Summary: You are Max's favorite interviewer...so much that he will not stop flirting with you.
PT2: Pursuing the journalist
Three Races Earlier…
You stand off to the side of the paddock, fiddling with your Sky Sports F1 microphone. As the newest member of the broadcasting team, you typically handle the less significant interviews, while the veteran reporters get to speak with drivers like Max Verstappen. Today, you're set to interview one of the midfield teams.
The buzz in the paddock suddenly grows as Max comes out of the Red Bull garage after his stunning pole position. A crowd of reporters quickly surrounds him, microphones pushed forward, voices overlapping with "Max! Max, a moment, please!"
You watch from your quiet spot while he walks past them, his expression neutral and barely acknowledging them. This scene is familiar. Max is known for being choosy with the media and often speaks only to a select few senior reporters.
That’s why your heart skips a beat when his eyes suddenly turn to you. His face brightens with a smile, and before you realize it, he changes direction and walks confidently toward your corner.
"Sorry," he tells the stunned reporters behind him, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm giving my first interview to her."
You hear your producer’s voice in your earpiece: "Wait, what's happening?"
Max stops right in front of you, that familiar half-smile on his lips. "Hi," he says casually, as if he hasn’t just brushed off every major broadcaster in the paddock.
"I… um…" You struggle to collect your thoughts, acutely aware of the jealous stares from the other reporters. "Hi?"
He laughs softly at your surprise. "You're new, right? I've seen you around. You ask good questions – technical ones. Not just the usual PR stuff."
"I… yes, I started this weekend," you manage to reply, still in shock. "But shouldn't you be talking to—"
"I'm talking to exactly who I want to talk to," he cuts in, his Dutch accent somehow stronger when he speaks softly. "So, would you like to hear about that qualifying lap?"
𐙚
That first interview changed everything. Since then, Max has asked to give you his post-session interviews. Each one became more flirtatious than the last. This brings you to today.
The Red Bull garage looms ahead as you adjust your Sky Sports F1 microphone for the thousandth time. Post-qualifying interviews are routine by now, but nothing about interviewing Max Verstappen has ever felt normal. Especially not since he started doing whatever this is.
"Three minutes," your producer says through your earpiece. You try to focus on your questions, but all you can think of is last week's interview. Max had deliberately held your gaze so long that you forgot the second half of your question.
He emerges from the garage, race suit tied at his waist as usual. Your heart skips a beat as he approaches, wearing that annoying half-smile that makes you forget basic English.
"Max, congratulations on another pole position," you begin professionally.
"Thanks," he interrupts, eyes shining. "I was hoping it would be you interviewing me today."
You feel warmth creeping up your neck. Stay professional, you remind yourself. "That last lap was incredible. How did you find the grip through—"
"The grip was good," he says, leaning slightly closer than necessary. "But you seem a bit nervous today. Everything okay?"
Your producer chuckles in your ear. Traitor.
"I'm perfectly fine," you manage, though your voice comes out higher than you wanted. "About turn three—"
"You're cute when you're flustered," he says quietly, just low enough that the microphone won't catch it. The smirk on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.
You almost drop your notebook. "I'm trying to conduct an interview here," you whisper back, fighting a smile.
"And I'm trying to ask you out," he counters smoothly before raising his voice back to interview level. "But yes, turn three was tricky today. The crosswind made it challenging."
Your face feels like it's on fire. You're painfully aware of the camera rolling, capturing what must be the most unprofessional blush in F1 broadcasting history.
"Speaking of challenges," Max continues, clearly enjoying himself, "there's this great restaurant in Monaco that's almost impossible to get into. I have a reservation for two tomorrow night if you're interested in discussing race strategy, of course."
You hear your producer choking back laughter. "The interview, Max," you remind him, trying to sound stern despite your racing heart.
"Right, right. The interview." He grins. "But about dinner…"
"Maybe we should finish talking about your qualifying lap first?" You're fighting a losing battle against your smile now.
"Fine," he sighs dramatically, then winks. "But just so you know, I'm going to keep flirting with you until you say yes."
Your producer is practically cackling now. "Best. Interview. Ever," she whispers in your ear.
"The qualifying lap, Max," you insist, but you’re grinning too.
"The qualifying lap," he agrees, finally sitting up straight and attempting to look serious. "But I should warn you, I'm very persistent. Almost as persistent as I am on track."
You shake your head, trying to remember your questions through the butterfly storm in your stomach. One thing's for sure—this interview is definitely going viral on F1 Twitter.
And maybe, just maybe, you'll say yes to that dinner in Monaco.
𐙚
You barely remember how you finished that interview. Your mind is still spinning from Max's dinner invitation. But the real chaos is just starting.
Your notifications have not stopped buzzing since that interview aired. #MaxAndTheReporter is trending on Twitter, and F1 TikTok is having a field day with edited clips of every moment you and Max shared during the past three races.
"OMG THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER," says one viral tweet, featuring a slow-motion clip of Max's eyes softening when he sees you in the paddock.
"Remember when Max used to HATE interviews? Now he’s literally running to them. #MaxAndTheReporter." This tweet includes a side-by-side comparison of his usual stern media face and his smile when he approaches you.
Your producer sends you a link to a fan-made compilation video titled "Every time Max Verstappen has flirted with the Sky Sports reporter (so far)." It has already gathered 2 million views.
Not everyone is convinced. "She's just another reporter," one skeptic tweets. "Max is probably just being nice."
That theory gets blown away during the next race weekend. You're interviewing Carlos Sainz when Max casually walks by. He does such an obvious double-take that Carlos starts laughing mid-answer.
"I think someone wants to interrupt this interview," Carlos teases, watching Max hover nearby with barely hidden impatience.
"He can wait his turn," you respond professionally, though your cheeks warm when you hear Max chuckle behind you.
"Can I?" Max calls out. "Because I'm pretty sure my dinner reservation is in an hour, and someone still hasn't given me an answer."
Carlos raises his eyebrows and grins. "Ah, so the rumors are true?"
Your producer's voice crackles through your earpiece: "The social media is going absolutely crazy right now. This is better than Drive to Survive!"
Later that evening, a photo appears of you and Max at a hard-to-get-into restaurant in Monaco. He is looking at you instead of the camera, with that soft smile on his face that F1 Twitter has named the "reporter smile." Fan theories start to explode:
"HE REALLY TOOK HER TO DINNER, I'M SCREAMING."
"The way he only smiles like that for her.❤️"
"Remember when we thought Max would never date someone in the F1 media? This man really said 'Watch me."
Your phone buzzes with a text from Max: "Have you seen we’re trending again?"
You reply with an eye roll, trying to ignore the butterflies that haven't settled since that first interview.
"Good," he responds. "Maybe now everyone knows why I only want interviews with you."
Your producer sends you a message: "Just wait until they see tomorrow's pre-race interview. The internet might actually break."
You smile, thinking about how a simple paddock interview three races ago changed everything. From a reluctant interviewee to whatever this is becoming, Max Verstappen has definitely kept his promise about being persistent.
summer 2022: lando invites you on a trip to ibiza with his friends where sparks fly and drinks flow, and you find yourself finally crossing that barrier with him.
warnings: SMUT minors DNI, fingering, p in v, protected sex, idk what else | word count: 7.1k | notes: ive never written warnings before i hope thats ok…
For that week you spent in Monaco, you genuinely had the time of your life. Lando had given you a paddock pass for the race weekend, though you hid in hospitality and the garage to avoid being caught.
This wasn’t because Lando was embarrassed of you–you knew that for sure–but rather because sharing something personal with the rest of the world that’s still growing just feels wrong. It feels risky, and neither of you were willing to go down that path at all so this was how it was meant to be.
Lando came in P6 that weekend—a great result for him that you made sure to celebrate when you returned to his apartment with a few drinks, kisses and a takeaway order. You’d been doing that a lot since the first time. He’d place his hands on you whenever possible, whether you were doing work on his sofa or cuddled up watching a movie together—he’d always be touching you. You didn’t mind it though, actually you quite enjoyed it.
Nonetheless, as soon as you returned back to Geneva, you felt slightly empty. You checked your phone, messaging back Lando as he’d asked you to text him when you were home, and then you went straight to Maya’s dorm to update her.
The following weeks flew by, exams passing as quickly as they came and your final projects were completed. Finally, your second year of uni was over.
After telling Lando over the phone, his immediate response was: “what are you doing this summer?”
You told him you weren’t really sure since you were planning to play it by ear, probably visiting your parents back home and seeing what your brother had been up to, until he gave you a better option.
“I’m going to Ibiza with some friends. You should come, bring Maya.”
You didn’t even need to think about it. You agreed immediately because you missed him, and seeing him through your phone wasn’t enough. Fortunately, he felt exactly the same way.
So here you are, suitcase in hand with your carry-on on top and Maya beside you as you both leave the train station in Nice to find Lando waiting outside by his Urus just like last time. At the sight of you, he smiles and makes his way towards you.
“There she is,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around you firmly like he’s afraid you’ll disappear as you let out a soft chuckle against his neck. “Missed you.”
“I missed you too,” you return, kissing his shoulder before he tilts his head down at you. You look up at him, your eyes locking as both of you smile like lovestruck teenagers before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. You smile into the kiss, cupping his cheek when you deepen the kiss for a split second before pulling away–feeling the way his lips peck yours.
When you pull apart, you find Maya looking between you two in complete shock at what she just witnessed before she lets out a laugh.
“Hi, Lando. Good to see you,” she speaks first.
“Good to see you too, Maya,” Lando returns with his usual kind smile, holding his arms out for a polite hug they exchange briefly. “You two ready for Ibiza?”
“Hell yeah,” Maya replies for the both of you when Lando loads both of your suitcases into the boot of his Urus before you climb into the car. You’re in the passenger seat, of course, and Maya’s in the backseat looking at you like a proud mother. “You’ve come so far. I’m so happy that you’re letting this happen,” she says before Lando comes in, and her words sit with you for a while.
It’s not that you’ve never been wanted, but rather the fact that you self sabotage whenever things get too good. Nobody’s ever been able to withstand your avoidance, and it makes you wonder whether Lando will. You guess that the difference is that you’re technically doing long distance (of whatever this is) which is probably why you haven’t even thought about pushing him away, because you don’t see him enough to not miss him. Still, the thought lingers like a distant hum in the background.
He’s rambling on about something as usual whilst your responses are on autopilot, but he notices when he glances over at you to find you staring out of the window. He stops talking then, reaching a hand over to rest on your thigh before returning his gaze forward as soon as you look at him. The warmth of his palm spreads across your leg, a wave of electricity moving through you and making you feel like a live wire. Your breath gets stuck in your throat at his boldness, and the way he gently squeezes the flesh of your thigh makes your mouth run dry. It feels right, almost like he belongs there and he has every right.
You bite your inner cheeks, mulling it over for a moment before finally placing your hand over his and gently squeezing. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way the ends of his lips curve up into a soft smile. It makes your stomach warm.
“Alright, let’s go,” Lando announces when you arrive at the airport after he parks and switches the car off. You just about manage to lean over the console to kiss his cheek with a prideful smile before opening your door–just as he looks over at you with a warmth behind his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, though even whilst loading your things out of the boot whilst you and Maya are talking he glances over and gets involved in your conversation.
The three of you head inside then, dragging your luggage along with you as you head to the check-in desk before moving through the airport.
“We’ll need to meet my friends in the lounge,” Lando speaks when you’re finally through. He looks down at you. “They’re pretty chill but they also don’t shut up sometimes. If you wanna leave or something, just let me know, alright?”
Your heart swells at his words when you shake your head with a smile.
“Don’t worry about me. I don’t mind it,” you shrug and he lets out a soft chuckle before letting you and Maya enter the lounge first. He follows in behind, glancing up at where his friends are gathered on a sofa.
“Alright, lads?” Lando speaks first, his friends standing up to dap him up whilst they all greet each other. You and Maya hover to the side, hearing the way Maya lets out a slight chuckle before his friends turn to us.
“And which one of you is the infamous yn we’ve heard so much about?” The curlyheaded one asks, looking between you and Maya. When Lando hears, he slings an arm over the male’s shoulders and looks at you.
“That would be me,” you smile nervously before he nods with a smirk.
“Ah of course. Even prettier in real life,” he comments before Lando snaps his head towards him.
“Watch it, Max,” Lando says, a lilt in his tone that makes you feel funny. Max just laughs, shaking his head before holding a hand out in your direction.
“I’m Max. Nice to meet you,” he introduces himself, and you shake his hand with a nod.
“Same goes,” you return before he turns to Maya.
“Maya, nice to meet you,” your best friend smiles politely, shaking his hand.
“Max, nice to meet you too.”
“And this is Ed and Tom,” Lando speaks, gesturing to the two males as you shake hands with a smile, Maya doing the same. “Okay, great,” Lando claps his hands after you’ve all met each other, taking seats on the sofas to wait for your flight.
You spend a lot of the time talking with Max, Ed and Tom, merely getting to know them with Maya with a lot of laughing. They ask you both about uni, and what you do and whether you enjoy it or not, and you talk to them about their past racing careers and what they do currently. Of course, some of the things that Max says makes Lando snap his head to him and disagree, but it only made you all laugh in the end.
He’s sitting beside you with his arm around your shoulders when he tilts his head down to rest it against your hair, his cheek pressed up against it. You smile even though he can’t see you, his childish antics making you hold back a laugh. Nonetheless, you squeeze his hand on your hip in reassurance before going back to whatever Max was saying about their karting days.
—
“Sit next to him,” Maya urges when you board the private jet, her voice low in your ear as you walk behind Lando. Your head snaps around to look at her in distress before you feel a gentle tug on your hand in front of you. When you turn around, you find Lando gesturing for you to sit next to him on the pair of seats–giving you one of those cute looks.
You don’t verbally reply, you instead just let him put your bag up in the overhead storage before you take a seat beside him. Maya takes the single seat across the aisle beside you though, so in reality it’s not that big a deal.
