Summary: Max always thought you never asked for much because you didn’t need much, low-maintenance to a fault, until he finally overhears the truth.
4.4k words / Masterlist
Max had always appreciated how easy you were to love.
You didn’t demand. You didn’t sulk over missed dates. There were no passive-aggressive comments about him not posting you enough or forgetting to text back when a race weekend swallowed him whole. You never made him feel guilty for the parts of his life that were already complicated. When he was travelling or exhausted, you simply kissed his forehead and told him to rest. When his schedule changed last minute, you never got upset, never made him sit through a tense silence or apologise for the same thing five different ways, you just shrugged with that soft little smile of yours and said, “We’ll figure it out.”
You weren’t just low-maintenance, you were selfless, unshakeably chill in a way that made loving you feel almost effortless. You understood the pressure, the travel, the media, the endless demands on his time, and you never tried to add yourself to the list of things he needed to manage.
You made room for his life before he even had to ask. You bent around the complicated edges of his world so naturally that, after a while, Max stopped noticing how much you were bending at all.
It was refreshing. Comforting, even. Being with you never felt like another obligation waiting for him when he got home. You were warmth, quiet, peace… but it also made it easy for Max to coast.
Because when you said you didn’t need flowers, he believed you. When you told him birthdays weren’t a big deal, he took your word for it.
When you said you didn’t mind that his attention was always half-distracted by Red Bull, his sim rig, his phone, or whatever new team crisis was unfolding in the background, he didn’t stop to wonder whether you meant it. He didn’t ask himself if you were genuinely fine with being loved in the gaps, or if you had simply learned to make your wants small enough that they never became inconvenient.
He didn’t notice that every time you said, “Don’t worry about it,” you were teaching him that he didn’t have to.
Until he saw the way your smile dimmed at Daniel’s girlfriend’s birthday party.
The boat was filled with champagne and noise, a private Monaco affair organised by Daniel, of course, because no one else could make a birthday party feel quite that excessive and still somehow charming. There was a neon sign glowing above the bar, a curated playlist that seemed suspiciously full of songs Daniel liked more than his girlfriend did, and custom cupcakes with everyone’s faces printed on them. Max didn’t even know you could do that.
You sat beside him with a drink in hand, your shoulder brushing his every now and then as the boat rocked gently against the water. To anyone else you looked perfectly fine, but Max had started paying closer attention now.
Your laugh came half a second too late, your smile faded too quickly, and your eyes kept drifting back to the couple across the deck.
Daniel’s girlfriend had her arms slung around his neck, his jacket draped over her shoulders, and a glittery tiara with Birthday Girl written across the front sitting slightly crooked on her head. Daniel kept adjusting it for her, grinning every time she swatted his hand away, and when she leaned into him, he kissed her temple without seeming to think about it. Thoughtless in the best way, like loving her out loud was simply instinct.
“You made it!” Daniel said, pulling Max into a hug before turning to you with even more enthusiasm. “And you look amazing. Seriously, come on, look at you.”
You laughed, a bit surprised, and looked down at yourself like you hadn’t expected anyone to notice.
Max noticed that.
Daniel’s girlfriend came over next, glowing, happy, adored. She hugged you tightly and thanked you both for coming, then turned to show you the bracelet Daniel had bought her. It was delicate and expensive, the kind of jewellery Max would never have picked out on his own because he would have convinced himself he didn’t know what he was doing and given up before trying.
“He surprised me with it this morning,” she said, beaming. “And he pretended he forgot my birthday for, like, ten minutes, which was evil, but then he had breakfast set up on the balcony.”
Daniel, overhearing, lifted his glass. “Romance is alive and well ladies and gentlemen.”
Normal Daniel. Loud, teasing, affectionate Daniel, who made a spectacle out of caring because he had never been embarrassed by warmth in the same way Max sometimes was, but then Max looked at you.
You were smiling. Of course you were smiling.
You were always polite. Always kind. Always good at being happy for other people, even when something inside you was quietly aching. There was something different about it then, something Max had never noticed before because he had never had reason to look for it.
Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
You didn’t look devastated, you didn’t withdraw your hand from his arm or go quiet in a way anyone else would pick up on. You just looked at the bracelet on Daniel’s girlfriend’s wrist, then at the flowers, then at the wall of photos, and for half a second your expression morphed into something almost wistful.
Max felt it like a punch he had no right to react to.
The conversation moved on around him. Daniel was talking about the cake, someone else was laughing about how long it had taken to get the decorations right. His girlfriend was telling you how Daniel had been secretly planning it for weeks, badly, apparently, because he almost exposed himself several times.
You laughed at the story.
You said, “That’s really sweet.”
Max heard the softness in your voice.
For the first time all night, Max looked at the party properly. He looked at the flowers. The photos. The custom menu cards with her name on them. The cake Daniel had apparently taste-tested three times because the first one “didn’t feel like her.”
Then Max looked at you.
You were standing beside him with nothing from him except your own practiced understanding.
No flowers.
No post.
No planned birthday dinner he hadn’t rescheduled.
No little public signs that he was proud to love you.
No evidence, really, that Max Verstappen had ever looked at the woman beside him and thought, she deserves to feel chosen.
His stomach twisted, because suddenly he remembered your last birthday with a clarity that made him feel slightly sick.
He had been in Milton Keynes for simulator work. He’d called you late, later than he meant to, and you had answered in bed, face lit softly by your phone screen. You had smiled like you were happy just to hear from him. He had apologised again for not being able to be there. You had said it didn’t matter and he had promised to make it up to you. You had said, “Don’t stress, honestly. I had a nice day.”
Had you?
Had you really?
Or had you said that because it was easier than admitting you had wanted him there?
He thought about the flowers you always claimed not to need. The birthdays you said weren’t important. The dates you never demanded. The posts you never asked for. The attention you pretended not to miss.
Beside him, you glanced up. “You okay?”
Max blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the gentleness of your voice. That made it worse somehow, even now you were checking on him.
“Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “Fine.”
You studied him for a moment, clearly not convinced, but you didn’t push. You never pushed. You simply nodded and looked back towards the others, your shoulder brushing lightly against his sleeve.
Max hated that too. He hated that you gave him space even when maybe he deserved pressure.
He hated that you had made yourself so easy to keep that he had forgotten keeping you was still something he had to actively do.
For the rest of the night, he couldn’t stop watching you.
He watched Daniel’s girlfriend pull you into photos, watched you laugh as someone handed you a party hat you refused to wear for about ten seconds. He watched you compliment the decorations, watched you ask questions about the planning, watched your fingers lightly brush over one of the flower arrangements when you thought no one was looking.
You liked flowers.
Of course you liked flowers.
Maybe not in the over-the-top, expensive, social-media way, but you liked them. He could tell by the way you touched the petals carefully, the way your face warmed when Daniel’s girlfriend told you Daniel had chosen them because they reminded him of a dress she once wore in Monaco.
Max stood there, silent and increasingly irritated with himself.
How many things had you convinced yourself you didn’t need simply because he had never offered them?
How many wants had you softened into jokes so they wouldn’t feel like demands?
How many times had you made yourself smaller around his life and called it love?
Later, when everyone gathered around the cake, Daniel made a speech. A terrible speech, because it was Daniel, so half of it was jokes and the other half was him pretending not to get emotional. Then he spoke about how his girlfriend made his life better. How she put up with him. How she deserved more than one night of being celebrated, but he hoped this was a decent start.
Everyone laughed.
His girlfriend cried.
You smiled.
Max felt like the worst boyfriend in the world.
He complimented you in private, usually quietly, usually after you’d done something for him. He told you he loved you, yes, but often in bed, or before hanging up, or in passing when one of you was leaving. He assumed you knew. He assumed choosing you privately counted the same as making you feel chosen.
On the drive home you were quieter than usual.
Your head rested against the window, city lights sliding over your face in brief flashes. Your heels were in your lap because you had taken them off the second you got in the car, and your fingers played absently with the strap like your mind was somewhere else.
Max kept glancing over. Usually he liked quiet with you, it was comfortable and easy, you didn’t need to fill every silence.
Tonight the quiet felt full of everything you weren’t saying.
“Did you have a good time?” he asked eventually.
You turned your head, smiling faintly. “Yeah. It was lovely.”
Lovely.
The word sat between you.
Max swallowed. “Daniel did a lot.”
“He did,” you said, and your voice was warm. “It was really sweet.”
There it was again. That careful admiration.
Max’s hands flexed around the steering wheel. “You like that kind of thing?”
You looked at him properly then, brows lifting a little. “What kind of thing?”
He shrugged, trying to sound casual and failing. “All of it. The flowers. The photos. The big party.”
You looked away and gave a small laugh, the kind that tried to make a truth sound harmless. “I mean, I don’t need all that.”
Max’s chest tightened.
That wasn’t what he had asked.
“I didn’t ask if you needed it.”
Your fingers stopped moving against the shoe strap and for a moment you said nothing. Then you looked down and smiled again, but this one was worse than the one at the party because it was meant only for him, meant to reassure him, meant to protect him from feeling bad about something he had already done.
“I just think it’s nice,” you said carefully. “For her. Daniel clearly put a lot of thought into it.”
Max nodded once, jaw tense.
Thought.
That was the word that stayed with him.
You didn’t need a private room full of flowers or a custom cake or a wall of photographs. You probably didn’t even want something that big, but you wanted thought. You wanted evidence that he had paused, considered you, and chosen to make you feel loved on purpose.
Max, who could analyse tyre degradation over fifty laps, who could remember tiny setup changes from races years ago, who could spend hours perfecting a sim lap by half a tenth, had somehow convinced himself he was incapable of remembering to buy you flowers.
“I should have done more for your birthday,” he said.
You went very still.
The car felt smaller suddenly.
“Max…”
“No,” he said, because he knew that tone. He knew you were about to let him off the hook again. “I should have.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
You exhaled quietly and looked out of the window again. “I told you it was fine.”
“I know you did.”
“Then why are you bringing it up?”
Because I finally saw your face, he wanted to say. Because I finally realised you have been asking for so little that I stopped giving you even that and I do not know how to forgive myself for not noticing sooner.
But Max had never been good with words when they mattered most.
So he said, “Because I think you say things are fine when they're not.”
Your mouth pressed together. That tiny movement cut through him more than any argument would have.
You weren’t angry, but part of him wished you were. Anger would have given him something to meet, something to fix, something loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it, you just looked tired and that was worse.
“I don’t want to be difficult,” you said after a while.
“You're not difficult,” he said immediately.
You gave him a small, sad smile. “I know. I just mean… your life is already a lot. You have so many people needing things from you all the time I never wanted to be another thing on the list.”
“You are not a thing on the list.”
“Aren’t I?” you asked softly.
Max didn’t answer fast enough, once again words failed him, he hated himself for that.
You turned your face back towards the window, and the reflection showed him the truth he had been avoiding all night. You weren’t crying or making a scene. You weren’t asking him to turn the car around or apologise in some grand dramatic way. You were simply sitting there beside him carrying a hurt that had clearly existed long before tonight.
He figured you’d be home from your errands by now.
Probably curled up somewhere in the apartment, wearing one of his hoodies like you always did when he was away for more than a few days. Maybe on the sofa with your knees tucked beneath you, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, or half-watching one of those comfort shows you liked to put on in the background while you waited for him. The thought came easily, warmly, and Max found himself smiling before he had even opened the door properly.
He liked coming home to you.
He liked the small signs of you scattered through his space. Your shoes by the door, your hair tie abandoned on the coffee table, your mug in the sink because you always forgot to rinse it. Your presence had softened the apartment in ways he hadn’t realised he needed, turning it from somewhere he slept between races into somewhere that actually felt like home.
The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside, but not empty.
Max kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, already turning toward the living room when he heard your voice from the bedroom. Then he heard your best friend’s name, and realised you were on the phone.
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He was about to call out, to let you know he was back, but something about your tone made him stop before the words left his mouth. So he stayed quiet, halfway down the hall, one hand still resting against the wall.
“I’m not upset he did all that for her,” you were saying. “It’s sweet. It is.”
There was a pause.
Max’s body went strangely still.
He knew, instantly, what you were talking about.
“It’s just…” You exhaled shakily. “He’s never done anything like that for me.”
The words hit him hard. Max stared at the floor, heartbeat slowing into something heavy and uncomfortable.
“I don’t ask for much,” you continued, and your voice was smaller now, like you were embarrassed to even say it out loud. “I know I don’t. I never wanted to pressure him or make him feel like he had to go out of his way when his life is already so much. I thought if I was easygoing and low-maintenance, it would make things easier on him.”
His throat tightened.
“But sometimes—” Your voice broke so softly he almost missed it. “Sometimes I wish he’d do something without me having to ask.”
Max’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall.
He could feel every careless assumption he had ever made beginning to turn over in his head, one after another, each one worse than the last.
You didn’t care if he forgot plans, if he came home distracted, if he said he would make it up to you and then didn’t, because something else came up and you smiled like it was fine.
“Maybe I enabled it by alway saying I was fine... but I don’t need grand gestures,” you went on, voice wobbling now. “I know that’s not really him, and I don’t want him to be anyone else. I don’t want a big show just for the sake of it, but it would be nice to feel special sometimes… to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
Max’s chest ached.
He looked toward the bedroom door, but he couldn’t move.
“I just want to know he wants to do those things for me,” you whispered. “Not because he’s apologising or because someone else did it first… because he loves me enough to notice.”
Max couldn’t breathe properly.
He hadn’t known.
He really hadn’t known.
He thought you meant it when you said you didn’t care about birthdays, anniversaries, flowers, or all the romantic things he had always been bad at. He had thought that was part of what made you you. Unbothered by the kind of performative relationship stuff he had never known how to do properly.
The conversation ended a few minutes later.
He heard the soft rustle of sheets then your footsteps moving across the bedroom floor. Max reacted too late, still trapped in the weight of what he had heard and only barely managed to step back into the hallway before you came out.
You stopped when you saw him.
For one awful second, neither of you said anything and then he smiled and wrapped you in a hug pretending like he hadn’t heard a word.
That night Max sat alone in the dark of the living room for a long time, head in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t bring himself to do anything except sit there in the silence and let every word he had overheard replay in his head until it felt carved into him.
He kept hearing your voice.
“to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
He pressed the heels of his hands harder against his eyes.
God.
How many moments had you swallowed your disappointment before he could even notice it was there, dimming yourself down just to be easier to love?
It gutted him.
You hadn’t asked him for the world. You hadn’t asked him to become someone he wasn’t. You only wanted to feel considered. Somehow he had made the best thing in his life feel like she had to be grateful for whatever was left of him at the end of the day.
You deserved fireworks, even if you were the kind of girl who said she didn’t need them. You didn’t want more from him. You just wanted to matter enough for him to give it anyway.
You didn’t expect anything to change.
Max was always kind, attentive in the ways he knew how to be. He noticed when you were cold and passed you his hoodie without making a big thing of it. He reached for your hand in crowded places because he liked knowing exactly where you were. He remembered how you took your coffee, which side of the bed you preferred, the shows you put on when you needed background noise. He loved you. You knew he did.
So when he suggested you take a weekend off together “Somewhere quiet, just us” you didn’t overthink it. You figured he wanted to disappear for a couple of days, somewhere without cameras, team radios, sponsor obligations, or someone asking him about tyre degradation.
It wasn’t until you stepped onto the lakeside dock in Switzerland that you realised something was different.
The cottage was small but charming, tucked away by the water with warm wood walls, soft cream blankets, and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the whole place glow with the late afternoon light. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t the kind of place chosen to impress anyone, it felt private, thoughtful, almost painfully intimate.
Inside there were your favourite snacks arranged in the kitchen. Your favourite wine chilling in the fridge. Your comfort blanket folded over the armchair by the window. Your favourite book was already resting on the bedside table, the old, worn copy you had once told him you reread whenever your head felt too loud.
You frowned, turning slowly back to him. “Did you… did you set this up?”
Max leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, trying for casual and not quite managing it. “Maybe.”
You narrowed your eyes, sceptical. “What’s going on?”
His smirk softened a little. He just looked at you and there was something unusually careful in his expression, something that made your chest tighten before he had even said a word.
“I listened,” he said.
You blinked. Max glanced down briefly, like the words felt awkward in his mouth, but when he looked back up he didn’t look away again.
“I didn’t realise how much I’d taken for granted,” he continued quietly. “How much you gave by never asking. You made it easy for me, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve stopped trying.”
Your throat tightened.
“Max…”
“No, let me say it,” he murmured, taking a small step closer. “You always said things were fine. That you didn’t need flowers, or birthdays, or plans, or all the extra stuff and I believed you because it was easier because it meant I didn’t have to think about whether you were only saying it so I wouldn’t feel bad.”
You swallowed hard, looking away before your face could betray too much.
He walked you further inside, his hand warm at the small of your back, and that was when you noticed the little table by the window. It had been set for two, facing the lake as the sun began to lower behind the mountains. Candlelight, flowers, two plates, homemade pasta that looked slightly lopsided and very clearly like his doing, and a little folded note beside your place.
You stared at it for a second before picking it up.
In his messy, all-caps handwriting, it said:
I SHOULD HAVE MADE YOU FEEL SPECIAL BEFORE NOW. I’M GOING TO DO BETTER.
Max’s face shifted immediately, concern cutting through the nervousness. “Schatje…”
You shook your head quickly trying to laugh it off, but your voice came out thin. “I wanted to be cool,” you whispered. “I wanted to be the girlfriend who didn’t care about all that stuff. I thought if I asked for too much then I’d just become another pressure for you.”
Max stepped closer and cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped out despite your best efforts.
“You are the most important person in my life,” he murmured. “You always are.” His voice dropped softer, rougher. “I wish I could give you the world and I’m sorry it took me this long to show it.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, at the nervous set of his mouth and the careful way he held you, like he understood now that easiness was not the same thing as not needing anything.
Then you finally kissed him.
Later that night you were curled against his chest with the fireplace crackling softly in the background, the cottage wrapped in that quiet, golden kind of warmth that made everything outside feel very far away.
Max had one arm around you, his hand resting beneath the hem of your sweater, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin.
You smiled into his shoulder, cheek pressed against the soft fabric as you listened to the steady beat of his.
“So,” you mumbled, voice sleepy but teasing, “is this a one-time gesture or…”
Max’s chest moved beneath you as he chuckled. “Oh no.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Oh no?”
“No,” he said, tightening his arm around you. “You’re getting so much romance now it’ll annoy you.”
You looked up at him trying and failing not to smile. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly, like he was discussing race strategy. “Really. I’m talking airport reunions. Flowers for no reason. Random poetry.”
“Poetry?” you repeated, laughing already.
“Bad poetry,” he corrected. “Very bad. Rhymes way too much.”
“Oh, God.”
“And a cheesy playlist,” he added, completely serious. “Maybe several. One for the car. One for when I’m away. One with songs you’ll make fun of me for.”
You laughed properly then, burying your face in his neck as warmth spread through your chest. It was never about the playlist, or the flowers, or whatever terrible poetry Max Verstappen might attempt in the name of love.
It was that he was thinking about it. That he had finally understood the difference between you not needing to be spoiled and you still deserving to be cherished.
Max turned his head and pressed a kiss into your hair. “I’m serious,” he murmured, quieter now. “I don’t want you wondering anymore.”
Your laughter softened. You lifted your face again, looking at him through the firelight. “Wondering what?”
“If I think about you,” he said. “If I notice. If I care enough to try.”
Your throat tightened, but this time the feeling wasn’t painful. Max brushed his thumb along your cheek. “I do,” he said. “I’ll show you better now.”
For a moment you just looked at him, then you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth before tucking yourself back against him.
“That sounds perfect.” you whispered, smiling against his neck.
Summary: Kimi Antonelli and YN Wolff have been friends forever and dating for just as long - nothing changes when he makes it to F1.
Requested: Yes / @n1kissingincarslover - maybe for kimi it’s x toto’s daughter and they’ve known eachother since they where 12 obvi since he’s known mercedes since then
Old Posts:
Instagram /
Posted 424 weeks ago:
liked by: lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, kimi.antonelli and 92,901 others
yn.wolff: Kimi won!!!
username: seeing this after kimi signed for Mercedes is insane btw
username: they were babies😭
kimi.antonelli: I won!! *424 weeks ago
username: look at them omg
username: Nobody was rooting harder for Kimi than YN
Instagram /
Posted 392 weeks ago:
liked by: yn.wolff, olliebearman and 92,901 others
kimi.antonelli: YN and Kimi take on Italy
username: LOOK AT THEM
username: they were two apples tall 😭
-> username: They're still two apples tall
yn.wolff: Had the best day ever with you!! *392 weeks ago
username: SCREAMING!!!
