18, she/her, inbox and dms always open! tifosi, cl16, ln1 and ob87 supporter, my fav f1a driver is alba larsen. i write for f1, i love all things fashion, and i'm also so open to new moots and anons <3
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this is a side blog, therefore follows + interaction will all be from my personal blog!
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02. THE COLLECTION
FIND ALL ARTICLES HERE ! the archive
FRESH OFF THE PRESS: lover, you should've come over (ii) / sugar! honey! love! (ln1)
EDITOR'S PICKS: sienna (mv1) / always you (ln1)
sienna is so hauntingly beautiful—that max served as a mentor to the reader, keeping her physically and mentally healthy, while he at her age never had one and had to experience the tedious roads of growing up alone. the invisible subtext is making me feel things. such a beautiful fic 🩷
thank youu!! this makes me so unbelivably happy omg 😭 sienna was one of the first fics i put out on here. i still love it so much and i'm so glad you do too <333
LOVER, YOU SHOULD'VE COME OVER (part II)
— charles leclerc x ex!gf reader
“it's never over.”
part 1
SYN: you've convinced yourself you've moved on. you haven't. it's been a year and a half since that night, since charles' win in monaco, since that drunken confession. he's engaged now, to someone who looks like everything he's ever wanted. he's moved on—or at least you think he has. you refuse to acknowledge the fact that you hope he hasn't.
CONTENT: still slightly angsty, fem!reader, cheating (i don't condone but it's fiction guys), more confessions, zero hate on alexandra i love her and charles this is for the plot </33, charles MIGHT be considered a piece of shit..., cute little epilogue moment at the end!
WC: 3.6k
RADIO CHECK: ib the song by jeff buckley. so DID end up doing a part 2 for the people who wanted a happy ending!! hope you guys like this one as much as you liked the first <3
A year and a half passes by quick. Quicker than usual.
You don’t live in Monaco anymore. You live in Italy, in Milan, in an actual house, not an apartment. It’s so much bigger than your old place, and yet it feels nowhere near as empty. The garden is full, well kept and beautiful, the driveway is so much longer than it needs to be, but perfect nonetheless. It’s fit for someone who has their life together, someone you hope is you.
You’ve kept yourself busy. You’ve made a name for yourself here in Italy. You’ve built businesses, managed companies, barely given yourself time to rest solely because you didn’t need to.
A year and a half of work, of dedication and patience, and now, you find yourself right back where you started. Standing in a Formula 1 paddock, cameras pointed at you, whispers following your every move.
“Charles Leclerc’s ex—how do you think she’s feeling now that he’s engaged?”
You’ve heard the sentence in more variations than you could count.
Charles Leclerc, your ex, the man who’d showed up to your apartment drunk and desperate—the man who’d dedicated his first ever home race win to you, was engaged to someone else.
She’s gorgeous. Half mexican, half french, all elegance and soft smiles. They look good together, at least on all the pictures you stumble across on social media. Alexandra Saint Mleux—even the name sounded perfect, and you knew it’d sound good with his last name attached to the end instead.
He’d moved on.
Sometimes, when you’re halfway through a bottle of wine, his words from that night in Monaco replay through your head.
“I’ll pretend like I’m moving on. I’ll pretend I don’t think about you every second of my life. I’ll do it if that’s what you want me to.”
And he’d done it. He’d moved on. You just weren’t sure if he was still pretending or not, and the smallest part inside you, the part you’d covered up with work and stress, hoped he was.
“Is this your first time in the paddock?”
You blink, tearing your gaze away from the expanse of familiarity, focusing on the woman next to you instead. She’s got a nametag, the brand that’d invited you written across the top, and is staring at you.
“I can show you around. Got any interest in a particular team? Most start with Ferrari. You might know Charles. Charles Leclerc. He’s quite popular, especially in Italy.”
You think she’s joking. A longer study of her expression tells you she’s dead serious.
“I—” you stop, searching for the right words. “No. It’s alright.”
“Not your first time?”
“Not really.”
“I see,” she says, turning back to her phone like she’s checking something. “We’ll start with Mercedes then. Maybe—”
“Actually,” you say, already walking past her. “I need to do something. Catch up with a few people. I’ll meet you up at the paddock club later. Thirty minutes?”
You don’t hear her answer.
It was partially a lie. You just needed space. Space to figure out what you were really doing here, to figure out if you wanted to leave halfway and make up with it by donating a shit ton of cash.
The paddock is as busy as it always is. A reporter almost crashes into you, a mechanic pushing a trolley of tyres cuts through your path, someone’s shouting what sounds like ‘Charles!’, but you don’t want to listen and prove yourself right. It smells like burnt rubber, like fuel, like something so familiar that it hurts.
You don’t know why you accepted the invite. You could’ve chosen something else—the Italian open, maybe, or even golf, instead of something with so much emotional baggage attached to it.
The steps to Ferrari’s motorhome come into view.
“—and what are your thoughts on how this weekend might go? Any concerns? Mercedes looks strong, are you worried?”
You turn the corner, still debating why you were even here, when a crowd of journalists crash into you. Your heels catch on the concrete beneath you, a camera knocks into your side, and a string of curses escapes you before someone pulls out of the way.