The flight is spent playing a lot of Uno, laughing and taking pictures of each other like it was some sort of game. Lando cuddles into you the entire time, the scent of his cologne now completely embedded in your brain to the point where you can barely even register it anymore. He’s super touchy, you notice, but you don’t complain at all. You lean your head against his shoulder too, and you can feel his body relax at the movement–like he’s relieved to know that you’re comfortable with him too.
When you land, you all go through border control before getting into an Uber that takes you to the airbnb you’re staying at. It’s a beautiful villa with at least eight bedrooms, an infinity pool out in the front and flowering vines decorating the stone walls.
Maya nudges you as you walk side by side, her eyes twinkling with excitement. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. Not just the holiday, but rather that you’re here with Lando Norris. An actual F1 driver that’s head over heels for you: a uni student and part-time ‘influencer’ that didn’t even deserve the name.
The boys had walked ahead into the house, exploring already whilst you and Maya trail behind somewhere. You both follow the sound of their voices upstairs after looking around downstairs, and when you climb up the stairs you find Lando walk out of a bedroom and look at you.
He smiles then as you walk up to him, his arm subconsciously wrapping around your waist as you slip past him to peek inside the room.
“You like this one?” He asks then, his voice soft in your ear as you step inside and he follows after you.
“I’m not fussed about it,” you shrug honestly, turning around to find his hands in his pockets as he looks at you. “What?” You almost laugh at the way his eyes remain locked on yours like he’s mulling something over–silently debating something in his mind before he clears his throat.
“Share a room with me.” He’s not asking, he’s stating. He wants you in this room with him, and you can’t help the smile that makes its way onto your lips–your stomach tightening with butterflies that make you feel weightless.
“Since you asked so nicely. I guess I could,” you joke, walking towards him as he lets out a breath of relief–his smile widening as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and his go around your waist. He hugs you tightly, burying his face into the crook of your neck and breathing softly that tickles your skin. You twist your head, kissing his cheek.
“We could go out on a date one of these days. I’ll take you to a nice restaurant before we party,” he offers, his voice slightly muffled as his lips move against your skin as you continue holding each other. You chuckle then, burying a hand in his curls and nodding your head.
“I would love that. I also can’t wait to party with you,” you reply. He stands upright then, resting his forehead against yours because you’re almost as tall as him, before you bring a hand up to cup his cheek.
“Okay, lovebirds. I’m gonna start grilling some shit before tonight. Want me to bring your luggage up?” Max’s voice disturbs your moment, Lando turning his head around to look at him in annoyance to find Maya appearing out of nowhere and shoving him away.
“Stop ruining their moment,” the blonde complains when Max puts his hands up in defence.
“Hey! I’m not ruining anything!” Max retorts before their voices fade out. You let out a laugh that makes Lando look back at you again, his eyes softening before he leans down to kiss you. It feels like the world stops then. He takes your breath away, his tongue exploring your mouth like he’s trying to permanently embed it into his mind as he possessively licks into your mouth. Your skin heats up, a soft whimper slipping past your lips that he swallows before pulling away for air.
“Let’s go before they set something on fire,” Lando suggests then, and you nod before he pecks your lips.
When you return downstairs, you immediately make a beeline for where Maya’s standing in the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water. She looks up, as if sensing your presence, before a knowing smirk makes its way onto her lips.
“He’s so forward, I love him,” Maya whispers to you when you stand beside her, the both of you looking out at where the sliding glass door is opened and the boys are on the other side. They’re all gathered around the barbecue, heating it up and chatting about something (you) that has them all tapping Lando’s back in pride.
“I know. God, I can’t believe him.”
“And we’re partying tonight, girl. He wants that cookie so damn bad,” Maya jokes then, passing you a glass of water as you shake your head and look straight at Lando.
“I’m obsessed with him. This is all I’ve wanted–someone to fucking yearn for me.”
“I know, and you deserve it more than anyone. All of those men that wasted your time when we were younger have nothing on him. He’s perfect for you. I can’t wait to see where this goes,” Maya gushes, looking at you with a warmth behind her eyes and that usual smile she wears whenever you’re with her. You’ve always been convinced the pair of you are platonic soulmates, and now to see her this happy for you about Lando only makes your heart tighten even more. You beam at her, leaning into her side as she hugs you.
“I love you.”
“I love you more,” she replies with a smile before she kisses your cheek. “But if he starts stealing you from me I’ll have to have a word.”
You both laugh then, just as Lando walks in from outside as if he knew you two were talking about him.
“Food’ll be ready soon. We’ll go out around ten-ish if you guys manage to get ready in that time,” he says, bringing himself to a stop at the counter in front of you too and leaning his hands against the marble and looking between you two. “What?”
“Nothing,” you both reply simultaneously, but he looks between you two like he doesn’t quite believe you. “Are we taking an uber there?”
“Yeah. Think we’re all drinking,” Lando nods.
“Okay,” you return, his eyes locked on yours as your lips curve up into a nervous smile. “What?”
“What?” He asks back when you both shake your heads.
“Food’s ready!” Ed calls from outside, stopping your conversation.
—
After eating, you and Maya spent about an hour getting ready. You’re wearing a denim mini skirt, paired with a black v-neck halter top and a pair of kitten heels–your hair falling down your shoulders in waves. Maya opted for a black dress and a pair of boots, and when you both finished getting ready you couldn’t help but look at each other and gush the other with compliments. You took a few pictures before a knock came at your door–or rather, a pounding.
“Hurry up or we’re leaving without you!” Max.
“We’re coming!” You yell back in annoyance, reapplying your lipliner before Maya passes you your bag. You shove your phone inside along with your lipliner before placing it on your shoulder and you both leave the room heading downstairs.
When you make it down, you notice them all sitting on the sofas and laughing about something like they always are but as soon as they hear you coming down, Lando turns to look at you.
His lips part at the sight of you, his gaze scaling up and down your figure before he stands up. A few words fall past his lips just as you feel Maya nudge you.
“Alright lads, let’s go!” Max exclaims, the others standing up as well as everyone moves past where you’re frozen in your spot and Lando’s walking towards you.
“You look beautiful. You are beautiful,” he corrects himself, slinging an arm around your waist as you let out a nervous chuckle. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek that makes your stomach explode with butterflies.
“Thank you,” you return, “you’re not too bad yourself.”
He laughs at that, the pair of you heading towards the door together where the others have already disappeared to. When you leave the villa you find them already waiting in the uber, a classy Mercedes van, and Lando steps aside to let you climb in first–holding his hand out for you to take. You thank him quietly, taking a seat beside Maya before he follows in suit and sits next to you–something telling you that the others made sure you’d be sitting next to each other.
The driver to the nightclub is full of chatter and laughter shared amongst all of you, and you’re grateful that Lando’s friends are really easy to get along with. They don’t make you feel like an outsider, but rather seem like they’re really trying to make sure you feel welcome. You feel comfortable.
When you reach the club, you all pile out and head straight to the entrance–jumping the queue because being with an F1 driver has many perks. The bouncer steps aside, letting you all in and Lando looks back at you, holding his hand out in your direction to take it. You slip yours into his, holding on tightly as the thumping bass only gets louder.
The strobe lights are coloured, painting the building with flashes whilst the music from the DJ booth reverberates off the walls and vibrates straight through you. The scent of mixed perfumes, sweat and alcohol clings to the air, and you find yourself clutching onto Lando’s bicep in order to not get lost in the swarm of bodies dancing.
Maya’s behind you, your other hand holding hers as you’re both led by the boys towards a more quiet booth in the corner, all of you slipping inside of it with a huff of relief.
“Drinks?” Lando yells over the music, glancing between all of you. You all nod, Max and Ed offering to join him as you and Maya remain seated and they all disappear once again.
“This is insane,” Maya exclaims in excitement from where she’s sitting beside you, and you nod with a laugh.
“Tell me about it. I can’t wait to get drunk!”
After a few minutes, the boys return with drinks in their hands including a few tequila shots for all of you. You start off with them, counting down before downing two each and moving on to whatever cocktails you’d been brought.
From where Lando’s sitting beside you, he leans down to lower his mouth to your ear before speaking.
“Let’s go dance,” he says, sitting up a little to look at you before you nod enthusiastically at his offer.
“Let’s go!” You return, waiting for him to slide through the booth before you follow after him.
“Have fun!” Maya calls back with a knowing smile before you turn back and blow her a kiss.
When you reach the dancefloor, Lando’s hands go straight to your hips as your arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him close to you. You sway your hips to the beat, your faces close enough that your noses bump together and all you can do is laugh. His eyes remain locked on where your bodies are in contact, a low grunt slipping past his lips when you grind your front against his. You smirk then, spinning around as his hands tighten their grip on your hips.
He says your name lowly in your ear as a warning, already aware of what you’re about to do. You ignore him, grinding your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans as he slides a hand up the side of your body–leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He brings it over one of your arms until he reaches your hand in his hair, interlocking them together and bringing them to the front of your stomach. He keeps you pressed against him, the tip of his nose brushing against your pulse point as you feel his hard-on pressing against your ass.
Then, you pull away abruptly. Turning back around to face him with a knowing smirk as his face falls.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters in disbelief, and you can only laugh before leaning in to cup both of his cheeks and bring him down into a chaste kiss. You can feel him smile into it, trying to deepen the kiss but you pull away before he can–his lips following yours before he looks down at you.
“Can we drink more?” You ask innocently, looking up at his slightly frustrated expression before glancing down at where he readjusts himself in his jeans.
He nods in response, and you take his outstretched hand before following him to the bar–smiling to yourself at how you’d just pissed him off.
When you reach the bar, you both slide into two neighbouring stools before he orders ten shots of vodka.
“You’re crazy,” you tell him, looking at him in shock as he smirks at you.
“After the stunt you just pulled? Baby, I need a cold shower because of you,” he returns, and you can’t help but laugh despite the way him calling you ‘baby’ made you feel.
The bartender lines up ten shot glasses before filling them all with vodka. You both thank him before picking up one each, clinking them together and downing them. Your faces scrunch in disgust at the burning sensation down your throats, but you keep going.
The buzz hits you quickly, and you’re both just looking at each other like the world has stopped.
“I really like you,” you tell him, aware of what you’re saying but gone enough to not care about the consequences your words might bring. “Like, a lot. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, ever.”
Lando laughs, shuffling closer and reaching a hand out to rest on your hip.
“I feel the same way. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you,” he confesses with a lazy smile, and you laugh at the comedy of it all. You’re both not even fully drunk, saying your true feelings about the other as if it hadn’t been obvious these past few months.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” you confess, just as Lando wraps a hand around the leg of your stool and drags you closer to him. He looks at you in surprise when he processes your words, his arm slung around your waist whilst his other twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers gently.
“What? How?”
You shrug, your eyes darting across his face as you take all of his features in: the slope of his nose, the light facial hair growing, and the deep combination of blue and green in his eyes that you genuinely cannot name even if you tried.
“Nobody’s been worth my time.”
He smiles at that, nodding in approval.
“You’re right. Nobody deserves you. Probably not even me, but I want you too bad to let you go,” he says, as soft as he can whilst making sure you can hear him over the music.
You blush at his words, but you can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol buzzing in your system that’s making you feel warm or him in general. Though, you’d assume it’s a combination of both because the way he’s looking at you right now is making you feel seen in ways you’ve never experienced before.
“If somebody told me this would come from going to an F1 race, I would’ve laughed in their face at the absurdity of it all,” you tell him, and he laughs at that. A warm sound to your ears that makes you smile even harder (if that’s even possible).
“Well, I’m glad it happened,” Lando returns, his thumb drawing lazy, soothing circles against the bare skin of your hip whilst he keeps his eyes on you. “Very glad.”
He leans in after a moment, connecting your lips in a brief kiss before pulling away but still remaining close. Your breaths mingle together before he kisses the corner of your mouth, followed by the tip of your nose and then your cheeks.
“I wanna DJ. Care to join me?”
“You? DJ?” You ask in surprise before he smiles with a nod.
“Hell yeah. I’m good at it, I promise. Come,” he urges, standing up and looking completely fine for someone who’s just had at least seven shots of vodka. You, on the other hand, slip off your stool and feel the world start spinning almost immediately. Lando’s hands shoot out immediately, holding onto your hips to keep you upright before looking at you with a brief look of concern.
“You alright?” He asks you, his expression conforming into a small smile when you look up at him with almost sparkling eyes. You smooth your hands over his shirt, the planes of his chest and you can feel his quickening heartbeat beneath your palms.
“Very,” you nod with a grin, and he lets out a soft chuckle before wrapping a firm arm around your waist and leading you away from the bar.
“Alright Miss Lightweight. Should’ve warned me about that, don’t uni students party like, all of the time?” Lando enquires, looking down at you for a moment before returning his focus on escaping the dancefloor without you falling over.
“Mmmm, first year a lot more than second. The stress is a lot sometimes,” you tell him.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm,” you nod, looking up at him for a moment to find him nodding–almost like he’s making note of what you’ve just said and stored it away for later.
When you reach the DJ booth, he walks over to the DJ and they have a conversation you can’t really make out. Up here, the music is much louder, and the vibrations are running through you like you’re in a go kart.
The DJ then takes his headphones off and passes them to Lando, stepping aside and letting him do whatever he wants. Lando thanks him, unwrapping his arm from your waist as he puts the headphones around his neck and starts messing with the decks whilst bopping his head along to the music. You watch closely, smiling at his excitement because whatever he seems to be doing, it’s working. The music shifts and surprisingly enough, it doesn’t sound terrible.
He then turns to you, that excited spark in his irises as he looks at you.
“You wanna have a go?” He asks, and you shake your head with a laugh.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
He nods with a smile, turning his attention back to the decks and continuing to mess around with it for a little longer before passing the headphones back to the DJ. They dap each other up, saying a few more words before he turns back to you and wraps an arm around your waist to lead you away.
“I need to see Maya,” you speak in his ear over the music, and he nods in understanding before taking you to the booth the others were at. They’re back there, all four of them laughing with many more empty cups in front of them–implying that they’d been to the bar a few more times than you and Lando have.
Maya exclaims your name in excitement when she notices you, holding her arms up at you before you haul her out of the booth.
“Can we dance?” She slurs, and you nod with a laugh.