Instagram /
Posted 215 weeks ago:
liked by: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, lewishamilton and 102,901 others
yn.wolff: It's my birthday !!!
username: happy birthday!! *215 weeks ago
username: Their old posts keep coming up on my tl and I'm sobbing
username: omg the set up, your mum and dad love you *215 weeks ago
-> username: They do but this was all Kimi actually!! *215 weeks ago
-> username: sorry he did all that and they're NOT together?? *215 weeks ago
username: my favs 😭
kimi.antonelli: Buon compleanno caro!! *215 weeks ago
-> yn.wolff: Love you!!! *215 weeks ago
-> username: BABY YN AND BABY KIMI WERE SO CUTE OMG!!
Instagram /
Posted 205 weeks ago:
liked by: kimi.antonelli, yn.wolff and 4,792,901 others
totowolffofficial: A successful weekend
username: Did anyone see Toto telling yn and kimi off bc they snuck off😭 *205 weeks ago
username: This coming up on my fyp just before the 2025 season
username: YN jumping onto Kimi's back when he won 😭 They're gonna be iconic when he makes it to f1 *205 weeks ago
username: I love seeing this in 2025 and reading the lore on kimiyn growing up
Instagram /
Posted 77 weeks ago:
liked by: lewishamilton, kimi.antonelli, nicorosberg and 192,901 others
yn.wolff: Happy Birthday to my most favourite person in the world!! I love you!!
username: HAPPY BDAY KIMI *77 weeks ago
username: stop they were so cute
username: THE CAKE??? *77 weeks ago
username: Oh so they've just always been in love
kimi.antonelli: Grazie, amore mio, non vedo l'ora di festeggiare con te! *77 weeks ago
-> username: STOP 😭 he said he can't wait to celebrate with her!! they were adorable back then *77 weeks ago
-> username: pls never pr train my fav couple *77 weeks ago
username: THEY DO KIMI FUNKOS?? *77 weeks ago
-> yn.wolff: lol no I got it custom made *77 weeks ago
username: obsessed with the fact they go all out for each others bday
2025 Season:
Instagram /
liked by: georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, yn.wolff and 4,792,901 others
mercedesamgf1: Breaking: Andrea Kimi Antonelli to race for Mercedes from 2025
username: as if some kid is replacing the GOAT
-> yn.wolff: 'sOmE kId' stfu
-> mercedesamgf1: YN, please, we've spoken about this
-> username: OH F1 IS NOT READY FOR THIS
-> username: who is she??
-> username: she's toto's kid and Kimi's best friend and she will fight everyone that talks shit about Kimi
username: im not hating yet
-> yn.wolff: Better never start hating
username: Stupid ass decision
-> yn.wolff: Shut up
-> username: I LOVE HER
username: YN fighting every hate comment im acc obsessed
yn.wolff: YES THERE IS THE FUTURE WDC!!
-> kimi.antonelli: In the comments but won't text me back
-> yn.wolff: I'm busy hyping you up omg
-> kimi.antonelli: Grazie 😐 Now text me back.
-> username: Mercedes I'm begging you don't media train them !!
username: the next post is gonna be merc releasing an apology statement for yn
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, nicorosberg, georgerussell63 and 792,901 others
yn.wolff: Race weekends just got even better because KIMI ANTONELLI IS AN F1 DRIVER!!!
username: When I show up to a 'who's kimi Antonelli's biggest fan' competition and YN's already there 🚶🏼♀️🚶🏼♀️🚶🏼♀️ *liked by yn.wolff
username: people that only watch f1 and haven't watched kimi advance through the ranks aren't ready for the carnage that is kimiyn
kimi.antonelli: let's goooooo!!
username: as somebody who has been here since they were 15 I have been waiting SO LONG for this!!
Twitter /
Instagram /
liked by: yn.wolff, georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 4,792,901 others
mercedesamgf1: Solid weekend from the team, bring on the next race where we will be doubling the size of our photography team.
username: sorry how many team photographers do they have and she used him💀
username: he was nearly late because he can't say no to her
-> mercedesamgf1: We really wish he would
-> username: kimiyn: a pr headache
username: Honestly I thought that f1gossip was just lying but ummmmm apparently not 😭😭
Instagram Story /
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, lando, georgerussell63 and 1,092,901 others
yn.wolff: Who needs a professional photographer when you've been training your own personal one since you were twelve 🤷🏻♀️
username: I’m actually in love with how she has no shame
username: i mean they got told off but damn she looks good
username: Jesus she really has trained him I wish my bf took pictures this good of me
-> username: wait until you find out they’re not dating
-> username: WHAT
-> username: YOUTE LYING OMG
-> username: wtf do you mean they’re not dating??
-> username: I can’t tell you how much I love breaking this news to the new kimiyn fans 😭 so basically her and Kimi have been friends since they were like 12 cos obvs Kimi was in the junior program and Toto wanted him, blah blah blah since they met KIMIYN have been joined at the hip and have given Toto and the media team a headache ever since
-> username; I’m sorry I actually can’t believe this like ??? They post each other in pretty much every post, I don’t even post my own bf this much and then every time he was shown on sky sports this weekend she was there😭😭
-> username: you think you’re suffering?? Some of us have been here since they were 15 😭😭
kimi.antonelli: f1 driver ❌ yn's personal photographer ✔️
-> yn.wolff: We both know which gig you prefer
-> mercedesamgf1: Yes we do YN, the one were he represents his team to the highest standard
-> username: i know their pr team hates them
kimi.antonelli: Easy to be good at photography when the model is as beautiful as you
-> yn.wolff: You weren’t saying that after my dad shouted at us
-> username: what did he say
-> yn.wolff: he started ranting in Italian about how my instagram account is not the most important thing, i disagreed but stayed quiet bc he gets VERY Italian when he’s stressed
-> username: WTF DO YOU MEAN THEYRE BOT DATING??
-> username: listen man I love my friends but wtf did I just read
Twitter /
Instagram Story /
Instagram /
liked by: yn.wolff, georgerussell63 and 2,792,901 others
kimi.antonelli: P7 in the sprint, P6 in the race! Brilliant weekend in China, ready for more!
username: sorry??? He got points and two out of four of the posts have yn in it
-> username: actually obsessed with them omg
username: I hate these two wtf
username: KIMI GOT POINTS AGAIN!!!
-> yn.wolff: KIMI GOT POINTS AGAIN!!!
-> username: HELLO??
username: not dating my arse
mercedesamgf1: That’s our rookie 🤩
-> yn.wolff: More importantly that’s MY rookie 😍
-> username: admin just sighed so hard
-> mercedesamgf1: So hard.
username: matching outfits and they’re not together????
yn.wolff: 6TH IN THE WDC, THAT’S MY CHAMPION RIGHT THERE
-> username: obsessed with her
-> kimi.antonelli: Grazie tesoro mio
-> username: MY DARLING?????
Texts /
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, lewishamilton and 1,792,901 others
yn.wolff: They're trying to media train your favourite driver and your favourite wag
username: don’t media train them !!
username: SORRY DID SHE JUST SAY SHE IS A WAG
username: they’re not dating surely
username: WAG???? AS IN KIMI’S WAG?? AS IN KIMI’S GIRLFIREND?!?!?
username: this is not how she tells us
username: guys calm down, it’s just cos we call her a wag all the time
username: this is the most yn way to go public I hate her so so much
kimi.antonelli: And who’s fault is it that we need media training?
-> yn.wolff: I’m going to be the bigger person and say it’s both of our faults
-> kimi.antonelli: 🙄
-> username: she has a point, if I know anything about these two it’s that he is incapable of saying no to her
-> yn.wolff: @/username: the people get it 😌
-> kimi.antonelli: Please do not encourage her
username: kimi really said 🧍🏻♂️🧍🏻♂️
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1 and 1,792,901 others
yn.wolff: Welcome to Miami
username: her posting the most couple ass looking post despite them not being together is crazy work
kimi.antonelli: Best day with you
username: obsessed with them omg
username: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THYERE NOT DATING
mercedesamgf1: YN, please bring our driver back
-> yn.wolff: He was mine first
-> mercedesamgf1: Actually he joined the Mercedes junior program before he was yours, so bring him back
-> yn.wolff: Fine 😤
-> username: mercedes confirming kimi is hers wtf
Instagram /
liked by: maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63 and 2,092,901 others
yn.wolff: KIMI ANTONELLI IS ON THE PODIUM!! THAT'S MY GUY!!
username: nobody is happier for kimis p3 than yn
username: the least deserving driver
-> yn.wolff: Just cause your fav can’t get on the podium
-> username: I love her
-> username: yes she can fight when it comes to kimi
-> mercedesamgf1: YN, we are all exceptionally proud of kimi but let’s tone it down a bit please
-> yn.wolff: No.
-> mercedesamgf1: Thursday, 8am, media training
-> yn.wolff: Free me from this hell
-> georgerussell63: Ah, this explains the text I just got.
-> yn.wolff: What text🤨
-> georgerussell63: You’re watching the race from my side of the garage next week.
-> yn.wolff: @/mercedesamgf1 seriously!!!???
-> mercedesamgf1: It’s for the good of everyone
-> yn.wolff: Not to play THAT card but do you know who I am? I'm texting my dad rn
-> mercedesamgf1: Hate to break it to you but the orders came from Toto
-> yn.wolff: Betrayed by my own dad😔
-> username: wtf is this whole exchange
kimi.antonelli: Grazie, amore mio!
-> username: he calls her my love and we’re just supposed to believe they’re childhood friends 🙄
username: kimi podium and a date post, what a weekend
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, lando and 2,792,901 others
yn.wolff: My guy DNF'ed
username: LMAOOOO
username: im dead yn have some sympathy please
kimi.antonelli: I would be lost without your support 🙄
-> yn.wolff: I got you ice cream
-> kimi.antonelli: you spent an hour crying over how proud you were off Lando
-> yn.wolff: Yes?
-> lando: thats my girl *liked by yn.wolff
username: poor kimi:((
username: Silverstone was brutal this year but damn did she look good
-> kimi.antonelli: The only highlight
-> mercedesamgf1: Tuesday. 8 am.
username: awww kimi:((
username: I know the captions is jokes but you just know she looked after him so good
username: NOT THAT PICTURE YN
Texts /
Instagram /
liked by: lando, lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 4,792,901 others
kimi.antonelli: My favourite place is wherever she is 🤍
username: OMG
username: WAIT IT’S FINALLY HAPPENED OMG
username: crazy that it’s 6am and he posts this like it’s normal
-> yn.wolff: @/username: Imagine my surprise waking up at 7am and seeing this like its normal 😧
-> kimi.antonelli: Me posting my girl? Check my instagram, seems pretty normal to me
-> username: the way he’s not even wrong, yn is in more of his post than she’s not 💀
yn.wolff: ‘mY fAvoUriTe pLacE iS WhErEveR sHe Is?’ Yeah then why did I wake up alone this morning
-> username: ohhhhh I love this
-> username: we thought they were unhinged before, I can already hear Mercedes pr team crying
-> kimi.antonelli: I was getting you breakfast 🙄
yn.ln: Oh ok
-> yn.wolff: we’re doing this then
-> yn.wolff: I want it noted this was entirely kimi’s doing for when we’re inevitably dragged into my dads office
-> username: obsessed with all of this btw
-> username: I well had all my bets on yn being the one to hard launch them wtf
username: I MEAN WE KNEW THEY WERE TOGETHER BUT HOLY SHIT WHAT IS HAPPENING
lewishamilton: Happy for you two kids!
-> yn.wolff: Love you, Lew!!
-> username: I always forget lewis has known yn since she was a kid
mercedesamgf1: We’ll see you in the media training meeting on Monday.
-> yn.wolff: don’t be a hater admin:((
-> username: never media train the best couple in f1
yn.wolff: I love you so much, you’re my most favourite person ever 🥰
-> kimi.antonelli: ti amo, bella
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, lando, nicorosberg and 4,792,901 others
yn.wolff: Then & Now...my best friend, the man I've loved since we were fourteen, I love you more than anything
username: iM CRYING
mercedesamgf1: You know what? We’re just gonna pretend we didn’t see this one.
-> username: kimiyn is a pr nightmare, you just know they run nothing past the team
username: wait stop that’s so cute, they’ve been together since they were 14 😭
-> username: they’re the reason I believe in love omg
kimi.antonelli: Mia bellissima ragazza, sei la luce della mia vita. Ti amerò per sempre. (*see translation: ‘My beautiful girl, you are the light of my life. I will love you forever.)
-> yn.wolff: 🥰🥰
username: im screaming omg this is everything
maxverstappen1: Happy for you both
username: quick every one pretend to be shocked
georgerussell63: It’s about time
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, lando and 4,792,901 others
yn.wolff: Meet Oliver Bearman, my boyfriend's boyfriend.
username: iconic I love them
olliebearman: stay jealous
-> yn.wolff: hope your car stops working xoxo
-> mercedesamgf1: YN….
-> yn.wolff: Yeah yeah I know the drill
-> kimi.antonelli: Don’t worry amore, you’re still my favourite
-> olliebearman: thank you Kimi☺️
-> yn.wolff: @/olliebearman Crash
-> mercedesamgf1: YN!
-> yn.wolff: Worth it
-> username: wtf just happened??
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, yn.wolff, lando and 7,792,901 others
georgerussell63: Do you really want to talk about third wheeling, @/yn.wolff?
username: didn’t expect George to get involved
username: obsessed with the fact that they just hang out with George
-> username: I always forget that YN’s just been with the grid since she was a kid
username: HELLO??
username: George is sick of them
username: them flipping George off😭
yn.wolff: You’re not third wheeling, you’re just our chaperone
-> kimi.antonelli: Toto said we ‘can’t be trusted to get to our obligations on our own’
-> georgerussell63: I did not sign up for unpaid childcare
-> yn.wolff: Perks of the job 👍🏻
-> georgerussell63: Can’t wait for contract negotiations I’m making you two stay far away from me
-> mercedesamgf1: They’re your problem now 😌
username: SCREAMING
username: George might do the swap with red bull just to get away from kimiyn😭😭
summary: lando always says that yn russell is his future wife. the entire paddock thinks he's just joking, but he's not. wc: 6k + social media posts
folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!! FINALLY !! i loved writing lovesick puppy lando so so much and i really hope you love him too. PLEASE SEND YOUR FEEDBACK AND LEAVE A REBLOG !
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 206,378 others
yn.russell silverstone race weekends always hit different 🥹 big bro starting front row tomorrow and i couldn’t be prouder LETS GOOOO
view all comments
username1 the most iconic russell
username2 COME ON RUSSELL NATION
landonorris excuse me why didn’t you include a picture of your future husband here ??
↳ yn.russell lando your delusions are talking again
↳ username1 hey he ALWAYS does this
↳ username2 lando and yn’s banter will never get old
carmenmmundt Love you both ❤️
username3 LANDO BEING ANNOYING IN THIS COMMENT SECTION AS ALWAYS
charles_leclerc I see homeboy trying to shoot his shot again
↳ landonorris what are you talking about? we’ll get married
↳ yn.russell LANDO STOP 😭
username4 she’s the real paddock princess
username5 lando really said fake it till you make it
username6 GEORGIE BOY DID IT
georgerussell63 Love you so much little one 🤍 Also Lando, she’s still my sister
↳ landonorris and? she’s my girl 😍
↳ yn.russell STOP
liked by yn.russell, maxverstappen1 and 986,409 others
landonorris honey i’m hooooome 🇬🇧😘 picture by my favorite girl @/yn.russell
view all comments
username1 LANDOOOOO
username2 the papaya hat is killing me
username3 CALLING LITTLE RUSSELL HIS GIRL AS ALWAYS
mclaren Papaya forever 🧡
username4 manifesting lando and yn wedding
carlossainz55 Just wait until George finds you cabron
↳ landonorris he knows she’s my future wife
↳ georgerussell63 I HATE YOU
username5 DYING AT THIS COMMENT SECTION LANDO YOU HAVE NO SHAME
username6 lando and yn are my favorite platonic lovers (actually there’s nothing platonic about them we all know it)
username7 SO BOYFRIEND CODED
yn.russell lando i need you to look at me when i tell you this…
↳ landonorris yes i do darling 😍
↳ georgerussell63 I’m literally never letting you two fly together again
↳ username1 IM WHEEZING
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
You're lounging in George's motorhome at the track, scrolling through your phone while he reviews data with Alex. Carmen is perched on the sofa beside you, both of you sharing occasional knowing looks at the boys' intense focus on lap times.
"Oh, by the way," you say casually, not looking up from your phone, "I won't be around for dinner tonight. Got a date."
The effect is immediate. George's head snaps up from the screen, Alex nearly drops his water bottle, and Carmen tries (and fails) to hide her amused smile.
"A date?" George's protective brother mode activates instantly. "With who?"
"That new marketing guy from McLaren," you reply, finally glancing up. "Jacob. You know, the one I was talking to at the paddock party last week?"
"The tall blonde one?" Alex pipes up, earning himself a sharp look from George.
"Not helping, mate," George mutters.
"He seems nice," Carmen offers diplomatically, though there's something knowing in her expression that you can't quite read.
"Speaking of nice," Alex says with a poorly concealed grin, "should we tell Lando? You know, since he's been planning your wedding since 2018 and all."
The friendship between you and Lando dates back to karting days, when you'd tag along with George to races. You were fourteen when you first met a tiny, curly-haired Lando who immediately declared you were "pretty cool for a girl." Despite George's protective big brother routine, you and Lando became inseparable during race weekends.
The marriage jokes started right when Lando was making his F2 debut. You were both hanging out in the paddock when he suddenly announced, "When we get married, our wedding colors have to be papaya orange. Because I know I'll drive for Mclaren"
"Bold of you to assume I'd marry you, Norris," you'd laughed.
"Please, you love me," he'd grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Plus, I've already told my mum you're the one. Can't disappoint her now, darling."
That was the first time he called you darling, but it certainly wasn't the last. Over the years, the pet names multiplied - love, sweetheart, future wife - each one delivered with that characteristic Lando grin that somehow managed to be both cheeky and endearing.
But at the end of the day, he was Lando. And it was all jokes.
"He's probably too busy planning our honeymoon in papaya-colored paradise to care about my actual dating life," you said, trying to sound casual.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carmen murmurs, just as the door bursts open.
Lando's characteristic energy walks in, his curls slightly messy from his helmet. "Hello lads! Future wife," he grins, making his way over and dramatically flopping onto the couch, his head landing in your lap like it's his designated spot.
"Comfortable?" you ask dryly, but your hand automatically goes to his curls.
"Very," he beams up at you. "Why's everyone looking so serious though? Did George finally realize his neck's too long?"
"Ha ha," George deadpans, while Carmen tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.
"Little Russell was just telling us she's got a date tonight," Alex announces, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.
Lando sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you. "A what now?"
"A date," you repeat, watching as his face does a complicated journey before settling on forced nonchalance. "With Jacob from marketing."
"McLaren Jacob?" Lando's voice goes up an octave. "My Jacob?"
"He's not your Jacob," you roll your eyes. "And yes, that Jacob."
"The one who still can't figure out how to work the coffee machine?" Lando scoffs, repositioning himself to face you properly. "Come on, darling, you can do better than that. What happened to our sacred Friday night FIFA tournaments?"
"Sacred?" George snorts. "Is that what you call screaming at the TV when she beats you?"
"Oi, whose side are you on?" Lando throws a nearby cushion at George. "Besides, I let her win. Can't have my girl crying, can I?"
"Your girl?" you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his words.
"Obviously," he grins, but there's something slightly off about it. "Who else is going to fulfill my mum's dreams of having you as a daughter-in-law?"
"I'm sure Jacob would love to hear about these marriage plans," Alex teases, earning himself a glare from Lando.
"He better watch himself," Lando mutters, then louder, "Where's he taking you anyway? Probably somewhere boring like that chain restaurant near the factory."
"Actually," you say, "he's taking me to that new rooftop place in town."