“Fuck, thank you,” you say, swiveling around, tugging at your dress. “I—”
The world stops.
You recognise the hand that’s enclosed around your arm, the rough skin from gloves, the warmth that something insides you aches for late at night. You recognise the cologne, the scent that makes you think of an apartment in Monaco, a shattered wine glass on the floor and the sound of victory in the background.
“What are you—” Charles stops, hand falling away from arm. “You’re here.”
His voice makes your heart stop—makes the blood in your veins turn cold. Maybe it’s because the last words you’d heard in that voice were I don’t regret it, any of it. All of it, the last expression on that perfect face being betrayal.
When you look up at him again, it still is.
Did he regret it now? Dedicating the most important win of his life to you?
“I am,” you answer, carefully, wary of the crowd around you. “And so are you.”
He laughs at that, quiet, “I’m…yeah. I’m here too.”
The paddock is always loud, always moving, and yet it now falls hushed. Microphones are pointed at the two of you, trying to pick up any conversation, the fans are a mixture of realisation that you’re here, or not knowing who you are at all.
You watch him study you. You watch him take you in, the new hair length, the lines of your face, the smallest changes to the way you hold yourself. He looks the same, you decide. Still in red, still as handsome as ever. The only change you focus on is his finger, like you can see the wedding band that’ll sit there in a few months.
You’re still in love with him. The stark, realization slams into you like a tidal wave.
“How’ve you been?” He asks, like he’s noticing the cameras. “Heard you live here now—in Milan.”
“Yeah,” you say, fixing your hair, trying not to say too much but give too little. “I moved a year and a half ago. April.”
You can see him do the math in his head, figuring out the dates, what had happened a month prior.
“Right,” he lands on, nodding slow. “Yeah, that—”
He stops again, and you smile, quietly repeating another yeah.
“You look good,” he says, and the two of you glance to the cameras, the people surrounding you. “Like you’re doing well.”
“I am.”
“Of course you are.”
“You seem like you’re doing well too.”
“I’m trying.”
His gaze flickers behind him, to Ferrari’s motorhome.
I can’t talk here.
You know that’s what he’s saying. You know because it’s the same look he’d give you during interviews, the same look through crowds, at events. You haven’t forgotten—that silent language he’d only ever let you learn, the small touches that meant more than they seemed.
You wondered if she’d learnt it too. His fiancée.
“Were you heading in?” he asks, cocking his head. “Or are you—”
“No, yeah,” you say, moving aside, causing reporters and fans to stir again. “I was.”
“Right. Me too.”
He raises his hand slightly, like he’s motioning for you to go first, so you do. You keep your head down as the crowd follows, as Charles catches up and holds the door open.
The door shuts just as someone shouts, “Charles! Where’s Alexandra?”
The silence after hurts. It’s heavy silence, the kind that’s filled with anticipation.
“I’m—”
“You’re—”
You both stop. Charles runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath like he’s going to start pacing. Your fingers clench beside you, itching to do something. Reach for him, run them through your own hair, you don’t know.
“Not here,” he mutters, turning away again. “There’s windows.”
“You’re being so cautious—”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he answers immediately. Defensively. “I’m—of course I’m cautious. My girlfriend—”
You watch him pause at the word.
“Your fiancée,” you say, quietly, and he looks at you again. A camera flashes, and the two of you instinctively turn away again. “Charles.”
The name, for the first time in your life, is foreign on your tongue.
“No,” he says. “No, fuck, you can’t be here.”
“Charles—”
“You can’t be here. Fuck—I can’t—”
Another camera flashes, and then you’re moving. He doesn’t even hesitate when he follows you down the hallway, to the door you know is on the left with his name on it.
“Why are you here?” he asks when his driver room door slams shut. “After what? After a year?”
“A year and a half.”
“Why?” you stay by the door while he paces. “I’m engaged. I’m fucking engaged and you decide to finally show up and I—”
“I’m not here for you.”
He stops.
Your nails dig into the side of your thigh, your heart is loud in your ears.
“I was invited. By a brand that I’m doing a—” you smile, bitterly. “I’m not here for you, Charles.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m—”
“You could’ve said no. You could’ve gone somewhere else—I know you’re rich enough to decline a brand invite with no bad press.”
“Am I not allowed here anymore?” you ask, fingers stilling. “Just because of you? I’m never allowed to step near a Formula 1 paddock again?”
“That’s not what—”
“It might as well be.”
Your eyes stray to the room. It’s the same as it always is. His helmet in the corner, race suit hung in the specific way you taught him because he used to just throw it over a chair. There’s a tube of lip gloss sitting on the table, a fur coat folded in the corner.
He watches you notice.
“Is she here?” you ask, dragging your gaze back to him. “Today?”
“What?”
“Your fiancée.”
He looks at the lip gloss, the coat, the flowers on the table like they belong to her too.
“She’s somewhere else. Williams garage, I think.”
“With Carlos’ girlfriend.”
“Yeah.”
You think he’s about to ask you how you knew. You see him remember—remember how it used to be you.