“Let’s go!”
And so the two of you disappear into the crowd, Lando watching you both from where he’s sitting in the booth for a few moments before turning back to the boys.
“You like her sooooo much,” Max teases with a knowing smile, holding the rim of his cup to his lips.
“Hell yeah I do,” he returns before putting his head in his hands for a moment.
“Absolutely whipped. Ask her to be your girlfriend,” Tom pipes up, and then Lando looks up at him.
“I will. After we go on a few more dates. I don’t want to rush this.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go get more alcohol,” Max tells Ed, who nods like he’s on a mission before standing up and leaving the table
Lando looks back into the crowd of bodies dancing together, looking for someone in particular before his blood runs cold. He notices a man walking up to the two of you, trying to speak to you both but you just ignore him–clearly too in your own world to even notice him.
“Lando–” He hears Tom say before he’s already standing up and making his way towards you both.
“We already said we don’t want to dance,” Lando hears Maya’s firm voice when he reaches you, his hand finding the small of your back. You don’t even react, the familiarity of his warm hand is enough to let you know it’s him.
“Is there a problem?” Lando asks, looking at the male who finally takes Lando’s presence in.
He doesn’t say anything, just swallows hard before looking between both you and Maya and disappearing into the crowd somewhere.
“Thanks. We could’ve handled it,” you tell him, finally turning to look at him with a smile on your face.
“I know you could’ve, but you shouldn’t have to. He’s gross,” Lando says, shaking his head in disappointment before looking over at Maya who’s looking between both you and Lando with a smile on her face. “Anyway, more drinks for the table. You two coming?”
“Fuck yeah,” you say in excitement before taking Maya’s hand in yours and following Lando back to the booth. You all take your seats again, drinks and laughs being shared and all of your worries dissipating for at least one night. Everything feels perfect.
—
After saying your goodnights, everyone retreats back to their bedrooms in exhaustion. Lando’s still holding onto you, your hands pretty much glued together at this point, when you enter your shared room and almost trip over your own feet.
“Careful,” he warns, clearly the more sober one of the two of you as you let out a string of giggles. “Come here,” he says softly, crouching down to remove your heels off your feet before sliding his hands back up your legs with a reverence only he could have. When he stands upright again, he looks down at you with a look in his eye you’ve noticed he only holds when he’s near you. He leans down, kissing your lips softly as you melt into his embrace. “My pretty girl.”
You let out a weak chuckle, blushing at his words before almost hiding your face away from him. However, he brings a gentle hand up to your chin, tilting your head back up to meet his gaze and he smiles when he notices how red your cheeks are.
“Come on then, let’s go to bed,” he nods his head, gesturing to the bed before you let out a small sigh. “Where are your pajamas?”
“My suitcase,” you reply, looking over at where it sits wide open but when you make a move to head towards it he stops you.
“I’ll get it for you. You sit.”
You laugh at his words but drop onto the bed nonetheless, watching as he digs through your suitcase to pull out your matching set before he passes it over to you.
“Thanks,” you reply softly, taking it from his hand and brushing your fingers together at the exchange before you stand once again and head into the bathroom without saying anything. You change, brush your teeth and wash your face before you go back into the bedroom and he slips past you to do the same.
You climb into bed, burying yourself beneath the duvet with a sigh of relief and feeling the way your muscles relax. The world feels like it finally slows down, your brain catching up and a low pulsing already developing in your brain. Eventually, he steps out of the bathroom in just a pair of pajama bottoms completely topless–your mouth running dry at the sight. The smooth planes of his chest and the lines of his abs, his body a beautiful outcome of years of training and putting himself through situations that should be reserved for superhumans.
“You suck,” you complain when he gets into bed beside you, looking at you in slight confusion but letting out a breathless chuckle anyway.
“Do you want water?” He asks softly, turning his body to face you as he reaches his arms out for you beneath the duvet. You shake your head at his offer, and he knows he should probably make you drink some so you feel better but you look far too comfortable for him to disturb you.
You turn your body over, his arm still slung over your waist as he tugs you into his chest. Heat spreads across your body at the sensation of his soft breathing against the back of your neck, your bottom lip getting caught between your teeth.
“Goodnight,” you barely manage out, your proximity mixed with the hum of alcohol still in your veins enough to drive you crazy.
“Goodnight,” he whispers your name back, following it with a soft kiss against the skin at the nape of your neck. You smile even though he can’t see you, and you find yourself falling asleep incredibly quickly that night to the sound of his uneven breathing and his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.
—
The following morning feels incredibly slow. Lando wakes up first beside you, his arm a heavy weight around your waist whilst he watches your chest rise and fall with every soft breath. Your body’s curled into his, your head tucked into his front as he tilts his down to softly kiss your forehead.
You stir a little when he continues placing soft kisses on the crown of your head, a sigh slipping past your lips.
“What time is it?” You groan out, already feeling the way your brain feels like it’s pounding against your skull in an uncomfortable rhythm.
“Just past eight. You alright?” Lando asks you, his voice hoarse from sleep as you close your eyes again, willing the throbbing in your head to stop.
“No. My head is killing me.”
Lando laughs a little, but when you let out a groan he immediately stops.
“It’s okay, I brought paracetamol,” he says before twisting his body away from you, his warmth moving away from you. You almost whimper at the loss as you reach a hand out to wrap around his bicep and keep him with you. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
You nuzzle your face into his chest when he returns, holding out the box of paracetamol for you to take. Without speaking, you finally open your eyes properly before sitting up and opening the box to take out the packet. His arm remains wrapped around your waist as he watches you closely like you’re some sort of artifact in a museum he can’t stop looking at. When you take out two pills, he passes you his water bottle and you quietly thank him before swallowing down the medication.
You can feel the warmth of his palm as it slowly moves up and down the side of your body, almost like he’s trying to map your body out without having seen you bare.
You pass him his water bottle back, and he sits up to drink from it whilst he looks at you.
“You feeling better?” Lando asks sweetly when he puts his bottle aside but remains sitting up. His curls are in about seventeen different directions, and he looks tired. Soft around the edges in a way you’ve never seen online before.
This Lando, the one in your bed, is so incredibly different to the side of him that he shows the rest of the world. It warms your heart at the fact that he’s letting you in and letting you see his true self. The one that nobody else sees other than his closest people. The sassy Lando that only lets certain people into his life and trusts them with his life.
You smile, leaning in to connect your lips in a soft kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist immediately, laying down and bringing you along with him as you let out a soft giggle when you land on his chest. You don’t stop kissing though, even through your laughter.
Though at one point, something shifts. You both pull away for a moment, your eyes locked on each other for a few seconds. When you lean in for a kiss again, you feel the way his hands tighten their grip on your hips, your mouths clashing with hunger and desire. He licks into your mouth, claiming every corner like he’s trying to permanently embed it into his mind whilst he positions your legs on either side of him. You roll your hips against his front experimentally, a soft whine slipping past his lips and into your mouth. Any prior thought about your headache fades into the background like a dull hum.
“Tease,” he groans, his hands gripping tight enough on your hips that he’s probably left an imprint on them before you move your mouth down the column of his throat–kissing and sucking on his skin and leaving a few hickeys down to his collarbone. “Fuck.”
“Lando,” you breathe out, almost in pain as you find his mouth again.
“I know, I know. Are you sure?” He asks, slipping a hand up to your cheek to keep your face as close to his as possible, his lips moving against yours. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, the heat of his hands not making it any better as your mind continues to spin. His touch is otherworldly, and the way he’s looking at you is making you feel like you’re the only person on the planet.
You nod, too consumed by him to formulate a coherent thought but that’s not enough for him.
“Words, baby. I need words.”
“Yes, please. Lando I need you,” you barely manage out, and at that moment he lets his hands slide up to your pajama top. He pulls it off, throwing it somewhere before gripping your hips again and flipping you both over in a quick movement. His gaze on you feels weighted with words he’s not saying, his eyes moving over your chest as he takes you in.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, sounding pained as he brings his hands up to your breasts, sweeping his palms over the swell of your chest whilst letting his gaze linger. There’s a hungry spark in his eyes, just as he brushes his thumbs over your nipples with slight pressure that forces you to let out a breathy moan before he leans down and takes one into his mouth. Your head falls back and your back arches into him, his name falling past your lips as he swirls his tongue around the peak whilst his other hand kneads your other breast for a few moments before he lavishes it with the same attention. “God, you were hiding all this from me?” He asks in disbelief when he presses open-mouthed kisses in the valley between your breasts, his eyes locked on yours.
“Sorry,” you whimper out, your nerve endings feeling like they’ve all been set alight just from his touch and kisses alone.
Lando hums at that, bringing himself up again to find your mouth. Your hands span over his bare back, your manicured nails softly tracing over the indents of his muscles before you reach his waist, continuing downwards where you tug at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
“Greedy,” he laughs against your lips, but he lifts his hips nonetheless–helping you pull them off. His hands then smooth over your stomach, reaching your pajama bottoms that he swiftly pulls off and throws somewhere. He looks up at you once more, checking in. His fingers hover over your panties, and when you nod he pulls at the waistband before it smacks back down against your skin. You whimper at that, the sensation of his hands lingering near to where you need him most in combination with his mouth nipping, sucking and kissing the skin of your neck and chest overstimulating your mind. In one swift movement, he pulls your panties off, leaving them aside before he sits back on his heels, letting his eyes move over your bare body beneath him. His breath gets trapped in his throat as he takes you in, and you can’t help but feel the heat spreading across your skin. Your stomach is doing somersaults at the way he’s looking at you, your bottom lip getting trapped between your teeth when you trail your gaze down to the predominant bulge between his legs.
“You are absolutely perfect. I can’t…” Lando trails off, shaking his head as he runs his hands through his hair for a split second before reaching for his bag by the bed. He pulls out his wallet, taking out a foil packet before throwing his wallet somewhere and bringing the packet to his mouth–tearing it open with his teeth. You watch, the pulsing between your legs only worsening as you watch him pull his boxers off and reveal his hard cock. Your lips part at the sight, the tip flushed and angry, coated in a sheen of pre-cum as it stands to attention and when you glance up at his face the pit in your stomach only deepens. He looks fucking beautiful, his cheeks slightly red and his long eyelashes fluttering with every blink. When he rolls the condom on himself, he lowers his body back down to you, his mouth finding yours in a heated kiss. Your tongues dance together, biting your bottom lip to let himself in.
“Lando,” you breathe out suddenly, and he pulls away immediately–looking down at you with concern.
“Are you okay? Do you want to stop?” He asks without hesitation, his eyes glancing frantically across your features in a search for any discomfort.
“No, no, no,” you reassure him, your hands resting on his shoulders where you gently squeeze him and he lets out a sigh of relief. “I’ve just… I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s okay. We’ll go slow,” he nods, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb across your skin lovingly. “If you want to stop, tell me, okay? I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”
You let out a silent breath, the ends of your lips curling up into a relieved smile when he brings himself back down to connect your lips together. Despite this being your first time, you don’t feel any pressure, you feel completely okay. All of these new sensations are making you feel on top of the world, and you have Lando to thank for that.
“I’ll need to prepare you first, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says softly, and you feel the way his hand grips onto your thigh to spread your legs apart and hook one of them over your waist before he slides his hand between your bodies. You nod breathlessly, just as his two fingers meet your clit. He draws circles around the bundle of nerves with such dexterity, you can’t help but moan at the precision. “So wet sweetheart, and all of this for me?”
You nod, unable to even form a thought as your nails dig into his back at the overwhelming sense of pleasure you’re already feeling, and he’s barely even started.
“Beautiful,” he breathes out, watching the way your face twists in pleasure when he slides a thick finger inside, feeling your spongy walls adjust to the new sensation. He thrusts a single finger in a couple times, his thumb still playing at your clit slowly before he introduces another finger–the stretch feeling incredible. You’re a babbling mess of moans by now, and he’s watching you closely–bringing his mouth down to swallow some of your noises. “You’re so warm. Sucking on my fingers, fuck.”
When he slides a third finger in, your brain short-circuits and you have to hold back a scream.
“Good girl, love. You’re taking me so well,” he compliments, his voice soft as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out of you whilst his thumb assaults your clit. It doesn’t take long when you feel that the tightening coil in your stomach threatens to snap, and Lando can sense it as well. “Come on my fingers, love. Do it, come on,” he urges, and with a whimper your whole body seizes and the coil breaks–your release coating your fingers as he whispers praises in your ear. “There she is.”
He smiles, biting the lobe of your ear whilst you come down from your high with deep breaths.
“I’ve never felt like that… ever,” you confess, and Lando lets out a chuckle at your words before pulling his fingers out–the loss making you whine–before bringing his soaked fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean in front of you. You bite your bottom lip at the erotic sight, feeling the way that same hand slides down to your leg and readjusts its position around his waist.
“You ready?” He asks softly, eyes glancing between yours. You don’t verbally reply, instead cup both of his cheeks and bring him down into a passionate kiss–tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel him smile into the kiss before his tip teases at your entrance, coating himself in your slick before he slowly presses himself inside. You let out a sharp exhale, your grip on his shoulders tightening as he stops once his tip is buried inside of you. “This okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathe out as he looks down at where you two are conjoined. “Just… give me a second.”
“Take your time. No rush,” Lando reassures you softly whilst cupping your cheek again, brushing his thumb across your skin softly.
“Okay,” you breathe out, “keep going.”
He nods, looking back at your face again as he slowly continues sheathing himself inside you. Lando moves slowly, and you can feel your walls stretching to adapt to his size whilst he watches you closely in case you show any discomfort. Though you breathe deeply, your nails claw at his back to keep yourself from screaming and waking up the rest of the house until he’s fully seated inside of you–the stretch immaculate.
“Fuck you’re so tight–so warm,” Lando breathes out, his forehead dropping to yours as the tips of your noses brush together. “Can I move?”
“Just… a second,” you say almost incoherently, your eyes fluttering shut as you let your body adapt to his cock. He nods, kissing your lips with a fire-like intensity, sweeping his tongue against yours before he pulls away to kiss the corner of your mouth.