"The one I said we should try?" Lando looks genuinely offended now. "That's just... that's just rude, love. I called dibs on taking you there."
"When exactly did you call dibs?" Carmen asks innocently.
"In my head," Lando protests. "This is not fair."
You poke his side. "Jealous, Norris?"
"Of course I am," he says, and for a moment, his voice loses its playful edge. "Can't have someone stealing my future wife away. We've got plans, remember? House in Surrey, three kids, dog named Fernando..."
"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" you laugh.
"Been planning our future since I was fourteen, love," he grins, but there's something soft in his eyes. "Now, would you cancel on Jacob and have a proper movie night with your future husband instead?"
"Still not your wife, Lando," you remind him.
"Not yet," he corrects, "But I'm a patient man, darling."
"Okay this is getting weird," Alex chimes in, "Lando, we're leaving. Little Russell, have fun on your date."
"Right," Lando stands up, but his usual bouncy energy seems subdued. "Have fun with boring Jacob. But just remember," he points at you with mock seriousness, though something flickers in his eyes, "I'm not giving up without a fight. Can't let some marketing guy steal the love of my life, can I?"
"The love of your life?" you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heart skips.
"Since karting, darling," he winks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, Alex, let's leave the Russell siblings to their protective brother-sister chat."
As soon as the door closes behind them, Carmen turns to you with raised eyebrows. "You really have that boy pining over you, you know that right?"
"Oh please," you wave her off, though your cheeks feel warm. "We're just joking around. We've been doing this since forever."
"Sure, sister, sure," George snorts, exchanging a knowing look with Carmen. "Because every guy I know plans out their future house in Surrey with their 'joke' wife."
"And names their future dog Fernando," Carmen adds.
"It's just Lando being Lando," you insist, but you can't help glancing at the door where he'd disappeared. "He jokes like this with everyone."
"Really?" Carmen leans forward. "Because I've never heard him call anyone else 'the love of his life' or 'darling' or plan out their wedding colors."
"Or look like someone kicked his puppy when they mention going on a date with someone else," George adds.
"You're both reading way too much into this," you say, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I have to go get ready for my date with Jacob."
"The date that Lando looked absolutely thrilled about," George mutters under his breath.
You pretend not to hear him as you leave, trying to ignore the way Lando's slightly hurt expression keeps playing in your mind.
Because it's all jokes. And he's just Lando.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 211,984 others
yn.russell great great night 😙
view all comments
username1 OMGG LITTLE RUSSELL
username2 she's so pretty its not fair
flonorris1 we need to catch up 👀
username3 HUHH DID LANDO FINALLY ASK HER OUT
username4 how did george allow her to go on a date
charles_leclerc Oblivious little baby russell
↳ yn.russell ?
↳ username1 EXPLAIN
iamrebeccad Prettiest girl 😍
jacob___ ❤️
↳ yn.russell 😘
↳ georgerussell63 I'm watching...
↳ username1 IM YELLING
↳ username2 WHATS GOING ONNN
landonorris the prettiest girl in the world and my future wife idc idc
↳ username1 lando have some class ffs
↳ yn.russell ENOUGH
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by carmenmmundt, jacob__ and 229,836 others
yn.russell snaps from the summer break 💙 happy happy
view all comments
username1 AN ICON
username2 i wish i was this pinterest feed coded
carmenmmundt Love you my girl !
username3 HOLD ON. THE SECOND PICTURE
username4 did she just soft launch 👀👀
username5 LITTLE RUSSELL HAS A BOYFRIEND ?????
username6 if her bf is not lando we don’t want it
alex_albon i know someone who’s NOT going to like this
landonorris my darling 😍😍 do u miss me as much as i miss youuuu?
↳ username1 HES SHAMELESS
↳ yn.russell STOP THIS MADNESS
georgerussell63 I know a lot of ways to make a crash look accidental
↳ yn.russell you’re literally not intimidating anyone BYE
↳ username1 SO SHE DOES HAVE A BF
jacob__ ❤️
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The sun is surprisingly bright as you make your way through the Zandvoort paddock, dodging various team personnel rushing around for Thursday preparations. The summer break was finally over and it was time for race cars again. You're just turning the corner when you hear a familiar voice.
"There's my darling!" Lando calls out, jogging over with his signature grin. "Thought you'd forgotten about your future husband during the break."
Before you can respond, he's pulled you into a tight hug. You catch a whiff of his familiar cologne, the one he's worn since F2, and automatically hug him back.
"How was your summer?" he asks, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he starts walking with you. "Did you miss me terribly? Cry yourself to sleep thinking about our FIFA rematch?"
"Actually," you start, feeling unexpectedly nervous, "I've got some news."
"Oh?" His eyes light up. "Did George finally admit his neck is abnormally long? Because I've been saying—"
"Jacob and I are officially together," you cut in quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. "Like, properly together. Boyfriend and girlfriend."
Lando's step falters slightly, his arm dropping from your shoulders. "What?"
"Yeah," you continue, fiddling with your paddock pass. "We kept seeing each other after that first date, and during the break... it just got serious."
"Serious?" His voice sounds strange. "How serious? When did this— why am I just finding out about this?"
"We wanted to keep it quiet at first, you know? But he talked to the higher-ups at McLaren today about dating someone connected to another team, and they're cool with it, so..." you trail off, watching his face carefully.
"Cool with it," he repeats slowly. Then, visibly forcing his usual grin, "Well, that's... that's great, love. Really great. Though I have to say, my mum will be devastated. She was really counting on those papaya-themed grandchildren."
But his joke falls flat, lacking its usual warmth. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Lando—"
"No, really," he cuts in, running a hand through his curls. "I'm happy for you. Even if he is rubbish at making coffee. And boring. And probably doesn't even know your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, or that you secretly love watching those terrible reality shows, or that you—" he stops himself, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Good for you. Both of you."
You're about to respond when his race engineer calls him over.
"Duty calls," he says, already backing away. "But hey, tell Jacob he better treat my future wife right. Even if she's... not actually my future wife anymore."
He tries to wink, but it looks more like a flinch. Before you can say anything else, he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the paddock with an inexplicable heaviness in your chest.
But you immediately brush it off. Because at the end of the day, he's just Lando.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,504 others
yn.russell making it official 🤍 @/jacob___
view all comments
username1 OH?
username2 YALL HE WORKS FOR MCLAREN ??
username3 what happened to lando ?? the marriage proposal??
georgerussell63 About time you stopped sneaking around 🙄
↳ yn.russell shut up old man
↳ carlossainz55 Protective brother mode activated
carmenmmundt You guys look so cute! ❤️
↳ yn.russell love you xxx
alex_albon Well this is going to be interesting 👀
↳ landonorris mate.
↳ alex_albon what? I said nothing
username4 But what about Lando?? 😭 They were literally perfect together
usernsme5 nooo my ship is sinking
username6 the way lando looks at her tho…
jacob___❤️
↳ yn.russell 🤍
landonorris i guess i need to find a new future wife then 🤷♂️ applications open x
↳ danielricciardo i volunteer as tribute mate
↳ landonorris sorry mate you're not george's sister
↳ carlossainz55 You okay there buddy?
↳ yn.russell don't worry, you'll always be my favorite husband-that-never-was x
↳ landonorris 💔
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
yn.russell has added to their stories
landonorris has replied to your story
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The Singapore night air is thick with humidity and celebration. The club's bass thrums through your bones as you watch Lando being congratulated for what feels like the hundredth time. He's practically glowing, champagne-drunk and victory-high, but something seems off about his smile.
"Babe, want another drink?" Jacob's voice pulls your attention back. His hand is possessively placed on your lower back, and you notice Lando's eyes flicker to it before he quickly looks away.
Across the VIP section, Alex nudges Charles, nodding towards where Lando is now aggressively stabbing at his ice with a straw.
"Subtle, mate," Alex smirks, sliding into the booth beside Lando. "Very subtle."
"Don't know what you're talking about," Lando mutters, but his eyes betray him, darting back to where Jacob is now whispering something in your ear.
"Ah, l'amour," Charles sighs dramatically. "It is painful, no?"
"Nothing's painful," Lando protests, straightening up. "I just won a Grand Prix, in case you forgot."
"And yet you look like someone stole your puppy," Alex points out.
"Or your future wife," Charles adds with a knowing look.
"She was never actually going to be my future wife," Lando says, but his voice lacks conviction. "It was just jokes. Always has been. She's George's sister, for fuck's sake."
"Right," Alex drawls. "So you wouldn't mind if I told you they're probably going to move in together soon?"
Lando chokes on his drink. "They're what?"
"He's joking," Charles quickly intervenes, shooting Alex a look. "But your reaction..."
"Means nothing," Lando insists, but his knuckles are white around his glass. "I just... I don't want her to rush into anything. As a friend. A protective friend. Who happens to be her brother's mate. And her future husband. But like, as a joke. Obviously."
"Obviously," Alex repeats dryly.
Suddenly, Charles straightens up. "Where did they go?"
The spot where you and Jacob were standing is empty. Lando's eyes scan the crowd, something uneasy settling in his stomach.
"Probably just getting more drinks," he says, but he's already standing up.
"Lando..." Alex starts.
"I just need some air," Lando cuts him off, making his way through the crowd.
The corridor leading to the outdoor area is quieter, the music muffled. That's when he hears raised voices.
"You're being ridiculous," Jacob's voice is sharp. "I was just talking to her."
"With your hand on her waist?" Your voice sounds tired. "While I was right there?"
"Oh, so I can't even network now? That's literally my job, YN. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, since you're only here because of your brother."
Lando's feet move before his brain catches up.
"Everything alright out here?" His voice is deliberately light, but there's steel underneath.
"Fine," Jacob snaps. "Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend."
"Doesn't sound very private," Lando steps closer to you instinctively. "Or very pleasant."
"This doesn't concern you, Norris."
"See, that's where you're wrong, mate," Lando's usual playful demeanor is gone. "YN's wellbeing always concerns me. Future wife contract, remember? Legally binding and all that."
"We're still doing that joke?" Jacob scoffs. "Bit pathetic, don't you think?"
"Not as pathetic as hitting on sponsors' daughters while your girlfriend watches," Lando retorts, then softer, to you: "You okay, darling?"
The familiar pet name makes your chest tight. "I'm fine, Lando."
"Great, she's fine," Jacob moves to grab your arm. "Let's go."
"Touch her like that again," Lando's voice is deadly quiet, "and you'll be looking for a new marketing job. Might want to learn how the coffee machine works first though."
Jacob looks between you and Lando, jaw clenched. "Whatever. This is bullshit anyway. Call me when you're done playing happy families with your brother's friend."
He storms off, leaving you and Lando in charged silence.
"So," Lando finally says, attempting his usual lightness, "does this mean I can keep the dog name Fernando?"
You let out a watery laugh, and without thinking, he pulls you into a hug. You fit against him like you always have, his cologne familiar and comforting.
"My darling," he murmurs into your hair, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't call you that anymore."
You pull back slightly to look at him. "You've been calling me that since we were teenagers."
"Yeah, well," he gives you a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "things change, don't they?"
The way he's looking at you makes your heart stutter. Has he always looked at you like that?
"Is he always like this?" Lando asks quietly, still holding you close. His usual playful tone is gone, replaced by something more serious than you're used to hearing from him.
"No, no," you shake your head quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Lando's brow furrows as he studies your face. "It's not— he's not usually... it was just a misunderstanding."
He's silent for a moment, his hands fidgeting like they always do when he's worried about something. "You'd tell me though, right? If he ever... if he's not good to you? Or tell George at least?"
"Of course," you try to smile reassuringly. "But really, today was just a bad night. Too much pressure, too much champagne..."
"YN," he cuts in, and the way he says your name instead of one of his usual pet names makes you look up at him. His eyes are intense, concerned. "Promise me."
"I promise," you say softly. "You're a great friend, Lando."
Something flickers across his face – so quick you almost miss it – before his signature grin returns, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Friend?" he scoffs, but his voice sounds slightly strained. "Future husband, remember? Can't have my darling dealing with drama alone. Bad for our future marriage prospects."
You laugh, and he joins in, but there's something heavy hanging in the air between you. Before either of you can say anything else, Alex's voice carries from the doorway.
"Found them! Everything okay out here?"
"Never better," Lando announces, stepping back and throwing an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease. But you notice how his smile doesn't quite match the one in all those podium photos from earlier. "Just reminding the future Mrs. Norris about our very legitimate marriage contract. Very binding. Legally waterproof and everything."
He's doing that thing he does when he's uncomfortable – talking too fast, jokes tumbling out one after another. But his hand squeezes your shoulder gently before he lets go, and you catch him glancing back at you as he bounces toward the club entrance, his "Let's celebrate my amazing win, shall we?" almost drowning out the sound of your heart beating too fast.
Alex watches the exchange with knowing eyes but mercifully says nothing, just offers his arm to escort you back inside.
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texts between george and yn
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 287,540 others
yn.russell british boy steps foot in mexico city and instantly thinks he's a local... who's gonna tell him
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username1 LANDO X LITTLE RUSSELL IS SO BACKKK
username2 he looks so cuute
username3 i know her bf is not going to like this
alex_albon he can't even keep tequila shots down. such a fake
↳ landonorris want to test that theory?
↳ charles_leclerc Poor little Lando Norris
username4 HELP SHES SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭
jacob___ 👀
↳ username1 i know he's JEALOUS
username5 the way yn's feed is like 60% lando
username6 MY PARENTS
landonorris why is my future wife so mean to me
↳ yn.russell LANDO
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Later that afternoon, you're sitting with Carmen in the Mercedes hospitality when George joins you, stealing a bite of your sandwich.
"Get your own food," you swat his hand away.
"Sharing is caring, little sis," he grins, then notices your expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," you say automatically, but Carmen raises an eyebrow.
"She's overthinking," Carmen supplies helpfully. "About Jacob."
"I'm not overthinking," you protest. "I'm just... thinking. Normal amounts of thinking."
"About?" George prompts.
You fidget with your paddock pass. "He wants me to meet his parents. After Abu Dhabi. Says it's time we got more serious."
George's expression shifts slightly. "And you want that?"
"I mean... yeah? I think so. It makes sense, right? We've been together for a few months now, things are good..."
"Are they?" Carmen asks gently.
"Of course they are," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. "The Singapore thing was just a one-off. He apologized. He's been really sweet since then."
"Sweet enough to make up for being a dick?" George mutters.
"George."
"Sorry, sorry," he holds up his hands. "Just... you don't sound very excited about meeting his parents."
"I am excited," you insist. "It's just... a big step."
"Not as big as naming your future dog Fernando," Carmen says under her breath.
You shoot her a warning look. "Can we not?"
"Not what?" George asks.
"Nothing," you say quickly. "Just... Carmen thinks I'm not fully committed because..."
"Because you still light up every time Lando calls you 'darling'?" Carmen finishes.
"That's not— he calls everyone darling."
"No, he doesn't," George and Carmen say in unison.
"I hate you both," you groan. "Look, Lando and I are friends. That's all we've ever been. The whole future wife thing is just our running joke."
"Sure," Carmen nods. "That's why he looks like someone kicked his puppy every time Jacob touches you."
"He does not—" you start, but stop when you catch sight of Lando walking past. He gives you a small wave and his signature grin, but something about it seems off.
"Doesn't what?" George prompts.
"Nothing," you shake your head. "I should go. Jacob's waiting for me."
As you leave, you hear Carmen say to George, "They're both idiots, aren't they?"
"Complete idiots," George agrees. "But at least they're consistent about it."
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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 298,605 others
yn.russell happy birthday to my favorite “future husband” 🎂 from stealing your caps in karting to stealing your FIFA records (still undefeated btw), you've somehow become one of my favorite people in this weird little world of ours. here's to many more years of terrible jokes, impromptu dance parties in the garage, and you pretending to let me win at everything (we both know I'm just better 😌). love you loads landolorian 🤍
ps: fernando the nonexistent dog says happy birthday to his future dad x
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username1 THIS IS TOO CUTE
username2 YOUR HONOR IM CRYING
landonorris still waiting for that marriage certificate darling 💍 also you definitely cheated at FIFA last time
↳ yn.russell sounds like someone's a sore loser
↳ landonorris sounds like someone's avoiding the marriage topic
↳ georgerussell63 get a room you two
↳ landonorris working on it mate
↳ username1 LANDO WTF
↳ username2 HE HAS NO SHAME
mclaren Happy Birthday @/landonorris! @/yn.russell when's the wedding?
↳ landonorris asking the real questions admin
↳ oscarpiastri I'll officiate
↳ landonorris DEAL
↳ yn.russell STOP IT
jacob___ 🙄
↳ landonorris problem mate?
↳ yn.russell boys.
↳ username3 THE TENSION
username4 why aren't they together yet??
username5 my heart can't take this anymore just date already
liked by username1, username2 and 3,976 others
f1.gossip Lando Norris and YN Russell spotted getting cozy at his birthday celebration last night. Swipe for more 👀
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username1 "just friends" my ass
username2 no because why does he look at her like she hung the stars
username3 wait where's jacob? 👀
↳ username1 apparently he left early...
↳ username2 he posted from a different party later that night
username4 george watching his best friend and his sister like 🧍♂️
↳ username1 he's been watching this slow burn for years poor man
username5 jacob watching these photos like 👁👄👁
username6 the way lando calls her darling more than her actual boyfriend does
username7 who's gonna tell jacob his girlfriend has better chemistry with lando in these photos than their entire instagram feed
username8 the "future wife" jokes don't seem so jokey anymore huh
username9 okay but can we talk about how she literally glows when she's around him?
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The afternoon sun filters through your apartment windows as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You're going out to dinner with Jacob - another fancy restaurant, another chance for him to network while you smile politely beside him.
A knock at your door makes you pause. Opening it reveals Lando, holding a bag of takeaway and what appears to be your favorite ice cream.
"Oh," he says, taking in your dress and heels. "You're going out."
"Yeah," you adjust your earring, but can't help smiling at the familiar sight of him with food. "With Jacob. Remember?"
"Right," his smile dims slightly. "The boyfriend. Must've slipped my mind." He holds up the bags. "I brought provisions for our traditional post-race debrief. You know, where you tell me how amazing I was and I pretend to be humble about it?"
You laugh despite yourself. "Since when are you ever humble?"
"I'm incredibly humble. The most humble. No one's more humble than me," he grins, then peers around you into the apartment. "But seriously, can't you reschedule? I got your favorite ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, because I'm the best future husband ever."
"Still going with that, are we?" you ask, turning back to the mirror to check your lipstick.
"Always, darling," he follows you in, setting the food down and flopping onto your couch like he owns it. "It's legally binding, remember? Can't disappoint my mum now."
"I can't tonight," you say, checking your phone. "Jacob said he has something important to tell me."
"The one who made you cry?" Lando's voice loses some of its playfulness.
"That was one time," you defend, though without heat. "And he apologized. He actually told me he loves me last week. Says he wants us to be serious."
Lando sits up straighter, his usual energetic demeanor momentarily stilled. "And do you? Love him?"
"You don't know anything about my relationship, Lando," you say, but it comes out softer than intended.
"I know you," he counters, standing up and moving to lean against the wall near your mirror. "I know you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at bad jokes. I know you secretly love those terrible reality shows but pretend you're 'just watching them ironically.' I know you stress-eat ice cream when George has a bad race."
"That's different," you say, but you're fighting a smile.
"Is it?" he challenges, but his tone is gentle. "Look, I just... I want you to be happy. Even if it means dealing with boring Jacob who still can't work the coffee machine."
"He figured it out last week, actually," you laugh.
"Finally! Only took him what, six months?" Lando grins, then sobers slightly. "But seriously, if he makes you happy..."
"He does," you say, though something in your chest tightens. "Most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, darling."
"Nobody's perfect."
"I am," he says immediately, making you laugh. "What? I'm just saying, our future children would have excellent genes. Plus, I make a mean cup of coffee."
Your phone buzzes - a text from Jacob asking where you are.
"I have to go," you say, grabbing your purse. "Lock up when you leave?"
"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "Abandon your future husband with melting ice cream. But just know, Fernando the dog is very disappointed in you."
"Still haven't given up on that name, huh?"
"Never," he grins, but something flickers in his eyes. "Save me some time this weekend? For proper FIFA revenge?"