“What about you?” he asks, leaning against the table. “Your boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you scoff. “You know that.”
“I don’t.”
“You still follow me on Instagram.”
“You don’t, and you know I’m engaged.”
“Hard not to know when Vogue Italy does an article on it.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. You look away again, leaning your head against the door like it’ll protect you.
There are so many things you want to ask him.
Did you mean it? Have you moved on? Do you love her? Do you miss me like I miss—
“Why’d you leave?”
He asks a question first, one that makes you want to ask ‘Why didn’t you?’.
“You know why.”
“Tell me.”
If you focus hard enough, his drivers room could be your apartment back in Monaco. It feels the same. The tension, the constant reminder of you shouldn’t be here playing through your head. The only difference is this time you’re by the door.
“I couldn’t stand it,” you say. “Being in the same place as you. Knowing I could run into you—knowing I might do it on purpose.”
“So you left.”
“I left.”
“And yet here we are.”
You smile again, “Me being here doesn’t mean anything. You know that.”
“Do I?”
“It shouldn’t. You’re engaged, Charles. To a woman that’s so unbelievably perfect.”
“Alex isn’t—” he sighs again. “She’s beautiful. Perfect, if that’s what you want to call her. But she’s not—”
You know what the next words are.
“Did you mean it?” you ask, before he can finish. “The things you said to me that night? That you’d pretend to move on?”
“I meant everything I said that night.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
He stands up properly, and you think you can’t breathe when he moves closer.
“I miss you,” he mutters, so quiet as if he’s scared someone will hear. “I miss you so much.”
You close your eyes, looking away again. His hand ghosts over your jaw, tilting it back towards him.
“We can’t.”
“I miss you.”
“I know.”
“I meant it. I meant every word. I told you I’d pretend—I meant it.”
“I know that.”
You open your eyes when his thumb traces your cheek.
“Why are you here?” he asks again, still quiet. “Please.”
“Because I miss you too.”
The words feel like a confession. Like a secret, a sin that’s spilling out of you before you can stop it.
“I’m—fuck,” you say, laugh, because you don’t know what else to do. “It’s been a year and a half, and I still miss you. You’re moving on—you will eventually when you marry her.”
“I’m not moving on.”
“You’re engaged, Charles!” you say, and his hand drops. “You’re engaged to a girl who loves you, and you might not love her as much as she loves you but you will. You will later.”
“When? When I’m older? When I’ve got kids or when I’m on my deathbed regretting the fact it wasn’t you?”
“You and her are good together.”
“You and I are good together.”
“No, we aren't,” you say, and he moves away. “We were never good together. You haven’t changed, have you? Since that night?”
“What is that supposed to—”
“She’s someone who understands. Who understands she’ll come second. I can’t come second, Charles.”
“You won’t come second.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He studies you again. The look on your face, the hand that’s itching for the door to leave before you’re trapped again. Trapped in the whirlwind of him.
“I love you.”
“I know you love me.”
“I’ll leave her.”
“Charles.”
“If you love me back, I’ll leave her.”
“That isn’t fair. You’re engaged—you’ll break her heart.”
“It’ll be worth it if I get to have you.”
“You’re going to leave her for a chance. For a possibility. What if it doesn’t work? What if we break up and it’s over for good and you’re wishing you had—”
“Then I’ll do it all over again. Love you all over again.”
It’s stupid. It’s the most stupidest reasoning you’ve ever heard, and yet the words you’ve been aching to hear for a year and a half.
“You can’t.”
“I will.”
You think you might be crying. He reaches for you again, hand around your waist, fingers warm on your skin.
“I love you,” he says again, like a plea. “I’ll always love you.”
He’d said that to her too. On one knee, ring in hand, promising a life together that’s shattering every second you stay here. Maybe it’s pity holding you back, your morals, your fucking common sense. Maybe it’s the fact you’re in his drivers room, the paddock, with all those cameras waiting for the second you step into view again.
“I can’t,” you say, and it’s barely a whisper. “Fuck. I can’t.”
He physically shudders, leaning forward, his head resting on your shoulder.
“Please,” he mutters, and you stand there, turning over his words in your head. “Fuck. Please—”
“You can’t leave her.”
“I will.”
“How?” he pulls away, wipes your tears with his thumb. “She’ll hate you.”
“It won’t matter," he mutters. "I don’t care how long it takes. I need you.”
It’s so full of truth it makes you sick.
“Do you mean it?” you ask, and he’s already nodding. “I—”
“I mean it. If it doesn’t work, fine, but it will. It’ll work. I know it’ll work.”
His eyes are wide, waiting for those three words, searching for an answer in your expression.
You give it to him.
“I love you,” you say—pratically gasp, and he shuts his eyes. “I love you so much, and I don’t know why.”
He goes quiet, like he’s savouring it, like he’s realising what it means.
“I have to go,” you mutter, and he only holds you tighter. “I’ll be here. I’ll—I’m not leaving. Leaving this. I need time.”
He waits a few seconds before answering.
“Yeah—I’m,” he pulls away. “Yeah. Okay.”
“I’ll talk to you after.”
