”
“I’m sure you would.” Max had laughed it off at the time.
But the truth?
He was already in deeper than he wanted to admit. Already watching you too closely. Already memorising your smile.
Your 21st birthday. Milan.
You’d dragged Max onto the dance floor, unapologetic and glowing, pulling him into a crowd of bodies and bass-heavy music. You sang into his ear, off-key and smiling, while his hand hovered at your waist, too low, then a little higher, then back again like he couldn’t trust himself to settle.
Charles was watching from the bar. Arms crossed. Always watching.
But you didn’t care. You looked up at him, eyes bright, mouth close, and said:
“One day you’re going to realise I’m not a little girl anymore.”
That line came crashing back now as Max looked down at you sleeping peacefully in his bed wearing one of his old T-shirts, your body curled into his like it was always meant to be there.
You weren’t a girl anymore.
And Max?
He wasn’t just your brother’s friend trying to do the right thing.
He was in it now.
Wrapped up in you, in your laugh, your fire, your absolute refusal to be anything other than yourself.
Heart and soul.
And Charles?
Max sighed, he didn’t know how to face that yet. Didn’t know what it would look like when the truth finally came out, but right now… he couldn’t bring himself to regret a damn thing.
Because your leg shifted beneath the sheets, brushing against his. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and even in sleep, you pressed a little closer to him like your body already knew what he hadn’t let himself say.
Max closed his eyes, head tipping back against the pillow.
Trouble.
Yeah.
He was in so much trouble.
The sunlight cut softly through the blinds, painting pale gold lines across the sheets. Max stirred first.
His body was stiff from staying still all night, he felt the gentle weight of your arm draped across his chest, your fingers curling loosely against his side. Your face was tucked just below his collarbone, lips parted slightly in sleep, breathing slow and even.
You were still wearing his T-shirt. It hung loose on you one shoulder exposed where the fabric had slipped. Your legs were tangled with his beneath the duvet, warm and familiar.
He blinked up at the ceiling, heartbeat steady but too loud in his own ears and couldn’t help but think.
What the fuck had he done? Not from regret. Never that. But in the quiet, slow dawning of consequence. The part where morning light made everything feel more real, more fragile, more dangerous.
His eyes drifted back down to your face and something twisted in his chest. You looked peaceful here. Soft in a way he rarely saw. So unlike the whirlwind girl who used to sprint through the paddock with a pocket full of bribes for the mechanics, the girl who on more than one occasion roped Max into “helping her sneak into Red Bull’s telemetry room for academic reasons.”
He swallowed hard. You were trouble, you always had been, but this, you here, this wasn’t some reckless moment.
This felt real. And that was what scared him most.
His hand hovered near your cheek almost touching you, but not quite. Instead he let his eyes close for a moment as more memories came.
It was summer and you were nineteen, barefoot on the deck of his boat, salt in your hair and wearing a tiny bikini, dancing around with a plastic cup in your hand.
Max sat under the canopy, half-watching, half-annoyed with himself for how long he’d been watching.
Charles stood next to him, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“She’s not a kid anymore,” Charles said quietly, the weight of it pressing into his voice. “She doesn’t make it easy. I hate that I can’t always protect her the way I used to.”
Max had scoffed, trying to seem casual. “She’ll be fine.”
Charles looked at him, sharp and serious.
“Don’t pretend you don’t see it. Don’t be fucking stupid.”
Max had said nothing.
Because he had seen it and he’d been stupid ever since.
One afternoon you’d snuck into Max’s driver room after qualifying, hair still wet from the rain and grinning like you knew he would never kick you out.
“Told Charles I was going back to the hotel,” you grinned, mischievous as ever. “Want to hide from your PR for a bit?”
He should’ve said no but he let you stay. Let you kick your shoes off and complain about hospitality food. He let you laugh at his expense. Let himself laugh more than he should have.
That was the first time he noticed the way your eyes lingered on his mouth a little too long.
That was the first time he felt the warning bells and chose to ignore them.
Now Max opened his eyes again and looked down at you.
You shifted slightly in your sleep, your fingers twitching against his skin like you knew he was awake. His breath caught in his throat.
You looked so peaceful. So unaware of the hurricane you’d pulled him into without even trying.
He was so deeply, impossibly fucked.
The first thing you felt when you stirred was warmth.
Not the kind from sunlight or blankets but from skin, from a chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, from an unfamiliar scent but familiar enough now to make you smile before you even opened your eyes.
Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.
White sheets. Muscle under your hand. A steady heartbeat beneath your ear.
Your brows furrowed in confusion for half a second until the night before came rushing back in one, glorious, slightly fuzzy reel.
Max.
His lips. His hands. His low, rough laugh when you called him Maxie just to get a rise out of him.
And then the hours on his couch. The hours spent side by side, talking, teasing, leaning in, falling in.
You tilted your head up slowly, eyes finding him in the morning light. He was already awake. Had been for a while you realised. His eyes flicked down to meet yours the second you moved, but his face was unreadable. Guarded.
You smiled anyway. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he murmured, voice low and rough with sleep.
“You watching me sleep Verstappen? That’s creepy,” you teased, your chin nudging lightly against his chest.
He huffed, but the smile didn’t quite follow. “You snore.”
You blinked, feigning offence. “I do not.”
“You kind of do,” he said, smirking just slightly. “But it was cute.”
That got a grin out of you. “You’re weird this morning.”
“I’m good.”
You studied him for a beat, something sharp and instinctive tugging at your chest. “No you’re overthinking. I can see it.”
You poked his side lightly, playful but not without meaning. “What is it? Regret? Existential crisis? Full-blown panic?”
He looked at you then and for a moment his mask cracked, just a flicker, but it was enough.
There was something in his eyes, something raw… something that looked a lot like fear.
“No,” he said, quiet now. “Just… thinking.”
Your smile faltered not in disappointment but understanding.
You settled your head back onto his chest. “We don’t have to figure it all out this second you know.”
Max didn’t answer. He just wrapped his arm a little tighter around your shoulders, fingers brushing lightly along the curve of your spine like he didn’t want you to see whatever was going on in his head.
He walked you home later that morning, his hoodie slung around your shoulders, your heels tucked neatly into a tote bag swinging at your side. The streets of Monaco were mostly empty at that hour, quiet, glistening faintly from an early morning rinse of rain.
You walked in silence, not awkward, just aware. Like speaking too soon might shatter the delicate balance hanging between you.
Then, without thinking, you reached for his hand.
Max flinched, not obviously, not in a way anyone else would’ve noticed but you felt it. The subtle pause. The way his fingers stiffened, uncertain, like he didn’t know what this meant now, what you meant now.
You didn’t look at him but you didn’t pull away. You just kept walking, your hand still wrapped around his and after a beat he laced his fingers through yours and gave a gentle squeeze.
Later that night steam curled thick around Max as hot water poured down his back, but it did nothing to quiet the noise in his head. It couldn’t rinse away the feel of your hand in his, the press of your body or the sound of your laugh in the dark, soft and unguarded.
You’d been in his bed. His skin on your skin. His arms around your waist.
He should’ve felt satisfied. Like something long buried had finally been unearthed.
But instead… he felt wrecked. Because this wasn’t a one-night thing. This wasn’t something he could laugh off, shrug away, pretend didn’t matter.
This was you.
And Max had known, quietly, stubbornly, maybe even stupidly for a long time now:
There would never be anyone else quite like you.
He exhaled, slow and sharp, leaning his forehead against the cool tile as the water kept falling and once again his mind pulled him backward.
You’d just broken up with some guy you’d been seeing, someone Charles had actually liked. That’s how Max knew the relationship had been real, probably serious.
You showed up at Max’s hotel room after free practice, mascara streaked and chin trembling. He hadn’t even thought just pulled you into the room and locked the door behind you.
You didn’t say much. You didn’t need to. You curled up on the edge of his bed, knees to your chest, and whispered, “He said I’m too much.”
Max sat next to you, quiet for a second, his throat tight with something he couldn’t name.
“You’re not too much,” he said finally. “You’re brilliant. He’s an idiot.”
You looked up at him then lashes still wet, mouth trembling not from sadness now but from hope.
He almost kissed you.
He didn’t. He couldn’t.
Not because he didn’t want to, God, he did but because you were too vulnerable, and Charles would’ve absolutely killed him. And more than that Max didn’t want to be another person who took advantage when you were hurting.
But he remembered staring at your mouth. The way your breath caught. How close you’d leaned in before you both blinked and pulled back at the same time, like the moment had swallowed you whole and spit you out just before it was too late.
“You’re the only one who never says that,” you whispered.
“Says what?”
“That I need to calm down. That I should tone it down. That I need to be less… me.”
Max hadn’t known what to say to that so he said nothing.
He just sat there, fists clenched in his lap, shoulders stiff and aching with restraint because he was terrified of what might happen if he moved even an inch closer.
Max turned off the water and braced his hands on the counter, wiping at the mirror to see his own reflection. His jaw was tight. His eyes were tired.
He wiped at the fogged glass until his reflection emerged, jaw tight, brow furrowed, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He looked… wrecked. Not physically. Not entirely. But in that quiet, exhausted way that came from feeling too much all at once.
Out of habit he reached for his phone and then paused.
His thumb hovered over his home screen for a second before he opened the photo gallery.
Scrolled.
There it was.
A picture from exactly one year ago.
You sitting on a rooftop somewhere in Paris, knees pulled up, holding a half-eaten croissant in one hand and a wrinkled motorsport magazine in the other with his and Charles’ faces on the cover. Your hair was a mess, oversized sunglasses perched on top of your head, you were grinning absolutely beaming.
He’d saved it without thinking.
He looked at it now and something inside his chest twisted.
He swiped.
The next was a blurry selfie taken after a race, the two of you grinning like idiots. Your cheeks were flushed, his cap was backwards, and your fingers were up in a peace sign resting lightly on his shoulder.
Swipe.
Another, this time you were sleeping in the back of the Red Bull hospitality suite curled up in one of the oversized chairs with your hoodie pulled halfway over your head, headphones in. Max had taken it without you knowing, back when he used to tell himself you were just Charles’s sister. That he was just looking out for you.
Swipe.
You and Charles standing side by side on a yacht in Monaco arms linked. Max wasn’t even in that one but he’d kept it because your smile was softer in that photo. More real.
He stopped scrolling.
Stared at the screen, chest tightening.
He’d been in love with you for years. He knew that now so plainly it almost hurt. Maybe he always had. Maybe he just buried it under jokes and tension and distance.
But last night had ruined any chance of pretending otherwise because you’d kissed him like you knew. Like you’d always known.
Max dragged a hand through his wet hair, gripping the back of his neck. His skin was still burning from where your body had curled against his just hours ago. Still haunted by the shape of your sigh when you said his name in your sleep.
He looked back at the screen, at that grinning rooftop version of you and exhaled through his nose.
What the hell am I going to do now?
Max didn’t sleep that night, not really, and when he saw you the next day tucked in a quiet corner of the paddock between sessions, coffee in hand, hair pulled back beneath a team cap his chest tightened.
You looked up and smiled when you saw him.
“Morning,” you said, voice light.
“Hey,” he said, stopping a few feet away. Too far. Too careful.
You watched him for a beat, frown ghosting your lips. “Everything okay?” Max hesitated too long. Then nodded once. “Yeah. Just tired.”
A pause stretched between you, not awkward, just… uncertain. Unspoken.
You tried to keep it light. “So… are we pretending that didn’t happen?”
Max flinched. Barely, but you caught it.
“No,” he said quickly. “I’m not pretending.”
You searched his face, reading the change. The retreat already starting.
“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.
His gaze snapped to yours. “No. Of course not.”
But he still didn’t move closer.
You gave a small nod anyway. “Good. Because I don’t either.”
Max opened his mouth. Then closed it again.
And that that was the worst part. You could see the war in his eyes, the guilt already eating him alive.
“I should go,” he said. “I’ve got media.”
You smiled anyway, smaller now. “See you soon?”
“Yeah… soon,” he added, already moving for the door.
You just stood there watching him disappear down the paddock his shoulders tense, his pace too quick like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Your heart pounded in your chest, not from anger or heartbreak, not yet. Just that creeping, awful feeling in your gut that you’d both done something irreversible.
You noticed the shift before Max could say anything.
It started small.
He stopped texting back right away. The inside jokes dried up. He kept his distance even in the paddock where you’d usually catch him mid-joke or leaning against a wall waiting for you with that knowing smirk.
Now? He barely looked your way and when he did it was too fast. Too careful. Like eye contact might undo whatever wall he was trying to build between you.
And you weren’t stupid.
You knew what this was.
Guilt. Fear. Charles.
You tried not to take it personally, even if it stung. Even if it made your chest ache every time you passed him and he pretended he didn’t see you.
You told yourself: Fine. If he wants to play it safe so be it.
But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Max told himself he was doing the right thing. That keeping his distance was the only move that made sense. That if he just stayed away long enough both of your feelings would settle. That the kiss, the night you spent curled up together could be dismissed as a one-off. A drunk heat-of-the-moment mistake. Nothing more.
But it wasn’t. And he knew it.
He told himself you understood. That you must know why this couldn’t happen. Why you and him could never be anything. That there didn’t need to be some dramatic, drawn-out conversation, because technically nothing had even happened.
But he also knew that was bullshit.
It wasn’t just fear.
It was loyalty. Guilt. A promise unspoken but deeply understood.
Because no matter how much he wanted you, craved you, Max couldn’t shake the image of Charles’s face in Monaco. The warning in his voice. The silent trust they’d built over years of racing, of surviving the chaos together. This would feel like a betrayal. Maybe it was.
Max told himself he was being respectful. That this was him doing the right thing choosing boundaries over desire. Friendship over temptation.
But deep down he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
He was being a coward because avoiding you also meant not having to face how badly he wanted you. How much he'd already crossed the line. And how even now part of him didn’t feel guilty about it at all.
The worst part? The distance wasn’t helping.
His feelings weren’t fading, they were sharpening. Taking shape. Solidifying into something dangerous.
Now that he’d had a taste of you, your laugh, your skin, your warmth pressed against him in the dark he didn’t think he’d ever be able to look at anyone else the same way again. You had ruined him for good and he didn’t even think you knew it.
Every time he saw you across the paddock laughing with some PR rep, walking with that signature strut of yours, tiny skirt and lanyard swinging, hair tied up and sunglasses perched on your head his stomach flipped. His pulse skipped.
And the only thought louder than don’t be fucking stupid was:
Mine.
Even if he’d already pushed you away.
Then came him. Some new Ferrari reserve guy young, sharp-jawed, too confident. Max spotted him talking to you near the hospitality unit after qualifying. Max wasn’t trying to watch. He really wasn’t, but then the guy leaned a little too close. Said something that made you laugh, really laugh, and Max’s eyes snapped to your face.
You looked interested… and it fucking killed him.
Then the guy touched your arm. Casually. Friendly. But it was enough. Max’s grip on his water bottle tightened so hard the plastic crumpled. He wasn’t thinking when he crossed the paddock. In that moment he didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care if Charles was watching from some garage monitor or if someone caught it on camera.
He just knew one thing: You were his… or at least you were meant to be.
He reached you mid-conversation.
“Hey,” he said, voice sharp.
You blinked, surprised. “Uh… hi?”
The other guy glanced between you two, a little smirk playing at his lips like he’d clocked something.
“Can I borrow you?” Max asked, eyes on you only. “Now.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Is that how we ask nicely these days?”
Max didn’t flinch. “Please.”
You studied him for a second, saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his throat worked like he was swallowing something down. You hesitated but nodded.
He led you around the back of the building, weaving past the media barriers and hospitality tents until you were both tucked between two transport trucks out of view. The hum of paddock noise buzzed in the background.
You folded your arms. “Alright. What the hell was that?”
Max ran both hands through his hair and started pacing, like he couldn’t keep still. “I don’t know. I just—fuck.” He turned to you. “I can’t do it anymore.”
Your stomach dropped. “Do what?”
“This. Pretending nothing happened. Pretending I don’t give a shit.” His voice cracked, jaw tight. “Because I do. You know I do.”
You stared at him, heart racing. “Then why have you been ignoring me for the past week?”
He winced like the words physically hurt. “Because I’m a coward. Because I thought that if I kept my distance it would protect us. Charles he’d kill me. And maybe I deserve it.”
You scoffed and looked away, voice quieter. “So you decided to disappear instead. Let me think I meant nothing.”
“No,” Max said quickly, stepping closer. “That’s not it. You mean everything. That’s the problem.”
You met his eyes again, arms still crossed. “You don’t get to say that like it fixes things.”
“I know,” he said, quieter now. “I know I fucked up, but I thought if I gave it space it would go away. That it was just one night, but it’s not, there’s been so many moments and now every time I see you I feel like I can’t breathe.”
You bit your cheek, hard. “Do you know how long I’ve liked you Max? How many years I’ve had to pretend it was just a stupid crush while you dated models and acted like I was just some kid hanging around Charles?”
His face crumpled. “I know. I know. And I’m sorry.”
You shook your head, eyes stinging. “It killed me when you stopped talking to me. Like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.”
“I was scared,” Max admitted, voice raw. “Not just of Charles of you. Because you’re not a fling. You’re not something I can walk away from if it gets hard. You’ve always been the thing I could never let myself want. But now? After that night? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to want anyone else.”
Your breath stuttered, the words catching you off guard. For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then, quietly, he said, “I want to be with you. Not in secret. For real. But only if you still want that too.”
You stared at him, long and hard, unsure if you wanted to kiss him or slap him. “If you do this again, if you disappear on me or push me away because it gets messy or hard I’m not sticking around Max. I can’t do it.”
“I won’t,” he swore. “I swear. I’ll fight for it. For you.”
You took a breath. Then another.
And then slowly you stepped forward. “Good,” you said. “Because I wasn’t kidding. It’s always been you.”
Max didn’t wait.
His hand slid up your spine, tugging you closer until your chest pressed to his, mouths moving in sync like muscle memory. You clutched at his shirt, twisting the fabric between your fingers as his other hand found your jaw, tilting your face just right. He kissed you like he needed you to know. Like he wanted to make up for every second he’d wasted pretending he didn’t want this.
Your back hit the wall as his mouth dragged over yours, slower now, savouring it.
When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless and wide-eyed, Max pressed his forehead to yours. His voice was rough, low, impossibly tender. “You’ve always been my trouble.”
You smiled faintly against his lips, eyes shining. “Took you long enough.”
You didn’t bring it up right away.
Neither did he.
For a while it was easier to live in the moments between. In hotel rooms between sessions, long flights between cities, sleepy mornings where your bare legs tangled under too-white sheets and Max kissed your shoulder before his alarm went off.
But it loomed. Quiet and heavy.
Charles.
His name wasn’t forbidden, not exactly. You still talked about him, ferrari things, family things, Monaco things, but never in the context that mattered. Never us and him in the same sentence.
You knew it had to happen.
Max knew it too.
The topic finally slipped out during a layover in Zurich, your legs draped across his lap while you shared a sandwich and tried not to draw attention in the corner of the Lufthansa lounge.
“He’s going to be so fucking mad,” Max muttered, staring at nothing in particular.
Your stomach twisted. “I know.”
He didn’t say anything for a beat.
“He might not talk to me again.”
You looked at him, heart softening. “Would that change anything?”
Max’s jaw worked. He didn’t answer immediately. “No,” he said finally. “But I hate the thought of hurting him.”
“I do too,” you whispered.
He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers dragging down to his jaw. “I should’ve talked to him before anything happened. I should’ve done this the right way.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“He’s your friend. He’s my brother. He cares about us both.”
Max gave you a look. “That doesn’t mean he’s going to care for this.”
“No,” you agreed. “But if we want it to be real he has to know.”
He nodded, thumb brushing your knee. “I need to be the one to tell him I think.”
“Do you want me to be there?” you asked.
Max exhaled slowly. “No. I think I should do it alone first.”
You tried to hide your nerves, but he saw them. Cupped your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. “I won’t let this fuck everything up,” he said softly. “I promise.”
And you believed him.
Even if your heart was already bracing for the fallout.
Max waited until after debrief on Sunday night.
Charles was still towelling sweat from his neck, red team polo clinging to his back, jaw tight from a frustrating day. Max approached him cautiously and said, “Hey, can we talk?”
Charles looked at him, brows knitting. “Now?”
Max nodded. “Yeah. Now.”
They ended up in one of the back rooms of the hospitality unit, the kind used for strategy huddles or quiet conversations with sponsors. It was empty except for the tension that followed them in.
Charles leaned against the table arms crossed. “So? What’s going on?”
Max’s mouth opened. Then closed. He couldn’t do it casually, couldn’t just drop it like it wasn’t about to detonate everything.
“I need to tell you something,” Max said. “And I need you to let me finish before you say anything.”
Charles blinked. That alone was enough to put him on edge.
Max took a breath. “It’s about your sister.”
Immediately Charles straightened. “What about her?”
Max looked away for a second. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear. I didn’t go looking for it.”
“Max,” Charles snapped. “What happened?”
Max looked up, met his eyes. “I’m in love with her.”
Silence.
Utter, violent silence.
Charles blinked like he hadn’t heard right. Then laughed once sharp and humourless. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“We didn’t plan it. But it happened… it started that weekend when she came back to Monaco. It’s been building for a long time.”
Charles shook his head, stepping back. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I know you’re pissed—”
“Pissed?” Charles exploded.
“We didn’t— we weren’t planning—” Max stumbled over the words. “It only became something real recently. I didn’t want to disrespect you, that’s why I waited—”
Charles eyes narrowed. “Oh you waited?” His voice rose, tight with fury. “You waited out of respect? You went behind my back, you didn’t say a word, and now you want me to believe this is some selfless, noble act?”
Max’s mouth opened, but no words came.
“You’ve always liked her,” Charles snapped. “I knew it deep down I just didn’t didn’t want to believe it so don’t pretend this just happened. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“It’s not like that. It’s more than that.”
Charles scoffed. “Don’t try to play the good guy now.”
“I love her.”
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
Max flinched like he’d been slapped. “I didn’t say it did.”
Charles paced, hands fisted. “You could’ve told me. You should’ve told me. But instead you, God, Max you know how much she means to me. How protective I’ve always been and you just went behind my back?”
“I didn’t mean to go behind your back,” Max said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen but it did and I tried to walk away. I did. But I couldn’t. I can’t”
Charles stared at him, something breaking in his eyes. “You’re supposed to be my friend. You were supposed to look out for her.”
“I still am.”
Charles’s voice cracked. “No. You’re not.”
Max stood frozen.
Charles turned away, running a hand through his hair before slamming his palm against the wall. “Get out.”
“Charles—”
“Get out Max.”
And Max did. He walked out into the paddock his throat burning with the words he couldn’t say.
He’d done the right thing, he’d done everything he could and still somehow it felt like losing.
Max found you sitting in the back corner of the paddock hospitality lounge, fidgeting with a half-empty cup of coffee and trying to look like your heart wasn’t in your throat.
The second you saw his face you knew, he didn’t have to say a word.
“You told him?”
Max nodded. “Yeah.”
You sat back in your chair, shoulders falling. “And?”
“He’s furious,” Max said. “I think I broke something that can’t be fixed.”
You didn’t speak right away just stared down at the table, blinking hard.
Max stepped closer, crouched beside your chair. “Hey. Look at me.”
You did.
“I don’t regret telling him,” he said. “I regret hurting him. But not this. Not you.”
You swallowed. “Yeah. Well. I didn’t expect balloons and confetti.”
“I just—” He reached for your hand. “I didn’t want to keep hiding. It didn’t feel right.”
You nodded once, then pulled your hand away gently. “I need to talk to him.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’m his sister,” you said. “He deserves to hear it from me too.”
You found Charles behind the Ferrari garage somewhere he always went when he didn’t want to be found. His arms were folded and his jaw was still tight with anger.
He saw you coming and for a second he almost turned away.
“Please,” you said, before he could walk off. “Just let me explain.”
He didn’t say anything but he also didn’t move, so you stood there, heart pounding, and said, “I know you’re pissed. I know you feel betrayed. I get it. But I need you to understand this isn’t a joke to me.”
Charles’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s serious?”
You nodded. “Yeah. It is.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s worse. If it was casual or if you’re actually in love with him.”
You swallowed hard. “We didn’t plan this but it’s not going away.”
He turned, paced a few steps, then looked at you, eyes sharp. “Do you have any idea how it felt? Hearing it from him? Watching him stand there and act like he hadn’t just thrown away a decade of friendship?”
“He didn’t throw anything away,” you said, voice firm now. “He tried to do the right thing. He walked away from me more than once because he didn’t want to hurt you.”
He turned his face away for a moment like he couldn’t bear to look at you. “You know what pisses me off most?” he said finally. “It’s not even just that it’s him. It’s that he promised me. I asked him to watch out for you and he swore he would.”
You blinked, surprised, throat tightening. “He has looked out for me.”
He shook his head. “Looking out for you doesn’t mean falling into your bed behind my back.”
You flinched. “It wasn’t like that.”
Charles went on, angry now. “He’s in the spotlight every second of the day. His life is messy, and loud, and complicated. Trust me I know, and I don’t think he even stopped to think about what that means for you. Or what it does to us.”
“I have thought about it,” you said, stronger now. “We both have. Every step of this has been messy and confusing and hard. But it’s real. And I would rather deal with all the noise, all the complications, everything, if it means being with him.”
Charles stared at you for a beat. “And if it all goes to shit? If it ends badly?”
“Then I’ll be heartbroken,” you said honestly. “But that’s my choice to make.”
He ran both hands through his hair, exhaling hard like he didn’t know what to do with the ache in his chest.
“He didn’t throw away your friendship,” you added gently. “He was scared to lose it. That’s why he didn’t tell you sooner. He thought he was protecting both of us.”
Charles gave a hollow laugh. “So noble.”
You stepped closer. “He loves me. And I’ve loved him longer than I’ve even let myself admit.”
That cracked something.
Charles blinked, slow and pained. “You love him?”
You nodded. “I really do.”
He sighed, jaw tight, then finally said, “I still think it’s a mistake.”
You gave a weak smile. “You’ve always thought most of my decisions were mistakes.”
He huffed, almost a laugh, but not quite.
Silence settled between you.
“If he hurts you—”
“I know,” you said gently. “You’ll kill him.”
Charles finally looked at you. “I won’t forgive him. Not yet.”
“That’s okay,” you said. “But maybe one day?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
And somehow, maybe was enough for now.
You didn’t knock.
He opened the door like he’d been waiting.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, stepping inside. “We talked.”
Max shut the door behind you. “And?”
“And he’s still pissed.”
Max winced. “Fair.”
“But…” you smiled softly, toeing off your shoes. “I think he’s starting to understand. A little.”
Relief passed through his face but it didn’t settle. He looked at you like he still didn’t quite believe this was allowed to happen.
You padded closer, tugging gently at the drawstring of his hoodie.
“Hey,” you said, eyes teasing. “You’re allowed to be happy you know.”
“It still scares me… how much I feel when I’m with you.”
“Good. Means you’re not going anywhere.” You winked.
He arched a brow. “You gonna keep stealing my pyjamas?”
You looked entirely unbothered. “Obviously.”
Max shook his head with a soft laugh and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You know you’re a menace, right?”
You leaned in, your lips brushing his jaw. “I thought I was trouble?”
His breath caught, hands tightening slightly at your hips. “You drive me crazy.”
“Yeah?” you whispered. “And you love it.”
“I do.”
He kissed you then, slow and deep and sweet, like he had all the time in the world now. Like you were his finally. When you pulled back slightly breathless you met his eyes.
“When I picture the future,” he said, voice low and certain, “you’re in every version of it. Every single one.”
You smiled, heart pounding.
“Good,” you whispered. “Because I don’t think anyone else could handle me.”
“I don’t want to handle you,” Max said. “I love you exactly as you are.”
One Week Later
The paddock was buzzing.
Photographers, engineers, drivers, and PR teams darted around with the usual Friday chaos.
You were perched on the side of a pit wall barrier, swinging your legs and laughing as Max stood between your knees, holding your hands and trying very badly to look like he wasn’t smiling like an idiot.
You were mid debate about who was more competitive when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.
You both turned.
Charles stood there, arms crossed, one brow raised.
Max instantly straightened like a schoolboy caught sneaking out after curfew.
You hopped off the barrier, brushing your hands on your shorts. “Hey.”
Charles looked between you both. Then finally sighed and extended his hand to Max.
Max blinked, surprised, but shook it.
Charles looked at you, then back at Max, and muttered, “Just… don’t make me regret not punching you.”
Max gave a small, crooked smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Charles rolled his eyes, already turning to leave. “And for god’s sake keep the flirting off the pit wall.”
You couldn’t help but laugh.
As he walked off, Max slid his arm around your waist and leaned in.
“Well,” he whispered. “We’re screwed.”
You grinned up at him.
“But at least we’re screwed together.”
Max kissed you quick, certain, like it had always been meant to end this way.
Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak @taylordaughter @taetae-armyyyyy @kitty-m30w @abcdefghi09lmnopqrstuvwxyz
can i ask you a question? ✶ ln1
lando takes you to a small private beach to watch the sunset, not knowing he's got a little surprise and a heavy question to ask you.
lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ word count : 3.2k ୨୧ warnings : language, mentions of sex, suggestive talk ୨୧ note : ITS HERE!! THE CHAPTER WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog!
special shoutout to @l444ndojpg for reading over this chapter and for reassuring me on it 🫶🫶🫶 she's the best when her story isn't making me go crazy (in a good way!)
part of the lando's heart series.
lando's pocket felt extra heavy.
not only his pocket, but maybe his whole body. palms sweating and heart hammering as he watched you run ahead of him on the beach. thankfully you were only a few steps ahead of him. his footsteps easily following yours that you are leaving behind in the sand.
his eyes never once leave your figure, watching as you playfully laugh as you try to avoid the water that rushes onto the shore. lando swears he feels his heart skip a beat every time he hears your laugh. he's honestly thankful he was able to find this small private beach for the two of you. it was nice to not have to worry about other people – or cameras – following the two of you for once.
just you and him.
and the ring that sits heavy in his pocket.
so far this summer break has been going perfectly, and you honestly seem to be none the wiser to his actual goal for this trip. lando truly can't even fathom how lucky he is to be with you. he can't help but let his eyes drag over your body, the fitted, knitted dress you're wearing hugging all your curves perfectly. your swimsuit stands out underneath the dress and he feels a familiar warmth spreading through his body as he watches you.
it honestly makes him want to lay you out on the sand and take you here and now. no. not right now, maybe afterwards when you say yes.
well... he's hoping you'll say yes. lando is 99.9% sure you'll say yes to him.
the world champion feels like everything is falling into place. finally. even after the shitty season he's been having, nothing can take away this moment for the two of you. lando would probably fight someone if they did try to ruin it for him.
"hey," he calls out softly, earning your attention immediately. lando watches you turn around, eyes sparkling under the golden sky and he feels his heart skip a beat as he looks at you. it honestly takes him a moment to gather his thoughts back. "come here, pretty girl."
you laugh before you're walking over to him, his hand out stretched for you to take. he notes how soft your hands feel, remembering the lotion you rubbed all over your body earlier that morning. that's probably why his hands feel so soft as well, cause you made him also put some on his hands. "they'll get too dry if you don't moisturize, lan!" you told him as you rubbed it into his hands for him.
lando tugs you towards him once he has your hand, letting you bump into him as you both smile at each other. his free hand coming up to move some stray hairs from your face. "let's play twenty questions," he says, arms wrapping around your waist as your own dangle off around his shoulders.
he watches your eyebrows raise for a moment before nodding, "okay!"
"what's your current favorite color?" he starts off.
you can't help but roll your eyes at the question, "you always start with that one, lan!"
"just answer."
"fine..." you huff with a smile, "i guess it would have to be... pink! for right now anyways." lando doesn't think there could be a better answer than that. "my turn! what's your favorite memory of us together?"
"the night after my first win – after the partying and we came back to the hotel room and you basically smothered me in kisses until we fell asleep like that."
"who would have guessed mr. world champion is such a sap," you tease, laughing lightly as lando presses a kiss to your cheek.
"only for you, princess, no one else."
"see~ something only a cheesy sap would say!" lando can't even argue with you because it's true. "okay, you're turn again."
"current ateez bias– and you can only pick one!" he says, making sure to add the last part quickly when he sees you opening your mouth to quickly answer.
"i can't just pick one," you groan out with a pout as you look into your lover's waiting eyes. with a huff, you then make a thinking face – pausing for a moment as lando can see you actually trying to make a decision, "san." you finally answer.
"see? that wasn't so hard to answer," he teases, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flesh against his half-bare chest.
"maybe for you," you mumble and lando can most definitely hear the pout as you bury your face in his chest. your own arms wrapping around him to hug him back. "if you had to associate us with any emojis, what would they be?"
"hmm," he says fake thinking as if he didn't already know what two, "i think the tulip for you and the frog for me."
"because you're funny looking?" lando's hand immediately came down on your ass. hard. "ow! lando!"
"you had that coming, brat, don't even," he says as his hand then kneads the flesh to try and soothe it.
"gosh, you're so mean to me," you say, peering up at your lover who is already looking at you. the golden sky shining beautifully on him and his bronze skin. "okay~ why a tulip and frog?"
"easy. tulips are your favorite flower and a frog because that's what you and fans like to associate me with."
"its your representative animal like a k-pop group would have!" you tease making lando sigh in return.
"yeah... exactly."
at some point, you pull away just enough to tug lando's hand to keep the two of you walking along the shoreline together. questions continuing to bounce off of one another. lando asking you about your favorite moment from the season so far. you ask him what's his favorite meal he's had.
"oh look at the shells, lan!" you say, bending down to start digging through the sand some more. the british driver can't help but smile as he crouches down next to you, eyes moving between your excited expression to your hands that are covered in wet sand.
his eyes then focus on your left hand, more specifically your ring finger that sits bare. it only reminds him of what is sitting inside his pocket. waiting for him to get on one knee and pull out.
"here, baby, let me hold them while you look," he says, holding his hands out so you can easily place the small shells you've already managed to find.
"thank you~" you say with a cute, sing-song tone as you move the beautifully colored shells from your hand to his. "kiss?" you ask, eyes meeting his and lando nods with a small before he's meeting you halfway. the kiss is nice and slow, your lips fitting together perfectly and lando can taste the cherry lip gloss you put on your lips earlier.
when you pull away, lando asks, "what question are we on?"
"sixteen~ its your turn," you say as you go back to looking through the sand.
lando thought for a moment, trying to think of a question that the two of you haven't asked before. he looks at you, eyes trailing down the expanse of your bare neck and shoulders and then back up to your side profile, bottom lip between your teeth as you concentrate on digging through the sand.
"what's your favorite sex position?" lando can't help but smirk when he sees that you were caught off guard.
"gosh, i thought this was supposed to be romantic, not vulgar, lan."
"sex is romantic."
"whatever," you say, rolling your eyes but lando can see the small smile gracing your pretty lips. "favorite sex position?" you repeat his question, and he can tell you’re thinking about it. "i think... i don't know probably the mating press," you finally say with a shrug.
"mating press, huh?"
"yeah, i like when you manhandle me into it and my legs over your shoulders. you look really sexy when we do it," you explain. your boyfriend can tell that by the way your voice softens that he's made you a little flustered. which he can't help but find funny because of how often the two of you do have sex.
"don't get shy on me now, baby, just this morning you were drooling around my cock before breakfast," he teases.
"ugh, lando!" you say, hand coming to gently shove him which makes him let out a loud laugh as he's reaching over to give your hip a playful squeeze. "i just can't help it! i can't believe i still get flustered when me and the girls talk about sex. like i'm some teenage virgin."
