brainddeadd

[brainddeadd]

Cute Moments

Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

~~

Hoodie Thief

It starts innocently. You’re cold after a movie night at the dorms, and Chan offers you his hoodie without thinking twice. It's oversized and worn soft from too many washes, and it smells like him—cedarwood cologne and fresh laundry and something inexplicably comforting.

He doesn’t ask for it back.

Two weeks later, you're still wearing it. To bed. Around the house. Even on a grocery run. And when he sees you in it, messy hair and bare-faced, sipping coffee from your chipped mug, he can’t help but smile.

“That hoodie's seen more of you than it’s seen me,” he teases, nudging your side.

You raise your eyebrows. “It’s mine now. You can visit it on weekends.”

The next time he stays over, he leaves another one folded on your pillow.

2AM Producer Boyfriend

It’s a Friday night. Or technically, Saturday morning.

You wake up and realize Chan’s side of the bed is empty. Again. You find him in the studio, bathed in the soft glow of his monitors, headphones around his neck and a half-empty coffee mug forgotten beside his keyboard.

You don’t say anything. You just walk up behind him, arms slipping around his waist, cheek pressed to his back.

“You’ve been at it for hours,” you murmur.

He sighs, not annoyed, just tired. “I couldn’t get the kick to sit right in the mix.”

“You’re going to short-circuit your brain at this rate.”

His hand finds yours, tangling your fingers together over his stomach. “You make a compelling case,” he says, gently tugging your hand toward him. “Five more minutes?”

You stay like that—quiet, close—until he shuts his laptop and lets you pull him back to bed.

Lock Screen

You grab his phone while he’s in the shower and snap the worst selfie you can manage—eyes crossed, cheeks puffed, tongue sticking out. Then you set it as his lock screen and put the phone back like nothing happened.

You expect him to change it immediately.

He doesn’t.

Days pass. Then a week. And you catch a glimpse of it again when he's checking messages during breakfast.

“You still have that photo?” you ask, surprised.

He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re still my favorite view.”

Grocery Store Gremlin

You're pushing the cart, pretending to be helpful, while Chan reads the list out loud like it’s a mission briefing. Every time he’s distracted, you sneak something in—ice cream, Pocky, spicy chips he definitely told you not to buy.

When he turns around and sees the additions, he sighs dramatically. “Y/N.”

“But look,” you argue, holding up a bag of gummy bears. “They’re on sale.”

He gives you a mock glare, lips twitching. “You are absolutely not allowed to do the shopping alone.”

You grin, triumphant. “So you’re saying we should always go together?”

He leans over and kisses your cheek. “That was the plan anyway.”

First “I Love You”

You’re watching a bad rom-com on his couch, legs tangled together under a blanket. One of the characters gives a sappy speech about love, and you laugh at how cliché it is.

But the moment softens as you turn to Chan, his face half-lit by the screen.

“I love you,” you say without even thinking.

He freezes for just a second. Then his entire face softens, all the sharp edges melting into something warm and gentle.

“I love you more,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

A Song Just for You

He sends you a link out of nowhere.

It's a private SoundCloud playlist titled: for my girl.

You click play.

It’s filled with songs that remind him of you—some upbeat and silly, some heartbreakingly sweet. The last track catches you off guard. It's a soft melody with your name looped over a lofi beat, and scattered between the music are voice memos of Chan whispering things like:

“She likes her tea too sweet, but I drink it anyway if she makes it.”

“She sings to herself when she thinks I’m asleep.”

“I didn’t think someone like me could deserve this kind of love.”

You listen to it on repeat until the battery dies in your headphones.

IKEA Meltdown

You’re building a bookshelf together. It should’ve taken 20 minutes. It's been three hours. The instructions are in Swedish, one of the legs is on backwards, and you're both covered in sweat and sawdust.

But when you collapse onto the floor in exhausted laughter, he just stares at you, chest heaving, and grins.

“You know,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face, “I could live in a cardboard box with you and still be happy.”

You laugh. “That’s good, because this shelf is definitely not going to stand.”

He leans down and kisses you, the kind of kiss that’s slow and quiet and sure.

Sleepy Mornings

He wakes up before you and just stares. Not in a creepy way—just that soft, dreamy look he gets when he thinks no one’s watching.

You eventually blink awake to find him running his fingers through your hair.

“Staring again?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

“Just admiring,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re so beautiful when you’re all sleepy.”

You hide your face in his chest. “Stop being cute.”

He chuckles. “Can’t. It’s part of the contract.”

Rainy Days and Waffle Nights

It’s pouring outside. Thunder rumbles. You're both barefoot in the kitchen, making waffles at midnight because Chan was craving them and you said no—until he made you laugh so hard you caved.

You dance around in socks while the waffle iron hisses, and he hums old songs into your ear. You feed each other syrupy bites over the sink. You kiss him with powdered sugar still on your lips.

And when lightning flickers through the window, he pulls you close and says, “Let’s make every boring day feel like this.”

You’re My Home

You're curled up on the couch one night, your legs draped over his lap, a record spinning lazily in the background. The lights are low. It’s quiet. Peaceful.

He runs his fingers along your calf, then looks up, eyes warm and soft. “I’ve moved so many times, been to so many cities… But I think I finally get it.”

You glance over. “Get what?”

“What people mean when they say ‘home isn’t a place.’” He pauses, then smiles. “It’s a person.”

You set your book down and crawl into his lap without a word. He wraps his arms around you instantly, like he was waiting for this.

Like he always would be.

[brainddeadd]

heyy i read your boone fics and i was wondering you could write one from your fluff prompt. prompt #7, he would 100% be doing something reckless doing a tornado and get hit by something and he make sure he’s all good and press little kisses to his bruise. just like really cute and fluffy. so yeah thank you!

Boone x fem!reader

lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise

The storm had already passed, but your heart hadn’t caught up. It was still thundering.

Boone stood in the doorway of the motel room, soaked to the bone, a thin line of blood trailing down from his temple, disappearing into the curve of his jaw. You barely gave him time to speak before you stormed toward him, shoving his chest with both hands.

“You reckless son of a bitch.”

He blinked, stunned but not surprised. “Hi to you too.”

“You ran — to plant a damn probe—Boone, you could’ve died!”

“But I didn’t,” he said, grinning that stupid cocky grin, eyes crinkling like he hadn’t just scared you half to death.

You reached up, thumb brushing the sticky trail of blood, the purpling bruise already forming beneath it. Your fingers were shaking, but your voice came out steady. “You scared me.”

His smile faltered.

The room fell quiet except for the low hum of the backup generator outside. Rain pinged softly on the metal roof. You stepped closer, toe-to-toe now, the smell of ozone still clinging to his skin.

“Sit down,” you murmured, grabbing the first-aid kit without looking. “You’re bleeding.”

Boone obeyed, for once. He winced as he lowered himself onto the edge of the cot, eyeing you while you rooted through the supplies. You didn’t speak as you cleaned the cut, dabbing alcohol over the bruise that bloomed angrily across his cheekbone.

“Thought you liked the reckless ones,” he muttered, trying for playful.

“I like the ones who come back to me in one piece.”

That shut him up.

You paused, staring at the bruise. A tender, swelling mark right above his cheek, just beneath the eye. He’d have a shiner by morning.

Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to the bruised skin.

Boone stilled completely.

Your lips hovered there for a moment too long—warm breath against sore skin—before you pulled back, eyes not quite meeting his.

“That’s for not dying.”

Boone reached up, fingers curling loosely around your wrist, grounding you. “What’s it take to get another one of those?”

You tilted your head, voice soft. “Try not getting yourself half-killed next time.”

His grin returned, softer now. “No promises, sweetheart.”

[brainddeadd]

Sheeesss baaaaack!!! OMG how i have missed baby devil (or really any of your writing recently) so excited

Ahhh hiiiii

Thank you for your patience and kind words 🤍

[brainddeadd]

i feel like we need to talk more about luke and baby devil and their friendship with playing at umich together

Flashbacks to University of Michigan + present-day NHL friendship

Luke and Baby Devil had been a package deal since Michigan. The two youngest, two fiercest, two most chaotic players on the Wolverines' roster. They’d come in wide-eyed and fast-skating, quickly building a bond forged on the ice and in the chaos of freshman dorms and 6AM lifts.

They chirped each other relentlessly, competed over everything—goals, assists, who could chug Gatorade faster—but at the end of every practice, every late-night study grind, they were shoulder to shoulder on the couch with ramen cups in hand, screaming at The Bachelor like it was the Stanley Cup Final.

Freshman Year, UMich

"Y/N," Luke groaned, sprawled across her twin bed, "Coach is going to murder us if you're late to video again."

"I'm not late if I never show up," she mumbled from her desk, aggressively trying to fix her eye makeup.

Luke snorted. "That logic is so bad it might actually get you expelled."

“Maybe they'll let me keep the jersey.”

“Delusional,” he teased, tossing a protein bar at her head.

But then, he saw her hand linger on the mirror, her fingers tightening ever so slightly. Her dad had just passed two weeks before the season opener, and she'd buried her grief in every shift, every shot, every 5AM skate.

Luke stood, quieter now. “You good?”

She blinked, and smiled. “Yeah. Lessgo.”

“Lessgo,” he echoed, softly bumping his shoulder into hers.

Present Day, New Jersey

“You’re still the worst roommate I’ve ever had,” she told him over breakfast at the Devils' training facility.

“Excuse me?” Luke gasped, mock offended. “I kept that mini fridge stocked with chocolate milk just for you.”

“And yet somehow my string cheese always went missing?”

“Coincidence,” he deadpanned.

They shared a look before both bursting into laughter, the kind of easy comfort that only comes from surviving both college hockey and dorm showers together.

On the Ice

They didn’t play on the same line, but every time she got in a scrap, Luke was there before she even hit the ice.

He’d throw an arm around her shoulder on the bench, chirp the guy who tripped her, and toss her a Gatorade without asking.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to fight him?”

She laughed. “Nah. But keep that energy.”

“Always,” he grinned.

Their Friendship Today

When she got called up, Luke was the first person waiting outside the locker room, grinning like an idiot with a Michigan hoodie in his hand.

“You might be a Devil now,” he said, hugging her tight, “but you’ll always be my Wolverine.”

They never needed to explain their bond. It was in the inside jokes, in the shared grief of losing their dads young, in the way they looked out for each other like siblings on and off the ice.

Forever teammates.

[brainddeadd]

Would you do a Lewis Hamilton x Hughes reader?😓😓 Maybe the brothers not approving bc of the age difference but still thinking he is a good guy and slowly warm up to him?

HI HI I KNOW IVE BEEN MIA FOR MONTHS NOW IM SO SORRY

sorry this took me so long I got really sick (still am) and then spiralled into my depression pretty deeply.

“He’s how old?”

Quinn’s voice cuts through the chaos of the Hughes lake house kitchen. Jack drops a spoonful of peanut butter mid-air, and Luke freezes like someone just announced a trade deadline shocker.

You sigh, clearly prepared for this.

“Thirty-nine,” you say. Calm. Cool. Casual. Like you didn’t just drop a bomb.

“He’s seventeen years older than you, Y/N!” Jack blurts, scandalized.

“And?” you challenge, lifting a brow. “It’s Lewis Hamilton. He’s a legend. And he’s kind, grounded, respectful—”

“And old,” Luke mutters.

You roll your eyes. “He’s also not here to babysit me or treat me like a child. He actually listens to me. Respects me. Something you three could work on.”

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose, the Captain in him screaming.

—

Two Weeks Later

Lewis is polite. He’s charming. He brings homemade vegan snacks when he comes over and talks hockey with Jack like it’s second nature. He even helps Luke fix his car and compliments Quinn’s defensive play in the playoffs.

Jack's still suspicious. Luke’s competitive. But even they can’t deny he’s patient and clearly gone for you.

“She lights up around him,” Luke says one night as they watch you and Lewis curled up together on the deck.

“Yeah,” Quinn admits. “And he doesn’t look at her like she’s fragile. He looks at her like she’s unstoppable.”

Jack sighs, cracking open a beer. “I still think he’s too old.”

“But?” Quinn asks.

Jack shrugs. “He’s a good guy. I get it now.”

—

Later That Night

Lewis is walking you back to your room when Quinn steps in front of you both, arms crossed.

“You hurt her,” he says calmly, “I don’t care if you’ve got seven world titles. I will take you out.”

Lewis chuckles softly, then meets Quinn’s gaze. “Noted, Captain Hughes.”

“Good,” Quinn says. “Now get inside. She gets cold easily.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. Because slowly but surely, your brothers are realizing what you knew all along.

Lewis wasn’t just worth the risk. He was worth everything.

[brainddeadd]

put this at the top of the list of things I didn’t want to see today

[brainddeadd]

HI HI I KNOW IVE BEEN MIA FOR MONTHS NOW IM SO SORRY

I got really sick (still am) and then spiralled into my depression pretty deeply.

I'm going back to uni, which will take up a lot of time, but I'm hoping it will also motivate me to write again.

Thank you for your patience.

I promise I'll be back with baby devil soon 🤍

[brainddeadd]

Alexandra x Charles x reader where readers a really smart genius engineer that basically fixed ferraris problems so the fans love her but Alex is like hates so it’s Charles and reader comforting Alex

you belong — cl16 & alexandra saint mleux

smau + blurbs

when yn joined ferrari in 2025 as charles leclerc’s race engineer, no one expected the team’s fortunes to turn so sharply. but yn had never been one to follow expectations. brilliant, unshakable under pressure, and fiercely dedicated, she wasn’t just charles’ partner off the track anymore—she was the mastermind behind his winning streak. their relationship had always been the kind people whispered about in disbelief—dating since 2022, unshakably in love, and then—just as the world adjusted to that—opening their hearts in 2023 to alexandra. a soft, steady presence in their chaos. an unlikely throuple that somehow made perfect sense. at first, the world loved them. loved the victories, the public kisses, the unity. but as the wins piled up and yn’s brilliance took center stage, the tide began to turn—toward alexandra. whispers of gold digging. accusations of riding coattails. a sudden, brutal wave of online hate. and while yn and charles were too caught up in podiums and progress to notice at first… the cracks were forming. but yn isn’t just intelligent in engineering, she is emotionally intelligent as well. and she can read alexandra like no other.

fc : lissie mackintosh

(a/n) : obvs all the hate comments in this are completely fictional and i love alexandra with my whole heart and im so happy that her and charles are together!

—

scuderiaferrari & yn_ln

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc & 7,709,001 others.

scuderiaferrari : A new era begins. We are proud to welcome YN LN to the team as Charles Leclerc’s race engineer for the 2025 season. With a reputation for brilliance under pressure and a mind made for motorsport, she’s ready to rewrite what it means to wear red. Strategy. Precision. Power. Benvenuta, ingegnere. 🔴🏁

—

view 501,0188 other comments.

charles_leclerc : the best in the business. can’t wait to make history together, mon bébé❤️‍🔥

liked by yn_ln and scuderiaferrari

↳ username00 : oh these two working together is gonna be the death of me. so fucking cute.

lewishamilton : Incredible move. So excited to have you on the team and can’t wait to see you shine! 🫶🏽

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

alex_albon : Do I send my strategy questions to her or does that count as spying? 😅 Congratulations YN!!

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

↳ yn_ln : sadly it does count as spying, alex. but thank you!!!

arthur_leclerc : yes she’s always been this smart. yes she used to help me with my math homework. but YAYYYYYY YN!!!!!

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

georgerussell63 : I fear F1 might not be ready for this level of brainpower. Congrats YN! You earned it!!

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

alexandrasaintmleux : my pretty girl, my angel, my genius. proud does not even begin to cover it. love you with all my heart ♥️

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc & scuderiaferrari

username0 : charles finally gets a strategy team that knows what they’re doing AND gets to talk to his gf during the race. he’s winning on all fronts.

username1 : this is the same girl who rebuilt an engine in heels during a charity gala. ferrari is in excellent hands

liked by charles_leclerc and scuderiaferrari

lando : yn please go easy on us.

liked by yn_ln and charles_leclerc

↳ yn_ln : absolutely not norris, we are not friends during the season😈

liked by lando

username5 : i’m excited but also nervous… dating your driver?? hope there’s no bias or drama.

↳ username7 : her and charles are both professionals at what they do. plus they’ve been together since 2022 and have been friends even longer than that. they got this.

liked by scuderiaferrari

carlossainz55 : you mean to tell me that ferrari waited to make their smartest decision until after i left??? congratulations, mi hermana! no one deserves it more❤️

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and arthur_leclerc

username10 : so we’re just letting girlfriends engineer now? cool cool

↳ yn_ln : well, ferrari hired the engineer with a first-class degree, years of motorsport data strategy experience, and three patented telemetry models under her name. the fact that i also happen to be charles’ girlfriend? just a bonus, babe;) stay tuned.

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, scuderiaferrari, lewishamilton, pierregasly, lando, franciscagomes and carlossainz55

↳ lando : oh she ate you up.

liked by yn_ln

↳ username000 : oh i love her.

username11 : love wins i guess… but can she actually do her job or is this just a PR stunt?

↳ alexandrasaintmleux : she works harder than anyone i have ever met. but don’t worry, your opinion was noted… and ignored. 🥰

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and arthur_leclerc

username15 : funny how she only got the job after dating charles. make it make sense.

↳ charles_leclerc : she got the job because she’s brilliant, OVERqualified, and has been outperforming people in this sport long before she became mine. if you think ferrari hires based on relationship status, maybe you should try keeping up with the lap times. 🙃

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, scuderiaferrari, lewishamilton, pierregasly, lando, franciscagomes and carlossainz55

↳ username30 : oh he LOVES this girl

username17 : idc how smart she is this is messy. ferrari is a team, not a love triangle.

↳ arthur_leclerc : ah yes, how dare ferrari be functional, fast, and happy at the same time. if “messy” means winning races with the best engineer in the paddock, maybe we need more of it 🤭

liked by yn_ln, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

username33 : not only is she the smartest person in the room, she’s the calmest. y’all just hate seeing a woman win.

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

username35 : just a reminder that yn rebuilt a gearbox by hand during her master’s thesis. she’s not a girlfriend first. she’s an engineer first. but she happens to be in love too. deal with it 😌

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ arthur_leclerc : mhm mhm. periodt

↳ username33 : arthur is her hype man I CANT.

username37 : “nepotism” accusations are wild when she literally published a telemetry algorithm that teams still use. stay mad.

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yn_ln : ilysm. thank you for following my work🥹

liked by charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username37 : omg ofc you are brilliant, us girlies in motorsport have to stick together:)

liked by yn_ln

username40 : charles on the track. yn on the radio. alex in the paddock. name a more iconic setup. i’ll wait.

liked by charles_leclerc, yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

—

Charles had been told his race engineer for the 2025 season would be “someone new, someone bold.” Fred had been vague, smug even, telling him—“Trust us, you’ll like her.” Charles had assumed it was just another seasoned strategist brought in from Mercedes or Red Bull. Good. They needed fresh thinking. After last year’s chaos? He’d take anyone who could tell the difference between Plan A and Plan D.

Still, he hadn’t expected the secrecy. When he arrived at the conference room Ferrari had booked for the “introductory meeting,” it was empty. Well, not completely. Arthur was there. With Alexandra. Sitting way too casually on opposite sides of the room, like they hadn’t clearly coordinated whatever this was.

“What are you two doing here?” Charles asked, suspicious already.

Arthur swung a leg up onto the chair next to him. “Moral support. Big day, bro.”

Alexandra smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We wanted front row seats.”

“To what?” Charles narrowed his eyes. “Is this about the simulator prank? Because I swear I didn’t know it would spin like that.”

“You’ll see.” Alexandra’s voice was sweet, teasing. She gestured to the chair at the head of the table. “Sit. Be professional. Your new race engineer is on her way.”

Charles sat, shifting restlessly, drumming his fingers on the table. “If this is some weird internal promo stunt—”

The door opened. And in walked you. Clipboard in hand. Ferrari-red badge around your neck. Black slacks, sharp posture, and that telltale smirk that only ever meant trouble for him.

You didn’t speak right away. You just raised a brow, eyes flicking across the room—at Alex, Arthur, and finally Charles—before you said, cool as ever— “Leclerc. You’re late.”

Charles just stared. Blink. Blink again. Then— “What?”

You set your things down and clicked the monitor on with a practiced tap. “I’m YN. Your new race engineer. Shall we get started?”

He was speechless. You, you, one of his partners—his everything—were now also the voice in his ear on race day?

Arthur snorted. “Get Netflix in here.”

Charles turned to him, wild-eyed. “You knew?”

Alexandra was biting her lip to stop from smiling. “We’ve been planning this for months. Fred made us swear not to tell you.”

“I—” Charles looked back at you, utterly betrayed and somehow more in love than ever. “You kept this from me?”

“I wanted to earn it,” you said softly, gaze steady. “Not as one of your girlfriends. As the best damn engineer Ferrari could hire.”

The silence hung heavy for a beat. Then Charles stood so fast his chair screeched back. “Are you joking? I’m in love with the most brilliant woman in motorsport and you’re telling me I get to win races with you in my ear? Mon dieu—this is cheating. This is unfair.”

You blinked. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s perfect,” he breathed, grinning like an idiot. “Tu es parfaite.”

Arthur groaned. “Okay, and I’m leaving. This is disgusting.”

Alexandra, still smiling, leaned over and whispered, “Wait for it—he’s going to do the dramatic declaration in three, two—”

“I AM GOING TO WIN A WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP WITH MY GIRLFRIENDS,” Charles shouted, arms up. “FRED VASSEUR, YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN!”

Somewhere down the hall, someone dropped a wrench. Laughter echoed from the Ferrari offices. You shook your head, but your eyes were warm, glassy even. You whispered just loud enough for him to hear, “You don’t have to win for me to be proud of you.”

Charles stepped close, hand brushing yours on the table. “But I want to win with you.”

Alexandra stood, clapping once. “Okay, now kiss and then get back to work. We’ve got a season to dominate.”

And Charles did. Right there in the Ferrari conference room, with Arthur fake-gagging and Alexandra beaming behind him, Charles kissed you like it was his first win of the season.

—

The sun had just started to dip, painting the hills in gold and rose as long tables were set under string lights in the garden of a villa that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a Tuscan dream. Ferrari had spared no detail—wood-fired pizza, fresh pasta, bottles of red wine already half empty, tiramisu trays stacked and ready. There were little hand-printed name cards, red cloth napkins, and centerpieces made entirely of roses and miniature Ferrari flags.

And at the head of the table? Charles. With you on one side. Alexandra on the other. His hands interlaced with both.

“You know,” Arthur said, half a meatball in his mouth, “this might be the first time I’ve seen Fred Vasseur drink wine and smile at the same time.”

Fred, two seats down, raised his glass. “That’s because—for once—I am confident we might actually finish a season with a functional strategy and a world championship.”

Laughter rippled around the table.

Charles leaned in to you, voice low. “You’re already working miracles.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” you said, a little flushed.

Across from you, Pascale was quietly slicing through a piece of veal while smiling proudly at all three of you.

“You’ve always been family,” she said softly to you and Alexandra, “but it feels different now. Like it’s… I don’t know. Official.” She gave a gentle nod. “I’m glad he has you both.”

Alexandra reached over and squeezed your hand under the table and leaned her head on Charles shoulder, her hair tickling his arm. “Should we make it more official and crash the next team press conference together?” she whispered.

Charles perked up. “Can we all walk into Bahrain together in matching red?”

“Matching fits,” Alexandra corrected. “Not team polos. We’re still chic.”

Fred coughed deliberately. “As long as she doesn’t wear heels in the garage again,” he pointed at you and then to Alexandra, “or she doesn’t try to steal telemetry printouts because they ‘looked aesthetic.’”

“I was scrapbooking!” Alexandra gasped, scandalized. “For sentimental reasons!”