After the day ends, after the weekend, after he leaves her, you don’t know. It seems to be enough for now.
“Yeah. After.”
You reach up and fix your hair, the smudges of your makeup, to make it look like you haven’t just changed your life and ruined someone else's.
He stays there when you turn the door handle. Even when you close it, you know he’s still staring, still waiting.
“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling at your dress and walking down the hallway.
The motorhome is fuller now, with new mechanics, new engineers and faces you don’t recognize. The doors open, and a face you do recognize walks through the door.
“Hi,” Alexandra, his fiancée, smiles when you pass her. “How are you?”
“I’m good, thank you,” you answer, and she nods, continuing past to the hallway you’d just walked out of. You don’t turn around and watch, like you’ll be able to see her life falling apart because of you. You don’t turn and apologize though she won’t know why.
You keep walking, out of the motorhome, out of the gates of the paddock. As soon as you’re home, you pay an absurd amount of money to the brand that’d invited you, the kind of amount that has them apologizing to you instead.
The first knock comes at exactly one in the morning, a week later. You aren’t drunk this time. Neither is he when you open the door.
He looks tired. Tired because of work, because of the media, because of the news that ‘Charles Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mleux break off their engagement due to undisclosed reasons.’
“You’re here,” you say, leaning against the doorframe.
He smiles, moving closer, hands already sliding around your waist, “I’m here.”
You hope he never leaves.
Monaco is exactly how you remember it.
It takes months for Charles to convince you to move back. You refuse to live in an apartment, so he buys a house in Monte Carlo, one that overlooks Port Hercules and has a stupidly long driveway like your house in Milan.
You’re expecting scandal, whispers when you walk past, glares as they remember you were the one who broke up the supposed to be ‘marriage of the decade’.
“I’ve always loved her,” Charles says instead, to the public, the press. “I’m not denying it. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life sitting in regret that I never tried making it work.”
So instead, Monaco had welcomed you back with open arms.
You wake up to him, to mornings where he’s there, and not off training. You fall asleep to him, his phone and all those lap times far away, left charging in the kitchen.
“Do you regret it?” you’d asked him once. “At all?”
“Regret what?”
You’d shrugged, “Any of it. All of it.”
“I don’t regret anything when it comes to you. Fuck, actually—I just regret letting you go the first time.”
It feels so familiar, yet so different. It feels right.
You’re back in Italy now, in a holiday house near Lake Como. He’s sitting out on the back deck, hot chocolate in one hand because you’d forced him to get rid of his caffeine addiction. It’s already dark outside, cold enough that you have a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
“Do you think we’ll ever move out of Monaco?” he asks when you sit beside him. “In the future.”
“When we’re married?”
He glances at you, “you want to get married?”
You consider it. The weight of the words, the life it’ll bring after.
“Maybe,” you say, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah. I think so.”
You hear him set down the cup, but you keep your eyes ahead of you, at the lake, the light reflecting off of it.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He moves closer, shoulder bumping against yours, and you look at him.
“You’re not about to propose here, are you?” you smile, stealing the cup and taking a sip. “Romantic, but probably not what a girl would dream of.”
“No. Of course not,” he answers, scoffing out a laugh. “I’ve got it all planned.”
“Do you?”
“I do,” he says. “I’ve had it planned for ages. For years.”
You know he isn’t lying.
“Tell me.”
“No, that would ruin the surprise.”
“You’ve already told me you’re planning on doing it.”
He smiles, leaning over and kissing you on the forehead, “I’m not telling you.”
“Do you plan everything?” you tease. “Your proposal, where the wedding will be, how many kids we’ll have—”
“Two.”
“Two?”
“Boy and a girl if we’re lucky,” he shrugs. “Anything at all I consider lucky if it’s with you.”
You laugh, and he thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.
“Could’ve had this sooner,” he says. “You. Us.”
“You have me now.”
“I just wish we hadn’t lost all those months.”
“Charles,” you say, and this time it’s you who’s reaching for him, for his face to tilt it towards you. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
He practically melts into your touch, eyes shutting.
“I love you too.”
Your fingers graze over his skin, before you pull them away.
“Come inside,” you say, standing. “It’s cold.”
He watches you go, still wrapped in that blanket. Your hair is slightly messy, your face is bare, and yet you look so beautiful it’s devastating.
“Charles,” you call, and he’s moving, following you like it’s second nature. It was—it is.
“You’re thinking,” you say, as he wraps his hands around your waist, blanket falling to the floor while you fuss over something in the kitchen. “What’re you thinking about?”
“You. Always you.”
And when you laugh again, kissing him, letting him prop you up on the kitchen counter, it feels perfect.