"you probably get flustered cause you don't want them realizing how sex-crazed you are," he's leaning over in the sand just enough to breathe it hotly into your ear. "how many times have we done it on this trip alone, hm? i think i've honestly lost count. everyday?"
"no, not everyday..."
the driver can't help but to raise an eyebrow at your words, "oh really? do you want me to go back and count?"
"no, no, no! you don't have to do that! anyways, isn't it my turn to ask a question now?"
lando lets out a hum as he nods, watching as you stand up from the sand so you both can continue to walk. "go on then, ask away."
you pause for a second, stopping again so you can look through the sand for more shells. lando easily bending down with you. "what's your favorite cryptid that you most definitely believe is real."
lando smiles at the question, he remembers how this was the first question you decided to ask him on your first date. "nessie, obviously. or mothman since you seem pretty convinced he's real."
"because he is!" you defend, tone hitting a higher pitch at how excited you're getting. "we should have gone to scotland to search for nessie," you tell him.
"next time, i'll take you in-between races," he tells you. your head turns to look at him – side-eye in full effect.
"you promise?" you ask, holding your pinky out and your lover nods before wrapping his larger pinky around yours.
"i promise." he leans over to kiss your cheek as you put another shell into his hand.
"question eighteen, right?" you nod, "do you believe in soulmates?"
"of course, you can't believe in love without believing in soulmates."
"are we soulmates then?" he notices how you pause, breath catching and even though you're not looking at him, lando can still see how your eyes get a certain glint to them.
"i... i like to think we are," you say softly, your fingers drawing random patterns in the sand. the water slowly coming ashore around you both, but neither one of you reacts to it. "i mean... i feel like fate wanted us to be together, and we would have found a way to each other eventually."
"do you think we would have made it this far if we met earlier in our lives?"
"i think we met right where fate wanted us. i don't think either one of us would have been ready if we met before that day at the karting place. you were still building your f1 career and i was still focusing on school before 2022, so... i think we met in the right moment."
"you always amaze me with your talk of fate," he confesses, which makes you let out a small laugh before you're standing up once more. lando also comes to his full height as you reach to open your purse for him to put the shells in. he knows he'll hear you complaining about the sand later.
"i can't help it," you laugh, taking his hand in yours, fingers intertwining together like it was second nature at the point for the both of you.
mainly because it was second nature.
"everything happens for a reason and that reason is fate," you add, hands swinging slightly as you walk side-by-side. the sky in front of you both is a beautiful golden color mixed with pinks, purples, and oranges. lando doesn't think there could be a more perfect sky than this.
"okay, my turn! nineteen– when did you realize you wanted to date me?"
"easy. it was right after our first date. i remember dropping you off and on the way back to max's house i just... i realized that i wanted to see you again. over and over again. and every time we texted, or facetimed, or saw each other – it just helped me realize how much i wanted you in my life, but in a more official way." he says, gently stopping the two of you from walking further.
"lando..."
"i remember how nervous you were when i came to your place for the first time. shoulders tense when i walked in, and then i watched as you slowly relaxed more and more through the night. i remember picking you up from the airport for the first time and taking you to monaco. how you made sure all your outfits were cute and pretty – like you wanted to show-off just for me," he says, taking your other hands as bumps his forehead against yours. his curls brushing against your skin as he smiles at you.
"i still think about how excited you looked at your first race. how pretty you looked in my garage for the first time, not understanding a thing that was going on, but you still came. still cheered me on and hugged me whenever i got out of the car," you laugh at the memory. lando feels his heart pounding in his throat as he continues to look at you. "i realized i wanted to date you after our first date, but it took me until october to finally ask you out officially."
"we were in austin and had just gotten back to the hotel after i begged you to take me to wendy's," you add with a smile, thinking back on the memory fondly.
"you begged me, but i would have taken you regardless."
"because you love to spoil me," you tease, and lando can't deny it. because it's true.
"question twenty," he says, heart pounding and body heavy. "i've... been thinking about asking you this for a while. since..." he trails off with a laugh as he straighten his body, "you've– y/n, you're the most important person to me. i love you so, so much that sometimes my chest hurts from the amount of love i have for you. every since i seen you at the indoor karting place in london four years ago, i just... knew you were it for me. the way you easily spoke to me because you didn't know who i was and even after you found out. you didn't treat me any different. i ask myself how can i be so lucky to have you in my life? to have someone love me so much like you do?"
"because you deserve it, lan, all the love from me, your friends and family, your fans. you deserve it and so much more."
he shakes his head, "i don't want anyone else's love if its not yours, y/n. you've been with me through some of the best and worst moments of my career. from when i crashed in las vegas to my first win in miami. you let me drag you all over the world without any complaint, and... fuck, you love me so selflessly that i feel like i take you for granted sometimes."
"you never take me for granted, love," you say, hand coming up to cup his cheek. wiping away the tear he didn't even know was running down his cheek.
lando lets his free hand slip into his pocket, the small box now feeling even ten times heavier now that he's about to pull it out. like a very expensive brick that could either build a new path, or destroy everything he's been planning.
"my twentieth question," he says with a deep breath, "since last year. i told myself that when i became world champion i would finally ask you this one question. it took everything in me not to just ask you the same night i won, but i knew mom would have died if i did," he laughs out, eyes looking down at your still joined hands. your left hand preciously sitting in his larger, right one.
"you're making me nervous," you confess with a light laugh, trying to ease yourself as you feel your own heart starting to pick up speed.
"don't say that, babe, it only makes me more nervous," he scolds you softly with a laugh, shaking his head. "y/n," he starts, looking up to meet your awaiting eyes, "you are the most beautiful person i have ever met. both body and soul, no one will ever come close to being like you, and i'm so honored that i've been the one you have trusted your heart with."
lando then gets down on one knee, pulling out the small, pink, heart-shaped ring box. you immediately let out a sharp gasp, both hands shooting up to cover your mouth and lando sees how your eyes turn a glassy texture. he's 100% sure that his eyes are matching as he feels that tears start to build up in his own eyes.
"i've thought about this moment for months now. dreaming of it and every single scenario that could happen, but having you here in front of me like this... it just makes me more certain that this is it for me," he says, a few stray tears finally running down his cheeks. "my y/n, my soulmate, will you marry me?"
lando's then opening the small box, revealing the beautiful pink, oval-shaped diamond ring that sits perfectly inside. the gold bands decorated with smaller white diamonds and it absolutely takes your breath away.
"lando," you sob out, tears running down your face as you nod your head. "yes! yes, of course i'll marry you!" you tell him as another sob rips through you. lando lets out a wet laugh, his own tears finally coming out as he takes the ring, hands shaking as he slips it onto your left ringer finger.
lando doesn't even get a chance to admire your hand before you're throwing your whole body weight into him. hands cupping the back on his head as you press your lips to his in a full-on passionate and messy kiss. his own hands holding your waist as you both tumble into the sand. the small grains flying around and covering you both as you continue to kiss in the sand. the water coming up and wetting lando's entire back but he doesn't care.
he could be completely covered in oil and wouldn't care because you said yes. yes, to becoming his wife and being with him forever.
"fuck, how did i get so lucky," he says against your lips, his hands holding you tightly against his body – afraid that if he lets go you'll disappear.
"shut up, you muppet," you tell him, tears still running down the apple's of your cheeks as you move to smother his entire face in kisses. "i love you so so much, lando."
"i love you, too, future mrs. norris."
you're then kissing him again, the bali sun setting behind you both as you lay together in the sand, your engagement ring glinting in the fading golden sun as it tangles in lando's curls. and it's at this moment that lando realizes he wouldn't want to be anywhere else, but here. with you, his lovely fiancée.
CHAPTER ONE
summary — between bottles, exam schedules and sleepless nights, you and kimi learn how to navigate how to raise a child barely younger than yourselves.
warnings — teenage pregnancy, academic stress, post partum depression, mentions of underage sex
notes — just to clarify, there is no description for reader except that you are born in italy. whether that means you decide that reader is italian by nationality or ethnicity is up to you. english is not my first language and this is my first fic ever, so please take it easy!
m&m masterlist
APRIL 2022
You had taken three tests. The first sat on the edge of the sink. The second had fallen onto the bathmat when your hands started shaking. The third was still clutched between your fingers, although there was no reason to keep staring at it. The answer had not changed. Two lines. Three times.
From outside the locked bathroom door, Kimi knocked again. “Amore?”
You didn't answer. His trainers squeaked against the hallway floor as he shifted his weight. He had arrived ten minutes earlier still wearing his Mercedes junior jacket, his hair flattened strangely on one side from the helmet he had worn during training.
You had sent him one message—come over please—and then ignored every question he asked afterward. “Open the door.” You stared down at the test. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
There was a pause. “What does that mean?” You closed your eyes. Of course that was the sentence he focused on.
You unlocked the door and stepped back before he could push it open. Kimi entered quickly, looking around as though he expected to find somebody injured. His eyes moved from your face to the sink, then to the test in your hand.
He stopped. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.
You had imagined this moment repeatedly since taking the first test. In every version, Kimi reacted loudly. He shouted, denied it, accused you of making a mistake. In the worst versions, he left.
Instead, he became completely still. His backpack slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor. “Is that—”
“Yes.”
He looked at the tests again. “All three?”
“No, Kimi. I bought three tests for decoration.” Usually, he would have said something back. He might have flicked your forehead or told you that you were being annoying. He did neither.
He lowered himself onto the closed toilet lid, missed the edge slightly and had to catch himself against the sink. You watched him sit there with his knees apart and his hands hanging uselessly between them.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“Kimi.” Your voice came out exasperated.
“I know.” He rubbed both hands over his face. “Sorry. I know.”
You leaned back against the bathroom door. Your legs felt unsteady, but sitting beside him seemed too intimate when you were not sure whether either of you could breathe properly. He looked fifteen.
That was a stupid thought. He was fifteen.
He still had a healing scrape across his chin from falling off his bicycle the week before. He had a chemistry test on Monday that you knew he had not studied for. His father still had to remind him to put his wet towels in the laundry basket.
Kimi looked at your stomach and then immediately looked away. “How long?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t know exactly.”
“Did you—have you been to a doctor?”
“No, Kimi. I just found out forty minutes ago!”
“Oh.” He went silent again. You picked at the edge of your thumbnail, watching the blood pile up at the edge.
The bathroom suddenly felt far too small. It was the same bathroom where you had cut your own fringe at eleven and cried until your mother fixed it. Kimi had laughed when he saw you the next day. You didn't spoken to him for an entire lunch period.
Now there were three positive pregnancy tests beside your hand soap. “What are we supposed to do?” Kimi asked. His voice cracked halfway through the question.
Your throat tightened. “I don’t know.”
“You must have thought about it.”
“I found out forty minutes ago,” you repeated. “I spent twenty of those minutes waiting for you.”
“I came as fast as I could.”
“I know.”
“Does your mom know?” You shook your head rather than answering.“Your dad?” Another head shake. “My parents?”
“Kimi, nobody knows. I told you first.” You voice came out exasperated, hands reaching to pull your hair back. That seemed to make it worse. He bowed his head, pressing his palms against his eyes.
You finally slid down the door until you were sitting on the floor opposite him. Your knees almost touched. His backpack lay between you, one strap twisted underneath it. “What if they hate us?” you whispered.
“My parents?”
“All of them.”
“They won’t hate us.”
“You don’t know that.”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know. Kimi... this is a recipe for them to be so... so mad at us.” He reached across the space between you. His fingers found yours, cold and slightly damp.
“I’m sorry,” he admitted. That was the first useful thing he had said. You looked at him properly. His face had gone pale. He kept swallowing, like he might be sick.
“I’m scared,” you said.
“Me too.”
“You’re not supposed to say that.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know. Something better.”
Kimi stared at you helplessly. “I’m trying.” Another silence settled between you. Downstairs, the front door opened. Your mother called your name. Both of you jumped.
Kimi squeezed your hand hard enough to hurt. “We have to tell her,” you said.
“Now?” He glanced toward the bathroom door, “Maybe we should work out what we’re saying first.”
“My mother is going to notice that we’ve locked ourselves in the bathroom.” You shook your head, standing up now.
“We can say you’re ill.”
“She’ll come inside.”
“Then I’ll leave.” You stared at him, Kimi’s eyes widening as he realised what he said. “No— Not leave like that. I mean leave the bathroom. To give you privacy.”
“You are not making me tell her alone.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You just said you were leaving.”
“I meant—” He stopped and looked down. “Sorry.”
Your mother called your name again, closer this time. "Kimi's shoes are in the hallway, is he in the house?” The doorknob moved, the two of you looked at each other.
For one ridiculous second, you were twelve again, caught hiding in the bathroom trying to nurse a burn on Kimi’s arm after he had accidentally broken a lamp in your bedroom.
Then you looked at the three tests on the sink. Nothing was ridiculous anymore. “Mama,” you said, barely loud enough to hear. “Can you get Dad?”
The doorknob finally stopped moving. There was silence on the other side. Your mother’s voice changed immediately. “What happened?”
“Please just get him.”
“Enough. Open the door.” You looked at Kimi. He nodded, though he appeared seconds away from fainting.
Your father did not shout for locking yourselves in the bathroom. You almost wished he would.
Shouting would have been easier than the silence that filled the living room after you placed one of the tests on the coffee table.
Your mother sat beside you, one arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. Your father remained in the armchair across from you, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
Kimi sat at the far end of the sofa. He had moved there after your father entered, as though physical distance might make the situation look slightly less terrible.
It did not. “How long have you known?” your father asked.
“Today,” you said.
He looked at Kimi. “Today,” Kimi repeated quickly. “She told me today.”
“And your parents?”
“They don’t know yet.”
Your father nodded once, but you couldn't read his expression. That frightened you more than anger would have.
Your mother had cried when you told her. Quietly, at first, so quietly that you did not even realise at first. Then she covered her mouth and went into the kitchen for several minutes.
When she returned, she sat beside you and asked if you were in pain. She had not let go of you since. “We need to arrange a doctor’s appointment,” your mother said. “Before anything else.”
You nodded. “And then we will discuss everything properly. All of the options. Nobody is making any decision tonight.”
Your father stood. Kimi stood at the same time. They looked at each other. Kimi sat down again.
“I’m calling your father,” your father told him.
“I can call him.”
“No.” Kimi’s face turned red. You reached across the sofa and caught the edge of his sleeve. Your father noticed, his jaw tightened, but he did not tell you to let go.
The Antonellis arrived thirty-five minutes later. Veronica entered first. She crossed the room without removing her coat and went directly to you, crouching in front of you.
“Are you all right?” You started crying. You had not cried while taking the tests. You had not cried while telling Kimi or your parents.
But Kimi’s mother touched your cheek and asked if you were all right, and suddenly you could not answer. Veronica pulled you into her arms.
Across the room, Marco looked at his son. Kimi looked down. “You knew?” Marco asked.
“An hour ago.”
“And you came here?”
“Yes.”
Marco nodded slowly. “Good.” Kimi lifted his head, startled. “That is the minimum,” Marco added. “Don't look relieved.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Kimi,” Veronica warned. He fell silent. The adults talked for nearly two hours. You and Kimi barely spoke. Decisions moved around you without landing anywhere. Doctors. School. Racing. Your ages. Your futures. What you wanted. What Kimi understood. What neither of you understood.
At one point, your father asked whether Kimi recognised how much of this would fall on you physically. Kimi said yes too quickly. Your father asked him to explain. Kimi couldn't. His face burned as four adults watched him struggle for words.
“I know it’s different for her,” he eventually said. “I know I can’t—I can’t act like it’s happening to both of us in the same way.” You looked at him, but he kept his eyes on your father. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
“You cannot promise things simply because they sound right,” your father replied.
“I’m not.”
“You're fifteen.”
“I know.”
“You have school, racing. You are barely home now.”
“I know.”
“You don't know.” Kimi’s hands curled into fists against his knees. Marco placed one hand on his shoulder. It was not comforting enough to excuse him, only enough to keep him from answering defensively. Your mother spoke before the argument could grow. “Nobody is deciding tonight what the rest of their lives will look like.”
She looked at you. “Tonight, you sleep. Tomorrow, we will see the doctor.”
Then she looked at Kimi. “And you go home with your parents.” Kimi’s head snapped toward you. You understood the panic immediately.
He thought you were being separated. “Mama—”
“Only tonight,” your mother said. “You both need to speak to your own families. You will see each other tomorrow.” Kimi still looked uncertain. You reached for his hand again.
“Tomorrow,” you told him. He squeezed your fingers.
“Tomorrow.”
NOVEMBER 2022
You could confidently classify the night of the 20th to the morning of the 21st as the worst night of your entire life. Nothing could possibly be as gruelling or exhausting as this.
An English exam was not this bad. Falling in front of everyone you knew and lying there for a few seconds while hoping you might die of embarrassment was not this bad.
Being caught cheating on a maths test in seventh grade had not been this bad, and your mother had refused to speak to you for almost two days after that.
You had gone into the hospital believing that once the contractions became unbearable, the baby would arrive shortly afterward. That seemed fair. There should have been some sort of exchange.
Once the pain reached a certain level, your body should have accepted that you had suffered enough and released the baby.
Instead, every time someone checked you, they announced another number as though you were supposed to find it encouraging.
By the time you were finally told you could start pushing, you had been awake for most of the night, your hair had escaped the braid your mother had done for you, and you had lost whatever small amount of dignity you had entered the hospital with.
Kimi still had all of his dignity, which seemed deeply unfair.
He had spent most of the night sitting beside the bed in grey sweatpants and a Mercedes hoodie, drinking apple juice and looking increasingly ill.
By nine in the morning, the room had changed. There were more people moving around. Equipment had been brought closer to the bed.
Your father and Marco had been sent outside, partly because there was not enough space and mostly because you had decided there were limits to what either of them needed to witness.
Your mother stayed. Kimi stayed too, despite looking as though he might faint every time someone used a medical term. You had considered telling him to leave.
But you wanted him beside you, but you also wanted him to stop moving, breathing loudly, asking questions or looking frightened because his fear was making your fear worse. “You’re shaking the bed,” you snapped.
“My leg isn’t touching it.”
“I can feel it.”
Kimi pressed both feet flat against the floor. “Sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry.”
He looked down, pursuing his lips. “Okay.”
“And stop agreeing with everything I say.”
“All right.” You glared at him. He looked helplessly at your mother, who turned her face away to hide a smile.
The pushing stage was less like the dramatic rush you had expected and more like being repeatedly told to perform the most exhausting task of your life while everybody insisted you were nearly finished.
The midwife said the baby was close. Then she said it again. And again. You were beginning to suspect that close had no actual medical meaning. “I can’t,” you cried after another contraction.
“Yes, you can,” your mother said.
“I actually can’t.” The midwife told you that you were doing very well.
“You get paid to say that to everyone!"
“Yes,” the midwife said calmly. “But I am also saying it because it is true.”
Nora Antonelli was finally born at 10:38 a.m. on 21 November 2022. She was placed immediately against your chest and covered with a warm blanket while the medical team continued checking you both.
You stared down at her. Nora was small, red-faced and crying furiously. And she was…kind of ugly. God, were you terrible for thinking that?
You had expected a tiny, perfect baby with smooth cheeks and wide, curious eyes. Nora looked deeply offended, slightly squashed and furious to have been removed from wherever she had been living for the past nine months.
You waited for the feeling. The enormous, overwhelming rush of motherhood everyone online had described. You had watched TikToks where women cried while explaining that the moment their baby was placed on their chest, the entire world changed.
Reddit posts described instant love so powerful that nothing else existed. You had even checked Mumsnet, which you had regretted almost immediately because the women there appeared to disagree about everything except the fact that birth was miraculous.
They described relief. A blessing. A feeling unlike anything else. You did feel relieved. You were relieved that Nora was out. Relieved that the pushing had stopped. Relieved that people were no longer telling you to breathe as though you had forgotten how.
But there were no butterflies, no music, and sudden certainty that you knew exactly what you were doing.
There was only a warm, slippery ugly baby crying against your chest while you tried not to look as confused as you felt.
You studied Nora’s face carefully. Were you supposed to say something? Hello seemed too formal. I’m your mother felt obvious.
You had imagined this moment so many times during the pregnancy, but none of the versions had included how exhausted you would be or how strange it would feel to look at the person who had been inside you and realise you were now expected to know her.
You tried not to let any of this show on your face. Then you turned your head, seeing Kimi was crying openly. He was fully crying, his mouth pressed tightly together as though that might stop it.
He wiped his face against the sleeve of his hoodie, apparently believing that would hide what was happening.
It did not.
His eyes were red, his cheeks were wet. His hair was sticking up at the back, and one of his hands was still clenched from where you had nearly broken his fingers.
You stared at him. He looked down at Nora, his face changing again. You watched him stare at her as though she were the most astonishing thing he had ever seen. Of course he got the instant magical feeling.
He had not even done anything. You had spent the entire night suffering, and Kimi had drunk apple juice, held one leg for twenty minutes and cried when the baby arrived.
“She’s so small,” he whispered. Nora cried harder, Kimi looking up in alarm. “Why is she doing that?”
“She’s a baby.”
“Is she hungry?”
“She’s been alive for thirty seconds.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t hungry.” You shut your eyes briefly. When you opened them again, he was still staring at Nora. You still did not feel like somebody’s mother.
You felt like yourself. Exhausted, sore, irritated, who had somehow been handed a baby and told she belonged to you. The midwife adjusted the blanket and asked whether you wanted to try feeding her.
Your stomach dropped. “Now?”
“If you feel ready.” You looked at your mother. She moved closer, immediately understanding the fear in your face. “You don’t have to know how,” she said softly. “They will show you.”
That nearly made you cry. Not because it was beautiful. Because you were so relieved that somebody had finally said you were not expected to already know. Nora fussed.
You became frustrated and immediately felt guilty for becoming frustrated. The midwife calmly adjusted your position and reminded you that both you and the baby were learning.
Learning.
You looked down at Nora again. You were not supposed to know her yet. Nora did not know you either. You had met less than five minutes ago.
Maybe the enormous rush would come later. Maybe it would happen that evening, or the following week, or quietly in pieces rather than all at once.
The midwife eventually asked whether Kimi wanted to hold her. His face went blank. “Now?” You turned your head toward him. “What if I do it wrong?”
“You will.” Kimi stared at you. Your mother touched his shoulder gently. “Everyone does at first.”
That did not seem to comfort him. He moved into the chair beside the bed anyway. The midwife showed him exactly how to position his arms and support Nora’s head. Kimi listened as though she were explaining a complicated race procedure.
He nodded after every sentence, he held out his arms, Nora placed against him. His entire body became rigid, shoulders rose almost to his ears. “Relax,” you said.
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re being held at gunpoint.”
“I don’t want to drop her.”
“You’re sitting down.”
“You keep saying that like babies can’t fall from chairs.”
“Kimi.”
Nora moved slightly, causing Kimi to freeze. “Why did she do that?”
“She moved.”
“Is her neck okay?”
The midwife smiled. “Her neck is fine.”
“Completely?” You groaned. Kimi looked down again. Nora’s eyes remained closed. Her face had begun to soften now that she was no longer screaming. One tiny fist rested beside her cheek.
Her hat had slipped over one eyebrow. Kimi lifted one finger and carefully pushed it back. “Hi,” he whispered, the room becoming quiet.
You watched him swallow, looking away quickly because, annoyingly, that was what finally did it.
Not butterflies. Not some enormous wave of divine motherhood. Just Kimi sitting beside you, sixteen years old and terrified, holding your slightly ugly baby as though she were made of glass.
Love, perhaps—but new and frightened and unfamiliar. The sort that did not feel like flying. The sort that felt like something had wrapped itself tightly around your ribs and intended to stay there.
You wiped your face. Kimi looked up immediately. “Why are you crying?”
You glared at him through tears. “Because I just gave birth, dumbass.”
ᯓ super shy — New Jeans 🔒
liked by, kimi.antonelli, veronicaantonelli, and 183 others ynusername: 21.11.22 🤍 view comments giulialouise: she's so tiny....when can i come see her? ⤷ ynusername: her lungs arent tiny
kimi.antonelli: 🤍
The first night home, none of you slept. Nora cried at one in the morning. Then at two, then at 2:15 when Kimi had only just closed his eyes on the mattress your parents had placed beside your bed.
He sat up so quickly he struck his head against the bedside table. You, already holding Nora, stared at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
Your lips pursed, pointing at his forehead. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m not.” Kimi touched his forehead and looked at the small streak of blood on his fingers. Nora continued crying. From the hallway, your mother called, “Do you need help?”
“No,” you called back.
“Yes,” Kimi said at the same time. You glared at him. “What?” he whispered. “We need help.”
“I can feed her.”
“You said you don’t know why she’s crying.”
“I know more than you.”
“I know that.” Your mother entered before either of you could continue. She took one look at Kimi’s forehead, your expression and the screaming baby.
“You,” she told Kimi, “bathroom.”
“I’m fine.”
“You're bleeding onto my carpet.” Kimi stood, accepting his defeat. “You,” she pointed directly at you, “move over.”
The two of you were trying to be good parents in the way frightened children could be good parents: you loved Nora immediately and knew almost nothing else.
Everything had to be taught to you. How to support her head. How warm the bath should be. How to tell whether she had a fever. How to sterilise bottles. How to fold the pushchair without nearly losing a finger.
You called your mothers constantly. Sometimes from the next room.
FEBRUARY 2023
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⤷ olliebearman: she knows you’re slow there ⤷ kimi.antonelli: blocked
You returned to school gradually. At first, you attended three mornings a week while your mother stayed with Nora. Then four. By the time Nora was five months old, you were expected to follow almost the same schedule as everyone else.
Almost became a dangerous word. You had extensions. You had missed work. You had teachers who told you not to worry and teachers who reminded you that final deadlines still applied.
You had friends who sent photographs of notes and friends who stopped inviting you because you always said no. You sat at the kitchen table trying to finish an essay on I Promessi Sposi.
Your schoolbook lay open beneath a muslin cloth. A bottle cooled beside your pencil case. Nora sat strapped against your chest, making small offended noises every time you stopped moving.
She refused to fall asleep in the crib downstairs, so desperate times for desperate measures. Your phone buzzed. You accepted without looking at the screen, knowing already who it was. “What?”
"Hello to you too."
“I have four hundred words left.”
"Of what?"
“My essay.”
"The one from last week?"
“Yes, Andrea.”
"You said you finished it."
“I lied.” Nora began fussing. Kimi’s face appeared on the laptop screen, grainy beneath the hotel-room lights.
"Is she tired?"
“No, she’s performing experimental opera.”
"Give her to me.'
You stared at him. “Through the screen?”
"I mean show her to me."
“She can’t see you properly when she’s like this.”
"Try." You adjusted the laptop, turning so Nora was facing the screen. Kimi leaned closer to his camera. "Ciao, mia stella."
Nora stopped crying long enough to stare at the moving shape on the screen. Kimi smiled. "See?"
Then Nora screamed louder. You immediately moved the laptop back. “You made it worse.”
"How?"
“I don’t know. Your face upset her.”
"My face doesn’t upset her."
“She has good judgement.”
Kimi looked offended. "What does that say about your judgement then? You like this face."
You returned to your essay, swaying slightly in the chair. “It means I have terrible judgement.”
For a while, he watched you type. "Do you need help?"
“You can help by taking her for six hours.”
"I’m in England."
“Yes. I’ve noticed.” The words came out sharper than you intended, Kimi falling quiet. You kept typing. After a minute, he said, "I come home Thursday."
You stopped typing. “What time?”
"Late."
“How late?”
"I don’t know yet."
“You never know.”
"I just found out."
“I didn’t say it was your fault.”
"You said it like it was."
Nora started crying again. You shut your eyes. “I have to go.”
"Amore—"
“I have to finish this.” You ended the call before he answered. Ten minutes later, a message appeared.
liked by kimi.antonelli, giulalouise, olliebearman and 141 others ynusername: six months of nori 🥹🤍 she can sit up, steal food and recognise the sound of her grandma coming through the front door view comments
kimi.antonelli: she said babbo yesterday ⤷ ynusername: she said ba ⤷ kimi.antonelli: beginning of babbo
giulialouise: she also said ba when she saw a banana two days ago ⤷ kimi.antonelli: jealous people in these comments
By summer, Kimi had become extremely skilled at leaving.
He was not good at it. He simply did it often. He packed racing equipment, chargers, passports and clothes while Nora crawled between his feet.
You sat on the bed, pretending to study and watching him check the same compartment of his suitcase three times. “When are you back?”
“Monday night.”
“You said Sunday.”
“My flight changed.”
“Again? Why didn’t you tell me?” You sighed, using a hand to push your hair back. “I’m telling you now.” He brushed off.
“Because I asked.”
Kimi zipped the case. “I found out this morning.”
“And you forgot?”
“I was training.”
“You could message after training.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You message Ollie.”
“That’s different.”
You closed your book. “How?”
“He sends me stupid things. I answer when I finish.”
“So you can answer him but not me.”
“That is not what I said.” Nora sat beside the suitcase and began pulling socks from the outer pocket. Kimi exhaled through his nose. “Why are we arguing?”
“I’m not arguing.” You held your hands up.
“You are.”
“I asked you a question.”
“In an argumentative way.”
You stood. “Fine. Go.”
“I am going. I have a flight.”
“I know.”
“Come on amore.”
“What?” Kimi looked at you, waiting. You crossed your arms. He glanced at Nora and finally noticed the growing pile of socks. “Stella.”
She grinned at him and pulled out another. Kimi crouched beside her. “No. Those stay inside.” Nora immediately threw one behind her. You laughed before you could stop yourself.
Kimi looked over his shoulder. “You’re encouraging her.”
“She agrees with me.”
“She cannot understand you.”
“She understands that you’re annoying.” Kimi gathered the socks and shoved them back into the suitcase. Nora removed one again. He caught her around the middle and lifted her. “Okay. You’re coming with me.” Nora squealed.
“You’re not taking my baby to Belgium,” you said.
“Our baby.”
“She was mine when you forgot to tell me about your flight.” Kimi stood with Nora balanced against his chest.
“I didn’t forget you.” Your expression changed before you could control it. The joking disappeared from his face as he noticed your expression. “I didn’t,” he said more quietly.
You looked down. Kimi crossed the room and stopped in front of you. Nora reached out and caught a section of your hair. “Ow.” Kimi untangled her fingers carefully, replacing it with his own. “I’ll call when I land.”
“You’ll forget.”
“I won’t.”
“You always say that.”
“Then I’ll set an alarm.”
You looked at him again. “That’s worse.”
“Why?”
“You need an alarm to remember me?” Kimi stared at you. You stared back. Then he groaned and dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. “You make everything impossible.”
“You’re stupid.”
“You knew that when you agreed to be my girlfriend.”
“I was twelve. I had bad judgement.” Nora patted the back of Kimi’s head.
He lifted his face. “See? She’s comforting me.”
“She thinks you’re furniture.”
He kissed Nora’s cheek, then yours. You turned your head at the last second, so his mouth caught the corner of yours. His hand came to cup your jaw leaning in for a proper one.
“Call when you land,” you repeated, your breath tickling his lips slightly. A huff of amusement slipped out of his mouth, “I will.”
Kimi kissed you anyway, quick this time, before Nora wedged one small hand between your faces. You moved her hand away, taking his lips one more time.
You felt his breath stutter a little in his chest, and then he relaxed into it, the hand holding your jaw pulling you in closer like he’s anchoring himself to the moment.
“Go, Andrea.” He handed Nora back reluctantly, then dragged his suitcase toward the door, no doubt his dad already waiting by the door downstairs.
ᯓ what is love — TWICE
liked by, kimi.antonelli, olliebearman and 300 others ynusername: seventeen!!!!!! unfortunately you remain the same annoying person i met when i was four. happy birthday kimi 🤍 view comments
kimi.antonelli: you made the cake ugly on purpose ⤷ ynusername: i made the cake while holding your child ⤷ kimi.antonelli: our child and no you didnt do either of those things my mom made that cake ⤷ ynusername: she became yours again at midnight and i was in the kitchen when she was making it so
olliebearman: happy birthday old man ⤷ kimi.antonelli: you are older than me ⤷ olliebearman: spiritually you are 46
21 November 2023
liked by kimi.antonelli, veronicaantonelli and 292 others ynusername: our girl is one 🤍 one whole year of nori laughing at nothing, refusing to sleep, stealing my food and waiting at the door when she hears her babbo’s car. we love you more than you’ll ever understand. view comments
kimi.antonelli: my favourite person ⤷ ynusername: wow ⤷ kimi.antonelli: one of my favourite people ⤷ ynusername: too late
giulialouise: happy birthday nora!!! 🤍🤍
olliebearman: happy birthday small antonelli ⤷ ynusername: she has a name ⤷ olliebearman: happy birthday small yn ⤷ ynusername: worse
DECEMBER 2023
Marco offered to tell Toto for him. Kimi refused before his father had finished speaking. “I’ll do it.”
“You have avoided doing it for a year.”
“I wasn’t avoiding it.” Marco looked at him. Kimi adjusted the cuff of his Mercedes jacket. “I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you were avoiding it.” They stood in the corridor outside Toto’s office. Kimi had asked for a private meeting two weeks earlier, then considered cancelling it every day since. Mercedes did not know about Nora.
A few people around the junior programme knew Kimi had serious family commitments. They knew he has a girlfriend, but nobody had asked for details.
Nora had been born after his racing season ended, and Kimi had missed nothing important enough to cause questions. That had made hiding her easy at first. Then every month made telling them harder.
He had convinced himself he would do it before the next test. Before the next season. Before Nora was six months old. Before her first birthday. Now she was one, and Toto Wolff still did not know that one of his junior drivers had a daughter.
Marco lowered his voice. “You tell him everything. Do not try to make it sound better.”
“I know.”
“I know you would not intend to. That is not the same thing.” Kimi looked away. The office door opened. Toto’s assistant smiled at them. “He’s ready.” Kimi’s stomach dropped.
Marco entered behind him but did not sit until Kimi did. Toto looked from one Antonelli to the other. “You asked to speak privately.”
“Yes.” Kimi had rehearsed the explanation in Italian and English. He had practised in the mirror. He had written down the important points on his phone.
You had told him not to begin with I need to tell you something because that made it sound as if he had committed a crime.
Now Toto sat opposite him, waiting. Every prepared sentence disappeared. Kimi gripped his knees. “I have a daughter.” Toto did not react immediately. Kimi continued before he could be asked.
“Her name is Nora. She turned one last month. YN—my girlfriend—became pregnant last year. We were fifteen.” Toto looked at Marco.
“My wife and I have known from the beginning,” Marco said. “As have YN's parents.”
“And Mercedes has not,” Toto replied.
“No.”
“Why?”
Kimi answered before his father could. “Because I was scared.” Toto turned back to him. “Of what?”
“That you would think I wasn’t serious. Or that I was irresponsible. That you would drop me.”
“Were you irresponsible?”
Kimi’s face burned. “Yes.” The honesty seemed to surprise all three of them. He swallowed. “But Nora is here. YN and I are raising her with our parents. I haven’t missed anything for racing.”
Toto leaned back in his chair. “Is YN safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is she well?”
“Yes. Mostly. School is difficult sometimes.”
“What does she want?”
Kimi hesitated. “In relation to what?”
“Her education. Her future. Your daughter. You.”
“She wants to finish school. She doesn’t want to stop.”
“And childcare?”
“Our parents help. Mostly her mother when YN is at school. My mother too. I take Nora when I’m home.”
“How often are you home?”
Kimi looked down. “Not enough.”
Toto was silent for a moment. “Does YN agree with how you have described the arrangement?”
“Yes.” Marco shifted slightly beside him. Kimi corrected himself. “I think she does.”
“You think?”
“We talk about it.”
“Do you listen?” Kimi’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Toto did not rescue him.