Everyone burst into laughter. Lewis, who’d arrived slightly late and was now eating some focaccia, pointed his fork dramatically. “You three are the first throuple in motorsport history I actually believe in.”

The toast clinked again. Wine refilled. Glasses raised.

“Okay, okay,” Arthur said, standing and holding up his phone. “Speech. Someone say something emotional or I’m leaking the video of Charles crying during their first strategy meeting.”

“I WASN’T CRYING,” Charles shouted immediately.

You stood, cheeks warm from the wine and the moment. “I just want to say…” You looked at Charles, then Alexandra. “I know how strange it must look to people. But this—” you gestured between the three of you, “—this isn’t a gimmick. It’s not a PR stunt or a phase. It’s love. And I am so, so proud to build this future with you both.”

Alexandra stood next, sliding her arm around your waist. “I don’t know much about race strategy, but I know this feels like the best plan we’ve ever had.”

Charles stood last, grinning like he’d won a championship already. “I don’t care what the grid says. I get to have the best race engineer in the paddock and the two people I love most in the world by my side. If that’s not enough to win a championship, I don’t know what is.”

A cheer erupted. Glasses clinked again. Even Fred smiled, shaking his head. Later, under the glow of the string lights, Charles rested his head against yours on the patio couch, one hand playing gently with Alexandra’s fingers on your knee.

“You think this year will be different?” he asked softly.

“I know it will,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We’re doing this together now.”

Alexandra hummed. “And we look very good while doing it.”

Charles laughed, leaned back, and looked at the stars. “I don’t think it gets better than this.”

You smiled. “Oh, just wait until race one.”

—

voguemagazine

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 17,001,003 others.

voguemagazine : This month, we’re shifting gears and accelerating into the fast lane with our exclusive feature on YN — the brilliant engineer who turned Ferrari’s season around overnight. In a male-dominated world, YN’s relentless innovation, sharp intellect, and fierce determination are inspiring a new generation of women in motorsport — proving that talent knows no gender, and leadership comes in many forms. Discover how YN’s blend of technical genius and unshakeable grit brought Ferrari back from the brink, redefining what it means to be a leader in Formula 1 today. Plus, a rare glimpse into her life beyond the track- the challenges, the triumphs, and the love story that fuels her relentless drive.

—

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lando : an absolute legened. exactly what motorsport needs. we are so proud, yn. keep smashing it!

liked by yn_ln

charles_leclerc : proud doesn’t even begin to cover it. watching you break barriers every day is incredible. i love you

liked by yn_ln

carlossainz55 : yn’s brilliance is unreal. proud to race alongside such talent.

liked by yn_ln

scuderiaferrari : so proud of what yn has accomplished in such little time with us. we love you, yn!!

liked by yn_ln

arthur_leclerc : the sister i never had. you are absolutely incredible. keep pushing ynn- you are the future.

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux : my gf is on the cover of vogue!!!! omg omg!! i love you so much, mon ange. you are the biggest talent the grid has.

liked by yn_ln

↳ username15 : yn’s talent is undeniable but alex? she’s just a distraction. hope yn doesn’t lose focus.

↳ username17 : since when did being a girlfriend get you famous?? stop distracting yn and charles.

leclerc_pascale : Watching your journey fills my heart with joy. You’re an inspiration to us all. Très fier de toi!

liked by yn_ln

lewishamilton : Always pushing the limits — on and off track. Respect, YN.

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maxverstappen1 :💪🏻💪🏻

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—

time skip to monaco gp…

f1gossipgirls

7,520,007 likes.

f1gossipgirls : It’s a Leclerc affair in the streets of Monte Carlo today — and the grid’s favorite power trio did not disappoint. Engineer-extraordinaire YN LN arrived alongside boyfriend Charles Leclerc this morning, the two spotted walking hand-in-hand through the paddock looking calm, collected, and very much in sync. YN was all business in Ferrari red—Monaco may be Charles’ home race, but it’s clear who’s running the show. Not far behind? Alexandra Saint Mleux, arriving with the Leclerc family — including Charles’ Sister in Law, Charlotte, Mama Pascale and Arthur, who fans caught hugging YN just before pre-race prep. The embrace was short but sweet, with Arthur mouthing something suspiciously like “you’ve got this, boss” before the two shared a laugh. Whispers in the paddock say Ferrari’s found its rhythm — and it might just be thanks to the calm, chaotic, and totally unexpected balance Charles and YN bring to the track.

—

view 175,099 other comments.

username000 : if they don’t win today i’m rioting. emotionally.

mercfan123 : idc how cute they are, it’s weird that she’s dating the driver and running his race strategy. feels messy.

↳ username000 : y'all are just mad that out of everyone A WOMAN managed to pull ferrari out of the gutter.

username00 : monaco is home for charles, but this season is home for YN. the girl built a dynasty in six races flat.

username0 : since she joined, ferrari’s barely made a wrong call. this isn’t a PR stunt, this is a masterclass.

username1 : you mean the woman who’s turned ferrari into a real threat again?? MOTHER

username5 : watch ferrari fumble again and everyone will forget this little fairytale energy real fast

username7 : no because even as a red bull fan i have to admit… the vibes? immaculate. this is what we’re fighting against??

username10 : ok but what does alexandra actually do besides show up and look pretty?

username11 : yn’s out here saving ferrari and alex is… posing for pictures in charles’ jacket? lmao

username15 : yn’s got degrees and trophies. alexandra’s got what, a moodboard?

username17 : i can’t be the only one who thinks alex is just riding this wave for clout, right?

username20 : alex doesn’t even look like she wants to be there most of the time. awkward is an understatement.

—

The air in Monaco was heavy with sun and tension. Boats lined the harbor, red flags waved from balconies, and the scent of salt water mixed with champagne and engine oil. The city felt like it was holding its breath. Ferrari was leading the Constructors’. Charles was second in the Drivers’ Championship—narrowly. But today was his track. His home. And for once in his career… everything was aligned. Almost. Charles stood at the edge of the garage, staring out toward the narrow streets, arms folded tightly across his chest. The usual sparkle in his eye was dulled slightly, his mouth tight. His leg bounced as the crew buzzed around him.

“You alright?” Arthur’s voice came from behind, lighter than usual.

Charles shook his head once. “No. But I think I’m supposed to be.”

Arthur stood beside him, nudging his shoulder. “You’ve got the best car on the grid. You’ve got Maman, Us, half of Monte Carlo in red. And—” he paused dramatically— “you’ve got the smartest woman in motorsport feeding you strategy.”

Charles finally cracked a smile. “She is terrifyingly brilliant.”

“And in love with you, which is even scarier.”

That’s when he heard your voice behind them, calm but commanding. “Tire warmers off in 15. I need final telemetry on Sector 2. And—Arthur, stop making him more nervous.”

Arthur saluted. “Yes, boss.”

Charles turned just in time for you to reach him. You were still in your headset, tablet in hand, the clipboard from hell tucked under your arm. But your expression softened as you looked at him—really looked at him.

“You’re doing the thing,” you whispered.

“What thing?” he asked, even though he already knew.

“The overthinking thing. The ‘what if I ruin everything in front of my entire country’ thing.”

He let out a breath. “Monaco’s cursed for me. Always has been.”

You stepped closer. “And what if it’s not this time? What if you finally have the right car, the right team, the right… everything?”

“Even the right race engineer?”

You smiled. “Especially her.”

That’s when Alexandra arrived, weaving her way between pit crew and chaos like she belonged there. She wore his name on her necklace, your initials on a ring, and Charles’ jacket draped around her shoulders even in the heat.

“Hi,” she said gently, coming up beside you both. “I thought you might need this.”

She handed him a folded piece of paper. Charles raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“A reminder.”

He opened it to find a little sketch Alexandra had drawn—stick figures, obviously. One was him with a helmet. One was you, with a headset the size of your body. One was Alexandra, holding a flag that said “WIN!”

Underneath it, in her soft handwriting—"You already have everything. Now just drive like it."

Charles didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at both of you—his people. His heart. One all fire and logic. One all warmth and instinct. And him, somehow caught in the middle of both and better for it. He pulled you into his side with one arm, Alexandra into the other, and held them there like a shield.

“Whatever happens,” he said, voice thick, “thank you. For getting me here. Both of you.”

“We’ll be here at the finish line,” you promised, forehead pressed to his chest. “In the garage. In your ear. In your heart. Always.”

“Plus I brought good snacks,” Alexandra whispered, trying to lighten the mood. “And I have my crystals.”

“I don’t believe in crystals,” Charles mumbled.

“You believe in love, though,” she smiled.

And then—Pascale approached, giving Charles the kind of look only a mother can give. Proud. Steady. A little teary. She kissed his cheek. “Go. Do what you were born to do.”

He nodded. Breathed. One last squeeze of your hand, one last kiss to Alexandra’s temple, and then he turned toward the car. Helmet on. Gloves tight. The weight of a nation on his shoulders—but this time, it didn’t feel so heavy. Because this time, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

—

The streets of Monte Carlo were louder than usual. Not from the engines — no, those always roared. It was the crowd. Louder. Frenzied. Unrelenting. Because Charles Leclerc was leading his home race. And for once… the script wasn’t falling apart.

“Gap to Norris behind: 2.1 seconds,” your voice came through his radio, calm, composed, a tether. “Tyre temps are stable. Keep braking gentle into Rascasse. You’ve got this, Charles.”

He didn’t respond immediately. He never did when he was this deep in the zone. But the way his shoulders loosened slightly in the cockpit — the way his head dipped like a subtle nod — told you everything you needed to know.

The streets he grew up on blurred past him now at nearly 180 mph. The turn into the tunnel. The bump near the chicane. The glitter of the yachts in his periphery. He knew them like the lines in your palm.

He’d dreamed of this moment since he was a boy in karting boots, looking through the fence as F1 cars screamed past on the same pavement he walked every day. Monaco was home. Monaco had broken his heart. But today, it was healing him.

“Just breathe, baby,” your voice whispered again in his ear. “Last lap.”

From the pit wall, Fred stood with arms crossed, not daring to exhale. Mechanics were frozen in place, monitors lighting their faces with green sectors and live telemetry. Arthur had stopped pacing, for once. Pascale was clutching her scarf like a lifeline. And Alexandra? She stood at the barrier.

Red jacket zipped halfway. Hair pulled back. Face tilted toward the track with eyes glassy. Every time the red 16 car passed, she stepped closer. As if her heartbeat could will him home.

In the garage, your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “Exit Nouvelle clean. You’ve got the run. Fuel’s good. Battery’s charged.”

You paused, just for a second.

“You’re about to win Monaco, Charles.”

You didn’t say it to pump him up. You said it because it was real. And Charles — hands steady, foot light on the throttle, mind completely and utterly focused — flew through Tabac, hit the apex at the Swimming Pool perfectly, and took La Rascasse like it had always belonged to him. The crowd’s roar broke through the radio static.

“Charles Leclerc wins the Monaco Grand Prix!”

The moment shattered time. You exhaled — then let out a noise that was half laugh, half sob. In your headset Charles shouting something unintelligible in French, followed by — “MERCI, MERCI, MERCI!”

The team erupted around you. Mechanics jumping. Fred finally smiling. Arthur running toward you and picking you up in a spinning hug. You ran toward the pit wall.

And Alexandra — still standing at the barrier, now crying openly — turned just in time to see Charles leap from the cockpit, arms raised, the Monégasque flag in hand. He spotted her first. And then he looked beyond her — saw you standing there next to Arthur, headset tangled in your hair, still in team gear, eyes shining with everything you had held back all race. He ran to the barrier. Security didn’t even try to stop him. He climbed it like he was born for it. First to Alexandra — grabbing her face, kissing her, holding her like she was the only soft place in a world of fire. Then to you. He pulled you in — headset, clipboard, adrenaline and all — into the kind of kiss that said thank you, I love you, I never would’ve made it without you.

You smiled against his mouth, pulling away just enough to say, “You finally did it.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “We did.”

The cameras caught all of it. The kisses. The tears. The way his hand held onto both of you like he was anchoring himself to the moment. The way you and Alexandra leaned into each other on the cool-down lap, your hands tangled, hearts still racing. And somewhere on social media, the photo would soon be everywhere. Charles Leclerc — Monaco winner — standing on the barrier in front of the Ferrari garage, arms around the two people who built the road back to this dream with him. A race. A win. A homecoming.

—

yn_ln

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 11,007,009 others.

yn_ln : my man and i just won monaco together...wyd??

tagged : charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and scuderiaferrari

—

view 545,001 other comments.

lando : wyd?? crying in my hotel room because this post made me feel single and slow

liked by yn_ln and charles_leclerc

username100 : ngl this race won me over. yn has turned ferrari AROUND.

franciscagomes : when she wins a grand prix and serves looks doing it 🧎‍♀️

liked by yn_ln and alexandrasaintmleux

pierregasly : power throuple.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

scuderiaferrari : "thank you charles and yn" we all say in unison.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

alexandrasaintmleux : you were flawless. in the garage. in red. in everything. we’re so lucky to love you 🥹

liked by yn_ln and charles_leclerc

carlossainz55 : happy for you both. annoyed that i teared up watching him win. confused about it.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

arthur_leclerc : you left out the part where you nearly passed out from nerves and still pulled off the perfect strategy call lmao. LOVE YOU YN.

liked by yn_ln, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

username001 : alex being there doing nothing still takes me out.

↳ username15 : i would not talk bad about alex rn. yn ripped into a reporter earlier.

↳ username001 : WHERE???

↳ username15 : check @/f1gossipgirls.

—

f1gossipgirls

5,009,110 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well, Charles Leclerc won Monaco… but not without drama. After a dream victory at his home race, Charles Leclerc was seen celebrating in the most Leclerc-throuple way possible — kissing race engineer girlfriend YN and girlfriend Alexandra Saint Mleux moments apart in a red-hot Ferrari love fest. Fans also caught a sweet moment between Alexandra and YN — YN lifted Alex off of the ground and the two shared a sweet kiss. But things turned tense post-race when a reporter made some harsh and completely uncalled-for comments about Alexandra in the paddock. Witnesses say YN didn’t hesitate — she got visibly defensive, stepped in, and had a few choice words for the reporter in question. The vibe? Protective. Unshakable. Not here for the disrespect.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

The cheers still echo across the harbor, a high, golden sound that hasn’t stopped since Charles crossed the line. Champagne sticks to your skin, your headset hangs loose around your neck, and you haven’t let go of Alexandra’s hand once. She’s warm beside you. Glowing. Her cheeks pink from sun and adrenaline, her lips still curved from watching him win. The two of you are walking slowly toward the podium tunnel, through a blur of high-fives, cameras, and team crew celebrating in every language.

And then— “Must be nice to hang off the arm of a championship team and not have to actually do anything.”

It cuts through the noise like a knife. You freeze. You don’t even feel Alexandra’s fingers tighten around yours because the blood in your ears goes sharp and hot. You turn on instinct. The voice came from behind the media line. A man with a mic and a press pass. Too smug. Too comfortable saying something like that in public. It wasn’t a question. It was meant to sting. And it lands exactly where he wanted — you see it in Alexandra’s face. Her smile falters. Just for a second. But that’s enough. You don’t think. You move.

“Hey!” you snap, your voice slicing clean. “What the fuck did you just say?”

The reporter doesn’t backpedal. “I was just asking if—”

“No. You weren’t asking anything,” you cut in, stepping forward. “You were insulting someone who shows up every weekend, supports this team with her whole heart, and gets nothing but hate in return. You don’t get to speak to her like that.”

The paddock goes quiet. The crew stops celebrating. Cameras slowly turn your way. Alexandra stands where you left her, eyes wide, like she’s holding her breath. You keep going.

“And for the record,” you say, your tone low now, dangerous, “if all you’ve done today is tear down a woman who’s done nothing to you, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“YN.”

Arthur’s voice. Right behind you. Calm but firm. He gently touches your elbow, eyes flicking toward the growing crowd. “Come on. Let’s go. Not worth it.”

You don’t move for a second. You just stare that reporter down. He looks nervous now. Good. Then you exhale and step back. You don’t say anything else. You just turn, walk straight back to Alexandra, and take her hand like you never let go. Her eyes are glassy now, but there’s something else there too — awe, maybe. Or something softer. You don’t look back as you disappear together into the tunnel, Arthur flanking behind you like a guard. But if anyone didn’t know before — they know now. No one talks down to Alexandra Saint Mleux on your watch. Not ever.

—

The celebrations had faded. The city was still buzzing outside — yachts pulsing with music, voices carrying over balconies, streetlights painting gold across the port. But in here, it was quiet. Just the soft hum of the AC, the leftover scent of champagne in Charles’ hair, and the weight of everything that had happened settling like dust on your shoulders. He stood in the kitchen in a Ferrari hoodie, barefoot, drying glasses. The night had worn him out — but not as much as it had worn you.

You sat on the couch, legs pulled up to your chest, one of Alexandra’s cardigans draped around your shoulders. She was already in bed, fast asleep, her cheeks still red from crying — not from joy. Not from the win. But from that moment. The one you couldn’t stop replaying in your head.

Charles finished drying the glass but didn’t put it away. Instead, he turned, leaning against the counter. Watching you.

“You’ve barely said anything since we got home,” he said softly.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re angry.”

You looked up. And the tears in your eyes betrayed you.

“I’m not just angry,” you murmured. “I’m ashamed.”

He crossed the room without hesitation, kneeling down in front of you, placing his hands gently on your knees. “Why would you be ashamed?”

You swallowed, trying to find the words. “Because I knew this would happen. I knew the moment I took this job and we made it official — all of it — the cameras, the gossip, the fans choosing sides…”

You blinked quickly. “Alex never asked for this. She never wanted to be part of the noise. She just wanted to love us. And now she’s getting ripped apart for being in the garage, or not being on the pit wall, or not looking the way they want her to. And I stood there today and watched it hit her.”

Charles’s eyes softened, thumb brushing over your kneecap. “You didn’t just watch it. You defended her.”

“I shouldn’t have had to.” Your voice cracked. “She shouldn’t have to walk into a paddock wondering if someone’s going to ask her if she belongs there.”

Charles lowered his head for a moment, then looked back up at you. “She told me something tonight. While you were in the shower.”

You stilled. “What?”

“She said… ‘I’m proud of her. I’ve never been loved like that before.’”

That broke you. Your head dropped to your hands. Charles was in your arms in a second, pulling you to him, hands gentle against your back, voice steady in your ear.

“You didn’t do this, mon amour. The world did. The internet did. Their hate — that’s not yours to carry.”

“But I brought us into the spotlight.”

“You brought Ferrari back to life. You gave me a chance to win my home race. And you’ve given Alexandra more love and protection than half the people who’ve known her for years.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “She doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you. We’re proud of you.”

You wiped your face with your sleeve, breathing shakily. “She’s been different lately. Quiet. A little smaller.”

Charles nodded. “I noticed. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“I should’ve… asked her more. Talked to her. I got so wrapped up in the strategy and the pressure and—”

“And now you’re here,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “And she’s asleep in our bed. Safe. Loved. Because you fought for her when it mattered.”

You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself in his presence. In his warmth. In the truth of what he was saying.

“I just want her to feel like she’s ours in every room. Not just when the cameras aren’t watching.”

“She is,” he said, gently. “But tomorrow, let’s remind her anyway.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Let’s remind her.”

—

The kitchen is filled with the scent of browned butter and vanilla, soft music playing low on the speaker as sunlight spills through the windows, bathing Charles in gold. He hums along as he moves around with practiced ease — slicing strawberries, flipping fluffy pancakes, even attempting a cappuccino with a tiny heart drawn in the foam. You’re curled up on the couch nearby, eyes puffy and tired, but glowing with the kind of quiet pride that only comes from pulling off something impossible — or close to it. After hours of DMing collectors and calling obscure boutiques across time zones, you finally found it- Alexandra’s dream bag. A rare forest green Birkin, pristine, vintage, perfectly her. It’s now hidden in the hallway closet, nestled in tissue paper, your phone still buzzing with confirmation emails from luxury couriers at 4AM.

“She’s going to cry, you know,” Charles says, peeking over his shoulder with a grin as he flips the pancake on the stove.

“She better,” you croak, rubbing your face with both hands and stretching. “I aged five years sourcing that thing. Do you know how hard it is to find a 30 in Vert Rousseau with gold hardware?”

Charles walks over and kisses the top of your head gently. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, expression soft. “She’s been having a hard time. I just want her to have something that reminds her how loved she is.”

You both fall quiet for a second, and he nods — understanding all the things you don’t have to say. That the world outside is cruel. That she’s been doubting herself, curling inwards. That this is your way of saying don’t listen to them, you are worth everything and more. The bedroom door creaks open then, and a sleepy Alexandra appears — hair tousled, sleeves slipping off one shoulder, eyes barely open as she squints toward the kitchen.

“Is that...pancakes?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“And strawberries. And coffee. And,” Charles announces dramatically, “today’s very special surprise.”

Alexandra blinks, still half-asleep as she pads closer, reaching out to you blindly before settling in your lap with a sleepy sigh. You wrap your arms around her and press a kiss to her temple.

“You guys are being weird,” she mumbles.

“Good weird,” Charles says, slipping the pancake stack onto a plate.

“Birthday weird?” she asks, confused. “Anniversary weird?”

You shake your head and nod toward the hallway. “Just…open the closet.”

Alexandra blinks at you, then shuffles to her feet and moves toward the hall, dragging the blanket with her. You and Charles both watch from the kitchen. A pause. A gasp. Then. “No. No, no. No way.”

You grin. There’s a soft thump as she sinks to her knees in the hall, hands pressed over her mouth as she stares down at the box. She opens it like it might vanish, slowly peeling back the layers — and when she sees it, her whole face folds. Eyes glassy, mouth trembling.

“I—how did you—this color—” She clutches the bag like it’s something holy. “You found this?”

You cross the room and kneel next to her, wrapping her up in your arms.

“Of course we did,” you murmur. “You deserve beautiful things.”

She lets out a watery laugh against your shoulder as Charles crouches beside you, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“I love you both so much it actually hurts,” she says, tears now spilling freely.

“And we love you,” you whisper back. “More than anything.”

Charles nods, smiling softly. “Even more than Ferrari. But don’t tell Fred.”

And in the quiet, between pancakes and presents and tangled limbs on the kitchen floor, Alexandra begins to believe it again — that she is loved, and safe, and exactly where she’s meant to be.

—

Alexandra practically melts into the heated massage table, limbs slack, hair wrapped in a soft towel, as your fingers gently stroke through hers. The private spa suite smells like eucalyptus and orange blossom, the low trickle of water from the nearby fountain adding to the tranquility. You’re both swaddled in robes, facials setting, feet soaking in warm rose petal water.

“You didn’t have to go this far,” she says quietly, a little hoarse, but her voice is already laced with that floaty, relaxed softness you’d been desperate to hear.

“You say that like I wasn’t ten seconds away from stealing a private jet and flying you to Ibiza,” you tease, brushing your thumb over her knuckles. “This was the reasonable option.”

Alexandra turns her head on the cushioned rest and looks at you — really looks. Her eyes, still rimmed with the kind of exhaustion she never likes to admit, shimmer with something raw and grateful.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix everything for me,” she murmurs. “I’m okay. I’m just… I’ve been struggling.”

You shift, leaning across the narrow bench to press your forehead to hers, letting the silence settle.

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” you whisper. “Not with us.”

She exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut as your noses touch.

“I love you,” she says.

“I know,” you smile. “And I love you so much it made me haggle with a Hermes collector on WhatsApp at three in the morning. So you’re stuck with me.”

Alexandra lets out the softest laugh — the kind that rumbles in her chest — and kisses you with the slow, sleepy kind of affection that lingers.

—

Alexandra hums contentedly as she sinks deeper into the passenger seat of Charles’ car, cheeks pink from steam, her legs folded up in her seat. Her hand is nestled in his, and every now and then, you glance over at her — heart tugging at how peaceful she looks. Charles drums his fingers against the steering wheel, sunglasses low on his nose, glancing at you both with a satisfied smirk. “So… how do my girls feel?”