"You mean so I can beat you again?"
"Excuse you, I let you win," he protests, following you to the door. "It's part of my long-term strategy."
"Which is?"
"Can't have my future wife thinking I'm bad at something, can I?" he winks. "Even though we both know I'm actually terrible at FIFA."
You shake your head, laughing. "Goodbye, Lando."
"Wait," he calls as you start down the hall. "Just... be happy, yeah? Even if it's with someone who took six months to learn how to make coffee."
"I am happy," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds more like a question than a statement.
"If you say so, darling," he says quietly. "But just remember, the Fernando name reservation is still valid. You know, in case the coffee-challenged boyfriend doesn't work out."
You roll your eyes but can't help smiling as you walk away, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to be arguing with your head about exactly what - or who - makes you happiest. Behind you, you can hear him humming what sounds suspiciously like the wedding march, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
Because at the end of the day, he's still Lando. Your Lando. Even if you're not quite ready to admit what that really means.
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liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,498 others
yn.russell last dinner date before heading back to the circus 🏎️ @/jacob___
username4 i feel like shit is about to hit the fan reaaaally soon
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"I just don't understand why you have to be there for every single race," Jacob's voice carries down the paddock corridor. "It's not like you're actually part of the team."
You're standing outside the McLaren hospitality, what started as a casual conversation having turned into yet another argument. "My brother races in F1, and Lando's one of my closest friends. Of course I'm going to be here."
"Right, Lando," Jacob scoffs. "Because God forbid you miss one of his races. Wouldn't want to disappoint your 'future husband.'"
"Don't do that," you say tiredly. "You know it's just a joke."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you'd rather spend time with him than support your actual boyfriend's career."
"Your career? I've been to every single marketing event you've asked me to attend. I've smiled and networked and played the perfect girlfriend."
"Perfect?" He laughs humorlessly. "You barely talk to any of the sponsors. You're too busy hanging out in the Mercedes garage or watching Lando's practice sessions."
"That's not fair—"
"You know what's not fair? Having a girlfriend who's more invested in other people's careers than mine."
"I didn't realize I was supposed to give up my entire life just because we're dating."
"Your entire life?" His voice rises. "You mean hanging around the paddock like some glorified fan?"
You step back like he's slapped you. "Is that what you think I am?"
"I think," he says coldly, "that you need to figure out what's more important - playing happy families with your brother's friends or having a real relationship with someone who's actually going somewhere in life."
"Hey!" A sharp voice cuts through the tension. George is standing there, face thunderous. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend," Jacob says stiffly.
"Doesn't sound very private to me," George steps closer, positioning himself slightly in front of you. "Or very respectful."
"George, it's fine," you start, but he cuts you off.
"No, it's not fine," he says, not taking his eyes off Jacob. "No one talks to my sister like that."
Jacob holds up his hands. "Look, this is between me and YN."
"Not anymore it's not," George's voice is dangerously calm. "I think you should leave."
For a moment, it looks like Jacob might argue, but something in George's expression makes him think better of it. "Whatever. Call me when you're ready to be a proper girlfriend."
As he walks away, George turns to you, his anger melting into concern. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," you say automatically, but your voice wavers.
"Come on," he wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward his driver room. "Let's talk."
Once inside, you sink onto the couch while George grabs two water bottles. "How long has he been talking to you like that?"
"It's not... it's not usually that bad," you say, fidgeting with the bottle label. "He's just stressed about work."
"That's not an excuse," George sits beside you. "Has he said things like this before? About you being just a fan?"
You stay quiet, which is answer enough.
"YN," George's voice softens. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it's embarrassing," you admit quietly. "He's right, isn't he? I am just hanging around because of you."
"Stop," George says firmly. "You've been part of this world since we were kids. You understand racing better than half the people in the paddock. Hell, you probably know more about tire strategies than some of the engineers."
You manage a small laugh. "Only because you never shut up about them."
"Exactly," he grins, then turns serious again. "Look, being here isn't just about me. It's your life too. You've built relationships with everyone here. Carmen loves you, Alex considers you a little sister, and Lando..."
"Don't," you cut him off. "Please don't bring Lando into this."
George studies you for a moment. "Why not? He's your best friend."
"Because..." you trail off, not sure how to explain the complicated mix of emotions that surface whenever Lando's name comes up lately.
"Because Jacob's jealous of him?" George suggests gently.
"He's not... it's not like that."
"Isn't it?" George raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like your boyfriend has a problem with how close you are to someone who's been in your life a lot longer than he has."
"Lando and I are just friends," you say, but the words feel hollow.
"Are you?" George asks softly. "Because friends don't look at each other the way you two do. Friends don't have elaborate future plans including dogs named Fernando. Friends don't get that look in their eyes when the other person is dating someone else."
"George..."
"I'm just saying," he continues, "maybe Jacob isn't entirely wrong to be jealous. Just... wrong about everything else."
You're quiet for a moment, processing. "I don't know what to do."
"Yes, you do," George says simply. "You just need to be honest with yourself about what - or who - actually makes you happy."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?" He challenges. "Because from what I just heard, Jacob doesn't make you happy. He makes you feel small. And my little sister," he squeezes your shoulder, "deserves someone who makes her feel like she could take on the world."
"Someone like Lando?" You ask quietly.
"I didn't say that," George grins. "But now that you mention it..."
You shove him playfully. "Shut up."
"Make me," he laughs, then sobers. "Seriously though, YN. You deserve better than someone who makes you question your place here. This is your home too."
You lean your head on his shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise. I'm the older sibling, remember?"
"By like two years!"
"Still counts," he says smugly, then adds more seriously, "Just... promise me you'll think about what I said? About being honest with yourself?"
"I promise," you say softly, even as your mind drifts to a certain curly-haired driver who's probably wondering where you are for your traditional pre-race FIFA tournament.
"Good," George stands up. "Now, want to go watch Lando absolutely butcher his quali prep? I heard he's still convinced he can take turn 3 flat out."
You laugh, letting him pull you up. "Some things never change, do they?"
"Nope," George agrees, but there's something knowing in his smile. "And some things are just waiting for you to realize they've been there all along."
As you walk toward the McLaren garage, you can't help but think about how some of the best things in life start as jokes - like a fourteen-year-old boy declaring you'll have papaya orange wedding colors, or a nickname that feels more like home than any other word in the world.
Maybe it's time to stop pretending it's all just a joke.
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liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 301,988 others
yn.russell my big brother just won in VEGAS!!! 🏆✨ from watching you race karts in the rain to watching you stand on top of the podium under those lights... i've never been prouder to be a russell. you deserve this more than anyone georgie. also thanks for letting me steal your champagne and ruin your hair before the photos 😘
ps: mum's crying, dad's crying, i'm crying, even fernando the dog is crying and he's not real x
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username1 I LOVE THEM SMMMM
username2 THIS IS MY FAMILY
georgerussell63 love you little sis ❤️ (but i was definitely the cuter kid)
↳ yn_russell keep telling yourself that x
↳ landonorris can confirm yn was the cuter kid
↳ georgerussell63 no one asked you lando
↳ landonorris just supporting my future wife mate
↳ yn.russell boys please this is george's moment
username2 THE WAY SHE RAN TO HIM IN PARC FERME 😭
username3 sibling goals fr
username4 ok but can we talk about how lando waited to celebrate with george until after yn had her moment with him 🥺
↳ username1 future brother in law behavior
username5 wait why isn't jacob in any of these photos? Wasn't he there?
carmenmmundt so proud of you both ❤️
↳ landonorris *all three of us
↳ carmenmmundt ?
↳ landonorris future wife = future family
↳ yn.russell this is GEORGE'S post omg
↳ landonorris sorry darling carry on x
charles_leclerc the russell genes are strong
↳ landonorris hopefully our kids get her genes
↳ georgerussell63 LANDO.
↳ yn.russell i swear to god
↳ landonorris what? just planning ahead 😌
username6 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS KILLING ME
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yn.russell has added to their stories
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The Abu Dhabi night is alive with celebration, the McLaren garage covered in papaya and champagne. But you're hidden away in one of the quiet corridors behind hospitality, mascara smudged, trying to muffle your sobs.
"There you are, darling! We've been looking everywhere for—" Lando's voice cuts off abruptly when he sees you. "YN?"
You quickly try to wipe your tears, but it's too late. His championship-winning smile vanishes instantly as he drops down beside you.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" His voice is soft, concerned. When you don't answer, he gently takes your hands away from your face. "Talk to me."
"It's stupid," you manage to say. "You should be celebrating. You just won the constructors'."
"Pretty sure the champagne will still be there in ten minutes," he says, thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "What happened?"
You take a shaky breath. "Jacob... he..." Your voice breaks.
Lando's expression hardens. "What did he do?"
"He broke up with me," you let out a bitter laugh. "Apparently now that he's secured a position at Mercedes for next season, he doesn't need the Russell connection anymore."
"He what?" Lando's voice is dangerously quiet.
"Turns out I was just... convenient. A way to get closer to Toto. To Mercedes." Your voice cracks again. "God, I feel so stupid."
"You're not stupid," Lando says fiercely. "He's the stupid one. He's worse than stupid, he's a complete—"
"I really thought..." you cut him off, fresh tears falling. "I actually thought he cared about me."
Without hesitation, Lando pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his race suit, still damp with champagne, and let yourself break.
"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you, darling."
You stay like that for a while, his hands running soothingly up and down your back as you cry. The distant sounds of celebration feel like they're from another world.
"Want me to crash his car?" Lando finally asks, making you let out a watery laugh. "I could do it. Make it look like an accident. I am a professional driver, after all."
"Lando..."
"Or we could put laxatives in his coffee. Though he'd probably notice, since he still can't make a proper cup himself."
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly.
"There's my girl," he says softly, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't..."
"It's okay," you whisper. "I've always been your girl. Even if it was just as a joke."
Something shifts in his expression. "YN..."
"Don't," you pull back slightly. "Please. I can't... I can't lose you too. Not tonight."
He studies your face for a long moment, then nods, pulling you back against his chest. "You'll never lose me. Future husband contract, remember? Legally binding. Can't get rid of me that easily."
You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. "Promise?"
"Promise," he kisses the top of your head. "Besides, Fernando still needs both his parents."
This gets a real laugh out of you. "We don't actually have a dog, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects. "We don't have a dog yet. But when we do—"
"His name will be Fernando," you finish with him, and for a moment, everything feels okay again.
"Want me to get George?" he asks after a while.
You shake your head. "Not yet. Can we just... stay here for a bit?"
"As long as you need," he says, and you can hear his heart beating steadily under your ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
In the distance, someone calls his name.
"Go," you start to pull away. "They need their champion."
"They can wait," he says firmly, pulling you back. "You need me more."
And maybe it's the way he says it, or the gentle kiss he presses to your temple, or how his arms feel like the safest place in the world, but suddenly you realize what everyone's been trying to tell you all along.
This was never just a joke to him.
And maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke to you either.
But that's a revelation for another night, when your heart isn't quite so broken and his race suit isn't covered in your tears. For now, you let yourself be held by your best friend, your future husband, your Lando, as the Abu Dhabi night carries on without you.
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 288,760 others
yn.russell back to my favorite job: professional thirdwheel 🏖️ (at least they feed me occasionally) @/georgerussell63 @/carmenmmundt
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username1 MY PARENTS
username2 wait... where's jacob? 👀
↳ username1 he unfollowed her last week 👀
↳ username3 tea incoming
georgerussell63 You love us
↳ yn.russell debatable
↳ carmenmmund We literally paid for your dinner
↳ yn.russell okay fine you're alright
landonorris need a fourth wheel? 👀
↳ yn.russell ...
↳ landonorris i'll bring snacks
username4 THE WAY LANDO COMMENTED SO FAST
username5 LANDO THIS IS YOUR CHANCE
username6 single little russell era is coming
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The winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across your apartment. It's been a month days since Abu Dhabi, a months since Jacob revealed his true colors, and you're curled up on your couch in your comfiest sweats, surrounded by empty ice cream containers.
George and Carmen tried to cheer you up, making you tag along on their vacation, but now that you were back home, the sulking feeling inevitably came back too.
A familiar pattern of knocks at your door makes you groan. "Go away, Lando."
"Not a chance, darling," his voice calls back. "I come bearing provisions!"
"I don't need provisions," you call out, but you're already getting up to open the door. "I need to wallow in peace."
You open the door to find Lando, arms full of bags, wearing a ridiculously oversized hoodie that you're pretty sure belongs to George.
"Wallowing is officially cancelled," he announces, breezing past you into the apartment. "We're having a proper heartbreak recovery session."
"We are?"
"Absolutely," he starts unpacking the bags. "I've got all the essentials. More ice cream - mint chocolate chip, obviously. Every terrible rom-com Netflix has to offer. Popcorn. Those weird crisps you like that no one else understands. And..." he pulls out a bottle with flourish, "your favorite wine."
"Lando..."
"No arguments," he says firmly, but gently. "I'm not leaving you alone to cry over that coffee-challenged idiot."
"I wasn't crying," you protest weakly.
He raises an eyebrow at your clearly tear-stained face. "Right. And I'm not the most talented driver on the grid."
This actually makes you laugh. "Your modesty never fails to amaze me."
"I know, I know, I'm incredible," he grins, already making himself at home on your couch. "Now come here. We're starting with The Notebook because I know it's your guilty pleasure, even though you pretend to hate it."
"I do hate it," you say, but you're already curling up next to him.
"Sure you do, darling," he throws a blanket over both of you. "Just like you hate reality TV and actually love Jacob's boring marketing presentations."
You wince slightly at Jacob's name, and Lando immediately softens.
"Sorry," he says quietly. "No more mentions of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Though I still think we should put glitter in his car ventilation system."
"George already offered to have him banned from the paddock," you smile slightly.
"Good man, your brother," Lando nods approvingly. "Though my revenge plans are much more creative. I was thinking we could reprogram his laptop to only play 'Baby Shark' when he opens PowerPoint..."
You can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Made you smile though, didn't I?" he says softly, and something in his voice makes you look up at him.
"You always do," you admit quietly.
He holds your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Right, well, that's what future husbands are for, isn't it? Can't have my darling being sad. Bad for our wedding photos."
"Still going with that, are we?"
"Always," he says, and despite his light tone, there's something earnest in his eyes. "Someone's got to look after you properly."
"I can look after myself," you point out.
"Oh, I know," he grins. "But it's more fun together, isn't it? Plus, who else is going to appreciate your terrible taste in movies?"
"My taste is not terrible!"
"Darling, you genuinely enjoyed that film about the talking cats."
"It was artistic!"
"It was horrifying," he laughs, pulling you closer. "But I watched it three times with you anyway."
"Because you're a good friend," you say softly.
Something flickers across his face. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "The best friend you'll ever have. Even if you have questionable taste in everything except future husbands."
You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Speaking of questionable taste, weren't we supposed to be watching The Notebook?"
"Oh right!" he brightens, grabbing the remote. "Time to pretend you're not going to cry at the end."
"I never cry at the end."
"Darling, you've cried every single time we've watched it."
"Have not!"
"Have too! Remember last time? You got tears all over my favorite hoodie."
"That was one time!"
"One time this month, maybe," he grins, then softens. "It's okay though. My hoodies are always available for your tears. Even if they're about stupid coffee-challenged marketing guys who don't deserve them."
You lean your head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Lando."
"For what?"
"For being you. For being here. For..." you gesture at all the supplies he brought. "For everything."
He's quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Always, darling. In sickness and in health, remember?"
"We're not actually married, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects, but there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "We're not actually married yet."
The movie starts playing, but you're more aware of his steady breathing, of how perfectly you fit against his side, of how safe you feel in this moment. And maybe it's too soon, maybe your heart is still too raw, but you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the right person has been here all along.
But that's a thought for another day. For now, you let yourself be comforted by your best friend, your constant, your Lando, as he quotes along with the movie and keeps you supplied with ice cream and terrible jokes until you're laughing more than you're crying.
And if you do end up crying at the end of The Notebook, well, his hoodie is already there to catch your tears.
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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 291,483 others
yn.russell FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON. WHAT A RIDE !!!! lando winning and georgie on podium. ALEX P5 !!!! all of my boys killing it 🥺 so happy to be back, i missed this so much
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username1 LITTLE RUSSELL BIGGEST SUPPORTER
username2 SHE WAS SO HAPPY FOR LANDO OMFG
username3 still gutted for the missed mclaren 1-2 but GEORGE P3!!
carmenmmundt You almost broke my hand with all the squeezing !! Missed you so happy my girl 🤍
↳ username1 AHH LITTLE RUSSELL IS HEALING
username4 the way she JUMPED into lando's arms
ciscanorris My future daughter in law! It was so good to see you
↳ username1 AHH MAMA NORRIS CLAIMING HER
landonorris THAT WAS FOR YOU MY DARLINGGG
↳ yourinstagram 🥺
↳ username2 AHH SHE DIDN'T CORRECT HIM
georgerussell63 Love you sis, even tho you hugged Lando first
↳ yn.russell he won okay
↳ landonorris and i'm her future husband
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The Miami night air is warm and sweet, carrying the distant sounds of celebration from the post race party below. You're leaning against the balcony railing, watching the lights of the circuit sparkle in the distance, when familiar footsteps approach.
"There's my darling," Lando's voice is soft as he joins you. "Hiding from your adoring public?"
You smile, not looking away from the view. "Just needed some air."
The past few months flash through your mind - Lando showing up at your door with takeaway after particularly hard days, marathon gaming sessions that somehow always ended with you falling asleep on his shoulder, countless movie nights where he'd quote every line just to make you laugh. He never let you wallow, never let you retreat into sadness. Whether it was surprising you with your favorite coffee in the morning or sending you ridiculous memes at 3 AM, he was constantly there, slowly piecing your heart back together without you even realizing it.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, bumping your shoulder gently with his.
"Just thinking about everything that's changed since last season."
He hums in agreement. "Good changes though, right?"
You finally turn to look at him, really look at him. His curls slightly messy from running his hands through them - a nervous habit you've known since you were teenagers. But there's something different in the way he's looking at you now, something that makes your heart skip.
"Yeah," you say softly. "Good changes."
He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels charged with possibility. "You know, I've been thinking..."
"Dangerous hobby," you tease, falling into your familiar pattern.
"Very dangerous," he agrees, but his voice is serious. "Been thinking about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes."
Your breath catches. "Lando..."
"Like when a fourteen-year-old boy tells this pretty girl she's going to be his future wife," he continues, taking another step closer. "And he keeps saying it for years, making it this big running joke, because it's easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke at all."
"What are you saying?" you whisper, though your heart already knows the answer.
He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. "I'm saying that I've been in love with you since we were kids. I'm saying that every time I called you darling, every time I talked about our future dog Fernando, every time I claimed the future husband title - I meant it. All of it."
"Lando..." your voice wavers.
"I know it's only been a few months since... everything," he says quickly. "And if you're not ready, if you don't feel the same way, we can pretend this never happened. We can go back to just joking around. But I needed you to know that for me, it was never just a joke. You were never just a joke."
You stare at him, this boy who's been your constant, your safe place, your home for so long. And suddenly everything clicks into place.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he says softly, giving you time to pull away if you want to.
You don't.
His lips meet yours, gentle at first, like he's afraid you might break. But when your hands slide into his curls, pulling him closer, the kiss deepens into something that feels like coming home and falling free all at once.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "So," he says, slightly breathless, "about that legally binding marriage contract..."
You laugh, the sound full of joy. "Still going with that, are we?"
"Always," he grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "Though now I'm thinking maybe we should make it official. You know, for Fernando's sake."
"We still don't have a dog, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects, pulling you closer. "We don't have a dog yet. But we will. Right after the wedding. Which will definitely have papaya orange colors because I called dibs when we were fourteen and—"
You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him smile against your lips.
"FINALLY!"
You break apart to find George standing in the doorway, grinning like he just won the championship.
"Ever heard of knocking?" Lando grumbles, but he doesn't let go of you.
"On a balcony door?" George raises an eyebrow. "Besides, I've been watching you two dance around each other for months. Years, actually."
"Have not," you protest.
"Have too," both men say in unison.
"I hate you both," you mutter, but you're fighting a smile.
"No you don't," Lando says confidently. "You love me. You're going to marry me and we're going to have a dog named Fernando and—"
"Still with the dog name?" George groans.