You are a nobody who is obsessed with an kind of live she will never have. MOVE ON you will never date an F1 driver. Why don’t you try getting you’re live together and re arrange you’re expectations instead of posting this stupid fics🙄
sugar honey love have all the elements I love in a fic - smau, hidden marriage, baby hard launch. great story & editing! Thank you for cooking such a masterpiece~
wld love to see a pt2 eventually in adgp or smth along that line of them living their private lives as a family ✨ but no pressure ofcc thank you for the fic!!
sooo tempted to do a p2 as well...i think i'll do a timeskip?? maybe when their daughter is slightly older like 2 or 3 i think it'd be so cuteee, lando as a girl dad would be the cutest. and thank you sm for reading!! so glad you enjoyed it <33
hi lovee, I was just reading your last smau with lan it’s gorggg, just a little thing (maybe you didn’t notice) the comments on the back home post are in black, instead of white like the rest of the text and at least for me is imposible to read since my background is black as well 🥺 just letting you know :) 🫶🏻
heyyy! thank you sm for telling me <33 i think it's fixed now :)))
Lando x Yn had been together for a while. She was very private on social media so no one knew who she was. A lot of people assumed she was just part of his family due to her always being with his family at the races. No one thought twice about her and lando being in a relationship because they didn’t act like it, but in a post race interview he lets it slip up he’s in a relationship and people start trying to connect the dots, but what people don’t know is that you and lando are actually married and have a baby on the way
hi mlll!!! this was the cutest ever omg. posted here! i hope you enjoy and i'll do your other reqs soon!
— you and lando have been together since you were in high school. you've never seen the need to tell people, to have to deal with the publicity that it'd get you. people think you're some kind of family member—a cousin, maybe, or just a really good family friend. one interview, one little slip up, and lando accidental reveals that you're a lot more than just that.
INCL. fem!reader, smau, marriage, pregnancy, lots of fluffy stuff! reader has a mini daschund called gigi, magui corceiro pics used, hard launch, lando's SO in love
RADIO CHECK: based on this req! ugh this was the cutest ever!!! loved this plot, hope you enjoy reading <3
liked by lando, flo_norris_showjumping and others
ynln some of the latest <3
view comments
lando hi gigi
ynln she misses you!
lando i'll come see her soon :))
flo_norris_showjumping too cute!
liked by creator
username1 you're gorgeous
liked by creator
username2 awh her and lando's friendship!! so cute.
username3 GIGI!! the cutest dog i've ever seen
username4 are you and lando dating?
username5 she's just a really close family friend there's pics of them together when they were rlly young
username6 she's already got a boyfriend/husband'm pretty sure!
liked by ynln, oscarpiastri and others
lando mega week + gigi
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ynln awwww my baby
lando she loves me
ynln 🙄
username7 OSCAR CAMEOOO
username8 YESS AUSTRIA WIN
username9 landgoat
username10 WHOS DOG IS THAT
username11 @/ynln ‘s. she’s a family friend! really close w lando and his family
username12 oh she's gorg
username13 would've shipped them if not for the fact she's taken already. maybe even married? apparently a ring on her finger the last time she came to the paddock but she's so private no one knows anything
username14 good for her actually!!
view all story replies:
to @/ynln:
lando sneaky
ynln but you look so good
username15 you're so lucky you get to go to races!! ugh i wanna be childhood friends with an f1 driver
username16 WHERE'S GIGI!!
ynln had to leave her at home 😔
to @/f1updates
username17 is she with lando's family?
f1updates looks like it!
username18 do we know who she's dating?? heard rumors she's married
f1updates she's very private! no one knows anything other than she's with someone
username19 she's SOO gorg ugh
f1updates shame she isn't a wag…would've been one of the most popular there is
username20 rlly curious why no one's ever suspected the two of them dating. i mean i don't either but usually any other girl associated with a driver is automatically ‘dating’ them.
f1updates i think it's cause she's so close with his family it seems like she's more of a family member herself. if they were dating it'd be a different kinda vibe ig…
liked by lando, max_fewtrell and others
ynln back home!
view comments
lilyzneimer 😍
liked by creator
username21 THAT RINGGG
username22 her husband must be rich asf
username23 HUSBAND REVEAL THIRD PIC???
username24 omg finally hinting at your relationship
username25 GIVE US MOREEE
username26 no gigi pic </3
ynln she's spending the day with her ‘other parent’ lol
username27 missed you at the paddock last race :(
ynln unfortunately don't think i'll be at any races for a long while 😔 very veryyy busy
liked by ynln, mclaren and others
lando monster, gigi and kinder can life get any better
view comments
ynln is she my dog or yours?
lando both!
mclaren can't get better than that!!
liked by creator
username28 mr worldwideeee
username29 AWWW THE DOG
username30 not the kinder
username31 someone ship lando monster to me pls
username32 LANDO WDC THIS YEAR
[transcript: lando norris post-race interview, british grand prix]
int: lando! congratulations on your win today. how're you feeling?
norris: yeah—thanks, it's pretty amazing, of course, winning my home race. really thankful to the team, and everyone who's here to support me tonight. would be better if my wi—um. yeah, nevermind.
int: awh, c'mon. don't be shy.
norris: nah, it's fine. just wish someone was here right now, would've made it even better. i know she's watching though, so…
int: oh? are you hinting at—
norris: anyways. yeah, that's it. thank you.
view comments
username33 OMG?? IS HE NOT SINGLE?
username34 WAS HE ABT TO SAY GIRLFRIEND?
username35 NO SOUNDED LIKE A W. LIKE A NAME OR SOMETHING
username36 wife? perhaps??