“Like I am in heaven,” Alexandra murmurs dreamily. “I think I’ve transcended stress.”

You smile and lean in to press a kiss to her temple. “That’s what we like to hear.”

Charles slows as he pulls into an underground parking garage, and Alexandra blinks awake.

“Wait—where are we?” she asks, sitting up a little straighter. “This isn’t home.”

“Nope,” Charles grins, parking with dramatic flair. “It’s part two of your day.”

She blinks. “Part two?”

Charles turns around in his seat and looks at her with a glint in his eye. “We are going shopping. You and YN are going to get everything you want. No limits, no questions, no checking price tags. If it makes you feel pretty or powerful or happy — we’re getting it.”

Alexandra blinks between the two of you, stunned. “You’re joking.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. You got a massage, now it’s time for retail therapy.”

Charles hops out of the car with the kind of giddy energy you’d expect from someone planning a heist. “Come on, let’s blow some money irresponsibly in the name of love.”

—

The soft rustle of silk and the faint scent of fresh perfume fill the room, where you and Alexandra are surrounded by the bounty of your shopping spree — racks of clothes, piles of shoes, and half-unwrapped accessories strewn across the plush chaise lounge. Alexandra sits on the edge of the velvet ottoman, slipping on a pair of strappy heels she just bought, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of nerves and excitement.

“You really think Charles will like this?” she asks, holding up a shimmering emerald dress—the one you’d both fallen for in the boutique.

“I think he’s going to have a heart attack,” you grin, helping smooth the fabric along her back.

She turns, catching her reflection in the mirror, and gives you a tentative smile. “I feel… like a new person.”

“That’s what happens when you get spoiled by two people who adore you,” you say, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

You pull out your own outfit from a hanger — a sleek black dress with delicate lace sleeves. As you slip it on, Alexandra giggles, teasing, “Look at you, all mysterious and chic.”

You catch her eyes and wink. “You’re the star tonight.”

Alexandra reaches over and links her fingers with yours. “Promise me this night won’t end.”

“It’s only just beginning,” you whisper.

Alexandra stands in front of the mirror, the green dress hugging her in all the right places. You thread a delicate necklace around her neck — the ivy bracelet Charles gifted earlier catches the light on her wrist.

She turns to you, eyes shining. “I’m really lucky.”

“No,” you say softly, cupping her face. “We’re the lucky ones.”

You help her slip on her heels, then take a deep breath together before heading out.

—

The yacht rocks gently beneath your feet, the faint scent of saltwater mingling with the delicate aroma of jasmine candles flickering on the table. The sky is a deep indigo, sprinkled with stars so bright they seem close enough to touch. The world feels impossibly still except for the soft murmur of the waves and the quiet laughter shared between the three of you.

Charles stands close, the warm strength of his body a constant comfort as he holds both your hands in his. Alexandra leans into your side, her breath soft against your skin, and you feel the steady rhythm of her heart through the thin fabric of her dress. The two of them — your girls — glowing in the low light, their eyes shimmering with a mixture of joy, vulnerability, and something tender that makes your chest ache.

You brush Alexandra’s cheek gently with the back of your hand, your fingers lingering as she closes her eyes, leaning into your touch like you’re the only safe place she needs. Charles steps around to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between the three of you.

The moment stretches, quiet and sacred, and you let yourself breathe it all in — the warmth, the love, the softness that you’ve fought so hard to build. Alexandra opens her eyes and looks up at you, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispers, voice trembling just enough that you know it’s everything she’s been holding back. “For this. For us.”

You lean down to press your forehead against hers. “Always.”

Charles’s hand moves from your waist to brush over Alexandra’s cheek, thumb stroking gently. “We’re yours, Alex. Every part of you. No matter what.”

Her eyes fill with tears — not the harsh kind, but the kind that come from feeling truly seen and loved. She leans into Charles’s touch, then back into yours, as if anchoring herself between the two of you. You slip your hand into hers, fingers intertwining as your other hand cups the side of her face, thumb brushing soothing circles. The intimacy between you hums, electric and peaceful all at once.

Charles steps back just enough to pour champagne into the crystal flutes, his eyes never leaving yours. He hands you the glass, and you toast softly, “To us. To love without limits.”

The glasses clink, a delicate sound that echoes over the water. Alexandra takes a sip, then sets her glass down carefully, reaching up to rest her hands on your cheeks. Her touch is feather-light, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I never thought I could feel this safe,” she murmurs. “This loved.”

You smile, your heart swelling until it feels like it might burst. “You always deserved it.”

Charles moves behind you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you into a slow, swaying dance under the stars. Alexandra steps close, resting her head on your shoulder, and you all move together — three souls beating in quiet harmony. The night deepens, and words fade into soft kisses, whispered promises, and the comfort of being exactly where you’re meant to be. Hours later, the yacht gently glides through the calm water, the three of you wrapped in blankets on the deck, watching the horizon blush with the first hints of dawn.

Charles’s voice is barely more than a breath as he says, “This is our forever.”

You squeeze Alexandra’s hand, your heart full beyond words.

“Yes,” you agree. “Forever and always.”

—

charles_leclerc

liked by yn_ln, alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc and 14,007,003 others.

charles_leclerc : my girls mean absolutely everything to me — more than words can ever fully express. yn and alexandra are the heart of my world, my constant support, and my greatest joy. to anyone who follows yn or i- if you’re being rude, disrespectful, or insufferable toward alexandra, please know that you are not welcome here. we stand united, and kindness is non-negotiable. we celebrate love, strength, and respect in all forms, and alexandra deserves nothing less than that — just like yn and I do. if you can’t show that, then this isn’t the place for you. i love you both, my angels.

tagged : yn_ln and alexandrasaintmleux

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[brainddeadd]

conflict of interest

smau

charles leclerc x lawyer!reader x alexandra saint mleux

in which charles needs a lawyer and everyone on the grid recommends you…the one who reads NDAs like novels, redlines million-dollar contracts with a Montblanc pen, and somehow still finds time to go viral on tik tok for roasting poorly written sponsorship deals. he thinks it’ll be quick—one meeting, a signature, maybe a stern look over a brand clause or two. then you show up in monaco in heels and a tailored suit, quoting the FIA regulations better than his race engineer and making alex laugh harder than he’s seen in months. his Instagram explore page becomes full of edits of you. add in alex, who takes one look at you and says, “she is dangerous.” but won’t stop inviting you to brunch. suddenly, the paddock’s favorite couple has a third problem. or maybe… a third solution.

fc : bella hadid and various pinterest girlies

little draft for you all as I am working on finishing heal your heart rn — enjoy mamas

⚠️not proofread⚠️

—

charles_leclerc

liked by uhavebeenserved, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55 & 859,265 others.

charles_leclerc : proud, proud, proud 🤍 @/lec

scuderiaferrari: 🍦💛

liked by author

alexandrasaintmleux : so proud of you, mon ange!

liked by author

usernameee : need to try asap

uhavebeenserved : congratulations charles! can’t wait to try! 💛

liked by author & alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : would not have been possible without you! have some on the way to you right now 😉

liked by uhavebeenserved

username0 : who is she??

username20 : big time lawyer in monaco— half the grid has worked with her. she is also on tik tok and makes fun legal content!

arthur_leclerc : im out already

charles_leclerc : literally how— you got like 5 yesterday!

charles_leclerc : fatty

arthur_leclerc : stop arthur slander @/uhavebeenserved HELP

liked by uhavebeenserved

uhavebeenserved : all im hearing is good press for @/lec…if arthur likes it that much its clearly fabulous…and i would be nice to ppl who r giving me free press charles

liked by arthur_leclerc & charles_leclerc

—

uhavebeenserved

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, lando & 1,855,467 others.

uhavebeenserved : i don’t only serve subpoenas but i also serve cunt

alexandrasaintmleux : belle fille 😻

liked by author

uhavebeenserved : ur the most beautiful alexxx

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

username1 : yn would you help me sue my ex for traumatizing me?

uhavebeenserved : absolutely I’ll do it for free

username4 : sjsjsjs I can’t with her

username5 : yn!! any advice on surviving law school?

uhavebeenserved : no distractions, study your ass off and knee any misogynistic men in the nuts :)

username5 : will do mamas. i promise to make you proud

liked by author

username00 : the amount of pure cunt and beauty you exert should be illegal

lando : how does one exactly serve cunt?

liked by author

uhavebeenserved : it is a way of life lando. you will learn eventually little one.

yourbff : god im obsessed with you

liked by author

scuderiaferrari: Nice car😉

liked by author

uhavebeenserved: pretty, ain’t she?

kikagomes : we miss you in the paddock pls come back soon

liked by author

maxverstappen1 : agreed

liked by author

carlossainz55 : need legal advice on if I can sue for emotional distress

uhavebeenserved: is this about f**rari? bc we may have a case carlos

carlossainz55 : 🤐 (yes)

liked by author

redbullracing: we will happily host you, yn!

mercedesamgf1 : pick us!!

mclaren : you’d look great in papaya!

scuderiaferrari: i think we are the obvious choice

uhavebeenserved: omg yes fight over me

username15 : why is half the grid in her comments?

username00 : she is pretty close to most of them as she has represented them before

—

vogue

liked by alexandrasaintmleux & 243,643 others.

vogue : What’s in Her Bag: Court Edition. Monaco based lawyer, YN LN, breaks down her everyday courtroom essentials—from highlighters to Hermès.

username00 : her casual paddock pass in her bag is killing me

username15 : she really said I don’t need this during court but I never empty my bag ever

username10 : multi purpose queen

username7 : so we’re all seeing the paddock pass and Alexandra’s sunglasses right?? ok just checking

username8 : how do you know they r hers?

username20 : Sunglasses last seen on Alexandra in a Milan street style reel 3 weeks ago. Do with that what you will.

username8 : damn ok detective

username20 : plus if you actually watch the video…she literally said “oh these belong to alex, i need to get them back to her.’

username17 : alexandra already likeddddd

username18 : the back of her paddock pass literally says “guest of charles leclerc” hmmm

username0 : they are friends don’t make it what it’s not

username22 : you guys are literally all focused on the wrong things—THERE WAS A PIECE OF PAPER THAT SAID ‘GOOD LUCK MON CHÈRI -C’

username15 : do you know how many men in this world have c names?

username22 : pls stop killing my joy

—

alexandrasaintmleux posted to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, uhavebeenserved, arthur_leclerc & 232,545 others.

charles_leclerc : wish I could’ve been with my favorite ladies😞

alexandrasaintmleux : we will see you tomorrow pretty boy

uhavebeenserved : best day ever with you pretty angel

alexandrasaintmleux : u r making me blushhh

arthur_leclerc : where was my invite

alexandrasaintmleux: lost in the mail maybe

—

uhavebeenserved added two posts to her story!

{caption 1 : guess where I am???} {caption 2 : @/scuderiaferrari made me do hot laps with @/charles_leclerc…still feel ill}

seen by alexandrasaintmleux, lando, charles_leclerc & 3,375,266 others.

lando : still mad you let charles take you but not me

uhavebeenserved : I value my life

charles_leclerc : hope I didn’t make that pretty head spin too much

uhavebeenserved: ur good I think I still have all my wits about me

uhavebeenserved: I was too busy staring at you to get dizzy

charles_leclerc : your beauty was definitely distracting me- if we would’ve wrecked I’d have to sue you for being too stunning

—

hot laps!

YN slides into the passenger seat, sunglasses on and helmet over her head, calm as ever. Charles is already grinning behind the wheel.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Well I suppose with how much they pay you that you are somewhat decent and won’t kill us.” YN said dryly, tugging on her seatbelt.

Charles lets out a low laugh and turns on the ignition. The car comes alive.

“What was your first impression of me?” Charles asked as he took off down the track without warning.

“Fast. But not in the way you think.” YN said as she gripped the door handle, trying to steady herself.

“That sounds like you’re insulting me.” Charles said with a chuckle.

“You talked way too much in our first meeting. Absolutely rambling.” YN said with a small smile.

“And now?”

“Now you know when to shut up so that sounds like progress to me.”

He raises an eyebrow, cornering harder than necessary.

“If you weren’t a driver, what would you be?” YN asks, setting the cards in her lap.

“I’m not sure but I think I have some legal issues so I’d still need you.” He said with a smirk.

YN chuckled lowly. “Sounds like job security for me.”

“Or a very expensive habit.” Charles stated smoothly.

“Biggest red flag in a person?” Charles asked.

“People who treat rules as suggestions.” YN murmured.

“Uh-oh.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s your red flag?” Charles asked with a cheeky smile.

“I argue for a living and I always win.” YN said.

“Good thing I like a challenge.” Charles glances at her grinning.

“You know you didn’t have to say yes to this.” Charles said as the car started to slow down.

“I didn’t.” I said.

“So why did you?” Charles asked.

“Because I don’t mind the speed when I know who is driving. I already said no to Lando.” YN said causing another laugh from Charles.

“I’ll take that as consent to ask you out to dinner.” He said as he reaches over to help YN unbuckle herself.

“Only if you read the fine print, Leclerc.” She said with a smirk and stepped out of the car.

Towards the end of the video there was a cute clip of Charles helping YN take off her helmet and him smoothing down her hair.

—

alexandrasaintmleux reposted scuderiaferrari’s video with the caption : “only watching for yn, she is funny as hell”

—

alexandrasaintmleux added a post to her story!

{caption 1 : she is always working} {caption 2 : managed to convince y/n to come to brunch with me}

seen by charles_leclerc, uhavebeenserved, scuderiaferrari & 347,246 others.

charles_leclerc : she was literally already up working when I left this morning

alexandrasaintmleux: i know!! i told her she was insane.

charles_leclerc : do not let her pay for herself, use my card.

alexandrasaintmleux: already on it:)

uhavebeenserved : always a lovely day spent with you, mon ange

alexandrasaintmleux: i love youuuuu

—

twitter!

F1gossipgirls: does anyone else think it’s odd that alexandra reposted the hot laps video that YN and Charles were so clearly flirting in and the proceeds to hang out with her all day??

view comments

usernameee : ARE WE FRIENDS? ARE WE FLIRTING? ARE WE THROUPLING?

username5 : alexandra watching her boyfriend flirt with the lawyer then taking the lawyer out for drinks??? no notes. this is cinema.

username7 : guys maybe they are just all friends and alex doesn’t get jealous or doesn’t care

username17 : i could not be friends with someone who is openly flirting with my man like that

username00 : if this turns into a “two girlfriends and a driver” scenario I SWEAR I will never recover

username14 : charles rn trying to understand if he’s being soft-launched into a love triangle or quietly removed from it.

username0 : so is this a friendship? a situationship? a legal partnership with romantic benefits? we need answers.

—

uhavebeenserved added two posts to her story!

seen by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, lando & 2,164,175 others.

lando : still can’t believe you’ll go out with Charles and not me

uhavebeenserved : charles is rather charming and also has a hot girlfriend he is willing to share…what do you have Norris?

lando : i have oscar

uhavebeenserved : as adorable as you both are…no🤗

alexandrasaintmleux: omg I miss you both smmmm

uhavebeenserved : come home rn pretty we miss you too (very very much)

charles_leclerc : best night with you mon amor

uhavebeenserved : love you cha

—

f1gossipgirls

2,364,145 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Charles Leclerc was spotted out in Monaco with Lawyer YN LN — sources say the two had a dinner together and then left in the same car. YN LN was seen leaving his house the next morning and taking his car for a spin. Charles’ long term girlfriend and friend of LN’s, Alexandra, has been in Mexico with her family.

—

username5 : typical charles but I feel horrible for Alex esp after she clearly trusted yn

usernameee : OH WE’RE NOT EVEN PRETENDING ANYMORE.

username17 : me refreshing alexandra’s story every 30 seconds like she’s the press secretary

username20 : and y’all were clowning when she had alex’s sunglasses and a paddock pass in her court bag… WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?

alexandrasaintmleux : cute dress yn !!

liked by author and uhavebeenserved

uhavebeenserved : thanks love! stole it from your closet 🤐

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

username14 : okay what the fuck

username22 : I’ve never been more confused in my life

username15 : is this petty or sarcasm or what

—

uhavebeenserved

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 & 4,375,279 others.

uhavebeenserved : yall really know how to fuck up a soft launch but anyways alex and charles r the love(s) of my life and that is all goodbye🥰💕♥️❤️🥰😍

—

alexandrasaintmleux: i love you so so so so much beautiful,, so happy to be able to show you off now;)

liked by author

username00 : imagine dating your client AND your client’s girlfriend. that’s not a conflict of interest, that’s a power move.

oscarpiastri : so do i have another mom now?

liked by author

uhavebeenserved : yes

oscarpiastri : free legal representation?

uhavebeenserved : yes

lando : WHY DOES HE GET IT BUT NOT ME

uhavebeenserved : oscar stays rather quiet…I don’t see him becoming too much of an issue…unlike you

liked by maxverstappen1 and oscarpiastri

charles_leclerc : my girls ❤️ love you both so much

liked by alexandrasaintmleux and author

danielricciardo : ive been nosey and read a lot of fanfiction in my day but this beats them all

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc

lilymhe : love love love

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

carlossainz55 : oh thank god I couldn’t be quiet much longer

liked by author and charles_leclerc

uhavebeenserved : we know

carlossainz55 : sorry for wanting to defend you and Charles from the internet MY BAD FOR BEING A GOOD FRIEND

liked by author and charles_leclerc

yourbff : cuties

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc

—

charles_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, uhavebeenserved, arthur_leclerc & 1,358,268.

charles_leclerc : my legal counsel has approved of a hard launch;)

love you both forever and always — the girls ive always dreamed of 🤍

—

username00 : i’m shaking. shaking. SHAKING. he posted this like it’s normal

alexandrasaintmleux : so blessed to have found both of my soulmates — my whole heart

liked by author and uhavebeenserved

uhavebeenserved : my favorite people on the planet,, you both are so incredibly special to me — love you my babies

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

username15 : what if Charles was cheating and this is the cover up

uhavebeenserved : oh yes when I make love to both of them it is def a cover up

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

scuderiaferrari: for being a lawyer, you are not very pr friendly

liked by uhavebeenserved

alexandrasaintmleux: it’s part of her charm

liked by author and uhavebeenserved

arthur_leclerc : bro I just woke up

arthur_leclerc : and I see you hard launching with my lawyer

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and uhavebeenserved

charles_leclerc : she is my lawyer too

uhavebeenserved: i will still be ur lawyer arthur and ill even give you a family discount

arthur_leclerc : oh slay love u for that

pierregasly : triple date soon?

liked by author, uhavebeenserved and alexandrasaintmleux

—

🌸💐🌺🌻🌼

[brainddeadd]

I loved you dnf story 😊

Would you write one for Lewis Hamilton, where the reader is Charles friend and he is absolut smitten with her 😊

This would be lovely 😊

smitten—lh44

smau + blurbs

lewis hamilton x !leclerc best friend reader

charles leclerc x !best friend reader

yn and charles have been best friends since childhood— he would do absolutely anything for her and she would do the same for him. charles notices that yn has been extremely stressed recently as she is in her 3rd year of surgical residency and it hasn’t been easy on her— he needs a date to the f175 event and she needs a night out. what happens when yn meets charles’ new teammate who becomes infatuated with her?

fc : kendall jenner

(a/n) : thank u for the love anon. such a cute idea:) hope you enjoy!!

—

dr_yn_ln

london, england 📍

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 1,205,007 others.

dr_yn_ln : ate charles up at his own event tonight and gonna be in the OR tomorrow. boss girl status

tagged : charles_leclerc

—

view 127,003 other comments.

charles_leclerc : remind me why i thought bringing you was a good idea

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : because you’re emotionally dependent on me and i’m hot and you needed some eye candy on your arm.

liked by arthur_leclerc

↳ charles_leclerc : you were supposed to support me not outshine me

↳ dr_yn_ln : i was doing both.

liked by charles_leclerc and arthur_leclerc

lando : charles was just your accessory for the night

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : yes except my chanel bag doesn’t bitch and complain as much as him

liked by lando

carlossainz55 : the true smooth OPERATOR

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : love u chili 💙 will miss you this season

liked by carlossainz55

leclerc_pascale : ma belle fille ❤️

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : je t’aime maman 🥺

username0 : this is the girl that charles was with last night? she’s a doctor?

username15 : she is charles’ childhood best friend— she is a surgical resident. so yes she is a doctor.

username0 : hm. they looked cute together

franciscagomes : forever confused if i want to date you or be you.

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : leave the frenchie and run away with me

liked by franciscagomes

pierregasly : ynnnnn i know that you are a surgeon and save lives and do really cool things everyday but let me keep my girlfriend

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : no

lewishamilton : Very nice to meet you, beautiful. 🖤

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : best part of my night 🤍

liked by lewishamilton

username00 : OHHHHH oh

—

The zipper is stuck. Of course, it is. Because God has a sense of humor, and because Charles Leclerc has the upper body strength of a wet sock.

“Why is this dress built like a vault?” he grunts behind me, tugging again. My entire body jerks backward like I’ve just been possessed.

“Because it’s couture, not a jumpsuit from Zara,” I snap, bracing myself against the bathroom sink. “Can you please be gentler? That’s my spine, those are not exactly easy to fix by the way.”

Charles mutters something in French that I don’t catch, and I don’t want to, because I’m already trying not to laugh.

“This would be easier if we just stitched you into it,” he says, giving one final tug. The zipper finally gives in. “Voilà.”

I turn to face him. He’s already in his tuxedo, perfectly pressed and annoyingly smug. I swear the only thing keeping him humble is me.

“You look—ugh, whatever,” he says, making a face like looking at me is physically painful. “Hot. I guess.”

I grin. “Try not to cry about it.”

“I will cry about it,” he retorts, grabbing his cologne from the counter. “You’re going to make me look like your security guard.”

I grab my lipstick and lean over to check the mirror. “You’re lucky I’m even going. I have a 10 a.m. call at the hospital. The fact that I’m wearing heels tonight should qualify me for sainthood.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Please. You’ve stitched arteries on no sleep. You’ll survive an event.”

“And yet I might not survive you,” I mutter, dodging him as he leans in dramatically for a selfie.

“Smile, YN. We’re going to look iconic.”

“You’re going to look like a proud boyfriend and confuse the entire internet again.”

“That’s half the fun.”

We snap a few photos — him doing the classic Charles smirk, me holding a champagne glass. He scrolls through them with a satisfied nod.

“Okay, ready?” he asks, offering me his arm like we’re in a rom-com.

“No,” I reply. “But my dress is tight enough that I can’t sit, so we might as well leave.”

Charles laughs, leading me toward the door. “You’re going to outshine me tonight, aren’t you?”

I smirk. “Charles, darling… that was never in question.”

—

I lose Charles approximately four minutes into the event. One second, he’s beside me, making some snide comment about the appetizers being too small, and the next, he’s whisked away by a publicist who definitely threatened him with a smile.

I hover near the edge of the venue, sipping champagne, trying not to think about the fact that I have to scrub in for surgery in less than twelve hours and my feet are already screaming. It’s fine. I look hot. That’s what counts.

“Long night ahead?”

The voice is low, warm, and British in a way that makes me blink twice. I turn slightly — and there he is. Lewis Hamilton. Oh. I don’t know what I expected — something glossier, maybe. Untouchable. But there’s something… quiet about him in person. Intentionally lowkey. Until he looks at you — and then it’s like the world zooms in.

“Only if you count a 10 a.m. surgical rotation as fun,” I reply, offering a wry smile.

His gaze drops briefly to my glass, then back to my face. “That explains the minimal champagne.”

“That and the fact that Charles will cry if I leave him at this party alone.”

Lewis huffs a laugh. “So you’re the infamous best friend.”