“Okay. You can move,” you speak, eyes locked on his as he keeps his hand against your cheek–his gaze softened despite the hunger brewing behind them. “Please.”
You don’t need to say anything more, he’s already dragging himself out completely and burying himself back inside of you with a languid snap of his hips. Lando lets out a strained moan, his arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up and change the angle as you feel his tip hit that spot on your cervix that has your vision blur.
“Lando–!” You moan out, tears pricking your eyes in pleasure as he continues his deep and hard rhythm.
“I know baby,” he breathes, the way his hand gently cups your cheek a stark contrast to the sensation of his cock fucking up into you. Still, it’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with anyone, and he’s making sure you can feel the way he cares for you.
The grip on your hip suddenly disappears and you can feel how his hand slides between your bodies and his fingers find your clit. The precision of his fingers is devastating, circles being drawn around the bundle of nerves that drives you just over the edge. Your walls tighten and relax around his cock sporadically, milking him as you feel yourself about to come.
“Lando–” You warn, but he already knows.
“Let go for me, love. Come on,” He urges, his voice sweet as he latches his mouth onto one of your nipples and swirls it with his tongue. That is your undoing, your fluids spilling out of you as you tug on the curls at the nape of his neck with a cry whilst rolling your hips against his. “Good girl,” he praises, kissing your jaw whilst he continues slamming himself into you.
Not long after, his tight grip on your waist returns as you feel the way his movements become more sporadic, more messy. His breath catches, a string of strained moans falling past his lips when you feel the warmth of his come fill the condom.
When he comes down from his high, he drops his forehead to your chest–the both of you panting heavily. He lets out a soft chuckle, your fingers burying themselves in his hair when he looks up at you.
“That was incredible,” Lando says softly, brushing your hair back and tucking it behind your ears–his heart warming when you smile lazily at him. “You’re incredible.”
“I can’t believe we just did that,” you confess in the same tone as you dart your eyes between his.
“What do you rate it out of ten? I need a review,” he jokes, pulling himself out whilst kissing your lips when you wince, before he discards the condom.
“Mmm, eight-point-five.”
Lando gasps in offence, walking back over to where you’ve hidden yourself beneath the covers and passing you one of his t-shirts. “Why?”
“More dirty talk next time. I want to hear you say how obsessed you are with me,” you reply playfully, pulling his shirt on as you sit up beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“Noted,” he hums, and you laugh before he leans in to kiss your lips. “I am very obsessed with you, in case you didn’t already know. I thought you could tell.”
You connect your mouths again before replying. “I can. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” he nods, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip before cupping your cheek again and kissing you.
you didn’t mean for the glass of rosé at brunch to turn into three, and you definitely didn’t mean for brunch to last until qualifying was nearly over. but alexandra was laughing with you, clinking glasses, and leaning against your shoulder like you were lifelong best friends, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. by the time max and charles find you both, cheeks flushed and giggles spilling out without restraint, you’re tangled up together in a booth like you’ve sworn an oath never to be parted. you can see the way max’s lips twitch into a smile, the way charles shakes his head with fond disbelief. it’s clear from the start: the rest of the day won’t be spent apart, no matter what.
requested? yes!
original request here.
fc : saradeanii on ig
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
ynverstappen
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lilymhe, maxverstappen1 and 3,400,000 others.
ynverstappen : quali days are for leo and nino play dates, alex and i having way too many cocktails and my hubby on pole (as always) 💋💕
tagged : alexandrasaintmleux & maxverstappen1
—
view 245,000 other comments.
maxverstappen1 : luckiest man in the world, with or without pole.
liked by ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : maxxxxieee stoppp😭😭
liked by maxverstappen1
↳ maxverstappen1 : no seriously, you in that dress? i almost missed quali.
liked by ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : priorities, mr. world champion.
liked by maxverstappen1
↳ maxverstappen1 : exactly, mrs verstappen. you come first. always 🤍
liked by ynverstappen
↳ lando : you two make me SICKKKKK
liked ynverstappen and maxverstappen1
↳ ynverstappen : less focus on us — more focus on the race and maybe you’d be the winner bub💋
liked by lando and maxverstappen1
charles_leclerc : i see brunch went very very well for you two…🤣
liked by ynverstappen and alexandrasaintmleux
↳ ynverstappen : define well…
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc
↳ alexandrasaintmleux : we only got lost once charlie!!!!
liked by ynverstappen and charles_leclerc
↳ charles_leclerc : you literally texted me “where am i” during quali amor…
liked by ynverstappen and alexandrasaintmleux
alexandrasaintmleux : still recovering from the cocktails and the cuddles 🩷 love you more and more everyday
liked by ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen: my partner in everything 😭💕
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
↳ alexandrasaintmleux : including bad decisions and espresso martinis
liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and ynverstappen
danielricciardo: why do i never get invited to these elite brunches
liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1
↳ ynverstappen: because you turn brunch into an afterparty 😭
liked by maxverstappen1 and danielricciardo
↳ danielricciardo: and? sounds like a good time to me
liked by maxverstappen1 and ynverstappen
lando : “hubby on pole (as always)” you’re never letting us breathe huh 💔
liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1
↳ ynverstappen: just facts, lando 🤭
liked by maxverstappen1
↳ maxverstappen1: i like her confidence. she’s right.
liked by ynverstappen and lando
↳ oscarpiastri: god help us all.
liked by lando, maxverstappen1 and ynverstappen
lilymhe : my girls 🤤 you both are so beautiful
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : we love you sm!!!!!!!
gerihalliwell : you and max are glowing 🩷 happiest couple in the paddock
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↳ ynverstappen : thank u geri😭🩵 we miss you so much
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victoriaverstappen : the most gorgeous girls 🥰
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↳ ynverstappen : my sister 🥹 love you forever
username00 : yn and alex are the paddock’s it girls and there’s no debate
username77 : max being soft in the comments?? she’s his entire world 🥹
username001 : yn!!!! my baby!!!! dress link please???
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↳ ynverstappen : @/meshki babes!!!
↳ username778 : ugh she’s such a girls girl
username067 : yn and alex being besties >>> everything else
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It’s quiet when you wake up — too quiet for a race morning. The curtains are half drawn, letting in a soft, golden light that glows against the white sheets and the pale blue of the hotel walls. Max is still asleep beside you, one arm slung across your waist, his hand resting against your stomach.
For a while, you just watch him. His hair is disheveled, his jaw slightly shadowed, and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looks peaceful — younger, even — like the noise of the world hasn’t found him yet. You trace your fingers along his arm, slow and gentle, until he stirs with a quiet sound, eyes fluttering open.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep, Dutch accent heavier than usual.
“Can you blame me?” you whisper, smiling softly. “My husband’s kind of hot when he’s not talking about tire degradation.”
That earns you a quiet laugh, the kind that rumbles in his chest before it escapes his lips. He pulls you closer until your leg is hooked over his hip and your face is buried in his neck. He smells faintly like the hotel sheets — warm and familiar, a scent that feels like home.
“Careful,” he mutters, pressing a lazy kiss to your hair. “You keep saying things like that and I might skip the entire race.”
You laugh, the sound muffled against his skin. “You’d never.”
“I might,” he says, pretending to think. “If it meant staying here with you all day.”
You tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes — bright and still a little sleepy, but full of that look he only gives you. The one that says he’s never really stopped being in love with you, even after all the races, the podiums, the chaos.
“You’ll win anyway,” you tease, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You always do.”
His hand finds your chin, thumb brushing your lips before he kisses you — slow, soft, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Maybe,” he whispers, “but the win is even sweeter when I get to come back to you.”
You smile, heart full in that quiet, private way only mornings with him seem to allow. For a few more minutes, you stay wrapped up together in the sheets and sunlight, pretending the world outside doesn’t exist — just Max and you, the calm before the roar of the engines.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
The drive to the circuit is filled with that quiet kind of anticipation — the kind you can feel humming in the air even through the tinted car windows. Max’s hand stays on your thigh the entire ride, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin while the low rumble of the car engine fills the silence. You can see the focus starting to settle into him, that shift from husband to driver — sharp, precise, and composed. But when he glances your way and catches you smiling, he softens all over again.
By the time you pull up to the paddock gates, the world outside has fully come alive. The usual crowd of photographers is gathered near the entrance, the sound of camera shutters echoing faintly as Max helps you out of the car first. He looks effortlessly composed — navy polo, team cap, and that easy half smile that still manages to make headlines. You adjust your denim dress and your Chanel helmet purse, slipping your hand into his as you both walk toward the energy of the grid.
It doesn’t take long before you hear it — a burst of laughter and a familiar call of, “YN!”
You barely have time to turn before you’re ambushed by the rookies — your unofficial “grid children.” Ollie Bearman, grinning like sunshine; Isack Hadjar, wearing that mischievous smirk that never quite fades; Kimi Antonelli, a mix of nerves and excitement buzzing off him in waves; and Gabriel Bortoleto, calm but glowing with pre quali energy. They’re all dressed in their team gear, radiating that chaotic joy only young drivers can manage.
“Look at my boys,” you laugh, immediately reaching out to hug Kimi first, his curls brushing against your cheek. “Are we ready to cause some chaos today?”
“Always,” Isack answers with mock seriousness, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m going to beat everyone into Turn 1.”
Max laughs behind you, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say before the lights go out.”
“Don’t listen to him,” you tell Isack, turning to cup his face dramatically before kissing his cheek. “Manifest, baby. I’m rooting for you.”
He grins, already pink from the attention. “You always say that, but you’re married to the guy I’m trying to beat.”
“Conflict of interest,” you reply, shrugging playfully. “What can I say? I multitask.”
Ollie swoops in next, all dimples and nervous excitement. “Do I get my good luck too?”
You don’t hesitate — you grab him lightly and kiss his cheek, the same way you have since his first test day. “You get extra,” you tease, smoothing his hair affectionately. “For being my favorite.”
“Hey!” Gabriel protests with mock offense, laughing. “What about me?”
You turn to him, pretending to consider it. “Hmm… you did bring me coffee that one time, so fine.” You kiss his cheek too, earning another round of laughter.
Kimi waits patiently at the edge of the small chaos, hands tucked behind his back, the faintest smile on his face. You’ve always had a soft spot for him — the quiet one, the one who still looks to Max like he hung the stars.
When you finally reach him, you soften your tone. “You ready, cariño?” you ask, brushing a bit of hair away from his face.
He nods, eyes bright. “More than ever.”
You press a kiss to his cheek, gentle and sincere. “Good luck my boy,” you whisper. “Go show them what you’re made of.”
Max stands nearby, watching the entire exchange with that fond, quiet pride he never quite hides when it comes to you. “You spoil them,” he says as you walk back to him, amusement dancing in his voice.
“They’re babies,” you protest, looping your arm through his. “You were the same at their age.”
He hums, a smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But I didn’t get a kiss before every race.”
You grin up at him, eyes glinting. “Well, that’s because you didn’t have me yet.”
That earns you a low laugh, one that makes your heart flutter no matter how many times you’ve heard it. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth — soft, fleeting, but enough to send a few camera flashes your way.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
“You married trouble,” you shoot back, smirking as you glance toward where the other WAGs are gathering by the hospitality area — Alexandra, Lily, Carmen, and a few others, champagne glasses already in hand.
You squeeze Max’s hand once more before pulling away. “Go win your race, champ. I’ve got cocktails to share.”
He catches your wrist, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “Don’t get too crazy.”
“No promises,” you tease, winking before walking off toward the laughter and clinking glasses of your friends — the perfect pre qualifying chaos swirling around you, the paddock practically buzzing with energy and affection.
And as you disappear into the crowd, Max just shakes his head, that fond little smile still lingering — because somehow, no matter how intense the weekend gets, you always manage to make the paddock feel like home.
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You find Alexandra exactly where you expect her to be — tucked away in a corner booth of the Ferrari hospitality suite, her sunglasses perched on her head and a glossy magazine open in front of her that she clearly hasn’t turned a page of in twenty minutes. The room hums with the easy noise of race day: journalists drifting by, team members in polos and headsets walking briskly, the faint chatter from a nearby TV broadcasting pre-qualifying coverage.
When she spots you, her whole face lights up. “There you are!” she says, pushing the magazine aside and reaching out both hands like you’ve been gone for years instead of a day. “I thought Max kidnapped you again.”
You laugh, dropping your purse onto the booth seat and sliding in beside her. “He tried,” you tease, flagging down one of the servers with a smile. “But I told him I had a very important date with my favorite goddess and espresso martinis.”
Alexandra grins, pleased. “Flattery and alcohol — my two love languages.”
“Speaking of,” you say, tilting your head toward the server, “can we get two espresso martinis, please?”
The moment the drinks arrive — rich, foamy, and garnished with three perfectly placed coffee beans — it’s like the energy around you shifts. The two of you clink glasses gently, the sound soft but satisfying, and take that first sip together. The espresso hits strong, the sweetness lingering, and you both hum in appreciation at the same time.
“Oh, that’s dangerous,” Alexandra says, laughing softly. “I could have five of these.”
“Let’s not test that theory before qualifying,” you say, leaning back against the booth. “I want to stay sober enough to cheer and not start heckling the FIA.”
“Bold of you to assume you won’t anyway,” she says, and the two of you dissolve into giggles.
From there, the conversation drifts the way it always does — effortlessly. You talk about everything and nothing all at once: how hectic travel has been lately, which hotels have the best room service, what kind of pasta Charles tried to make last week (“He burned everything,” she deadpans), and how Max nearly fell asleep during a full strategy meeting (“He said the tire graph was soothing,” you reply).
Somewhere between your second sip and your third laugh, you realize just how easy it’s become with her — how what started as two women orbiting the same sport has quietly turned into something real, something warm. You reach across the table, tugging gently on her hand. “You know, I’m really glad we got close,” you admit.
Her expression softens immediately. “Me too,” she says. “It’s so nice having someone who actually gets it, you know? The travel, the schedule, the noise… it can be a lot.”
You nod, swirling the last bit of foam in your glass. “It’s like living in fast forward. But then you get mornings like this. And friends like you.”