Kimi thought about the calls you ended early. The assignments completed with Nora strapped to your chest. Every time he arrived home with a suitcase of dirty clothes and expected you to be happy simply because he had returned. “I’m trying,” he said.
“That was not the question either.”
Kimi’s hands tightened against his knees. “Sometimes.” Toto nodded once. He did not look angry. Kimi almost preferred anger. This felt like an evaluation, and Kimi had no lap time to defend himself with.
“Your daughter does not make you less committed to racing,” Toto said. “But becoming a father does not automatically make you responsible either. It gives you another responsibility. Whether you meet it is up to you.”
Kimi nodded. “This will not excuse poor preparation. It will not excuse missed communication or arriving exhausted because you attempted to solve everything yourself.”
“I understand.”
“And racing cannot become an excuse for leaving every unpleasant part of parenting to YN.”
“It isn’t.”
“You are away more than she is.” Kimi fell silent. Toto continued. “She has already experienced consequences you have not. Physically. Socially. At school. At home. You continue along the career path you chose as a child. Her path has changed completely.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Kimi looked at Marco. His father did not help him. Kimi forced himself to meet Toto’s eyes again.
“I’m learning.” That answer appeared to satisfy him more than the others. Toto folded his hands on the desk. “You are not the first driver to have a family. You are simply much younger than most of them.”
Kimi waited. “But I should have been informed.”
“Yes.”
“A year ago.”
“Yes.”
“If there had been an emergency during a test or a race weekend, we would not have known the circumstances.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Kimi nodded, staring at a point on the desk. Then Toto asked, “Do you have a photograph?” He looked up.
“What?”
“Your daughter.” For the first time since entering the office, Marco smiled. Kimi pulled out his phone too quickly and nearly dropped it. He opened his photographs.
There were hundreds. Nora asleep. Nora eating. Nora sitting in the middle of Kimi’s open suitcase. Nora wearing his cap backward. Nora on her birthday with both hands buried in cake.
He selected the birthday photograph. “She looks more like YN,” Kimi said.
“That is probably fortunate.”
Kimi glanced at his father, who looked suspiciously amused. Toto handed the phone back. “We will need a proper discussion about your schedule, emergency contacts and what support is appropriate. Support does not mean Mercedes raises your child for you.”
“I know.”
“It also does not mean you hide major parts of your life because you are afraid of disappointing people.” Kimi slipped the phone back into his pocket, nodding instead of answering.
“I would also like to speak to YN.” His head lifted immediately.
“She has school.”
“Then we arrange it around school.” Kimi nodded slowly. Toto looked at him for another moment. “You thought I would remove you from the programme?”
“Yes.”
“Because you have a daughter?”
“Because of how old we were.”
“How old you still are.”
Kimi looked down again. Toto’s voice softened, but only slightly. “You are allowed to be frightened, Kimi. You are not allowed to use fear as a reason to avoid difficult conversations for an entire year.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” The meeting ended twenty minutes later. Outside the office, Kimi stood in the corridor and exhaled so hard that his shoulders dropped. Marco checked his watch. “You need to call her.”
“She’s in class.”
“You told her you would call immediately.”
“I’ll message.” Marco gave him a look, but he shrugged, “If her mom found out I called her during school your grandaughter would be left without a father,”
Kimi looked back at the closed office door. He had spent a year believing that telling Mercedes would end everything. Now there would be meetings, new schedules and questions neither he nor you knew how to answer.
Nothing had been fixed. Nothing had disappeared. But the secret was no longer sitting on his chest.
m&m taglist (message or comment to join!!)
@larkthemutt @dessashippr
𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆
highschool first love
𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒐𝒏
Summary: Oscar Piastri is the man of your dreams, the prince of your fairytale story, the man you're in love with, and your first love.
In Junior year, high school felt less like an institution and more like an ecosystem with rigid, unspoken laws. Your circle was at the top of that food chain not because anyone was exceptionally brilliant but because you all had the right zip codes, the right summer plans, and parents who sat on the same community boards.
Then there was Oscar.
He didn't fit into the circle, not really. He was there because his house sat on the borderline of the school district, and because his older brother used to buy alcohol for everyone before he moved out. The rest of your friends tolerated him with a sort of careless affection.
He was the quiet guy with the permanently bruised knuckles and a beat-up, dark blue '98 Civic that smelled like pine-scented air freshener and old leather. While everyone else spent lunch periods loudly debating university early-admissions, gap years in Europe, and corporate internships, Oscar sat on the edge of the wooden bench, scraping dried red dirt off the soles of his work boots with a pocketknife.
You started watching him simply because he was the only thing in your predictable world that didn't adhere to a script.
"He's so brooding," Sarah had murmured one Tuesday during free period, leaning back on her elbows on the oval bleachers. "Do you think he actually talks to his dad, or do they just grunt at each other over car engines?"
"He talks," you said, your eyes fixed on Oscar down by the chain-link fence. He was holding a grease-stained notebook, scribbling something down while leaning against the metal post. "You just have to ask him the right questions."
"And you know what those are?" Sarah teased, nudging your shoulder.
"No," you admitted, feeling a sudden, odd warmth prickle at the back of your neck. "Not yet."
The hints didn't start like a storm, they started like a slow leak. They were subtle enough that if you hadn't been paying attention, you would have missed them entirely.
It happened during a rainy Thursday lunch in the library. The rain was drumming hard against the tall glass windows, and your group was scattered across the plush blue armchairs. You were sitting on the carpeted floor, struggling with the stuck metal zipper of your denim jacket, pulling at it until your fingers turned red.
"Need a tool for that?" a voice asked above you.
You looked up. Oscar was leaning over the back of the armchair, a half-eaten apple in his hand.
"It’s jammed," you muttered, frustrated. "I think the fabric got caught in the teeth."
Oscar didn't say anything. He crouched down beside you on the carpet, his knees popping softly. The subtle scent of damp wool, rain, and faint motor oil settled over you. He reached out, his fingers surprisingly gentle despite the calluses as they brushed against your knuckles to take the zipper tab.
"Don't yank it," he said softly, his head bent close to yours. You could see the faint dark flecks in his brown eyes, the tiny scar near the arch of his left eyebrow. "You'll tear the track. You have to back it up first."
"I tried that," you whispered, conscious of how close his face was to yours.
"Try it again," he said, holding the fabric taut. His thumb rested against the base of your throat for a fraction of a second too long to be strictly necessary, too light to be an accident. He worked the metal pull back a millimeter at a time until it gave way with a smooth click.
"There," he muttered, looking up from the zipper straight into your eyes. "Fixed."
"Thanks," you breathed.
"You're always breaking things," he said, a slow, microscopic curve lifting the corner of his mouth.
"I am not."
"You are," he insisted quietly, standing up and dusting off his jeans. "Lucky for you, I like fixing things that are broken."
Before you could ask him what he meant, Sarah called him over to ask if his car was free for Friday night, and the moment dissolved. But the weight of his thumb on your skin stayed with you through the rest of the day, a ghost mark that burned long after the final bell.
—
By the middle of winter, an unwritten agreement had formed between you two. It wasn't something you declared to the group, it was a series of small, quiet thefts from the rest of the world. You’d stay behind after school under the guise of waiting for traffic to clear, sitting on the hood of his car while he checked the oil, or sitting in the passenger seat with the heater blasting, sharing a greasy bag of hot chips.
The school’s annual winter carnival was loud, cold, and bright with cheap fairy lights strung between the brick buildings. Your friends had migrated toward the hot chocolate stand, but you and Oscar had fallen behind, wandering near the drama club's fundraising stalls.
"Look at that," Oscar said, stopping in front of a retro, curtained photo booth with a painted wooden sign: COUPLE’S SPECIAL: TWO STRIPS FOR $5.
"What about it?" you asked, blowing warm air into your gloved hands.
"I have five dollars," he said, pulling a crumpled bill from his jacket pocket. "And I want two strips of pictures."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Oscar, it says couple's special. They're going to know we're not together."
"Who's they?" he asked, taking your gloved hand in his. His grip was firm, steady, pulling you toward the velvet curtain before you could protest. "The drama kids? They don't know anything. We tell them we're together, we get the discount. Simple math."
"You're ridiculous," you muttered, but your heart was already hammering against your ribs as he pushed the heavy curtain aside.
The booth was tiny, barely wide enough for two people. You slid onto the smooth vinyl bench, pushed so close to him that your thigh was pressed against his from hip to knee. The air inside immediately felt claustrophobic and intensely warm.
"Ready?" he asked, his thumb hovering over the coin slot.
"I guess," you said, trying to adjust your hair in the small mirror beside the camera lens.
The machine beeped loudly. 3... 2... 1...
The first flash blinded you. You both looked straight ahead, smiling stiffly like two kids sitting for a school portrait.
3... 2... 1...
For the second frame, Oscar shifted. Without warning, he threw his heavy arm over your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest. Your head hit the hollow of his shoulder, and you gasped, looking up just as the flash went off.
3... 2... 1...
Before you could sit back up, Oscar turned his head toward you. His face was inches away, his dark eyes wide and glossy in the dim light of the booth. His breath smelled like peppermint, warm against your cold cheeks.
"Look natural," he whispered, his lips practically touching the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "Make them believe it."
Your hands instinctively clutched the lapels of his jacket to keep your balance. The third flash went off, catching the exact second your breath hitched, catching the way your fingers were dug into his coat, catching the dark, hungry look in his eyes as he looked down at you.
When the velvet curtain opened, the cold night air hit you like a physical slap. The machine sputtered and spat out the two glossy photo strips. Oscar reached out and grabbed them, holding them up to the yellow light of the carnival lamps.
In the third picture, you didn't look like friends pretending. You looked terrified, consumed, and completely caught.
"See?" Oscar said, his voice dropping an octave as he handed you one of the strips. "Saved two bucks."
"You're terrible," you whispered, staring at the small photo of his face hovering over yours.
"Yeah," he said softly, putting his strip carefully into his wallet. "I am."
Later that evening, the group gathered around a low concrete wall near the edge of the school grounds, huddled against the wind. The conversation inevitably turned to the looming shadow of graduation and what came after.
"My dad wants me to apply to Monash for Commerce," Sarah said, tossing a paper cup into a bin. "But I’m trying to convince him that Melbourne Uni has a better social network. What about you guys?"
"Adelaide," Marcus offered. "Engineering."
"I'm applying for the fine arts program at the central campus in the city," you said, glancing across the circle at Oscar. He was sitting on a overturned milk crate, unbuttoning his thick jacket, looking out over the dark sports oval. "It's an hour away, but I can commute."
"That's great," Sarah said. "What about you, Oscar? Are you going to trade school, or are you just going to take over your dad's shop full time?"
The question was spoken without malice, but the subtle boundary line was instantly drawn. The future was something your friends planned. For Oscar, it was something that happened to him.
Oscar didn't answer immediately. He took a slow breath, his chest expanding under his sweater, his eyes shifting from the dark field to lock onto yours. The noise of your friends talking about entry scores and housing deposits faded into a hollow hum.
"I haven't figured it out yet," Oscar said, his eyes never leaving your face. "Depends on what's left here when everyone leaves."
The statement sat heavy between you two, an unspoken tether that felt less like a promise and more like a warning.
—
Spring brought the pressure of finals, and with it, a sudden, cold wall from Oscar.
It didn't happen with a fight. It happened with a slow, agonizing retreat. First, it was unreturned text messages. Simple things, like asking if he was coming to study group, left on read for days. Then, it was his physical presence.
When your friends met at the local diner, Oscar sat at the far end of the booth, his eyes glued to his phone or staring out the window, completely ignoring the empty space you'd saved beside him. When you walked past his car in the parking lot, he’d suddenly find a reason to pop the hood or walk in the opposite direction.
The pull-away felt violent. It hurt more than an argument, picking at you until the confusion boiled over into desperation.
Three weeks into the ghosting, the sky over Melbourne broke into a violent, late-spring thunderstorm. The rain lashed against your windshield as you drove toward his father's repair shop on the industrial side of town. You didn't care that your parents were expecting you home for dinner, or that you had an essay due the next morning. You were tired of being frozen out by the only person who actually saw you.
You pushed open the heavy side door of the workshop. The air inside was thick with the smell of wet cement, rust, and motor oil. The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof with a deafening, metallic roar.
Oscar was standing near a tool chest at the back, a grease rag in his hand. He froze when the door slammed shut, turning slowly to face you.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice flat, tightly controlled.
"Why are you ignoring me?" you demanded, walking straight toward him, your wet shoes squeaking loudly against the floor. "You’ve been dodging me for almost a month, Oscar. Look at me!"
"I'm working," he said, turning back to the metal drawers, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up a spanner. "You shouldn't be here. The floor's slick."
"I don't give a damn about the floor!" you yelled, your voice straining against the sound of the rain overhead. You reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to face you. "Did I do something? Did I say something wrong? Just talk to me!"
"Nothing's wrong," he said coldly, trying to pull away. "I'm just busy. We're busy. Exams are coming up."
"That's a lie!" you cried, tears of frustration finally hot against your cold cheeks. "You talk to Marcus! You talk to Sarah! You talk to everyone except me! It's like I'm invisible to you suddenly!"
"Because you need to be!" Oscar snapped, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He tossed the spanner onto the steel table with a sharp, deafening CLANG. "Just leave it alone!"
"No! I'm not leaving until you tell me what changed!"
"What changed is that I woke up!" Oscar took two aggressive steps forward, stepping directly into your space, his tall frame towering over you, his eyes dark and furious.
"Look around you! Look at where we are! You're going to some fancy city campus next year. You have a family that pays for your life. You're going to leave this place and forget half the people in it. And I'm going to be right here, fixing broken engines in the rain!"
"I don't care about any of that!" you screamed back, shoving his chest with both hands. "I never cared about your dad's shop or your car or where you're going! I cared about you!"
"Why?!" he roared back, grabbing your wrists to stop you from shoving him again. His hands were ice-cold, his grip iron-tight. "Why do you care so much? What do you want from me? A story to tell your university friends about the mechanic boy you played around with in high school?"
"I'm not playing!" you sobbed, trying to pull your wrists free, but he held you pinned between his hands and his chest. "I've been in love with you since Junior year, you stupid idiot!"
The world stopped. The roar of the rain on the roof seemed to drop to a dull, distant thrum.
Oscar went completely still. His chest rose and fell in harsh, jagged breaths, his eyes searching your face, reading every tear, every line of exhaustion, every ounce of truth you had just laid bare. All the anger in his dark eyes shattered, leaving behind a raw, terrifying vulnerability.
"Say it again," he whispered, his voice cracking.
"I love you," you wept, your voice breaking on the last word. "And you're ruining everything."
Oscar let out a low, ragged sound, half a groan, half a sigh and pulled you toward him, his mouth meeting yours with a desperate, heavy intensity.
You two make out until you’re catching your breathed before oscar led you into the back room of the shop, a quiet, narrow space with a low spring mattress surrounded by stacks of old tires and dust-covered oil cans. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint amber glow of a streetlight filtering through a small, high window.
Without saying a word, you started taking off your clothes, urging Oscar do to the same thing. He didn't have a condom. He wasn't planning for this, he had spent the last three weeks trying to construct a wall between you two, not prepare a bed.
When he checked his pocket, his fingers hesitated, finding nothing. For a fraction of a second, he froze, looking down at you in the dark with a jaw set in quiet agony, ready to be the responsible one and pull back.
"Oscar, don't," you whispered, your hand reaching up to clasp the back of his neck, tugging him down. "Don't walk away from me right now. I want you..."
"God, you're going to ruin me," he breathed against your skin.
He pressed his lips to your stomach, right over your pulse point, feeling you jump under his touch. His mouth was scorching hot against your cold skin. He took his time, tracing a slow, burning path upward kissing the soft curve of your waist, the line of your ribs, the dip of your collarbone, worshiping every inch of you with an earnest, unhurried devotion that made your head roll back against the worn pillow.
When his hands slid to the button of your jeans, he paused. The dark brown of his eyes flickered up, wide, dark, and heavy with a fierce, protective hesitation.
He leaned up, hovering inches over your face, his dark hair falling forward to shadow his forehead. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, tracing the soft curve while his breath fanned warm across your cheek.
"Listen to me," Oscar said, his voice thick and low, laced with a raw, sobering gravity. "I don't have a condom. I wasn't expecting this... I tried so hard to stay away from you today."
He swallowed hard, his thumb moving to rest against your jaw, holding your gaze so you couldn't look away.
"If we do this, there’s no turning back. It's risky, and it's stupid, and I'm supposed to protect you from reckless things like me," he whispered, his eyes searching yours with an unbearable depth of emotion. "Are you sure? Tell me now, because once I start, I won't be able to stop."
You reached up, your fingers tangling into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down until his lips were brushing against yours.
"I'm sure, Oscar," you breathed against his mouth, your hips lifting slightly to meet his weight. "No more running. Just you."
The moment Oscar pushed into you, it wasn't effortless. You were both young, inexperienced, and burning with a reckless, untamed friction that didn't leave room for gentle preparation. A sharp, searing line of pain flared through your hips as he broke through, making your body lock up, a sudden breath catching violently in the back of your throat.
Oscar went completely still. His forehead dropped to the hollow of your shoulder, his broad chest rising and falling against yours in harsh, ragged gulps.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice thick and raw against your skin. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry— tell me to stop—"
"No," you breathed, tears of sharp physical sting pricking the corners of your eyes, but your arms tightened around his back, your fingers digging into his back.
You knew him. You knew the bruised knuckles, the silent car rides, the way he expressed every ounce of his devotion not through poetry, but through heavy, awkward weight and fierce protection. This pain wasn't cruelty, it was his walls coming down all at once, his complete surrender to a feeling he had tried so hard to fight.
It was raw, unvarnished, and real. You welcomed it, tilting your hips up to meet him, absorbing the sting until it melted into a deep, dizzying ache that made the rest of the world blur into insignificance.
The rhythm that followed was clumsy and intense, driven by a desperate high school urgency, a careless, terrifying romance that ignored the rules, the risks, and tomorrow morning. When he finally reached his limit, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, a quiet, broken groan escaping his lips as he released deep inside you, spilling everything he had kept locked away.
You felt the warm, heavy weight of it settled within you, a silent, binding mark of a night where neither of you cared about consequences, only about belonging to each other for an hour in the dark.
Afterward, the adrenaline drained out of the room, leaving a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.
Your body felt sore, tender, and weak, a dull ache throbbing between your thighs as you lay on the thin, spring-worn mattress. You couldn't move. You just lay there, listening to the rain soften into a steady drizzle overhead, your chest rising and falling in tandem with his.
Oscar didn't just turn away or pretend it was over. The carelessness vanished the second the high broke, replaced by a quiet, protective instinct. He got up barefoot, his low-slung jeans pulled back on, and walked out into the main workshop. He returned a minute later carrying a basin of warm water he’d heated on the shop's small hot plate and a clean, soft cotton rag.
He knelt on the floor beside the low mattress. Without a word, his dark eyes solemn and full of a quiet reverence, he gently pulled back the heavy wool blanket. He washed the dried sweat and blood from your skin with agonizing care, his rough, calloused hands softer than you had ever known them to be. Every time you winced from the lingering sore ache, he froze, pressing his warm lips to your knee or your hip, whispering quiet apologies into your skin until you relaxed again.
He dressed you in one of his oversized, worn-out grey hoodies that smelled like pine and faint tobacco, pulling the thick blanket up to your chin. Then he climbed into the narrow bed beside you, wrapping his heavy arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, tucking your head right under his chin.
"You okay?" he whispered into the dark, his voice barely audible above the quiet patter of rain.
"I'm okay," you murmured, pressing your face into his neck, feeling the steady, grounding thud of his pulse. You knew what you had done was reckless. You knew the risk you were taking, the messiness of it all. But lying there, wrapped in his heat, covered in his clothes, you had never felt safer.
—
The strangest thing about crossing a line like that is how quietly the world resets afterward.
You expected the next morning to bring a total shift. A public declaration, a conversation, a label to put on the dynamic. But when Monday morning arrived, and you walked into the humid school courtyard, Oscar was sitting on the same wooden bench near the chain-link fence, wearing his faded jacket, listening to Marcus talk about driving down to the coast for the weekend.
When his eyes flicked up and caught yours, he didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just gave you a slow, heavy nod a quiet acknowledgment that passed between you like a secret code.
You took your seat beside Sarah on the bleachers, your body still holding a faint, tender ache, your skin remembering the exact press of his calloused hands.
You never talked about that night in the back of the shop.
You didn't talk about the lack of protection, the pain, or the way he had held you against his chest until three in the morning before sneaking you out to your car so you could drive home in the fog. You didn't talk about the quiet terror of waiting a few weeks later just to make sure your cycle arrived, a shared, silent anxiety that ended in a long, shuddering sigh of relief behind the bleachers when you finally whispered to him that everything was fine.
It became an unwritten law between you two. The explicit flirtation ceased entirely. The playful remarks about fake dating stopped. The heavy, loaded hints he used to drop in front of your friends disappeared. In the eyes of your social circle, you and Oscar had simply settled into a quiet, comfortable neutrality, two people who had known each other for years and had run out of small talk.
But underneath the surface, everything was irrevocably altered.
It was in the way he would reach across the lunch table to hand you a water bottle without you asking, his thumb lingering on your palm for a microsecond longer than necessary. It was in the way you would sit across from him at a noisy house party, watching him drink a beer, and he would glance up from his conversation to meet your eyes with a look so dark and heavy it made your breath catch in your throat.
You had given each other everything you had to give, and now you were both just holding the memory of it, protecting it from being ruined by the reality of what was coming next.
Senior year bled away in a blur of final exams, dress fittings for the formal, and tearful farewells in the corridors. You both moved through the motions like actors finishing a play, knowing the curtain was about to fall, refusing to break character until the very last second.
The final afternoon arrived with a clear, golden sky over Melbourne. The school oval was covered in rows of white plastic chairs, abandoned graduation caps, and families taking photos near the red brick arches. The air was rich with the scent of freshly cut grass, cheap sparkling wine, and the dusty, dry heat of late summer.
Your parents were standing near the main gate, your mother adjusting her sun hat, waiting to take you home so you could finish packing your bags for the city apartment you were moving into the following morning.
You walked away from the crowd, your heels sinking slightly into the turf, searching for one specific face.
You found him near the edge of the property, where the grass ended and the gravel driveway began. Oscar was leaning against the passenger door of his Civic, his navy blue blazer unbuttoned, his striped school tie loosened at his collar. He was holding a cigarette between his fingers, watching the smoke drift up toward the gum trees.
You stopped a few feet away, your hands clasped tightly in front of your dress.
"You're not allowed to smoke on school grounds," you said softly.
He looked up, a faint, familiar smirk touching the corner of his mouth as he dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the heel of his work boot. "What are they gonna do? Suspend me?"
You let out a small, breathless laugh. "I guess not."
The silence settled between you, heavy and sweet, filled with the distant sound of your classmates cheering near the bleachers.
"So," you whispered, looking at the scuffed leather of his shoes. "We made it."
"Yeah," he said, his voice quiet. "We made it through."
"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," you said, looking up at his face. The afternoon light caught the warm brown tones in his eyes, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the tiny scar near his eyebrow. "My dad booked a moving van for eight."
Oscar nodded slowly. He didn't express shock, sadness, or regret. He reached into his blazer pocket, his fingers searching for a second before he pulled out a small, flat object. He didn't hand it to you, he laid it gently on the warm hood of his car between you two.
It was the photo strip from the winter carnival.
The edges were frayed and white from being carried around in his wallet, the plastic coating slightly peeled at the bottom corner. But the image was still clear: the two of you crammed into the narrow booth, his lips hovering near your ear, your hand clutched desperately against his jacket.
Your breath caught in your chest. A sudden, sharp prickle hit the back of your eyes.
"You kept that?" you asked, your voice barely audible above the wind in the trees.
Oscar reached out. His fingers were warm, rough, and steady as he placed his thumb against your cheek, softly wiping away a single tear before it could fall. His touch lingered there, his hand cupping your jaw for a long, agonizing second, reminding your skin of every touch, every night, every unspoken secret you shared.
"I keep what matters," he said softly, his voice thick with everything he was choosing not to say.
He didn't say I love you. He didn't ask you to stay in Melbourne. He didn't ask if you were going to see other people in the city, or if you would ever come back to his dad's shop on rainy afternoons. He didn't give you a promise, and he didn't demand one from you.
"Take care of yourself out there," he whispered, his hand slowly sliding off your face, his fingers trailing down your neck before dropping to his side.
"Bye, Oscar," you said, your heart breaking quietly, cleanly in your chest.
"See ya," he replied.
You turned around and began the long walk toward the front gates where your parents were waiting. Each step felt heavy, like dragging a weight through thick water. You didn't look back, you knew if you did, you would run straight into his arms, and you both had places you needed to go.
As you reached the car and opened the passenger door, you lifted your hand to your cheek, still feeling the faint, metallic scent of motor oil on your skin and the lingering warmth of his thumb.
People always say that high school relationships don't last, that your first love is just a blueprint, a trial run for the real adult relationships you build later in life.
But as your parents drove out of the parking lot, and the red brick buildings of the school shrank in the side mirror, you knew the truth. You knew that no matter how many years passed, no matter how many people you met in the city, or how many miles grew between your life and his, a part of you would always remain frozen in a dark, quiet workshop, listening to the rain on an iron roof, locked in the arms of a boy who never gave you a title, but gave you his entire heart.
First love doesn't die. It doesn't fade into nothingness. It just buries itself deep beneath your skin... silent, permanent, and untouched by time.
“I love you so much sweetheart,” Oscar whispered in your retrieving figure. Smiling to himself before getting back inside and walking away himself.
Good Days
Oscar Piastri x Leclerc! female reader smau
MASTERLIST
a/n: first f1 post !!!! doh I loev oscar piastri 😓😓😓
summary; Charles Leclerc's little sister finds another f1 driver to post bad pictures of, much to her amusement. (The posts are over time, not all in just one day!)
yourusername: posted 6 hours ago
♫: Kiss Of Life - Sade
yourusername: Low cortisol maxxing or whatever the youth says
TAGGED: charles_leclerc
liked by charles_leclerc, lando, alexanderaleclerc, lilymunihe, kikagomes, fernandoalo_official and 995,729 others
COMMENTS...
charles_leclerc: 😐
charles_leclerc: Delete this. 🙌
yourusername: pls stop harassing
alexanderaleclerc: Prettiest ever. 🤍
yourusername: The better Leclerc will always be here waiting for you ;)
alex_albon: LOLLL
yourusername: Isn't he beautiful 🥹
fan829: girl u gotta keep some of these for blackmail!
yourusername: I have worse trust
VIEW 16,628 MORE COMMENTS
🔔: NOTIFICATIONS: oscarpiastri started following you (2m ago), fan6263 started following you (2m ago), ferrarilover1222 started following you (2m ago)
yourusername: posted 5 hours ago
♫: Silver Jubilee - Audrey Hobert
yourusername: Imma live it up liiiiiike
liked by charles_leclerc, audreyhobert, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, georgerussell63, carlossainz55, alexanderaleclerc and 1,027,749 others
COMMENTS...
oscarpiastri: That hotel seems fancy. 🤔
yourusername: it's okay i used Charles card
charles_leclerc: I'm sending a cease & desist 👍
yourusername: Doh, you love me too much ☺️
isackhadjar: Is the last slide real
yourusername: about as real as you are, being a French man.
fan839100: Oscar in the comments #noticing 👀
fan66266: let a man and woman be friends omfg
fernandoalo_official: 🔥🔥
yourusername: thanks gramps
VIEW 17,738 MORE COMMENTS
oscarpiastri: posted 8 hours ago
oscarpiastri: Ready for the season. 💪
liked by yourusername, lando, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, nicolepiastri, mclarenracing and 4,246,543 others
COMMENTS...
yourusername: meme in the slideshow !!! i taught u well
oscarpiastri: 🫡
lando: Thirst trapping, are you?
oscarpiastri: 👎
maxverstappen1: Excited!
liked by oscarpiastri
alex_albon: No shitty house music to accompany this post?
oscarpiastri: 😒
VIEW 46,648 MORE COMMENTS
yourusername: posted on their story
CAPTION: 🎱. CAPTION: 👀
deuxmoi: posted 2 hours ago
deuxmoi: SPOTTED; F1 driver Charles Leclerc's little sister and fellow driver Oscar Piastri are supposedly seeing each other. 👀 Sources say they are "taking it slow" and "getting to know each other". Meanwhile, @/yourusername posted slide 1 & 2 on her story lact night. Could that be Oscar? Or is she showing she's with someone else?
liked by fan7391, ferrarifan99917, oscarpiastrisleftsock, f1fan65551 and 68,738 others
COMMENTS...
yourusername: first deux moi post kinda nervy 😓
yourusername: that fugly picture of me and charles on the last slide omfg do you hate me
deuxmoi: GIRL sorry! It was the first one under the Google search
landoscarfan67: Swear this isn't true say you're joking
arthurleclerc: Ou shi 👀
yourusername: GET OUT
ferrarifan6167: Wait this could be monumental for the YNOSCAR shippers (me)
mclarennator: they just hit the second tower (lando & alix now them...)
VIEW 1,739 MORE COMMENTS
yourusername: posted 4 hours ago
♫: Baby I'm Yours - Cass Elliot
yourusername: Can't soft launch now can i, deuxmoi?
TAGGED: oscarpiastri
liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, alex_albon, alexanderaleclerc, nicolepiastri, carmenmundt and 2,627, 729 others
COMMENTS...
oscarpiastri: Orange is a good color on you.
yourusername: okay mr dnf im going back to my roots (Ferrari) soon if u don't lock in
oscarpiastri: ❤️
yourusername: this nonchalant ass comment pls
charles_leclerc: Orange washes you out 💔
yourusername: it's unfortunate isn't it 😓 wishing osc raced for like mercedes
carmenmundt: The cutest!!! ❤️❤️
yourusername: my chosen big sister!! 🪽🤍
alexanderaleclerc: Adorable 🥹
yourusername: AWGH i love u
ferrarifan7677: I think the pool stories were the soft launch queen
yourusername: in my defense the one of osc was meant 4 close friends 🥲
VIEW 59,801 MORE COMMENTS
yourusername: posted 13 hours ago
yourusername: new victim of my bad pics 😈😈😈
TAGGED: oscarpiastri
liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, lando, alexanderaleclerc, nicolepiastri, carlossainz55 and 1,227, 929 others
COMMENTS...
oscarpiastri: Oh good lord
yourusername: ☺️
charles_leclerc: WAR IS OVER
yourusername: wait till your birthday rolls around 😂😂😂😂😂 #cooked
arthurleclerc: Thankful it's not me 🥹
charles_leclerc: STOP TALKING. YOU ARE GOING TO GET US KILLED
lando: These actually aren't too bad
yourusername: you would think that #pride
mclarenfan517: I'm so maternal over him
VIEW 13,729 MORE COMMENTS...
Soulmates (part 5)
Summary : In a world where soulmates exist, Lando Norris has never believed in fate, bonds, or the idea that one person could be made for another. He always said that if he ever met his soulmate, he probably wouldn’t care.
But what if he had already met her years ago?
Genre : soulmates AU, angst
Pairing : Lando Norris x oc (female)
Words count : 9,1k
Main Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Lando woke to the taste of metal and panic.
For a moment, there was nothing else.
No ceiling. No room. No shape to the world beyond the sharp instinct that something had gone terribly wrong and he had returned to himself too late to stop it. His body felt heavy and distant, pinned beneath a softness that did not comfort him. His mouth was dry. His throat ached as if he had been calling for someone in his sleep. Somewhere nearby, something beeped with a patient, mechanical rhythm that made no sense until he realised it was marking time.
He did not open his eyes immediately, he was afraid of what he would see.
The last thing he remembered was blue.
Not the sky. Not the sea.
Her eyes.
Paula’s eyes in the crowd, wide and terrified, fixed on him as if the whole of Monaco had disappeared around them and left only the unbearable distance between her body and his. The pain had been there too: violent, crushing, blooming from his chest as if his heart had turned against its cage. He remembered the trophy slipping from reality. Someone saying his name. The podium tilting beneath him. The crowd opening its mouth in one collective sound.
Then nothing.
Now there was only the beep, the dryness, the strange weight of his limbs, and one thought striking through the fog with enough force to hurt.
Paula.
His eyes opened.
The room blurred.
White ceiling. Pale walls. A strip of fluorescent light above him, too harsh even through the haze. The smell hit next, antiseptic, plastic, cold linen, the faint sterile bitterness of hospital air. For a few seconds he could not place himself inside it. His mind resisted the shape of the room, still trying to find the podium, the crowd, the press of bodies rushing toward him.
But that did not matter. None of it mattered.
“Paula,” he murmured.
His voice barely existed.
He tried to move and discovered wires before he understood them. Something tugged at his arm. Something else was attached near his chest. The thin hospital sheet slid against his legs as he shifted, and a dull ache answered through his side, probably from the fall. His body complained everywhere at once, but the only pain he cared about was the one in the center of his chest, not sharp now, not like before, but present. Waiting.
There was a silhouette across from him.
A woman, seated near the bed.
His vision was still blurred enough that for one unbearable second hope took shape before reason could stop it. He lifted a hand toward her, fingers trembling in the cold air between them, reaching without shame, without pride, without even the memory of all the years he had spent using distance like a weapon.
“Paula,” he whispered again.
The woman stood immediately.
But the voice that answered was not hers.
“Lando?”
His hand froze, he knew that voice. He had known it longer than any other voice in the world.
The room came back in fragments: the bed, the monitor, the clear tube taped to his hand, the chair pulled close beside him, his mother standing there with one hand already reaching for his as though she was afraid he might vanish again if she did not touch him quickly enough.
Not Paula, his mother.
The disappointment of it was so violent that shame followed immediately after, dark and choking. He loved his mother. He was relieved to see her. He knew, somewhere beneath the panic, that waking up to her beside him should have felt like safety.
But all he could think was: Where is Paula?
His mother took his hand carefully, as if he were something breakable.
“Lando,” she said softly. “Can you hear me?”
He blinked at her.
The room sharpened further.
Hospital, he was in a hospital.
Not the podium. Not the paddock. Not the garage.
A hospital bed.
His mother’s face was pale in a way he had rarely seen. Her hair was slightly disordered, her eyes red-rimmed with either crying or lack of sleep or both. She looked smaller than usual in the harsh light, and that frightened him more than the monitors did. Mothers were not supposed to look like that. Not his. Not the woman who had always seemed capable of making the world gentler through force of will alone.
“You’re awake,” she said, voice shaking at the edges despite how hard she was trying to make it calm. “You’re okay. You’re in hospital. Do you hear me?”
He stared at her, confused by the question.
Then the pain came back. All at once, his breath hitched.
A violent tug pulled through his chest, less pain than memory of pain, but strong enough that his hand moved there automatically, pressing flat against his sternum as if he could hold something inside himself in place.
His mother leaned closer immediately. “What is it? Are you hurting?”
He tried to breathe slowly.
The doctors had probably told her to watch for pain. For confusion. For any sign that something had gone wrong in his body after the cameras caught him collapsing off a podium in front of the world.
But how could he explain that the pain had a name?
“How long?” he asked, voice hoarse.
His mother brushed her thumb over his knuckles. “A few hours.”
“A few...”
“You fainted after you fell,” she said quickly, maybe to keep him from panicking, though panic was already moving through him in cold sheets. “They brought you here. They’ve been running tests. You’ve been in and out a little, but not really awake.”
He swallowed.
“My race?”
The question came from the shallow part of him, the part trained to account for results, schedules, optics.
His mother looked at him with a sadness that almost resembled pity.
“You finished third,” she said. “You don't remember?”
He did and didn’t at the same time.
It seemed absurdly far away.
P3 in Monaco. A podium. A fall. A collapse. A whole weekend that would now be reduced to clips and headlines and theories from people who had not seen the shape of Paula’s eyes in the crowd.