"It's tradition!" Lando defends. "Tell him, darling, tell him how important traditions are."
You look between your brother and the boy - no, the man - who's been your everything for so long, and feel your heart might burst with happiness.
"Actually," you say slowly, "I was thinking maybe we could name the dog George."
"What?" both men exclaim.
You burst out laughing at their expressions. "Just kidding. Fernando it is."
"See?" Lando beams at George. "She agrees with me. Because she loves me. Because we're getting married. Because—"
"Because it was never really a joke?" you finish softly.
His expression softens as he looks at you. "Never."
"Right," George clears his throat. "I'm going to leave before this gets any more sickeningly sweet. But Lando?"
"Yeah?"
"Hurt my sister and they'll never find your body."
"Please," Lando scoffs, pulling you closer. "I've been planning our future since I was fourteen. I'm not about to mess it up now."
As George leaves, shaking his head but smiling, Lando turns back to you.
"So," he says, his eyes twinkling, "about those wedding colors..."
You silence him with another kiss, thinking about how sometimes the best love stories start as jokes, and how sometimes the person you're meant to be with has been there all along, calling you darling and planning your future with a dog named Fernando.
And maybe, just maybe, those papaya orange wedding colors don't sound so bad after all.
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 201,384 others
yn.russell turns out some jokes become reality 🧡 @/landonorris (yes, we're actually getting the dog. yes, his name will be fernando. no, this isn't a drill - the future wife position has officially been filled, i love you my lando)
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username1 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING??? 😭😭😭
username2 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS
username3 THE FUTURE WIFE JOKES WERE REAL ALL ALONG
georgerussell63 About bloody time 🙄 (but actually very happy for you both)
alex_albon the group chat can finally rest, no more "should I tell her?" messages from lando every 5 minutes
carmenmmundt The paddock's favorite love story
ciscanorris Finally! I've only been waiting for this announcement since they were teenagers 🥰
username4 the way this man has been calling her darling for YEARS and we all thought it was just banter 😭😭
username5 THE WAY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SINCE 2019
username6 ok but can we talk about how he's literally been manifesting this since they were TEENAGERS???
username7 this is actually the cutest thing ever like???? he's been planning their wedding since he was 14???? hello???
username8 the way george is probably somewhere being like "finally i don't have to pretend i don't see them flirting"
landonorris worth the wait, every single second❤️ love you darling x
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It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in late summer, and you're curled up on your couch with a book when you hear Lando's key in the door. You smile, not looking up - he's been coming and going from your place so much lately that it feels more like his home than his own apartment.
"Darling!" his voice calls out, sounding suspiciously excited. "Close your eyes!"
"Why?" you ask warily. "Last time you had a surprise, it didn't end well."
"Just trust me!"
You sigh fondly, closing your eyes. "Fine, but this better be good."
You hear him moving around, and then something warm and furry lands in your lap.
Your eyes fly open to find yourself face to face with the most adorable chocolate Labrador puppy you've ever seen. The puppy immediately starts licking your face while Lando watches, beaming with pure joy.
"Lando..." you breathe, already in love with the wiggling bundle of fur. "What did you do?"
"Well," he drops onto the couch beside you, reaching over to scratch the puppy's ears, "I was thinking about how we've been together for months now, and living together basically even though we pretend we don't, and how there's this one very important member of our family still missing..."
"You didn't," you whisper, even as the puppy settles contentedly in your lap.
"I did," he grins. "Meet Fernando. Finally."
You look between Lando and the puppy - Fernando - feeling your heart might burst. "You actually named him Fernando?"
"Of course I did! I've been planning this since I was fourteen, remember?" His eyes soften. "Plus, I made you a promise, didn't I?"
"We're not married yet," you point out, but you can't stop smiling.
"Yet," he emphasizes, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "But really, I thought... I mean, we practically live together anyway. Might as well make it official. You, me, and Fernando."
You look down at the puppy, who's now snoring softly in your lap, then back at Lando. "Are you asking me to move in with you? Properly?"
"Maybe," he fidgets slightly. "Unless you think it's too soon? I know we haven't been together that long, but it feels like we've been building towards this forever, you know? And I thought, with Fernando here now..."
You cut off his rambling with a kiss. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll move in with you. Properly. All three of us."
His face lights up like you've just given him the best gift in the world. "Really?"
"Really," you laugh.
"You're ridiculous," you tell him fondly.
"You love it," he says confidently.
"I do," you admit softly. "I love you."
His expression melts into that soft look he reserves just for you. "I love you too, darling. Both of you," he adds as Fernando stirs and licks his hand.
Just then, your phone buzzes - a text from George.
"Oh no," you groan, reading it. "George is coming over."
"Perfect!" Lando brightens. "He can meet his nephew!"
"You did not just call our dog George's nephew."
"Of course I did! He's family now. Speaking of which..." he pulls out his phone, "my mum's been asking when we're bringing Fernando to visit."
Before you can respond, George's voice carries through the door. "Why is there puppy food in the hallway?"
Lando jumps up excitedly. "Ready to meet Uncle George, Fernando?"
The puppy perks up at his name, tail wagging as George opens the door.
"You didn't," George says, taking in the scene.
"We did!" Lando announces proudly. "Meet your nephew!"
"My... nephew?"
"Fernando Russell-Norris," Lando declares. "Well, technically just Norris for now, but that'll change once your sister finally agrees to marry me."
"Still waiting on that proposal, aren't you?" George smirks.
"All in good time," Lando winks at you. "Got to do it properly, haven't I?"
You watch George pretend not to be completely smitten with Fernando, while Lando chatters about all his plans for family weekends and teaching Fernando tricks. You can't help but think about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes about future marriages and dogs named Fernando.
"Our little family," Lando says softly, pulling you close while Fernando attempts to climb into George's lap.
And as you lean into his side, watching your brother and your boyfriend argue about who gets to be Fernando's favorite uncle (while the puppy seems more interested in chewing George's shoelaces), you realize that this - this moment, this love, this little family - is better than any dream you could have had.
It's your reality. Your perfect, slightly chaotic, absolutely wonderful reality.
𝟏𝟎𝟑𝟗𝒾──── featuring charles leclerc, oscar piastri, max verstappen, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman ✿ fluff catalogue／ established relationship
reblog ⠀⠀ꢾ꣒⠀ feedbacks ！ ✶ 𝗔 𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗞 ˊᯅˋ
CHARLES LECLERC ｡ you're shivering in the monaco evening breeze, arms wrapped around yourself as you wait outside the restaurant. charles notices immediately. he always does. and he's already shrugging off his jacket before you can protest.
"charles, you'll freeze," you start, but he's draping it over your shoulders, fingers lingering at your collar as he adjusts it.
"don't care," he says simply, that soft smile reserved only for you playing at his lips.
you've seen him do this exactly zero times for anyone else. arthur complained about being cold last week and charles literally laughed at him. told him to "walk faster, it'll warm you up." but with you? he'd give you his only layer of clothing in a snowstorm without hesitation.
the jacket smells like his cologne and something distinctly him. he stands closer now, one hand finding the small of your back. he's definitely cold. you can see the goosebumps on his arms, but when you try to give it back, he just pulls you closer instead.
"keep it," he murmurs. "you look better in it anyway."
OSCAR PIASTRI ｡ you're wearing his gray hoodie again. the one he's had since his prema days, stretched out and faded.
"that's my favorite," oscar points out from the doorway, but he's already fighting back a smile.
"yeah?" you tug the sleeves over your hands. "want it back?"
"didn't say that."
he won't admit it, but you've seen him physically move his hoodies to the front of his closet where you can reach them easier. lando tried to borrow one once after a gym session and oscar deadpan told him "absolutely not, buy your own." but you? you've accidentally created a whole section of your wardrobe that's just his clothes.
you catch him staring as you flop onto the bed beside him. "what?"
"nothing." his ears go slightly pink and he's definitely fighting a smile. "just... bring that one back eventually? maybe?"
"no promises, piastri."
MAX VERSTAPPEN ｡ max is in full concentration mode, hunched over his sim rig with that death grip on the steering wheel. you can hear him muttering curses under his breath. never a good sign for whoever he's racing. you pad into his gaming room, and he doesn't even flinch.
"baby," he mutters, eyes still locked on the screen as he takes a corner. "there's snacks on the desk."
you weren't even looking for snacks but sure. you grab one and plop into the chair next to him, watching his concentration face. the little furrow between his brows, the way his jaw clenches.
"not now," one of his friend's voice crackles through his headset. "we're in the middle of—is that your girlfriend?"
"yeah," max says simply.
"mate, i thought you had a no-interruption rule?"
"i do."
"then why is she—"
"she doesn't count." he says it so matter-of-factly, like it's obvious. "different rules. now shut up, i'm trying to overtake."
KIMI ANTONELLI ｡ kimi's supposed to be asleep two hours ago. early morning training session, toto's orders, the whole responsible f1 driver routine. and he's got a sleep schedule that would make a monk weep. but he's still awake at 2am with you.
"and then she asked for oat milk after they made it with regular, are you even awake?"
"mhm." his eyes are definitely closed now. "she's... she's lactose intolerant?"
"go to sleep, kimi."
"no, no, i'm listening." he forces his eyes open, reaching for you blindly until his hand finds yours. "what happened with the coffee?"
"you know your manager would murder you if they knew you were awake right now," you whisper. "don't care." he tugs you closer, tucking his face into your shoulder. his words are muffled against your shirt. "tell me the rest. did she get the oat milk?"
"you're ridiculous."
"you're ridiculous," he mumbles. "keep talking. i like your voice."
OLLIE BEARMAN ｡ ollie's been glued to the soccer match for the past hour, practically vibrating every time they get near the goal. you've seen this level of focus exactly twice: now, and during qualifying. literally on the edge of the couch like he might fall off. you feel a little bad interrupting, but—
"ollie, do you think i should cut my hair shorter?"
his head whips around so fast you're worried about whiplash. "what? like how much shorter?"
"i dunno, maybe to here?" you gesture vaguely at your shoulders.
"wait, let me see." he's already grabbed the remote, muting the tv without a second thought. with this serious, concentrated expression. "hmm. i mean, you'd look beautiful either way, but—"
"GOAL!" the announcer's voice screams from the tv.
ollie doesn't even glance back. "maybe keep it long? but honestly whatever makes you happy. do you want to cut it?"
"ollie, they just scored."
"who—oh." he looks at the screen for half a second, then back at you. "it's fine, they'll replay it. so about your hair, have you thought about layers? or maybe curls?"
author's note. ack this will be my very late valentines gift to everyone 💌
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader
summary: in which you and your best friends brother accidentally eat aphrodisiac chocolate OR you and oscar get so fucking horny while on a yacht in the Maldives.
warnings: smut smut smut, all smut basically. oral, p in v, dirty talk, language, marking kink, slight voyeruism, exhibitionism??, not sure what else...NOT PROOFREAD! (might be some typos)
word count: ~3.9k
author's note: SURPRISEEEE ITS OUT EARLY (I worked hard over the weekend lol) hope you guys enjoy!! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR OSCAR EVERRRR (aside from a one shot i've had sitting in my drafts for months lol) comment and let me know what you think!!! xoxo
ln4 cl16 mv1 op81 cs55
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You’ve always had a sweet tooth.
Everyone knew it. Oscar especially. He used to tease you over it when you were younger. Would point out when your fingers were sticky with something sugary.
He never said it unkindly. Just amused. Soft. Something like you’ve got chocolate on your face and then passed you a napkin you didn’t ask for.
He’s always been like that. Gentle. Kind. The boy who was never loud. More of a listener than a speaker.
And he never made you feel silly. Not when you cried after falling off your bike and scraped your knee. Not when your towel slipped. Not even when you accidentally spilled juice all over your shirt on a long flight. He just handed you a new one from his backpack like he knew it’d happen.
You’d grown up like that.
And now here you were, years later. Sunburned and salty on a private yacht in the Maldives, still with a sweet tooth and one of his old McLaren shirts he gave you when he first got signed. Pulled over your bikini.
His sister, your best friend, left on in the morning for a tour with the rest of the group. Something about history and snorkeling. You’d both waved your hands declining. Something about being too burned and too sleepy for it.
“She’s going to get bored halfway through,” You sip on your drink. “Probably will call us in two hours.”
Oscar gives you a shrug. “I give her one.”
“She said it was a once in a lifetime experience.” You throw up your hands while repeating her words. Mocking her almost. Smiling.
“So is sitting here.”
And you laugh.
He’s sitting across from you, towel slung around the back of his neck, sun catching his shoulders. His hair is damp. Skin flushed from the sun. No shirt. Just a pair of swim shorts and bare feet.
You shift slightly where you are. Curled up in the shade. Bare legs stretched out. The oversized shirt clinging to you just a little too much where your bikini top was wet.
He glances at you when you move. Doesn’t speak. Just tracks it with his eyes. And looks away again.
His hand reaches for the table. “What’s this?”
You look over.
A little box. Dark. Red ribbon wrapped around it.
“Some welcome thing, I think.” You shrug. “Dropped it off yesterday.”
Oscar pulls the lid open, brows lifting. He picks up a wrapped square, amused.
“Well, well.” He says, looking at you. “Your kryptonite.”
You grin. “Shut up.”
“You gonna pretend you didn’t spot this the second we sat down?”
“I did not.”
He tilts his head, giving you a look.
“Mm, you’ve got that look.” He says.
“What look?”
“The one you used to get before stealing cupcakes at birthday parties.”
You roll your eyes, but blush. Cheeks reddening. “I did not steal…”
“You did.” He cuts you off. Already unwrapping one of the chocolates. “Always had sugar on your hands. Icing on the corner of your lips.”
You open your mouth to protest, but he tosses a piece toward you.
You catch it.
You watch him bring the chocolate to his mouth, tongue darting over his lip without thinking.
Peel open your piece and press it to your tongue. It melts fast. Rich.
You hum, licking a smear of it off your finger. “That’s actually really good.”
He doesn’t respond right away.
You glance up and catch him mid-swipe across his bottom lip. Looking dazed. Distracted.
Then he blinks, clears his throat. And nods. “Yeah, pretty good.”
He closes the lid of the box, slides it to the side. Then leans back, looking at the water.
And you sit there with him. Across from him on the cushioned benches. Chewing slowly. Feeling that heat bloom beneath your skin.
It’s soft at first.
Then deeper.
A warmth in your chest. A pulse between your thighs.
The wind sweeps your skin. And the fabric of your bikini suddenly feels too damp. Too thin. Too tight.
You swallow. Trying not to fidget.
Oscar hasn’t moved much. His gaze is still on the ocean, but it isn’t really. And you watch the way his jaw flexes. The way his foot shifts on the deck. Like he was grounding himself.
He doesn’t look at you.
And he always looks at you.
You shift again. Cross your ankles. Press your thighs together.
You glance at Oscar again.
And his lips are parted. Just a little bit. And his brow is slightly furrowed.
You sit up slightly. “You okay?”
He shifts. Then clears his throat, blinking. “Yeah. Just…hot.”
You nod slowly. “Same.”
He leans forward, breathes out. But his fingers twitch. And you notice as his back muscles roll slightly as he drops his head down, towel slipping down.
He stays like that for a few seconds. Then rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
His voice is quiet. Flat. “What was in that chocolate?”
You don’t answer right away. Because you’re fucking throbbing now. And your bikini is definitely soaked.
“Do you feel…” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Strange?”
You nod. And then remember he isn’t even looking at you. “Yeah.”
His jaw clenches.
He shifts again. Still not looking at you. And that’s how you know something is wrong.
Because he never acts like this.
You’ve seen him flustered, sure. After a race, dealing with the media, around too many people. But never like this. Not this tense. As if he’s afraid.
“I didn’t think chocolate could….fuck.” His voice cracks. And he laughs under his breath.
He grips the bench. Looking like he’s in pain.
“I think I need to go inside.”
And he stands too fast. Towel falling down. Hands clenched at his sides as he turns on bare feet and walks toward the main cabin.
You stare at his back. His shoulders. And he disappears down the stairs.
You’re so hot that you could cry. Unbearable.
You press your palm flat to your stomach. Like it’ll help.
But it doesn’t.
Because it’s not just the chocolate.
It’s him. Oscar.
Gone for less than a minute and his voice is the only thing in your head. The way his mouth looked when he licked the chocolate off his thumb. His hands. The muscles of his back straining as he leaned forward
The silence stretches heavy.
You make a quiet sound in your throat. Barely audible. And you can’t sit still. Can barely think. Can’t stop seeing him.
Your hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re hesitant at first. But then trail your fingers to the center of your ache.
And your hips lift off the cushion. A heavy breath escaping.
Your other hand grips the bench as you rock slowly against your own fingers. Over the bikini. Slow circles. Each one, pressing harder.
You let your head fall back. And the sky above is almost blinding.
“Oscar…”
You don’t even realize you said it out loud. It just slips.
And a few moments later, you don’t even hear him come back. Your fingers still at your bikini. Rubbing.
You lift your head. He’s there.
Flushed. Hair ruffled like he ran his fingers through it a million times. Eyes fixed between your legs like he’s in some sort of trance.
He just stares. Doesn’t even speak.
“I can’t stop,” You whisper. Honest.
“You’re…” He blinks. Voice low. Stunned. Like he just walked into his favorite fantasy and doesn’t know what to do. “You’re fucking touching yourself?”
You nod. And he groans.
“To me?”
“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” You whisper.
“Jesus.” His hands twitch at his sides.
You shift, spreading your legs a little wider without meaning to. Unable to stop rubbing the tight circles.
“You look so pretty like that,” He mutters.
You tremble. “I need help.”
And his eyes widen.
“Please,” you whisper. “I can’t…Osc, please.”
He groans. Hands dropping to the front of his swim shorts, palming the hard line of his cock through the fabric.
“Come closer.” You plead.
And he stares at you with wide eyes. Flushed. He doesn’t move. At least, he doesn’t at first.
But then his gaze drops back down to your legs. Spread open. Your fingers rubbing slow, desperate circles. And his hands twitch.
“I…” He says, but he’s already squeezing himself. “I shouldn’t.”
“Oscar…”
“I shouldn’t be seeing this,” his mutters. “And I shouldn’t be this fucking hard.”
Your eyes fall to where his hand squeezes against his cock. Like he’s trying to fight the ache between his legs.
And you whimper. Hips jerking. “I can’t. I need….I need help.”
His hand squeezes himself tighter.
“Fuck.” A pause. A few silent moments of heated stares. “Do you know how many times I used to think about this?”
His voice has gone rough. And you blink at him. Heart stuttering.
“I used to jerk off in my room and feel sick after,” He whispers. “Because it was you. My sister’s best friend. Always walking around in those tiny shorts. That blue bikini. Always so fucking sweet.”
Your fingers slow. Jaw falls slack.
“I’ve thought about it,” His voice shakes. “Fuck. I’ve thought about this. When we were younger.”
Your breath hitches.
“Thought about your pussy more than I should’ve.” He mutters. “Wondered how soft you’d feel. How tight. If you’d let me take my time or if you’d beg me to fuck you rough.”
Your back arches.
“Wondered what you’d sound like when you come.” He continues. “If it’s all breathy. Or if you’d cry. If you’d say my name.”
“I’d press the pillow over my face after so no one would hear me,” He admits. “Every time.”
You gasp.
“I would.” You gasp.
His hand pushes harder into his cock. Groaning. “I’ve thought about fucking you with my tongue. Holding your legs and licking you for hours.”
You press your fingers even harder.
You whimper, other hand reading for a pillow or something to grab onto. “Osc, please.”
“You want my fingers?” He whispers. “Right here? Want me to fuck you with my hand?”
You nod. Repeatedly. Fast. Almost pathetic.
Oscar lets out a whimper. And then he’s kneeling in front of you before you can blink. Hand still pressing into his cock. The other trembling as his fingers brush your thigh.
“You’re so warm.”
Your hand falls away and he replaces it instantly. Pressing two fingers against the soaked fabric. Groans loudly when he feels it.
“Fuck, pretty…” He groans. “You’re soaked. Fuckin’ dripping.”
And then he pushes the fabric aside, stares. Pupils blown. “God, look at you…"
You shake your head. “Please.”
“I’ve thought about sliding my fingers into you since I was seventeen,” He pushes them in. Half-laughing. “Thought about curling them deep and slow….hearing you moan just like that.”