“In the flesh,” I say, tilting my head. “And you must be the new teammate. The one Charles was pretending not to be nervous about meeting.”

He smiles — all soft charm and good energy. “I wasn’t sure you were real. He talks about you like you’re some mythological figure. The perfect hybrid between chaos and competence.”

I snort. “Well, I am in heels, fully glam, and technically still on call. So he’s not entirely wrong.”

There’s a pause. He’s still looking at me — in that calm, deliberate way that feels… different. Not surface-level. Like he’s filing things away.

“Well,” he says after a beat, “chaos and competence suits you.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” I reply, raising a brow. “Though I’m still not sure if I like you yet.”

That makes him grin, something slightly crooked and entirely lethal.

“Challenge accepted, doctor.”

And just like that, Charles reappears — hair windblown, tie askew, muttering something about media interviews being invented by demons. He opens his mouth to speak, then stops. Looks at Lewis. Looks at me. Looks back at Lewis.

“Oh no,” Charles says dramatically. “I was gone for seven minutes.”

—

The party is dimming — not done, but definitely winding down. The lights are softer now. The photographers have mostly disappeared. People are half-drunk, laughing too loud, shoes quietly coming off under tables. Charles is deep in conversation across the room, talking animatedly with someone in Ferrari red. I slip away. No drama, no announcement — just a quiet exit toward the side hallway, where the noise drops off behind thick doors and everything feels… still. I find the terrace by instinct, the same way I find a break room at the hospital when I need five minutes to breathe. It’s empty, quiet, with city lights stretching out beneath the railing.

Except it’s not totally empty. Lewis is already out there. He’s leaning on the stone balustrade, one hand in the pocket of his suit, his bowtie untied and hanging loose around his collar. He turns slightly when I step outside. His smile is immediate. Soft. Familiar in a way I wasn’t expecting.

“Escaping?” he asks.

I shrug, walking to the edge. “Resetting.”

“Same,” he says, eyes back on the skyline. “Events are good… until they’re not.”

I laugh under my breath. “That’s exactly how I feel about 48-hour shifts.”

His gaze flicks over to me — curious. “You really love it, don’t you? Surgery.”

“Most days,” I say truthfully. “Some days it breaks you. But I think the best things always do, in a way.”

Lewis nods, quiet for a second. “Charles wasn’t exaggerating.”

“About what?”

“That you’re sharp as hell.”

That makes me smile. I tilt my head toward him. “Did he also mention that I’m usually the reason he’s late to things and that I once made him cry laughing during a press conference?”

“That part he did mention.”

We share a look, and it’s easy — the kind of ease that doesn’t feel forced. It settles into the air between us, warm and slow.

“Charles told me you’d hate this kind of event,” Lewis says after a beat. “Said he had to bribe you with food and the promise of no press.”

“I told him I’d only come if he let me insult him in public at least once,” I reply. “Which I did. Twice, actually.”

His laugh is low and genuine. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

“I was here first,” I say simply. “You’re just the shiny new teammate.”

“Mm,” he hums. “I’m not sure that’s the only reason you’re watching me like that.”

My stomach flips, and I blink. “I wasn’t—”

“You are now.”

He turns to face me fully, and suddenly the air feels different — heavier but not uncomfortable. His voice drops just slightly, not for effect, but like he’s being honest in a way not everyone gets.

“I like you,” he says. “I don’t know how else to say it. You walk into a room and the whole thing shifts.”

I swallow. “You’ve known me for like… an hour.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since minute ten.”

I look at him for a long moment — the kind of look that weighs the risk, the timing, the absolutely horrible idea this could be… and how much I don’t care.

“You’re not just saying that because I look like a Bond girl tonight?”

His smile tugs wider, slow and soft. “I think you’d be dangerous even in scrubs.”

I step closer, just slightly — the space between us narrowing, but not quite gone.

“You’re not what I expected,” I murmur.

He tilts his head. “Good or bad?”

“I don’t know yet,” I whisper, smiling. “Ask me again in the morning.”

Lewis leans in, but not fully — waiting, giving me the moment. So I close the distance. The kiss is slow — unhurried, thoughtful. Like we’re both aware this could change everything. And maybe we want it to. When we pull back, I stay close, forehead against his.

“You realize Charles is going to lose his mind, right?” I breathe.

“I’ll survive,” Lewis says quietly. “Will he?”

We both laugh — quietly, together — and in the distance, I hear someone call my name. Probably Charles, looking for me with a plate of dessert and twenty questions.

—

The hallway is quiet when I step out of the elevator, heels in one hand, the other gently smoothing out my dress that’s seen better hours. I slip the key card into the door, trying to be quiet—though the dramatic click of the lock disengaging kind of ruins that plan. I step in and immediately freeze. Charles is sitting on the edge of the bed. Not lounging. Not half-asleep. No.

He’s sitting upright, arms crossed, still fully dressed down to his cufflinks, like some kind of tired but deeply judgmental dad whose teenage daughter missed curfew. He says nothing at first. Just raises his brows.

I blink. “…Hi?”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Oh my God,” I groan, dropping my heels and heading straight to my suitcase. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting,” he says. “Just sitting. Watching. Processing.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Because someone vanished halfway through the night and never came back. Then someone didn’t answer their phone. Then someone made me look like a concerned husband in front of team management when I asked if anyone had seen my best friend.”

I unzip my garment bag and pull out my travel sweats. “Well, someone was having a perfectly nice conversation with your teammate until it got very late.”

Charles inhales like he’s trying to center himself.

“Define nice,” he says finally.

I toss him a glance. “Charles.”

“I’m just asking,” he says, throwing his hands up. “Asking. In a nonjudgmental way. As your lifelong friend who also happens to know the man you were very clearly flirting with across the room for two hours—”

“Oh my God, shut up,” I mutter, grabbing my toiletry bag and heading for the bathroom. “Don’t go full protective brother on me. You literally invited me to this.”

“I invited you for a night out, not to elope with Lewis Hamilton,” he calls after me.

I shout back, “You’re being dramatic.”

He mutters something in French. I ignore it.

When I come back out, freshly changed and makeup wiped off, he’s still sitting there. I zip up my duffel bag and check the time.

4:38 AM.

The jet he arranged is wheels-up in just under two hours so I can get back to the hospital in time for rounds. No sleep for me. Again.

Charles watches me fuss with my charger cord for a moment before asking quietly, “So… are you okay?”

I stop, meeting his eyes. That’s the thing about Charles. Under all the teasing and fake-older-brother energy, he knows me too well. Knows when to joke, when to pry, and when to just… check in.

“I’m okay,” I say honestly. “It was just… nice. To not be a resident. Or a surgeon. Or anything else, for a few hours.”

He nods.

“Also,” I add as I grab my bag, “Lewis told me he wants to kiss me again when we aren't hiding from you.”

Charles makes a noise like he’s physically in pain.

“Goodnight, Charles,” I say sweetly, walking past him.

“Have a safe flight,” he groans, flopping backward onto the bed like a man defeated. “And if I see one headline, I’m telling your attending you flew to London while on call and made out with a 7 time world champ.”

“You’d have to prove it,” I smirk, blowing him a kiss before shutting the door behind me.

—

dr_yn_ln

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, arthur_leclerc & 1,708,443 others.

dr_yn_ln : i haven’t slept in 48 hours HELP

—

view 125,034 other comments.

lando : why do you still look this good on no sleep REF DO SOMETHING 🗣️

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : DO SOMETHING REF (me after i’m put on for another 4am surgery) (george when max comes near him)

liked by lando, maxverstappen1 and charles_leclerc

username0 : i can’t with her she is so fucking funny

arthur_leclerc : ynnnn remember how you said i can borrow the porsche

liked by dr_yn_ln

↳ dr_yn_ln : sadly yes i do recall

arthur_leclerc : 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

↳ dr_yn_ln : sigh. it is with me at the hospital. come get her. im having someone pick me up anyways.

arthur_leclerc : 🏃🏻

↳ dr_yn_ln : he’s a runner he’s a trackstar

liked by arthur_leclerc

charles_leclerc : WHO is coming to pick you up because i know it isn’t me

↳ dr_yn_ln : he gon run away when it gets hard

liked by arthur_leclerc

charles_leclerc : YN MN LN now.

username0 : her blatantly ignoring charles is taking me out

username15 : i wish her and charles would just date. they are so cute

↳ charles_leclerc : maman and arthur have been trying for years — it will never happen.

↳ dr_yn_ln : charles is hot but he annoys tf outta me

liked by charles_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : i literally gave a whole presentation on why you two would work. neither of you took it seriously. i had slides.

↳ dr_yn_ln : you had transitions and background music.

↳ charles_leclerc : he made us hold hands and look into each others eyes like it was couples therapy. i still have not recovered.

↳ arthur_leclerc : love is real and you two are cowards.

lilymhe : gorg and can save a life. lethal combo

liked by dr_yn_ln

lewishamilton : see you soon 🤍

liked by dr_yn_ln

—

There’s a very specific kind of exhaustion that hits after a 48-hour call shift — a dull throb behind the eyes, like my brain is trying to shut down completely but the rest of me is too wired on bad coffee and adrenaline to let it. So when I stumble out of the hospital’s staff entrance with my hair tied up, eyes puffy, and scrubs looking like they’ve been through a war zone, I am not prepared for what’s waiting by the curb. Arthur. Leaning dramatically against my Porsche like he owns it, wearing sunglasses even though it’s overcast, chewing gum like he’s in a teen romcom.

“Bonjour, Docteur Boss,” he says, arms crossed. “Did you save lives and break hearts today?”

“I’m too tired to punch you,” I mutter, handing him the keys. “So you’re lucky.”

He catches the keys midair.

“This is the coolest I’ve ever felt,” he says, sliding into the driver’s seat but leaving the door open. “I’m taking the roof down and playing French rap at full volume.”

"I will physically end you if you scratch it."

“You’re so violent for someone who takes oaths,” he says sweetly.

I groaned and rolled my eyes, trying to keep myself up right.

Arthur eyes me for a beat. “Soooooo…”

I crack one eye open. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“You were going to ask about Lewis.”

He gasps, scandalized. “I was—but now that you’ve brought him up, yes. Did he kiss you again? Is this a thing? Do I have to start emotionally preparing for you to date the GOAT?”

I give him a look. “Why are you acting like you’re about to walk me down the aisle?”

“I just think he’d be a great brother-in-law,” he says with a shrug. “Very respectful. Very cool. Good jawline.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he grins, then glances down the street. “Speaking of your soulmate…”

I turn, and sure enough, there he is. Lewis. Looking stupidly good in a hoodie and sweatpants like he didn’t just wake up early to pick me up after the longest shift of my life. Roscoe’s in the back seat of his car with his tongue out, already happy to see me. He spots me, smiles that slow, soft smile — the one that makes my tired bones ache in a completely different way — and gives a little wave. Arthur watches the whole thing unfold like he’s watching the finale of a romance drama.

“Tell him I said hi,” he says dreamily, already putting the car in drive.

“You’re being weird.”

“Tell him,” Arthur insists as he pulls off, windows down, blasting Aya Nakamura at full volume.

I shake my head and cross the sidewalk toward Lewis’s car. He gets out and meets me halfway, pulling me into a hug before I can say anything. His arms are warm and his hoodie smells like laundry and eucalyptus. I kind of melt into him.

“Hey, doc,” he murmurs into my hair. “Rough shift?”

“Brutal,” I sigh. “I think I forgot what sleep is.”

“I’ve got smoothies, your favorite protein bar, and Roscoe’s been practicing his ‘cheer up’ face.”

I pull back just enough to smile at him.

“You’re unreal.”

Lewis grins. “Get in the car. You’re done being a superhero for today.”

I nod, finally letting myself relax as he guides me into the passenger seat, like I didn’t just spend two days elbow-deep in someone’s abdomen. Roscoe licks my arm. I don’t even flinch. And as we pull away from the hospital, I text Arthur.

“he says hi, btw. now please don’t crash my car or play your sad boy shit in it.”

“no promises. also i already named it. she’s called La Baddie.”

—

The world feels a little floaty when I step out of the shower — the kind of tired that’s deeper than sleep, woven into my muscles and bones. My skin’s still damp, and my hair’s twisted into a bun on top of my head with a claw clip I nearly dropped into the toilet twice. Everything aches. But when I walk into Lewis’s bedroom, the lights are low and golden, the bed already turned down. My favorite show is queued up on the TV, paused at the opening screen. And there — neatly folded on the edge of the bed — is one of Lewis’s old t-shirts. Soft. Faded. Worn in all the best ways. I don’t even have to ask if it was for me. Of course it was. Roscoe lifts his head from his bed in the corner and gives me a sleepy tail wag, then goes back to snoring. I change slowly, my body stiff, and when I pull the t-shirt over my head, it falls mid-thigh and smells like Lewis. That clean, citrusy scent that always clings to his hoodies and pillows. I crawl into bed and instantly sigh into the pillows — it’s like sinking into a cloud. The door creaks softly a moment later.

Lewis walks in with a glass of water and my lip balm, because he knows I’ll forget both. He doesn’t say anything, just sets them down on the bedside table, pulls the covers up over me, and leans down to press a kiss to my temple.

“Come here,” I mumble sleepily, reaching for him.

He chuckles under his breath — low and warm — and climbs in beside me, one arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me close until my head’s tucked under his chin and my legs are tangled with his. His fingers stroke slow, soothing lines down my back.

“You did good, sweetheart,” he whispers, like he knows I need to hear it.

I hum against his chest, eyelids already heavy. “Mmm… you’re warm. And big.”

Lewis laughs again, soft and quiet. “You’re delirious.”

“You love it,” I murmur, drifting.

“I do,” he says, no hesitation.

I fall asleep in his arms before the episode even starts. And for the first time in 48 hours, everything feels still.

—

I wake up slowly — the kind of slow where you don’t even realize you’ve opened your eyes until the sunlight starts to sting a little. The bed smells like eucalyptus and detergent, and the t-shirt I fell asleep in is soft against my skin, worn-in in the way only his clothes are. The first thing I notice? Silence. No pagers. No monitors. No trauma codes being yelled down a hallway. Just a low hum of music from the kitchen and the sound of a spatula hitting a pan. I stretch, bones cracking like an old house settling. Roscoe lifts his head from his bed near the door and wags his tail lazily, like he’s been up for hours but didn’t want to wake me. Bless that dog. The smell hits me next — pancakes, cinnamon, maybe… caramelized bananas?

I shuffle out of the bed in just Lewis’s oversized tee, feet cold on the hardwood as I pad toward the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. And there he is. Lewis, barefoot, shirtless, wearing gray sweatpants and an apron that says “Kiss the Chef” with a ridiculous grin on his face as he flips pancakes like he’s in a Michelin-star kitchen.

“Good morning, Doc,” he says without turning around.

“You’re unreal,” I mumble, slumping against the kitchen island. “Tell me I didn’t hallucinate this.”

“You didn’t. You did, however, sleep for fourteen hours.”

My jaw drops. “No.”

“Roscoe took shifts watching over you. I made him head of security.”

Roscoe woofs softly from his corner like he’s confirming his job title.

I blink blearily at Lewis as he plates two golden, perfect pancakes and tops them with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you don’t know how to rest, so someone’s gotta teach you.”

He places the plate in front of me and slides a glass of fresh juice next to it.

I raise a suspicious eyebrow. “Are you fattening me up to make me take a nap again?”

“Not quite,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I have a full spa day booked for us. At-home. Massages, facials, steam diffuser thingies. You’re not allowed to lift a finger.”

My eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He leans back on the counter, arms folded and smirking. “I even stocked the fridge with all your weird juice bar orders and bought that overpriced candle you cried over in London.”

“You remembered the candle?!”

Lewis shrugs like it’s nothing. “You looked like it meant a lot.”

I could cry again. I might cry again. Instead, I just stare at him, overwhelmed and speechless, and say the only thing that comes to mind.

“You’re my favorite person.”

“Good,” he says, tapping the plate. “Now eat your pancakes and prepare to be pampered. Doctor’s orders.”

—

I’m pretty sure Lewis missed his calling as a wellness guru. Because after breakfast, I’m wrapped in a plush robe that smells like lavender, sitting cross-legged on his couch with one of those fancy golden face masks on — the kind I always scroll past because they’re “too expensive” but still cry over when they’re sold out.

The lights are dimmed, there are no fewer than eleven candles lit, and there’s some soft R&B playing from his speaker. Roscoe is curled up nearby like a sleepy little bean, also living his best life.

“I’m going to fall asleep again,” I mumble through the mask as Lewis pads in from the kitchen with a tray of tea and fruit. “This is too much. You’ve created a nap trap.”

He grins and sets the tray down with practiced hands. “That’s the point. Recovery phase.”

“Recovery from what? Being alive?”

“Exactly. You’re under intensive care.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s hard to fight the smile tugging at my lips. Especially when he kneels in front of me and starts painting my nails — light, sheer pink. The kind I never wear because I don’t have time, and gloves make it pointless.

“Where did you even find this color?”

“You mentioned it once.”

I blink down at him. “I was ranting about how surgical gloves make manicures a waste of time.”

“And I remembered. Because you still looked really pretty while ranting.”

I pause. He doesn’t meet my eyes, too focused on making sure the polish doesn’t streak.

The silence buzzes for a second before I crack. “Okay, now you’re just trying to make me fall in love with you.”

He smirks — cocky, devastating, and so smug it makes me want to flick him in the forehead. “Is it working?”

I groan and flop back onto the couch. “It’s working too well, I need an emotional support dog.”

Roscoe lets out a soft snore. Useless. After the nails, there’s a massage. Lewis sets everything up in the guest room like he’s been doing this for years — soft towels, diffuser going, and the most relaxing playlist I’ve ever heard.

I lie face down and barely manage to mumble, “You’re taking this overachiever thing a little far,” before I completely melt into the table.

His hands are warm and skilled, pressing into all the right spots with practiced gentleness, careful around the tension in my shoulders. Somewhere between the lavender oil and his fingers stroking slow circles down my spine, I feel my eyes drift shut again. When I wake up, I’m tucked back into his bed, the candles are still burning low, and Lewis is curled around me — arms tight, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. And I think — if this is what rest feels like, maybe I could get used to it. Maybe I could get used to him.

—

By the time I’m slipping into the dress Lewis left hanging in the closet for me — a silky black number that fits too well for it to be a coincidence — I know something’s up. He hasn’t told me much about where we’re going. Just, “Wear something that makes you feel like the main character. I’ve got everything else.” When I walk out, he’s standing by the door in a crisp black suit, no tie, just enough cologne to make me dizzy. His eyes sweep over me slowly, like he wants to remember it.

“Damn,” he breathes, smile crooked. “You’re gonna ruin me tonight.”

“Big talk,” I tease, grabbing my clutch. “You haven’t even fed me yet.”

The drive is quiet. Peaceful. We don’t play music — we just exist in this calm little bubble, where the world feels too soft to touch us. He pulls into a private villa outside the city, the kind tucked behind high hedges with a single lantern-lit path winding toward a glass-walled restaurant overlooking a private garden. There are no other guests. Just a table set for two beneath a canopy of fairy lights. My stomach does a weird flip.

“I told them I wanted it quiet,” he says, hand on my lower back as he guides me forward. “Didn’t want to share you with the world tonight.”

I laugh, but it comes out softer than I expect. “You’re being weirdly romantic.”

He just shrugs, eyes not leaving mine. “Weird’s better than too late.”

Dinner is soft conversation and slow bites, the kind where you don’t even realize you’re smiling until your cheeks hurt. He watches me the whole time — not like I’m something to figure out, but like I’m something he already knows by heart. When dessert comes — a tiny chocolate something I barely touch — he reaches across the table and takes my hand.

“Can I say something?” he asks, voice lower now.

I nod, suddenly very aware of my heartbeat.

“I’ve liked you for a while.” He smiles a little. “But I didn’t want to be another thing pulling at your time. You already give so much of yourself to everything and everyone.”

I can’t speak. I just look at him, blinking, heart thudding like it’s trying to get out.

“But that night,” he goes on, thumb brushing my knuckles, “watching you talk with everyone, hearing you laugh like you hadn’t in weeks… I just knew. I didn’t want to be on the outside of your life anymore. I want in. All the way in.”

I finally manage a whisper. “Lewis…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says quickly. “I know you’ve got a million things pulling you in every direction. I just needed you to know where I stand.”

I squeeze his hand. “I’ve been standing in the same spot this whole time. Just didn’t know I was allowed to look your way.”

The tension breaks — just like that. He exhales, eyes crinkling as he leans across the table and presses a kiss to my hand.

“I’m looking,” he murmurs. “And I’m not looking away.”

—

f1gossipgirls

257,054 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Lewis Hamilton in love? Lewis has been seen out multiple days in a row with none other than Charles Leclerc’s childhood best friend, Dr. Yn Ln. The two were seen multiple times in Monaco, either shopping, having dinner together or leaving in his car. What do we think about this couple?

—

view 10,347 other comments. 

username00 : honestly i am down bc yn is the sweetest and she is a literal doctor. rather her than another random model.

username15 : i just know charles is STRESSED

username8 : poor arthur. he pulled out all the stops to try and get yn with charles only for her to end up with his teammate LMAO

username7 : this is so cute i am obsessed with these two

username5 : power couple

usenrame20 : @/arthur_leclerc how is charles??

↳ arthur_leclerc : he is…well. charles. 

username17 : she is exactly who i always wanted lewis to end up with. i think she is good for him. 

—

My phone buzzed across the nightstand just as I was settling into bed with a mug of coffee and a very ambitious plan to ignore the world for at least 30 minutes. I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was. Only one person FaceTimed like a man on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

Charles Leclerc wants to FaceTime.

I picked up, sighing, and immediately winced as his face filled the screen—hair wild, hoodie halfway off, eyes wide with panic as he paced around his kitchen like he was prepping for trial.

“YN. Tell me that article is lying. Multiple dates? Leaving in his car?! WITH LEWIS?!”

“Hi, Charles,” I said flatly, sipping my coffee.

“Don’t ‘hi’ me. What is going on?! Why am I finding out through gossip pages that my best friend is starring in her own rom-com with my teammate?!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You were shopping. With. Lewis. Hamilton. And then dinner? And the paparazzi caught him opening your car door. Who even does that anymore?!”

I raised a brow. “Chivalry?”

“Conspiracy. That’s what it is,” Charles muttered. “And betrayal.”

I blinked. “You introduced us.”

“As friends! Not—whatever this is!” He gestured wildly. “I should’ve known when he started asking me what your favorite coffee order was. I thought he was being nice. He was plotting.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but then the screen glitched and suddenly a second face popped up beside Charles, looking far too pleased. Arthur.

“Oh no,” I groaned. “They’ve joined forces.”

“You knew and didn’t tell me?!” Arthur gasped. “Charles was spiraling and you just let him suffer? You’re evil.”

“You’re loving this.”

“I am,” Arthur grinned. “Honestly, I thought it’d happen sooner. Lewis looks at her like she hung the stars. And he brought her pastries last week—pastries, Charles. That’s endgame behavior.”

“He brought almond croissants from that place in Menton,” Charles said hollowly, like he’d just lost a war.

Arthur gasped again. “The ones with the flaky top and the powdered sugar?!”

“Yes.”

I blinked. “Do you two want to date him or—?”

“Don’t deflect!” Charles shouted. “You are not allowed to distract me with logic. I’ve known you since you had braces. I deserve a heads-up before my teammate starts making heart eyes at you in public.”

“I’ve seen your iCloud history, Charles,” I said sweetly. “We don’t owe each other anything.”

Arthur cackled.

“Okay, but seriously,” Charles said, softer now, “Is it real? You and Lewis?”

I paused, a little stunned by how quiet he sounded. “…It might be.”

He groaned and sank to the floor, off-screen. “I need a therapist.”

Arthur tilted his head with a chuckle.