His mother reached toward the wall and pressed the call button near his bed.
“The doctors will be here soon,” she said. “It’s all right, my love. You’re okay now.”
He looked at her.
Okay.
The word was so wrong it almost frightened him.
He was not okay. He knew that with a clarity more complete than anything else. Whatever the machines were saying, whatever scans had shown, whatever careful medical explanation the doctors had assembled to make the impossible fit into a world that preferred not to believe in invisible bonds, he was not okay.
He had woken up reaching for someone he had spent years pretending he wanted nowhere near him.
He had collapsed on a podium because his body had found her before his mind could survive what it meant.
He was not okay.
“Where is Paula?” he asked.
His mother went very still.
He felt the shift in her hand around his, the tiny pause before she answered.
“You kept saying that name,” she said carefully. “When they were helping you, even in the ambulance.”
He stared at her, waiting.
His mother looked confused now, but not only confused. Concerned in the deeper, more searching way she became when she knew there was something beneath the thing being said.
“Who is Paula?”
For a second, Lando could not understand why she was asking.
Then he remembered, of course she didn’t know.
Why would she?
He had spent years keeping Paula at the edges of every conversation. Years reducing her to Pietra’s friend, Max’s friend, the annoying one, the girl he did not want near the garage, the one he rolled his eyes about when her name appeared in a group chat. His mother had never heard her name coming from his mouth.
He closed his eyes for a second.
“Mum,” he said, but no answer came after it.
The door opened before he could try again.
Two doctors entered with a nurse behind them. One of the doctors was the same older man from the night before, or maybe Lando was only imagining the similarity because exhaustion had blurred everything into repeating patterns of white coats and controlled voices. This one had kind eyes and a clipboard, which made Lando trust him immediately.
“Mr. Norris,” the doctor said. “Good to see you awake.”
Lando tried to sit up further, but the nurse moved toward him at once.
“Slowly,” she said. “Take it easy.”
He hated that. Hated being handled carefully. Hated that the fall had turned him briefly into something fragile in front of everyone. Hated that he had no strength to argue with her.
The doctor checked the monitor, then his pupils, then asked several questions that seemed both obvious and necessary. His full name. Where he was. What day it was. Whether he remembered what had happened.
He answered them all.
His mother stood beside the bed with her arms folded tightly across herself now, watching every movement.
The doctor nodded, apparently satisfied.
“Well,” he said, “the good news is that the scans are clear. No sign of complication in the heart or brain. Your ECG is reassuring, imaging is clean, and there’s no evidence of a neurological event.”
Lando looked at him.
The words should have been comforting. They were not.
“We think,” the doctor continued, “it may have been an intense adrenaline response after the race. Physical exhaustion, emotional pressure, dehydration, lack of sleep perhaps. Your body went through a significant stress reaction, and then after the podium, everything may have come down at once.”
His mother exhaled softly beside him, relief moving through her like something physical.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered.
The doctor smiled gently. “We’ll keep monitoring him for a little while, of course. But there is nothing at the moment suggesting long-term damage. He should recover with rest.”
Lando stared at him as if he had said something obscene.
Everything is fine?
The thought rose with a violence that almost made him laugh.
Nothing was fine.
Paula was out there somewhere. Paula had seen him fall. Paula might be afraid, or gone completely silent in that terrible way she did when something inside her had been struck too hard. He had not apologised. He had not said the truth. He had not even begun to touch the mess he had made. His body had simply decided to collapse in front of the world and leave everyone else to clean up the aftermath.
And now a doctor was standing there saying there was no visible damage, as if the absence of broken tissue meant nothing had broken at all.
“Mr. Norris?” the doctor asked.
Lando realised he had not responded.
He forced himself to nod.
“Okay,” he said.
His voice sounded empty.
The doctor gave instructions. No immediate alarm, but they wanted observation. He tell him to avoid strain for the next hours. They would discuss discharge when they were confident everything remained stable. The race had been extreme physical exertion, the fall had been impressive, and there would be precautions, but the medical language wrapped it all into something manageable.
His mother thanked them more than once.
Lando did not.
Not because he was ungrateful. Because gratitude required being present in the same reality as everyone else, and he was not sure he was.
When they left, the room seemed quieter than before.
The relief in his mother was almost painful to witness. She sat down again, taking his hand between both of hers this time. Her palms were warm. His were cold.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Outside the closed door, footsteps passed in the corridor. A trolley rattled faintly. Somewhere, someone laughed in a tired, subdued way that sounded wrong inside a hospital. The monitor kept its rhythm beside him, indifferent and constant.
His mother watched him carefully.
“What is in your mind?” she asked at last.
The question was soft, but Lando heard the tremor beneath it. Fear receding, but not gone. The kind of fear that left marks.
He looked at her.
“You scared me, and your dad” she said. “You scared a lot of people, actually. It was quite impressive, and not in a way I would like repeated.”
A breath that was almost a laugh left him. It died quickly.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“I'm sorry mum.”
“No need to say sorry, the important thing is that you are alright.”
The words landed quietly.
Lando’s eyes lowered.
His mother’s grip tightened once around his hand, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind him she was there.
“There are few things,” she said, “as terrible as watching your child fall and not knowing if he will get up.”
The guilt returned, familiar and sharp.
“I’m sorry.”
“You did nothing wrong, we were just worried,” she said again.
There was no anger in her now. That made it worse. Her disappointment yesterday had been easier to understand than this: fear, tenderness, the raw exhaustion of a parent who had been forced to imagine too much in too little time.
Lando swallowed.
For a moment he said nothing.
Then, slowly, almost unsure of his own question before it had fully formed, he asked, “Do you believe in soulmates, Mum?”
His mother blinked.
Whatever she had expected him to say, it had not been that. She leaned back slightly, studying his face.
“Why are you asking me that suddenly?”
He looked away.
“I don’t know.”
His mother waited.
She had always been good at waiting when it mattered. It had annoyed him as a child, enraged him as a teenager, and unsettled him as an adult. She knew when to push and when silence would do more damage than any lecture.
“You always thought it was nonsense,” she said at last.
The word sounded strange in her voice, gentle and disapproving at the same time.
Lando’s mouth twitched despite himself.
“I do.”
“So why talk about it now?”
He stared at the hospital sheet over his legs.
Maybe because I woke up saying her name, maybe because I felt my heart break open when I saw her.
Maybe because I spent years laughing at something she might have known all along, maybe because I think I found mine and destroyed her before I understood what she was.
He said none of that.
“Maybe I was wrong,” he said.
His mother’s expression changed.
He could feel her attention sharpen, not with suspicion exactly, but concern. She was listening more closely now.
“Maybe people are right,” he continued, voice low. “Maybe Charles or Uncle Robert aren't a fool. Maybe it exists.”
His mother frowned softly.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Lando.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
There was no point pretending with her. There never had been. She might not know the details, but she knew when he was trying to cover a wound with his hands and call it his skin.
She asked, quieter now, “Did you meet someone?”
He shook his head.
The answer was both true and false in ways he could not begin to explain.
“No,” he said. “It’s just a thought.”
His mother did not look convinced.
“Just a thought that made you ask about soulmates from a hospital bed after collapsing from a podium ?”
Lando winced. When she put it that way, it sounded impossible to escape.
Still, he tried.
“Do you think…” He stopped, then began again, the words difficult and humiliating. “Do you think you can realise someone is your soulmate after years of knowing her?”
His mother’s confusion deepened.
“After years?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I always thought when two soulmates met, they both knew. That was how people told the stories, at least.”
“Right.”
“But stories simplify things,” she added after a moment. “People like neat beginnings. They like saying it was immediate because it makes the world sound kinder than it is.”
Lando looked at her.
She seemed to be thinking now, not only answering him.
“I suppose there could be other versions,” she said. “Some people are not ready to recognise what is in front of them. Some people refuse to look. Some people…” Her eyes softened sadly. “Some people hurt the very thing they are afraid to need.”
The words struck too close. His chest tightened again, though not with the violent pain from before.
His mother noticed anyway.
“Lando?”
He breathed through it.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me. A mother can see everything.”
He almost smiled, but it vanished before it formed.
His mother lowered her voice. “Why are you asking this?”
Lando looked down at their joined hands.
Her hands had always looked like home to him. He remembered them tying his shoes when he was small, fixing collars, holding phones during distant race weekends, touching his face in garages after wins and losses as if checking he was still real beneath the helmet marks and sweat. They were hands that had loved him through every version of himself. Even the ugly ones.
He wondered what she would think if she knew all of it.
What he had said to Paula that first night, how many years he had carried on without remembering, how he had shouted at her again in front of the garage, how he had found her to apologise and somehow hurt her worse.
He wondered whether love had limits when faced with the full truth of someone.
Then he remembered the way his mother had looked at him after the garage incident, disappointed, yes, but still there. Refusing to excuse him. Refusing to abandon him to the worst version of himself.
Maybe that was love too.
Not forgiveness without consequence, but presence without illusion.
He took a breath.
“I think…” he said.
The words stuck. His mother waited.
The monitor beside him kept counting his heart.
A heart the doctors insisted was fine, a heart that had dragged him to the floor at the sight of Paula’s eyes.
Lando swallowed hard and looked at his mother properly.
“I think I know who is my soulmate.”
The sentence landed so softly it should not have changed the room.
But it did.
His mother’s face went still.
Not shocked, exactly. Not disbelieving. Something deeper. A recognition of the fact that whatever this was, whatever he was finally saying aloud, it did not belong to the world of jokes and clips and easy declarations.
This was her son lying in a hospital bed admitting the universe might have tied him to someone.
His mother did not speak immediately.
When she did, her voice was very careful.
“Paula?”
Lando’s breath caught.
His mother’s eyes filled with a sorrow so gentle it was almost unbearable.
“She is the girl from the garage, isn't she?” she said.
He nodded once, barely.
“Yes.”
The word felt like confession.
His mother looked at him for a long time.
Then she asked, “Does she know?”
Lando’s throat tightened.
“I don’t know.”
But that was not entirely true.
He thought of Paula watching his soulmate interview and going quiet. How she arrived early the next morning, looking at him with pain that seemed older than the moment. Paula on the podium, her eyes widening not only in fear, but in something like recognition.
Maybe she knew. Maybe she had known first.
Maybe that was why everything had hurt so badly for her long before it hurt for him.
His voice dropped even lower.
“I think maybe she knew before me.”
His mother closed her eyes briefly, as if the idea hurt her too.
“And what did you do?” she asked.
The question was not accusing, that made it more devastating.
Lando turned his face away.
He stared toward the window, where the hospital glass reflected a pale, hollow version of him back into the room.
“I think I ruined it,” he said.
His mother’s hand tightened around his.
He could not look at her.
“I think I ruined it before I even knew what it was.”
The silence that followed was not empty.
It held the whole weight of what he had said. It held Paula’s name. It held the garage, the podium, the club years ago, the apologies he had failed to make and the one he still owed. It held the possibility that some bonds were not soft miracles, not golden threads leading two people gently home, but things that could be neglected, denied, wounded, left to rot in the dark until recognition arrived not as joy, but as pain.
His mother did not tell him he was wrong.
She did not comfort him with easy promises.
For a while, she simply sat beside him, holding his hand in both of hers while the machine counted his heartbeat and the room remained painfully bright around them.
Then, very softly, she said, “Then you need to stop running from it.”
Lando closed his eyes.
Paula’s face appeared immediately.
The realization did not arrive gently, it struck him with the force of something falling from a great height.
One second Lando was lying there in the hospital bed, his mother’s hand warm around his, the monitor keeping time beside him with indifferent little beeps, the word soulmate still sitting between them like something neither of them entirely knew how to touch. The next, fear opened inside him so violently it emptied the room of everything else.
Paula somewhere outside this room, somewhere in Monaco, with no doctor standing beside her, no monitor tracking her heart, no one necessarily understanding what might have happened to her if the bond, if that was what this was, if he had not finally lost his mind under the pressure of a race weekend and too many years of denial, had dragged his pain through her body too.
His own heart gave one hard, awful kick.
What if she had felt it?
The question landed in him and instantly multiplied.
What if the bond worked both ways? What if what had happened to him on the podium had not stopped at him? What if the pain in his chest had echoed in hers, sudden and terrifying, while she stood trapped in the crowd watching him fall? What if she had gone pale not only because she was afraid for him, but because something inside her had broken open at the same time?
He had no idea how any of this worked.
That was the worst of it.
He had spent his whole life refusing to learn the rules of a thing he now might desperately need to understand. He had laughed at soulmates. Dismissed the bond. Mocked people who spoke about it as if it had gravity. He had called it stories, foolishness, a pretty mythology built around ordinary love because ordinary love was apparently not enough for people anymore.
And now, lying under hospital lights with medical tape on his skin and his mother watching him as if he might fracture again, ignorance felt like punishment.
What if one soulmate in pain meant the other felt it too?
What if all this time Paula had been bearing things he never felt because he had refused to recognize her?
What if, when he collapsed, she had collapsed too?
The image came before he could stop it.
Paula in a hospital bed.
Pale against white sheets. Her hair spread across a pillow. Eyes closed. A monitor beside her counting out a rhythm that should not belong to someone who had simply come to Monaco with her friends. Doctors moving too quickly. Someone asking what happened, and no one knowing how to answer because the truth sounded insane: Lando Norris had finally looked at her properly and his heart had rebelled, and maybe hers had followed.
A cold, violent horror seized him.
He pushed himself upright before he decided to move.
The monitor beside him changed immediately, its steady rhythm quickening as if even the machine had noticed fear before his mother did. The sheet tangled around his legs. The IV line tugged at his hand. Pain from the fall flashed through his side, but he barely registered it.
His mother startled. “Lando?”
“I need to know if she’s okay.”
His voice came out raw.
His mother stood at once. “What?”
“I need to know,” he repeated, already trying to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The room tilted slightly, but panic held him upright better than strength could have. “I need to see her.”
His mother moved faster than he expected, catching his shoulder and pressing him back with the careful firmness of someone who loved him too much to let fear make him stupid.
“Wait. Lando, stop. Where are you going?”
“To her.”
“You are in hospital.”
“I don’t care.”
“You need to rest.”
“No.” The word broke out of him, too loud in the small room. “No, I need to know if she’s fine.”
“Lando!”
“What if she felt what I felt?” he said, and the moment he spoke it aloud the terror became worse, more real, given shape by sound. “God, what if she collapsed? What if it happened to her too and no one...” His breath caught. “I need to make sure. I need to see her.”
His mother stared at him.
For a second she looked as though she did not recognize him at all.
This was something else, something stripped bare and almost violent in its intensity. He could feel it spilling out of him, impossible to make dignified: the panic, the need, the terrifying certainty that he would tear the wires out of his own arm and walk barefoot through Monaco if that was what it took to place his eyes on Paula and know she was breathing.
Tears gathered before he understood they were coming.
He hated that too, he hated all of it.
His mother’s expression softened and frightened at the same time.
“Lando, calm down.”
“I can’t.”
“You need to breathe. Your heart is accelerating.”
He looked toward the monitor because she did, and saw the numbers climbing, heard the beeping quicken into something sharper. The sound fed the panic, each little electronic note confirming that his body was again becoming something beyond his control.
“I’m sure she’s okay,” his mother said, voice steady only because she was forcing it to be. “And if she isn’t, she has people around her. Pietra, Max, her friends. Someone would help her.”
That did nothing. Nothing.
Because other people were not enough.
The thought was immediate and unreasonable and terrifying in its clarity. Other people might help her, yes. Other people might sit beside her, call a doctor, hold her hand, ask if she was all right. But none of them were the reason this was happening. None of them had spent years hurting her while tied to her by something he had denied so completely he had mistaken the bond for hatred.
Other people did not know.
Other people could not feel the pull clawing through his chest.
“No,” he said, and now he was crying properly, breath shaking, throat closing around the words. “No, Mum, you don’t get it. I need to...” He broke off, one hand gripping at the hospital sheet, the other pressed against his sternum as if holding himself together. “What is happening to me?”
His mother’s face crumpled for half a second before she controlled it.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“What is happening to me?” he asked again, smaller this time, because beneath the panic there was something like pleading. He wanted her to know. He wanted someone to know. He wanted this to have rules, a name, a cure, anything other than the raw fact that he felt as if he had been split open and filled with someone else’s absence.
His mother took his face in both hands.
It was such an old gesture that it nearly undid him.
“Listen to me,” she said. “You need to calm down first. Then we will find out. But you cannot help anyone if you make yourself worse.”
He tried to breathe, but it came ragged. The monitor kept beeping too quickly.
His mother tried to guide his breathing with the steady softness she had used when he was a child waking from nightmares, her thumbs resting lightly against his cheeks, her face close enough that he could see the fear she was trying to hide for him.
But Lando did not feel safe. Nothing about his own body felt safe anymore.
“I don’t understand,” he choked out, his voice breaking around the sobs he could not control. “I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know the rules. I don’t know what it wants from me.”
“Lando...”
“What if it gets worse?” he asked, looking at her with wide, terrified eyes, suddenly not a driver, not an adult, not the person millions of people had watched stand on podiums and smile under pressure, but her son, pale and frightened in a hospital bed. “What if I can’t stop it? What if I hurt her and now it’s doing this because of that? What if this is…” His breath caught so hard he had to press a fist against his mouth for a second before he could force the words out. “What if this is a sort of punishment?”
His mother’s face tightened. “No, it is not a punishment.”
“How do you know?” His voice rose, cracked, fell apart. “How do you know, Mum? I hurt her. I hurt Paula for years and I didn’t even know. Or I knew and I ignored it, I don’t know, I don’t know anymore. Maybe this is what happens when you do that. Maybe this is what happens when fate gives you someone and you destroy her before you even understand what she is.”
“No,” she said again, firmer this time, but her hand trembled slightly when it moved to brush his hair back from his damp forehead. “Listen to me. The doctors said your heart is fine. Your scans are fine. They would not let you sit here like this if they thought you were dying.”
“I don’t want to die,” he said.
The words came out small.
So small that, for a second, the room seemed to break around them.
His mother’s mouth parted, and all the control she had been holding onto slipped for one terrible heartbeat. “Oh, my love.”
“I don’t want to die, Mum.” Tears spilled down his face again, hot and humiliating, but he was too scared to care. “I’m scared. I’m so scared. I keep thinking about what the doctor said, about that man, the one who lost his soulmate after the accident, and he was healthy, wasn’t he? He was fine and then he wasn’t because she was gone, because the bond did something to his heart. What if this is the same? What if I don’t know how bad it is until it’s too late? What if I already ruined it and there’s no solution because Paula hates me and she should hate me and I can’t even ask her not to?”
His mother pulled him forward before he could say anything else, carefully, mindful of the wires and the hospital gown and the exhaustion trembling through his body, but still gathering him against her as if holding him tightly enough might convince him the world had not ended.
Lando folded into her with a broken sound, face pressing against her shoulder, one hand gripping the fabric of her sleeve because he needed something solid, something human, something that was not the invisible thread tearing through him toward a woman who had every reason to run from him.
His mother held him the way only she could, one hand at the back of his head, the other moving slowly over his back.
“You are not going to die,” she whispered, and this time her voice carried the fragile force of someone making a promise because she could not survive doing anything else. “Do you hear me? You are here. You are breathing. Your heart is beating. We will find out what is happening. We will find help. You are not alone in this.”
“But what if there’s no cure?” he asked into her shoulder, the panic quieter now but no less terrible. “What if the only thing that helps is her? What if I need her and she can’t bear to be near me?”
His mother closed her eyes for a moment over his head. When she spoke again, she sounded careful, as if choosing each word with the tenderness required to touch a wound without deepening it. “Then we take it one thing at a time. Not the whole future tonight. Not every fear at once. Just this moment. Just making sure you are safe. ”
Lando’s body tensed again. He pulled back from his mother just enough to look at her, breathing unsteadily, cheeks wet, eyes red and frightened. “But what if she felt it?” he whispered. “What if when I fell, she felt something? What if I hurt her again without even touching her?”
His mother wiped one tear from his cheek with her thumb, though another followed immediately. “We don’t know that.”
“I need to know.”
“I know.”
“No, Mum, I really need to know.” His hand went back to his sternum, pressing there as if the pull had become a physical direction inside him. “I need to know she’s okay. I need to know she’s not alone somewhere feeling this because of me.”
His mother looked at him, helpless for a second in the face of something no doctor had explained and no mother could kiss better. Then her eyes moved toward the bedside table, where his phone lay dark and untouched beside a plastic cup of water.
His mother looked at it, then back at him.
“Maybe you can call her,” she said. “Make sure she is okay.”
The suggestion hit him with a new kind of shame.
“I don’t have her number.”
The words were quiet.
He hated saying them, hated the emptiness they revealed.
After all these years, after all that history, after all those arguments and the strange cruel intimacy of knowing exactly how to hurt each other, he did not even have her number saved in his phone. He knew the shape of her anger better than he knew how to reach her. He had spent years close enough to wound her and still not close enough to call.
The realization made the want sharper.
Suddenly he wanted her number with a desperation so intense it frightened him. Wanted the ability to press a button and hear her voice, even if that voice was angry, even if it told him to leave her alone. Wanted access to her in the smallest, most ordinary ways. To text. To call. To know where she was. To know if she got home safely. To know if she had eaten. To know if she was sleeping. To know if her chest hurt.
He wanted proximity in every form.
Physical. Digital. Emotional.
His mother absorbed the answer, the grief in it, without comment.
“Then call someone close to her,” she said. “Someone who can check.”
Lando nodded immediately.
“Yes.” His fingers were already reaching for his phone, clumsy with urgency. “Yeah, okay. Pietra. I can call Pietra. She’s her best friend.”
His mother handed him the phone from the small table beside the bed.
He nearly dropped it.
His hands were still shaking as he unlocked the screen and found Pietra’s contact. The seconds it took felt grotesque. Too long. Every delay became another possible catastrophe. Every ring another image of Paula alone in a room somewhere, not answering because she couldn’t.
Pietra picked up on the fourth ring.
“Lando?” Her voice was thick with worry and exhaustion. “Oh my God, are you okay? We were so worried. What happened? What did the doctors say?”
He did not say hello, he did not answer any of it.
“Is Paula okay?”
There was a silence on the other end.
“What?”
Lando sat upright, ignoring his mother’s hand hovering near his shoulder in warning.
“Is Paula okay?”
“Why are you asking that?” Pietra sounded confused now, and maybe a little guarded. “Lando, you collapsed. Are you...”
“Did she have any pain?” he interrupted. “Chest pain. Breathing problems. Anything? Did she faint?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Lando,” Pietra said carefully, “what are you talking about?”
“Just answer me.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “She left after you passed out.”
His blood went cold.
“What do you mean she left?”
“She went back to her hotel.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. Not long after. She was overwhelmed, I think. Everything was chaos and she...”
“Did she look sick?”
“She looked scared,” Pietra said, and there was a sharpness in her voice now, something protective. “We all did. You fell from a podium.”
“Pietra.”
“I don’t know if she had pain, Lando. She didn’t tell me.”
He closed his eyes.
The panic surged again, fast and bright.
On the monitor, the beeping sharpened.
His mother murmured his name in warning, but he could not listen.
“Go to her,” he said.
“What?”
“I need you to go to her hotel and check if she’s okay.”
“Lando, it’s the middle of the night. She’s probably sleeping.”
“I don’t care.”
“Lando?”
“Now, Pietra.”
The word cracked out of him too harshly, too desperate, and the room went silent around it. His mother stared at him. On the other end of the line, Pietra said nothing.
He dragged in a breath, trying and failing to soften himself.
“Please,” he said, and that was worse somehow. More naked. “Please, just go. I need to know she’s okay.”
Something in his tone must have convinced her, or frightened her, because when Pietra spoke again, her voice had changed.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’m going.”
Lando’s hand tightened around the phone.
“No need to panic like this,” she added, though she sounded less certain than she probably wanted to. “I’ll check.”
“And don’t tell her I called.”
“Why?”
The panic did not leave, but shame moved in beside it.
“It’s better if she doesn’t know.”
“Lando, what is happening?”
“Please, just go to her.”
Pietra sighed softly, confused and worried and clearly on the edge of asking questions he had no idea how to answer.
“All right,” she said. “I won’t say anything.”
“And call me immediately when you see her.”
“Yes.”
“Immediately.”
“I said yes.”
He swallowed.
“Thank you.”
Pietra hesitated.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“Are you okay?”
The question was the same one everyone kept asking him, but from her it carried something different now. Not only concern for him. Suspicion. As if she was beginning to feel the shape of something underneath all this and did not know yet whether to name it.
Lando looked down at his hand pressed to his chest.
“No,” he said.
Pietra was quiet.
Then she said, “I’ll call you.”
The line ended.
Lando lowered the phone slowly.
For a moment, he could only sit there, breathing hard, staring at the blank screen in his hand as if the call might still somehow produce Paula’s voice if he wanted it badly enough.
His mother was looking at him. Not with disappointment now, not even with fear, exactly.
With astonishment.
As if she were seeing a new person inside her son and had not yet decided whether to be relieved or terrified by the discovery.
Then, impossibly, she laughed a little. It was soft, breathless, almost disbelieving.
Lando turned his head toward her.
“What?”
She shook her head slowly.
“God,” she said. “You are intense.”
He frowned faintly, not because she was wrong, but because the word seemed absurdly insufficient for whatever was happening inside him. Intense sounded like passion. This felt closer to possession. Not in the sweet, romantic way people might have imagined the bond, but in the darker, more frightening sense of being claimed by a truth he had spent years refusing to name.
His mother looked at him with sad, gentle wonder.
“Maybe your uncle Robert wasn’t wrong,” she said.
Lando went still.
“Maybe meeting your soulmate truly does change you,” his mother finished.
Lando looked away.
Through the hospital window, Monaco was dark beyond the glass, full of strangers and lights and rooms where people slept unaware of the invisible things that might be passing through their bodies.
He thought of Paula in a hotel bed somewhere, maybe asleep, maybe awake, maybe angry, maybe hurting.
He thought of the terrifying possibility that his mother was right.
Meeting your soulmate changed you.
The phone lay heavy in his hand.
He stared at it, waiting for it to ring, every second stretching longer than it should have.
And for the first time since the bond had started tearing through him, Lando did not want relief for himself.
He only wanted Paula to be okay.
Even if she never forgave him, even if she never wanted to see him. Even if the truth of what she was to him arrived too late to matter.
He just needed her to be breathing.
The monitor beside him slowly began to calm.
But the ache in his chest did not disappear, it waited with him.
His mother stayed with him for a while.
She sat in the chair beside his bed, one hand resting close to his on the blanket but not holding it anymore, perhaps because she had understood that he was not truly in the room with her. Not fully. His body was there, wired and bruised and exhausted beneath hospital sheets, but everything else in him had gone after Pietra. Down the corridors. Out into Monaco. To whatever hotel room Paula was in.
He imagined Pietra walking too slowly.
He imagined lifts taking too long, hotel receptionists asking questions, key cards not working, corridors stretching impossibly, every delay another heartbeat in which something could have happened to Paula without him knowing.
He imagined Paula not asleep.
He imagined her curled on the floor with one hand to her chest the way he had been, breath short, too proud or too scared or too used to carrying pain alone to call anyone.
That image was the one he could not survive.
His mother watched him quietly for some time before she finally stood. The movement drew his eyes to her.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
The question came out younger than he meant it to.
His mother’s face softened at once.
“Only for the night,” she said. “Your father is waiting, and the doctors say you need rest. I’ll come back tomorrow morning.”
Lando nodded, though his fingers tightened around the phone.
His mother leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
It was gentle. Familiar. Almost painfully ordinary after everything that had happened.
Then her hand moved into his hair, scrunching it softly the way she had done when he was a child and feverish, when he had fallen asleep on long drives home from karting, when the world had been smaller and kinder and his worst mistakes had not had witnesses or consequences large enough to ruin anyone.
“Try to sleep, okay, love?” she murmured.
He nodded again.
“I will.”
They both knew it was a lie.
His mother knew it especially.
She looked at him for a long moment, and in her gaze there was worry, exhaustion, and something like wonder still, as if she had not quite recovered from seeing the force of his panic for Paula. As if she, too, was beginning to accept the impossible not because it made sense, but because her son had been torn open by it in front of her.
“Call me if you need anything,” she said.
“I will.”
Another lie, probably, she let it pass.
At the door, she stopped and looked back once. “Lando?”
He lifted his eyes.
His mother’s voice was soft, but there was something steady underneath it.
“Whatever this is… don’t let fear make you cruel again.”
The words landed quietly.
He swallowed.
“I know.”
She nodded, not entirely reassured, but willing to leave him with that. Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click that seemed too final in the dim room.
The silence left behind was immediate.
Lando stared at the door for a few seconds before looking back down at his phone.
Nothing.
No call.
No message.
He exhaled and leaned his head back against the pillow, eyes closing for a moment. He was exhausted beyond anything normal. His body had been through a race, a fall, a collapse, a hospital admission, and a panic so complete it had seemed to hollow him out from the inside. Every part of him wanted sleep except the part that mattered.
That part stayed awake.
Waiting.
He tried to think rationally.
Pietra had said Paula left because she was overwhelmed. That made sense. Anyone would be overwhelmed after watching someone fall from a podium. Especially someone they knew. Especially someone they had spent the last two days fighting with. It did not have to mean anything had happened to her physically.
She was probably in her hotel room, probably annoyed that Pietra had woken her.
Probably.
The word was useless.
Probably was not enough.
Not for this.
He shifted, wincing as the bruise along his side protested. The fall had left him sore in places he had not fully registered before. His shoulder ached. His ribs felt tender. His head was heavy with the dull aftermath of too much adrenaline and too little sleep. But none of that mattered compared to the ache in his chest, the strange lingering awareness that seemed to wait beneath every breath.
It was not pain now.
It was absence. Paula’s absence.
The bond, did not feel beautiful in that moment. It did not feel like fate or home or whatever poetic nonsense people liked to attach to soulmates. It felt like being tethered to someone in the dark and not knowing whether the line between them led to safety or ruin.
He had spent years insisting he would not notice his soulmate.
He had been wrong.
The problem was that noticing had arrived 3 years too late.
Suddenly, his phone rang. Lando’s whole body jerked.
The monitor beside him jumped with his heart.
For half a second he stared at the screen without processing the name, panic making him stupid. Then he saw it.
Pietra.
He answered so quickly he almost dropped the phone.
“Is she okay?”
No hello, no greeting.
There was a faint rustle on the other end, maybe Pietra moving somewhere quieter. When she spoke, her voice was low, tired, and careful.
“She’s fine.”
The words passed through him with such force that for a second he could not answer.
The relief was not soft.
It hit him like something breaking open and flooding all at once, cold and hot and overwhelming enough that he had to press his free hand over his eyes. His breath left him in a shaky rush that sounded almost like a sob, though he tried to swallow it before it became one.
“She’s fine?” he asked, because once was not enough.
“Yes,” Pietra said. “She’s fine.”
He closed his eyes harder. The room blurred behind his lids.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Lando. I saw her.”
He let that sink in.
Paula had been in front of someone. Alive. Breathing. Awake, apparently, if Pietra had spoken to her. Not collapsed. Not alone on a hotel room floor. Not in pain because of him in some way he could not explain to anyone without sounding insane.
His hand dropped slowly from his face.
“What did she say?”
Pietra was quiet for a second.
When she answered, there was something in her voice that made him brace himself despite the relief still shaking through him.
“She seemed a little shaken,” she said. “But honestly, Lando, we all were. You fell from a podium. It was scary.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“She looked tired,” Pietra continued. “Not ill. Just… tired. Like she’d been crying maybe, or trying not to. I don’t know. She didn’t want to talk much.”
Lando’s chest tightened.
“But no pain?” he asked. “Nothing with her chest? Breathing? Anything like that?”
“No,” Pietra said. “Nothing like that. I asked if she felt okay. She said she was just exhausted.”
Lando nodded, forgetting Pietra could not see him.
“Okay.”
“She didn’t faint. She wasn’t hurt. She was standing when she opened the door. Annoyed, mostly.”
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped him.
Annoyed.
That sounded like Paula.
The familiarity of it almost undid him. He could picture her at the hotel door, hair messy, eyes tired, face guarded, looking at Pietra like the interruption itself was suspicious. The image was so painfully alive that it eased something in him and hurt something else at the same time.
“She asked about you, actually,” Pietra said.
Lando went still. The room seemed to quiet around him.
“What?”
“She asked if you were okay.”
His fingers tightened around the phone.
Pietra’s voice softened slightly, though not without confusion. “Which surprised me, to be honest. Because normally she never asks about you.”
Lando looked down at the hospital sheet. The fabric blurred.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her you were okay,” Pietra said. “That you were awake. That the doctors didn’t find anything too serious.”
A pause.
“She seemed relieved.”
Lando closed his eyes.
Relieved.
The word moved through him with devastating gentleness.
He did not deserve her relief.
That was his first thought.
Not after the garage. Not after the failed apology. Not after years of cruelty, old and new, remembered and forgotten. She should have been angry. She should have been indifferent. She should have heard he was medically fine and said nothing, or nodded, or turned away with the cold satisfaction of someone who had finally seen him brought low.
But she had asked, she had been relieved.
And somehow that hurt worse than anger would have.
“She shouldn’t care,” he whispered.
Pietra was silent for long enough that he realised he had said it out loud.
Then she sighed.
“I don’t think people choose that sort of thing.”
Lando opened his eyes.
His chest ached again, but differently now.
“No,” he said quietly. “I guess not.”
Pietra did not respond immediately. When she did, her voice had changed. Less confused now. More cautious. Like she was standing near the edge of something and trying to decide whether to look down.
“Lando,” she said, “why did you think something was wrong with her?”
He did not answer. The silence stretched.
“Lando.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
It was a lie, a poor one.
Pietra seemed to hear it.
“You called me from a hospital bed in the middle of the night and told me to check if Paula had chest pain,” she said slowly. “That is not nothing.”
“I was worried.”
“You’re never worried about Paula.”
The sentence landed without cruelty, which made it worse.
He looked toward the window. It reflected back a pale version of him, hollow-eyed and wired to machines, holding the phone as if it were the only thing keeping him in the room.
“I know,” he said.
Pietra breathed out softly on the other end.
“Something happened,” she said.
It was not quite a question.
Lando swallowed.
“I can’t talk about it now.”
“Okay.”
Her acceptance came too quickly, and he was grateful for it in a way he could not explain.
“But you’re sure she’s okay?” he asked again.
“Yes.”
“And she didn’t suspect I called?”
Another pause.
“No. I didn’t tell her.”
“Thank you.”
“She did ask why I came.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her I was worried after everything. Which is true.”
Lando closed his eyes again.
“She’s fine,” she repeated, perhaps because she knew that was the only thing he could hear tonight. “Try to sleep.”
He let out a breath.
“Yeah.”
“Goodnight, Lando.”
“Goodnight.”
The call ended.
The silence returned, but it was different now. Not peaceful, never that.
But less sharp around the edges. Less like a room waiting for bad news. The phone screen dimmed in his hand until it went black, and for a while he simply stared at it, letting the words replay.
Each one was a mercy he had no right to.
He placed the phone carefully on the bedside table, though part of him wanted to keep holding it, as if contact with the device maintained some thin connection to the person he had been so afraid for. The monitor beside him had slowed again, settling back into something steady. His body, treacherous and exhausted, began to understand what his mind still resisted.
Paula was okay.
The relief of that made him feel briefly better.
He sank back against the pillow, turning his face toward the ceiling.
He wondered what she would think if she knew.
Probably nothing kind.
Maybe she would think he was dramatic. Maybe she would think guilt had finally found a theatrical way to announce itself. Maybe she would look at him the way she had in the service corridor and tell him this was not about him, not everything was about him, not even the pain he felt over the pain he caused.