Oscar swears under his breath, leaning closer. Jaw locked tight. “I’d keep you like this for hours if I could. Legs spread and needy….mine to play with.”
You cry out. Rocking your hips.
And he curls his fingers. Watching your face.
“Yeah?” His thumb circles your clit now. Slow. “Right there? Knew I’d find it.”
And you careen forward. Hands flying to grab his shoulders.
“Come for me,” He mutters. “Right here. In my fucking shirt. On my yacht. On my fingers.”
And you do.
Hard.
And he watches every second. His lips parted. Cock throbbing.
And then he drags his fingers out of you slow.
Brings them to his mouth.
Licks them clean. Eyes locked on yours.
“Taste better than I ever dreamed,” He says softly.
And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck. Pulling your lips to his. Kissing you like he’s starving.
His tongue licks your mouth like its his. Like he already knows how to pull those sounds out of you and wants to hear every single one.
And his hands slip down your body. Down your shoulders, over your ribs. Brushing the dip of your waist. Until he’s gripping your thighs.
“Wanna see bruises here,” He says. “Want people to see bruises and know.”
He stays kneeling between you, chest heaving.
“You’re soaking, baby.” His voice cracks.
He leans forward. Kissing your inner thigh. And then opens his mouth, sucking hard. Pulling a moan from you.
You feel the bruise forming as he licks over it. Sucks it again. Fingers pressing into your skin, gripping it.
“That’s one,” He mutters.
He leaves another one. Higher.
Then a third on the other leg. Right by your cunt. So close that it makes your hips jerk into his mouth.
And then he’s standing. Grabbing you under your thighs. And lifts you.
Laying you down on the table. The welcome basket crashes onto the deck with a thud, but neither of you acknowledge it. The box of chocolates dangling on the edge.
He grabs it.
“What are you doing?” You ask. Breathless.
He doesn’t answer. Opens the box, takes out a single piece and holds it up. Gaze dropping down to your cunt spread open for him.
“Need to taste you with this,” He mutters.
He leans over you. Pressing the chocolate between your lips. “Bite.”
You do.
The sun’s hot against your skin.
And then he kisses you hard. Tongue lapping against yours, sharing the chocolate. You both moan and groan into each other before he’s dropping back to his knees.
“Look at you,” He breathes. “All messy. Want my mouth, baby?”
You nod.
And he leans in. Licks you.
One long drag up your slit.
You cry out. And he groans into your cunt. Licking you. Tasting you.
“Fuckin heaven.” He drags a hand to your leg. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”
“Oscar…”
He doesn’t stop. Just hooks his arm under your thigh, and pulls you closer to the edge. Legs over his shoulder.
And buries his face in your pussy.
You grind into him instantly. Chasing every flick of his tongue.
Your hands fist into his hair, dragging his face closer against you. And he moans. Wrecked.
“Fuck,” you yell. “Oscar…oh my…fuck.”
He drags his tongue through you. Flicking your clit over and over.
“Keep fucking my face,” his voice is hot.
“You sound…my God..Oscar, you sound obsessed..”
“I am.” He grunts. Fingers curling in you as he nudges your clit with his nose.
And then he pulls one arm away. You barely notice it. Until you hear it and look down.
He’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, fisting it fast. Leaking.
He jerks his cock faster. Hips twitching into his own fist as his mouth works harder against you.
“Gonna come,” he confesses. “Gonna come from tasting you.”
You cry out.
“C’mon…” He urges. “Let me taste it, yeah?”
And it breaks you.
You moan into the open sky. Grinding against his face. Jaw slack. Eyes squeezed shut.
And then he groans, standing up and comes hard onto your cunt.
Hot, messy ropes of it. Spilling over you.
And then he’s dragging you off the table without a word. Not giving you time to even breathe. Panting.
His hands tight around you, and then he’s spinning you. Forcing you to face the ocean. Chest hitting the metal railing.
And he’s behind you. Silent.
You start to turn your head, “Oscar…?”
“No.” He says. Voice rough. “Stay just like that.”
His hands drag your shirt up. Slow.
His name in bold letters stretched across your back.
He groans. Violently.
“I should’ve fucked you in this years ago.”
Your breath falters.
“Fucking knew it,” He grabs a fistful of the shirt, twisting his hand in it. “Knew one day you’d bend over in this and I’d lose my fucking mind.”
You feel the heat of his body behind you, shoving your bottoms down with one swift flick of his hand. Cock thick and heavy. Dragging through your folds, collecting his come and your wetness.
He groans. You shake.
He presses forward, hips rocking against you. Grinding into your thighs.
“You’ve no idea what you look like.” His breath is heavy behind you. “Bent over. My name on your back. Come still dropping down your cunt.”
And you bite your lip. Arching into him harder.
One hand grips your hip, the other fisted around the shirt.
“You wore this shirt for years like it meant nothing,” His voice quieter. Mean. “Didn’t think about what it did to me every time you wore it.”
“Osc…” You attempt to say his name, but he shifts his hips into you harder and your voice cracks.
He laughs.
“Now look at you. Dripping all over me. Wearing my name like you belong to me.”
He sinks in slow. So slow that you feel every pulse. Every ridge.
And you whimper. He groans behind you. Like he’s in pain. Like he’s trying so hard to not ravish you.
But when his hips meet you, and he’s bottomed out. He just….stops.
Breathes in heavily.
“Fuck.” He says soft. “You’re so fucking tight around me.”
His fingers dig into your hip even harder. Bruising. Marking.
“You’ve ruined me,” He laughs. “Y’know that?”
And you don’t even get a chance to answer.
Because he pulls back and slams into you. Hard.
You cry out, hands gripping the railing that your knuckles turn white.
His pace isn’t gentle at all. It’s feral.
“Fucking ruined me,” He says again. “You in this shirt….you in my fucking name..do you even know what that does to me?”
You moan. So loud. And his hips smack into you. Over and over.
“You’ve been walkin’ around in it for years.” He spits. “Like it’s nothing.”
He thrusts deep, angling his hips at a better angle. “Like I haven’t been dreaming of fucking you in it since I gave it to you all those years ago.”
You’re babbling now. Unable to breathe properly. Your entire body trembling.
His hand slips from your hip and slides up your spine. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down. Just a little bit harder. Forces you to arch even more.
And fuck, he nearly collapses when he feels you clench tighter around him.
“You should see yourself,” He grunts. “Squeezing around me like you’re desperate to never let me go.”
And he’s lost all rhythm. He’s just slamming into you. Cock so deep.
“Can’t believe this is real.” He’s panting. “Can’t believe I get to fuck you in my shirt. Pussy covered in me.”
Your orgasm is close. And you’re shouting. Moaning.
"Bet she'd lose her mind if she knew what a slut you were f'me..."
You cry out. He feels you teetering on the edge.
“Don’t.” He snaps.
And you cry, “Oscar…please.”
“You’re gonna wait.” He demands, fucking into you more rapidly.
And he’s losing his mind. It’s sooo good.
“Say who’s inside you.” His hands squeeze the back of your neck. “Say it.”
You gasp. Jaw falling slack. Chest pressed harsh into the metal railing. “You…Osc..fuck, it’s so good..”
You sob out his name and Oscar fucking snaps.
“That’s it, baby.”
His hips hit you faster. Deeper. The filthy sound of it heard over the waves lapping the hull.
You sob into the railing.
He leans into you, head falling forward.
“Gonna come,” He chokes out. “Gonna come right inside you. Stuff you full. Let it leak out.”
And you break.
Orgasm ripping through you. Violent and hot. Back arching so hard into him. You sob out his name. Your walls clenching around him in a tight grip.
And he crashes with you. Body shuddering. Cock throbbing. Spilling into you.
He’s still panting against you when he pulls out. And it’s a fucking mess in between your thighs.
But before you can say anything, he’s dragging you upright. And you’re stumbling as he drags you across the hot deck. Hand across your stomach. Keeping you close.
And then he’s shoving you into the rinse off shower.
He reaches up. Turns the handle. And the water is so cold that you gasp from it.
Oscar laughs behind you. “Too cold?”
Your head falls onto his shoulder. “Asshole.”
And then he turns the temperature warmer, and then it’s all steam and heat again.
You expect him to rinse you off gently.
Instead, he grabs the shower head. Detaches it from the hook. And pulls your back against his chest.
“Gonna clean you up.”
You’re about to ask what exactly he means. But then he;;s nudging your legs apart. Brings the shower head straight to your cunt.
And you jolt forward with a sharp cry.
The heat. The pressure.
“Oh my god…Osc,” You’re mumbling.
And he watches you. Holding one leg to keep them apart.
“Stay open,” his voice is soft. “Wanna see you come again.”
And you whimper. Begging. “Too much…fuck.”
But he doesn’t stop. Just tilts the shower head just right. Hitting your clit.
“Thought I’d have to work harder for this,” He mutters. “But you’re soaking already.”
“Fuck…fuck.”
"Y'like this, hm?" He whispers into your ear. "Being used like some filthy secret?"
Your hands reach behind you and slip their way into his hair. Pulling it. He groans. Rutting his hips into your backside for some friction.
“C’mon, pretty.” He grunts.
And the water just keeps hitting you.
You sob. And then crash again.
Your legs shake. Cunt clenching around nothing. But he holds you up, turning you to face him. Pressing your back against the wall.
He finally sets the shower head down. Lets it spray onto the deck.
And then his hands are back on you. One at your lower back, one gripping your thigh, pulling it up to wrap at his waist. You balance on one leg.
He presses a kiss to your temple. “Y’okay?” His voice gentle. Caring.
And you nod, pressing your head into his neck. And his heart stutters when you lean into him. Like he can finally breathe.
“I’ve got you,” He whispers.
And then, he sinks back into you.
Slow. Gentle.
Your mouth falls open. The stretch still almost unbearable after everything. But the way he slides in, feels too fucking good.
You gasp. Digging your nails into his skin. And he cradles you against the wall.
He moves slow. Rocking. No rhythm. And he feels massive. Thick.
“Oscar,” You hush into his skin. “You feel…Y’feel so good.”
He nods. “I know, baby. I know.” And his voice is a whisper.
He grinds deeper. Barely moving but pressing into you. “Can’t believe you’re still this wet…” He grunts. “Still want more? Want me to stuff you full again, hm? Fuck you til it leaks down?”
You nod. Mouth open. Moaning.
“C’mon,” He pants. Hips jerking. Cock throbbing.
It’s quick. The feel of you wrapped around his cock. The overstimulation of the stretch.
You both come quick. Crying out into each other’s skin. Soft kisses in between the moans.
And then you’re both laughing. Smiling at one another.
-
“Holy shit…I’m dying.” Your best friend announces. “Never let me go on another tour ever ever again.”
Oscar snorts from beside you on the bench, looking at his phone. “Told you you’d hate it.”
“You didn’t say I’d almost drown.”
You keep your face still. Sipping your drink.
And she plops down on the lounger across the deck, sighing.
And for a moment…it’s quiet.
Until Oscar leans in slightly, elbow brushing your arm.
His voice low. “Y’think she noticed?”
You glance at him. Shake your head.
“She’s never been less observant,” You whisper back.
And he grins. One of those fuck-you grins that makes you stutter.
And you hold back a smile.
Your best friend groans across the deck. “God, I feel disgusting. Should we order dinner in an hour?”
Oscar clears his throat. “Sure.”
“Yeah,” You say.
And then you lean, just slightly, into his side. Just enough that his thigh is touching yours again.
He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t stop smiling.
"Hey, what happened to the welcome basket?"
Oops?
taglist (holy shit SO MANY OF YOU ILY): @landoscarinthefastlane @dudenhaaa27 @330bpm-whiplash @xoln04f1xo @sainzluvrr @minjiahyung @madicecream123 @star73807-blog @simpfortoomanymen @art-h1ve @annaswrites00 @forumlabee @butterfly-daisies07 @nothereneverherever @widow-cevans @suns3treading @fmejenson @megatrilss1885 @10iceicebaby @sh1nedreamsm1le7 @ptrickbateman @chasingosc @uuoozzii @idkwtdwml123 @pinkdeadtopia @chiara8104 @ellie-bellie-29 @piastri-my-boy @1-of-my-many-obsessions @8junejpg1 @jaydensluv @astrlape @idontknow0704 @whistlef0rthechoir @op814kitty @asmoothoperator @illicit-affcirs @lilith-123321 @teddybearbeth @saudianna @skylyn-vais @fleurdangz @angxedxtz @marekmybeloved @liafics @dxrlxb @gabyasworld @treebranch23 @drysdalesv @morganalatina21 @bigcatharmony @ilovemuppets @acina27 @angelabunbun @megatrilss1885 @ilikecarsalotsometimes @roxanne-ragnvindr @euphoriapillz @luminouskalopsia @trinity2058 @livsturnioloo @wdsara48 @ini3103 @shimmermotorsport @marslovesran4eva @wherethezoes-at @monsterdesandia @mythicalmaven @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @ella284-3 @landossainz @redcrescentmoons @jaeger-chan @altaccount283927 @ericasdumbworld @aerie717 @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ysavelelelel @phillza-my-beloved @thenalovescars @zicosbitch @scaroscar8115 @wertyuizxcvbnm @needy02 @dessashippr @quill-vy @o6hellnah @enchantedwaspwhisper @awesome-fandom-panda @biancathecool @lilorose25 @wowzees (not sure if all these worked but I took them straight from my comments on the sneak peak)
summary: You thought escaping to the bathroom would save you from a drunk and clingy Oscar, but you were wrong. He follows you, intent on proving that his stamina extends far beyond the race track. A story about overstimulation, denial, and an Oscar Piastri who refuses to let you finish until he’s completely satisfied.
pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader
word count: 4.8+ k
raiting: 18+
genre: smut, pwp, romance, established relationship, fluff (at the end).
warnings: drunk Oscar (but sweet and consensual), bathroom sex, counter sex, mirror sex, overstimulation, edging, dirty talk, slight roughness, praise kink, unprotected sex (creampie), aftercare, cuddling
author note: So I wrote a new fanfic about y/n as Oscar's girlfriend. I think these will be the most frequent fics on my blog, because that's what you love the most. Actually, I had many versions of this fanfic, but I decided that this slightly drunk and dominant, insatiable version of Oscar and y/n's not-quite-protesting version would be the most interesting. It turned out so intense and long 🤭 I swear I haven't written anything more intense and dirty in all my writing (and I've written over 100 explicit scenes on another blog) 🩵 What this Oscar did to me?! 😱🫠🫢 If you like long, intense, and Oscar, then this is for you 👇🏻
The electronic key gave a quiet click, and the hotel room door opened. You walked inside, supporting Oscar, who, although capable of walking on his own, had decided he couldn’t manage without you. He was heavier than he looked at first glance. Oscar leaned his entire body weight against your shoulder; his usual composure had melted away somewhere at the bottom of his third glass of gin, giving way to a relaxed, warm heaviness.
A third consecutive victory at the Miami Grand Prix was the reason for his celebration. Oscar usually didn’t drink much—he always kept himself in check, even at parties. But this time, teammates and sponsors had insisted: "To first place! To the hat trick!" And he gave in.
Not to the point of total intoxication, no—he understood everything, but he spoke a bit lazily, drawing out his words. Alcohol made him completely unlike himself—more relaxed, more playful. A slight sway in his step and a warm smile that wouldn’t leave his face made him look both cute and funny at the same time. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Oscar like this. Perhaps on his high school graduation day, when he got drunk with friends.
You gripped him tighter under the arm, feeling his muscles tense under the thin fabric of his black t-shirt, and involuntarily leaned closer to his neck.
The expected sharp smell of alcohol was there, but it was lost, receding into the background before what you adored to the point of trembling knees. He smelled like a storm that had finally subsided. It was a scent you would recognize among a thousand others. The smell of sun-dried wood and sea salt.
Heat radiated from Oscar’s flushed skin, and this scent was unfolding in a special way right now. It held the freshness of the wind on the Melbourne coast and the tartness of sage, which, mixing with the barely perceptible notes of expensive gin, created an intoxicating cocktail. Oscar always smelled like home.
But this dreamy moment was interrupted by his careless movement toward the bed, and you almost fell with him. You helped him land on the soft mattress, and your boyfriend fell, absolutely exhausted from the party. You ran a quick gaze over his body, sprawled across the middle of the bed, and shook your head, smiling. His black, tight-fitting t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing part of his flat stomach, and his white shorts had slipped down a bit on his hips.
"Champion, you definitely overdid it with the victories today," you said and sank to your knees in front of the bed to pull off his massive sneakers.
"I’m so tired..." he mumbled from somewhere above. His legs dropped limply to the floor as you removed his shoes. "But so... happy. Three in a row. Can you imagine?"
You stood up, walked to the nightstand beside the bed, and placed your purse and phone there. He turned his head toward you, and his smile grew wider.
"Are you proud of me?"
Warmth spread through your soul. You were prouder of him than he could imagine.
"I am proud of you," you whispered, leaning down to him and bracing your hands on the bed. Your lips gently touched his temple, and you felt him instantly bury his fingers in your hair. You hadn’t planned anything, just wanted to kiss him gently to express your pride. But Oscar craved more. He intercepted your lips, and his tongue slipped inside your mouth, deepening the kiss. The longer you kissed, the wetter and more chaotic it became.
Oscar pulled you toward him. You tried to resist, but he was stronger. Even drunk, he easily, effortlessly pulled you down next to him. But that wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t want you just lying next to him—he needed to feel all of you. With agility surprising for his state, he threw a leg over your thighs and in a moment, using inertia, pinned you under him.
The air was knocked out of your lungs. He was heavy. His relaxed body seemed to weigh a ton, and he didn't even try to hold himself up, trusting gravity completely. He sprawled over you, pressing you into the mattress with every inch of his body.
"Oscar... you're going to crush me," you laughed, trying to move his shoulder, but it was like moving a rock.
"No," he mumbled into your neck, and you felt his wet, hot smile against your skin. "I'm holding you. You're my main trophy today."
You were too tired for what Oscar had in mind. It was almost three in the morning, and after such a long and eventful day, you only dreamed of sleep.
"Oscar... I want to sleep..." you said. He began rubbing his nose against your cheek, then moved down to your neck, inhaling your scent as deeply as if it were oxygen. And then followed the kisses. His movements were languid, the trails wet, and the desire—obvious.
"You smell... tasty..." he whispered, lazily running his tongue over the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a herd of goosebumps through you.
You realized: this had to end while you still had the strength to resist. Because a little more—and his lazy, hot kisses, his weight pressing you so pleasantly into the mattress, his scent filling your lungs—would do the job. You could already feel the response warming between your thighs, your body forgetting the fatigue and starting to reach for him. So you gathered all your will into a fist. First—gently. You ran your palm down his back, as if soothing him, and laughed quietly.
"Oscar... you really will crush me. I can't breathe."
He chuckled lazily but lifted his head slightly, looking down at you with those drunk, shining eyes.
"Then I'll make it lighter," he mumbled and tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but the alcohol made his movements clumsy. Instead, he just rolled a bit to the side, still holding you in his arms, and you seized the moment.
Sharply, but playfully, you twisted out from under him, as if wrestling, and slipped down—between his arms, past his chest, past his stomach. He tried to grab you by the waist, but his fingers only slid over the fabric of your dress. You were already at the edge of the bed, on your feet, laughing quietly so as not to wake his hunting instinct too strongly.
"No, no, champion," you said, retreating back toward the bathroom. "The trophy chooses a shower and bed today."
Oscar lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, looking at you with an offended, drunken smile. His hair was disheveled, and in his eyes, you could read disappointment mixed with desire. You saw that he was aroused: the fabric of his shorts was taut, his breathing accelerated. He reached a hand out in your direction, as if wanting to pull you back.
"Hey, come here..." he drawled lazily. "I haven't celebrated properly yet..."
"Celebrate in your dreams," you replied, already standing in the bathroom doorway. "I'll be quick. And don't touch yourself without me, got it?"
He just chuckled, falling back onto the pillow, and you closed the door—not all the way, out of habit.
In the bathroom, you exhaled with relief. Fatigue washed over you in a wave. You took off your dress to feel free, and before getting into the shower, you started washing the makeup off your face. Although there wasn’t much, skincare was mandatory. The face in the mirror looked tired but happy. You managed quickly and leaned down to wash with cool water.