She beams, squeezing your hand back. “Okay, now you’re going to make me emotional before quali, and then Charles is going to think something’s wrong.”
“Tell him it’s the martinis,” you joke, but your smile lingers a moment longer than you mean it to.
You settle deeper into the booth, legs crossed, watching as a few familiar faces walk past — engineers, media staff, a few other WAGs stopping to wave or whisper greetings. The whole place feels alive, pulsing with that mix of nerves and adrenaline that only happens on qualifying days.
“So,” Alexandra says suddenly, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “On a scale from one to ‘Max Verstappen in a sprint race,’ how competitive are you feeling about the cocktail situation today?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Define ‘competitive.’”
“I bet I can drink mine faster than you,” she challenges, lifting her martini and holding it midair like she’s making a toast.
“Oh, you’re on,” you say, grinning as you grab your glass.
The count-off is dramatic and childish and perfect — “Three, two, one—” — and you both take long sips, trying not to laugh as the strong coffee flavor burns just slightly on the way down. She finishes half a second before you and slams her glass down triumphantly.
“Ha!” she crows, eyes gleaming. “Still got it!”
You shake your head, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin. “That’s fine. I’ll win the rematch.“
She laughs so hard she nearly snorts, drawing a few curious looks from nearby guests, but neither of you care. You’re two glasses deep, cheeks warm from laughter, and the noise of the paddock feels miles away.
Eventually, Alexandra leans her head against your shoulder, sighing contentedly. “You know,” she murmurs, “I think we’ve officially become those girls — day drinking and gossiping before qualifying.”
You tilt your head against hers, smiling. “Good. Someone has to keep the glamour alive.”
She hums in agreement. “And the espresso martini industry.”
When the announcement for the start of qualifying echoes faintly through the hospitality speakers, neither of you move right away. You just sit there for a moment — two girls in heels and laughter and a little too much caffeine — savoring the calm before the chaos of roaring engines and checkered flags.
And as you finally get up, Alexandra loops her arm through yours, your matching grins enough to make a few photographers pause. You can already tell: it’s going to be one of those days — the ones that end in champagne, blurry selfies, and maybe a little too much love to fit into one frame.
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The sound of engines below shakes the air as you and Alexandra step out onto the upper deck, the warm wind carrying the deep, rhythmic growl of qualifying laps in progress. The afternoon light has softened to a golden haze, glinting off the glass of the hospitality building and the champagne flutes waiting for you both on the table by the railing.
From up here, the paddock looks like organized chaos — mechanics rushing, tires stacked in perfect rows, the flash of team colors streaking by on the track. It’s electric, alive, and yet somehow, in this small pocket of calm, it’s just the two of you — heels clicking against the floor, laughter floating between the noise.
Alexandra tucks herself close to your side almost immediately, looping her arm through yours with an ease that feels second nature now. She leans her head on your shoulder, her hair brushing against your cheek as she sighs, smiling softly. “You know,” she says, voice nearly drowned out by the engines, “I don’t think I’ve ever liked qualifying this much.”
You laugh, lifting one of the champagne flutes and handing it to her. “It’s because you’ve got me,” you tease.
She grins, clinking her glass gently against yours. “Obviously.”
You both take slow sips, bubbles tickling your lips, the cool sweetness of the drink a perfect contrast to the humid air. When you glance over, she’s already watching the track, eyes wide behind her sunglasses. Every time Charles’ name flashes on the big screen, her fingers tighten around your arm unconsciously, like she’s trying to will the car faster. It’s adorable.
“You get so nervous for him,” you say softly, smiling.
She exhales, nodding without looking away. “I do. Every single time. It doesn’t matter how many races he’s done. I still hold my breath when he’s on a flying lap.”
You rest your head against hers, swaying a little. “That’s love, babe.”
She turns her face toward you, smiling. “What about you? Still get nervous for Max?”
“Always,” you admit, tracing the rim of your champagne flute with your fingertip. “But it’s different now. I trust him completely — he’s just… him, you know? Calm. In control. I get butterflies watching him, but not the bad kind.”
She hums thoughtfully, pressing her cheek to your shoulder. “You two are disgustingly in love.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you laugh.
“I say that like I want it,” she says playfully, eyes shining.
That makes you both giggle, and you shift closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. It’s instinctive now — the way she leans into your touch, the way you absentmindedly fix the strap of her dress when it slips down her shoulder, the way she rests her hand on your thigh while she talks. It’s all so natural, so warm, so deeply affectionate it doesn’t even feel unusual anymore.
At one point, she points at the track, excited. “Look! Charles just went P4!”
You cheer right alongside her, clapping your hands and laughing as she jumps up a little. “Go, baby!” she calls out, cupping her hands around her mouth like he could somehow hear her over the roar of the engines. Then she sinks back into the seat beside you, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“You’re adorable,” you say, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I’m emotionally unstable,” she corrects with a laugh. “But thank you.”
You both dissolve into laughter again, your champagne glasses clinking as the sunlight catches in the bubbles. From a distance, the two of you probably look like a picture — glossy hair, chic dresses, perfectly done nails, sipping champagne as if the world isn’t shaking beneath you. But up close, it’s a different kind of beautiful: unfiltered, messy affection, hands brushing, fingers tangled, shared smiles that come too easily.
At one point, Alexandra pulls out her phone to take a selfie. “Smile!” she says, and before you can pose properly, she leans in and kisses your cheek. You squeal, laughing, the picture coming out blurry and perfect — your wide smile, her eyes half-closed with happiness, sunlight flaring between you.
“That’s going on my story,” she announces proudly.
“Tag me,” you say, giggling as she does exactly that, adding sparkly heart emojis before hitting post.
You both sit there for a long while after, just sipping and chatting. You talk about where you want to travel next, about maybe doing a girls’ trip during the summer break.
The longer you talk, the closer you end up — your legs draped over hers, her head tucked under your chin, the two of you swaying gently to the faint hum of the crowd below. Every so often, she tilts her glass toward yours in another lazy toast: to love, to friendship, to chaos, until both of your flutes are empty.
When Max’s name flashes to P1 on the screen, your whole face lights up instinctively, pride radiating from you like sunlight. Alexandra cheers with you, clutching your hand. “There it is!” she exclaims. “The Verstappen special!”
You’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “He’s ridiculous.”
“And brilliant,” she adds, nudging you gently.
The two of you stay there until the end of the session — hair tousled from the wind, champagne glasses empty, the sun dipping lower as qualifying wraps up. When the engines quiet and the cheers erupt from the grandstands, Alexandra takes your hand again, twining your fingers.
“Promise me,” she says softly, “we keep doing this. The brunches, the drinks, the cheering. All of it.”
You squeeze her hand back. “Always.”
And as the teams start preparing for the interviews below, you and Alexandra linger on the deck — still wrapped up in each other, still laughing softly, still glowing in that champagne haze that only ever happens on race weekends. From the track to the hospitality deck, the world is spinning fast — but for the two of you, it’s slowed just enough to savor it all.
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alexandrasaintmleux has added to her story!
seen by ynverstappen, charles_leclerc, lilyzneimer & 2,3450,000 others.
ynverstappen : wifey for lifeeee 🤍
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
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When qualifying wraps up, the paddock dissolves into its usual blur of noise and motion — mechanics wheeling equipment, cameras flashing, engines cooling under the weight of adrenaline and relief. You and Alexandra, however, are still on the upper deck, entirely oblivious to the chaos below.
You’re curled up together on one of the lounge sofas, both of you barefoot now (heels long abandoned), the remains of your second glasses of champagne catching the evening light on the table beside you. Alexandra’s head rests on your shoulder, and your arm is looped lazily around her waist, your fingers tracing idle shapes against the silk fabric of her dress. You’ve been laughing about something stupid — something about Charles accidentally putting diesel in a rental once — and neither of you can seem to stop.
“She told me I was the responsible one,” Alexandra gasps between giggles, clutching your hand dramatically.
“You were,” you wheeze, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.
Before she can reply, a familiar low voice cuts through the air from behind you. “So this is where you two disappeared to.”
You turn around, startled and then instantly softening at the sight of Max standing a few feet away — in fresh Red Bull gear, hair messy from his shower, and that faint glow he always has. Charles stands next to him, equally amused, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Alexandra perks up immediately. “Baby!” she calls, stretching her arms toward Charles like she’s been waiting for him her whole life.
He laughs, shaking his head as he approaches. “How many drinks have you had, mon cœur?”
“Not enough to forget that you qualified P4,” she teases, sitting up a little straighter, though she’s still holding tightly to your arm.
Max walks over to you, one eyebrow raised as he looks at the two of you nestled together. “You look very cozy, liefje.”
You grin up at him, cheeks pink from the champagne and sun. “We’re celebrating,” you declare proudly. “P1 and P4! That’s teamwork.”
He hums, eyes soft with amusement. “Uh-huh. Looks like you’ve been celebrating for a while.”
“Just a little,” you say, holding up your fingers to indicate a small amount. Alexandra giggles beside you, clearly unhelpful to your defense.
Charles glances at the two of you, shaking his head in fond disbelief. “You’re adorable, but I don’t think you’re moving anytime soon.”
“Nope,” Alexandra says, popping the ‘p’ dramatically. “We’re comfortable.”
“Too comfortable,” Max mutters, though there’s no real irritation behind it — only that low, indulgent tone he always uses when you’re in one of your playful moods.
He crouches beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you before you start lecturing the stewards.”
“I would never,” you say, feigning offense, though your grin gives you away.
“Uh-huh,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Dinner?”
You glance at Alexandra, who immediately pouts. “I’m not leaving her,” she declares dramatically, looping her arm through yours even tighter.
“I’m not leaving her,” you echo, resting your head against hers again.
Charles sighs, though he’s smiling the entire time. “I see how it is. You two come as a set now.”
“Exactly,” Alexandra says proudly. “Buy one, get one free.”
Max straightens up, looking at Charles. “We might as well take both of them before they end up convincing security to let them on the podium.”
“Good idea,” Charles agrees. “But they’re sharing a booth, or I won’t hear the end of it.”
You and Alexandra exchange a look — the kind of wordless, tipsy telepathy that comes only from day drinking and laughter — and you both burst out laughing again.
Ten minutes later, the four of you are walking through the paddock, sunglasses on, still clinging to each other. Max keeps one steadying hand at your lower back, while Charles does the same for Alexandra, though both men look far too amused to be annoyed.
“Do you think they realize everyone’s staring?” Charles murmurs.
Max chuckles quietly. “They don’t care. And honestly… it’s kind of cute.”
When you finally make it to a quiet restaurant just outside the circuit gates, the hostess barely conceals her recognition of the group — four of the most photographed people in Formula 1, strolling in like it’s nothing. The staff moves quickly, leading you to a private booth near the back.
You and Alexandra slide in on one side, immediately leaning into each other again, giggling as you pull your phones out to show each other the blurry photos from earlier. Max and Charles sit across from you, exchanging glances that say, we’re definitely driving them home.
The waiter comes by with menus, but Alexandra waves a hand. “Four pastas and champagne,” she says decisively. “We’re celebrating!”
Max smirks. “You don’t even know what kind of pasta they have.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she replies, lifting her chin proudly. “It’s about the vibe.”
You reach for his hand across the table, your fingers brushing his knuckles. “Just let her win, babe,” you whisper conspiratorially.
He smiles, squeezing your hand. “Anything for you.”
Dinner is loud, messy, and full of laughter. Alexandra feeds Charles a bite of her pasta with too much enthusiasm and nearly drops it, while you end up stealing bites from Max’s plate, insisting yours “tastes weird” even though it doesn’t. The two men keep exchanging looks — the kind that say we’ve lost control but it’s adorable, so it’s fine.
At some point, you and Alexandra start whispering about something that makes you both giggle uncontrollably, and when Max asks what’s so funny, you both just shake your heads in unison.
“Secrets,” Alexandra says, eyes sparkling.
“Wife secrets,” you add, bumping her shoulder.
By the time dessert arrives, you’re all more relaxed than you’ve been in weeks. The night feels warm and slow, laughter echoing softly against the restaurant walls. When you finally pile into the car afterward — all four of you squeezed into the backseat because neither you nor Alexandra would agree to be separated — Max just wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as your head drifts to his shoulder.
“Did you have fun, liefje?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your hand.
“The best,” you mumble sleepily, Alexandra’s head resting on your other shoulder. “You boys are the best.”
Charles glances at Max in the rearview mirror, smiling. “They’re going to fall asleep like that, aren’t they?”
Max chuckles softly. “Probably. But look at them — how could you move them?”
And as the car hums quietly back toward the hotel, the city lights flickering through the windows, you and Alexandra stay tangled together — champagne-drunk, content, and completely wrapped in the affection of the two men who adore you both more than anything.
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The elevator hums softly as the four of you ascend to the top floor, the golden light from the hotel lobby giving way to the quieter, more intimate glow of the suite levels. It’s late — the kind of late where the laughter has turned slow and sleepy, where everyone’s eyes are soft from champagne and comfort.
You’re leaning against Max’s side, your arm around his waist, your heels dangling from his hand. Alexandra is doing the same with Charles, her head resting against his shoulder, still half giggling about something you said five minutes ago that neither of you can now remember.
When the doors open, Max slides the key card and pushes open the door to your suite — and immediately, Alexandra gasps.
“Oh my god, this is huge!” she exclaims, stepping in barefoot onto the plush cream carpet. The suite stretches out before you — a living space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering skyline, a bar in the corner, a long sofa facing a fireplace, and the massive king sized bed visible through the open bedroom doorway.
Max sets your shoes down with a clatter and you twirl once dramatically, your denim dress catching the dim light. “Told you Max doesn’t do anything small,” you tease, looking over your shoulder at him.
Max just shakes his head, smiling in that quiet, indulgent way he always does when you’re happy. “You could’ve stayed with Charles and Alexandra,” he says, voice warm with amusement. “But you wanted the view.”
“Of course,” you reply innocently, walking over to the window. “The view’s my favorite part.”
Behind you, Alexandra giggles and curls up onto the floor cushions by the coffee table. “The floor’s so soft,” she murmurs, sinking down fully, cross-legged, as Charles watches her fondly.