username37 SURELY LANDO NORRIS CAN'T HAVE A WIFE THAT NO ONE KNOWS ABT?!??!
username38 omg surely not? who could it even be??
username39 ‘i know SHE'S watching' guys. lando norris isn't single omg
username40 WHO'S THE GIRLLL
username41 HARD LAUNCH NOW
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ynln @/lando
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lando ❤️
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f1 CONGRATULATIONS!
mclarenf1 Incredibly exciting!! Congrats you two 🧡
max_fewtrell just about given the entire world a heart attack revealing it like this
ynln oops…
lando my fault!
oscarpiastri congrats!
carlossainz55 what a way to hard launch
alexandramalenaleclerc awh too cute!!
username42 WHAT.
username43 HELLO WTAF? GOOD MORNING??? HELLO
username44 okay so not only is lando norris TAKEN, he's got a wife and a baby?!
username45 WITH THE GIRL WE THOUGHT WAS JUST A FAMILY FRIEND
username46 oh my gosh it was so obvious looking back on it. we knew she had a ring why didn't we think it was lando???
username47 HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO HIDE THIS FOR SO LONG?
username48 all of you are talking abt the baby i wanna see the wedding pics
username49 WHO KNEW ABOUT THIS?? I SURE AS HELL DIDN'T.
username50 there's gonna be a mini lando running around the paddock in few years omg </3
lando a mini version of my wife you mean
[transcript: lando norris hungarian grand prix, media day interview]
int: lando! so great to have you back, especially considering the recent news. home race and the birth of your daughter. how are you?
norris: speechless, honestly. words cant describe it. i want nothing more than to be with her—my wife, and my daughter, of course. i would if time let me.
int: speaking of your wife, how long has it been? what's the story?
norris: we've been dating since high school. got married a year and a half ago, in may. never really needed to tell anyone, i guess.
int: who knew?
norris: only family, really. my close friends. some of the drivers like oscar.
int: well, we're estatic you decided to reveal it now. will we be seeing your wife and daughter in the paddock?
norris: not anytime soon. maybe abu dhabi? i don't want to push her—my wife, or my daughter. might be a little loud for her.
int: that's sweet. again, congratulations, and best of luck for this race weekend. any messages for those back home?
norris: i love you. so much. you and gigi and our little girl. i wish you were here as always, and i'm winning this one for you.
hii! may I ask if u could make headcanons ?) where reader is famous but kinda controversial, in media day some journalist ask them about the controversy and they defend her
sorry for my english 😞
heyy! it's posted here! hope you enjoy <33 (and dw your english is totally fine!!
F1 DRIVERS DEFENDING YOU AGAINST CONTROVERSY ! headcannons
— you're a model, one known for your love of motorsport and for being controversial. your ex makes a fake rumor that you cheated, and your boyfriend doesn't hesitate to defend you.
incl. lando norris, oscar piastri, charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, max verstappen, george russell
RADIO CHECK: based on this req! i hope this is what you meant haha, i didn't just do media day to give it a little bit of variety. also wasn't sure if you meant gridfic or individual drivers, and if you wanted the whole grid/specific drivers send me a message and i'll do that too! <3 enjoy reading!!
the day that the headline comes out is no different from any other. you’re with your boyfriend, everything perfect, as it should be, until you see it.
y/n l/n — the model who cheated on her ex-boyfriend, who's now dating a formula one driver. what is she plotting next? who is she plotting next? should we be worried she'll cheat like she did before?
#1 LANDO NORRIS
you're in his apartment when you find out, sitting at his kitchen counter while he's leaning against it, opposite you. he notices the drop in your face immediately, stopping midway through his sentence with a frown.
“is something wrong?” he asks, leaning over to look at your phone. “did something happen?”
“no,” you answer, putting it face down on the counter. “everything's fine.”
the next day, at the paddock during media day, a journalist shouts something over the crowd of other reporters.
“how are you feeling about your girlfriend, now that everyone knows that she's just a cheat? we all knew she was controversial, but are the two of you still together?”
lando doesn't even hesitate when he snaps his head towards the journalist, glaring.
“what kind of fucking question is that?” he says, and his pr manager winces beside him. “have you ever stopped and talk to her— have you ever even met her? she's the kindest girl i've ever met, and yes, she's still my girlfriend. she'll be my wife someday—”
“lando,” his pr manager cuts him off, shaking his head. “not here.”
“get him out of here,” lando answers, turning away. “and make sure he doesn't come near me again.”
later, when he gets home, with you already in the living room with the moment playing on your phone, he sighs and collapses into your arms.
“i'm sorry, baby,” he says, kissing your jaw. “you should've told me—you should've said something yesterday.”
“i didn't think it mattered that much. you've got more important things to focus on.”
“i'd drop everything else if it came to you,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist. “i love you. don't listen to that bullshit, we both know how fake it is.”
you smile, relaxing against him, “you said i'd be your wife.”
“of course. who else could it ever be?”
#2 OSCAR PIASTRI
you find out about the article just as oscar leaves to mclaren's garage. you're sitting at one of the tables in the paddock, phone open, staring at it blankly. oscar's still completely unaware, and you want to call him, but decide against it.
oscar's halfway out of the paddock when a swarm of fans and reporters surrond him.