She would be right.
She so often was, in ways he had spent years refusing to admit.
Lando turned onto his side slowly, careful of the bruises, and pressed one hand to his chest.
The ache was still there.
Quieter now, but not gone.
He did not think it would go away easily. Maybe it wasn’t meant to. Maybe this was what happened when a bond woke late and found nothing clean to hold onto. Maybe other people felt warmth, recognition, peace. Maybe Charles had looked at Alexandra and known himself loved.
Lando had looked at Paula and felt the full architecture of his own cruelty collapse inside him.
That seemed fair, darkly, terribly fair.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in two nights, sleep approached him not as escape but as surrender. He still resisted it for a few minutes, afraid that if he drifted away, something would happen and he would not know. But Pietra had seen her. Paula was fine. She had asked about him. She had been relieved.
He held onto that.
Only as proof that somewhere in Monaco, Paula was still alive enough to hate him tomorrow.
And somehow, tonight, that was enough.
Just before sleep finally pulled him under, one thought moved through him, soft and devastating.
He needed her number.
Not because he had any right to call.
But because never again did he want to be in a world where she could be hurting and he had to ask someone else to find out.
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Do Not Disturb - CS55
pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader order: cherry soda + loaded fries client: @hannahmotors10
ynuser
liked by lando and 892,893 users
ynuser out of office, don't text. 🍒💅
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ynuser @ charles_leclerc tell him to pace faster.
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carlossainz55
liked by ynuser and 2.3M users
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ynuser the photography skills are improving, good boy
carlossainz55 @ ynuser 🙄
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tiktok comments
user IM SORRY IS THAT CARLOS SAINZ????
user THE HAIR MATCHES. IT’S HIM.
user She didn't just get him to cross the sea, she got him to stay 😭
pierregasly Smooth operator indeed
ynuser @ pierregasly está bien
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ynuser
liked by carlossainz55 and 3.4M users
ynuser paparazzi need to upgrade their lenses, here’s a better angle 💋
lando You are both insufferable 🙄
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carlossainz55 You promised you wiped that off.
ynuser @ carlossainz55 i lied, smooth operator. get used to it 😙
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IF I FELL ✧˖° OB87
spiderman!ollie bearman x reader
SUMMARY: you move to london, and suddenly a masked vigilante named “spider-man” has found his way to your balcony. at the same time, you start summer college courses and meet ollie bearman. what could happen?
PLAYLIST: she’s american | if i fell | she’s electric | just like heaven
CONTAINS: FLUFFF, misunderstandings, and mutual pining. (and lots of coffee).
WORD COUNT: 4k
A/N: HELLO this is my first fic ever!!! i’m excited to share it with the world. i’ve been a fanfic reader of many years, and when i saw the new spider man movie yesterday i got this idea and couldn’t get it out of my head. enjoy!!
You wake up in a puddle of your own sweat. Even with the window open, the London heatwave seemed to show no mercy; that is, of course, if it’s even attempted to show mercy before.
You wouldn’t know; your suitcase isn’t even unpacked yet, and the remnants of your closet back home seemed to be scattered across the floor as if the heatwave was also a tornado. Maybe it’s time to take a shower and relax a bit (is what you would think if the shower wasn’t missing half a door and therefore made you cold). Checking social media would only make you miss home, and going out would cost money. Begrudgingly, with nothing else to do, the balcony became your next move. Popping in your AirPods, the noise of the city fades away. The bustling streets of London calmed down; closing your eyes, breathe in, breathe out, and—
THUD!!!
The ground shakes underneath you. Your eyes snap open. Suddenly, a strange man in a bright blue and red latex suit has crashed onto your balcony. Your eyes shoot open. Every reflex kicks in.
“Dude, what the hell is— what the hell is happening?” you ask, more to yourself than to him, stepping closer to the edge of your balcony to get away from the… man(?) who just dove into it.
“Are you American?” he questions you with a British accent, cocking his head to the side.
“Are you seriously asking me that question right now?”
“What? Do you want an autograph? Questions about the webs?” he replies, sounding genuinely inquisitive, mocking a fake web-shooting motion.
“Who. Are. You.” The words fall out of your mouth, unstable, as your shaking hands reach for the ledge of the railing.
“I can’t tell you that. Nobody knows who’s behind the mask. It’s kind of my thing.” He replies, gesturing to his mask, definitely expecting you to know who he is.
“I’m confused… Is this some sort of Comic-Con thing? Are you on drugs and fell off your balcony? Whatever amount of likes this gets you on social media, it’s definitely not worth it.” Even though it’s a little harsh, it’s true. New York definitely didn’t have men in multi-color suits falling from balconies; even for America, that’s a little absurd.
“I- you- do you seriously have no clue who I am?” the British masked creature asks, quieter.
“No, I definitely don’t. And if I did, I probably wouldn’t be much happier than I am now.”
Your mind tries to wrap itself around what is going on, but every answer in every language couldn’t make things reasonable in this moment. Ten minutes ago, you were worried about the London heat, and now you’re worried about the safety of your apartment.
“Well,” he starts,
“my name is Spider-Man-“
you laugh. Hard. Spider-Man? What kind of weird British joke is this?
“MATE!” he exclaims, trying to explain himself in a way. (You let him continue, even though you are NOT mates, and you never will be.) “Mate. I protect the city, like- I have superpowers!”
holy shit. a crackhead has fallen onto your balcony. Do you call 911? What’s that over here… 119? Is it the same? You reach for your phone and-
THWIP!!!
Suddenly your hand is covered in spider webs. Your eyes widen. Looking back at the man, you realize maybe he’s not shitting you. “I- how- you did that?” You shake out.
“I did that. I told you I wasn’t a load of tosh.”
“You really didn’t, but- how did you do that?”
He relaxes a little bit, leaning on the railing of the balcony.
“A good magician never reveals his secrets now, does he?”
He receives a notification on his phone.
“Well, mate, I’ve got to go help out some people in need! Not at Comic-Con though, you’d be shocked!” and promptly jumps off your balcony again, back into the bustling streets of London. You move as much as your hand will let you, convinced you’d be the last person he’d ever see as he plummeted to his death. But to your surprise, he swings up from the ground and thwips away at the fading skyline.
The first few days of college classes (albeit summer courses) absolutely kicked your ass. to make it worse, they put you in the hardest math course at the university.
Entering the lecture hall, you take a seat at the very back. There’s no point in trying when there is no possible way you can pass. 20 minutes of agonizing pain go by, and as you’re looking at the clock, a tall, curly-headed boy bursts into the room; and of course, out of all the seats he could’ve chosen, his butt (or arse) ended up in the one right next to you. Lots of notebooks, very little organization, and lots of caffeine accompanied him.
There’s a little bit of awkward silence as you both acknowledge each other, but don’t dare to say anything; you have to make friends somehow, so might as well introduce yourself. You turn to him and he’s already looking at you to probably ask the same question.
“I’m Oliver.”
“I’m Y/N.”
You both whisper your names at the same time. But when Oliver looks at you, his eyes stare into your soul. He tries to say something, thinks for a minute, and then proceeds.
“Are you American?” he asks in disbelief.
That seems to be the question of the hour.
You nod vigorously, thinking of home while you do.
“No way, are you British?” you smile to yourself while you say it, making him giggle a bit.
Trying to keep the conversation up, you resort to complaining, “I don’t get how anyone can understand this. I’ve already accepted failure.”
He gives you a confused look, “It’s only been a minute, cheer up,” he gives it a pause, “if anything, I could help you. If you want help, that is. If not, it’s totally fine-“
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” you stop him from rambling on.
“Lovely.”
Awkward silence falls between the two of you, and it remains there until class ends.
“I’ll see you around!” Oliver exclaims to you as you put your (unused) notebook back in your bag and wave to him as you leave.
Campus in the summertime is beautiful; the old building, clear blue summer sky, and bustling student life around you make the transition a little less hard.
As you watch the television (or as some call it, the telly) you realize that Spider-Man really does help out the public, and quite a lot it seems; from saving cats in trees, to stopping occasional supervillains from destroying space and time as we know it, the dude really does help out. Conveniently, as you’re watching the spider-man broadcast, a familiar red-and-blue suit appears knocking at your balcony, holding some sort of bag. Startled, you open up the balcony door. “Spider-Man? What brings you back?”
“I felt bad for crashing here last time. I brought you a blackwell tart to make up for it, a british pastry! it’s a housewarming gift of sorts.”
“Thanks, Spider-Man.” As sarcastic as it sounds, it’s genuinely nice to have someone at the apartment (flat), even if they’re a superhero with a british pastry.
You both sit down on the balcony and watch the bright red double-decker busses traverse their way across the street; a moment of silence falls over you as the pastry is eaten.
“So, Spider-Man, busy day today?”
“Londons been pretty quiet, surprisingly. What about your day? busy much?” he says through chomped food.
“I started classes. It wasn’t all bad, yknow. I made a friend. I think.”
“That’s awesome. Is he cool?”
“How did you know it was a he?”
“Lucky guess.” spider-man says after a beat; and despite the animosity you had held toward him on your initial meeting, this moment is pleasant- it holds a type of peace and quiet that you haven’t gotten to experience since getting to London.
“Anyways, he said he’d help me with math which would be a huge help because I’m no good at it.”
“You’re only no good if you say you’re no good!”
“Oh my gosh, you sound just like him.” you retort, rolling your eyes and smiling at him.
“Well your friend must be a pretty cool guy then.” spider-man fake thwips into the air and laughs at himself.
You and spidey continue to fill the silence with random things about your day; wether it’s the coffee shop you found on your way to class, the bank robbery he stopped from happening, or the crazy news from down the street- as the sun set on London, the warm air didn’t feel too bad.
“Thanks for listening about my day. And visiting me. It means a lot, y’know, since I just moved and all.” Spidey watches as you open up, wondering if this could become the new normal.
“Ah, it’s nothing. I enjoy listening. Being spider-man isn’t entirely thrilling either.”
“Really?” You retort in disbelief, “Everyone loves you. They sell your face on T-Shirts! On bobble heads! You get to kick ass and look cool while you do it.”
He laughs to himself. “Well when you put it that way, I guess I do sound really cool. But it’s like living two lives, Im still just a regular dude at the end of the day. Like, I’ve got to take care of two people.”
“I…” you stay quiet for a minute, processing what the masked vigilante had told you; everyone sees the hero, but you never really thought about who he was behind the mask, and how hard it would be to live two lives and not have either of them run into each other. “That really does sound hard, Spidey. Make sure you protect that person on the other side of the mask as much as you protect the rest of us.”
You turn on your chair to face spider-man, as he continues his thoughts.
“I mean, it’s easier said than done for sure. I guess I just feel like I’m missing out on a normal life with friends sometimes.”
“Im sorry, Spidey.” And that’s really all you can say; the moon now hanging over the balcony and tiredness befalling upon you, you make your way to the door. “I better go to bed. And you need to sleep and take care of yourself. Goodnight, Spider-Man.” You look back at him and wave.
“Goodnight! I’ll be back, I promise.”
“You better!” The words get lost in the air as you yell at the webs slinging through the air, bringing Spider-Man home (wherever home was for him).
After a few more classes in The Math Class From Hell ™, Oliver and you decide to sit down so he can help push that grade to passing. The smell of coffee and chairs that seemed to have the same cushioning as memory foam almost lull you to sleep as he explains.
“And so… That’s when… Now you… Hey.. are you even awake?” His words fade in and out of consciousness as you desperately try to pay attention.
“I swear, Im trying.”
“Im going to buy you a coffee.”
“No, you don’t have to, I can buy it myself.”
And as you look up from your notes (blank), Oliver is already at the register giving the waitress a smile as he pays. For a moment you wish to be the waitress receiving the smile, but as soon as that thought enters, you force it to leave.
A few minutes later, Oliver returns with a hot latte that looks more appealing to you than water does to a parched man in the desert.
“Thank you, Oliver, It really means a lot.”
“No problem, I think gift giving is my love language.”
“I have a friend like that.”
“Back home or here in London?”
“Surprisingly, he’s here in London.”
He nods. He’s a little jealous of whatever friend this is you’ve made (but it’s whatever, that’s not the goal). Conversation moves from friends, to the TV show friends, to the actor who was in something else, to the.. honestly at this point you’ve lost track. Until you get to the topic of your friendly neighborhood visitor.
“You guys have lots of cool stuff here! Like Spider-Man, hes pretty cool. I’ve actually had a few encounters with him.” You say proudly, wearing it like a badge.
“Really, you have. I totally believe you.” Ollie rolls his eyes and smiles at you, totally not believing you.
“No, I swear! He’s really nice! He brought me a pastry for crashing onto my balcony.”
“The dude cant even swing straight at that point.”
“Well I like his visits.” Quiet for a moment.
“Wait, hear me out.” Ollie nods, sipping his coffee.
“Spider-Man.”
Ollie chokes on his coffee, almost getting it on you.
“Seriously?! Spider-Man?? Are you kidding me?”
“You’re acting like im the only person who’s ever thought this.”
“Unless bright red and blue suits appeal to the rest of the world, yes.”
“Well I just think what he does for the community is amazing. Plus he’s probably shredded.”
“That he probably is. But what about underneath the mask, you have no idea what he looks like!” His hands are about as expressive as his face.
“You seem very passionate about this.”
“Well- it’s spider-man!”
“Exactly.”
“You’re ridiculous.” You smile at him.
“Likewise.” He smiles back at you, and wow, your math tutor (who paid for your coffee and barely tutored you this whole time) is actually really cute. And kind. And a lot of things you’re not ready to process right now. The weather seems to be as intense as your revelation, sheets of rain hitting the London streets.
“Oh shit.” (Bullocks).
“What?”
“I forgot my umbrella, Ollie.” You bury your head in your hands, anticipating a shivering walk home with an equally shivery shower. Ollie puts his hand on your shoulder, being the saving grace he is “I’ll walk you home, I brought my umbrella. I don’t think we live too far from each other, anyway.” A wave of relief crashes over you, but guilt at the same time. “Ollie, are you sure?” He nods and heads to the door, getting his umbrella ready for the rain.
You walk side by side under the umbrella back to your flat, and to any passerby, you two would look like a happy couple making their way back to their shared life, and shared dinner, and shared laughter, and all the amazing shared things two people can have together. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but you really hope this walk can last forever.
“Okay, just tell me where to turn and we’ll be there in no time.” You lead the way, and eventually you make it to the lobby.
“Ollie, it means a lot. Thanks for doing that. I saved myself from having to wash my hair tonight.” The rain still hitting his umbrella, he laughs. “I wouldn’t leave you out there. I wouldn’t do that to a friend. Ive gotta go, but I’ll see you next class. Hopefully we can try to get more done next time!” He says, jokingly. The word friend rings in your head like ripples forming on water, getting louder as it continues; his figure gone from the doorway prompts you to return home (and think about everything you said ten times over, and if that smile he gave you meant something more than it actually does).
A few days pass, filled with making a couple new friends and overall adjusting to city life. After a busy day, you find yourself enjoying the peace of the balcony once again; and as if on cue, the blue and red Spider-Man swings and lands on your balcony, knocking on your door.
“Spidey, Im right here.”
“AH!” He screams in surprise, not expecting you to be right by him.
You double over in laughter, the whole city can probably hear your laugh bounce off of every building.
“It’s okay!” You giggle, coming off of your high of scaring THE Spider-Man.
He is unamused but takes the chair across from you on the balcony, sliding a CD case towards you.
“Once you’re done laughing I’ll explain my gift.” He says solemnly.
“You have to admit, it was a little funny.” You snicker.
“I….” He pauses and then bursts into laughter along with you,
“Maybe it was a little funny.” You can hear the smile in his voice, even through the mask.
“So what’s this about the gift?” The CD in front of you had drawn-on sharpie webs and a spider in the middle, resembling his suit.
“It’s full of the greatest English classics! The Beatles, Oasis, The Cure!” He shines proudly. “Wait, Spidey, these are all my favorite bands!” You smile back at him, genuinely surprised and loving the gift.
You get lost in conversation with the arachnid-human hybrid, and suddenly the conversation travels to the friends you’ve made recently.
“Well, there’s Alex, she’s really cool. Well, there’s another Alex, too. But he’s dating a girl named Lily, but there’s also another Lily…” Spider-Man gets lost looking at you as you continue to ramble. “Well, there’s also a friend I really like. And it’s like… well I like him more than a friend definitely.”
Spider-Man’s mouth goes dry. “Really? Who?”
“I cant tell you that! What if you know him?”
Underneath the mask, he rolls his eyes. “I definitely do not know him, but whatever.”
“Well, he’s super tall, and cute. He’s super sweet, too. I just… I don’t think he likes me back. He’s very nice, though”
“What else?”
“I cant tell you or else I jinx it!” You plead with him, not trying to break your good luck with Ollie so far.
And after that, for the first time, the conversation with Spider-Man grows a little awkward; before you know it, he fades into the distance (and hopefully his attitude along with it). Lit by moonlight, you decide to put the spider-CD into your CD player and- Just Like Heaven? She’s Electric? If I Fell? Wait… did Spider-Man make you a love song playlist? No. That cant be. You always assumed out there, there was some sort of Spider-Girl, or Spider-Girlfriend that could complete him. Was telling him about Ollie a mistake? No? Yes? Maybe? You pace through your flat. John Lennon could’ve just written some really good songs. Maybe. Maybe you could be overthinking this whole thing, and Spider-Man is secretly some cute guy with really good music taste, and maybe you ruined a really cool friendship. Wait, ending a friendship over this?
You make yourself take melatonin to go to bed and put this all to rest. Tomorrow you have a quiz in The Math Class From Hell ™ and none of this is worth worrying about.
The next day, your backpack might be heavier than Sisyphus’ boulder, a constant uphill struggle to get out of bed, get ready, and make it out the door in time. Luckily for you, Ollie was already there with a latte ready for you (Being the knight in shining armor he naturally is). The quizzes get passed out, and you almost pass out as well; the questions are intricate and almost labyrinthine. This will be taking up your entire morning. The clock ticks, and again, and again until 50 minutes pass by; Ollie is almost done with his quiz, and you pick up your coffee by the lid (big mistake) because the lid falls off, splashing coffee all over Ollie and his quiz.
“Oh shit, oh shit, Im sorry Ollie!” you try to clean it up with the remaining napkins you have as the coffee spills into the carpet that hasn’t been changed since the 80s. He looks up at you, and the emotion on his face is unreadable, but you know he’s upset; so you do what every logical person would do, and vacate the premises. The walk home has never been so long, and adding to Sisyphus’ boulder comes the pouring rain that COULD be quelled by an umbrella, if you had one.
Once you return home, you shower to make things a little better (accompanied by the latest episode of your favorite TV show, a warm blanket, and a pint of ice cream).
Your peace is broken by a knock at the door, and the infamous red-and-blue spider is your visitor. Begrudgingly, you open the door as he holds a pint of ice cream with him.
“Ahh, looks like you beat me to it.” He sighs, shoulders slumping.
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“Mad? Why would I be mad?” His head tilts and invisible question marks might as well come out of his head.
“You kind of stormed off last time and I was worried I said something.” You admit, the vulnerability getting to you a little bit.
“Yeah, I did, but I promise it has nothing to do with you… just… work” he gets quiet, yet continues “Do you want to watch TV? You’ve looked like you’ve had a rough day.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
Sitting on the couch in silence, you open up to him a bit. “Spidey, it was miserable. First of all, I had a quiz in that terrible class” He nods, seeming understanding.
“Well, then remember that boy I told you about? He got me coffee like the amazing kind soul he is, and i spilled it all over him AND his quiz. A fate worse than death.”
Yet, Spider-Man starts to giggle.
“Spidey, I don’t think it’s funny, this is truly a fate worse than death.” You say, flopping back on the couch.
“Can I please know his name? What all do you like about him?” He replies through a smile.
“Well, his name is Ollie, and hes super cute, funny, caring, and smart. Might as well tell you since I ruined all the chances I had today. He’s actually kind of perfect in a way, I feel like I really fucked up.” You lay it all out for him. The pit in your stomach twists and turns remembering the events of today.
A moment of silence falls between the two of you, and after a moment he walks towards you with a nervousness you haven’t seen the charismatic hero exhibit ever.
“Y/N. Promise not to freak out.”
You stand up to face him, hair in your hands. “You know him, don’t you. Oh, God.”
And suddenly, in a swift motion, he pulls the mask off, and you are face-to-face with Ollie.
Holy Shit.
“You fucker!” Is the only thing able to leave your lips, looking at the face of the boy you just spilled all your coffee and feelings to.
“What?!”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” You turn to walk away, but a web catches your hand and pulls you towards him. Whatever heart beat level send you to the hospital is dangerously close to the pounding that’s happening in your chest right now.
“You didn’t let me finish— I, wow, first of all, I didn’t know you felt that way, but-“
“Ollie, don’t do this to me, just go home.” Expecting a cruel turn away, you turn your head to look away from him, but he tilts your head back towards him.
“I don’t care about the quiz. I don’t care about the coffee. None of it. I , well, I just care about you. And I didn’t expect to reveal this to you so soon, but Y/N, God, I love you, do you understand? All of my life, Ive searched for someone to look at me the way I look at you, and even though Im just a boy, in a suit, a spider suit, Ive never felt so seen—“
“Just shut up and kiss me!”
And that he does. He leans towards you, closes the gap, and gives you the sweet satisfaction you’ve been looking for since you met him.
“You’re stuck with me now.”
“I couldn’t be more glad.”
“No, I mean literally, the webs don’t dissolve for another hour.”
But yet, you’re happy. And in a crazy turn of events, you ended up loving Ollie every time you met him (even if half the time he was in a red and blue spider costume).
The End
PITWALLPRINCESS' MASTERLIST!!
everything is smut lol.
lando norris
balcony
sexting
panty thief
taste
cockwarming
one night stand
plug!lando
semi-public
charlos
breeding
hands
oscar piastri
semi-public
closeted freak
munch
munch ii
thighs
george russell
cheekbones
secret
talking
cockwarming
breeding
angry
kimi antonelli
secret
how he speaks to you
his kinks
nsfw alphabet
max verstappen
his weight
mad max extra thought
fuck machine
kissing in the club
isack hadjar
how he speaks to you
arvid lindblad
menace
backshots
how he speaks to you
jacket
lawblad
more lawblad
even more lawblad
panty thief
titty fucking
titty fucking ii
kissing in the club (lawblad)
liam lawson
jacket
domming him
lawblad
more lawblad
even more lawblad
phone sex
kissing in the club (lawblad)
charles leclerc
spit
eye contact
charlos
lewis hamilton
choking
ass eater
more ass
kissing in the club
esteban ocon
biting
multi
top 3 sandwiches
fisting w/ twt p links
twt prn links
kimi
max
lewis
charles
charlos
george
landoscar
oscar
lando 2 2.5
carlos
liam
vertonelli
you're still the one
oscar piastri x yn!singer - social media au
fc: sabrina carpenter
─── oscar masterlist !
summary — a singer who everyone thinks will break oscar piastris heart does the opposite
note — (manips made by me) i love "you're still the one by shania twain" and this is heavily inspired by it so if you don't know it give it a listen! probably some misspellings since this took a while to make but hope u enjoy !! reblog's and comments are always appreciated ❤
Liked by user1, user2 and 885,924 others
motersportsnews Y/n L/n seen with Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri. The pair reportedly met at a brand after party in London and have been talking for the past month.
view all comments
user1 OSCAR RUNNNN
user2 get ready for a year of PR dating 🙄
user3 y'all gotta be normal about this, he's a grown man
->user4 it's just good old misogyny sadly
user5 looking for music inspiration?
user6 mclaren pr starting?
user7 they're both cuties! good for them
user8 i give it a few months then she puts out a break up song
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oscarpiastri Still not over this week. Shout out to the fans and those giant heads.. YukiTsunoda0511 👀
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user1 it was a nice weekend
user2 treats made by oscars grandma is so adorable!!
user3 who's surprised y/n made the insta post? u shouldn't be! it pr babes
->user4 they would've walked in hand in hand all over each other if it was really pr ->user3 they'll probably build up to that ->user4 yeah they will because as a COUPLE they'll get more comfortable, not because it's pr... weirdo
user5 the koala needs to be at every race
user6 y/n looks so cute!!!
user7 Well done mate 👏
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deuxmoi Trouble in paradise? Y/n L/n and Formula One driver boyfriend Oscar Piastri were recently seen around Italy for little break.
While the fun is over for Piastri it doesn't seem like the partying is over for L/n 👀
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user1 she hasn't been to every race this season.. so why is it a story that she's not ?
user2 y'all lowkey got to stop posting about y/n when it's always speculation or just made up, it's corny
user3 really love how you only post y/n when you have something negative to say!!
->user4 most drama pages do :/ ->user5 they make shit up just to get some clicks
user6 why are u so annoyed she has a life outside her boyfriend??
user7 it's going to be so funny when she's at the next race
user8 she also planned his birthday party recently or does that not fit your narrative?
user9 weird ass take, she looks good tho!
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f1 Oscar Piastri and Y/n L/n are ready for the Hungarian Grand Prix!
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user1 she looks like she's about to freeze
user2 we really dont gaf
->user3 obviously you do since you commented 😭
user4 i always forget how short she is, she makes oscar look tall
user5 hopefully she'll be a good luck charm 🤞
user6 they finally arrived together!
->user7 pictured* together! they always arrive together and you can see her walking behind him in all the pictures 😭 ->user6 yeah but she's so short you can never see her 💀
user8 get her some gloves!! she's cold 🥶
user9 im so in love with her wow
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yourinstagram <3
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user1 that oscar picture 🥺
palomaidaliasandoval we look so cute 🎀
->yourinstagram the cutest 🤗 ->user2 u 2 most lethal eyes ever wow
user3 this is so major
user4 you are completely unreal
user5 she had all her closet friends with her :')
->user6 and oscar won 😭
user7 the only insta post ever
user8 drop the album queen
user9 princess 💍
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oscarpiastri Nice winter break now onto 2025
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user1 looking adorable in the first picture king
user2 y/n in glasses is so cute
user3 love how he's always posting her and she barely post him...
->user4 she literally just posted the same picture of them together that oscar just posted ->user5 & posted about his first win but whatever ->user6 also they started dating this year... let her be cautious
user7 my favorite influencer
user8 looking at that hand in the 7th picture sir...
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vogue Y/n L/n talks about her plan for new music and dealing with the price of fame.
"People have ideas of me in their minds, they see a few posts saying she's 'a heartbreaker' or she 'uses guys for inspiration' and just run with it. The concept of thinking I couldn't just make something up instead people jump to me using guys, it's a little funny."
"Dating while being in the public eye hasn't been that bad, it is definitely easier for me right now because I don't really care. When you're with someone who you love and care deeply for it's hard to let the outside opinions get to you, there's no one I'd rather have by my side."
"I've been very inspired recently, not just with music but with photography as well, it's something I've always loved. While traveling I've been taking pictures nonstop and writing about anything and everything. I do have a song I plan on releasing pretty soon, so you can look forward to that."
Click the link in our bio to read more.
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user1 damn she really does see everything
user2 people have been talking about her relationship for a year only for her to say idgaf 😭
user3 her saying the cynthia erivo "the concept of" in a vogue article is so hilarious
user4 "there's no one i'd rather have by my side" is so sweet
user5 actually the most beautiful woman alive
user6 a y/n love song will heal me
user7 not her laughing at people being dumb
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Liked by oscarpiastri, jennaortega and 4,472,686 others
yourinstagram 🤠💌
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user1 country y/n >>> 💞
oscarpiastri not pictured was the bbq
->yourinstagram i don't think it needed to be pictured for everyone to know you got bbq in texas... ->user2 we all know he's part texan ->user3 we've seen the platters of bbq that oscar has eaten 😭
user4 forever jealous of that man
user5 whens the single announcement?
user6 he better watch that hand....
jennaortega you are so cute
->yourinstagram ily so much 🤍 ->user7 cuties
user8 can't wait till we get music!!!
user9 i kinda love the vibes
user10 she’s perfect your honor
user11 dreamy woman
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FormulaOneNews Oscar Piastri on the "Beyond The Game Podcast" talks about the publics opinion his relationship with Y/n L/n
"I didn't really enjoy seeing the way some of the public was talking about her [Y/n] we had a conversation about it when it was overwhelming, we both agreed on not saying anything. It was weird that people didn't like us dating because of the possibility of Y/n making a song about me if we broke up. Which I think says that people thought I was going to be such a bad guy that if we broke up it would be a song talking bad about me."
"When you meet someone who just makes your days better by standing by you is rare, after a race week I look forward to spending time with her or just calling her for hours. Im a very lucky guy."
Watch the rest of the video on Beyond The Game Podcast Youtube channel!
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user1 if they talked about it at the time the hate probably would've gotten worse so good on them for just laying low
user2 his smile when he said he's a lucky guy 🤭
user3 wait the whole "she'll write a song about him" really is shade to him
->user4 like "it would be a a song saying he was a bad bf" AND WHO'S FAULT WOULD THAT BE!?!?!? ->user5 "you're so vain" is like the only "shady" song she's ever made and it's not even that shady 😭
user6 glad they didn't let the public ruin their relationship!!
user7 the interviewer saying "sounds like you found the one" and he was over here giggling while nodding
->user8 so happy for them 😭❤
user9 love how they actually sound like they're in love
user10 bro couldn't keep the smile off his face when talking about y/n
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yourinstagram My single "You're Still The One" out March 14th!
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user1 OHMYGODDD
user2 Thank you for your service
whitneypeak ready for SOTY
user3 what do all 6.4M of you know about y/n l/n omg back up
user4 we’re SAT 👏💖
user5 "You're Still The One by Y/n L/n" SOUNDS LIKE SOTY ALREADY!!!
user6 we are SOO back
user7 and just when we needed her the most SHE RETURNED!!
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F1Updates Y/n L/n mentions meeting Oscar Piastri for the first time in new interview with Zane Lowe!
"We met at a after party, it was very brief when we first bumped into each other, but through the night I kept looking for him and wanting to bump into him again. Then I saw him across the room and he was looking at me and started smiling, he walked over to me and we just gradually started moving outside, so we ended up talking on the outside patio for 2 hours. After a week of us hanging out we started dating, we just clicked instantly."
"I don't think either of us really expected the reaction to be so divided, the majority that I saw was negative and I remember him [Oscar] just saying 'It's us in this relationship, no one else so who cares what anyone else thinks' and that has been my mindset since then. People might not like us together because of the 'what if they break up' but neither of us are really thinking of that."
Check out the video to hear more about L/n's upcoming song.
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user1 i really love how they don't gaf about what people are saying
user2 standing across the room smiling at each other???? love at first sight fr
->user3 given how awkward oscar is im genuinely surprised HE crossed the room ->user4 ik when i heard her say that i was shocked
user5 rightttt so they just live in a romance movie??!?!!
user6 hate that they had to see any of the negative stuff written about them when it was all just bs
user7 "sounds like you found the one" and her saying she's not thinking about breaking up... locked in fr
user8 looking for each other in a crowed room ohhhh they were gone from the start
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oscarpiastri the only one 🤍
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user1 PARENTS FRRRR
user2 okay make sure to invite me to the wedding in a few years
user3 the cat picture... my shayla
georgerussell63 I took that last picture 🙂
->yourinstagram you were mean about it ->georgerussell63 ??????? ->oscarpiastri "you might want to grab a stool so you can be in the picture" ->georgerussell63 BUT I WAS RIGHT! ->yourinstagram not the point 🙄 ->user4 oscar came with receipts 😭 ->user5 i fear he had a point y/n....
user6 i bet his camera roll is 80% y/n
user7 "the only one I dream of" 😭
user8 LOOK HOW FAR WE'VE COME MY BABY
user9 the only couple EVERRRR
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✎…… those hungarian gp arrival pictures were so annoying to make, so don't look to close, they aren't my best work 😔
also a plus side of using the same face claim is i can use manips i already have :D
➤ DEARLY BELOVED PT 2 | MAX VERSTAPPEN
pairing: duke!max verstappen x common-ish!reader
summary: the first step in any fake courtship is to sell the part, bringing you and max closer together, much to the shock of those around you (part of the dearly beloved regency au!)
wc: 5.1 k
warnings:
➤ MASTERLIST - PREVIOUS
Max was a smart man. He knew this well enough, considering his grades, his tactical strategies, and his own understanding of life.
But the glove trick, whether you meant it or not, was a rather smart move. In no way did Max really do anything outstanding or make any big declaration of desire towards you. He simply returned a glove and smiled, but in those two actions, Monaco was abuzz, his family included.
So naturally, the next step? Give in to the pressure.
His mother had casually mentioned you were entertaining suitors this afternoon, and he simply asked for an address, much to his mother's pure glee. He had been right - your status didn't matter. The fact that he had shown even an ounce of interest in someone had made his mother over the moon, and his father start spouting about heirs to the Verstappen line.
He had ignored his father entirely for the morning, and instead arrived at your uncle's house to little fanfare. There were no other suitors, to his surprise, or even Zak. He was escorted through an empty hall to an empty drawing room, each sparsely decorated and further proving your low status, not that it came as any surprise. Entering the room, Max found you sat in another drab little green dress, caught up in a little book.
"Oh, heavens." A man says, and Max's head snaps to the other side of the drawing room, where your uncle scrambles to rise from his seat. "Your grace, this is a most unexpected surprise! I'll have someone fetch for tea, and biscuits, and-"
"It's quite alright," Max says, shutting your uncle down, and he watches you try to suppress a smile behind your book. "That won't be necessary."
"Oh, but I insist!" And with that, the servant that escorted him is sent off in search of tea and biscuits and probably a whole luncheon if Max isn't careful. "Please, sit. I have heard that you've met-"
Max takes a seat across from you, and cuts off your uncle again. "I simply returned a dropped glove."
"Which was most kind." You answer, shutting your book and resting it on the table. The Unwed's Guide to Courtship, how fitting. "So what do we owe the honour of your visit?"
"I realized," Max begins as rehearsed in his mirror this morning, "That upon returning your glove, I did not know you, which was quite a surprise. If you'll forgive my bluntness, every unmarried person has been thrown at me this season, so it was a pleasant surprise to meet someone who had not."
"Of course," Your uncle answers for you, "We'd know better than to waste such an important's man's time as yourself, your grace."
Max waves a hand at the thought. "Still, I thought I would return your kindness with one of my own. An introduction."
"You are too kind, your Grace!" Then, without giving you a chance, without any prompting, your uncle introduces himself and you in perhaps the longest and most boring introduction ever given. It's a novel of every family tie, his business and his sponsorship of you this season, how proficient you are with needlework, and every fifth word or so you open your mouth to add something, but your uncle continues, and raised well, you don't have the guts to interject. Max doesn't either, though the man doesn't give him any chance to even try.
Finally, only when the maid arrives with tea and a tray of biscuits does the poor man take a breath, practically gasping for air.
"How...thorough, sir." Max tries to say sincerely, and he watches you pull a face to contain your laughter. Maybe your patience came from having to put up with the man. "And what of you?" He says, fully turning his attention to you. "Any details your uncle may have missed?"
"Oh, my uncle was quite thorough." You echo, and you both reach for the same chocolate biscuit at the same time, fingers grazing over the plate. You're quick to withdraw, and he has a feeling you're not used to human touch. Then again, Max and other men were free to indulge in touch, bare touch, whenever they pleased. You were forced to wear gloves and keep your distance, which, as Max considers it, must be a nightmare. Surely you have desires too. "It seems he missed my love of chocolate."
"You and I both." Max picks up the biscuit and breaks it in two, and extends one half to you. "So we can share. Do you like animals?"