“I want updates,” Charles added from the floor. “I want a full timeline. If I find out on Instagram that he’s kissed you, I’ll slash his tires in front of the FIA building.”

“Add me to the group chat,” Arthur said. “I wanna send memes.”

I shook my head and laughed, setting my mug down. “You two are ridiculous.”

Just then, the door creaked open and Lewis stepped inside, holding two takeaway bags and kicking off his shoes. His eyes landed on me—and then on my phone, where the brothers were still onscreen and very clearly squinting at him.

He blinked. “Do I… say hi or back out slowly?”

Arthur perked up. “Is that Lewis? Hey, lover boy.”

Charles sat up instantly. “Are those almond croissants?! You’re bribing her again?!”

Lewis gave me a long-suffering look. “Should I come back later?”

I grinned. “Nope. You’re in it now.”

Arthur leaned into the screen. “Lewis, welcome to the Leclerc interrogation. Please state your intentions and whether or not you believe you are boyfriend material.”

Lewis just smiled, leaned down to kiss the top of my head, and calmly replied, “Well, I did bring almond croissants again.”

Charles shrieked. Arthur cheered. And I took another sip of my coffee, already exhausted.

—

f1gossipgirls

325,074 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Dr. Yn Ln has been spotted in the paddock the last two days. There have been rumors swirling for months on whether she is currently dating Lewis Hamilton or not. She was seen in the Ferrari garage and then was seen with Susie Wolff and Lewis’ Ex Teammate, George Russell. She was seen with Lewis quite a few times during the weekend. We are still unsure at this time where these two stand.

—

view 53,098 other comments.

username00 : why was she with susie??

↳ username13 : her father is a huge investor and has known the wolff family for years. 

username00 : ah that makes sense

username15 : she is so beautiful it is unfair

username20 : they are def dating idc. i don’t want to hear anymore arguments.

username14 : they are ENDGAMEEEEE

username27 : i’m still not over her and george laughing like old friends and susie hugging her. this woman is networking on an elite level.

username16 : imagine dating lewis hamilton, being charles leclerc’s best friend, AND looking like that??? it should be illegal to be this powerful.

username22 : y’all notice how lewis magically appears every time she’s spotted? this is the most consistent thing we’ve seen from him since 2021 😭

username30 : she’s in her surgical residency and still had time to serve looks and cause grid-wide chaos? she’s not real. —

twitter!

@/scuderiaferrari : Best Friend Vs Boyfriend with Dr. YN and our drivers out now! 

Link below! 🏎️

—

The moment I walked into the Ferrari media room and saw both Charles and Lewis already sitting in front of two whiteboards with markers in hand, I knew I had made a grave mistake.

“You said this was just a fun interview,” I hissed at the poor media girl who had tricked me into this.

“It is!” she chirped. “Fun! Cute! Viral content!”

Charles was already grinning like he knew he was about to embarrass me publicly. “I’m so ready for this. I raised her. This man,” he pointed at Lewis dramatically, “has no idea what he’s in for.”

Lewis looked calm, borderline smug. “I literally spent forty-five minutes organizing her fridge last night because I knew it would make you feel better after her shift. I’m good.”

“I taught her how to ride a bike,” Charles countered, puffing his chest.

I sighed and dropped into the seat between them. “You also told me gum would stay in my stomach for seven years and convinced me to eat dirt because it would ‘build immunity.’”

“That sounds like a Charles thing,” Lewis agreed, smirking.

Charles looked offended. “It was organic dirt.”

"All dirt is organic, Cha."

I was starting to regret everything.

“Okay!” the producer called cheerily. “Let’s begin! Who knows YN best- her lifelong best friend or her seven-time world champion boyfriend?”

Lewis raised his brows at me like, No pressure, and I just gave the camera my best deadpan stare. It’s been 48 hours since I slept properly and I was about to moderate a public quiz about my own life.

What’s YN’s go-to comfort food after a long shift?

Lewis wrote immediately. Charles squinted like he was doing quantum mechanics.

“Three… two… one!”

They flipped their boards.

Lewis: Peanut butter toast with banana and honey.

Charles: Pizza. Always.

I blinked. “Okay, technically, Charles is right if I’m in a spiral. But Lewis is right if I’m functioning like a real adult.”

“Half point each?” the producer asked.

“No,” Charles said dramatically. “I am her day-one. I knew about the pizza thing since she was twelve.”

“Her metabolism thanks me,” Lewis said, giving him a dry smile.

I groaned. “Next question!”

What is YN’s irrational fear?

Charles was cackling before the question even finished. Lewis looked thoughtful.

“Three, two, one.”

Lewis: Getting stuck in a lift with strangers.

Charles: Fish with human-like teeth.

“Charles!” I yelped, smacking his arm. “I told you that in confidence!”

Lewis leaned over to look at his board. “That… that is terrifying, actually.”

“She sent me an article about it at 2am once,” Charles said. “She couldn’t sleep after seeing a picture on Twitter.”

“I was vulnerable.”

What’s YN’s guilty pleasure TV show?

Charles was scribbling so hard the marker squeaked. Lewis tapped his marker dramatically before flipping his board.

Charles: Selling Sunset.

Lewis: Selling Sunset. (She pretends she hates it.)

I covered my face. “I do not—okay, I do. But only for the outfits and chaos.”

“They’ve watched entire seasons together,” Charles whispered to the camera, as if reporting from the front lines. “She quotes Christine.”

“Only ironically!” I defended.

Lewis gave the camera a side glance. “She also paused one episode to explain the psychology of twin dynamics using the Oppenheim brothers as examples.”

Charles burst out laughing.

What’s YN’s biggest pet peeve?

“Oh, I know this,” Lewis said confidently.

Charles just stared at me, then slowly started writing. “If this is wrong, I’m sorry in advance.”

They flipped.

Lewis: People talking over others in group conversations.

Charles: When people interrupt her while she’s diagnosing herself on WebMD.

I let out a snort.

“She once made a PowerPoint about how she thought she had scurvy,” Charles said fondly. “All because she didn’t eat fruit for like two days.”

Lewis looked at me. “That’s concerning but also… weirdly on brand.”

The camera stopped rolling after a final round of chaotic banter, Charles pouting over his technical win because he got more questions right, while Lewis was busy feeding me strawberries from the snack table.

“You two are insufferable,” I told them.

Charles threw an arm around my shoulders. “You’re lucky we love you.”

Lewis smiled, stepping beside me and slipping a hand around my waist. “Very lucky.”

I leaned back against both of them, overwhelmed in that stupidly warm, quiet way I always get around the people who know me best. Yeah, I was lucky. Wildly, unbelievably lucky. Even if they did both remember the fish thing.

—

lewishamilton

liked by dr_yn_ln, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63 & 5,090,001 others.

lewishamilton : got a new teammate and found my soulmate in the same season.

tagged : dr_yn_ln

—

dr_yn_ln : charles and i are sadly a package deal. in many ways

liked by charles_leclerc and lewishamilton

↳ charles_leclerc : i don't go anywhere without my emotional support yn

liked by dr_yn_ln and lewishamilton

↳ lewishamilton : i am learning that.

arthur_leclerc : yn is a leclerc - basically. she knows all of our secrets.

liked by dr_yn_ln and lewishamilton

lando : woah woah woah. if i knew yn was not off limits i would've made moves years ago.

↳ charles_leclerc : she was never not off limits. especially for you.

lando : oh well. happy for you guys! i too would pick lewis hamilton over me.

liked by dr_yn_ln and lewishamilton

georgerussell63 : you old softie

liked by dr_yn_ln and lewishamilton

—

[brainddeadd]

Hi! Could you do a story where a single mom and her kid are put somewhere and the kid recognizes one of the drivers voices from their role in cars? The kid once they hear the voice they could go to the driver and ask for an autograph. Could it maybe have some social media in it. I just think it might be cute. Thank you.

movie star — lh44

smau + blurbs

lewis hamilton x!single mom reader

yn gets invited to the paddock by her brother who happens to work for the ferrari team. yn brings along her young child, ella, who happens to be a huge fan of all the cars movies. what happens when ella recognizes lewis’ voice just from his few set of lines?

fc : zaar goedemans

not proofread

(a/n) : i was inspired to write about lewis again im sorryyy. such a cute idea love :)

—

yourusername

autodromo enzo e dino ferrari di imola 📍

liked by lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari, yourbff & 52,097 others.

yourusername : ella’s excellent knowledge of the cars franchise got us an exclusive tour from a very special racing legend;) thank you @/lewishamilton ❤️

tagged : yourbrother, yourbff & lewishamilton

—

yourbrother : didn’t even thank the one who brought you to the paddock in the first place…🥴

liked by yourusername

yourusername : thanks hoe

yourbrother : a “thank you so much. you are the best brother ever” would’ve been preferred.

liked by yourusername

yourusername : we can’t all have what we want now can we?

scuderiaferrari : The cutest little tifosi ❤️😁 You both are welcome back anytime!

liked by yourusername

yourusername : the biggest honor ❤️🫶🏻

yourbff : i walk away for two minutes and you are off with lewis fucking hamilton🤭 best weekend with you and my niece tho❤️

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourusername : what can I say? the man is a smooth talker

liked by lewishamilton

charles_leclerc : Ella did not seem too impressed with me😭 It was so nice to meet you guys, hope she had the best time!

liked by yourusename

yourusername : great to meet you, charles! get yourself in a cars movie and she will love you:)

liked by charles_leclerc

yourusername : if it helps I know @/yourbff was never excited to meet you

liked by charles_leclerc

yourbff : yn pls stop embarrassing me

liked by yourusername and charles_leclerc

lewishamilton : Definitely the first time I was ever recognized for my voice acting instead of my driving😁 Love to you both 🫶🏽

liked by yourusername

georgerussell63 : WAIT! is this the adorable little girl with the hot mum you were talking about??

liked by yourusername and lando

lewishamilton : that is the last time I ever tell you anything

username00 : who is this girl??

username8 : her brother is an engineer for Ferrari I believe

—

I don’t know what kind of spell my brother cast on me to agree to this, but somehow, I let him talk me into dragging my four and a half year old through a Formula 1 paddock.

“To be fair,” he said this morning as he handed me the guest passes, “it’s not every day your daughter gets to see real race cars up close. You’re the cool mom now.”

The “cool mom” is currently sweating through her sundress, trying to keep her child from launching herself into a garage.

Ella’s been buzzing since the second we walked in, practically vibrating with excitement. “Mommy,” she whispers like it’s a big secret, “do you think there are Cars cars here?”

I bite back a laugh. “Sort of. These are real race cars. No eyes on the windshield, though.”

She seems skeptical but accepts the answer—until she hears a voice behind us.

“Yeah, we’ll be on track in fifteen. Let’s go over that telemetry—”

Ella gasps. Like, audibly.

I glance over my shoulder just as she whips around and bolts. “Ella!” I call after her, panic rising. “Come back here!”

Too late. She’s already launched herself at a man in red Ferrari gear—who turns just in time to catch her before she crashes into his legs.

“I knew it!” she squeals, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Your name is Lewis Hamilton! Like in Cars! You were the car in the movie! The British one with the shiny paint!”

Lewis—yes, that Lewis Hamilton—blinks down at her, clearly stunned. And then?

He laughs. Full-on, genuine, belly laugh. “Wow, I haven’t heard that in a while.”

I catch up just as he crouches down to her level, still smiling like she just made his entire year.

“I liked your voice,” she says seriously. “You sounded fast.”

I feel like melting into the concrete.

“I’m so sorry,” I rush out, cringing. “She’s been obsessed with Cars lately and heard your voice and… well, now here we are.”

He looks up at me and flashes that movie-star smile. “No need to apologize. That might be the best fan interaction I’ve ever had.”

My cheeks are burning, and not from the sun.

“I’m Lewis,” he says, standing now—still holding my daughter’s hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound like a complete idiot. “I figured.”

He glances between me and Ella, and I swear I see something spark behind those sunglasses. Something soft. Curious. Maybe even interested.

Ella’s still talking a mile a minute, hands animated as she tells Lewis about her Lightning McQueen pajamas and how she thinks Ferraris are “way cooler than Francesco Bernoulli, actually.”

Lewis listens like she’s giving a press conference. Nods, laughs in the right places, even kneels down again when she starts talking about how she wants to be a race car driver when she grows up. It’s… oddly heart-melting.

“She’s got good taste,” he says, standing again after she finishes her full review of Cars 2. “And quite the memory. I think I said four lines in that movie.”

“She watches it on loop,” I reply with a sheepish smile. “I think she could recite it backwards by now.”

“Poor you,” he jokes, then chuckles. “Actually, I take that back. That’s a solid film.”

“Strong performances all around,” I say, trying to keep it light, though my heart is hammering. I’m talking to Lewis Hamilton. Casual. No big deal.

He grins, and I swear the sun gets just a little brighter. “You’re her mum?”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing down at Ella, who’s now twirling around like she’s doing celebratory donuts. “My brother works with Ferrari, so he invited us for the day.”

“Ah. The guy in the headset who looked mildly panicked when she ran over?” he teases, gesturing toward Matt a few garages down, who’s giving me a thumbs-up and a very smug grin.

“That’s him. He’s never letting me live this down.”

Lewis laughs. “Well, I’m glad he brought you both. It’s nice having a bit of joy in the paddock for once. Most people here only run toward me if I’ve said something controversial.”

“Ella just thinks you’re a cool car,” I say, smiling.

“Honestly, I’ll take that over a journalist any day.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s… comfortable. Easy.

Then he surprises me.

“Can I get you a coffee or something?” he asks, glancing back toward the hospitality suite. “We’ve got some time before the next briefing. And I kind of want to hear more about your daughter’s movie critiques.”

I blink. “Are you—are you asking me out in the paddock?”

He shrugs, that same charming grin on his face. “Just coffee. Unless you want it to be more.”

My face feels like it’s on fire.

“I’d like that,” I manage. “I mean—the coffee. Not necessarily more. I mean—not not more. Just… yes. Coffee is good.”

He laughs again, clearly entertained by my slow-motion trainwreck.

“Come on,” he says, offering a hand. “I promise the coffee’s better than the movie acting.”

As we walk side by side, Ella skips ahead of us, humming the Cars soundtrack like she’s soundtracking our entire lives.

—

I don’t know what I expected when Lewis Hamilton invited me for coffee, but it definitely wasn’t this. Not sitting across from him on a shaded terrace at the Ferrari hospitality suite, both of us laughing while Ella colors in a cartoon car on a napkin someone kindly fetched just for her. Not the easy conversation. Not the way he kept looking at me like he wanted to memorize my face. And definitely not how comfortable it all feels.

“Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair after Ella proudly announces that her drawing is him and “not Lightning McQueen this time.” “I have to ask.”

Uh-oh.

“Are you…” He glances at me, then lowers his voice, playful but deliberate. “Single? Just to be sure.”

I blink. Then laugh, a little surprised. “That obvious?”

“Not obvious,” he says, smiling. “But I don’t go around offering coffee to taken women. Or, you know, giving them the ‘Cars 2’ VIP experience.”

My cheeks warm. “Well, yes. I’m single. Been single for a while, actually.”

He nods once, and I swear I see something shift in his expression. Something a little more… serious. But still soft.

“Good,” he says, then pulls his phone out from the pocket of his red Ferrari team trousers and hands it to me. “Because I’d really like to see you again. Properly. Outside of this chaos.”

I blink down at the phone in my hands. He opened the contact app. My name is already typed in at the top.

“I mean—if you’d want to,” he adds, suddenly a little less sure of himself, which I find wildly endearing. “No pressure.”

I look up at him and smile. “Lewis, you let my daughter lecture you on Cars 2 for ten minutes and still wanted to talk to me after.”

He grins.

“Yeah, I’d want to.”

I type in my number, hesitating only slightly before adding a little 🚗 emoji at the end of my name, then hand it back to him.

He looks at it, chuckles under his breath. “Perfect.”

Ella tugs on my sleeve, then looks up at Lewis with hopeful eyes. “Can you be in Cars 4 too?”

Lewis raises his brows at me, pretending to think. “That depends. Will your mum come with me to the premiere?”

I nearly choke on my iced latte.

Ella looks between us and shrugs, already focused on her next drawing.

And just like that, I know this day is going to be one we won’t forget.

—

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, yourbff, georgerussell63 & 75,099 others.

yourusername : in love with life <3

—

username00 : oh it’s lewis 100 percent. those r his tattoos

username5 : never ever thought I’d see !dad lewis

yourbff : hold on I’m screaming

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc : Hope Ella likes the helmet! It was one of my first when I was young ❤️

liked by yourusername

yourusername : you are an angel! she absolutely loves it and i told her it came from “Charles the cool Ferrari guy” 🫶🏻

liked by charles_leclerc

username00 : Charles gave the child an old helmet?? Im screaming

username10 : omg it’s Roscoe

georgerussell63 : does ella like mercedes??

liked by yourusername

yourusername : unknown. however she would probably like you as she associates British accents with being fast :)

liked by georgerussell63, lando and lewishamilton

lando : smart kid

liked by yourusername

—

It’s been a month since our first date, and honestly? I still don’t believe any of it’s real. Sometimes I catch myself smiling like a lovesick teenager when I’m washing dishes or folding laundry, just remembering the way Lewis looked at me over coffee that day. The way he waited for Ella to finish her story before speaking. The way he texts me goodnight every night, no matter what country he’s in or how late his schedule runs. He’s busy — obviously. He’s Lewis Hamilton, and that comes with endless media, team meetings, travel, and the weight of an entire sport on his shoulders. But he’s never once made me feel like a burden. Never once made Ella feel like too much. We’ve spent weekends together when he’s in town. Park visits. Breakfasts in my tiny kitchen. Late-night talks on my couch with Ella fast asleep in the next room. I’ve watched them build a little world of inside jokes and shared grins. And every time I see them together, my heart squeezes. Still, it’s been five days since we’ve seen him in person, and Ella’s already asked when he’s coming back “from the big car work.” I miss him too. More than I expected to. More than I probably should, after only a month. My phone buzzes just as I settle on the couch with a glass of wine.

FaceTime from Lewis ❤️

I answer without hesitation. His face fills the screen, slightly fuzzy from wherever he is — a hotel room, judging by the neutral headboard behind him.

“Hey,” I say, smiling. “Didn’t expect to see your face tonight.”

He grins, and something about it looks a little softer. A little more tired than usual.

“Hi, beautiful. Had to see you. And maybe ask when I can get a certain tiny helmet-wearing human back in my arms.”

I laugh, shifting the phone so he can see Ella’s drawing of a “race car house” she made earlier. “She misses you. She told the preschool teacher you live in the Cars universe.”

He chuckles, then goes quiet for a second. “I miss you both.”

My breath catches. He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s not still blowing my mind every time he chooses us.

“I miss you too,” I admit. “It’s not the same without you here.”

There’s a pause. Then, he leans closer to the camera, a little more serious now.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts. “I’ve got back-to-back races coming up, but I don’t want to go another couple weeks without seeing you. Or Ella. What if… you came with me? Both of you.”

I blink. “You want us to travel with you?”

“I do,” he says gently. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know it’s a lot — new places, media, the chaos. But we’d make it work. I’ll take care of everything. I just…” He runs a hand over his jaw. “I want you there. Both of you. It already feels weird being away.”

My heart flips. Like actually flips.

“She’d lose her mind,” I whisper, stunned.

He smiles. “I hope so.”

“And me?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes soften. “You already have.”

—

There’s something surreal about standing outside my apartment at 6 a.m., suitcase at my feet, coffee in one hand, watching Ella bounce in place like she’s about to launch into orbit.

“Do you think the jet has snacks?” she asks for the fifth time in ten minutes, clutching her tiny backpack like it holds national secrets. “Like popcorn? Or cookies? Or astronaut food?”

I laugh softly, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. “I’m sure it has snacks, babe. You’ll probably get to pick.”

She gasps. “Even juice?”

“Even juice,” I nod solemnly.

She’s practically vibrating now, and I can’t blame her. I’m nervous too…not because I don’t want to go, but because it feels like such a big step. Not just a vacation or a getaway. It’s a real peek into his world, the fast paced, private jet, race weekend chaos that Lewis calls normal.

And the fact that he wants us there? That he asked for us?

A sleek black SUV pulls up to the curb, and Ella freezes like a deer in headlights. “Is that him? Is it Daddy Lightning?”

I stifle a laugh. “Is that his new nick name?”

The door opens, and there he is — hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on, all sleepy-smile and early-morning calm.

“Morning, ladies,” he says, stepping out and immediately crouching to Ella’s level. “Are we ready for our big adventure?”

She throws her arms around him without hesitation. “Do you live on the plane?”

He laughs, lifting her up with ease. “Not quite. But we’ll be on it for a few hours, so that’s close enough, right?”

She nods seriously. “Do I get to sit in the front?”

“We’ll see what the pilot says,” he winks.

Then his eyes meet mine over her shoulder, and something quiet passes between us. It’s warm. Grounded. Like he sees me in the middle of all this whirlwind, and still chooses me anyway.

“Hi,” he says gently.

“Hi,” I smile, nerves melting the second he takes my suitcase from me like it’s instinct.

The ride to the airstrip is a blur of laughter, Ella’s endless questions, and Lewis glancing over at me like he can’t believe this is real either.

And then we’re there — standing at the base of a sleek private jet, the sun just beginning to rise behind it. Ella clutches my hand and whispers, “This is like the movies.”

I squeeze hers. “Yeah, it really is.”

Lewis helps us up the steps, his hand on my back, and the second we step inside, Ella gasps.

“It’s like a flying living room!”

She’s right — plush seats, soft lighting, snacks already set out like a welcome gift. Lewis sets our bags down and gestures for her to explore.

“Make yourself at home,” he grins. “You’re officially part of the team now.”

She spins in a slow circle, then plops into a seat with a giggle. “Best. Day. Ever.”

And I can’t help it — I look at him, heart full to bursting, and whisper, “Thank you.”

He turns to me, eyes soft. “You don’t have to thank me. This just feels… right.”

And as the engines hum to life and Ella starts singing the Cars theme under her breath, I realize he’s right.

—

The second we step into the paddock, Ella’s already tugging at my hand, eyes wide like she’s just walked into Disneyland for motorsport lovers. Which, to be fair… she has. She’s got her oversized Ferrari cap on — gifted by Lewis, obviously — and her little team tee that nearly reaches her knees. There’s a lanyard with her paddock pass bouncing against her chest, and an expression on her face that says she’s exactly where she belongs. We’re barely past the entrance when she spots someone and gasps dramatically.

“Mama,” she hisses. “UNCLE FERRARI!!”

Before I can even ask what that means, she’s bolting straight across the walkway — and right into the arms of Charles Leclerc.

He lets out a surprised laugh but catches her easily, crouching down as she throws her arms around his neck like they’ve known each other forever.

“Bonjour, petite fille,” he grins, his accent soft. “Uncle Ferrari?”

Ella nods solemnly. “You’re the red one. My favorite.”

From a few steps behind us, my brother bursts out laughing.

“Oh really, Ella?” he calls over. “What does that make me then?”

She blinks at him, thinking very hard. “Uncle Ferrari boss.”

I nearly choke.

Charles is now laughing, absolutely delighted. “You’ve been upgraded,” he tells my brother with a wink.

“You see what I deal with?” I murmur as I walk over, cheeks warm.

My brother grins. “Honestly? She’s already more popular in this paddock than most of our drivers.”

He’s not wrong.

And then—like some sort of comedic timing conspiracy—Lando Norris strolls in, clearly intrigued by the toddler-sized Ferrari fan in Charles’s arms.

“What’s all this?” he asks, eyes twinkling as he bends down. “Who’s this little legend? Is this the Ella?”

Ella turns her head, still in Charles’s arms. “Who are you?”

Charles chuckles. “That’s Lando. He drives the orange one.”

She squints. “Like… orange Lightning McQueen?”