“oscar! is your girlfriend here with you? have you seen the recent news about her? will you stay with here even though she's a liar and a cheat—”
“a what?” oscar repeats, stopping in the center of the pathway. “what'd you say?”
“she cheated on her—”
“she never cheated,” he says, and the reporter goes quiet. “where'd you even hear—she never cheated, she's not a cheater. do you not realise how bad her ex was? he cheated on her.”
“but—”
“you've got no clue what you're talking about,” he says, pushing past the crowds with the singular thought of finding you.
he finds you exactly where he'd left you, sitting at that table, phone still open though you're not looking at it. there are tears in your eyes, and you scramble to stand when you see him.
“it's not true—osc, i'm sorry, i didn't cheat on—”
“i know,” he says, soft, soothing as he hugs you. "i know you didn't. i know you would never."
“it's just so unfair,” you say, tears spilling down your cheeks. “i don't get how he still manages to fuck me over when we're not even together anymore.”
oscar pulls away, just to cup your jaw and wipe your tears with his thumb.
“i love you,” he says. “i believe you. don't waste your time over this, it's not worth it.”
you smile, and he kisses you, right there out in the open, where the two of you both know cameras are in every direction you look.
#3 CHARLES LECLERC
charles is asleep beside you when you find out. it's one in the morning, and the light of your phone and the word cheater is bold across your screen. you don't wake up and tell him, you shut your phone and hope it'll be gone by the morning.
charles notices that you're on edge the next morning. he doesn't understand why, until the two of you step outside your apartment, and people are rushing towards you with cameras and mics in their hands.
"are you still together?! after the news? she's a cheat—you should leave while you can!"
charles almost completely freezes, and when he glances over at you, your head low and trying to avoid all the cameras, anger flares deep in his chest.
“do you hear yourselves?" he says, hand sliding around your waist and pulling you closer. “you're talking about my girlfriend. my girlfriend who's right fucking here—does she look like a cheater to you?”
“but her ex—”
“her ex is a piece of shit. if all of you like shitty gossip so much go and invest your time into him. he's done plenty. leave my girlfriend out of it.”
he helps you into his car, shutting the door. you can hear his voice, harsh, and the reporters desperate voices. cameras flash, and you flip down the window shade to hide yourself.
when charles gets into the car, he blows out a breath, running a hand through his hair.
“i'm sorry,” you say instantly, and he blinks, looking over. “i didn't, i—”
“you don't have to apologize,” he says, reaching for your hand. “it isn't your fault. you didn't do anything wrong.”
“it feels like i did.”
“you didn't,” he says, squeezing your hand in reassurance. he leans over the console, kissing you. “i promise.”
you smile, relaxing. the next day, the headlines are washed out, pictures of the two of you replacing them instead.
#4 LEWIS HAMILTON
lewis had always hated the media. it's the reason why when you stumble across the article, calling you a cheat, a dirty liar, you don't tell him. you were scared he'd make things worse—or just tell you to ignore it without a second thought.
“lewis,” he's at a post-race interview, racesuit pulled halfway down, drinking water as the journalist speaks. “congrats on p2 today. we all thought you wouldn't perform well today considering the recent news.”
the journalist laughs, but it falters when lewis doesn't.
“what news?” he says, slowly. “news about what?”
“your girlfriend.”
“my girlfriend? what place does a comment about my girlfriend have in a post-race interview?”
“no, but she—”
“i don't care what she did. you're talking about my girlfriend here—my girlfriend who i'd much rather be with right now instead of standing here for an interview.”
the journalist goes silent, and lewis turns away, walking straight out of the media pen.
he finds you in the safety of ferrari's garage, in the corner, headphones around your neck and your head leaned against the wall.
“hey,” he says, softly. “are you alright?”
“i'm okay,” you answer, but by your tone, your body langauge, lewis knows your lying. “of course i'm okay.”
“a journalist said something weird just now.”
your head snaps up, eyebrows furrowing. he gently pulls you close to him, kissing your cheek.
“it's alright,” he mutters, and you rest your head on his shoulder. “i don't care what it is. i know it's some shitty rumor, and you know i don't believe in that kind of thing.”
“i'm sorry,” you say, and he quietly shushes you. “i'm really really sorry.”
“you've got nothing to be sorry for.”
by the time you've calmed down, walking out of the garage with his arm protectively around you, you don't know why you ever hesitated telling him in the first place.
#5 MAX VERSTAPPEN
max knew something was up the second he'd left for media duties. usually, he'd always complain about them, and you were the one who'd convinced him to go with the reassurnace of ‘it’s only a few minutes. just smile and answer.'. this time, when he complains, you don't tell him to go. in fact, you don't say anything at all but ‘stay if you want to.'
as soon as he's asked the first question of the day, he understands why.
“max! how are you and your girlfriend? is something wrong? she looked upset when you left—did you get into an argument over recent news?”
“a what?” he mutters, reaching for the mic. “repeat that. why would we—”
“the article that came out outing her as a cheater. would you still want to stay with someone like that? after she lied to everyone?”