"I've always enjoyed pets, though we had few growing up. I assume, from your racing, that you're quite fond of them?" You accept the other half and rest it on your saucer beside your tea, instead opting to take a drink.
"Horses are wonderful, often better companionship than humans. I'm also partial to cats." Part of the reason for this visit, after all, was to actually introduce the two of you in an acceptable manner. Well, it was also so that the servants could talk and everyone would know he was here this afternoon, but that was for the ruse. If you were to go through with this, he should at least know some things about you.
His response catches you off guard, quickly swallowing the contents of your cup to lower it. "Cats?"
"I have three. They are good for catching mice, and are not as loud or demanding as dogs." You laugh softly, an almost rehearsed sound. He wonders what the real version sounds like.
"And their names?" Oh.
Well, that's slightly more embarrassing to say. "Sassy, Ji-"
"Sassy?" You halt the cup below your lips in shock, and Max shrugs softly, trying his best not to blush as you watch him.
"Named after one of the pubs." Another polite laugh bubbles out of you, and Max can't help but chuckle along, watching any proper conversation dissolve in front of you. "What, do you have better name ideas?"
"I'm not sure I could do better than Sassy." You quip, leaning back to hide behind your teacup. "Perhaps Prince? or King?"
"Why?"
"Well, it does seem they rule over you." Max poorly timed a sip from his own drink as he snorts into his teacup, probably not the most distinguished thing for him to do. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you laugh, truly laugh, and as your uncle frantically grabs napkins, reminding Max that the man is, in fact, still there.
He accepts one of the napkins, wiping his mouth as he grins at you. He wasn't sure the last time a suitor offered good conversation, or at least good laughter. True laughter. It might be a fake marriage, but at least you could be friends throughout it. "Your uncle failed to describe your wit, or good humour."
"I am lucky to have many talents, your grace." Of which it seems humility is not one.
"Though few suitors, it seems." Max finally points out, gesturing to the empty room. It was probably best to tackle the whole 'Zak' issue with your uncle, who also seemed to have forgotten the man.
"Sir Zak Brown has shown considerable interest in me this season. I was brought from the Southern Alps to see if I may be a good match for him." You explain, and your uncle is quick to jump into the conversation.
"As well as to search for other matches, should they arise." Max finally turns his full attention to your uncle, who immediately straightens himself. "Sir Zak Brown is most gracious to us, though as I'm sure you're aware, a bit...unorthodox, in certain regards."
Unorthodox is putting it slightly, Max thinks. "It seems a...unique match, the two of you."
"He is not quite the same conversationalist as you are." You say, finally eating the biscuit he broke in half, gently brushing the crumbs that fall off your dress, and he decides that your wardrobe will be the first thing that goes when you marry. Hell, he'll let you go as wild as you like with a seamstress if it means getting you out of those sordid colours. "Though, as I am sure you are aware, he is far too busy with the racing season for conversation these days."
Zak had bought his way into the racing circuit in Monaco, sponsoring two of the younger racers, Lando and Oscar, from far-flung corners of the world. They had talent, he would give them that, but it would take time for them to really find their place here. "Well, I too am busy this season, but I find it important to make time for the things that matter."
You duck your head, a soft blush across your cheeks, and you really are quite the actress. "You are too kind, your grace."
"Please," He finally says, tired of his title. "Call me Max."
"Oh." You look up, a soft sort of confusion at the sudden casualness between the two of you. So what if Max moved fast? Fast was what he was good at. "Of course, Max."
"You are a sight to behold this season, your grace." Your uncle continues on, clapping his hands together once. "I mean, with four championships under your belt, you certainly are the best on the track."
"Have you been able to attend any races this season?" Max says as he turns to you, the perfect way to get you two seen together in public, without really having to do much on his end.
You shake your head, gently setting down your teacup. "From the stands? I'm afraid we haven't, no."
"Well, I will get you two tickets for this weekend, as my guests. I am sure you will enjoy it."
"I will enjoy seeing you win." You respond, and Max can't help the grin that stretches across his face.
-
"This arrived for you." Your uncle says, handing off a rather large box. You stare at it in confusion, trying to think what it could possibly be. There was no one of worth back home to send you anything, no good friends nearby for this sort of parcel. You take it and find it wrapped in soft, pink ribbon, a little notecard stuck under the bow.
Something to wear to my race.
Max.
He was not a sentimental man by any means, but the note was still sweet. You carefully undo the ribbon, opening the box to reveal the softest blue dress, embroidered with little flowers, and your breath catches. It was the finest dress you had ever owned, likely far more expensive than anything else in your wardrobe, and he wanted you to wear it to a horse race?
You turn to look at your uncle, who studies Max's card in his hands. "You seem to have made a good impression on the Duke." He says softly, turning to you. "You ought to keep it that way."
-
"So," Charles says, dismounting his horse. "I hear you made a stop at the Renault house?"
"Renault?" He echoes, turning to look at the man in confusion.
"The rumours are you have been quite taken by his ward." Oh, that.
Well, at least his outing had worked. Already his mother was drawing up plans for luncheons, his father for world domination. Once again, he did not really listen to his father and tried to keep his mother as happy as he could. Today was step three of his plan to convince people that the two of you were in the early stages of courtship, and that when you did inevitably marry and go your separate ways, people would not question it. "It is courting season."
"But you do not court," Charles states rather bluntly. "You have terrorized most women in the city, god, the country! But the plain Renault caught your attention?"
"Plain Renault?" Max questions, though he understands it perfectly well. There was nothing about you that was particularly special. Your style was dated, your beauty fair, your options limited. For a Duke to take interest was almost unheard of, but he supposes in other ways, you were special. You could make him laugh, and you enjoyed his schemes, and unlike most people, you did not annoy him. That was your crowning achievement, really. "Perhaps we see beauty in different ways."
"Beauty? I-" Charles glances up and the words die on his tongue, and Max's eyes follow, where he is equally rendered speechless.
You arrived, wearing the dress he had ordered for you. He had sent servants around to every different modiste in the hopes that one of them would have your measurements, and luckily, one did. He hadn't put much thought into the gown, just something simple but elegant, in a light blue colour to offset his own navy regalia.
But you looked like a different person, almost.
You looked like you belonged. Your hair was twisted up like everyone else's, likely adorned with flowers the same way. You looked perfect and proper and easily caught the eye of those around you, and from this distance, he could tell you were not used to it, as you kept turning your head to look at the aisles as you came to take your seat in the front row.
With all the new shine and spectacle, however, you still carried yourself with the same air. You might have dressed like you belonged, but you had no confidence in your step, though it was a little lighter. You likely still thought of yourself as the 'Plain Renault', while everyone else was starting to see what Max was supposed to see. "-I stand corrected."
"If you'll excuse me." Max trod over to make it known that you were here to see him, and you rise from your seat to rest against the railing. Smiling down at him like that, it might have been attractive to him, if Max were any other man. But this was a game, and you were not his, and so you simply looked nice in a dress he had made for you that fit every curve like a glove.
"I must thank you for your generosity," You say, voice raised to be heard in the little distance between you. It toes the line between honesty and flattery, which Max will accept.
"No need for thanks. Seeing you like that is thanks enough. You look..." And, if Max were any other man, he'd have had a word to use, but he comes up entirely short.
"Exquisite," Charles says from beside him, having joined the conversation, and Max shoots him a soft glare. "Max was telling me earlier of your beauty."
You look slowly from Charles to Max, one eyebrow raised, a smug little smile growing on your face. "Oh?"
"We see beauty in different ways." Max settles for with a matching grin. "I find beauty in intellect, good humour. It is a benefit, then, that you also have natural beauty."
Charles slowly turns to look at Max in shock, and Max is well aware that, if anyone else heard what he just said, it probably would end up a headline somewhere. Max was not one for compliments, or for courting, or any of this, really. That admission might as well have been a proposal in itself. "You flatter me, your grace."
"I pride myself on honesty." Which, technically, is not a lie.
The two of you planning a fake marriage also wasn't a lie, either. "As any good man should."
"Do I have your bet for a win this afternoon?" Max asks, entirely ignoring Charles's dumbfounded face.
"It would be foolish to bet on another. I hope you do not take that as an insult, Sir Leclerc."
"Hm?" Charles hums before he finally clues back into the conversation. "My apologies, I was too distracted by Max's sudden bravado. You were saying?"
"Best of luck with your race, gentlemen." With that, Max rides off, and Charles is still hot on his tail. Sure, it was out of the ordinary, but was it so hard to believe that Max had a heart? He was human, unlike what others thought. He had emotions and feelings, he could play nice.
Charles, however, doesn't seem to accept that. "They've replaced you with a civilized twin." He spouts, finally in stride with Max. "I once heard you refer to marriage as a fool's deal." Well, now that Charles mentions it, maybe it was a little out of character for Max to suddenly be head over heels for you. Especially because it was you.
His type were a little more...scandalous than most cared for.
"Perhaps love has made me a fool?" Max answers, and Charles looks as if he might explode.
"Love! You've gone to what, one suitor's afternoon tea, and now you think you're in love? Are you cursed, man? Bewitched?" Max laughs, tilting his head back in the sun, and when he looks your way, he finds you still leaning on the edge, watching him. It stops him for a moment, seeing all the eyes of the crowd on you, and of yours on him. It was nice, he thinks, to only have one person staring at him, though it seems he's brushed his fame off onto you.
Maybe he was playing his cards too early, Max decides as he looks away. He can't say love so soon. He has to rein it in, make it believable. "A joke, Charles." He settles on, and Charles lets out a low sigh. "I am simply entertaining the idea for my parents' sake."
"Well, you're a good match," Charles says as they ready themselves at the start line. "Anyone could see that. What does Zak think?"
"Zak does not know." With that, the officials weave their way through the horses, helping them to their positions, and he leaves Charles with yet another flabbergasted look on his face.
-
You had been to a few races this season, for Zak's sake, and each time was a whole affair, of him wanting you by the sidelines with him in the dirt, kept away from those high up in the stands. He had wanted you to see him in action, not his racers. So, this was the first time you had seats yourself, and the first time you had taken such an outing in a dress like this. You had gotten more compliments while getting to your seat than you had all season, and having been seen talking to Max, you were now the small star of attention to those around you, which your uncle adored.
He chatted with the other men, telling all about Max's visit to your home, how polite he was, how taken he seemed with you. Max truly was a good actor, convincing so many that his growing affection for you was real. You'd like to think you were also a good actor for your part, though certain things were real. It was hard not to flush under his attention, though you were well aware it was all fake.
Max races, and you find yourself on the edge of your seat, watching him lead the pack, the close calls, the tight race between him and another man named George. But, as most had predicted, there was no question of who would win. Max easily takes the race, and you find yourself cheering in a most unbecoming manner, but that does not matter now. Max was to be your husband, and fake or not, it would be good to have someone like that win.
"He is quite the racer." Your uncle says next to you, gently nudging your shoulder. "And I am sure he would make quite the husband."
"He has only invited us for a race, not for my hand in marriage." A shadow falls over you, and for a moment, you think it might be Zak. It forms a pit in your stomach, slowly turning to look, luckily only to find one of the race's attendants.
"Excuse me, but Duke Verstappen has invited you to join him on the green, with the other guests for celebrations." With a grin, your uncle rises, gesturing for you to follow.
"Well, it might not be far off!" He says as you make your way to the field, and the crowd parts to let you through, all eagerly watching to see what you'll do.
It was a strange sort of feeling, being watched. You'd never drawn attention before, let alone a whole crowd, but it seems every person stops to watch as you approach Max. He rips off his helmet, shaking out his sweaty hair as he glances at you, and it seems he notices your discomfort. "Did you not enjoy the race?" He asks, seeming genuine.
"You were most impressive, your grace." You soothe, instead trying to secretly gesture to the rest of the crowd. "I am just not used to the attention, is all."
"Ah," Max says, raking a hand through his hair. "I'm afraid that is common, with me."
"Admiring your racing skills, I'm sure?" You quip, and Max flashes a short grin. No, the crowds who watched him were typically waiting for him to snap, or say something inappropriate. You might not have been in Monaco long, but you'd learned enough about Max and his reputation.
"Well, of course." Then, Max shoulders out of his racing jacket, and you find another reason why people stare at him.
For all the chaos that surrounds him and the marriage mart, beyond being a wealthy Duke, he also is quite an attractive man. Racing jacket tossed aside, he's still sweat-soaked, white undershirt sticking to his muscles rather nicely, and you give yourself only a moment to look before your gaze drifts. Maybe it was a little ego-boost, too, that he wanted to marry you. Even if it was all a game, he was certainly a prized husband.
Unfortunately, as your gaze drifts, your eyes find Zak, eagerly making his way across the pitch to you. "I did not know you were in attendance, my dear." He says, trying to seem at ease, but you know what that smile means. "You should have joined me on the field."
"We were offered tickets for the stands. It would have been improper to turn down such a gift." You respond sweetly, but Zak doesn't seem to hear it.
"Quite the race, for the boys. You know, my training has really helped Lando recently. It's all mindset, I say." You hum along, and Zak finally turns his sights on Max. "You did well out there too, your grace. I see you've met?"
"Yes, we have," Max answers, though not in the best tone. "With you so busy this season, I thought perhaps I could offer additional company."
"Too kind, your grace, but not necessary. I am sure you are a busy man, too."
"Nonsense," Max answers quickly, "It's my pleasure, really."
Zak slowly drags his gaze from Max to you, and you watch something twinkle in his eye. "I am not sure it is the best company to keep, anyway. Is it true that you and George almost came to blows this morning?"
Now would normally be the time when your uncle interjects for you about polite conversational topics, but as you turn to look at him, you find that he's disappeared and is instead examining one of the nearby horses, oblivious. "Gossip, Zak, which I'm sure you know all about. I could say the same about your company. Aren't you a bit...old to court someone so young?"
"Not when my dear is so mature for their age. Besides, what do you know about courtship? I thought you only took lovers." Max's jaw shifts as one of his attendants arrives with a bottle of water, and he takes the time to sip it slowly, offering a cold stare over the bottle at Zak.
If there was ever a time to cut the tension, it would be now. "Both of you have been good company." You settle on, and both men turn to look at you, as if forgetting you were part of this. "And exchanging rumours rather than facts seems improper, considering the good nature of this event. I prefer honesty, anyway." Max's little phrase slips through before you can stop it, and he sends a smirk your way that does something to your heart you don't want to think about.
"Of course, my apologies," Zak says, insincerely. "The stress of the races often gets to us. Did you enjoy the race?"
"Quite. It was good to watch from the stands." You keep yourself from adding 'for once'.
"I saw you cheering along," Max says, voice dropping a tone. "Quite a nice view to finish a race with."
"A better view would be to look for your own fans, cheering you on, not mine." Zak replies coolly, looking over at you with his own grin, like it was your own inside joke.
You don't think before you speak next. "I was cheering for the fastest racer, Sir Brown. The McLaren boys felt short, this race. I am sure with your help on their...mindset, that they will improve soon."
"I-" Zak stops himself short, snapping to look at you. He cannot say a word, however, because of present company, and because it's the truth. Max makes a strange sort of noise into his water bottle, and you find yourself wondering if he has a bit of a choking problem, considering the whole teacup issue from the other day.
"Thank you for your support," Max says, recovering with a little bow. "Perhaps I should have you at more races, a good luck charm."
"Not that you need good luck." You respond, "You seem to do quite well for yourself."
"Exactly," Zak says, reaching out to place a hand on your elbow and direct you away from Max. His grip is tight, not quite enough to hurt, but it might soon as his fingers dig in. "The Duke is quite fine on his own, so we best leave him."
You turn to look at Max for intervention, who does nothing but simply nod at you and Zak. It's a small shock, as you stare at him in confusion. He would just leave you? With Zak? After all that? You're not sure what his plan is, but that would end rather poorly. However, before you can question Max's motives further, your uncle appears from the crowd with four glasses. "Ah! Seems I haven't missed the festivities yet." He extends a glass to you, Zak, and Max, beaming from ear to ear. "Good show, gentlemen! Most impressive on all ends, especially you, your grace. You must be a horse whisperer."
"Something of the sort," Max says, taking a swig. You sip on your own and find it some alcoholic concoction, and decide to let yourself remain sober for this. "Sir Brown was just talking about his strategies, with Sir Norris and Piastri."
"Good boys! I can see them succeeding, but they need more experience." Your uncle says, turning to Zak. "Don't you think?"
"It's all mindset, if you ask me. If they are confident like winners, they will win. Max here has no issue with mindset. Confidence, ego, whatever it may be." Zak's hand finally slips from your arm to down his drink in one go. "Are we still on for that promenade this Tuesday?"
"I'm afraid not, Sir Brown." You whip your head to look at your uncle, unaware that either your plans had changed, or he had entirely wiped your schedule for Max.
Either way, you're not complaining. "Oh? Has something arisen?"
"You see, the Leclerc's are hosting their annual floral ball that evening, which we have just been invited to. The promenade would cut into the travel time. I'm sure you understand." You turn to look at Max, who has a knowing smile on his face. Sir Leclerc must have extended the invitation considering you and Max's impending courtship, or perhaps at Max's request.
"Of course. I would hate to impose on such an event." Zak answers evenly and turns to look over his shoulder. "Hm? It seems Lord Leclerc is calling for you again."
"Oh, the invitation! How forgetful of me. One moment." Your uncle disappears, and with the crowd dissipating, Zak uses this as his opportunity to rear around and look at you.
This was the only part you were dreading of your and Max's agreement. Zak would not take kindly to this, and whatever fit he threw, you needed to get out the other side of it clean. "How strange. That ball is typically to help those needing courtship, and yet we are-"
"Not really courting, Sir Brown." You answer rather plainly, taking a sip of your drink to steel your nerves. His face rises into a shade of red you'd never seen before, and you take a step to the side, only to bump right into Max, who takes a step away himself so you don't collide further. "You have been most kind, but-"
"We made an agreement. I think you forget your place, my dear, and who brought you here." Zak's voice drops, his scowl turning to Max. "Not to be rude, but this dalliance is nothing more than-than spite on the Duke's behalf, I'm sure of it. Has his money and fame really blinded you so severely?"
"Any expense made on your behalf I can happily reimburse," Max answers for you, and Zak's fury deepens. "And my interest has nothing to do with spite, I can assure you."
Zak reaches for your arm again, and Max's hand darts out to swat it away. "Why you-" He calms himself for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Are you serious with your intentions then, Max? To court and marry someone so beneath your station?"
"I intend to court and marry someone who matches my needs, regardless of rank, and you seem awfully demeaning for someone supposedly courting." He turns to look at you and offers an arm. "I apologize; it seems the heat of the race has gotten to Sir Brown. Might I escort you to your uncle?"
"Please." Your hand gently loops the inside of Max's bicep, and it is solid under your touch in a way you didn't know a man's arm could be.
"Very well," Zak states, stepping aside. "I look forward to seeing you marry, and when Max abandons you like every whore he's bedded, best of luck finding another suitor."
Max's arm tensely dramatically, and you're sure if not for you on his arm, Max would've punched Zak. "You'll regret that, Sir Brown. Good day."
Well, you suppose, it's over. Zak got whatever he wanted to say in, though it didn't sting as much as you're sure he'd hoped it would. It wasn't anything you hadn't already thought of, or already had been told. You were below Max in every form. It wasn't some cutting remark, just simple truth. And, if you weren't so sure about this ruse, you would be worried about Max abandoning you, but you both had more in this than just marriage.
Finally, once out of Zak's earshot, Max's muscles relax as he lets out a breath. "How you put up with him without strangling him, I have no idea. You're far braver than me." He whispers, and you can't help but laugh at the thought. Braver than a duke might be pushing it, you're sure. Max smiles down softly, nudging your shoulder with his. "You're welcome for saving you from that, by the way." He gently pats your hand before letting it drop, and strangely, you mourn the loss. "And he is so not invited to the wedding."
a.n: be warned, this series is 40 k long...buckle up, folks, and thanks for all the love <3
The Future of RedBull
Summary: Part 2 of this story
The celebrations around the Yas Marina paddock could probably be heard from the other side of the circuit. Fireworks lit up the Abu Dhabi sky as mechanics, engineers, photographers and family members gathered around the newest World Champion. Kimi stood in the middle of it all with the trophy in his hands, smiling so widely that even the television cameras struggled to keep up with every hug and every congratulation. A few garages away, Yn leaned against the entrance to the RedBull garage with her arms folded, quietly watching everything unfold. She smiled to herself. Championships deserved moments like these.
George walked out of the Mercedes garage a few minutes later, still wearing his race suit. He spotted Yn almost immediately. She looked completely relaxed, as though she had nowhere else to be despite every journalist on the grid probably wanting a word with her. He walked over until he stood beside her. For a while, neither of them said anything. They simply watched the celebrations together. Finally George spoke. “Quite a night.” Yn nodded without taking her eyes off the crowd. “It is.” George smiled faintly. “He deserves it.” “He does,” Yn replied. “The first one is always special.”
Another minute passed in comfortable silence. George slipped his hands into his pockets. “Funny how everyone remembers the champion.” Yn looked at him. “And everyone else?” George shrugged. “We disappear into the background.” Yn smiled softly. “Only if we let ourselves.” George let out a quiet laugh. “You’ve always got an answer.” “Comes with the job.” He took a slow breath before looking back toward the celebrations. “I kept thinking about Switzerland.”
Yn turned fully toward him this time. She studied his face for a moment before speaking. “Have you made your decision?” George nodded slowly. “I have.” He hesitated for only a second. “Do you still have that contract for me?” Yn’s expression barely changed, but there was a spark in her eyes. “I was hoping you’d ask.” She pushed herself away from the garage wall. “Come with me.” George followed her through the quiet Red Bull motorhome while the noise from outside became softer with every step.
Her office was exactly as George remembered from his first visit months ago. When he first came over after their dinner in Switzerland to read through the contract. Neat. Minimal. Every folder perfectly organised. Yn closed the door behind them before walking over to a drawer. She pulled out a single folder and placed it carefully on the desk. “I never threw it away,” she said. George looked down at it. His own name was written neatly across the front. “You were confident.” Yn smiled. “No. I was hopeful.” George laughed quietly. “That’s somehow even worse.” “Probably.”
George opened the folder slowly, reading through the pages one last time. Yn sat across from him without interrupting. She knew better than to rush moments like this. After several minutes George finally placed the papers back on the desk. He looked at her. “Before I sign.” Yn nodded. “Go on.” George folded his hands together. “Promise me something.” “If I can.” He met her eyes. “Promise me we’ll actually do this together. No favourites. No politics. No one driver above the other. Just… a team.”
Yn answered before he had even finished. “I promise.” George searched her face. “That quickly?” “Because I already promised you that in Switzerland.” She leaned forward slightly. “Nothing has changed. We win together. We lose together. If one of you succeeds, the whole team succeeds. If one of you struggles, the whole team helps.” George stayed silent for a moment before smiling. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” Yn nodded once. “Then sign it.”
George picked up the pen. His signature came naturally, almost surprisingly so. Months of frustration suddenly felt very far away. The difficult weekends, the endless questions from the media, the feeling that every season started with hope only to end with disappointment. He signed the final page and placed the pen down. Across the desk, Yn’s phone vibrated. She glanced down at the screen, quickly typed a message with both thumbs and locked it again. George raised an eyebrow. “Important?” Yn smiled without looking guilty. “Very.”
She took the folder and slipped it back into the drawer before standing up. “Congratulations.” George let out a small breath. “That feels strange.” “It should.” She walked toward the small fridge in the corner and opened it. “Now.” She looked over her shoulder with a grin. “Would you like a RedBull?” George laughed. “Already?” “You should get used to this.” She tossed him the can. George caught it with one hand. “I suppose I’d better start practising.” Yn opened one for herself. They tapped the cans together before taking a sip.
George looked around the office again. “You know, this is much quieter than the Mercedes office.” Yn sat back down. “I like quiet.” “Really?” “It helps me think.” George smiled. “I thought you’d be out there with the cameras.” Yn shook her head. “Tonight belongs to Kimi. There will be enough cameras tomorrow.” George nodded. “Fair point.” He looked down at the RedBull can in his hand and chuckled. “Still feels a bit illegal.” Yn laughed. “Give it a week.”
A sharp knock interrupted them. George looked toward the door. Yn did not seem surprised. She simply called out, “Come in.” The door opened almost immediately. Oscar stepped inside as though he had done it a hundred times before. “Hope I’m not late.” Yn smiled. “Perfect timing.” Oscar walked straight to the fridge without asking permission. “Good.” He grabbed a RedBull, opened it, and sat down comfortably beside George.
George stared at him. Oscar noticed immediately and smiled. “You look confused.” George blinked. “A little?” Oscar took a sip from his drink. “Fair enough.” George looked from Oscar to Yn and back again. “What’s going on?” Yn calmly rested her elbows on the table. “George.” She smiled. “I’d like you to get used to Oscar.” George frowned. “Why?” Yn answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because the two of you will be teammates.”
George’s eyes widened. “Wait.” He looked directly at Oscar. “You signed?” Oscar nodded. “A few days ago.” George leaned back in his chair. “You knew?” Oscar laughed. “Since Tuesday.” George looked at Yn in disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this to me?” Yn shrugged innocently. “You hadn’t signed yet.” George pointed at Oscar. “He’s been sitting on this information for days.” Oscar grinned. “It was surprisingly difficult.”
George shook his head with a laugh. “You’re both unbelievable.” Oscar nudged his shoulder lightly. “You’ll survive.” George looked at him. “So this is really happening?” Oscar smiled. “Looks like it.” George let out a slow breath. “Wow.” Yn watched both of them quietly. “Any regrets?” George answered first. “Not anymore.” Oscar shook his head. “Never had any.”
George turned toward Oscar. “What made you decide?” Oscar thought for a second before answering honestly. “I was tired.” George looked surprised. “Tired?” Oscar nodded. “Tired of feeling like every season could have been more. Tired of leaving races thinking we wasted opportunities. I wanted something different.” George understood immediately. “Yeah.” Oscar looked at him. “You know exactly what I mean.” George smiled sadly. “I do.”
George looked down at his drink. “Mercedes gave me a lot. I’ll always respect them.” Oscar nodded. “Same with McLaren.” George continued quietly. “But somewhere along the way I stopped believing we were moving in the direction I wanted.” Oscar rested his arm on the table. “When Yn spoke to me in Switzerland…” He smiled toward her. “She wasn’t selling a car or a contract. She was selling an idea.” Yn rolled her eyes playfully. “That sounds dramatic.” Oscar shrugged. “It worked.”
George laughed. “Actually… that’s exactly why I signed too.” He looked at Yn. “It wasn’t the money.” “Good,” Yn replied. “Because finance would hate hearing that.” George smiled. “It was because you believed in us before we believed in ourselves.” Yn became unusually quiet for a moment. Then she said softly, “You both deserved someone to remind you.”
Oscar lifted his can slightly. “To new beginnings?” George looked toward Yn. She picked up her own can. “To building something worth remembering.” George smiled widely. “And to doing it together.” The three cans touched gently. None of them spoke for a few seconds afterwards. Outside, another wave of cheers echoed through the paddock as fireworks exploded over Yas Marina.
George broke the silence. “You know the media are going to lose their minds.” Oscar laughed. “Especially after we’ve both spent months saying we were committed to our teams.” Yn smiled mischievously. “That’s why nobody knows yet.” George pointed toward the closed door. “I suddenly understand why this office is so quiet.” “Exactly,” Yn replied. “The biggest stories are rarely announced in crowded rooms.”
For nearly another hour they stayed exactly where they were. They spoke about simulator sessions, factory visits, favourite circuits and what they hoped to achieve together. There were jokes about who would steal the last biscuit during engineering meetings and debates over who would arrive late more often. George accused Oscar of never talking. Oscar accused George of talking enough for both of them. Yn simply laughed, already imagining the season ahead.
Outside, cameras continued following the World Champion as celebrations carried on deep into the Abu Dhabi night. Inside a quiet office tucked away behind the RedBull garage, no trophies were being lifted and no champagne was being sprayed. Yet something just as significant had happened. Without headlines, without microphones and without anyone noticing, three people had quietly chosen the same future.
And while the rest of Formula 1 celebrated the end of one season, RedBull had just begun writing the story of the next one.
One Sober Kiss
Summary - Agreed rule. What happen's after a night out is forgotten about the next morning. One sober kiss can change the alcohol being blamed.
Not Proof Read!
Word count - 9K+
Pairing - Max Verstappen x Fem driver
"Morning Ladies" You said walking into the kitchen where Lando, Franco and Alex were sat eating breakfast.
"You're in a good mood this morning?" Lando asked, a little nervous by your demeanour.
"I get to see the girls today!" you smiled over to them.
"About time!" Ollie said walking into the kitchen as he over heard the conversation from the living room.
"Now can you stop complaining about needing to see your friends?" Max asked appearing out of what seemed like thin air.
"If it'll make you feel better Max, then no, never" you shot him a sarcastic smile and he rolled his eyes back to you.
Over the years, as drivers you'd all formed a bond. It was to be expected. Since a few of you were all single and sick of living alone and away from your families, you'd all decided to get a house together.
Of course, over time, some people started getting into relationships but the house remained the same, just with a few visitors before race weekends and when drivers girlfriends had time off from work.
The guys had all decided that your room could be the one with the en-suite since you were the only female driver. The guys all agreed that the other 3 remaining bathrooms would be shared by them all. You happily agreed to this, not wanting to share a bathroom with 8 guys.
In total it was you, Lando, Alex, Kimi, Charles, Ollie, Franco, Isack and Max. It was no secret that you were always butting heads about one thing or another both on and off track. The guys swore you would wind one another up on purpose. In Franco's words it was like you two had some "weird foreplay going on" as they all insisted that you were both actually made for one another. What the other's didn't know is that through the years you and Max had slept with one another on multiple nights out. You had a pull on one another that neither of you would ever admit. Instead, you both agreed that whenever it'd happen, you were to not talk about it the following day and continue like nothing every happened.
"They staying here?" Lando asked.
"No, they've booked an Airbnb" you smiled.
"Thank god. It's bad enough dealing with you, let alone having your friends here" Max said as he walked past you, grabbing a bowl out of the cupboard.
"Mind you, I never asked for your opinion" you said throwing him a look.
"Right, I've just woken up. You two seriously haven't started already have you?" Kimi groaned as he walked into the kitchen.
"Blame him" you said defensively, pointing to Max.
"We blame you both. You wind one another up all the time!" Alex said before continuing to each his breakfast.
"I literally didn't do a thing" you said shocked.
"This morning no, but last night you did" Alex continued.
"What?"
"You literally said to him 'That film's exactly like you. Loud and irriating' when all he did was pick something for us to watch" Isack said looking up at you through his eyelashes as he took a spoonful of his breakfast.
"He picked a war film!" you almost shouted in defence causing the others to laugh lightly.
“It was educational!” Max batted back as you turned to open the fridge.
“Thank you for that Grandpa” you said whilst trying to reach the top shelf to grab your Tupperware.
"Enough. You're driving me insane and we've got qualifying today. Please don't piss me off" Isack groaned as he headed out of the kitchen, with the others slowly following suit. It was the Monaco GP this weekend meaning you didn't need to pack or travel anywhere which you loved.
Max came up behind you and reached for your food, you could feel his warmth on your back before he pulled back, handing it to you.
"Thanks" you said quieter than intended.
"No problem" he said flatly before walking out with the others.
The paddock was already a buzz with photographers and fans all ready and waiting for drivers to arrive. You walked in, deep in conversation with Charles about his and Alexandra's plans for the week following the race.
"Y/N" You heard Anna shout in excitement causing you to turn so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.
The girls all ran to you pulling you in for a group hug. You'd been friends since school but, since joining F1 and with their busy lives too, you'd seen less and less of each other over the years, although spoke every day over text.
Anna was a petit red head, she knew you better than you knew yourself. She was engaged to Matt who she'd met after she joined his Dad's Veterinary Practice. She was not shy, and if something needed to be said then you could always count on her to be the one to say it.
Grace was a tall blonde who ran her own beauty company. She loved to party and would drag you all out at any opportunity she got when you were growing up. She was recently single and making up for lost time.
Molly was the quieter one of the group. A short blonde. She was level headed and incredibly bright which is why non of you were shocked when she told you she was going to Uni to study Law. She'd met a guy there but hadn't told you all much about him since it was very new.
"I thought we were meeting later?" you smiled to them.
"We wanted to watch your qualifying" Grace smiled.
"Come on, I'll take you to Redbull's hospitality" you smiled as you walked through the paddock with them, catching up on everything you'd missed.
"So, any guys on the scene?" Anna asked as you all sat down at a table.
"No. I think living with 8 of them is enough of a deterrent for any man" you laughed before sipping your water.
"What about any of them that you live with then?" Grace asked. "I mean you basically have a whole choice of men in the palm of your hands. Plus they're all very good looking" she added and you almost spat your drink across the room.
Max was stood just behind the table, looking like he was chatting to one of the mechanics who'd come in for a break, when you saw his jaw tighten. Your eyebrows knotted together wondering what they could possibly be talking about.
"Jesus Grace, it's not like that! They're my friends. Besides, half of them are in relationships now anyway" you laughed.
"Ok, then which ones are single?" Anna asked raising an eyebrow.
"Umm, Lando, Kimi and Max" you said.
"So what about them? Are they as attractive in person as they are on TV at least?" Anna asked again in a mischievous tone.
"Ew, stop! Lando's one of the guys I'm closest to but he's basically my brother and Kimi's 19! I don't see them like that. They're actually really lovely people if you got to know them for them and not their looks" you said shaking your head.
"Ok ok calm down, it was just a joke" Anna said. "But, what about Max?" she asked but before you could answer Max was stood at the side of your table.
"Sorry to interrupt but we have a meeting we need to get to" he said looking at you.
"Oh, yeah, ok. Girls, this is Max by the way" you said introducing him as you stood up. You may not always see eye to eye but you weren't rude and you always introduced people who didn't know each other.
"Hi" Max smiled at them before slowly turning around to walk away.
"HOT" Grace and Anna said in unison to you, not quite as quiet as they thought. Little did you know that Max had heard and a small smile crept up onto his face.
"Shhh! I'll see you later" you said before jogging to catch up to Max.
"Your friends seem nice" he said, continuing to look dead ahead.
"Didn't ask for your approval of them, but thanks I guess" you replied to him.
Qualifying ended. Max P1, Lando P2, You P3. You were happy with where you'd placed and after interviews headed over to the girls Airbnb to see them.
"Is she coming home tonight then?" Kimi asked.
"No, I think she's staying there with them" Lando asked as he looked at the time on his phone.
"She'll come home" Max said.
"I think she's staying there mate. It's nearly 10 now" Alex added also checking his phone for the time.
"She'll come home. She sleeps better in her own bed" he said plainly which silenced the others.
10 minutes later and the door clicked open and you slipped in quietly, before walking into the front room to see the guys sat around rewatching quali highlights on the TV.
"We thought you were staying out?" Lando asked.
"No, I sleep better in my own bed" you smiled. "I'm going up, night guys" you said before walking upstairs.
The guys remained silent but all turned to look at Max.
"What?" he asked.
"What the fuck was that?" Lando asked.
"What was what?"
"How did you know she'd be home?" Alex asked.
"She always does. Every other race she says she didn't get the best sleep, but Monaco she always says she slept great. Doesn't take a genius to know it's because she's in her own bed" He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
No one said another word, but they all shot one another a knowing look.
"Morning" you said walking into the kitchen to see Alex and Kimi sat at the table.
"Morning, how did you sleep?" Kimi asked curiously now.
"I slept great thanks, you?"
"Great mmhm. Yeah, good thanks" he said whilst raising his eyebrows to Alex as they both laughed quietly to one another.
"Ok , well I have to go. Early team meeting. Tell Max I've left already" you said as you headed out to the front door.