You join her without hesitation, sitting down beside her and kicking off what’s left of your composure — your makeup slightly smudged, your hair undone from the humidity, but you’re glowing. The two of you start whispering again, laughing softly, shoulders pressed together, your heads nearly touching as you scroll through the photos from the day.
“Look, that’s Leo hiding under the table,” Alexandra points out, zooming in on the photo.
“And that one,” you say, scrolling, “that’s when you tried to take a shot at lunch.”
“I was taste testing!” she protests through her laughter.
Max and Charles exchange a look from across the room — the kind that says they’re not moving for hours, are they?
“They’re like kids at a sleepover,” Charles murmurs, setting his phone down.
“Worse,” Max replies, though his tone is full of fondness. “Kids eventually get tired.”
He walks over and crouches behind you, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Liefje, you’re going to fall asleep there.”
You tilt your head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded, a drowsy little smile on your lips. “It’s comfy.”
Alexandra, ever the instigator, adds, “Yeah, Max, let her live her best life.”
Charles chuckles under his breath and sits on the edge of the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re both hopeless.”
“Completely,” Max agrees, standing up and offering a hand to Charles. “We might as well make sure they don’t pass out on the carpet.”
It takes both of them — one for each girl. Charles bends down first, scooping Alexandra into his arms like she weighs nothing, her soft laugh muffled as she hides her face against his chest. Max follows suit, sliding an arm beneath your knees and another around your back, lifting you with effortless strength.
You instinctively loop your arms around his neck, your voice muffled against his collarbone. “You always carry me like I’m fragile.”
He kisses your forehead softly. “Because you are.”
They both carry you and Alexandra into the bedroom — the lights are low, the massive bed perfectly made with crisp white sheets and a mountain of pillows. The air smells faintly of your perfume and Max’s cologne, and it feels like the world has slowed to something gentle.
Max lays you down first, carefully pulling the blanket up over you. Charles does the same with Alexandra, setting her beside you before climbing in on the opposite side.
Immediately, you both shift — like magnets — curling into each other again, your legs tangling, fingers interlacing in the space between. There’s soft laughter, half-dreamy, half-tipsy.
“I like your bed better,” Alexandra mumbles sleepily.
“That’s because you’re stealing all my warmth,” you murmur back, nuzzling closer anyway.
The two men stand side by side for a moment, watching the pair of you — tangled up and whispering nonsense through giggles. Max glances at Charles, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I don’t think they’re letting us leave.”
Charles sighs, though he’s smiling. “I think you’re right.”
“Come here,” Alexandra calls softly, eyes barely open but her voice firm with that familiar affection. “I can’t sleep without you.”
You echo her, half-whining, half-sweet: “Same. Please, Max?”
He chuckles quietly, setting his watch down on the nightstand. “You heard them,” he says to Charles. “Orders from the queens.”
Charles just laughs, shaking his head as he tugs off his shirt and slides into bed beside Alexandra. “You two are lucky you’re cute.”
Max joins from the other side, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He shifts closer to you, his hand immediately finding your waist, pulling you back into him.
You sigh softly, melting into the familiar warmth of him. “Perfect,” you whisper.
On the other side, Alexandra’s already tucked into Charles’s chest, her breathing slowing as he runs his fingers gently through her hair.
It’s quiet now — the kind of quiet that only happens when everything feels safe. The faint hum of the city outside, the soft sound of synchronized breathing, the steady rhythm of two men who love their girls beyond reason.
At some point, Alexandra’s hand finds yours again across the space between you, fingers brushing lightly before settling. You smile, eyes still closed, and Max leans in to kiss your temple, whispering in Dutch so softly it’s almost lost to the sheets.
“Sleep, liefje. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
You murmur something incoherent — maybe his name, maybe just a sleepy hum — and within minutes, the four of you are still.
Charles glances across the bed one last time, meeting Max’s eyes over the two sleeping women.
And it is — a tangle of limbs and warmth, laughter still lingering in the air, the city lights spilling through the window and painting the room gold. A perfect, quiet ending to a day full of noise and love.
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charles_leclerc has added to his story!
seen by maxverstappen1, lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 4,500,000 others.
lando : did you both ever get any sleep
↳ charles_leclerc : they passed out as soon as we got them in the bed 🤣
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f1gossipgirls
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,900,000 others.
f1gossipgirls : omg can we talk about alex and yn’s friendship for a moment???? i love them so much. they were so cute in the paddock yesterday! their friendship means sm to me. plus those pics of alex and charles’ story!!! (edit : both husband and boyfriend have liked this post. i can’t.)
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Morning filters into the suite slowly — soft and golden, the kind of sunlight that slips past the curtains in quiet ribbons, kissing the edges of pillows and tangled sheets. It’s warm, lazy light; the kind that makes the whole room feel wrapped in a dream.
Max stirs first, his arm stretching across the empty half of the bed. He blinks once, twice, frowning slightly when his hand meets only cool sheets instead of the soft weight of you beside him. Beside him, Charles does the same, blinking into wakefulness, his voice still low and gravelly with sleep.
“They’re not here?” he mumbles, lifting his head and glancing toward the other side of the bed.
Max groans quietly, running a hand down his face. “Impossible. They were dead asleep.”
Charles huffs out a quiet laugh, voice still rough. “Maybe they teleported.”
It’s only when Max hears faint giggles and the clinking of something from the bathroom that the confusion fades into realization — and amusement.
The door to the ensuite is cracked open, steam curling out in little wisps, and through the mirror reflection he can see the two of you — very much awake, perched side by side at the counter, faces glowing with that infuriating morning energy that neither of them can comprehend before coffee.
You’re brushing through Alexandra’s hair carefully, humming something under your breath, while she leans against the counter, sipping water through a straw and giggling. The vanity is already a cheerful chaos — open makeup bags, perfumes, your phone playing quiet music, the two of you in matching hotel robes with your initials stitched near the collar.
Max pushes himself up against the headboard, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he murmurs.
Charles sits up beside him, following his gaze — and then he just starts laughing. “They’re like two completely different people,” he whispers. “Didn’t they finish half a bottle of champagne each?”
“Two bottles,” Max corrects under his breath, still watching.
You’re currently applying mascara while Alexandra rummages through her bag for lipstick, both of you chatting animatedly about something completely domestic — whether you should both wear white today or if that’s “too matchy-matchy.” Every now and then, one of you leans over to look at the other in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair or dabbing something on a cheek with gentle precision.
When Alexandra spots Max and Charles’ reflection in the mirror, she gasps dramatically. “Look who’s alive!” she announces, turning and grinning. “The sleepyheads have risen.”
You follow her gaze, eyes bright and teasing. “Good morning, my loves,” you sing song, placing your mascara wand down. “How did you sleep?”
Max stretches lazily, feigning annoyance but failing entirely. “Not as well as someone who apparently got a full salon appointment at seven in the morning.”
You giggle and blow him a kiss. “Beauty takes commitment, darling.”
Charles groans good-naturedly and flops back against the bed. “I can’t believe you two look like that after last night.”
Alexandra smiles sweetly, dabbing perfume behind her ears. “It’s called hydrating, Charles.”
“She made me drink two glasses of water before,” you add, shrugging proudly. “We’re professionals.”
Before either man can respond, there’s a soft knock at the door. You and Alexandra exchange triumphant looks.
“That’ll be breakfast,” you announce, and you’re already halfway to the door before Max can even get out of bed.
A hotel staff member wheels in a massive tray — silver domes hiding plates of croissants, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, pancakes, smoked salmon, tiny pots of jam, and a carafe of orange juice. There’s even a vase of tiny pink roses in the center. You tip generously and thank them warmly before closing the door, and the moment it clicks shut, Alexandra throws her arms up in victory.
“Breakfast for four!” she declares.
Charles has to laugh at that — a low, sleepy sound that melts easily into the morning air. “You really planned this, didn’t you?”
“Of course we did,” you reply cheerfully, already stacking plates on the table. “You think we’d let you two survive race morning on coffee alone?”
Max finally drags himself out of bed, hair messy and voice still heavy with sleep. He walks over behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and kissing your temple. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs affectionately.
You tilt your head up toward him with a grin. “You love it.”
“I do,” he admits easily, his lips brushing your cheek before he sits down beside you.
Alexandra joins Charles on the couch, immediately spooning fruit onto his plate for him like it’s second nature. “Eat,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “You need your energy.”
Charles just smiles, watching her with that soft, sleepy admiration he always tries to hide but never manages to. “You’re very bossy in the mornings.”
“Someone has to be,” she replies, handing him a fork.
You and Max are no better — sharing bites off each other’s plates, laughing as you try to spread jam on a croissant without making a mess, his hand resting idly on your knee under the table.
The suite is full of quiet sounds: forks clinking, laughter spilling easily, the faint hum of a playlist in the background. The city hums outside the window, the race day sun already climbing higher.
At one point, you and Alexandra start showing the boys the photos you took the day before — the mirror selfies, the dog pictures, the blurry cocktail shots.
“You two were adorable,” Charles says, scrolling through your phone, shaking his head fondly. “A little tipsy, but adorable.”
“A little?” Max teases. “I had to carry you to bed, liefje.”
You shoot him a mock glare, cheeks warming. “You didn’t have to.”
Alexandra giggles. “Yes, he did. We were snuggled up on the floor like cats.”
The boys exchange a look again — the same amused, helpless expression as last night. They wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Eventually, the plates empty and the chatter softens. You’re sitting sideways on Max’s lap now, his hand idly tracing shapes on your thigh, while Alexandra leans against Charles’s chest, both of them scrolling through photos on his phone.
Max glances around the suite — at the half-finished croissants, the coffee cups, the two women glowing in the morning light — and smiles quietly to himself.
“You know,” he murmurs, his Dutch accent still thick from sleep, “I could get used to mornings like this.”
You turn your head to look up at him, smiling lazily. “Who says we can’t?”
Charles hums his agreement, pressing a kiss to Alexandra’s hair. “It’s a good tradition. Pre-race breakfast, post-qualifying chaos.”
“Deal,” Alexandra says sleepily, her voice muffled against his shirt.
And for a moment — before the race suits and the grid walks and the press and the chaos — it’s just the four of you. Warm sunlight, easy laughter, hands intertwined over plates of pancakes and coffee, the quiet intimacy of found family and shared love.
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several months later… (skip to summer break)
yn_verstappen
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 5,400,000 others.
yn_verstappen : summer break with my favorite people on the planet 🤍🩵
tagged : maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux
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alexandrasaintmleux
liked by ynverstappen, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,890,000 others.
alexandrasaintmleux : happy summer break! 🩵🤍
tagged : maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and ynverstappen
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user has limited comments on this post.
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bonus : lestappen + alexyn on vacation!
The summer heat hits like a soft, golden wave as the four of you step off the small prop plane onto the tarmac. The smell of saltwater and sunscreen immediately fills the air, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore makes your chest ache with happiness. The moment the breeze brushes against your skin, you can feel the tension of the season slowly peeling away — the endless hotels, the paddocks, the press events — replaced with something lighter, slower, and entirely yours.
Max is already in his element, his sunglasses perched on his nose, shirt untucked over swim trunks, carrying your bag casually over one shoulder while his other hand finds yours without even needing to look. You squeeze it, laughing as he gives a small tug forward, as if the sand itself can’t wait to greet you.
Alexandra strolls beside Charles, the way she always does — effortless, bright, radiant — her hair loose and tousled, the sun glinting off her sunglasses. Charles keeps a careful hand on her lower back, guiding her gently through the little cluster of other travelers. There’s that same quiet pride in his smile that you’ve come to love, the one that says, she’s mine, but I’ll share this adventure with the people I love most.
Your villa is waiting — whitewashed walls, terracotta tiles, and floor-to-ceiling windows that open directly onto a terrace overlooking the turquoise sea. When you walk through the door, the four of you almost squeal in unison. The living area is airy, the couches piled with soft cushions, a large dining table gleaming under the natural light. A gentle fan spins lazily from the ceiling, and the sound of the surf is constant, hypnotic.
“I can already tell,” Alexandra says, kicking off her sandals, “that I’m not leaving this place all week.”
“You won’t be allowed to,” Charles jokes, taking her hand and guiding her toward the terrace.
Max has already wandered toward the balcony doors, pulling you behind him. The sun is low in the sky, painting everything in shades of coral and gold. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Welcome to paradise, liefje,” he murmurs.
You take a deep breath, letting the salty air fill your lungs. “This is… perfect,” you say softly, spinning around to grin at him. He grins back, tugging you closer until your foreheads touch, laughter bubbling between kisses.
The first day is easy. You all unpack lazily, rolling your suitcases across the terracotta tiles and tossing swimsuits and sandals onto the bed. There’s room service for a light lunch — fresh seafood, tropical fruit, and sparkling water — eaten on the terrace with the waves lapping just below. You and Alexandra steal bites of each other’s meals, laughing as the men roll their eyes fondly at your antics. Max keeps brushing his fingers over your hand across the table, while Charles slides his arm around Alexandra’s shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head.
By mid-afternoon, the four of you are ready for the water. The villa comes with a private beach just beyond a low stone wall, and you dash down barefoot, wind tugging at your hair, Alexandra laughing as she chases you into the waves. Max splashes you lightly, and you retaliate by kicking water back at him, shrieking as it soaks his hair and the front of his trunks. Charles scoops Alexandra up mid-sprint, twirling her around before setting her down gently, her laughter ringing above the surf.
Hours pass in this blissful blur — sun, salt, sand, laughter. You bury each other in the sand, create elaborate sandcastles, and dare each other to wade farther out into the warm sea. At some point, Max drags you onto his back for a piggyback swim, carrying you effortlessly into the shallows, while Charles and Alexandra chase each other in mock races, the two of them colliding in giggles as they collapse into the wet sand.
When the sun dips low, you all retreat to the terrace. Towels wrapped around your shoulders, hair dripping, you share glasses of rosé and watch the sky shift from gold to pink to deep indigo. The men tease you both endlessly, pulling strands of wet hair from your faces, stealing little kisses in between sips of wine, while you and Alexandra steal them right back.