Lando gasps, offended and flattered all at once. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me.”

Right on cue, George Russell appears, sunglasses on, sipping something green and healthy-looking, clocking the scene instantly.

“Don’t tell me we have a new favorite on the grid?” he says with a teasing glance at Charles.

“She already declared me Uncle Ferrari,” Charles says smugly.

“Uncle who?” George repeats, eyebrow raised. Then he leans down toward Ella. “And what am I then?”

She eyes him, deadly serious. “Uncle Sunglasses.”

George looks personally attacked.

“She’s not wrong,” I mumble, trying not to laugh.

Charles passes Ella back to me and says, “You’ll have to earn new titles, boys.”

I smile as Ella curls back into my arms, thrilled and smug and totally in her element.

Lando looks at me for the first time — really looks. “You must be YN.”

“Guilty,” I laugh. “And mildly horrified by the chaos she’s already caused.”

“No chaos,” George grins, offering a hand. “Just a ray of sunshine — and, let’s be honest, the new face of the Ferrari junior program.”

Charles nods sagely. “It’s settled then.”

—

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, lando & 122,099 others.

yourusername : well ella has started collecting f1 drivers like infinity stones

tagged : yourbff, charles_leclerc, lando, georgerussell63 & lewishamilton

—

charles_leclerc : uncle ferrari is her favorite, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise ❤️🇲🇨

liked by yourusername

yourbrother : the second she realized how cool charles is — I became chopped liver 😁

liked by yourusername & charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc : nah bro she gave you a promotion…you are still clearly number one here 😁

liked by yourusername and yourbrother

yourbff : she is just like her auntie fr

liked by yourusername

yourusername : I can’t with you

username00 : this is so cute omg

username10 : and the heart hand with lewis. They are def dating

lando : uncle orange lightning 💪🏻🧡 I should ask for a movie deal

liked by yourusername

yourusername : ella would def help write the script

F1 : Ella is definitely going to make Cars 4 happen and half the grid will be starring in it! 🎬

liked by yourusername

yourusername : probably called “all my uncles are race cars“

georgerussell63 : honestly uncle sunglasses makes me sound like the fashion icon i am. such an honor.

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt: is ella looking for an aunt sunglasses ??❤️

liked by yourusername

yourusername : she is looking for any excuse to extend our family😁 welcome ❤️

liked by carmenmmundt

lewishamilton : you all might be uncles but daddy lightning reigns supreme 🤍

liked by yourusername and lando

yourusername : still can’t believe that’s your new name 🤦🏻‍♀️

liked by lewishamilton

lewishamilton : it’s my honor

liked by yourusername

—

lewis’ pov

Three months. Ninety-something days since our first date. And somehow, it already feels like a lifetime — in the best way possible.

I’ve fallen in love twice in that time. Once with YN. And once with the tiny, bossy, endlessly curious human who came with her.

Ella.

She’s currently sitting cross-legged on the floor of my hotel suite, wearing her favorite Ferrari hoodie (that she refuses to take off even when it’s 24 degrees outside), munching on grapes, and watching Cars for what I think is the third time today. Maybe fourth. I’ve lost count.

YN is finally getting the full day to herself I’ve been begging her to take — massage, facial, lunch with her best friend, the works. I practically shoved her into the spa robe myself this morning while Ella shouted “BYEEEEEEEEE MAMA!” like she wasn’t secretly obsessed with her.

Honestly? I was more nervous than I thought I’d be.

It’s one thing to be with YN and Ella, our little trio. But just me and Ella? On our own?

Turns out, I didn’t need to worry.

We’ve been building forts. Making up names for the pit crew. Drawing faces on fruit. She told me earlier that my beard makes me look “wise like a lion.”

I’ll take it.

Right now, she scoots closer to the couch, then climbs up beside me without a word. I put the remote down and wrap an arm around her shoulders automatically.

“Still tired, munchkin?”

She nods, rubbing her eyes. Then she curls into my side and rests her cheek against my chest like she’s done it a hundred times before.

We sit in silence, just the hum of the movie in the background and the soft weight of her against me. It’s the kind of stillness that feels sacred.

Then, out of nowhere, she mumbles it.

“Love you, Daddy.”

My heart actually stops.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up. I glance down, thinking maybe I heard her wrong — maybe she meant teddy or Laddy, the dog from the movie or some imaginary character I’ve missed — but no.

She’s looking up at me with sleepy eyes and the softest smile.

Like she knows.

“Did you…” I start, my voice catching. “Did you just call me—?”

“Daddy,” she repeats, gently. “You’re mine, right?”

Something in my chest breaks wide open.

I gather her into my arms fully now, holding her like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever touched — because she is.

“Yeah, baby,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m yours. Always.”

And I mean it more than I’ve meant anything in my life.

When YN texts me an hour later.

how’s my wild child??

She’s perfect. Everything’s perfect.

Remind me to tell you what she said today.

(You’re gonna cry, by the way.)

—

your pov :

I knew something had shifted the second I walked back into the hotel suite.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. The lights were low, Ella was tucked into bed, and Lewis was sitting on the couch in one of his hoodies, staring down at his hands. Calm. Still. But there was something in the air — soft and heavy, like a truth waiting to be spoken.

He looked up when he heard me come in and smiled that quiet kind of smile I’ve only seen him give when it’s just us. No cameras. No circuits. Just him and me and Ella.

“Hey,” I said, voice gentle. “How’d it go?”

“She was an angel,” he said softly. “You should go to the spa more often.”

I laughed and walked toward him, kicking off my shoes and sitting beside him on the couch. “Did she make you watch Cars again?”

“Twice,” he nodded. “And she made Lightning McQueen a girl this time. She renamed him Elaina.”

“Of course she did.”

He looked at me then — really looked at me — and I felt the air shift again.

“She said something today,” he said, voice lower now. “Something kind of big.”

My heart stilled. “What do you mean?”

“She called me ‘Daddy.’” His voice cracked the tiniest bit. “Just… said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

My breath caught.

Tears welled in my eyes instantly — fast, overwhelming, real.

“She what?” I whispered.

“She looked up at me, smiled, and just… said it.” He paused. “And I swear, YN, I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”

I covered my mouth with one hand, completely undone.

“She’s never called anyone that before,” I said, barely able to get the words out. “Not once.”

“I know,” he said, scooting closer. “And I didn’t want to tell you just to tell you. I wanted to tell you because… I realized something.”

I blinked up at him, heart pounding.

“I love her,” he said simply. “So much it scares me. But I love you, too. Completely. Quietly. Loudly. All of it.”

My breath hitched. His eyes never left mine.

“I don’t want this to be casual,” he continued. “I don’t want to be your maybe. I want to be your person. I want to be hers. I want to be ours.”

Tears slid down my cheeks, but I was smiling now.

“You already are,” I whispered.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine.

“So then let’s make it official,” he murmured. “No more soft launches. No more pretending we’re not already a family.”

I kissed him — soft, grateful, all-in — and whispered against his lips.

“Okay. Official.”

And it felt like the most natural, beautiful yes I’d ever given.

—

lewishamilton

liked by yourusername, yourbrother, charles_leclerc & 5,090,787 others.

lewishamilton : didn’t just fall in love with my beautiful girlfriend but also fell in love with her mini me ❤️ my girls for life

—

yourusername : my whole heart ❤️😭 we love you sm

liked by lewishamilton

yourbrother : did not have lewis hamilton becoming my brother in law on the bingo card for this season but so happy for you guys!

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourbff : never thought id see her become a wag😭🤭 so happy for you both. thank you for making my best friend so happy lewis

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

charles_leclerc : So happy for you both❤️ and give my sweet little ella a kiss from uncle ferrari

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

georgerussell63 : Happy you found two people who make you as happy as you deserve to be, brother. Even if one of those people calls me uncle sunglasses 😎

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourusername : maybe one day if you’re lucky you’ll manage to get an uncle george out of her but no promises

liked by georgerussell63 and lewishamilton

georgerussell63 : nah I wouldn’t trade being uncle sunglasses for anything in the world ❤️

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

lando : ella really said im gonna meet my goat, get my mom a boyfriend and add like 20 uncles to the family and made it all happen. she is rlly that girl

liked by yourusername and lewishamilton

yourusername : she loves her uncle orange lightning 🫶🏻

liked by lando

—

🧚🏻🦋🌙🌵🪲

[brainddeadd]

Ma'am. I do have to say that it is a CRIME for you to have not written for Lewis Hamilton yet😭 I got far too excited when I saw Roscoe in the Dr.Leclerc smau

So may I request a smau with whatever theme you think fits him, maybe a norris sibling or a leclerc sister?

high fashion — lh44

smau + blurbs

(a/n) : omg anon i was just thinking the other day that i haven’t written for lewis yet— you read my mind. thanks for the request! love you much 💘

lewis hamilton x !supermodel leclerc reader

charles leclerc x !sister reader

the met gala was meant to be another night of glamour — until co-chairs YN Leclerc, supermodel and sister to Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc, and Lewis Hamilton, F1 legend and Ferrari’s newest driver, stole the spotlight. they’d crossed paths for years in the paddock, but planning the gala brought them closer than ever. between late-night calls and shared fittings, something more than friendship began to spark — and by the end of the night, the internet wasn’t just talking about their outfits.

fc : isabelle mathers + kendall jenner and various pinterest girlies

not proofread

—

yn_leclerc

coachella valley 📍

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, alexandrasaintmleux & 4,890,744 others.

yn_leclerc : from coachella to the nyc in 24 hours — it’s almost met time !!

—

username00 : is that lewis’ arm or am I crazy??

username15 : I mean they are co chairs together it wouldn’t shock me

username20 : they were both spotted at Coachella so maybe

carlossainz55 : and you didn’t even invite me?? sad

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : next time carlitos I promiseeee

vogue : our favorite met co chair is servingggg

liked by yn_leclerc

charles_leclerc : wdym almost met time?? i haven’t even seen the dress

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : all in good time cha:)

arthur_leclerc : are you ever gonna come home? or are you too big of a star now?😢

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : was planning on coming to your next race but if you want to keep whining go ahead

arthur_leclerc : OH. oops. sorry…i love you. so proud 😁

liked by yn_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : you look so beautiful 😻 can’t wait for this met look to break the internet

liked by yn_leclerc

charles_leclerc : really??? alex has seen it but not me

yn_leclerc : she was literally at the fitting

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : ohhh i see where i stand as a boyfriend and a brother wow

yn_leclerc : i will take alex off your hands if you don’t want to be a boyfriend anymore 🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : i give up.

lando : im on my knees please one chance 🙏🏻🙏🏻

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : we’ve talked about this lannnn

lando : i know i know you have a thing for older men. i can dress up like an 80 year old if you want

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : not rlly my thing but i appreciate the effort

carlossainz55 : the older man she wants is right here😎

yn_leclerc : no the older man i want is retired and married and hopefully not in my comment section

liked by lando

charles_leclerc : stop thirsting over my sister before I run you both of the track

username00 : yn you’re so real for that (tell us who it is)

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : jb22 🫡

liked by lando, carlossainz55 & jensonbutton

lando : @/jensonbutton

carlossainz55 : @/jensonbutton

yn_leclerc : oh im embarrassed

lewishamilton : So excited. 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc

username00 : OH

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 287,508 others.

f1gossipgirls : Okay besties, we might be entering soft-launch season for real this time. Sources confirm that Lewis Hamilton was seen at Coachella last weekend — but here’s the tea…he wasn’t alone. Multiple fan accounts captured what looks a lot like Lewis walking behind none other than Y/N Leclerc, Charles’ sister and Met Gala co-chair.

Now fast forward just three days, and the two were seen leaving a café in SoHo, NYC — sunglasses, jackets and all. Not much PDA, but the timing is 👀. The Met Gala is right around the corner, and both are on hosting duty… but are they working together — or together together?

Let’s just say this, those arms in her dump? We’re zooming in.

—

username00 : not those arms being confirmed as lewis— I KNEW IT 🗣️

username15 : someone go check on charles pls…he is definitely pacing rn

username17 : she said she liked older men go off sister

username22 : let them be!! they are hot, famous and rich!! slayyy

username27 : waiting for Lando to say something stupid in the comments

lando : ohhhhh now this makes sense 👀

liked by f1gossipgirls

username27 : mhm mhm what did i say

username30 : did not have “date new teammates sister” on my bingo card but okay

username35 : this would literally be one of the most iconic paddock couples ever

—

twitter!

vogue : Your Met Gala co-chairs, Lewis Hamilton and Y/N Leclerc, sat down to interview each other while getting ready for fashion’s biggest night — and yes, it’s just as intimate, charming, and unexpectedly flirty as it sounds.

Watch the full behind-the-scenes video now!

view comments

username5 : lowkey if i were charles id just log off and go for like a 5 hour nature walk

username15 : the way she fixed his bow tie has me in tears

username7 : i was not prepared for a soft-spoken, flirty, well-dressed Lewis Hamilton asking YN about her red carpet “inspiration” 😭😭

username15 : lando will def retweet this with “👀” in the next 30 minutes

username8 : lewis helping her put her earrings on and holding her hair back has me gagged HELP

username11 : guys they are both naturally flirty ppl calm down

@/lando has reposted this tweet.

—

Vogue Presents : A Moment with Met Gala Co-chairs YN Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton.

The screen fades in from black, soft jazz humming in the background. A luxurious New York hotel suite — flooded with warm evening light — sets the scene. Lewis Hamilton sits in a velvet chair, white suit jacket unbuttoned, cufflinks in hand. Across from him, YN Leclerc — poised in a robe with her hair pinned — lounges on a chaise with effortless elegance, legs crossed and laughter dancing in her eyes.

Between them…a glass coffee table, two half-empty espresso cups, and Vogue-branded cue cards.

VOGUE Interviewer (off-camera):

“You’ve both been in the spotlight for years — racing, runways… but this is your first Met Gala as co-chairs. How’s it going?”

YN leans forward, reaching for a cue card, smirking.

YN :

“It’s been surprisingly smooth. I thought Lewis would be impossible to text back, but turns out he’s very punctual when Valentino fittings are involved.”

Lewis chuckles, eyes crinkling.

Lewis:

“I was just afraid of your stylist. She threatened to cut me if I was late.”

YN :

“She still might.”

They exchange a glance — just a beat too long — before Lewis shifts, buttoning his jacket slowly.

Lewis:

“Honestly though, it’s been great. We’ve known each other for a while, but this was the first time we actually… slowed down. Had real conversations. Outside the paddock. No helmets, no press officers hovering.”

YN :

“It was nice. Normal. Or, as normal as planning the Met Gala with a seven-time world champion can be.”

She grins. He smiles back.

Lewis:

“You were more intimidating than the Gala.”

YN :

“Me?”

Lewis:

“You’ve got this look when you walk into a room. Like you already know how it ends.”

YN :

“And how do you think tonight ends?”

Lewis pauses, meeting her gaze. His voice lowers just enough to make the camera operator shift slightly.

Lewis:

“With both of us looking damn good. Maybe dancing a little too close at the afterparty.”

YN laughs — not flirty, but surprised, warm. She tosses her hair over one shoulder, eyes glinting with challenge.

YN :

“Charles is going to kill you.”

Lewis:

“He can try. But only after dessert.”

Cut to— YN gently adjusting the collar of Lewis’ tuxedo. The camera zooms in as her fingers linger a little longer than necessary.

YN :

“You clean up well.”

Lewis:

“Just for you.”

Lewis gently pushes YN’s hair behind her ear and helps her put on her earrings. Next comes the necklace and Lewis’ fingers tend to linger on her neck a little longer than they should.

There’s a pause — a moment that feels like the air holding its breath — before the scene fades to the final montage— flashes of them walking down the Met steps together, camera flashes illuminating the skyline.

—

your pov

The after party is loud in that perfect way — music thumping low in my chest, conversations buzzing around us, but none of it really registering. I’ve kicked off my heels, my after party dress is hugging me like a second skin, and my legs are draped across Lewis’s lap like they belong there. Because, right now, it feels like they do.

He’s leaning back against the booth, shirt unbuttoned just enough to be distracting, sleeves rolled up, watch catching the light every time he shifts. His hand rests lazily on my thigh, fingers tapping along to the beat of the music like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

I steal a sip of his champagne — it’s warm and dry, and I wrinkle my nose, which makes him laugh. Not just a soft chuckle, either — a real one, the kind that scrunches his eyes and makes the corners of his mouth twitch up like he can’t help himself.

“You don’t even like champagne,” he says, brushing a curl from my shoulder.

I shrug. “I like yours.”

He grins. That look — the quiet, cocky one he wears right before he says something that makes me want to hit him and kiss him at the same time — creeps onto his face.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that I feel the words against my skin more than I hear them.

I arch a brow. “You think I’m dangerous?”

He shrugs. “You’re sitting on my lap in front of the whole room, and I still haven’t moved you.”

His hand moves to the small of my back, resting there like a secret.

We talk like no one’s watching, like there aren’t phones out and eyes on us. I know people are seeing us — I saw the camera flash when I laughed too loud at something he whispered. But I don’t really care. I haven’t all night.

Later, when I adjust the strap of my dress and it slips again, he’s the one who gently fixes it, fingers brushing my skin just a little too long. I murmur “thanks,” and he just gives me that look again — that quiet one.

—

There’s a moment — right before I open my eyes — where I’m suspended between sleep and reality. The world is soft and slow, and for once, I don’t feel the need to rush out of it.

The sheets are warm, smooth against my skin. There’s a steady rhythm beneath my cheek, low and grounding. It takes me a second to realize it’s a heartbeat — his heartbeat.

Lewis.

I shift slightly, the movement enough to stir him. He breathes in, deep and slow, and his arm tightens gently around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

We’re wrapped in the same sheet, legs tangled, skin brushing skin in places I’m trying not to overthink. His scent clings to the pillow — something expensive and clean and unmistakably him — and the memory of last night rushes back in flashes.

His laugh in the car. His hands on my hips. The kiss he pressed to my shoulder when he thought I was asleep. The way he whispered my name like it meant something more than just co-chairs, more than a photo op.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

I smile into his chest. “I’m allowed to. I woke up here.”

He laughs quietly, a sound that rumbles through his chest and settles somewhere deep in mine. I look up at him, and he’s already watching me — eyes soft, lips curved, curls a little wild from sleep.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing a piece of hair from my cheek.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Are you?”

He nods, his thumb grazing my jaw. “Better than okay.”

There’s a beat of silence. The city hums faintly outside, a distant echo behind the quiet comfort of this room, this bed, him. He leans forward and presses a kiss to my temple — gentle, unhurried, like we have all the time in the world.

“Last night wasn’t just a moment, was it?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head. “No. It felt like something real.”

And for once, I don’t feel like I have to question it. I don’t feel uncertain. I just feel him — steady and warm and here.

He pulls me closer again, tucks me against his chest like he’s made to hold me, and I let myself melt into it.

—

yn_leclerc

the met📍

liked by lewishamilton, vogue, arthur_leclerc & 7,890,542 others.

yn_leclerc : hey alexa play fashion killa by asap rocky.

special thank you to @/givenchy for designing both my met and after party looks! & ofc my lovely and handsome co-chair @/lewishamilton🤍

—

vogue : A vision. Both looks = stunning. Co-chair excellence. 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc & lewishamilton

username00 : both looks??? actually illegal. actually a war crime. call the authorities.

username15 : “lovely and handsome” isn’t even subtle anymore and i love it here

badgalriri : she said fashion killa and meant it 🔥🔥

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : tell mr rihanna i enjoy his music

liked by badgalriri

zendaya : ate DOWN.

liked by yn_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : i am absolutely gagged. you are so beautiful holy-

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : says the goddess herself

carmenmmundt : i am obsessed with you omg

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : my carmsssss imy🤍

arthur_leclerc : you look stunning mon chèri…(charles’ eye is twitching reading this)

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : he will calm down soon (thank you thur💋)

charles_leclerc : 🧍🏻

charles_leclerc : upset alex saw this look before i did but you look incredible mon ange

liked by yn_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : you sure that’s the only reason?

lewishamilton : The most stunning Co-Chair 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc

lando : I thought the man was jb22 not lh44…

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : go to bed child

—

lewishamilton

liked by yn_leclerc, lando, georgerussell63 & 5,907,123 others.

lewishamilton : MET GALA 2025. It is hard to put into words what it means to co-chair this years Met, but I was so happy to have the most beautiful Co-Chair beside me. All the love to Vogue, YN and the Met.

—

badgalriri : y'all both understood the assignment. DAMN.

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

asaprocky : certified fashion killas.

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

georgerussell63 : You two absolutely crushed it. 👏

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

carlossainz55 : Caption soft. Suit hard. Duo iconic.

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

lando : never ever thought i'd be over brocedes but this might have done it for me

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : u r such a menace

sebastianvettel : You are both the definition of Elegance and Excellence. Absolutely killed it.

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

—

lewishamilton

liked by lando, yn_leclerc, georgerussell63 & 5,907,045 others.

lewishamilton : Little break before the chaos starts again.

—

lando : Bro snuck her in like we wouldn’t NOTICE 💀

georgerussell63 : “little break” yeah we see the soft launch part two

yn_leclerc : who taught you that phrase gramps?

georgerussell63 : ...carmen

carmenmmundt : You think you’re slick 😌

arthur_leclerc : my eyes are burning

yn_leclerc : stop looking in the mirror then

username5 : We’re 97.8% sure it’s Y/N and honestly at this point just post her face 🫶🏼

username8 : Zoomed. Enhanced. That’s her Cartier bracelet. The same one from the jet pic. Confirmed.

—

yn_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc, scuderiaferrari & 8,905,007 others.

yn_leclerc : i always pick greece for holiday because of the cats

—

lilymhe : You + cats + Greece = instant happiness 🐾🌞 (I see him. Don't be shy. Text the GC back)

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : yes maam

alexandrasaintmleux : sooooo beautiful (i just stopped charles from booking a flight to greece)

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : love youuuuu (i owe you my life)

arthur_leclerc : hope you are enjoying greece (i just had to stop charles from jumping off the balcony)

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : he tried that bc of ferrari not me

georgerussell63 : roscoe is on this trip! is his owner also there??

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : miss your boyfriend georgie??

charles_leclerc : can everyone in the comments stop exposing me? im not that bad

liked by yn_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : he is pacing and twitching while typing this out

liked by yn_leclerc

—

yn_leclerc added to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lewishamilton & 8,909,544 others.

{caption 1 - this man oml} {caption 2 :))}

lando : lowkey jealous. need someone to love me like that

liked by yn_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : he is so sweet omg

liked by yn_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : BARFFFFF but cute.

liked by yn_leclerc

georgerussell63 : i know someone who likes that number a lot

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : i think we both do

lewishamilton : Anything for the most beautiful being on the earth. You take my breath away every time I see you.

liked by yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : i am so in love with you.

—

lewishamilton added to his story!

seen by lando, yn_leclerc, charles_leclerc & 9,230,209 others.

{caption 1 : my peace} {no caption on post 2}

responses for these posts have been turned off.

—

apmmonaco

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux & 2,987,005 others.

apmmonaco : The Leclerc Siblings for APM.

tagged : arthur_leclerc, yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

—

leclerc_pascale : mes bébés

liked by arthur_leclerc, yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

username00 : ma'am you made some beautiful kids

lando : the whole damn family is beautiful- it frustrates me.

liked by arthur_leclerc, yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

username5 : lando is one of us lmaoooo

georgerussell63 : Okay but this family is way too photogenic. Leave some hotness for the rest of us.

liked by arthur_leclerc, yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

oscarpiastri : My family!

liked by arthur_leclerc, yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : yn is the hottest sibling!

liked by yn_leclerc

carmenmmundt : agreed

lilymhe : yupppp

kikagomes : absolutely

lewishamilton : oh definitely

liked by yn_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : this is just RUDE

alexandrasaintmleux : yn is absolutely SERVING face while you both are trying to keep up

liked by yn_leclerc

charles_leclerc : my own girlfriend smh

pierregasly : im a little intimidated i won't lie

liked by arthur_leclerc, yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

username00 : are we all just ignoring lewis' comment???