When you lifted your head, drops were running down your cheeks, and when the water finally stopped blurring your vision, you saw Oscar in the mirror. He was standing in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. The black t-shirt was still slightly ridden up; the white shorts, low on his hips, did not hide his erection. He looked at you silently, and you saw mischievous sparks in his eyes. You wiped your face with a paper towel and turned to him.
You looked at his arousal and raised your eyes, meeting his.
"What? Want to shower first?" you asked, not without a dose of sarcasm, hinting that he needed to calm down.
But Oscar didn’t answer. He pushed off the doorframe and slowly approached you. There was not even a hint of drunkenness in his movements now. His eyes ran from bottom to top over your almost naked body. You turned back to the mirror and realized that now you were definitely trapped. In a moment, he was behind you. His large, solid body pressed you against the vanity with the sink. His lips found your neck again, and his fingers, which just a moment ago were on your waist, slid down your stomach to the place that had begun to pulse. You felt his aroused cock against your buttocks.
"Oscar, I'm really tired," you said almost inaudibly, because his fingers had already found their way to your wet folds. You felt his touch and gripped the edge of the cold marble countertop with your palms. The mirror in front of you fogged up from your breath, but you still saw his reflection: eyes dark, shining, a sly drunken smile, but absolutely confident.
"I know," he answered right by your ear. "But you said it yourself... don't touch myself without you. Besides, you started it..."
His fingers on your pussy moved slowly, you would even say teasingly—not penetrating, just circling around your center. You reacted instantly: your hips pushed forward on their own, seeking more pressure, but he evaded, keeping you on the edge.
"Mmm..." you tried to protest one more time, but nothing came out, just an uncontrollable moan escaped.
He pressed harder—you felt his full length, hot and hard, through the thin fabric of his shorts against your buttocks. With one hand he held you by the waist, not letting you pull away, with the other—he continued these slow, unbearable caresses.
"You're wet," he whispered, as if surprised, as if it were a discovery for him. "Very wet. And this is after you were 'tired'?"
You bit your lip, trying not to give away how much this turned you on—specifically this drunken confidence of his, this playful cruelty, knowing you wouldn't run away now.
He turned you to face him. You ended up sandwiched between his body and the sink. His lips found yours—the kiss was greedy, passionate, wetter from the alcohol, but one that made your head spin. While he kissed you, his fingers slid down again—this time inside, unhurriedly sinking into you. You arched, pressing against his palm. Your own hands slipped under his t-shirt, lifting it up as if urging him to take it off, and Oscar, without thinking twice, got rid of it in a moment, remaining only in shorts.
He returned to your lips as soon as he fulfilled your silent request and tore away from you only when you both needed air. He looked into your eyes—and smiled. This Oscar was not at all like the one you were used to seeing in bed.
He touched your thong and pulled it down. It fell, gathering at your ankles, and the cool air touched your moist folds. Oscar grabbed you by the thighs. One sharp, confident movement—and you were off the floor. The cold of the marble countertop burned your bare buttocks and thighs when he sat you on it, but that cold instantly vanished under the pressure of his hot body. Oscar unceremoniously spread your knees wider, settling between them so tightly that not a millimeter of free space remained.
Now your faces were on the same level. In his eyes splashed dark, intoxicating pleasure—he saw you trembling, and he liked it.
"Osc..." you tried to say something, but he didn't let you finish. His lips attacked yours again—not just kissing, but as if consuming you. But this time he didn't stop at the lips.
He began real torture. Oscar covered your jawline with kisses, descending to your neck, intentionally lingering on the most sensitive points where the blood pulsed. He sucked on the tender skin, alternating it with light bites that made you arch back, nearly hitting the back of your head against the mirror.
He didn’t take off the bra you were still wearing; he just yanked it, and it rode up, freeing your breasts.
His lips fell to your aroused nipples, and he caressed them with his tongue. The arousal intensified from these caresses because your breasts were an erogenous zone for you, and Oscar knew it well.
His hand ended up between your bodies, found the place that was the main trophy for him. And he acted ruthlessly.
His fingers moved inside in a rhythm he set himself, completely ignoring your chaotic attempts to adjust. He would speed up, sharply thrusting deeper and forcing you to throw your head back, then almost stop, barely touching, teasing you to tears. It was masterful, planned overstimulation. And you didn’t know what you were being punished for. Was it for running away?
You felt everything at once: the cold stone under your palms, the heat of his breath on your chest, and this unbearably sweet pressure below. Your moan became louder, echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.
"Shhh..." he whispered right into your mouth, stealing your breath. "The neighbors will hear..."
"Then... you... need... to stop..." you barely said, and your voice still broke into a loud moan from the overstimulation. Oscar had no intention of stopping, and you realized this when he sped up his movements. A wave of pleasure was already rising to your throat, your body tensed, preparing for the explosion. You instinctively squeezed his shoulders, pushing your hips toward his hand, begging for the finale.
But he sensed it. And abruptly stopped.
His fingers froze inside, ceasing movement exactly the second it was vitally necessary. Your body trembled treacherously from the incompleteness, and you opened your eyes, looking at him with a mixture of indignation and despair.
Oscar looked at you, breathing heavily, with a self-satisfied smile atypical for him. He ran his thumb over your lower lip, enjoying your reaction.
"Hmm... I'd like to try something else," he said. You let out a loud breath, feeling resentment that he tortured you so much but didn't allow you to come.
When he dropped to his knees and his face was right between your legs, you felt your walls contract in anticipation of his actions.
Oscar placed his palms on your thighs, spreading your legs even wider and securely fixed you in this defenseless position.
At first, you felt only his hot, ragged breath scorching your most sensitive skin, causing your stomach muscles to contract involuntarily. And then his tongue touched you—softly, broadly, from bottom to top, gathering all your juices.
"Mgh!..." you threw your head back, pressing the back of your head against the mirror. The cold of the glass sobered you a little, but the heat below was unbearable.
Oscar was in no hurry. It seemed he decided to taste every millimeter of you. He kissed the inside of your thighs, slowly approaching the center, teasing you with his slowness. His tongue moved confidently and wetly, and you felt him enjoying the taste as if you were his favorite vanilla ice cream.
But the real torture began when he focused on your clitoris. He didn't apply strong pressure, no. He barely touched it with the tip of his tongue, vibrating quickly, then suddenly switched to slow, wide circular motions. It was maddening. You wanted harder, faster, rougher, but he kept you in this state of weightlessness where pleasure bordered on the pain of tension.
"Fuck..." you exhaled, trying to move your hips toward his mouth to increase the pressure. "Oscar... please..."
He reacted, but in his own way. His hands gripped your thighs to the point of bruising, not letting you move on your own.
"Quiet..." his hum vibrated against your skin, sending a new electric shock through you.
Suddenly he added fingers. Two fingers abruptly entered inside, filling you, and began to move in the same rhythm as his tongue. This double attack knocked the air out of your chest. You grabbed his hair with your hands, clutching the strands, trying to hold on to reality, which was blurring before your eyes.
He played with you like a race car on a track—accelerating you to a crazy speed, forcing you to breathe raggedly and moan loudly, then abruptly dropping the revs, leaving you trembling at the very peak, but not letting you cross the finish line.
He pulled away for a second, and you felt the cold air on your wet skin. You opened your clouded eyes and saw him looking up at you from below. His lips were wet and swollen, his chin glistened with your juices, and that same devilish, drunken satisfaction burned in his eyes.
"You're so tasty when you beg," he rasped, his voice vibrating with arousal. "Want to come?"
He knew the answer. He saw your body taut as a string.
"Yes... Oscar, yes!" you almost shouted.
He smiled, and that smile promised you everything. He fell upon you again, but this time without games. His tongue moved fast, hard, knowing exactly where to strike. He began sucking on your clitoris with such intensity that you forgot how to breathe. His fingers moved inside madly fast, curling, seeking your G-spot, and when they found it, the world exploded.
A wave of pleasure crashed over you with such force that your vision went dark. Your legs trembled, and if Oscar hadn't held you with his strong hands, you would have just slid off that countertop onto the tiles. You gasped for air, trying to calm your heartbeat, which seemed to echo even in your ears.
But Oscar didn't give you time to rest.
He stood up from his knees, his face wet with your juices, and his eyes—dark and even greedier. He didn't even kiss you—just ran his hand along your wet thigh, as if checking the result of his work, and grunted with satisfaction.
"Thought that was it?" he rasped. "I haven't really celebrated yet..."
He easily lifted you off the countertop. Your legs gave way, your knees were like cotton, but he pressed you firmly against him, not letting you fall. He led you deeper into the bathroom, to the toilet, the lid of which was down.
"Stand here," he commanded softly. You leaned your back against the cool wall, watching him through a fog of pleasure. Oscar stood before you, flushed, incredibly handsome in his drunkenness and desire. His fingers, a bit clumsy from alcohol but impatient, gripped the waistband of his white shorts. He jerked them down, along with his underwear. The fabric fell to his ankles, and he carelessly kicked them aside, standing before you absolutely naked.
You involuntarily lingered your gaze on him. His cock stood straight up, hard, engorged with blood, pulsing with impatience. On the pale skin of his thighs, where his shorts usually were, the contrast with his tanned legs stood out. He looked powerful, and at the thought that all of this would be inside you right now, a wave of arousing heat ran through your body again.
Oscar sat on the toilet lid, spreading his legs wide, and pulled you by the hands toward him.
"Come to me," he called, looking you straight in the eyes. "Sit on top."
You took a step toward him. His warm palms rested on your buttocks, guiding you. You threw a leg over him, straddling him. His thighs were hard under yours.
You felt his head press against your wet, swollen entrance. It was a sensation on the edge—you were so sensitive after the orgasm that any touch seemed almost excessive, but at the same time, you felt an emptiness that only he could fill.
Oscar put his hands on your waist, helping you find your balance.
"Slowly..." he warned, though his own breathing was ragged.
You began to lower yourself. Centimeter by centimeter, he entered you, stretching, filling every corner with himself. You felt his hot hardness, his girth, and it made you throw your head back and moan loudly.
"Oh God..." you groaned.
When you lowered yourself all the way, your buttocks touching his groin, Oscar pressed his face into the curve of your neck with a noisy exhale. You sat face to face, tightly intertwined, skin to skin. It was intimate, hot, and incredibly tight. You felt his heart beating against your chest—just as madly as yours.
You tried to take the initiative and start moving yourself to find a comfortable rhythm, but Oscar stopped you. His large palms squeezed your waist, fixing you in place.
"No..." he mumbled, burying his nose in your hair. "I'll do it myself."
And he began to move. These were not the fast, rhythmic thrusts you were used to. Because of the alcohol, his body worked in a different mode: his movements were slow, languid, but incredibly deep. He would toss you up with his hips, and then forcefully lower you onto himself, burying himself in you to the very hilt, hitting your cervix.
For your body, which had just experienced an explosion of pleasure, this was a real test. Your walls were still spasmodically contracting, nerve endings were exposed, and every deep movement of his felt too sharp—on the border between pain and pleasure. You bit your lips, trying not to scream, because the sensations were so intense that tears gathered in your eyes.
"Oscar... that's... too deep..." you groaned, bracing your palms on his shoulders, trying to lift yourself at least a little to reduce the depth of penetration.
But he didn't listen. Or simply couldn't stop. Alcohol played a cruel joke on him for the first time: it dulled his sensitivity. What was overstimulation for you was insufficient for him. To feel you, to get closer to release, he needed more friction, more pressure, more time.
"I don't feel... the edge..." he rasped, and in his voice, irritation mixed with lust could be heard.
He began to move more insistently, rougher. He entered you at different angles, searching for that point that would finally allow him to break. He rubbed his pubic bone against your clitoris, which was already burning, forcing you to shudder with your whole body. It was like an endless loop: he stretched you, filled you, withdrew almost completely, and burst inside again, giving you not a second of respite.
You felt sweat trickling down your back, hair sticking to your neck. The air in the bathroom became heavy and humid.
"Oscar, I can't take it anymore..." you exhaled, feeling your legs starting to go numb from the awkward position, and everything inside burning from the continuous friction. "Please, finish..."
He raised his head and looked at you. His eyes were clouded, pupils dilated. He saw your fatigue, but that seemed to turn him on even more. He was aroused by having complete power over you, that you were entirely at his disposal, even when you had no strength left.
"I'm trying, baby..." he said playfully. "But you're so tight... and wet... I want this to last forever."
He changed tactics. Instead of deep thrusts, he began to grind into you with his hips, creating frantic friction inside. He squeezed your buttocks so hard that you knew—tomorrow there would be marks from his fingers there.
"Damn..." you cursed when he hit that same, overexcited G-spot again, forcing your body to treacherously react again, preparing you for a second wave you didn't ask for, but which he was striving for. "You're mocking me..."
"A little," he smiled crookedly, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple. "That's for running away." He confirmed your guess as to why he decided to just kill you today.
You realized that if you didn't take the situation into your own hands (or rather—into your own body), this drunken marathon would last until dawn, and you would simply pass out right on top of him. You needed to push him over the edge, break through that alcohol haze that had dulled his sensitivity.
Gathering the last crumbs of strength, you stopped resisting his chaotic rhythm and did the only thing that could work without unnecessary movement. You hugged him around the neck, pressed your cheek to his wet temple, and squeezed your internal muscles with all your might.
Oscar hissed, freezing abruptly. You felt his cock twitch inside from this unexpected tight ring.
"Oh..." he exhaled, and his fingers dug painfully into your thighs.
You didn't let go. You continued to rhythmically squeeze him, combining it with short, barely perceptible pelvic movements to meet each of his thrusts. It worked. The pressure and heat finally did their job, switching something in his brain.
His breathing turned into a hoarse moan. The chaotic movements became short, sharp, and frantic.
"Yes... yes, like that... don't let go..." he babbled into your shoulder. You felt yourself relaxing, and his cock hitting exactly where it needed to. A second orgasm covered you today, and your walls began to contract around his again.
He made a few more deep, desperate thrusts, burying himself in you with the full weight of his body, and finally broke. His body tensed like steel, his back arched, and with a loud, drawn-out moan, he poured into you. You felt the hot, pulsating waves of his orgasm, which seemed to never end.
When the last spasms subsided, Oscar went limp. He dropped his head heavily onto your chest, breathing as if he had just run a marathon. You were completely exhausted too. Legs trembling, heart pounding, eyelids heavy as lead.
"I think I died..." you protested, having no strength even to move.
Oscar made some undefined sound, similar to a chuckle, and lazily kissed your collarbone.
"I'll revive you... tomorrow," he mumbled in a hoarse, sleepy voice.
"Shower," you whispered peremptorily, realizing that if you didn't wash the sweat and everything else off yourselves right now, you would simply fall asleep right here, on the toilet in the bathroom. "And this time—only to wash."
He laughed quietly, the vibration from his chest transferring to you.
"Yes, ma'am."
He helped you stand up. Your legs barely obeyed you, trembling after such tension, and Oscar, noticing this, just scooped you up under the arm, pressing you tightly to his side. Together you walked into the shower cabin.
Oscar turned on the water, and in a moment, pleasant warm steam enveloped you. When the streams of water hit your skin, you barely held back a moan of relief. The water washed away the stickiness, fatigue, and the remnants of the alcoholic haze.
This time he was surprisingly tender. Oscar took the shower gel and lathered it in his palms. He slowly ran his soapy hands over your shoulders, back, moving down to your lower back. His touches no longer demanded or teased—they soothed. He washed the traces of his fingers from your thighs, kissing the wet drops on your neck.
You, in turn, just leaned your forehead against his chest, allowing the water to run down both of you, and lazily moved your palm over his torso, washing away the sweat.
"You can barely stand on your feet," he mumbled into the top of your head, rinsing the foam from your hair.
"Whose fault is that?" you tore yourself away from his chest and looked up at him. He smiled, and now this man looked like "your Oscar" and not that wild lover who barely left you alive. The combination of three consecutive wins and a large amount of alcohol had revealed a new version of your boyfriend to you. And you would definitely never forget it.
Having dried off with one towel for two—quickly and carelessly, because the cold of the bathroom had already started to bite at your heated skin—you finally left the bathroom.
Reaching the bed seemed like the last task for today. As soon as you were near it, Oscar simply collapsed onto the mattress, pulling you with him. The cool bed linen seemed like the most pleasant thing in the world.
He immediately scooped you under him, settling into the "little spoon" position. His hand possessively lay on your waist, pressing your back to his chest, and his legs intertwined with yours. You felt his warmth, his even breathing by your ear, and that familiar scent, which was now clean and fresh.
Darkness and fatigue instantly swallowed you both. And although Oscar won the race in Miami today, his main victory, undoubtedly, was you, peacefully sniffling in his arms right now.
summary: She’s given him her all, keeping his life on schedule without complaint, but now it’s her turn to shake things up. She's leaving him in just two weeks.
content warnings: max being not a great boss
word count: 2.5k
pairing: max verstappen x assistant!reader
SERIES: my dear assistant || may be confusing if read as a standalone one-shot!
a/n: ITS HEREEEE! nawr because i had so much fun writing this like im ACTUALLY so stupid super excited for this series
Max, I love you. I’m your biggest fan, please send me—
You sighed, dragging the email into the trash.
“Seriously, he needs to take his business email out of his Instagram bio,” you muttered under your breath.
Mornings always looked the same. Blue light glasses perched on your nose, emotional support blanket wrapped around your shoulders, laptop balanced on your knees. Max’s inbox was the most consistent thing in your life. You’d learned early on that it was faster to just keep it bookmarked—front and center—ready for whatever chaos awaited overnight.
Your fingers tapped next again and again, skimming the latest flood of messages that had piled up while you were asleep. Most of them weren’t worth your time, fan mail begging for signed driver cards, free merch, or worse, his phone number.
Filtering through that mess was easily your least favorite part of the job. Max was perfectly capable of checking his own emails, eventually. But every morning, before he even woke up, it was your job to make sure his inbox looked spotless.
Your phone alarm blared suddenly, cutting through the quiet. You glanced at the clock: 7 a.m. sharp.
Another sigh. You closed the laptop, tucked it under your arm, and pushed the blanket off your legs before heading to the door.
Your studio apartment in Monaco wasn’t exactly the dream. Max had requested—more like insisted—that you move closer six months into the job. And when Max requested something, there was rarely an option to say no.
Keys in hand, you slipped downstairs and slid into your car. You turned on the seat warmer, for the passenger side, of course, stopped by the convenience store for a Red Bull, and headed toward Max’s luxurious penthouse to pick him up for the gym.
Just like you did every day.
You pulled up to the curb and picked up your phone. The Here. text was practically muscle memory by now. Short, simple, and the same every morning. Max, your mom, and your best friend back home were the only pinned chats at the top of your messages.
You reached across the passenger seat to test the warmth of the cushion. Warm, but not too warm. You quickly shut off the heater, he always complained if it got left on too long. You switched your music over to light instrumentals, low enough to fade into the background while you drove him between commitments.
Everything you did ran like clockwork now, fine-tuned around his habits. You knew what he liked, what he couldn’t stand, and every tiny detail in between. It wasn’t efficiency so much as self-preservation—every well-timed adjustment kept you safe from one of his early-morning lectures.
It didn’t take long before he appeared at your car door, opening it with practiced ease and sliding into the passenger seat. You reached for the Red Bull waiting in the cupholder, popped it open with one hand, and passed it to him. He took it without looking, as usual.
“What’s planned for today after the gym?” he asked, taking a sip before setting it down, halfway on the console, halfway in the cupholder like he owned the car himself.
“You’ve got two video shoots—one for ORB, one for Ford—lunch with your dad, social shoots for ORB, dinner with investors, then you’re free for the night.”
“What about paddle?”
“What about paddle?” you echoed, glancing over at him.
“Lando and I made plans to play before lunch.”
“Max, did you tell anyone about these plans?”
“No, but you know I don’t like my schedule so tight.”
You exhaled through your nose, already bracing for the rest of the day. “Max, those things have been on the calendar for months. You can’t keep making plans during work hours.”
You eased the car to a stop in front of the gym.
He pointed to the clock on your dashboard before stepping out. “Looks like you have an hour to fix it. Don’t cancel on Lando or Dad.”
The door shut harder than necessary, and you winced.