Dinner is prepared by a private chef, a feast of local delicacies served al fresco under twinkling fairy lights strung across the terrace. You all sit cross-legged on plush cushions, barefoot, elbows brushing as you pass dishes around. Charles insists on feeding Alexandra a bite of his pasta, and Max does the same with you, both pairs laughing like teenagers. Between bites, the four of you share stories, plan the next day’s excursions, and quietly steal glances at one another when no one’s looking.
Later, when the night grows quiet and the stars sprinkle across the sky like diamonds, you curl up on the terrace sofa with Alexandra, her head on your chest, your arm around her shoulders. Max and Charles lounge beside you, their legs brushing yours, hands occasionally resting on the backs or waists of their girls. There’s laughter, murmured jokes, shared memories, and long stretches of comfortable silence.
“I could stay here forever,” Alexandra murmurs, eyes half-lidded as you run your fingers through her hair.
“Me too,” you reply softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
Max and Charles exchange a look, both smiling faintly, both thinking the same thing: this is exactly what summer was meant for — soft mornings, sun-soaked afternoons, laughter echoing against waves, and the warmth of the ones they love beside them.
And as the night stretches on, with the surf below and the stars above, the four of you drift into an easy, happy exhaustion — the perfect beginning to a week where time belongs entirely to you, to love, and to each other.
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The sun is high and golden when you and Alexandra step out of the villa, tote bags slung over your shoulders, sandals clicking against the warm cobblestones of the island’s main shopping street. The air smells faintly of salt and sun-warmed stone, mixed with the rich scent of freshly baked pastries from a nearby café. You both giggle as the breeze tugs at your hair, Alexandra’s sunglasses sliding down her nose in the most perfectly charming way.
“Okay,” she says, spinning once dramatically on the cobblestones, “we are officially on a mission. Island shopping spree, part one: fashion conquest.”
You grin, grabbing her hand without a second thought. Fingers intertwining naturally, palms pressed together, the gesture effortless and intimate. “I’m ready,” you reply, tugging her forward toward the first boutique. “Lead the way, goddess of style.”
Max and Charles trail behind, slightly bewildered, sunglasses perched on their noses and hands stuffed into pockets. Max shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Do we have to come in here?” he mutters, though the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Yes,” Alexandra says firmly, tugging you through the boutique doors before either of them can protest. “Absolutely.”
The store is cool and air conditioned, racks of flowing linen dresses, tailored shorts, oversized sunglasses, and chic sandals lining the walls. You and Alexandra immediately split, hands still clasped, weaving between racks and shelves like synchronized dancers.
Max sighs, resigned, as Charles murmurs, “They’re insufferable… and adorable.”
Alexandra emerges from behind a rack, holding a sundress up against her body. “Cha,” she calls, grinning, “tell me if this screams ‘vacation goddess’ or just ‘I tried too hard.’”
He squints at her through the dim boutique lighting. “Definitely vacation goddess,” he admits, his voice low, eyes soft.
“See?” you call, tugging a bright coral dress from another rack and twirling in it. “This is totally me. What do you think, husband?”
Max’s gaze softens, and he bites back a smile. “You look… ridiculously perfect,” he mutters.
Charles, meanwhile, has been quietly observing Alexandra as she experiments with a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses perched jauntily on her nose. “You look… dangerous,” he whispers, smirking as she strikes a mock-model pose.
“Dangerous is my middle name,” she replies with a flourish, spinning in a circle.
Soon, the two of you have amassed a small mountain of outfits: dresses, rompers, hats, sunglasses, shoes — every piece a little more dramatic than the last. You drop your arms around each other’s shoulders, letting your fingers brush as you plan your next move.
“Fashion show?” you suggest, eyes sparkling.
Alexandra’s grin is immediate. “Obviously.”
Before the boys can protest, you’ve grabbed two full-length mirrors near the corner of the store. “We’ll model them all for you,” you announce, tugging Alexandra toward the first set of outfits. You each change behind the racks with giggles and whispered commentary.
The first round emerges: you in a flowing yellow sundress, Alexandra in a crisp white linen jumpsuit. You saunter across the open space, holding hands like runway models, spinning once to show off the dresses. Alexandra tosses her hair dramatically, and you can’t help but laugh, striking your own exaggerated pose at the mirror’s reflection.
“Stop it,” Max says in mock severity, “you’re making me jealous of the clothes.”
Alexandra gasps, turning dramatically toward him. “Oh, you should be!”
Round after round, you both emerge in more ridiculous ensembles: one-piece metallic rompers, wide-brim hats that nearly cover your faces, oversized linen pants paired with crop tops, and even a sequined dress that makes you both howl with laughter at the absurdity of wearing it on a sunny island street. Each time, you twirl, hold hands, and strike poses, letting the boys critique (or groan) from the sidelines.
“You look like a goddess,” Charles says, finally, his tone soft and fond, leaning against a rack.
“You look insane,” Max mutters, holding back laughter as you and Alexandra take turns spinning into each other’s arms, laughing so hard the sequined dress nearly catches on a hanger.
By the end of the afternoon, your arms are full of shopping bags, your cheeks are flushed from laughter, and your fingers are still intertwined. You and Alexandra walk through the cobblestone streets back toward the villa, and planning which outfits you’ll wear to dinner, to the beach, and for sunset cocktails.
At one point, Alexandra tugs you gently toward her, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Best shopping day ever,” she whispers.
You lean your forehead against hers. “Agreed,” you reply. “And we got the best audience.”
Max chuckles, sliding his hand over yours and squeezing gently. “The only audience that matters,” he says, eyes soft.
Charles smirks from the other side, looping an arm around Alexandra’s waist. “Next time, you two are modeling at Milan Fashion Week.”
You and Alexandra laugh, walking hand in hand through the sun-drenched streets of the island, the boys following behind, completely powerless against your charm, your antics, and the effortless, undeniable cuteness of the two of you together.
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f1gossipgirls
1,890,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : can we please talk about how lestappen is literally spending summer break together bc their girls can’t be apart????? i’m in love #nofragilemasculinityhere
I was hoping you could do something where reader has tattoos that are related to mental health and the fans realize or the wags do a fan questions interview and she explains them or something like that
Hi my love 💕, I hope you’re doing well! You didn’t specify which driver, so I went with Oscar - I hope this is exactly how you imagined it, and that it makes you feel deeply loved 🫶. Here's to:
Stars around my Scars - OP81
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader
Summary: When the WAGs learn the story behind your tattoos — or how Oscar drew stars around your scars to remind you to keep going.
Trigger Warning: Mentions of self-harm. Please read at your own discretion. If this is triggering for you, consider skipping. And if you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to reach out — I’m here for you.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 1:21
Unlike most of the other WAGs in the paddock, your skin wasn’t free of ink or scars.
You weren’t completely covered, but a fair number of tattoos were scattered across your skin — enough that fans had started noticing them far more than you had expected.
You didn’t mind. The art on your body was meant to be seen. You had placed it there for a reason.
Some tattoos you had drawn yourself late at night, pen scraping against skin as you sketched ideas before bringing them to a tattoo artist. Others were designed by people who truly knew you, people who understood the stories you carried. Each one meant something.
You hadn’t counted on how observant WAGs could be, though.
You were sitting just outside the Williams motorhome, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses perched on your nose, laughter floating lightly between Lily Muni He, Isabella Bernadini, Hannah St. John, Alicia Torrini, and Flavy Barla. The Italian sun pressed warmly against your arms.
The conversation drifted easily — teasing complaints about travel schedules, the latest paddock gossip, and the idiotic things your boyfriends had done recently.
You mostly listened, laughing along. Not because you didn’t have stories — but because Oscar, compared to the others, simply wasn’t chaotic enough to supply them.
Where some drivers were loud, dramatic, impulsive, Oscar was… Oscar. Quiet. Dryly funny. Occasionally sarcastic in a way that caught people off guard. And endlessly kind.
Even so, you liked sitting here. The easy companionship, the warmth.
Then Lily’s gaze landed on your wrist.
Her eyes softened.
A small star was inked there, slightly uneven, lines not perfectly straight. It carried more meaning than any of your other tattoos.
“I’ve never noticed this one before,” she murmured, fingers lifting instinctively before hesitating mid-air, polite enough not to assume.
You followed her gaze. The memory it held rushed back like a tide.
“Oscar drew it,” you said softly, turning your wrist so she could see. You didn’t pull away when her fingertip traced the star.
Beneath the ink, the skin’s texture shifted — a scar.
The table fell silent. One by one, the girls’ eyes flicked between your wrist and your face.
“What does it mean?” Hannah asked gently.
Most of your tattoos hid scars beneath layers of ink. This one didn’t. The star didn’t conceal it. It framed it.
You hesitated. Vulnerability prickled in your chest, a feeling you hadn’t touched in years. You had healed, grown, built a life you were proud of — but some parts of the past would always linger.
“To keep going,” you said quietly.
The girls understood. Their expressions softened.
“I met Oscar when we were really young,” you added, a small snort following. “Not like we’re not still young.” The table laughed softly.
“But I met him when things weren’t… great. Hard days I could handle at first. Then darker times. And the only way I knew to quiet the noise in my head — even for a little while — was…” You swallowed. “…to cut.”
The words felt strange, heavy. Part of you hated that girl, but another part understood her — she was simply trying to survive.
“I got good at hiding it. Long sleeves. Bracelets. And when my wrists became too obvious, I moved to my thighs instead.”
The girls nodded. Listening. Respecting.
“Then one night he caught me,” you said softly, eyes distant. “It was fresh. I’d done it after a fight with my dad and a screaming match with my brother.”
The memory rose vividly.
Suddenly you weren’t in the paddock anymore.
You were standing in Oscar’s bedroom again, years younger, your wrist held carefully in his hands.
His fingers had been warm.
Gentle.
Tracing the skin like it was something fragile.
His eyes had been shining with unshed tears.
“Why?” he had asked quietly.
“These aren’t the only ones, right?” he asked softly. The kindness in his voice had hurt more than anger ever could.
You hadn’t been able to answer.
You had just shrugged, your throat tight, shame wrapping around it like a rope.
Your eyes had filled with tears.
“Yeah,” you had whispered.
“I thought you were getting better…”
Oscar had known about the scars long before that night. He had noticed them months earlier.
But every time he spotted a new one, he never said anything.
Instead he would just hold you tighter that day.
Kiss you a little longer.
Whisper more love into your hair.
Leave longer messages on your phone.
Anything to remind you that you mattered.
“I’m sorry,” you cried, because disappointing him had always been the last thing you wanted.
But Oscar had shaken his head immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he had said softly.
His thumb brushed gently over your wrist. “I’m supposed to look out for you. I’m supposed to make things better.”
You remembered staring at him then, completely stunned.
Because even back then — long before the trophies, the cameras, the endless travel — Oscar had always carried this quiet sense of responsibility for the people he loved.
It had never been loud.
Never dramatic.
But it was always there.
“You can’t fix me,” you had whispered hoarsely.
You hadn’t meant it cruelly. It was simply the truth you believed back then. The darkness inside your head had felt too big, too loud, too permanent for anyone to fix.
Oscar had been quiet for a moment.
Then he gently lifted your wrist, studying the wound with those impossibly thoughtful eyes of his.
Not offended.
Not angry.
Just thinking. Considering.
“Maybe not,” he finally said.
His voice was calm, steady in that way that always managed to ground you.
“But I can stay.”
Your breath had caught at that.
“I can stay,” he repeated softly. “And I can make sure you’re not fighting it alone.”
You remembered the way the words had settled somewhere deep inside your chest, in a place you hadn’t realized had been aching quite that badly.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself to quiet the noise,” he continued carefully. “But if the noise gets loud again… you come to me instead.”
You had laughed weakly through your tears back then.
“That’s a lot of pressure for a teenage boy, Piastri.”
He had shrugged slightly.
“I race cars at 200 kilometers per hour,” he said dryly. “I think I can handle listening to you.”
Even now, years later, the memory still made your chest tighten.
Because that night had been the first time someone hadn’t treated you like you were fragile or broken — just someone worth staying for.
Your fingers absentmindedly traced the little star on your wrist as the memory faded.
“And the next day,” you continued quietly to the girls around the table, “he came back with a pen and drew around my scars.”
“The star?” Hannah asked.
You nodded. “Terrible drawing,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Uneven lines, wonky angles… looks like something a five-year-old might sketch.”
The girls laughed softly with you.
“But he drew it right on my skin. Told me that whenever the noise came back, I should look at it and remember I survived every bad day before that one.”
“He said stars only exist because they keep burning through the dark,” you added softly.
The table went quiet. Even the paddock seemed to fade.
Lily looked back down at your wrist again, eyes gentle. “That’s… actually really beautiful,” she murmured.
You smiled slightly.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “It is.”
Flavy tilted her head. “Did he come with you to get it tattooed?”
You let out a soft laugh.
“He insisted.”
The memory warmed you.
“He sat next to me the entire time, watching the artist like a hawk to make sure they didn’t ‘ruin his masterpiece.’”
That earned another round of laughter.
“And when it was done,” you continued, “he stared at it for like five full minutes.”
“What did he say?” Alicia asked.
You grinned softly. “He looked at me very seriously and said, ‘I think I might have a future in tattoo design.’”
Laughter floated around the table again.
“He still checks sometimes,” you admitted.
“Checks?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah,” you said. “Whenever things get stressful, or if I’m having a rough week… he’ll take my wrist like this.”
You gently turned it over again. “And he’ll just look at it for a second.”
Your smile softened.
“Just to make sure I’m still here.”
For a moment, no one said anything.
Then Lily reached over and squeezed your hand gently.
“You know,” she said softly, “that might be one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard.”
You laughed quietly.
“Don’t tell him that,” you warned.
“His ego is already big enough.”
And yet, as the girls started laughing again and the conversation slowly drifted back into lighter topics, your fingers still rested over the small star on your wrist.
summary: After Lando's many escapes his team finally decides to get him a new pr manager or how he calls it a 'babysitter'. A relationship that's meant to be strictly professional but after a night out things happen that aren't to professional anymore
warnings:
masterlist
"Lando, this can't be happening anymore", Zak groaned while the boy put his head on his hands, looking out of the meeting room at the bright blue sky.