—

We were halfway through the APM Monaco shoot when Charles slipped into full big brother mode — arms crossed, brow raised, and that look in his eyes.

“So,” he said casually, but with too much edge to be casual, “are we just pretending the sticky notes and bathtub post didn’t happen?”

I was in the middle of adjusting my necklace in the mirror, but paused. Slowly. “Charles.”

Arthur, sitting off to the side with a croissant in one hand and mischief in his eyes, immediately perked up. “Oh, we’re definitely not pretending,” he said, already grinning. “You’re being soft-launched harder than a new Ferrari livery.”

I shot him a glare in the mirror, but he just laughed like the little menace he is. “Y/N’s in her mysterious lover era,” he added, stuffing the rest of the croissant in his mouth.

Charles narrowed his eyes at me like I’d committed a federal crime. “Is this someone I know? Do I need to make some calls?”

“Charles,” I sighed, turning to face him, “this is a jewelry campaign, not an interrogation.”

Arthur leaned in from the side. “Says the girl whose mirror was covered in handwritten love notes two days ago.”

“She’s blushing,” he added loudly, pointing, and honestly? I was.

Before I could defend myself, the photographer popped in with a camera around his neck. “You three ready for the next setup?”

I forced a smile, already imagining how I’d survive the next hour. “Absolutely.”

Arthur walked past me, smirking. “Don't worry,” he whispered, “your secret’s safe with me. For now.”

And Charles? He was still watching me like he was this close to solving a mystery.

—

The podium at Monza was pure chaos. Ferrari’s first double podium all season — Charles in P2, Lewis in P3 — and the tifosi were screaming like Italy had just won the World Cup. Red flares, flags waving, champagne flying everywhere. I stood just beyond the crowd in Ferrari gear, tucked in near the garage but close enough to see everything. My heart felt like it could burst. Charles looked like he might start crying. Lewis… Lewis looked like he was plotting something. And then, without warning, Lewis hopped off the podium. Not walked. Not stepped. Hopped.

The crowd roared in confusion and excitement, and Charles whipped his head around like he’d just sensed danger. “Where’s he going?” he asked no one in particular — and then he saw Lewis beelining toward me.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Charles muttered, gripping the edge of the stage. “Don’t you dare, Lewis!”

Too late.

Lewis stopped right in front of me, eyes glowing, suit soaked in champagne. “You look beautiful,” he said — not caring in the slightest that we were surrounded by media, team members, and half the internet watching the live feed.

“Lewis,” I whispered, wide-eyed, “your boss is literally over there—”

“I’ll apologize later.”

And then he kissed me.

Right there. In front of every camera, every screaming fan, every Ferrari team member. A proper, world-stopping, heart-racing kiss. One hand on my waist, the other brushing my jaw, like he didn’t care if the whole world saw — because maybe he wanted them to. The crowd lost it.

Charles? He screamed. “ARE YOU JOKING?!” he shouted from the podium, pointing like he was personally betrayed. “THIS IS MY NIGHT TOO!”

Somewhere behind him, Arthur was howling with laughter, already filming on his phone. “This is iconic,” he yelled, zooming in. “Like—my sister is dating the GOAT. Let her live!”

Charles spun on him. “Arthur, stop smiling!”

Arthur shrugged, unbothered. “Sorry, I’m just proud. You’re stressed because you’ve got a teammate who is dating your sister. I’m thrilled because my sister bagged Lewis Hamilton.”

Charles looked like he was going to combust.

Lewis finally pulled back from the kiss, laughing under his breath. “I think I owe your brother therapy.”

“I’ll pay for it,” I murmured, giggling into his shoulder.

Arthur walked past us with a proud smirk. “I’m making this my lock screen.”

Charles was still yelling as we walked off together, hand in hand.

But honestly?

It was perfect.

—

lewishamilton & yn_leclerc

liked by yn_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lando & 12,097,004 others.

lewishamilton : my love for life.

—

charles_leclerc : bro. BRO. i need a minute.

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : it’s giving romcom. it’s giving future brother-in-law. it’s giving charles stress-induced greying

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

charles_leclerc : i am NOT going grey arthur. i am 27.

arthur_leclerc : stop lying i found one on you last week

yn_leclerc : that is what ferrari does to a man

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and arthur_leclerc

lando : can i be in the wedding or is it too soon to ask?

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : if you stop acting like a menace

arthur_leclerc : LEWIS MY GOAT IS MY BROTHER IN LAW

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

yn_leclerc : you are embarrassing me. im gonna have maman take your phone away

liked by lewishamilton

arthur_leclerc : i am 24 she won't

leclerc_pascale : Oui je le ferai.

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : sorry maman...

georgerussell63 : the most fashionable couple i know. (i almost choked on my water when i found out) (warn a guy next time)

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

danielricciardo : hm i might actually watch this season now

liked by lewishamilton and yn_leclerc

—

[brainddeadd]

Hi! Umm.. could you make a story where y/n is a model and Pedri Gonzalez younger sister and Barcelona's sweetheart, and Oscar just says in an interview that he thinks she's pretty and after that Barcelona players just start commenting on his posts like "post 8/10" or stuff like that

shoot your shot — op81

smau/blurbs

oscar piastri x !pedri sister reader

pedri x !sister reader

being pedri gonzález’s little sister was already a full-time job—especially when you were also barcelona’s unofficial sweetheart and one of europe’s most in-demand models. paparazzi at dinner, fans at fashion week, and your brother’s teammates treating you like the team’s baby sister? just another day in the life. but things take a chaotic turn after one quiet, polite aussie—oscar piastri—mentions you in an interview. just a quick comment. just one sentence. and suddenly, barcelona’s entire starting XI is in oscar’s instagram comments acting like bodyguards, pedri is texting you in all caps, and oscar? Well… he’s just trying to survive it all with an awkward smile.

fc: saradeanii on ig and random pinterest gals

(a/n) : wuv this idea and wuv you + my spanish is a little rusty I apologizeeee

—

oscar piastri interview with lissie mackintosh on 6/2/2025

—

its_yn started following oscarpiastri

pedri started following oscarpiastri

pablogavi started following oscarpiastri

paucubarsi started following oscarpiastri

lamineyamal started following oscarpiastri

marcbernal_ started following oscarpiastri

hctorforrt_ started following oscarpiastri

fcbarcelona started following oscarpiastri

—

its_yn

liked by pedri, pablogavi, oscarpiastri & 3,027,290 others.

its_yn : life lately 📸

tagged : pedri, pablogavi & lamineyamal

—

view 230,004 other comments.

username00 : yn like this comment if you think oscar is cute

liked by its_yn

↳ username10 : oscar come get your girl

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ pedri : no te entretengas con esto, yn. (do not entertain this)

liked by its_yn

username15 : are her and gavi together???

↳ pedri : en absoluto. (absolutely not)

↳ pablogavi : ojalá fuéramos 😏 (i wish we were)

liked by its_yn

↳ pedri : basta. ya tengo bastante de què preocuparme con estos pilots de carreras. (stop. i have enough to worry about with these race car drivers)

liked by its_yn, pablogavi, paucubarsi, lamineyamal, hctorforrt_ and marcbernal_

lamineyamal : that race car driver is in the likes 👀

liked by its_yn and pablogavi

↳ pedri : ay dios mío (oh my god)

alejandrobalde : what did i miss? what trouble did you get yourself into this time? 😁🤣

liked by its_yn, lamineyamal and pablogavi

↳ its_yn : its more along the lines of what trouble i WILL get myself into

liked by oscarpiastri, alejandrobalde, lamineyamal, pablogavi and hctorforrt_

↳ pedri : no. eres demasiado joven para tener citas. y menos aún para salir con un deportista. (no. you are much too to date. you will especially not date an athlete.)

↳ its_yn : boooooooo👎

↳ lamineyamal : what’s wrong with athletes???

liked by alejandrobalde, pablogavi and hctorfortt_

↳ alejandrobalde : wait wait wait who?

↳ hctorfortt_ : @/oscarpiastri

↳ alejandrobalde : vamos caballeros (let's go gentlemen)

liked by pedri, pablogavi, hctorfortt_, lamineyamal and paucubarsi

—

oscarpiastri

liked by its_yn, lando, lamineyamal & 2,090,001 others.

oscarpiastri : Successful couple of days.

—

view 125,345 other comments.

its_yn : are you looking for a mrs. piastri by chance??

liked by oscarpiastri and lamineyamal

oscarpiastri : just so happens i am

liked by its_yn

lando : get in there osc!!

liked by its_yn

fcbarcelona : mans has no survival instincts and about 10 angry brothers coming his way

liked by its_yn and lando

↳ pedri : i am about to start making death threats.

liked by lamineyamal, pablogavi, lando, hctorfortt_ and alejandrobalde

username0 : way to go oscahhh!

username15 : great couple days indeed

lamineyamal : sleep with one eye open amigo

liked by its_yn, pedri, pablogavi and hctorfortt

pablogavi : 6/10

liked by its_yn

↳ its_yn : yes this post would be much better with me in it. id make an excellent trophy wife.

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ pedri : oscar id like to remind you that you do have to come to spain soon so id choose your next words wisely.

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

—

oscarpiastri has sent you a message!

oscarpiastri : uh hi yn! how are you??

↳ hi oscar!! im good wbu??

oscarpiastri : good good. i um was just wondering if you’d maybe like to come to my next race? its in monaco.

↳ omg yes! that would be so much fun!!

oscarpiastri : awesome! ill send you all the details later. can’t wait to see you, yn.

↳ can’t wait to see your adorable face in person:)

liked by oscarpiastri

—

third person pov

Oscar Piastri was pacing. Not in a calm, reflective way. Not like someone deep in thought. No, Oscar was pacing like he was being hunted. Like the world was ending. Lando, meanwhile, was sprawled on the couch in their shared hotel suite, casually tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth, watching the scene unfold with deep amusement and zero intent to help.

“I’m serious, Lando,” Oscar hissed, waving his phone in the air like it was cursed. “She said, ‘Can’t wait to see your adorable face in person.’ Her exact words. Adorable face. What does that mean?!”

Lando didn’t even look away from the TV. “I dunno, mate. Sounds like she thinks your face is adorable.”

“That’s a flirty thing to say,” Oscar said, eyes wide, panic in full bloom. “That’s not just casual. That’s not like, ‘Oh hey, see you there.’”

“She complimented your face, mate. Chill.”

Oscar kept pacing. “Is my face adorable right now? Is it too adorable? Is it—God—for the love of everything, do I need to learn how to smile like, casually charming but not trying too hard?”

Lando turned, finally giving Oscar a glance. “Right now you look like someone who tried too hard and failed.”

Oscar let out a strangled groan and collapsed face-first onto the bed. “I can’t do this. I cannot do Monaco. I’m canceling my whole life. I’ll tell Zak I need to go into witness protection.”

“You’re literally the driver. You can’t call in sick to a race.”

“Then I’ll wear a bag over my helmet,” Oscar muttered into the sheets. “An emotional support bag. Like the paper ones. For panic.”

Lando cracked a grin. “You know Netflix is going to eat this up if she shows up and you melt into a puddle the second she smiles at you.”

Oscar turned his head, eyes wide, hair sticking up in a mess from the stress. “Do you think she’s going to smile at me? Like on purpose?”

“I hope so,” Lando said. “Because if you act like this when she just texts you, I can’t wait to see what happens when she breathes near you.”

Oscar buried his face back in the bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Let them film the downfall,” he mumbled. “Let the world see. I’m the lead idiot.”

—

f1gossipgirls

297,034 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Supermodel YN González—aka Barcelona royalty and sister of football star Pedri—making waves in the Monaco paddock today. Oh, and did we mention she’s the self-proclaimed crush of McLaren’s Oscar Piastri? Invited by the team, no less. Coincidence? We’re not buying it.

—

view 52,238 other comments.

username0 : someone needs to film her and oscar’s first interaction I NEED IT

username5 : i need to see this man absolutely melt

username10 : @/lando help us out PLEASE

↳ lando : im trying HUSH

username20 : the fact that her brother probably has no idea where she is rn makes me giggle.

username30 : no one snitch. i want to see this couple HAPPEN.

—

your pov

I hadn’t even fully stepped out of the McLaren hospitality area before I heard someone whisper, “That’s her.”

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t quiet. And I was absolutely certain it came from Lando Norris, who was very poorly pretending not to be watching me from behind his sunglasses.

The cameras clicked around me, and a few staff members nodded politely, but I wasn’t paying attention to any of it. My heart was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing in my chest, and I felt—despite being in full glam and wearing custom designer boots. Then I saw him. Oscar Piastri. Standing near the garage in his race suit, half-zipped, arms crossed like he was trying really, really hard not to look like he was waiting for me.

He failed miserably. The second our eyes met, he straightened up. His face lit up—blush and all—and then he smiled. That smile. I grinned, slow and teasing, and made my way over.

“Hi,” I said when I reached him, slipping my sunglasses down with a grin. “Am I early or are you just shocked I’m real?”

Oscar blinked like he was rebooting. “I—I’m not okay.”

I laughed. “Honest. I like that.”

“You’re actually here.”

“You invited me,” I reminded him. “Don’t tell me you were bluffing.”

“No! I mean—yes. I invited you. I just didn’t think you’d actually… say yes. And show up. And look like that.”

I raised a brow. “Like what?”

He blinked again. “Like a problem.”

I smiled, taking a tiny step closer. “For who?”

“Me. Focus is gone. Race weekend over. Tell the team I said sorry.”

Somewhere behind us, Lando called out loudly, “Is this you flirting? Because you’re one stutter away from fainting.”

Oscar groaned and muttered, “Why is he always here?”

“I think he’s enjoying the show,” I said. “Can’t say I blame him.”

He looked at me, all soft eyes and pure chaos behind them. “Do I get to see you again after this? Like, maybe when I’m not panicking?”

I tilted my head. “Only if you survive the race without crashing from thinking about me in your garage.”

Oscar deadpanned, “This is a threat.”

“It’s a challenge.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh but was still short-circuiting. “I’m doomed.”

“No,” I said softly. “You’re cute.”

His ears turned bright red. Lando whooped from somewhere behind the pit wall, and I could already imagine the media chaos later. But I didn’t care. Pedri didn’t know I was here. Oscar was looking at me like I hung the moon. And for once, I wasn’t just someone’s sister or a model on the sidelines.

—

Monaco had a way of making everything feel cinematic. The glowing harbor, the chaos of the paddock, the thunder of engines echoing off stone walls—it was a city made for stories. But watching Oscar race from the garage? That was something else entirely. Nerve-wracking, electric, intimate in a way I didn’t expect.

Every time his name lit up on the timing screens, my stomach flipped. Not just because he was doing well—P3, smooth and sharp—but because I cared. More than I’d let myself admit, even to him. When the session ended and the team erupted into celebration, I stood back, quiet, watching him pull his helmet off. His hair was damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed, his eyes scanning the crowd—until they landed on me. And then he smiled. Not the usual polite grin. Not the camera-ready smirk. Just a boy looking at a girl and thinking, thank God she’s still here.

I stayed near the back while the team swarmed him, congratulating, debriefing. When it all settled and the noise dimmed, I felt a presence beside me.

“Hey,” Oscar said, a little breathless still. “Thanks for not disappearing.”

I turned to him. “Tempting as it was after watching the whole team gang up on you? I stuck around.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “They’re never going to let me live this down.”

“They might forget eventually.”

“Not a chance. Lando already told me he’s printing screenshots of your Vogue cover for my driver room.”

I laughed, and we stood there for a second—just us, the fading garage noise, and the weight of whatever was building between us.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, I was thinking…”

“Dangerous.”

He shot me a look, but he was smiling again, soft and unsure. “Would you want to get dinner tonight? Just us. Nothing fancy unless you want fancy—I just thought… it might be nice. To talk. Without a headset on. Or Lando in the background narrating my every move.”

My heart fluttered, which was annoying, because I liked to think I was above that kind of thing. But apparently, Oscar Piastri—awkward and golden and way too sincere for his own good—was an exception.

“I’d really like that,” I said.

His shoulders dropped like he’d been bracing for a different answer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “But only if you promise not to make me eat something weird.”

He grinned. “I can do that. Any other rules?”

“No mention of Pedri.”

Oscar actually flinched. “Right. He doesn’t know you’re here?”

“Not yet.”

He stared at me. “You are so terrifying, and also extremely hot.”

I burst out laughing. “Great start, Piastri.”

He offered his hand, mock-formal. “Shall we?”

I took it without hesitation. “Let’s.”

—

He met me just after sunset, changed out of his race gear and into a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone. His hair was still damp from a shower, a little messy.

“You look nice,” I told him, biting back a smile as he fumbled with his car keys.

“You look—” He paused. “Okay, you know how when your brain stops working and your heart panics because someone is just really unfairly beautiful?”

“Aw,” I said. “You rehearsed that, didn’t you?”

He groaned. “I had one line and I blew it.”

“No, no,” I laughed, slipping into the car. “You nailed it.”

He drove us just outside the busy part of the city, down winding coastal roads where the cliffs met the sea. We pulled into a quiet cove where a tiny marina was lit by string lights and low lanterns, and just across the dock was a tucked-away bistro with maybe ten tables and a view that made my breath catch.

“Oscar…” I turned to him as he parked. “This is…”

He shrugged, bashful. “I figured Monaco doesn’t always have to be loud. Plus, they have truffle fries.”

“You get me.”

We sat outside, the sea breeze soft and the candlelight flickering on the table between us. There was no one screaming in the background, no engines revving, no group chats exploding. Just… calm. He looked at me across the table, elbow resting against the wood, fingers tapping lightly.

“I know we’ve only known each other properly for like… five minutes,” he said, voice soft and careful, “but it doesn’t feel that way.”

I nodded. “No. It doesn’t.”

“I’ve had crushes before,” he admitted. “And I’ve had people say nice things about me and leave it at that. But with you it’s just—every time I talk to you, I want to say more.”

My heart squeezed. “You’re not what I expected.”

His brow lifted. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good,” I said. “You’re more… real. Sweet. And maybe a little chaotic.”

“That feels targeted.”

“You panic every time I say something flirty.”

“That’s because you mean it,” he said, almost accusingly. “You say things like about my face being adorable and then show up looking like that, and expect me to function?”

“You did well today.”

“I blacked out for half of quali.”

We both laughed, and I watched as he leaned back in his chair, just smiling, eyes soft. The waiter brought food—pasta, truffle fries, sparkling water—and we talked about everything and nothing. I told him about modeling, about growing up in Pedri’s shadow but also making my own path. He told me about growing up in Australia, moving to Europe alone, how weird it is to become people’s favorite driver overnight. And how surreal it is to have his crush actually show up at his race.

By the time dessert came—tiramisu, split between us—it felt like the rest of the world had gone quiet.

He looked over at me, a little more serious now. “So, when do you think you’ll tell Pedri?”

I groaned. “Can we not?”

“Not tonight,” he agreed. “But one day?”

I nodded slowly. “One day.”

He took the last bite of tiramisu and offered it to me on his fork. “Until then… we’re a little secret.”

I leaned forward and took it, smiling. “Our little secret.”

And then he reached across the table and gently took my hand in his. Just held it. No cameras, no teasing. Just warm fingers and a quiet, glowing kind of happiness.

“Thank you for coming today,” he said.

“Thank you for asking.”

We stayed like that for a while. Fingers laced, quiet smiles, Monaco glittering behind us.

—

The elevator ride was quiet—but not awkward. More like that warm, humming kind of silence that happens when you’re too full of butterflies to speak. Oscar stood beside me, hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulder brushing mine every time the elevator jolted. His hair was still messy from dinner and sea breeze, his smile a little too shy for a guy who just held my hand all through dessert.

“You sure this is okay?” he asked, glancing at me as the numbers climbed. “I don’t want to—like—assume anything.”

I smiled. “Oscar, I invited you up. You already assumed.”

He blinked. “Okay. That’s fair.”

The doors opened to my floor and I reached for his hand, tugging him down the hallway toward my room. I unlocked it with a soft beep, kicking off my shoes the moment we stepped inside.

“Make yourself at home,” I said, tossing my bag on the armchair.

Oscar hesitated in the doorway like he was stepping into a dream, then slowly followed. “Wow. Fancy.”

I shrugged. “Perks of the job.”

He wandered in a little, turning in a slow circle to take it all in—the view of the glittering Monaco coastline, the soft golden lights, the untouched minibar. He turned toward me then, his expression shifting—shy, but bold underneath. “Is this… weird for you?”

“What?”

“Having a me in your hotel room after dinner?”

I smiled. “Only a little. But I think I can handle it.”

His eyes dropped to my lips for a split second. Just a second.

And then I leaned in, fingers lightly brushing his jaw as I kissed him—soft, slow, and warm. He kissed back like he’d been holding his breath all night, one hand finding my waist, the other curling gently into my hair. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fireworks. It was better than that. It was soft. Real. Like we had time. We pulled apart slightly, his forehead resting against mine, both of us quietly smiling like idiots.

“You’re too good at that,” he murmured.

I was about to kiss him again when—

BRRRRRT. BRRRRRT.

My phone buzzed violently on the coffee table.

Then it buzzed again. And again. And again.

Oscar glanced over. “Persistent.”

I sighed and reached for it. “It’s Pedri. And Gavi. And Lamine. Great.”

“Tell them you’re fine and alive and definitely not kissing an F1 driver.”

I rolled my eyes and answered the FaceTime, angling the phone just toward my face as Oscar walked into the other room looking through the fridge.

“Hey, I’m alive, thanks for the dramatic emergency call—”

“HERMANITA.” Gavi’s face was up against the camera like a man possessed. “Where have you been? The group chat’s been dead for hours.”

“You look weird,” Lamine said suspiciously. “Like… happy. Are you on a date?”

I scoffed. “Do I look like I’m on a date?”

“You look guilty.” Pedri said flatly.

And that was exactly when Oscar called out from behind me, chipper and too loud—

“Hey—do you want tea or water?”

Silence. The kind of silence you only hear when three overprotective boys are connecting dots at the exact same time. Then—

“¿QUIÉN ERA ESE?” Pedri’s voice dropped into full big brother mode. (who was that?)

“That sounded like a f*cking Australian.,” Gavi hissed.

“Is he in your hotel room?!” Lamine shouted.

My eyes widened. “I—um—”

I didn’t think. I just panicked. And hit end call. The screen went black.

Oscar peeked his head around the corner.

I turned to him slowly. “I don’t think I’ll ever know peace again.”

He blinked. “Should I leave?”

I dropped onto the bed and groaned into a pillow. “Too late. You’re already a fugitive.”

He sat beside me, laughing softly. “Do I at least get a goodbye kiss before the Spanish Mafia shows up?”

I lifted my head just enough to kiss him again—slow and sweet.

“If I disappear tomorrow,” I whispered, “avenge me.”

“Always,” he whispered back, grinning.

—

Even before the lights went out, the whole city buzzed like it had a secret. I stood near the McLaren garage, team pass hanging around my neck, oversized sunglasses shielding my face, but I still felt eyes on me. I wasn’t sure if it was because people recognized me or if Oscar had actually mentioned me in one of his many, many press rounds. Probably both. He was subtle as a brick. The mechanics gave me warm smiles and cheeky winks as I passed. One even muttered, “Good luck charm, that one,” under his breath.

The race itself was a blur. Monaco always is. Tight corners, strategy chaos, and overtakes that made your heart drop into your stomach. But Oscar—he drove like a man possessed. Calm, calculated, fast.