“a cheater?” max repeats, laughing in disbelief. “you can't be serious.”
“it's clearly true.”
“you don't get to comment on shit you have zero clue about,” he says, already fed up. “i mean—fuck, what proof do you have? an article and the word of her ex who's the shittest guy on the planet? and you call yourself journalists?”
“but it's—”
“if i brought her here, right now, would you have the nerve to repeat everything you said in front of her?” max leans forward, eyebrows raising. “would you?"
when the journalists doesn't answer, he laughs again, putting down the mic.
“you've completely lost me for the rest of the day,” he says, and the room goes into an outbursts of frustrated murmurs. “just because of that. see you next race weekend."
you're sitting in red bull's hospitality, staring at nothing when max comes back.
“back early?” you say, glancing up. “i need to tell you—”
“i know,” he says, sitting down next to you. “i know and i'm sorry about it. i should've known going in.”
“it's my—"
“it's not your fault. jesus. this just reminds me how much i hate the press. idiots.”
you smile, and he leans over, kissing your forehead.
“don't stress,” he says. “i'll sort it out.”
he refuses to do any interviews for the next two months.
#6 GEORGE RUSSELL
you're walking into the paddock with george when the first question is thrown at you. you'd been sent the article countless times on your way to the track, but had muted your phone and shoved it in your bag so george wouldn't get stressed over it.
“george! are you aware of what your girlfriend did? why is she here today?”
george frowns, glances over at you, then to the reporter.
“what?”
“george,” you say, but he ignores you, focused on the reporter. “i—”
“she cheated on her last boyfriend. aren't you worried she'll do the same thing to you?”
“you're talking about her as if she isn't right here,” he says, hand reaching for yours. “and she's my girlfriend. what kind of ignorant gossip are you reading? must be pretty shitty if you think it's okay to yell questions like that about someone's girlfriend.”
you keep your head down, and he reassuringly brushes his thumb across your hand.
“i don't believe them,” he mutters in your ear. “and you shouldn't either.”
the reporter yells something else that you block out, making george glance towards him again.
“how about you piss off and—”
“george.”
“we just got here and you think it's okay to start asking questions about personal life.”
the reporter ends up scrambling off, and just when you want to get into mercedes' garage and hide from all the cameras, he tugs you close and kisses you.
“if anyone ever comes up to you and asks about this tell me,” he says, and you nod. “just remember i don't believe them, and i love you.”
“i love you too,” you answer, and he kisses you one more time before running off to do his other driver duties.
no one else approaches you about it for the rest of the day, and later you find out it's because he's threatened to blacklist any reporter or journalist who does.
#7 CARLOS SAINZ
it's during a night out when the article pops up on your social media. carlos is drunk, you're tetering on the edge of being drunk, and he's got his arm slung around your shoulder, laughing about something stupid. you slide your phone into your purse, smiling, the effects of alcohol seemingly wearing away with every one of your panicked thoughts.
“—and then he fucking tripped and fell and no one even—”
“carlos! is that your girlfriend? the one who cheated?”
he stops dead in the center of the walkway, blinking, whirling around to find the voice. it looks to be a journalist, with a cameraman right next to him, pointed at the two of you.
carlos blinks in confusion, then stands straighter, his amusment completely vanishing.
“are you fucking serious?” he says, and you tense, looking away. “right here of all places? you choose to come at me—at her, with stupid gossip here?”
“well, we thought—”
“no,” he says, pulling you closer. “fuck off. go away. you're fucking up my night with my gorgeous girlfriend who's never cheated in her life.”
he looks pissed. he is pissed, and as soon as you mutter his name he looks over.
“don't worry about it,” he says, gently tracing circles into your shoulder. “ignore them. they're just desperate for a headline and a story. you know i love you and believe you over anyone else.”
the reporter says something inaudible, but then speaks up louder, “when you get cheated on by her, i hope you think about—”
“fuck you,” carlos says, starting to walk with you again. he waves a dismissive hand. “go bother someone else with your fucking gossip.”
the reporter doesn't follow, and when you're in the safety of another alleyway, you lean against him and sigh.
“thank you,” you say, and he smiles, brushing back your hair. “for that.”
“of course," he answers. “you're my girlfriend. i love you, and i'll always defend you against rumors like that.”
you laugh, weight lifting off of your shoulders.
he nudges you, “i wasn't finished with that story.”
when you wake up the next morning, head buzzing, the whole event fuzzy in your brain, the article is gone. everyone is bashing the reporter instead, and carlos leans over, kissing your jaw.
“made sure he's blacklisted,” he said. “won't ever have to see him again.”
guys i've got like fifty million ideas atm and about five requests i'm working on simultaneously AHHH i wanna write everything all at once. i'm working on a lewis, george, and lando fic, and a cute headcannon req and i keep getting new ideas this is so diabolical.
hoping i'll have something out soon!! i'm also finally on a break so i've got more time to write. wish me luck guys pray for me 💔
heres another snippet of the lewis fic cause i love their dynamic so bad
ugh need to lock in and finish this i'm at 3k atm.