A contrast to the cold atmosphere inside the walls of the McLaren motorhome.
His team boss sat on the other side of the small white table. He didn't even notice Zak had started talking again.
"I'm sure you'd just love to see the video once again", he said. Lando sensed the irony in his voice but he chose to ignore it.
Zak picked up the remote on the TV, pressing play.
The flickering lights in the background changed colour every second, in the center of the video was Lando. Drunk of his ass, dancing with some girl whose breasts were almost spilling out of her bra-like top, the skirt ending just under her butt.
That's right were his hands were placed. Rubbing them over the thin material. His head was buried in the blonde girls’ neck. Even on the video you could see him sucking her skin.
Lando moved his lips up to her mouth, all while grabbing her left leg and hooking it around his hip, grinding against the girl.
Zak paused the video.
"This is the 5th time this happened happened in the last 12 days. Your puplic image is in shreds. They are questioning your ability as a driver. They think you're not taking your job seriously", he explained.
"Since Charlotte left, this has been happening rather regularly, so we assumed that it would be best to get you a personal media manager", Zak explained, pointing to the door.
Lando couldn't help but roll his eyes and slump back in his seat. "You gotta be kidding me, I'm not a child", he murmured, crossing his arms. His eyes drifted back outside where the rush of the paddock Saturday took place.
You immediately spotted his child like pose when you entered the room, coming to stand next to his chair.
"This is Y/n Y/l/n. She's just finished University and will be your Social Media Manager. Y/n will accompany you on race weekends, in the paddock, during media hours. And you will check your social media activity with her. Everything you post will go through her first. Every time you go out, you will tell her and for the next two months she will join you", Zak explained causing Lando to scoff.
"So she'll be my babysitter", Lando spoke up, making you glance down at the boy in his blue hoodie.
"Sweetheart, the way you're acting right now indicates that you might actually need a babysitter", you fired back. The driver's head shot up, his eyes looking into yours.
"And it probably would be best for you not to go partying for a little while", you smiled a bittersweet fake smile, clapping his shoulder a few times.
"You can't tell me what to do", Lando protested, frowning at your words. "Oh yes she can", Zak spoke up, making Lando look at him. "You can't be serious, Zak! Come on!!", he called.
His boss simply shook his head and shut off the TV. Lando scoffed, jumping off his chair and storming out of the room.
"You sure you'll be able to handle him?", Zak asked, raising an eyebrow. You watched after the boy who made his way over to the Ferrari motorhome, probably to go and talk to Carlos.
"Oh, trust me. I will", you chuckled.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Norris!", you called, banging heavily on his drivers room door. "You should've been ready 10 minutes ago!!"
You heard the knob turn and a half naked Lando opened the door. His hair messy and a dark purple hickey on his neck. "Lando-honey come back", a high pitched voice giggled.
"You've got to be kidding me", you scoffed, pushing the door wide open to reveal a half naked blonde on Lando's bunk.
"I'm really sorry but you have to leave", you said, picking up the bright red bra and tight white top on the floor before holding it out for the girl to grab.
"And who are you?", she gave you a bitchy look. "You're worst nightmare if you don't get out of here in the next two minutes", you fake smiled, tossing the clothes in her lap.
"Y/n, you can't do this!!", Lando called, shutting the door and hurrying back to you. "Get dressed. Now", you sternly said, crossing your arms and leaning against the white table.
"What are you doing?", he asked, not moving. "Waiting for your guest to leave and for you to get dressed", you explained.
"Viola get dressed", Lando said emotionless, keeping his eyes on you the whole time while grabbing his McLaren hoodie.
"My name is Violetta", the girl bitched back, angrily grabbing her bra and tying it around her breast cage.
"Yeah whatever, just get dressed and get out of here", he annoyingly responded.
You rolled your eyes at his behavior. The girl wobbly stumbled out of Lando's driver room.
"Let's get to the press conference", you said, grabbing Lando's upper arm after he finished getting dressed and dragging him out of the hospitality.
"I can walk myself, you know that", the british driver protested, trying to pull his arm away from you but your grip only tightened. "I prefer you don't. I don't want to find you sucking some blondes' neck between garages", you chuckled humorless.
As you entered the room, you immediately felt multiple pairs of eyes on you. Maybe it was having to do with the fact that you had the McLaren driver tight in your grip. Literally.
You let go of his arm and pushed him towards the couch where Charles and Max were already sitting.
"Whoah, who's she?", Charles chuckled, nodding over to you. Lando rolled his eyes and slumped down between the two boys. "My new babysitter", he grumbled, crossing his arms and stretching his legs away from him.
"McLaren got you a babysitter?", Max laughed and slapped his friends shoulder. "Because of your escapades?", Charles added. Lando nodded.
"They want her to keep track of me everywhere I go. Paddock, Social Media even my fucking free time", Lando complained. "She will join me every time I go out for the next two months", he added with a fake sweet smile. "Oh and then she decided I'm not allowed to go out for a while."
Max and Charles couldn't help but laugh. "She's practically got you in the palm of her hand", Max said, finding the whole situation immensely funny.
Lando rammed his elbow in his friends' side.
"She's hot", Charles suddenly said. His eyes have been following you ever since you entered the room.
Lando turned his hand to his left. "Uh, no?", he replied, acting digusted at the fact his friend even suggested that.
"She really is", Max added, not helping Lando in the slightest. "Back off, you have girlfriends", Lando called, slapping both of their heads.
The boys simply laughed and settled back into the white couch.
Lando focused his eyes on you, scanning you from head to toe. You had long brunette hair that stopped just on your waist and piercing green eyes. You wore the typical orange McLaren shirt along with some gray dress pants.
You were talking to someone from Ferrari that Lando didn't recognize. The woman made you laugh and Lando noticed the dimples you got when you did.
Maybe Charles and Max were right, you were kinda hot- No! You weren't!
He shook his head as to shake off the disgusting thought that crossed his mind and focused on the first interviewer.
Twitter
mclarenlove: Who’s the girl who’s been accompanying Lando all weekend??
replies:
landoxmclaren: Idkkkk maybe someone new on the team??
norris4life: Apparently he’s his new pr manager…
mclarenlove: Mclaren got him a new pr manager bc of his questionable “activities” outside of racing?
omg, I recently came across your blog, and I love it! your posts are healing a part of society 🙂↕️ lol
I wanted to know if you could write something for driver!reader, where she's kind of a tomboy (she also has tattoos and piercing, etc.) and maybe she gets caught with her partner, and the press gives them sh!t because they are kind of everything the paddock isn't really used to 👀
I'm sorry if doesn't make sense, English is not my first language 🥲🙏 also feel free to ignore this request lol, it's silly
✒️INKED IN THE PADDOCK
Pairing: Platonic!F1 Grid × Driver!Tomboy!Reader; Reader × Gavin Casalegno (established, no romance)
Genre: chaos, fluff, light drama, media tension, protective grid, tomboy swagger, wholesome couple moments
Warnings: mentions of tattoos/piercings, paparazzi weirdness, media being annoying
A/N: you said tomboy? piercings? tattoos?? boyfriend that is VERY not F1-coded??? oh I DELIVERED. grab your popcorn. also did yk that he CAME to my swimming competition, but I didn't know him at the time smh. i had the chance to take a pic w him and i couldn't.
If you asked the average F1 fan what a typical modern driver looked like, they'd say something like:
Which is exactly why the world nearly combusted when you joined the grid.
You weren’t the “polished, cleanly packaged” kind of rookie.
You were the other kind:
Pierced lip.
Black nail polish.
Ear piercings stacked from lobe to cartilage.
Small tattoos trailing spine, fingers, ribs.
Tomboy baggy pants, tank tops, oversized hoodies.
A swagger that could end world hunger but wouldn’t because you’re busy driving.
The paddock had no idea what to do with you.
The grid loved you immediately.
The media did not.
THE PADDOCK'S FIRST IMPRESSION
Day 1 of your debut season.
You walked into the paddock with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, headphones on, a lip piercing glinting in the light, tattoos peeking from under your tank top, and a bored expression like you’d rather be anywhere else.
Carlos whispered to Charles,
“Who is that?”
Charles whispered back,
“Your worst nightmare if she drives like she walks.”
Yuki:
“She looks like she’d steal my lunch and my soul.”
Max:
“She looks like she knows how to do a kickflip.”
Lando:
“She looks like my type—”
Oscar:
“DON’T SAY THAT.”
You said nothing.
Just nodded at them like they were NPCs you were forced to interact with.
Instant approval from the grid.
Immediate side-eye from the paddock elders.
THE FANS NOTICE THE TATTOOS
The first photos hit Twitter:
➡️ Y/N with a small flame tattoo on her finger.
➡️ Y/N with a snake design inked delicately behind her ear.
➡️ Y/N with a constellation tattoo on her spine peeking through a racerback shirt.
➡️ Y/N carrying a helmet covered in abstract art SHE painted herself.
Fans:
“OMG SHE’S SO COOL.”
“THE PIERCINGS???”
“THE VIBE????”
“SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE SHOULD BE FRONTING A BAND, NOT DRIVING A CAR???”
Traditionalist motorsport journalists:
“F1 is losing its dignity.”
You, reading that:
laughs and goes back to adjusting your piercing in the mirror.
AND THEN… GAVIN CASALEGNO
The paddock tolerated your tattoos.
They tolerated your piercings.
They tolerated your tomboy swagger that made half the WAGs giggle and half the drivers panic.
But what they were NOT ready for—
—was you being spotted in Monaco with Gavin Casalegno.
Yes.
THAT Gavin Casalegno.
The heartthrob from The Summer I Turned Pretty.
All blue eyes, pretty smile, boyfriend jeans, Hollywood sunshine energy.
And you?
Dressed in ripped cargos, a black crop top, combat boots, and chain jewelry.
You two looked like the poster for an A24 coming-of-age film.
A paparazzi photo went viral:
Gavin holding your face gently while kissing your forehead.
Your black nails hooked into the belt loops of his jeans.
His hoodie draped over your shoulders.
Twitter exploded.
TikTok screamed.
The press had a meltdown.
THE PRESS CANNOT HANDLE YOU TWO
Reporter #1:
“So Y/N, can you explain your relationship with Mr. Casalegno?”
You:
“He’s my boyfriend.”
Reporter #2:
“But he’s… an actor?”
You:
“Yeah. People date outside their industry sometimes. Shocking, I know.”
Reporter #3:
“But he’s… not… um… very motorsport-like.”
You shrugged.
“He’s nice. I like him.”
Reporters didn’t know how to respond to that.
They desperately wanted drama.
Wanted you to justify why your boyfriend wasn’t some Monaco billionaire or a CEO’s son.
They wanted you to say he didn’t “fit the paddock aesthetic.”
But you didn’t play that game.
And the grid LOVED IT.
THE GRID MEETS GAVIN
He first joined you in the paddock during a race weekend.
He was pretty and sweet and soft-spoken.
You showed up holding his hand.
The grid reacted like you brought a golden retriever into a room full of pitbulls:
Lando: “HOLY SH*T HE’S TALLER THAN ME.”
Oscar: “Of course he is. Everyone is.”
Yuki: “He looks like he moisturizes.”
Carlos: “He looks… pure?”
Charles: “He looks like he’s never said a bad word in his life.”
Lewis: “I want him on my podcast.”
Max, staring at him:
“Do you know how to change a tire?”
Gavin: “Um… no?”
Max: “Good. Stay innocent.”
Gavin was confused.
You were amused.
GAVIN BECOMES A FAN FAVORITE
Cameras caught him:
✔️ bringing you water during quali
✔️ rubbing circles on your back when you were stressed
✔️ wearing team merch with your number on it
✔️ accidentally blushing when Crofty asked about you
✔️ cheering like a child when you overtook someone
He was not the “paddock boyfriend” stereotype.
He was a golden retriever in jeans.
And he was OBSESSED with you.
THE PRESS TRIES TO ATTACK
After a race, a journalist asked:
“Y/N, do you think your tattoos and relationship with an actor are hurting your image as a serious driver?”
You blinked.
Just once.
Slow.
Then said, voice flat:
“No. But your question is.”
George choked on air.
Charles looked personally offended on your behalf.
Yuki started unwrapping his sleeves like he was about to fight.
Max said loudly,
“That’s a dumb question.”
Lewis nodded,
“Very dumb.”
Gavin stood behind you, gripping your shoulder protectively.
The internet LOVED you.
GAVIN DEFENDS YOU ON SOCIAL MEDIA
One nasty comment went viral:
“Why is she dating an actor? She looks so... masculine for him.”
Gavin replied:
“She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.
Tattoos, piercings, tomboy style and all.
That’s MY girlfriend.
Stay mad. 😊”
He ended it with a smiley face.
A SMILEY FACE.
The world combusted.
Fans:
“GAVIN DEFENDING Y/N WITH THAT BABY ANGEL ENERGY???”
“HE SAID STAY MAD 😭”
“I DIDN’T KNOW HE HAD THAT DOG IN HIM”
THE GRID PROTECTS THEIR TATTOOED LITTLE SISTER
Drivers AND WAGs became defensive of you.
Pierre:
“If anyone talks bad about Y/N again, I’m fighting."
Lando:
“She’s literally the coolest person here—yes, cooler than me.”
Oscar:
“If anyone mentions her piercings I will actually flip them.”
Carmen:
“You guys are just jealous she pulls off a lip piercing.”
And Gavin?
He had no problem sitting in the drivers’ lounge waiting for you, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, smiling when you arrived, and letting you plop into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
THE WORLD ADJUSTS
Eventually, the media gave up trying to reshape you into something you weren’t.
You were:
✔️ a damn good driver
✔️ unapologetically tomboy
✔️ tattooed
✔️ pierced
✔️ dating a literal Hollywood prince
✔️ loved by the grid
✔️ completely unbothered by noise
You dominated the track.
You kissed your boyfriend after every race.
You kept your boots, your piercings, your tattoos.