You muttered a few quiet expletives, then let out a breathy laugh. “Unbelievable. I don’t even make his schedule.”
Pulling out your phone, you dialed the Red Bull comms manager.
“No, no, I understand. Thank you anyway, he’ll be there for sure.”
You hung up and leaned your head against the headrest, groaning at the clock. 15 minutes left to fix this.
“I was on such a good streak of him not yelling at me,” you said to yourself, scrolling through your contacts. There was one more person you could try.
You tapped on Lando Norris. You’d only gotten his number because you’d once needed help getting a very drunk Max into his apartment. Still, it was worth a shot.
To your surprise, he answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Lando? This is Max’s—”
“Right-hand man, yeah, I know,” he said with a laugh. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Just checking, are you supposed to be playing paddle with Max before lunch?”
“Yes? Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering if there’s any chance you could move it to later in the day? He’s got back-to-back shoots, and he didn’t mention it to anyone.”
“Just texted him. Will eight o’clock work, you think?”
You blinked. Honestly, speechless over how easy that was. “Uh, yeah. That’s perfect, actually. Thank you so much.”
“No problem. I know how he can be,” he said before hanging up.
By the time the clock hit 8, Max walked out of the gym, hair damp, phone in hand, same as he did every day.
“You got lucky,” he said, sliding into the seat. “Lando texted me and said he needed to move paddle.”
You only nodded, keeping your eyes on the road.
“Don’t let them schedule things that close together again,” he added.
You wanted to remind him that you didn’t handle his scheduling. You wanted to remind him how out of the many things you did quietly manage for him every single day, that was the one thing you did not have to worry about.
But you didn’t. You never did.
“I’ll make a note of that,” you said, instead, shifting the car into gear and pulling out toward his first commitment of the day.
Despite Max being a royal pain in your ass, he was never that to anyone else. Always polite, always charming, always perfectly composed. He smiled for the cameras, thanked every crew member, and acted like he hadn’t just handed you a scheduling disaster two hours ago.
The first shoot ran over, naturally. You stood just off set, answering texts and calls from PR and the comms team while keeping one eye on him. He looked like he was born for this. For all of the bright lights, cameras, the constant hum of attention. You, on the other hand, were apparently born for crisis control.
“His outfit for the Ford shoot hasn’t arrived yet, he told us to tell you. That you would fix it” the stylist whispered urgently, rushing over to you.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Of course he did.”
Five minutes later, you were sprinting across the parking lot, car keys in hand, off to pick up the missing garment yourself. When you returned, slightly winded, Max didn’t even blink before reaching for the clothes as if they’d been there all along.
Between shoots, you handed him a towel, a protein bar, a fresh Red Bull, all without a word. He didn’t thank you, but he took them like he always did.
By the time you both got back in the car, your phone was buzzing nonstop. PR wanted confirmation on his post-shoot interview slot, his dad’s assistant was trying to move lunch, and the Red Bull team wanted to push up his next event by fifteen minutes. You were juggling it all while merging into Monaco traffic.
“You know,” Max said casually from the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, “they should really hire someone to handle my scheduling.”
You turned your head just enough to glare at him before refocusing on the road. “Yeah. Imagine that.”
He didn’t even look up, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
After the investors' dinner, you barely had time to breathe before heading to the paddle courts. The sun was dipping just enough to turn the sky gold, the city still buzzing around you. Max adjusted his sunglasses, scrolling through his texts.
“Lando’s already there,” he said. “Don’t make me late.”
When you pulled into the lot, you spotted Lando immediately, leaning against the fence, grinning and giving you both an excited wave.
“Made it on time?” Lando called out as Max stepped out of the car, looking down at his watch. “That’s a first.”
You stayed in the car while the boys talked to each other, your phone in hand, already drafting an email about tomorrow’s rescheduled shoot, hoping to get around an ‘overloaded’ schedule early.
Max grabbed his paddle bag from your backseat and tossed you a look. “You’re staying, right?”
You raised an eyebrow without looking up from your phone. “In case you forget how to hold a paddle?”
He rolled his eyes. “In case I need something.”
You sighed and turned the car off. Because of course you were going to stay. You always did.
You followed the boys onto the courts, taking up space on the bench you always sat on when you stayed at the courts.
“I’m going to change,” Max said, disappearing into the changing rooms.
Lando’s eyes flicked to you. “You know, I don’t know how you manage him all day. Honestly. You’re like, superhero-level organized.”
You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “It’s mostly endurance and Red Bull,” you said dryly.
“No, seriously,” he said, stepping closer. “I’d pay double whatever he pays you to work for me. Two million a year?”
You physically coughed at the number out of pure surprise. Two million a year. That was way more than double what Max paid you. That was more than enough to finally get at least a one-bedroom apartment and not a studio. Your first instinct was to say yes, right here, right now. But before the words could escape, the changing room door swung open.
“Ready?!” Max called from inside.
You blinked. He always seemed to have perfect timing. You laughed quietly, shaking your head. Of course he had to come out right now.
Max strutted onto the court, towel over his shoulders, still scrolling on his phone. Lando picked up a paddle, grinning at him. “Ready to lose?”
“You’re on,” Max shot back, smirking.
By the time the match ended, Max had disappeared to the bathroom once again to change. Lando turned to you, leaning on the fence. “So, you’re thinking about my offer, right? I was being serious.”
You hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yes, I will take your offer.”
“Wait—think about it for a few days,” Lando said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve already made up my mind,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll give Max two weeks. Enough time to find someone else, train them, make sure he doesn’t completely implode on them.”
Lando laughed, shaking his head. “That’s actually impressive. Most people would just bolt. You’re solid.”
“I’m loyal,” you said lightly. “And apparently crazy.”
He grinned. “Fair enough. Well, still think it over anyway. You never know.”
You shook your head. “Nope. I’ve thought it through. Two weeks, then the new job starts.”
And just like that, the decision was made, but you knew the next two weeks promised to be very interesting.
When Max reemerged, you instinctively packed up his gear while him and Lando continued to talk and tease each other. By the time you both slid back into the car, the sky had deepened into a dark navy, and streetlights stretched across the Monaco streets. Max leaned back in the seat, stretching his arms, and within minutes, his head lolled slightly to the side. He had always had a habit of dozing off if you were driving at night.
You drove in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space, enjoying the rare moments of calm after a day of chaos. Your phone buzzed on your lap. Your mom. You hadn’t spoken to her in a few days. Max’s packed schedule had left barely a moment for your own life.
You hesitated, glancing at the sleeping figure beside you. Then, carefully, you answered. “Hi, Mom,” you whispered, keeping your voice low.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay? How’s everything?” Her voice was warm and familiar.
You smiled faintly, pressing the phone closer. “I’m fine, just, busy,” you said quietly, glancing at Max, who stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes. “I just wanted to talk for a minute.”
“Of course, I just—”
Before you could finish, Max’s head lifted, blinking sleepily, irritation creeping into his voice. “You couldn’t wait until I’m back home?”
You muttered an apology to your mom before quickly hitting the end call button. Something inside you snapped. The two years of constant juggling and reworking his schedules, waiting on him hand and foot, managing his quirks, keeping every moving part in line, it all suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.
“I’m leaving, Max! I’m actually leaving this job!” you said, louder than you intended, voice carrying in the quiet car.
Max froze, eyes wide with shock. “What do you mean? You can’t do that?” he said slowly, his voice catching in disbelief.
“Yes, I can,” you said, forcing calm into your voice, but letting a hint of frustration bleed through. “Look, I’m giving you two weeks. Two weeks to help you find someone else, train them, and hopefully make sure you don’t completely scare them off.”
He went quiet. You could feel the tension in the car surge. It was so thick you swore you could physically feel it. For a moment, it was just the hum of the engine and your own heartbeat.
You tried to gauge his reaction, and for the first time all day, or maybe for as long as you had known him, you couldn’t. There was no playful smirk, no teasing remark, no nostrils flaring, no raised eyebrow, no eye roll. Just quiet.
“I—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head, sighing further into the seat.
You softened slightly, leaning back in your seat, too. “Max, I’ve thought about this for a long time. I like keeping things running smoothly for you, I like knowing everything is under control, but I need to look out for myself, too. And yes, the timing isn’t perfect, but I’m going to try my best to make this transition easier for you.”
He finally exhaled, running a hand over his face, and the silence stretched again. The weight of your words hung between you.
You finally pulled up in front of his penthouse, engine idling. Max didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at you. He opened his door and stepped out, shoulders stiff. You watched him go inside without another word.
You sat there for a second, staring at the blinking streetlight outside of his apartment that he always commented on. Two weeks. That’s all he had before the world you’d kept running for him would start to shift, before he’d have to face just how indispensable you really were.
You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. Two weeks. Enough time to help him adjust, but not enough to undo the decision you had already made.
summary: charles adores the sweet treats you bake just for him. he does not, however, like sharing them, which becomes a problem when the rest of the grid starts to get jealous of his baked snacks.
contains: a bit of a grid fic!, everyone wants reader's baked treats, fluff, established relationship, crack, JEALOUS!CHARLES
word count: 2.3k
a/n: hiiii besties!!! this one is just cute and for funsies <3 also i don't know how to bake or to make healthy recipes at all so just give me a chance here and ignore all inconsistencies okay. hope you guys enjoy, likes and reblogs are appreciated!
masterlist!
"Oh, thanks, but I don't eat sweets."
"They're low on sugar and high on fiber. Are you sure?"
George does a double take at those words, eyes widening as he takes a second look at the jar you're offering him. You smile peacefully, and he glances at Charles standing behind you, arms crossed, a smug expression on his face.
"How did you make low sugar cookies? Cookies are basically all sugar," he asks, the confusion clear in his voice, taking a step closer to stare into the jar. "And those don't look like oatmeal."
"They aren't oatmeal," you agree. "They're vanilla."
George blinks.
"How?"
You grin.
"Secret recipe." And then you extend your arm in his direction to offer him a cookie again, and George glances at your boyfriend behind you suspiciously before taking one.
You take a few steps back to stand beside Charles as the two of you watch George chew the cookie, and Charles smiles when George's eyes widen in surprise.
"This is really good," surprise coats his every word, "like, really good."
"I know, right?" Your boyfriend nods, eyes sparkling with pride. "I could eat maybe a thousand of those per day."
"You'd shit yourself because of all the fiber, love."
"Still."
George is about to ask for another one when Charles's name is called by an engineer further inside, and then the two of you wave goodbye and start walking away, discussing your baked goods while he stands there, the taste of those cookies still lingering on his tongue.
He glares at the back of Charles's head for taking you back to his garage before he could grab another cookie. Or two. Or ten.
Maybe he needs to hang around the Ferrari garage more often.
Lando is sitting in the cool-down room next to Charles when he sees him snacking on a little square that looks to be covered in chocolate, filled with nuts, and, quite honestly, delicious.
He throws one of his gloves at the Monegasque to grab his attention, face full of interest.
"What are you eating?"
Charles swallows with a content sigh before answering.
"These energy bars my girlfriend baked for me. I don't know how she makes them, but they have a bunch of protein and my nutritionist approved. I think they're vegan too. Do you want one?"
"What the hell, why not?"
Charles gives him one of the squares from a small jar his team brought over after the race, and Lando looks at it with curiosity before taking a bite.
He chews for maybe one second, and then stills.
"What the fuck?"
Charles chuckles, a big smile on his face as he shoves a whole bar into his mouth.
"I know, right?"
Lando takes another bite, chewing slowly, savoring it.
"And you said your nutritionist approved?"
"Yeah, he said it's an amazing post-race snack."
"What the fuck."
"I know! It's pretty good, huh?"
Lando swallows, then turns to look at Charles with greedy eyes.
"Can I have another one?"
Charles hums in amusement, and then stands up, taking the jar with him.
"No, I don't think so. They're for me."
Lando stares at him with surprise, at a loss for words as Charles walks to the other side of the cool-down room, not even sparing him a glance.
"What the fuck?" He says for what feels like the hundredth time, already reminiscing the taste of those damn energy bars.
"Y/N."
You jump in surprise, eyes widening as you find Carlos staring at you as if you're some sort of prey, his body half hidden by a pillar close to the Ferrari garage.
"What the fuck, Carlos? You scared me," you complain, walking closer to him. "What are you doing here?"
"I sneaked out. The Williams guys will be searching for me soon."
You giggle at his serious tone, shaking your head in disbelief.
"Okay. Do you need me to get Charles?"
"No. I came here for you." You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, but it only seems to make him more determined. "Lando told me you've been making delicious snacks for Charles and, as his former teammate and your friend, I'd like a snack too."
You laugh loudly at that, hand coming up to cover your mouth as your eyes sparkle with amusement.
"Carlos, I make those for Charles."
"I know Lando has tasted them," he argues, face still so serious you can't help but giggle again, "George too. He said he's still dreaming about those cookies. I would like a cookie."
"I didn't bring cookies today." Carlos immediately deflates, expression painted with disappointment. "But I made him chips."
He perks up, eyes widening with interest.
"Chips?"
"I'm testing a new recipe," you nod, pulling him further into the Ferrari garage and bringing him towards your backpack, where a bunch of small ziplock bags full of crunchy homemade chips awaits, "I'm giving you one bag. But you can't tell Charles. He'll get jealous."
Carlos nods enthusiastically, taking the bag from your hands as if it's a newborn baby.
"You can trust me. Charles won't know."
"Good," and you start pushing him out of Ferrari's workplace as if you're sending him on a mission. "Go away before he sees you."
"Thank you!" He says excitedly before he starts running towards the Williams garage, leaving you giggling and rolling your eyes.
"Miss?"
Both you and Charles look up to find Oscar Piastri looking right down at you while you sit under the sun in the paddock, standing with his hands behind his back and looking awkward as hell. You can see Lando standing a couple of feet back, trying his hardest to not look involved, and yet looking almost as involved as if he was standing right beside his teammate.
"Hi, Oscar," you lean towards him, and Charles furrow his eyebrows. "Can we help you?"
"There's been talk around the paddock that you—well, that you brought muffins. Healthy muffins. And that we can eat them without getting yelled at by our doctors later."
It's Charles's turn to lean in, eyes narrowing.
"And who's the one spreading that sort of talk?"
From the corner of your vision, you can almost watch Lando shrink, taking a few more steps away from the three of you.
"Uhm." Oscar turns his head to look at his teammate, who immediately starts whistling in the worst effort to look innocent in the world. "I don't know?"
"I can give you a muffin," you shrug, already moving towards your duffel bag when Charles stops you, his eyes wide.
"Those are my muffins."
You stare at him as if he's gone insane.
"My love, it's one muffin."
"Two muffins," Lando's voice carries through the wind until it reaches the two of you, and then he starts whistling again, which makes it difficult for you not to smile, infinitely amused.
"You see that?" Charles points towards Lando, shaking his head in denial. "They're getting too confident. They're spreading gossip about your food. Soon enough, all of them will be asking for it. No muffins."
"We can just share one if you can't give us two," Oscar tries, and then flinches at the way your boyfriend turns to glare at him. "Maybe we can share half a muffin?"
"There's no need for that." You slap Charles's hand away from your bag and grab two muffins out of a big Tupperware inside it, extending your arm so you can offer them to the Australian. "There you go."
Oscar thanks you, voice full of excitement as he takes the two muffins from you and speed walks towards Lando, who throws you a happy thumbs up before taking Oscar by his upper arm and pulling him away.
Charles glares at you.
"Those were my muffins."
You giggle and then press a quick kiss to his lips.
"I can bake you muffins every day for the rest of our lives, dear. You can do without those two."
The rookies arrive to the Ferrari garage all at once, and Charles is groaning in annoyance before they even open their mouths to speak.
"No," he spits out angrily, "go away."
It's Gabi who speaks for the rookies, doing his best puppy dog eyes as Franco, Isack, Ollie, and Kimi stand behind him.
"Someone said you've got brownies today. We love brownies. Please?"
"No. No way. Get out of here."
"George said she doesn't mind giving some to the other drivers," Kimi pipes up from behind Gabi, also giving Charles his best sad face.
"I mind!" The Monegasque complains, gesturing wildly. "My cookies, my energy bars, my chips, my muffins, my brownies, my girlfriend. You guys keep eating everything — don't look at me like that, Franco, I know Pierre stole some of my mini bluberry pies the other day and brought one to you!"
"You started it," Isack argues, unfazed by Charles's death glare. "You offered your snacks to George and Lando. It's not fair to not let anyone else have them."
"I was willing to share one or two so people could know Y/N is the best baker in the world. I'm not willing to share with every driver on the grid until there's nothing left for me!"
"You sound like a child," are the first words out of your mouth as you finally reach the commotion, smiling softly at the rookies. "Hi, boys. I'm sorry, but I think we're all out of brownies — I gave the engineers some."
Charles's head snaps towards you. "You did what?!"
"Sorry, guys," you smile apologetically, and Gabi grumbles something that sounds like a it's okay, thank you anyway before he leaves the Ferrari garage, followed closely by the other rookies.
The second they're out of hearing range, Charles turns to glare at you accusingly, betrayal dripping from his voice.
"You gave all my brownies away to the engineers?"
You laugh loudly at his annoyance, moving closer so you can kiss his lips softly enough that the crease on his forehead disappears.
"No, I didn't give any of them away," you give him a conspiratory smile that makes him fall in love with you all over again, "I lied."
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
"You lied?"
"I did," you shove at his shoulder teasingly, and he takes your wrist to pull you closer to him, nudging his nose against yours, "thought you didn't want to share."
"Damn right," he nods with unprecedented seriousness before kissing you again, smiling at the way you giggle against his lips. "My snacks, my brownies, my girlfriend."
Charles is cornered by Max, Kimi, and Lando during a random media day, after most duties are done with and the drivers are (supposedly) just hanging around for the evening before they can go back to their hotels. They push him into a nearby empty room, and that's when the Monegasque finds himself surrounded by quite a few of his grid mates — the ones who have already tasted your baking, yes, but also the rookies, who stare at him with narrow eyes, Max, who's failed to sneak into the Ferrari garage, and others who have heard the tales of your sweets and snacks.
"All of you against me? That's not right," is his immediate complaint, hands coming up in annoyance.
"You brought this upon yourself." Liam crosses his arms from one of the corners of the room, Pierre standing by his side. "You need to learn how to share."
"Share?!" And Charles's jaw falls open dramatically, his face painted with disbelief. "My beautiful, loving girlfriend learned how to bake nutritionist approved snacks just for me because she loves me, and you want me to share? You want me to share her love?"
"We can pay," Max offers, not even reacting to Charles's angry expression. "She sets a price, and we can all pay for her to bake extra snacks and sweets for us as well."
The others start to pipe up in agreement, nods and hums of approval going around the room as Charles shakes his head forcefully.
"No, no, no, no, no! My girlfriend's love is not for sale!"
"Why are you the only one who gets a sweet treat?" Carlos's voice rises up in the middle of the small crowd, and Charles shoots him a deadly glare while the rest of the drivers agree.
Soon enough, the room explodes into yelling, the drivers complaining loudly as Charles fights for the right to be the only one with access to your baking, heavily regretting ever trying to show you off to the rest of the grid, gesturing wildly towards Alex as he explains those treats are made specially for him, not for them, only for him, and they're not gonna bribe you into making treats for them, the stupid, jealous idiots.
Those treats are his, and Charles is not going to share.
"What do you think of lemon bars for the next race weekend?"
"Oh, lemon bars are such a good idea!"
You note the suggestion down on your notebook enthusiastically, barely noticing the faint screaming coming from a few rooms away.
"I could do the energy bars for media day. Charles loves them."
"Or you could do the vegan cinnamon rolls again. Those were fire."
You hum in acknowledgement, writing the options down as Lewis devours the strawberry shortcake you baked for the day.
"So, lemon bars for the race weekend, cinnamon rolls for media day? Any other requests?"
Lewis shrugs, cleaning some of the cream that got on his face with a napkin.
"I think those two are fine." He takes another bite of the shortcake, humming at the taste. "You know, you're really nice for letting me pick the snack menu every weekend."
"Don't worry about it." You don't look up as you finish writing on your notebook. "Just don't tell Charles, he'd die if he knew."
Lewis chuckles. "Yeah, I know. My lips are sealed."
You smile peacefully, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding elsewhere.
"Great. Lemon bars and cinnamon rolls it is."
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