"Wait, wait, I'm coming" he said as he ran down the stairs before following you out of the house.
“Have fun last night?” He asked you.
“I did thanks. Did you miss me?” You mocked him.
“Enjoyed the peace and quiet actually” he mocked back and you rolled your eyes.
The meeting dragged on longer than you or Max cared for. You were ready to race and both hated the tediousness of the meetings. You knew what you were doing and what was expected of you but had to show up regardless.
"Before we conclude this meeting. Y/N, Max. Clean, fair fighting today. I don't want to see any collisions caused by either of you" Laurent said staring at you both.
You both nodded in agreement before standing up to leave.
"You heard what he said. No collisions" Max whispered to you as you walked out.
"Stay out of my way and we won't have a problem then" you shot him an unamused smirk.
"Oh don't worry darling, I'll be so far in front you won't see me anyway"
“That’s funny because you only call me darling when you’re nervous. Got you worried have I Verstappen?”
“I’m never nervous”
“Could’ve fooled me. What happens if I actually beat you today?”
“Then I’m booking a hotel room and I’m staying there forever”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time” you mocked causing him to scoff loudly.
The car felt quiet compared to the noise surrounding the track. Your eyes locked onto the back of Lando’s car ahead.
Lights went out and you were off. The car felt good. Much better than it had during free practice and quali’s. You were making good time but still hadn’t yet been able to catch up to Lando enough to overtake him.
“Guys, I’m loosing power here, what’s happening?” Lando said over the radio to his team.
“Keep pushing. We’re looking into a fix”
Over on your pit wall you heard Woody “Ok, Y/N, Lando’s got issues with his power. They’re looking for a fix but nothing yet. Now’s the time to give it all you’ve got”
“Ok, heard”
You gave it everything you had and finally overtook Norris, heart thumping through your chest.
“Well done Y/N, 10 laps left. Let’s bring it home safely and clean please”
You could see Max in your sight. Your eyes narrowed in on him going in for the chase. You could feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you creeped closer and closer with each lap.
“Y/N, we’re not racing Max, 2 laps to go, let’s just bring it home now please”
You didn’t reply. Not with words anyway. Just a loud huff down the radio in frustration. The gap between you and Max was 0.5 and you knew you could battle it out but at the risk of messing up the race for the entire team you backed off.
You crossed the chequered flag in P2 with Lando following behind. Pulling into Parc Ferme you could feel the anger radiating off of you. You didn’t jump out of the car immediately, instead you waited a few seconds thinking about how close you were to P1.
When you finally jumped out Lando headed over to you to congratulate you. Max was already celebrating with the team but you stayed at your podium, taking off your helmet and taking a sip of your drink, chatting to Lando.
“You good?” He asked.
“I could have had him. He was right there and they didn’t let us fight. It’s bullshit” you huffed.
“You’ll get him next time. It’s a tough track to overtake on. They didn’t want to risking your whole race” he said trying to calm you down.
“But he was right there Lan. I had the chance and they didn’t let me even try”
“Come on. Let’s just enjoy this podium and then drinks on me tonight?” He asked nudging you.
“As long as you keep them coming. I’m going to need them”
“Deal” he laughed. “Just try not to kill him. He didn’t make the call, they did”
“Hey! Good race” Max said walking over to you.
“Mm thanks. Congratulations to you too”
“What’s wrong?” He asked confused. “If this is because I’ll be home tonight and not booking a hotel like you’d hoped then I’m sorry” he said sarcastically.
“I could have had you I hope you know”
“Then why didn’t you overtake?” He asked.
“They told me not to. I’m assuming you had something to do with that little call” you scoffed in annoyance.
“You’d be wrong. I was shocked when you pulled back. I was waiting for an overtake attempt”
“Oh” you said shocked.
“Yeah, oh. We may not always see eye to eye but I’m not going to stop you from racing me or try to ruin your race. I thought you knew that at least” he said almost hurt.
“Sorry” you nodded to him.
“It’s fine. Still, a double podium for the teams good” he nodded back.
“I’ll get you next time though”
“You can try” he smiled before you all made your way to the cooldown room.
By the time the celebration and interviews were over you were ready to get home, shower, get ready and go out drinking. You’d told the girls to come round the house once they were ready and you’d all make your way to Jimmyz together.
“Y/N. Your friends are here!” Kimi shouted up the stairs to you before directing them to your room.
“This room is incredible!” Grace said as they walked in.
“It’s like a frat house though with all those guys downstairs” Anna laughed.
“They’re actually great to live with” you laughed.
There was a knock at the door before Isack walked in slowly. "We're leaving in 15 if you want to join us downstairs for pre drinks?"
"Absolutely! Lets go!" Grace said immediately standing up to head downstairs.
The guys were all sat around the table already, playing cards, drinks in hand and music playing.
"What are we playing?" Grace asked them.
"Ring of fire. You know it?" Lando asked.
"We do!"
"Ok then, let's play" Lando smiled at you as he pulled his card out next. King. He leant over the table and poured some of his drink into the cup.
Franco pulled his card next. 8. "I pick Ollie" he said raising his can in Ollie's direction with a mischievous smile to which Ollie just shook his head and laughed.
Charles was next up, pulling out a 4. All you girls raised your glasses before taking a drink.
The game continued until the taxi's pulled up outside. You all headed outside and the cool air immediately hit you all. You weren't drunk by any means but you'd certainly gone from stone cold sober to a bit more than just tipsy within the space of 15 minutes from the game alone.
The club was already busy by the time you arrived. Drinks flowing, music blasting and people dancing. Grace pulled you to the dance floor with Anna and Molly whilst the guys found their way to the booth that had been saved for you all. Lily, Carmen and Rebecca all found their way to you after Lando pointed out where you were. You introduced your friends to them before running to the bar to grab shots for you all with Anna.
"Okay, seriously. What's going on between you and Max?"
"What do you mean?" you asked shocked.
"He's been staring at you all night"
"No he hasn't!" you said defensively
"He absolutely has. He's looking at you like you're the only person in the room. You should have seen how he looked at you on the podium"
"I don't know what you're talking about" you said rolling your eyes.
"You got P2 and he seemed happier about the fact that you were on the podium with him than he was about his own win!"
"It was a 1-2 for the team. We were both just happy for the points!"
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that, but when you come to realise it, just know that I told you so"
"Mmhmm, sure Anna" you said shaking your head.
You both made your way to the booth handing out the shots to everyone when a fan sees you all and asks for a group photo. You all happily oblige, not wanting to be rude since she asked politely and you could all see her nerves.
You all huddled together closer so you could all fit in the frame. Max had been stood next to you but pushed you gently forward to be seen in the camera since you were shorter than him. You settled in close to him, your back pressed against his chest and his hand found your waist, resting there to hold you steady in place for the photo. For a brief second you hadn't noticed, but when you felt the eyes of Anna, Grace and Molly burn into the side of your head, the realisation kicked in your heart started hammering through your chest. They were all sat down in the booth watching the scene unfold in front of them, and your face was only getting redder and hotter by the second.
Once the photo was taken you looked down at your empty shot glass.
"I need a drink" you said before hurrying to the bar to catch your breath.
"You good?" you heard from behind you.
"Hey Ollie. I'm ok you?"
"I'm good. You just seemed to hurry off like you'd seen a ghost that's all"
"Oh, no I'm fine. Just needed a drink that's all" you smiled unconvincingly.
"You're a shit liar, you know that right? It's fine though, if you don't want to talk about it"
“Good. Drink?” You asked whilst handing him another shot.
“Sure” he said picking up the glass and downing the drink fast.
You both headed back to the booth and it had picked up. Other drivers arriving with their girlfriends, others inviting multiple girls into the booth too. It was getting more and more cramped by the second. You were scanning around to find the girls when you saw someone you'd never met before getting cosy with Max.
"Drink?" Lando said walking over with yet another tray of more shots.
"Absolutely" you said before grabbing one and shotting it back as fast as you could. "Dance?" you asked him, grabbing his arm before he had a chance to respond.
You both made your way to the dance floor. It was just as busy, leaving little room for you to both. You turned you back and were practically pressed up against Lando.
"You good?" he asked leaning down to your ear.
"Fine" you said back loud enough for him to hear.
"So this would have nothing to do with that girl over there talking to Max would it?" he asked causing you to spin around to face him.
"What?"
"Come off it Y/N. We all know you have a thing for one another"
"We have not!" you said defensively.
"Ok, so that's not been Max I've seen leaving your room after most nights out and you wouldn't care if she came home with him then?" he asked
"What? No it's to been! No, of course not! He can do what he likes!" you said knotting your eyebrows together.
"Ok, and if he didn't like you, then he wouldn't mind us dancing like this would he?" He said raising his eyebrows to you.
"No, he wouldn't"
"Ok, so then why have his eyes been burning a hole into the side of my head since we got on this dance floor, when there's a girl in front of him not so subtly trying to hit on him?" He asked you raising his eyebrows further.
"Maybe he's just not into her" you shrugged off turning your back to him again, done with the conversation.
"Or, maybe he likes you" he said leaning down to your ear again.
"No, he doesn't. Now enough, just dance and don't talk" you huffed.
The girls joined you on the dance floor a short while after and Lando made a quick escape back to the booth. At this point you knew you were way past being drunk. You couldn't remember the last time you'd consumed so much alcohol in one night. The night was becoming more and more of a blur and by the time you headed back into the booth you were struggling to stand straight.
"You feeling ok?" Max asked as he walked over to you.
"Mmhmm" you nodded, eyes glazing over.
"Here, drink some water" he said passing you a glass.
"I'm fine, I don't need it" you said trying to brush him off.
"Drink it" he demanded and you slowly took the glass off him.
"Thank you Max" you smiled up at him before tipping forward drunkenly.
He grabbed you and steadied you before you could fall flat on your face.
"I think it's maybe time to call it a night" he said to you.
"Noooo. It's only another hour until the taxi's are getting us anyway" you complained to him.
"Y/N. You can hardly stand straight"
"Please?"
"Ok. It's your choice, but I'm staying here to stop you injuring yourself by falling over" he smirked.
"Fine" you said leaning your body weight up against his side. "Where's that girl gone you were talking to?" you asked, looking up to him.
"I don't know" he shrugged.
"I thought you were going to bring her home with you" you hiccuped.
"No" he said firmly, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Why not? She looked nice"
"Because, I didn't want to"
"Oh. Ok then" you nodded.
"What about you? I saw you getting close to Lando on the dance floor"
"Absolutely not" you laughed. "Great friend, but that's as far as it goes. Even as a dance partner he talks too much" you mumbled causing Max to laugh.
Anna, Grace and Molly had made their way back to their hotel already. They had offered you to go back and stay with them but you knew that in the morning you wanted to wake up in your own home and not have to move from bed all day. The thought of catching a taxi back home on a hangover filled you with dread just thinking about it.
The sound of your bathroom door closing shut woke you up from your sleep. Your head pounding you sat up with a groan. You don't remember getting home but somehow you're in your own bed. You look up to see Max slowly tiptoeing out of the bathroom in his boxers when he looks up to see you.
"Morning" he said quietly.
"What are you doing in my bathroom?" you asked confused whilst trying not to look him up and down but failing miserably. God he looked good. Why did he have to look this good. He was your team mate. You can't start having a crush on him. It would be too inconvenient. You tried shaking your head to clear the thoughts.
"I used the toilet."
"Why are you using my toilet and not your own?"
"Because it was quicker?"
"Quicker than walking outside your own room?"
"Well yeah, I did sleep in here last night. How much do you remember from last night?" he asked you
"You slept in here? I remember you giving me water. After that is a blur."
"You were very drunk. After we got home you didn't feel well. Kept saying you felt sick. I didn't want to leave you on your own in case you were, so I slept in here with you. Don't worry, we didn't sleep together this time"
"Oh, thank you"
"You're welcome. Breakfast?"
"Sure" you said dragging yourself out of bed. "Let me shower and change first. I'll be down soon"
"Yeah sure, see you down there" he said walking towards your door.
"Max?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. Seriously, I appreciate it" you smiled to him.
"Yeah, Anytime" he smiled back before leaving.
You walked into the kitchen with a groan, Ollie, Isack and Franco were all sat around the table, coffee's in hands chatting about how the night had been.
"Here she is" Franco beamed as you walked in.
"Stop yelling" you groaned.
"I practically whispered that!" Franco laughed as you shuffled across to the kettle.
"Shhhhh" you said back to him causing a scoffed laugh from Max as he and Lando walked into the kitchen. Max walked over to you and hands you two painkillers. He's dressed in grey joggers and a plain white top and it's so frustrating that he can look this good even after a night out. "Thanks" you smiled to which he nodded.
"Sooooo" Lando began.
"If you're going to say something that'll annoy me then please don't" you immediately snapped before he could get any more words out.
"When do I ever annoy you?" he asked faking hurt.
"Literally all the time"
"No, that's usually Max" he batted back.
"You're starting to take top spot right now" you groaned raising your hand to your temple before taking another sip of your coffee.
"I wasn't even going to say anything bad. Just that you two seemed to get on well last night, that's all" Lando said widening his eyes and side eyeing the others at the table.
"I looked after her because she was just as drunk as you lot. Apparently I'm the only one who can handle my drink around here" Max interrupted before you could bite Lando's head off.
"Hmmm such a gentleman" Lando teased. "What happened to that girl that you were talking to all night then?"
"I don't know. She went home I guess" Max shrugged.
"What?" Isack practically yelled across the kitchen. "Mate, she was handing herself to you on a plate!" he said shocked.
"I wasn't interested in her like that. I'm not about to lead her on for a meaningless shag!"
The guys didn't say a word after that. Instead opting to sharing knowing looks at one another as Max started asking how you were feeling now as you poured more coffee for yourself and made him one too.
A knock at the door was answered by Kimi who had started making his way downstairs after finally getting up.
"Y/N. It's your friends" he called out, directing them into the kitchen where you stood with the guys.
"Wow" Grace said as she walked into the kitchen first, eyeing up all the guys who were a sea of joggers and chests.
"Annd just like that we're going upstairs" you said immediately guiding them out of the kitchen and up to your room.
"Seriously, how do you focus on anything?" Grace asked as you walked down the hallway. "Grey joggers and abs everywhere! Can I move in?" She asked and you could hear a collective whispered laugh from the guys in the kitchen. Grace was never as quiet as she claimed she was.
"Please, for the love of god stop talking" you said following the girls to your room.
"I'm just saying. Max looked good too" she said winking at you.
"Did he? I hadn't noticed" you said a little too casually.
"Yes she did" Lando shouted up the stairs after you.
"Run. Run far" you shouted back down to him through gritted teeth causing the guys to laugh.
"So, you like her then?" Lando turned to Max once they heard your door shut.
"What?" he asked trying to brush off the comment.
"You were staring at her all night. I thought you were going to kill me for dancing with her at one point!"
"No I wasn't" he said scrunching his eyebrows together in irritation.
"You absolutely were" Franco added.
"Did I hear you coming out of her room this morning too?" Ollie chimed in.
"It wasn't like that!"
"You slept together?" Lando asked, his voice getting higher pitched.
"No! I just looked after her. She said she felt sick so I didn't want to leave her alone"
"So you took care of her, all night?" Lando raised his eyebrows.
"Yes. I slept on top of the quilt though. Nothing happened. She doesn't even remember getting home"
"Hmmmm, sure, nothing happened. Y/N never lets anyone stay in her room!" Ollie said.
"That you lot know of" Lando whispered loud enough for only Max to hear. Max shot him a death glare which silence Lando quicker than the speed of light.
"It wasn't like that!" Max added again, getting more and more irritated.
"So! Even drunk she's never let anyone in her room. The fact that she let you must count for something right?" Franco asked.
"It's not like that!"
"Sure. Let's all just keep pretending you don't clearly like one another" Lando scoffed rolling his eyes.
"Whatever" Max mumbled before heading back up to his room.
"He took care of you all night?" Anna asked.
"Apparently I said I was feeling sick. He didn't wan't to leave me in case I actually was"
"Good looking and caring. I approve of him for you" Molly smirked.
"Oh my god stop" you laughed.
"What? You can't tell us that all this bickering is just that! There's more in it that just making comments for no reason. You obviously like one another, plus you'd look good together" Grace said to you.
"He's my team mate. It could get complicated"
"Complicated can be good" Grace smirked.
"I don't want to ruin our team dynamic" you sighed.
"So you do like him then?" Anna smirked as they caught you out.
"Fuck. What. No"
"Be honest!" Anna said.
"I. Um. I'm going to get a drink. I'll be back" you said rushing out of your room.
You were getting more and more flustered by the second. You opened your door, closing it behind you and collided with Max who was walking across the hallway to his room. "Shit. I'm sorry" you said, looking at the coffee you'd just knocked out of his hand and down your top. "Shit, that's hot" you said pulling the top away from your skin and taking a sharp breath in.
"Shit, are you ok? Come here" he said pulling you into his room and passing you a fresh top from his draw.
"I do own other tops you know" you laughed holding his.
"I just assumed you were escaping your room for a reason and weren't in a rush back in that's all" he smiled to you.
You nodded to him. "Yeah, you'd be right there" you scoffed.
"Are you burnt at all?" He asked concerned.
"No, I'm ok. Thanks for the top" you smiled as you pulled your top off and put his on.
"You're welcome. Why are you escaping anyway?" he asked.
"Oh. Um. Just the girls being, um, it doesn't matter. How come you're not downstairs with the guys anyway?"
"Oh, yeah, they're just annoying me today that's all" he said.
"Welcome to my world" you laughed trying to to blush the more you looked at him.
Ever since Grace and Anna said he was hot you've not been able to look at him in the same way anymore. You'd never noticed his smile, or how pearcing his blue eyes were, or how when you spoke he gave you his full attention, looking at you so intensly that it made you get hotter by the second.
"You good?" he asked as he could see you getting redder by the second.
"Yeah yeah, I'm good" you nodded, not sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.
“I think you caught your arm too” he said walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm to further inspect the red mark.
He was close, so close you could feel the heat coming off him. Smell the soap on his skin after his shower.
“You sure you’re ok?” He said looking at you. His eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.
“Mmhmm” you nodded lightly, looking up to meet his gaze. His eyes, you could get lost in those eyes. Who were you kidding, you were lost in those eyes. Holding his gaze, you could feel the heat creep up your chest, breath hitching as you caught him looking back down to your lips again. He stepped closer, closing the gap between you both that little bit more. The tension between you both was intense.
A silence had settled between you both. Not awkward, but instead thick with an unknown feeling. His thumb brushed over your arm that he was still gently holding. You looked down toward it before looking back at his eyes and then down at his lips. There was a beat where you both lingered, giving the other time to pull away, but neither of you did. His lips met yours. Soft, gentle at first before deepening into a need. Your hands found the seam of his collar, pulling him in closer to you. His hands held your hips, pulling them in closer than you thought possible. Your hands snaked around his neck, playing with his hair as his hands found your ass.
You were both lost in the kiss. Neither of you coming up for air, until a pan being dropped in the kitchen knocked you both back into reality.
“Fuck” you said as you let go of Max and stepped back.
“Shit” Max said rubbing the back of his neck.
“Um, I have to go. The girls will be wondering where I am” you said as you hurried out of his room. You shut the door behind you and lent backwards on his door frame, replaying what had just happened. An involuntary smile crept up onto your face before you snapped yourself back out of it. You'd never kissed sober before and this caused a nervous knot in your stomach that you weren't sure how to undo.
You walked back into your room where the girls were sat, flicking through photos of the night on their phones.
"We're sorry" Anna said offering an awkward smile as you walked over to them.
"It's fine" you smiled softly.
"Have you changed your top?" Molly asked confused.
"Oh, yeah" you said awkwardly looking down at yourself. "I spilt coffee down myself" you brushed off.
The girls didn't question further. Not because they didn't have more questions, but they didn't want to further upset you.
Three weeks had gone by and you avoided Max like the plague, only seeing him during team meetings or when there was a crowd of you. Never habign the chance to be alone, but now the pit was growing further in your stomach as you walked through the airport with the guys. You knew that you and Max were getting a separate plane with your team and there was no escaping.
"Y/N!" Alex raised his voice
"Hmm?" you asked turning to him.
"I asked if you wanted to join me and Lily for dinner tomorrow? She keeps asking me to invite you"
"Oh, sorry. Yeah that sounds great" you smiled to him.
"You good?" he asked
"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just in my own head. I'm ok though" you nodded.
"Ok, well I'll message you the plans later after I've caught up with Lily"
"Sounds great" you smiled as you all walked out onto the runway towards your planes. "See you later" you smile before slowly making you way towards the plane.
"You going to talk to me anytime soon?" you heard Max's voice behind you.
"You haven't spoken to me either" you said quietly.
"Because you kept avoiding me. Was the kiss really that bad?" you teased you.
"Shhh" you turned to him widening your eyes causing him to smirk.
"What? No one can hear us" he laughed.
"You don't know that!"
"Look around, everyones too far away to hear over the sound of the planes" he said gesturing around you both.
"Yes, well, you never know" you said raising your eyebrows to him.
"Can we talk about it then please?"
"No, I'm not talking about that in front of Laurent!"
"Fine, then after the flight?" he asked as you walk up the stairs of the plane.
"Maybe" you said as you walked down the aisle taking a seat. He sat opposite you. Of course he did. As if you weren't already feeling awkward enough about the situation, you had to endure the flight to the UK with Max sat across from you staring at you. You looked at him and threw him and annoyed look whilst rolling your eyes which only seemed to make him laugh.
The flight consisted of Laurent talking to you about strategies and what he expected out of the weekend, with Max's eyes burning into your skin the majority of the time. By the time you got to the hotel and checked into your room you were relieved for the moment of peace to yourself. Sinking down on the bed you grabbed your phone, catching yourself up on the girls group chat. Grace was updating you all on her Tinder matches whilst Anna was sending over Bridesmaids dresses.
As you opened your door you saw Max stood there, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. He gave a soft smile before walking past you and into your room.
"Was it really nothing to you?" he asked.
"Wow, ok, jumping straight into it" you said shocked.
"You said I have 5 minutes" he said monotone.
"Ok ok, fine, no, it wasn't nothing, but we're team mates Max. That shit can get complicated really quickly" you said with a heavy breath.
"It doesn't have to. Not if we don't let it"
"Max, seriously. Do you hear yourself?"
"I'm serious" he said walking towards you.
"So am I" you said stepping backwards.
"So what? We just act like nothing happened? I don't think I can do that Y/N" he said taking another step toward you.
"We have to Max" you sighed. "It was just 1 kiss. Nothing more. Let's not make this bigger than it needs to be ok?" you said whilst involuntarily stepping closer to him.
"God you drive me mad!" he said frustrated.
"And you drive me mad too, so I guess that's good then. We can go back to our normal dynamic of team mates who like to bicker over stupid stuff" you said throwing your arms in the air.
"And you're happy with that are you?"
"Max. It was 1 kiss" you sighed.
He stepped closer to you, closing the gap that was once there. Heat radiating off you both. You looked up to meet his eyes. Your chest heaving from the tension building between you. Your eyes flicked back down to his lips and memories of the kiss you'd shared were running through your mind.
"It wasn't just 1 kiss but that's fine. You keep pretending like there's not something there then" he leant down to whisper in your ear. Goosebumps ran across your body from the feel of his breath against your skin.
Before you could say another word the moment was broken. Max shifted, walking around you and made his way back out of your room.
"Fuck" you whispered under your breath, dragging your hands down your face after the door clicked shut.
You were sat across from Alex and Lily. They were talking to you about wedding plans and Lily had been catching you up on what she'd been up to.
"Not long now until the big day! Are you nervous?" you asked them.
"Yes but excited more than anything" Lily smiled. "Got your dress?" she asked you.
"I do! I can't wait. You're going to look beautiful!"
"Thank you! Anyway, enough about us. What about you? What's been going on?" Lily asked you.
"Nothing much. I'm going to be bridesmaid for Anna so we're being bombarded with thousands of dresses that she likes for us" you laughed.
"That's exciting!" Lily smiled.
"It is" you smiled back.
"Anyone special in your life?" she gave you a teasing smirk.
"No" you laughed. "Still as single as ever" you rolled your eyes.
"What about Max?"she asked.
"Right, what have you said to her?" you snapped, staring at Alex.
"What? Nothing!" He said looking at you shocked with a mouth half full of food.
"I just think you'd look cute together. You looked it at the after party anyway" Lily said just as shocked as Alex. "Speak of the devil" she smirked as Max walked into the restaurant with Kimi and Lando.
"Oh, hey guys" Lando smiled over as he caught a glimpse of Alex.
"Hey!" You, Lily and Alex smiled back to them all.
"If you want, we can seat you next to each other?" The waitress asked from behind you.
"Yeah, the more the merrier" Lily smiled as the waitress set the table up for them.
The rest of the meal went fast, although you couldn't help but notice that Max hadn't even looked in your direction the whole time, let alone said two words to you. A pang of guilt rushed through you. You know you'd turned him down but you were still team mates and you didn't want it to feel like this all the time. You thought what you'd done was a good thing but maybe you'd bruised his ego instead.
You got up and headed to the toilet, making sure to pay the bill on your way. You walked back out of the stall to find Lily stood outside.
"Everything ok?" she asked you.
"All good. You?"
"Y/N, what's going on. You and Max haven't spoken to each other the whole meal. Has something happened?"
"Nothing's happened. I don't know. Maybe he's not in a talking mood today" you lied to her.
"I'd love to agree but it's only you he's not spoken to" she said raising her eyebrows to you.
"It's all good. Just a team mate tiff that's all" you smiled to her through the mirror as you washed your hands.
"Mmhmm. If you say so" she said trying not to press any further as you both let the toilets.
You made your way back to the table to find Lando and Alex in a heated debate about karting.
"Guys, I'm off now. I promised Anna I'd FaceTime her in half hour. She's freaking out over flower arrangements and Matt's stuck in work so I'm on hand to help. I've taken care of the bill" you smiled before hugging Lily goodbye and heading off.
"Y/N, seriously, I need your full attention now. Pink Lily's or White Orchid's?" Anna said frustrated.
"They're all starting to look the same to me" you huffed.
"They look nothing alike! Focus!"
"I am focusing" you said as you were pacing the hotel reception. The thought of being stuck in your room looking at flowers was enough to drive you nuts, so you thought a change of scenery might help, all whilst still being able to stay out of the way of paps and fans.
"The past few wedding's I've been to thought they've all had either Lily's or Orchids. What if I'm seen as copying?" she moaned.
"I don't think you can copy a flower Anna" you laughed.
"Now's not the time to laugh at me Y/N, I'm serious!" She scolded you.
"Ok ok, are there any other options if you're worried about copying people?"
"Hydrangea's?" the florist spoke up next to her.
"That could work. Can we see?" Anna asked before the woman quickly walked away creating a mini bouquet containing pink hydrangeas, white roses and eucalyptus. "That's perfect! I love it! Y/N, what do you think?"
"I think it's beautiful and if you love it then it's the one!" you smiled.
"Thank you for being here today. I really appreciate it. I know you're busy" she smiled down the camera to you.
"I'm always here, you know that" you smiled before you both said your goodbyes.
As you wandered across to the hotel bar you heard voices coming into the hotel. Unmistakably Lando, Max and Kimi. Kimi clocked you right away and told the guys he was going to go over and see you.
You started chatting to Kimi about the upcoming race and the tiredness you were starting to feel from all the travelling when you felt eyes burning into the side of your head. You turned sightly to see Max and Lando still stood out in the reception area. They'd bumped into Arthur Leclerc and had gotten talking but Max hadn't taken his eyes off of you and Kimi, that was until he saw you look his way, snapping him back into the conversation he was meant to be a part of.
"Great race by you today Y/N. Shame about Max. Do you have any comments on what happened?" the interviewer asked you post race.
"Thank you. It was a tough race but points for the team so I'm happy. Yeah, not too sure what happened with Max's car. All I know at this moment is that he had an issue with the power unit. It was a shame to see because up until that point Max was running a great race, but I know he'll come back stronger" you smiled before walking back to your drivers room.
The garage was buzzing with a post race high whilst also having a lingering feeling of knowledge that work is needing to be carried out to understand what happened with Max's car. You walked through, fireproofs clinging to you, still thick with champagne. You could see Max deep in conversation with one of the engineers.
Your room was calm, offering a peaceful break from the chaos outside. You changed out of your fireproofs into fresh clothing. You stayed in your room, catching up with group chat messages before heading back out. The garage was quieter now. People packing up but most headed out already. You slowly made your way out of the paddock when you saw Max and Kimi stood talking to a group of girls. One of them had her hand resting on Max's arm and a pang of jealousy waved over you. Arvid walked over seeing you leaving the garage and took you out of your own head.
"Y/N! Great race!" he beamed over to you before pulling you in for a side hug.
"Thank you!" you smiled "You had a great race yourself!
"Drinks tonight?" he asked.
"Of course!" you nudged him.
"Great. I'll let the guys know!"
The music from the club was loud. You could feel the base running through your body was you walked through with Lily. You arrived at the VIP section the others had secured and saw Kimi and Max once again stood with the girls from the paddock.
"Shots?" you smiled to Lily.
"Absolutely!" she smiled following you to the bar.
You leaned across the bar and ordered 4 tequila shots.
"You good?" Lily asked you.
"All good" you smiled before slinging back two of the shots the bartender had placed in front of you. "Come on, let's dance" you said dragging her to the dance floor after she'd done her shots.
Hours felt like minutes and you'd spent all of your time between the dance floor and the bar. When Lily finally managed to get you to come over to the VIP section with everyone else Max looked up and smiled at you.
"Looks like you've been having a good time" he smiled.
"Looks like you have been too" you said, eyes looking over to the girl who was sat by his side, her hand on his knee and she chatted to her friend next to her.
He looked down to where her hand rested before looking back up to you, but you'd already moved on to a conversation with Lando. When you eventually looked back at Max, the girl was leant in whispering into his ear.
"I'm done for the night" you said turning to Lando. "I'll see you in the morning or something" you smiled politely.
"Woah, you can't leave on your own. You've had way too much to drink!" he said stopping you in your tracks.
'I'm fine, I promise. Look" you said showing him your phone. 'Uber's right outside already" you smiled.
"Fine, but share your location with me so I know you're back safe" he said watching you turn the tracking on for him. "Thank you! See you tomorrow" he smiled before hugging you goodbye.
The noise of the busy street coming through you open window woke you up. People on their way to their jobs, the world waking up. You grabbed your head a groaned. You can't remember anything after stepping foot out of the taxi and walking into the hotel.
"I need to stop drinking" you groaned out loud to yourself. This caused a soft shift next to you. Your head snapped over to where the movement came from, only to see Max sleeping softly next to you. You looked down at yourself to see that you were in your underwear but nothing else and Max was in his boxers.
You sat there for a few moments trying to gather your thoughts when a bang came at your door making you sit up and Max jump.
"Y/N! You alive in there?" Lando shouted through the door.
"Yes, what do you want?" you shouted back.
"I'm going down for breakfast with the others. Want to join?"
"No, I'm good thanks, you go ahead"
"Ok, see you later" he shouted back before you turned to look at Max.
"What the hell are you doing here?" you asked him.
"Charming"
"I'm serious!"
"You really need to stop drinking so much if this is going to happen every time we wake up together" he groaned rolling over to face where you were sitting.
"Max!"
"You asked me to come over!"
"No I did not!"
"Yes, you absolutely did. I text you asking if you got back safe, you said yes and asked if I was still at the club, I said no just got back to the hotel, you asked if I came back alone or not, I said yes and then you asked me to come over"
"What?" you asked confused.
"Here, see for yourself" he said handing you his phone.
"Seriously? You've saved me under 'Daily Headache'?" you said giving him an unamused look.
"What?" he laughed. "It's not wrong"
"Dick. So, did anything happen?" you asked.
"No, we just talked"
"About?"
"The race, Alex and Lily's wedding, The girls"
"Oh god, what about the girls?"
"Let's just say you didn't take too kindly to them"
"Oh god don't say that, I didn't even know them to not like them!" you groaned hiding your face in your hands. "So nothing else happened? Just sleep?" you asked.
"Sadly" he said sitting up to face you, before you shot him a deadpan look.
"Max!"
"What?" he asked laughing again, "You're confusing me Y/N"
"How?"
"We've been butting heads for as long as we've known each other. Sleep together after nearly every night out but never talk about it again. Then one friend makes a comment about me being in her words 'hot' and suddenly we end up kissing sober, then you try to act like nothing happened whilst also avoiding me, saying it meant nothing, yet anytime another girls around me you don't like it" he said
"Exactly, all we've ever done is butt heads. How would we ever work?"
"Because we actually like each other and I think deep down we've both been trying to hide that for a few years now!"
"Max, be serious"
"I am being serious Y/N" He said turning around to get out of bed. "Look, if you're not going to accept this then that's fine, but stop getting annoyed when you see me around other women because I'm not going to wait for you to finally accept this for what it is" he said picking his trousers up off the floor.
You climbed out of bed, walking around to where he was stood. "I just don't know what to do Max. Do you have any idea what it takes for me to be taken seriously in this sport? If I was seen to be with another drive then people would tear me apart!"
"You've proven yourself 100 times over in this sport Y/N. Who cares what other people think? Is that really a reason to not let yourself be happy?"
"Max" you sighed.
"Ok, fine. Then I'll walk away" he nodded softly to you.
"No, wait!" you said pressing your hand against his torso, stopping him from walking away.
He looked down at you, reaching for a loose strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. You both held one another gaze for a brief moment before you both closed the distance between one another. His one hand fisting a handful of your hair at the base of your neck, with the other hand drawing circles against the lace of your underwear on your hip. Your hands slid from his chest to the back of his neck as you pulled him in closer to you. The kiss was slow, intense, fulled by every lingering look and moment of jealousy when someone else was near the other. The kiss quickly deepened and you both slowly walked backwards to the bed, never breaking the kiss and your hands explored one another.
You both led in bed, messy sheets surrounding you. Your hand drawing lazy circles on Max's chest as his drew soft tickles up and down your hip.
"So, what happens now?" Max asked.
"I think we ruined the friendship" you said looking up at him.
"Friendship? You couldn't stand me most days!" he laughed.
"I still can't" you smirked at him causing him to nudge you softly with this shoulder that your were resting on.
"Seriously though, are we doing this? He asked you.
"I guess we are" you smiled up at him before placing a soft kiss on his lips.
"Come on, let's pack. We have a flight home to catch" he said stretching up before placing another kiss on your lips.
The flight home was what you both knew was the calm before the chaos. Soon you'd have to tell friends and the world would find out be it through paparazzi pictures or from photos from Alex and Lily's wedding.
By the time you'd unpacked, all the guys were back home. You and Max made your way downstairs to join everyone.
"I'm going to grab a drink, I'll be right in" you said to Max before walking into the kitchen.
When you walked back in they were all in a heated discussion about what film to put on.
"Y/N, settle this for us please" Franco said.
"Step Brothers or Top Gun?" Isack said giving you the options.
"Step Brothers obviously" you said walking across the room and sitting next to Max who immediately snaked his arm around your waist as you curled into his side, placing a kiss on your temple.
"FUCKING FINALLY" Lando exclaimed causing the others to snap their heads across to where you were sat.
"Hallelujah!" the others all chimed in causing you and Max to smirk.
"Enough, put the damn film on" you laughed waving them all off. You and Max looked at one another, sharing a moment of peace before the world was let into your new world.
How do drivers react when you ask them to stay one last night after ending their relationship?
pairing: all the drivers on the grid x fem!ex!reader synopsis: the words have already been spoken. The boxes are half-packed, and the air in the room is heavy. He’s standing by the door, keys in hand, ready to walk out of your life forever. But the apartment is too quiet, the bed is too cold, and before you can stop yourself, you ask him to stay. Just for tonight.
note: I just feel a little angsty today, so... enjoy 😽
Alpine
Franco Colapinto
His confident, loud persona completely shatters. When you ask him to stay, his shoulders drop, and he lets out a shaky breath. He drops his bags immediately.
He gets into bed with you, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck.
He cries quietly, clinging to you as if holding on tight enough will somehow change your mind by morning.
Pierre Gasly
Pierre closes his eyes, a look of pure agony crossing his face.
"You know this is going to make tomorrow so much worse, chérie," he whispers, his voice cracking.
He stays, but he doesn't sleep. He lies on his back, letting you rest your head on his chest, staring at the ceiling and memorizing the feeling of your heartbeat against his one last time.
Aston Martin
Fernando Alonso
Fernando is too proud, and the pain is too sharp. He stops at the door, his jaw tight. He looks back at you, his eyes red but his expression entirely guarded.
"No, Y/N," he says softly, his voice thick with emotion he refuses to let fall. "If I stay tonight, I will never have the strength to walk out tomorrow. Goodbye."
He leaves, closing the door gently behind him.
Lance Stroll
Lance is completely broken by the request.
He doesn't say a word; he just walks back over to the bed, climbs in in his regular clothes, and pulls you into his chest.
He strokes your hair in the dark, his tears silently soaking into your shirt. He spends the entire night whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," into the quiet room.
Audi
Gabriel Bortoleto
Gabriel is desperate and confused. When you ask him to stay, a flicker of false hope lights up his eyes.
He thinks that if he holds you tonight, he can fix it before the sun rises.
He holds you incredibly tight, kissing your forehead and making quiet promises into the dark, entirely in denial that this is actually the end.
Nico Hülkenberg
Nico is stoic, swallowing the massive lump in his throat.
He nods slowly. "Okay. I'll stay." But he knows sleeping in your bed will destroy you both.
He takes a blanket and sleeps on the couch, staying near enough so you don't feel alone, but maintaining the boundary because he knows the morning light will bring reality crashing back down.
Cadillac
Sergio Pérez
Checo gives you a deeply tragic, mature look. He sets his keys down on the counter. "Mi amor, this is torturing us both," he whispers.
He gets into bed but keeps a small distance, holding your hand rather than pulling you into a full embrace.
He wants to comfort you, but he refuses to give either of you false hope.
Valtteri Bottas
Valtteri is completely silent. The usually relaxed Finn is rigid with sorrow.
He wordlessly takes off his jacket, turns off the lamp, and pulls the covers over both of you. He presses his face into your hair, just breathing you in.
When you wake up the next morning, his side of the bed is made, and he is already gone.
Ferrari
Charles Leclerc
This is pure, cinematic tragedy. Charles falls apart the second you ask.
He crawls into bed and pulls you so flush against him there is no space left between you. He hides his face in your shoulder, sobbing quietly.
"Please," he begs in the dark, his voice a broken whisper. "Just tell me we can fix this. Please, Y/N."
Lewis Hamilton
Lewis is entirely focused on boundaries, but his love for you overrides his logic. He stays, but he asks to just hold you.
He spends the night tracing the lines of your palm, utterly silent, mourning the future he thought you had.
He waits until you fall into a deep sleep, kisses your forehead one final time, and leaves before sunrise to spare you the goodbye.
Haas
Esteban Ocon
Esteban tries to keep his composure, but his hands are shaking. He agrees to stay, but the physical distance between you in the bed feels like a canyon.
He lies perfectly still, terrified that if he touches you, he will completely break down.
He stays awake all night, agonizing over every mistake he made.
Ollie Bearman
Ollie is too young to know how to build a wall around his heart. When you ask him to stay, his chin trembles and he completely breaks down.
He holds onto you like a lifeline, his face buried in your chest, crying until he physically exhausts himself to sleep.
He wakes up hoping it was just a nightmare, only to realize it's real.
McLaren
Lando Norris
Lando's humor completely vanishes. He drops his duffel bag on the floor with a heavy thud.
He gets into bed but faces away from you, curling in on himself. When you reach out to touch his back, a choked sob escapes his throat.
He lets you hold him, entirely devastated that the best thing in his life is over.
Oscar Piastri
Oscar’s face is a blank mask, but his eyes are completely shattered. He nods once. "Alright."
He lies next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He doesn't cry, but he doesn't sleep either.
He just watches the digital clock on the nightstand count down the hours until he loses you forever.
Mercedes
George Russell
George tries to be the voice of reason. "Y/N, you know this isn't a good idea. It's only going to hurt more."
But when a tear slips down your cheek, his resolve crumbles. He practically collapses onto the bed, wrapping his arms securely around you.
His usually perfect composure is gone, his breathing shaky against your neck.
Kimi Antonelli
Kimi is just overwhelmed with sadness. He doesn't understand how it all went wrong so fast.
He stays, curling around you protectively. He spends the night quietly asking, "Are you sure? Is there nothing I can do?"
His innocence makes the heartbreak feel ten times heavier.
Racing Bulls
Arvid Lindblad
Arvid is heartbroken. He drops his coat and runs back to the bed.
He holds you so tightly it almost hurts, too scared to let go.
He tries to be strong for you, wiping your tears with his thumb, but his own eyes are spilling over.
Liam Lawson
Liam is angry—not at you, but at the situation, at the timing, at himself.
He storms halfway to the door before stopping dead in his tracks when you ask him to stay.
He turns around, jaw clenched, and gets into bed. It's tense for ten minutes before he finally cracks, pulling you violently but safely into his chest, burying his face in your hair with a broken sigh.
Red Bull Racing
Isack Hadjar
Isack is volatile. He yells that this is stupid, that staying is just twisting the knife. But he can't walk out.
He aggressively throws his bag to the side, gets into the bed, and pulls you against him.
He’s mad, he’s hurt, but underneath it all, he just loves you too much to leave you crying alone.
Max Verstappen
Max’s exterior is ice, but his heart has stopped beating. He looks at you standing there, then looks at the door.
He doesn't say a single word. He takes off his shoes, walks back to the bed, and pulls the duvet back.
He lies down, pulls you flush against his chest, and wraps his arms around you in a vice grip, keeping you completely shielded from the world for one last night.
Williams
Alex Albon
Alex is the sweetest, which makes it hurt the most. He gives you a sad, broken smile. "Of course I'll stay, Y/N."
He holds you, strokes your hair, and hums softly to try and calm your crying.
He comforts you through the breakup that he is also suffering from, entirely selfless until the very end.
Carlos Sainz
Carlos is passionate and utterly devastated. He walks back to you, takes your face in his hands, and presses his forehead against yours.
"You are killing me, Y/N," he whispers, his voice thick with tears.
He stays, holding you so desperately close, agonizing over the fact that tomorrow, you won't be his anymore.
Additional Drivers
Daniel Ricciardo
The sunshine is completely gone. There are no jokes, no charming smiles. Daniel just looks exhausted and heartbroken.
He nods, letting out a heavy sigh, and climbs into bed.
He holds you tight, a few silent tears slipping down his face and into your hair as the reality of the end washes over him.
Jenson Button
Jenson is agonizingly polite, even in heartbreak. He gives a slow, sad nod. "If that's what you want, darling."
He holds you gently, making sure you feel safe and comforted, even as his own heart breaks.
He leaves a glass of water on your nightstand before he slips out at dawn.
Sebastian Vettel
Seb is incredibly wise, and he knows this is a terrible idea for both of your healing processes. But he can't bear to see you in pain.
He stays, wrapping you in a warm, familiar embrace.
He talks to you softly about how you will both be okay eventually, trying to soothe your heartbreak while quietly enduring his own.
Yuki Tsunoda
Yuki tries so hard to be strong and proud, but he fails completely.
He marches back to the bed, climbs under the covers, and grabs a handful of your shirt.
He buries his face in your shoulder and just cries, the stress and the heartbreak finally spilling over.
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hello! i adore ur writing 🙂↕️🩷 a bit of angst for ya- maybe lando and reader have an argument in the car (you can choose what about) and lando starts unintentionally driving really fast and erratically out of anger. reader gets scared and basically tells him to stop so she can get out of the car and walk home. happy ending, but def don’t let lando off too easy!
Learning To Breathe
Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader (y/n)
Warnings: reckless driving, heated arguments, panic attack, light angst, injury fear
Summary: After a rough session, Lando lets his anger take control behind the wheel, terrifying you. To regain your trust, he must learn to manage his temper instead of taking it out on you.
Requested: Yes/ Anon
Word count: 5938
Author’s note: Hey guys! This one got a bit emotional, but I really hope you enjoy watching Lando grow. Let me know what you think!! xx
The sun was beating down on the concrete outside the team motorhome, baking the paddock in a heavy, muggy heat. You leaned against the railing of the balcony, taking a slow sip of water and watching the chaotic swarm of mechanics, journalists, and fans moving down below. The weekend had been exhausting already, and the heat was doing nothing to help anyone’s temper. Behind you, the glass door slid open, and Lando stepped out onto the deck. He was still wearing his race suit pulled down to his waist, the flame retardant undershirt soaked through with sweat around his neck. He didn’t say anything at first, just walked past you and grabbed a bottle of electrolyte drink from the mini fridge, tossing the cap onto the small outdoor table with a loud plastic click.
You turned your head slightly to look at him, noticing the tight line of his jaw and the heavy scowl pulling at his brows. He had qualified fourth for tomorrow’s race, which was far from a disaster, but to Lando, anything short of the front row felt like a personal insult from the universe.
“Are you ready to go back to the hotel?” you asked quietly, trying to keep your voice neutral. You knew better than to poke at him when he was in one of these moods, but you had been standing around for two hours waiting for him to finish his debriefs, and your head was beginning to throb.
Lando didn’t look at you. He took a long gulp of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of damp fabric against his chin. “Yeah, I suppose,” he said, his tone flat and dismissive. “Unless you want to stick around and tell me more about how I ruined sector three, because I’m sure you’ve got a whole list of expert opinions ready.”
You blinked, taken aback by the sudden sharpness in his voice. “Lando, I didn’t say anything about sector three,” you said, keeping your hands steady as you set your water down on the table. “I haven’t even talked to you since you got out of the car.”
“Well, you were looking at the telemetry screen with Jon like you were trying to figure out where I lost my mind,” he snapped, stepping past you to head back inside the air conditioned room to grab his gear bag. “You don’t need to do that, you know. It’s annoying. I know where I made the mistake.”
You followed him inside, watching as he shoved his trainer shoes into his duffel bag with far more force than necessary. “I was looking at the screen because I care about how your session went,” you said, feeling the first spark of heat rising in your own chest. “I wasn't judging you, Lando. I was just watching.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, zipping the bag up with a sharp, violent tug. “Let’s just go. I don’t want to sit around here all evening listening to people talk.”
The walk to the driver’s car park was filled with a thick, suffocating silence. Lando walked two paces ahead of you, his shoulders rounded and his eyes fixed squarely on the pavement. Fans called out his name from behind the barriers, holding up hats and giant posters for him to sign, but he merely gave a brief, tight wave without stopping or smiling. You felt a pit of unease settling in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time he had turned his post session frustration onto you, but usually, he caught himself after a minute or two, offering a quick apology or reaching out to take your hand. Today, the cloud around him seemed darker, heavier, and far more jagged.
He unlocked the rental sports car with a harsh click of the key fob, throwing his heavy gear bag into the back seat without taking any care. You pulled open the passenger door and slid in, pulling your seatbelt across your chest and clicking it into place. The interior of the car was boiling from sitting under the sun, the leather seats hot against the back of your legs.
Lando got into the driver’s side, slammed his door shut, and hit the start button before he had even put his own seatbelt on. The engine roared to life with a deep, aggressive rumble that echoed off the concrete walls of the underground garage. He shoved the gear shift into drive, slammed his foot onto the accelerator, and the car lurched forward, tires squealing loudly on the smooth floor as he rounded the first pillar toward the exit ramp.
“Lando, take it easy,” you said, putting a hand on the dashboard as the car jerked sharply around the steep curve leading up to the street level.
“I am taking it easy,” he replied, his voice laced with venom as he hit the open road. The speed limit sign flashed fifty, but the digital display on the dashboard was already climbing rapidly past sixty, seventy, eighty. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white.
You looked over at him, your heart beginning to thump harder against your ribs. The city roads were narrow, lined with thick concrete barriers and stone walls, and the traffic was light enough that he had far too much open space to press the pedal down. “You don’t need to drive like this,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm, though the edge of strain was obvious. “You’re mad at the qualifying result, fine, but don’t take it out on the road.”
“I’m not taking it out on the road,” he snapped, jerking the wheel to the left to whip around a slower sedan, the engine screaming as he downshifted aggressively. “I’m just driving. You always do this. You always act like I don’t know what I’m doing in a car. I do this for a living, in case you forgot.”
“This isn’t a racetrack, Lando,” you said loudly, your grip tightening on the door handle as he took a sharp right turn, the tires protesting with a sharp screech that sent a jolt of panic straight through your chest. “You’re angry, and you’re driving like an idiot because you’re mad at yourself.”
“I’m not mad at myself,” he shouted, hitting the steering wheel with the heel of his palm as he accelerated down a long, straight stretch of road, the digital speed reader flashing dangerously high numbers. “I’m annoyed because everyone keeps asking me stupid questions, including you. I come out to the car to get away from it, and you immediately start lecturing me about my driving.”
“You’re driving like a maniac,” you yelled back, the fear completely overtaking your anger now. The trees and streetlights outside the window were blurring together into a messy streak of color. Every time the car jerked to switch lanes or brake sharply behind another vehicle, your stomach dropped into a sickening void. “Please, Lando, just slow down.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be so dramatic,” he laughed, though there was zero humor in the sound, just pure, boiling aggravation. “You’re fine. The car is fine. I have complete control. Stop trying to control everything I do.”
“Lando, stop,” you pleaded, your voice cracking slightly. The world outside felt like it was moving far too fast, the noise of the engine booming in the small cabin, vibrating through the soles of your shoes and rattling your teeth. Memories of a bad accident you had seen years ago flashed unbidden through your mind, mixed with the sheer terror of being trapped in a enclosed box with someone who was letting their temper drive a two ton machine. “Stop the car, Lando.”
“I’m driving us to the hotel,” he said, his tone still hard, dismissive, completely oblivious to the way your hands were beginning to shake violently against your lap. “We’ll be there in five minutes if you just let me drive.”
“No, now,” you choked out, your breathing turning rapid and shallow. You couldn't get enough air into your lungs. The heat in the car suddenly felt overwhelming, smothering you like a wet blanket. Your chest felt tight, as if a heavy iron band was being squeezed around your ribs, restricting every breath. “Please, Lando, pull over right now.”
He glanced over at you, opening his mouth to shoot back another sarcastic remark, but the words caught in his throat.
Your eyes were wide with genuine, unadulterated terror, tears spilling over your lower lids and tracing hot lines down your cheeks. Your fingers were clawing at your own knees, your chest heaving in short, jagged gasps as you struggled to inhale. You weren't just annoyed or arguing back anymore, you were completely undone, spiraling into a full blown panic attack.
“Lando, let me out,” you sobbed, your voice barely a whisper now as you pressed your spine flat against the passenger seat, trying to shrink away from the speed, from him, from everything. “Pull over. Let me out. I’ll walk. Just stop the car.”
The anger drained out of Lando’s face in a single, terrifying instant, replaced by a sudden, cold wave of panic of his own. His eyes darted from your pale face back to the road ahead, his brain finally registering the speed display, the aggressive maneuvers, and the absolute terror he had just inflicted on you.
“Jesus,” he muttered, his voice dropping instantly. He immediately lifted his foot off the gas pedal, letting the engine brake reduce their speed, and indicated sharply to pull onto the paved shoulder of the road near a quiet suburban sidewalk.
The car glided to a halt under the shade of a large oak tree. Before the speedometer even hit zero, your hand was on the door handle. You yanked it open, unclipped your seatbelt with trembling fingers, and stumbled out into the warm evening air, practically collapsing against the grass embankment by the curb.
“Hey, hey, wait,” Lando called out, unbuckling his own belt and leaning across the console to look out the open passenger door. “I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry. Get back in, I’ll slow down. I swear, I’ll drive twenty miles an hour. Just get back in.”
You couldn't answer him. You sat on the grass, clutching your knees to your chest, your head tucked down as you tried to regulate your erratic breathing. The feeling of the solid ground beneath you was the only thing keeping you from completely fainting. Every breath felt like inhaling glass, hot and painful and utterly useless.
“Please,” you managed to whisper between gasps, waving a hand weakly to push him away. “Don’t come near me. Just leave me alone.”
“I’m not leaving you on the side of the road,” Lando said, his voice laced with panic now as he realized the weight of what had just happened. “We’re four miles from the hotel. You can’t walk that. It’s too hot out. Come on, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize you were actually scared. I thought you were just nagging me.”
That single word, nagging, sent a cold spike through your panic, shifting it back into a dark, painful anger. You lifted your head, tears streaming down your face, your skin blotchy and pale. “Nagging,” you repeated, your voice shaking uncontrollably. “I was terrified, Lando. You used a car as a weapon because you were throwing a tantrum over a qualifying lap. You didn't care that I was uncomfortable until I started crying.”
“Look, I fucked up, okay,” he said, stepping out of the car now and standing by the driver’s door, looking across the roof at you with desperate, guilty eyes. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry. Just get back in the car. I promise I won’t go fast.”
“I am not getting back in that car with you,” you said firmly, forcing yourself to stand up on wobbly legs. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, taking a deep, shuddering breath of the hot air. “Do not touch me, and do not tell me what to do. I am walking.”
You turned your back on him and started walking down the concrete pavement, keeping your head down and your hands shoved deep into your pockets. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, but the movement helped ground you.
Lando stood by his open door for a long moment, watching you walk away. He let out a harsh breath, slammed his hand down on the roof of the car, and then climbed back into the driver’s seat. He didn’t speed off. Instead, he put the car into gear, turned on his hazard lights, and began to crawl down the road parallel to you, moving at five miles an hour, keeping pace with your footsteps.
Through the open passenger window, you could hear the low hum of the engine and the sound of his voice calling out every thirty seconds.
“Please just get in,” he called out softly, all the bite gone from his tone, replaced by an anxious, pathetic edge. “You don’t have to talk to me. You can just sit there. It’s too hot to walk, you’re going to get heatstroke.”
You ignored him, refusing to look to your right. You kept your eyes fixed on the concrete ahead, counting your steps to keep your breathing steady. One, two, three, four. Inhale. Five, six, seven, eight. Exhale.
“I’m really sorry,” he tried again, the car creeping along beside you like a heavy, metallic shadow. “I know I was being a total idiot. I lost my head. You know how I get after a bad session, I just... I get so angry at everything.”
You kept walking. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, dark shadows across the street, but the heat of the day was still trapped in the asphalt, rising up to warm the soles of your shoes.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lando insisted, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he kept one eye on you and one eye on the empty road ahead. “I swear to God I didn’t think you were actually scared. I thought you were just arguing back. I’m so stupid. Please, just let me drive you the rest of the way.”
You stopped walking and turned to face the car. Lando immediately slammed on the brakes, looking up at you through the open window with hopeful, wide eyes.
“Stop following me,” you said, your voice cold and steady now, though your eyes were still red and swollen from crying. “If you don’t drive away and leave me alone right now, I will turn around and walk in the opposite direction where you can’t turn the car around.”
Lando flinched at the sharpness in your voice. He opened his mouth to argue, but seeing the absolute rigidity in your posture, he swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I’ll go to the hotel. But please... please call me when you’re close, or just text me so I know you’re safe.”
You didn't answer. You just turned back around and kept walking. Behind you, you heard the engine rev slightly as Lando finally pulled away, driving agonizingly slow down the road until he disappeared around the far corner.
It took you nearly an hour to walk the remaining distance to the hotel. By the time you pushed through the glass sliding doors of the air conditioned lobby, your shirt was clinging to your back with sweat, your feet were aching violently inside your shoes, and your head was throbbing with a dull, persistent migraine.
You took the elevator up to the room you shared with Lando, holding your key card in your hand for a long moment before pressing it against the electronic lock. The light flashed green, and the latch clicked open.
The room was dark, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the twilight outside. Lando was sitting on the edge of the large king sized bed, his head buried in his hands. As soon as the door clicked shut, he snapped his head up, standing up so fast he nearly tripped over his own gear bag lying on the carpet.
“You’re back,” he said, stepping toward you quickly before stopping himself, seeing the way you immediately stiffened near the doorway. “Are you okay? Do you need water? I ordered some food, it’s over there on the desk if you want any.”
“I’m fine,” you said, keeping your voice level as you locked the door behind you and set your purse on the side table. You walked straight past him into the bathroom, turning on the faucet to wash your face with cold water.
Lando followed you, leaning against the doorframe, watching you through the mirror as you dried your skin with a hand towel. “I am so, so sorry,” he began, his voice raspy and choked with genuine guilt. “I don’t even know what to say. I was an absolute nightmare in the car. I lost my mind because of qualifying, and I took it out on you, and that’s completely unacceptable.”
You turned around, leaning your back against the sink counter, crossing your arms over your chest. You looked at him, really looked at him. He looked miserable, his hair messy where he had been pulling at it, his shoulders slumped, his blue eyes filled with remorse. But you felt no inclination to comfort him.
“It’s not just today, Lando,” you said quietly, your voice echoing slightly against the tile walls.
He blinked, looking confused. “What do you mean?”
“It’s every time,” you said, stepping past him out into the main bedroom so you had more space between you. “Every time you have a bad practice, or a bad qualifying, or a bad pit stop, or a penalty. You get frustrated, and instead of dealing with it like an adult, you turn it into a cloud of rage that suffocates everyone around you. Usually, it’s just snarky comments or snapping at me for small things. But today you put us in actual danger because you couldn't handle coming fourth.”
“I wasn’t going to crash,” he protested weakly, raising his hands in defense. “I had control of the car, I swear—”
“That doesn’t matter,” you shouted, finally letting your anger break through your calm facade. “It doesn’t matter if you think you had control! I told you I was scared, I begged you to stop, and you laughed at me! You called it nagging! You didn’t care about my feelings at all until I was having a full blown panic attack on the side of the road!”
Lando winced, looking down at the carpet as if he had been physically struck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I really am. I was wrong.”
“You take your anger out on me because I’m the easiest target,” you continued, tears threatening to spill over again, though this time they were hot with anger rather than fear. “I am your partner, Lando. I am here to support you, to root for you, to be in your corner. But I am not your punching bag for when racing doesn’t go your way. I don't trust you when you’re mad. I genuinely don’t. Because when you’re mad, you don’t care about anyone else’s safety or feelings, only your own rage.”
Lando stepped forward, trying to reach out to grab your hand, his face pale with panic at the word trust. “No, don’t say that. Please. You can trust me. I would never hurt you, you know that.”
You stepped back, pulling your hand out of his reach. “You did hurt me today,” you said softly, the quietness of your voice carrying far more weight than the yelling. “You terrified me. And right now, I don’t want to be near you.”
“Where are you going,” he asked desperately as you picked up your purse and grabbed the spare room key off the desk.
“I’m going to book my own room for the rest of the weekend,” you said, keeping your hand firm on the door handle. “I need space, Lando. And you need to figure out how to deal with your own emotions without making me suffer for them.”
Before he could answer, you pulled the door open, stepped out into the hallway, and let it click firmly shut behind you.
---
The next morning at the track was tense and suffocating. You showed up to the paddock late, stepping into the hospitality suite just as the drivers were gathering for the parade. Lando was sitting in the back corner with his trainer, Jon, who was talking to him in quiet, measured tones. Lando wasn’t listening. His eyes kept darting to the entrance, and the moment you walked in, his entire body went rigid.
He tried to approach you twice before the race, but both times you smoothly drifted toward the engineering desk or engaged in conversation with one of the media team members, keeping a clear barrier between the two of you.
The race itself was a chaotic affair. Lando drove brilliantly, pushing through the field to secure a second place finish after a late safety car restart. Under normal circumstances, the garage would have been a scene of absolute jubilation, and you would have been the first person waiting at the bottom of the podium stairs to jump into his arms.
Instead, when he stepped off the podium, covered in sweat and spraying champagne, his eyes immediately scanned the crowd for you. You were standing near the back, behind the mechanics, clapping politely with a quiet, distant expression on your face. When his eyes met yours, you didn't smile. You gave him a brief, respectful nod, turned around, and walked back toward the motorhome to pack your things.
The next two weeks were agonizingly quiet.
Back in Monaco, the tension in the apartment was palpable. You didn't move out, but the warmth that had defined your home was completely gone. You slept on your side of the bed, turning away from him before he even turned off the lights. When he tried to talk to you about his day, you gave polite, short answers. You cooked together, you ate together, but the intimacy had been completely shattered.
Lando was tormented by it. The realization that he had destroyed your trust, that he had made you feel unsafe in his presence, chewed away at him every single hour of the day. He tried buying you flowers, he tried apologizing again, but every time he brought it up, you gave him the same steady, unwavering response.
“Words don't fix it, Lando,” you told him one evening as he sat at the kitchen island, staring down at a cold cup of coffee. “You’re sorry now because you’re calm. What happens next time you lose a podium? What happens when a pit stop goes wrong and you come back into the room angry? I’m not going to sit around waiting to see if you’re going to snap at me again.”
He knew you were right. And that was the hardest part.
---
Three weeks later, the paddock moved to Silverstone for the British Grand Prix. The pressure on Lando was immense, magnified tenfold by the home crowd, the endless press obligations, and the thousands of fans draped in papaya yellow screaming his name from every grandstand.
On Friday afternoon, during the second practice session, a hydraulic failure sent his car sliding into the gravel trap at high speed, ending his session prematurely and leaving the mechanics with hours of repair work ahead of Saturday morning.
You were sitting in the back of the garage, watching the monitor as the red flags came out. You felt a familiar, cold knot tie itself tight in your stomach. Here it comes, you thought to yourself. The dark cloud, the stomping feet, the flying helmet, the sharp words. You braced yourself, pulling your phone out of your pocket and keeping your eyes glued to the screen, preparing to retreat to your own corner as soon as he returned.
Ten minutes later, the back door of the garage slammed open. Lando walked in, his helmet still on, his fists clenched tight at his sides. His shoulders were high and tight, his chest heaving with furious, shallow breaths. You could feel the heat of his anger from ten feet away.
He didn't look at the engineers. He didn't look at the telemetry screens. He walked straight past the front desk, straight past the catering area, and headed into his private driver room, slamming the door shut behind him with a loud, metallic bang that made several people in the hallway flinch.
You sat still at the desk, your heart pounding quietly. You waited for the sound of something being thrown, or the muffled shouting that usually accompanied these moments.
Instead, there was absolute silence.
Inside the small driver room, Lando was standing in the center of the space, his heart hammering in his chest like a jackhammer. His first instinct had been to rip his helmet off and slam it against the floor, to kick the wall, to scream at the bad luck that seemed to follow him whenever he stepped foot on home soil. His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth felt like they were going to crack.
Then, his mind flashed back to the car. To the sound of your sobbing. To the terrifying image of you clutching your knees on the side of the road, begging him to let you out.
Lando closed his eyes tightly. He forced his hands to unlace from their tight fists, flexing his fingers out flat. He took a long, trembling breath in through his nose, counting silently in his head. One, two, three, four, five. He held it for a second, feeling the terrible, hot surge of rage burning in his chest, and then exhaled slowly through his mouth. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
He did it again. Inhale for five. Hold. Exhale for five.
He leaned his forehead against the cool surface of the full length mirror, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. He felt the anger shifting, losing its violent edge, dissolving into simple disappointment and exhaustion. It didn't disappear completely, but the blinding red haze cleared out of his head, leaving him present, grounded, and aware.
He slowly unbuckled his helmet, pulling it off and setting it down carefully on the table. He unzipped his race suit, stepping out of it and pulling his undershirt off, wiping the sweat from his neck with a clean towel.
Outside the room, you were still sitting at the desk, nervously tapping your fingers against your water bottle. You were surprised he hadn't come out yet, or that no one had been called in to talk to him.
The door opened quietly.
Lando stepped out, wearing a simple pair of track pants and a loose black t shirt. His hair was damp, his face pale and tired, but his posture was soft. There was no glare in his eyes, no tight line to his jaw. He looked around the hallway, spotted you sitting by the desk, and walked over.
You immediately braced yourself, turning slightly in your chair, your body language defensive and guarded.
Lando stopped two feet away from you, noticing the way you pulled your arms in close to your chest. He didn’t push forward. Instead, he dropped down onto his knees right beside your chair, bringing himself down below your eye level.
“I’m angry about the car,” he said, his voice quiet, steady, and entirely free of sharp edges. “I’m really frustrated that we lost the session. But I’m not angry at you. I’m never going to take it out on you again.”
You looked down at him, your breath catching in your throat. He looked up at you with wide, sincere eyes, holding his hands out flat, palm up, offering them to you without demanding you take them.
“I breathed,” he whispered, a small, sad smile touching the corner of his lips. “I stood in there and I breathed until I wasn’t mad at the world anymore. I’m trying, Y/N. I swear to you, I’m trying so hard.”
Your throat felt tight, a lump forming as you looked at him kneeling on the concrete floor of the motorhome hallway. For three weeks, you had built a thick, protective wall around your heart, terrified to let him back in, terrified of being hurt or frightened again. But seeing him here, consciously breaking his own worst habit, kneeling at your feet to show you he had changed his response, made the first real crack appear in that wall.
You didn't say anything for a long moment. You reached out, slowly laying your hand on top of his open palm.
Lando let out a shuddering breath of relief, closing his fingers gently around yours, holding your hand as if it were made of delicate glass. He leaned his forehead against your knee for a second, just resting there, feeling the steady anchor of your presence.
“It’s a start,” you said softly, your thumb tracing the back of his hand. “It’s a good start, Lando.”
---
The true test came two races later, in the scorching heat of the Hungarian Grand Prix.
It was a nightmare of a race for McLaren. A botched pit stop strategy mid race dropped Lando from second place down to fifth, stuck behind a wall of slower traffic on a track where overtaking was notoriously nearly impossible. For forty laps, he pounded around the circuit, screaming into his radio at his race engineer, his frustration boiling over the airwaves for the entire world to hear.
In the garage, you watched the telemetry screens with a heavy heart. You could hear the raw, biting fury in his radio messages. Every word was sharp, bitter, and furious. You felt that old, familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. The memory of the car ride flashed back into your mind, the feeling of high speeds and closed spaces making your pulse race.
When the checkered flag finally fell, Lando crossed the line in fifth place. He didn't say a word on the cool down lap. He didn't answer his engineer's radio check. He parked the car in the pit lane, pulled himself out of the cockpit, and practically sprinted away from the television cameras, ignoring the reporters reaching out with microphones.
You were standing near the back of the driver room corridor, your hands stuffed into the pockets of your jeans, watching the entrance. You knew he was coming. Part of you wanted to turn around and hide in the hospitality suite, to protect yourself from whatever storm was about to roll through. But you forced yourself to stand your ground.
The door swung open hard. Lando stormed down the narrow hallway, his face red, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with pure, unadulterated rage.
Mechanics and staff scrambled out of his path, sensing the nuclear blast of anger radiating off him. He locked eyes with you as he marched down the hall, and for a terrifying second, your instincts told you to step back, to brace for the shouting, to brace for the sharp words.
Lando saw the subtle flinch in your shoulders. He saw the flicker of apprehension in your eyes.
He stopped dead in his tracks five feet away from you.
His breathing was ragged, loud, and shallow. His hands were shaking at his sides, his fists clenched so tight his arms were trembling. You could see the internal war raging inside his mind, the old habit of screaming and throwing things fighting against the conscious choice to be better.
Lando closed his eyes.
He stood right there in the middle of the crowded corridor, completely ignoring the people walking past, and took a massive, deep breath through his nose. His chest expanded, his shoulders rising high, holding the air inside his lungs for one, two, three, four, five seconds.
He blew the air out slowly, his shoulders dropping down. He took another deep breath, letting the steady rhythm of his lungs slow down the racing pulse in his neck.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
He opened his eyes. The wild, dark storm in his blue eyes had quieted, replaced by a deep, weary sadness and exhaustion.
Without saying a single word, Lando stepped forward. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't complain about the pit stop. He didn't talk about the strategy.
He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulled you firmly against his chest, and buried his face into the crook of your neck.
You froze for a split second, surprised by the sudden, overwhelming warmth of him. His body was hot from the race suit, his skin slick with sweat, but his hold on you was soft, desperate, and gentle. He squeezed you tight, resting his entire weight against you, hiding his face in your hair as he let out a long, trembling breath that fanned warm air against your collarbone.
He didn't shout. He didn't rage. He just hugged you.
He held you like you were the only solid, safe thing in a world that was spinning entirely out of control. His hands smoothed over the back of your shirt, gripping the fabric gently, anchoring himself to your quiet rhythm.
“I’m so mad,” he whispered into your skin, his voice muffled, small, and utterly vulnerable. “I’m so, so mad about the race.”
“I know,” you whispered back, slowly bringing your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, resting your chin against his head. “I know you are, Lando.”
“I wanted to scream,” he admitted softly, his arms tightening around you just a little bit more, pulling you flush against his chest so you could feel the steady, slowing thud of his heartbeat. “I wanted to smash everything in the room. But I didn't want to make you scared. I don't ever want to make you scared of me again.”
You closed your eyes, feeling a warm, heavy tear slip down your cheek, but this time, it wasn't a tear of fear or frustration. It was the feeling of relief, of a heavy wall finally crumbling away to reveal something real, something rebuilt with care and effort.
You ran your fingers through his damp hair, holding him close as the noise of the paddock buzzed around you.
“You did so good,” you said softly, kissing the side of his head. “You handled it, Lando. I’m so proud of you.”
Lando pulled back just enough to look down at your face. His eyes were soft, searching your expression for any remaining trace of fear or hesitation. Finding none, a small, genuine smile broke through his exhaustion, lighting up his face for the first time all day.
“Are we okay,” he asked quietly, his voice hopeful, almost timid.
You looked at him, feeling the solid, calm weight of his hands on your hips, remembering the effort he had put in over the last few weeks to break a lifetime of bad habits just to make sure you felt safe in his world.
“We’re getting there,” you said, a soft smile spreading across your lips as you reached up to wipe a smudge of dirt from his cheek. “But you still owe me a very slow, very boring car ride home.”
Lando let out a bright, breathless laugh, leaning down to press his forehead gently against yours. “Deal,” he whispered. “Ten miles an hour, all the way back. I promise.”
PRESS PASS. o. piastri ON HOLD
as the newest journalist in the formula 1 paddock, yn is determined to make a name for herself. when her genuine interviews begin to bring out a side of oscar piastri no one else sees, she quickly becomes his favourite person to talk to after every race. what starts as professional interviews soon turns into an undeniable connection, leaving the entire paddock wondering when they'll finally admit there's something more between them.
CONTENTS ⦂ smau + written. journalist!reader x oscar piastri. slow burn. yn and oscar are both oblivious to their feelings for each other. friends to lovers. mutual pining. media room interviews. social media flirting. awkward flirting. oscar being whipped. teasing from the rest of the grid. lando being their biggest shipper. media speculation. hidden feelings. race weekends. fluff. comfort. happy ending. set in 2025.
STATUS ⦂ ongoing & taglist open (7/50)
INTRODUCTIONS ⦂ journalist!reader・oscar piastri
box box.
CHAPTERS ⦂ ♡ - smau / ☆ - written
001. off the record ♡ ☆
002. one more question ♡ ☆
003. off camera ♡ ☆
ONESHOTS ⦂ ♡ - smau / ☆ - written
001. what’s in readers bag
002. readers paddock fits - wip
© AKATNELLI : do not copy, repost or modify any of my work.