And when he crossed the finish line in P3, I swear I nearly cried. I clapped, screamed, probably startled the poor comms intern beside me, and watched as the team erupted in hugs and cheers. Oscar’s race engineer shouted something triumphant in his ear. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could see the grin on Oscar’s face as he slowly peeled off his helmet and stood atop his car, one fist raised to the sky. I couldn’t stop smiling. Not even when my cheeks hurt. Later, after the podium celebrations and media madness, I found him in the back of the McLaren motorhome, still flushed from champagne and adrenaline, hair wild from the cap he’d just yanked off. The second he saw me, his smile doubled.

“I told you you were good luck,” he said, arms open as he stepped toward me.

“You’re giving me credit for that drive?” I teased, stepping into the hug. “I barely survived watching it.”

“I could feel you watching,” he murmured near my ear. “It helped.”

God, he was unfair.

I pulled back slightly, but not too far—just enough to meet his eyes. “P3 in Monaco. That’s massive.”

“You being here made it better.”

We stood like that for a second—his hands on my waist, mine resting on his chest. There was noise all around us, laughter and footsteps and radios crackling, but I barely noticed.

He smiled, this softer, more private kind. “Come to Spain.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Barcelona. The race next week. Come with me.”

I laughed. “You realize that’s home turf, right?”

“Exactly,” he said. “You’ll be there anyway for Pedri’s game. Might as well come early. I'll spend the week.”

I tilted my head. “Are you asking me to meet my brother at the same time as asking me to be your race weekend date again?”

His expression turned half-nervous, half-charming. “…Yes?”

“Oscar.”

“We can ease him into it. I’ll even wear a Barcelona jersey. Or like, a full kit if that helps.”

“You in shin guards trying to impress Pedri is going to kill me.”

He grinned, hopeful and boyish. “Is that a yes?”

I sighed dramatically, even though I was already imagining the look on Pedri’s face when he found out. “Fine. But you’re the one explaining to him why you’re suddenly glued to my side.”

“Deal,” he said, then added with a wink, “Worth it.”

I leaned up and kissed his cheek, laughing. “You say that now. Wait until Gavi and Lamine get involved.”

He groaned. “Can I take back my yes?”

“Absolutely not.”

We stood there for a moment longer, just soaking it in. Him in his race suit, me in my sunglasses and stolen team jacket, Monaco still buzzing in the background.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by its_yn, lando, pablogavi & 3,007,002 others.

oscarpiastri : Always a pleasure, Monaco.

—

view 157,092 other comments.

lando : oh mate. you’re risking it with this one.

liked by oscarpiastri and its_yn

↳ its_yn : my post is even worse.

liked by lando and oscarpiastri

fcbarcelona : 👀👀

charles_leclerc : this is the most emotion i’ve seen out of you in like…ever. she is magical.

liked by oscarpiastri and its_yn

lamineyamal : brooooooooo what is this @/pedri

↳ its_yn : messy messy

pablogavi : can’t wait to see you in spain, oscar.

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

↳ lando : that sounds like a threat (take him out so i can win wdc)

↳ oscarpiastri : wow thanks lan

pedri : hm.

liked by its_yn

alejandrobalde : caption should be ‘this will be my last podium as i will be meeting her brothers next week’

liked by pablogavi, pedri, hctorfortt_, lamineyamal and paucubarsi

—

its_yn

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, pedri and 5,090,007 others.

its_yn : rlly like this orange team and their token aussie🐨🧡🏆

tagged : mclaren and oscarpiastri

—

view 257,890 others comments.

lando : oh you weren’t lying. yours was much worse.

liked by its_yn

↳ its_yn : congrats winner 😘

liked by lando

pablogavi : i genuinely think pedri would be less upset if you were dating me

↳ pedri : that is absolutely not true.

mclaren : we are very flattered! come back anytime princess 🧡

liked by its_yn

charles_leclerc : imma start planning oscar’s funeral now.

liked by pedri, pablogavi, hctorfortt_, lamineyamal and alejandrobalde

pedri : i am taking an extended break from the internet.

liked by its_yn

lamineyamal : no bc this is insane. like. you really chose him??

hctorfortt_ : BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

—

Returning home to Barcelona felt like walking into a lion’s den—with the lions being Pedri, Gavi, and Lamine, all waiting in the living room like the Spanish Inquisition but in sweatpants. I barely made it through the door before I heard Pedri’s voice, flat and dangerous.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged back from Monaco.”

“Oh good, you’re all here,” I said cheerily, like I wasn’t about to get interrogated for treason. “Perfect timing.”

Lamine looked me up and down. “You smell like lies.”

Gavi crossed his arms. “You hung up on us.”

“It was poor Wi-Fi!” I tried, throwing my tote bag onto the couch. “Happens to the best of us.”

“You were inside a five-star hotel in Monaco,” Pedri deadpanned. “You could stream an entire Champions League final in 4K from the bathtub.”

I froze. “Okay, rude. I was gonna ask how your game went but clearly we’re all still in our feelings.”

“We’re not mad,” Gavi said, even though he absolutely looked mad. “We’re just disappointed.”

“Deeply,” added Lamine, eating chips loudly.

Pedri stood up slowly, hands on hips. “So. The truth. You were in Monaco. You were at the race. You hugged Oscar Piastri on camera—”

“You can’t even see my face!” I shouted.

“HE HAD A STUPIDLY IN LOVE SMILE,” Pedri roared back. “WE KNOW IT WAS YOU.”

I sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch like a Victorian woman with a scandal. “Okay. Fine. Yes. I was there. And yes, Oscar may have invited me.”

Gavi’s jaw dropped. “Invited?! So it was a date???”

“Oh my god, I said may have!”

Lamine gasped. “You wore his hat. That’s practically marriage.”

“Look,” I said, sitting up and trying not to smile like an idiot. “I didn’t tell you guys because I knew you’d act like this. And I didn’t even do anything scandalous. I watched the race, we got dinner, we talked. He’s sweet. Like, really sweet. And awkward. And makes me laugh. And—”

“EW SHE’S SMILING,” Gavi yelled. “She’s GONE.”

“Pedri, control your sister,” Lamine whispered.

Pedri rubbed his temples like he aged ten years. “I’m going to have to try not to kill him. Ay Dios Mío.” 

“Maybe,” I said, tone casual, “but only if you come to the Spanish Grand Prix with me next week.”

Dead silence. Lamine choked on his chips. Gavi dropped the remote. Pedri stared at me like I’d just asked him to walk into traffic.

“You want us… to go with you… to his turf?” Pedri asked slowly.

“Not his turf. The paddock. You know. For moral support.”

“Support for you or for him when I bodycheck him into the pit wall?” Pedri asked, deadly serious.

I grinned. “Both?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late,” I said brightly, standing up. “Already requested your passes. VIP, obviously. You’ll be treated like kings. Or scary brothers. Whichever works.”

Pedri let out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard. “This is my worst nightmare.”

“I already picked your outfit,” I added with a wink.

Gavi groaned. “For the record, I hate this.”

Lamine just muttered, “Can I at least hang out Lando? He seems fun.”

“Oh,” I said, reaching for my bag again, “and Oscar says he’s really excited to meet you.”

“Tell Oscar,” Pedri replied, “I’m really excited to ruin his life.”

And yet… no one said they weren’t coming. Victory.

—

f1gossipgirls

540,003 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well, well, well… not only is YN González back in the paddock today, but she’s brought big brother Pedri and a few of his Barça teammates along for the ride. Protective brother check? New boyfriend inspection pending?

—

username00 : lando can you actually film properly this time? the last video looked like one of those 7th grade fight videos

↳ lando : you all are so greedy. can’t even be thankful for what i give.

username10 : oh my poor little oscar. he is too shy for this

username15 : honestly oscar is so valid. id fight for yn too.

username20 : he better win today.

—

Race day. Barcelona. Oscar Piastri on pole. Me in the McLaren paddock. And trailing behind me like a security detail made entirely of judgmental Spanish boys… my brother Pedri and two of his equally dramatic teammates. Honestly? I’ve made better decisions.

“Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?” Pedri asked, tugging his hat down like someone might recognize him—like the literal thousands of people around us weren’t already whispering about the fact that Pedri González was in the paddock with his sister.

“Because I’m your only sister and you love me,” I said sweetly, adjusting my McLaren jacket. “And because I promised to not tell mama you nearly burnt the house down making toast last week.”

“Blackmail. Got it,” Gavi muttered beside him, scowling like someone had insulted Spain itself. “Hope he crashes.”

“Pablo!” I gasped, smacking his arm.

“Not badly! Just like… gets humbled a little. Maybe a wing falls off. Or his steering wheel stops working. Nothing fatal. Just a minor character arc.”

“Okay, villain origin story,” I muttered.

Lamine, naturally, was living for the drama. “I’m just here to watch the fight.” he said, filming all of us with zero shame. “You’re gonna cry when he wins and I’m gonna get it in 4K.”

“He’s not winning,” Pedri said, arms crossed.

“He’s starting from pole,” I reminded them.

“Pole isn’t a win,” Gavi muttered. “It’s just foreshadowing. Like in a horror movie.”

I stopped walking and turned to them with a dramatic sigh. “Listen, I brought you all here to be supportive. Not to start a brawl in the paddock. You’re embarrassing me in front of my future husband.”

Pedri blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m joking! Mostly.”

Lando walked by at that exact moment and pointed a finger at Pedri. “If he tries to fight Oscar, I’m filming it and putting it on the McLaren YouTube channel.”

“Lando,” I warned, “don’t encourage them—”

“Too late,” Pedri said. “I like this guy.”

“Unbelievable.”

We made it to the McLaren hospitality suite just in time to watch Oscar line up on the grid, and I swear, I felt my heart do a little somersault. He looked so calm, so focused, so completely oblivious to the fact that my brother was watching him like a hawk with murder in his heart. By lap ten, Pedri had his arms crossed and was muttering split strategy critiques under his breath like he was Oscar’s race engineer. By lap thirty, Gavi had stolen my headset to “hear the enemy’s comms” and Lamine was loudly analyzing tire degradation like he somehow knew what he was talking about.

And by the final lap, I was practically vibrating out of my seat. When Oscar crossed the line P1—his first ever Grand Prix win, on Spanish soil, in front of me and every single person who’d ever doubted him—I stood up so fast I knocked over someone’s chair and screamed. Screamed like I was the one who just won the damn race.

Everyone was yelling, hugging, cheering—but all I could see was him, in the cockpit, fists in the air, helmet tilted to the sky, the sun catching his orange suit like fire. And when he finally climbed out of the car, lifted the trophy on the podium with champagne raining down, and looked straight at the crowd… I knew he was looking for me.

After the cooldown room, the press chaos, and the McLaren celebration that left half the staff crying, Oscar finally found me at the back of the garage. Still damp with champagne. Still holding his winner’s cap. Still smiling like a dream.

“There you are,” he said breathlessly, pulling me into a hug that felt like gravity itself. “I wanted to run to you right after the race, but they kind of made me… win a Grand Prix first.”

I laughed into his neck. “So annoying when that happens.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, still beaming. “You were here. I kept thinking about that the whole race. You, watching.”

“I wasn’t just watching,” I teased. “I brought witnesses.”

And right on cue—

“AHEM.”

Oscar turned. And froze.

Pedri. Arms crossed. Gavi. Scowling. Lamine. Filming again.

“Hi,” Oscar said, voice jumping half an octave.

Pedri took a slow step forward. “Congratulations,” he said coolly. “On winning. And on living long enough to meet me.”

“Thanks… I think.”

“You were very good,” Gavi said, clearly pained. “Like… annoyingly good.”

“I mean, if he keeps racing like that, I might start watching,” Lamine added. “Still don’t like this though.”

Oscar glanced at me. “So this is the approval process, huh?”

“Basically,” I whispered, biting back a smile. “You won the race. Now win over the midfield.”

“Impossible,” Gavi said. “I’ve already sworn to not engage with the enemy."

Pedri held out his hand. “We need to talk. Alone.”

I swear Oscar flinched. I just grinned, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Don’t worry. He likes you already.”

He definitely didn’t. But Oscar didn’t need to know that. Yet.

—

third person pov

Oscar had just finished his fifth round of media and was attempting to inhale a bottle of water in peace when Pedri stepped around the corner of the McLaren motorhome. Oscar froze mid-sip.

“Hey,” Pedri said, hands in his pockets. Calm. Too calm.

“Hi,” Oscar croaked, accidentally inhaling half the water and immediately choking like a man who had never spoken to a footballer—or a girlfriend’s older brother—in his life. “Sorry. Swallowed wrong.”

Pedri raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”

“Yep. Yep. Just dying a little. All good.”

Silence. The kind of silence where Oscar could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

Pedri leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “You’re a good driver.”

Oscar blinked. “Thanks?”

“You’re calm under pressure.”

“I try.”

“You had no clue I was showing up today, did you?”

“I told her to bring you but she didn't exactly tell me you agreed.” Oscar admitted with a wry smile. “She likes to keep me on my toes.”

“She always has,” Pedri said, nodding. “Since she was four.”

Oscar nodded too. “It tracks.”

Pedri studied him for a moment, quiet, unreadable. “She doesn’t bring people home. Or… anywhere.”

Oscar didn’t say anything. He just waited. Respectfully. Cautiously. Like a man who knew one wrong word might get him tackled by a La Liga midfield.

“I’m not saying this to scare you,” Pedri added, softer now. “But she’s important. Not just because she’s my sister—she’s her own person. And I know her. She gives everything. So if you’re going to be in her life…”

“I know,” Oscar said quickly, sincerely. “I know what she deserves. And I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it.”

Pedri looked at him again, really looked this time. Then—miracle of miracles—he smiled.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Oscar exhaled. Pedri started to walk away, but paused after a few steps and turned back. “If you break her heart, I will do everything in my power to destroy your career. Just so we’re clear.”

Oscar laughed—nervously. “Understood.”

“Good.” Pedri turned back around, then muttered, “Also… congrats on the win. You were actually kind of impressive.”

Oscar blinked. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me after threatening me.”

Pedri didn’t stop walking. “Don’t get used to it, Aussie.”

—

oscarpiastri

liked by its_yn, lando, pedri & 5,007,002 others.

oscarpiastri : won spain and their sweetheart

tagged : its_yn

—

view 375,034 other comments.

mclaren : winning on and off the track :)

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : with ease

↳ lando : with ease my ass- you almost passed out the first time she touched you.

liked by its_yn

pedri : won one race and got cocky, huh?

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ its_yn : erm actually it is his 5th this season

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ pedri : hm. nice piastri.

liked by oscarpiastri

pablogavi : im watching you. always.

liked by oscarpiastri and lando

lamineyamal : one minor mess up and ill be at your front door with a bat.

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

—

f1gossipgirls

785,090 likes.

f1gossipgirls : From the paddock to the pitch! F1 star Oscar Piastri was spotted cheering on Barcelona alongside rumored girlfriend YN González at her brother Pedri’s match. The Aussie driver looked completely smitten—and we can’t blame him.

—

view 87,023 other comments.

lando : i've known oscar for a while and this is the most expressive i've ever seen the man.

liked by f1gossipgirls

username10 : so you’re telling me oscar piastri voluntarily entered a stadium FULL of footballers who want to kill him??? for love?? ICONIC

username15 : not oscar piastri becoming barcelona’s unofficial brother-in-law 😭

username20 : I don’t even know who I’m more jealous of. Him for dating her. Her for dating him

username25 : he won spain and then said “i’ll take the national treasure too” I CAN’T BREATHEEEEEE

username30 : smitten??? be fr that man has cartoon hearts for eyes

—

I should’ve known Oscar would be nervous the moment he triple-checked his outfit and then asked me what he should wear. Oscar 'Team Merch' Piastri asked me what to wear. We were standing in the elevator of the stadium’s VIP box area and he was practically vibrating with nervous energy, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt like it was trying to strangle him.

“Babe,” I said, grabbing his hands to stop the fiddling. “You race cars at 300km/h. You don’t need to be scared of my brother.”

“I’m not scared of Pedri,” Oscar replied immediately. Pause. “I’m scared of your brother, his teammates, and his fanbase.”

Fair enough. But honestly? He had nothing to worry about—he looked good. That kind of clean-cut, laid-back charm that made the older women in the suite give him approving nods and whisper things like “es tan educado, qué monísimo.”

The match was electric. Every time Pedri touched the ball, the crowd erupted. Oscar tried to keep cool but every time I clapped or jumped to cheer, he mimicked me like he was auditioning to be a lifelong Barça Ultra.

By the time the final whistle blew (3–1, of course), Pedri had waved up at us from the field with a look that screamed “I know you dragged your little racecar boyfriend here.”

-

“You good?” I asked, bumping his arm playfully.

“Depends,” he said. “Am I about to be hazed again?”

“Define hazed.”

He gave me a look. “Gavi made me eat something called squid in ink at dinner in Spain and lied to me about what it actually was."

I snorted. “Okay yeah. You’re definitely getting hazed again.”

The boys were already making their way over, sweaty and grinning, a few of Pedri’s teammates lingering behind them like they were approaching the scene of a friendly crime.

Gavi was first. “Look who survived Spain,” he said, dapping Oscar up with the exaggerated energy of someone pretending they weren’t lowkey fond of the guy.

“And YN." Lamine added, strolling up behind him and pointing at me. “Honestly, bro, we’re impressed. She’s a lot.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked.

“She made me do three takes of a selfie at the race because ‘the lighting was bad,’” Lamine said dramatically.

Oscar laughed. “In her defense, the lighting is criminal."

Gavi pointed a finger at Oscar. “See? You’ve already been infected. That’s how it starts.”

Ferran Torres joined the group, glancing between Oscar and me. “Oh this race car guy again?"

“Me again,” Oscar replied, polite smile but eyes amused.

“You’re like glitter. We can’t get rid of you,” Ferran deadpanned.

“Better than being a stain,” Oscar quipped back without missing a beat.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Gavi just started cackling. “Nah, he’s in. He’s officially in.”

Lamine leaned closer to Oscar. “You’re growing on us, Kangaroo Ken.”

“I still don’t like that nickname,” Oscar muttered.

“You don’t need to,” Gavi said, already pulling out his phone. “Just smile. I’m gonna make this Pedri's lockscreen.”

“Wait, where is Pedri?” Oscar asked.

I was wondering the same thing—until my brother jogged over from the far end of the pitch, towel around his shoulders, brow arched like he’d walked into something mid-chaos.

“Why are all of you crowding my sister like she’s the damn trophy?”

“Your boyfriend’s here,” Gavi said, pointing.

Pedri blinked. “I see that. Why is Gavi taking selfies with him?”

“He’s famous now,” Ferran shrugged. “Instagram loves a golden retriever face.”

Oscar turned the color of a tomato. “I’m… just here to support.”

Pedri eyed him, slowly, deliberately, before turning to me.

“You invited him?”

I raised an eyebrow. “He comes with me from now on."

Pedri sighed like a man resigned to fate. “Fine. But if he wears my jersey, we’re fighting.”

“Is it not supportive?,” Oscar asked.

“It was,” Lamine said. “But you just looked like a lost fanboy.”

Oscar looked at me. “I am a lost fanboy.”

“Ugh, that was so sincere I think I just got heartburn,” Ferran gagged.

Pedri just gave me a look—the soft, older brother look, the one that said I’m still watching him, but he hasn’t completely blown it. Then he clapped Oscar on the back and muttered, “Good luck surviving this group. And her. Especially her."

Oscar smiled, crooked and real. “Just hoping you don't kill me in my sleep, hermano."

-

Lamine had stolen Oscar’s cap and was now wearing it sideways. Gavi was threatening to Photoshop Oscar’s face onto a Barça trading card. And Pedri was texting our mom that “yes, they were still just dating, no, there was no ring yet.”

Oscar turned to me as we reached the edge of the tunnel, grinning. “I think that went okay?”

“You just got verbally tackled and emotionally roasted,” I replied.

“But they like me, right?”

I glanced at the boys, now waving goodbye like chaotic gremlins.

“They do,” I said. “God help you.”

He squeezed my hand. “Still worth it.”

—

its_yn

liked by pedri, lamineyamal, pablogavi & 10,025,007 others.

its_yn : aw look we can all get along

tagged : oscarpiastri, lamineyamal, pedri and pablogavi

—

oscarpiastri : idk if i passed initiation or got adopted into my first frat

liked by its_yn

↳ its_yn : both

pedri : don't push it. he is on a trial period for the first year.

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

↳ its_yn : you say this like you didn't just invite him over to play games

↳ its_yn : stop faking the tough older brother act and say you love him

↳ pedri : i like him. i do not love him.

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

↳ its_yn : good enough.

lamineyamal : i'd rather her pick oscar than lando tbh

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

↳ lando : HEY. tf did i do?

↳ lamineyamal : you just seem like trouble man.

↳ lando : well

↳ its_yn : lando and his man whore phase

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ lando : I TOLD ONE STORY AND NOW I HAVE A REP

liked by its_yn, oscarpiastri and lamineyamal

pablogavi : if he ever messes up im swooping

↳ pedri : over my dead body

pablogavi : i've changed my tone. happy for you, princesa!

liked by its_yn and oscarpiastri

[brainddeadd]

Would you consider doing something with a quiet/ reserved reader. I love the idea of a reader who's an up and coming driver but isn't about the press or media at ALL. Like dodging cameras and running away from interviews, and maybe a boy (I don't mind who you pick) misunderstands and thinks that she's running away from them? Maybe add some drama from f1 update twt accounts escalating the situation and painting the reader in a negative light for being "rude" or "impolite".

Thx!! (Sorry for any confusion, English is not my first language but I hope you get what I mean)

miss misunderstood— op81

smau + blurbs

oscar piastri x !quiet/shy driver reader

yn has a lot of pressure on her shoulders— she is the only female driver in f1 and that leads to her consistently having to prove herself to not only her team, who took a chance on her, but the press who are constantly there hounding her. she has always been very shy and reserved— especially around people she does not know. when fans notice how she skips out on interviews and hides from big crowds, the hate pours in, especially after she is seen avoiding a conversation with the grids other most quiet individual— but he is persistent and wont give up on her.

(a/n) : such a cute idea anon! i understood you perfectly fine my love. i hope you enjoy this. i thought it would be fun to pair reader with someone who is also rather quiet and reserved.

fc : amna al qubaisi

—

f1gossipgirls

257,087 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Almost all of our favorite drivers have touched down in Barcelona for media day. Some of our first arrivals include YN LN, Charles Leclerc, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris and George Russell.

—

view 32,057 other comments.

username0 : george not dressed properly for the weather pt 899

liked by f1gossipgirls

username10 : yn always looks like she doesn’t want to be there. why is she even in f1 if she hates to do the job??

username15 : everyone is smiling, waiving, talking to fans and press and then there is yn who immediately books it to the paddock and ignores everyone

username22 : ill say it once and i will say it again— f1 is not a silent film. she either needs to speak up and play the role or step aside. good driver or not. that job comes with more responsibilities than just driving around the track.

username5 : she gives off “im better than everyone else” energy and im sick of her.

username00 : every time i try and like her, she gives us absolutely nothing. cold and awkward isn’t a personality, babe.

↳ username9 : yet you guys eat it up when oscar does it. the double standard is insane.

liked by f1gossipgirls

username11 : its always the quiet ones y’all tear apart for not being loud enough. she’s there to drive. not entertain you.

liked by f1gossipgirls

username17 : you guys are extra hard on her because she is a female. and it is sick.

username101 : she minds her business, she’s fast, and she is unproblematic. you guys are just finding reasons to hate her. jealousy is a disease.

liked by f1gossipgirls

—

They say I’m cold. Unfriendly. Standoffish. Like I’m trying too hard to be mysterious or above it all. But they don’t know me. Not really. Because if they did, they’d know I used to be warm. I used to talk too much. Laugh too loud. Hug people without thinking twice. But that was before. Before the phone call. Before the hospital room. Before the person who knew me better than anyone else—who loved me without needing me to be anything but myself—was just… gone.

Losing a parent is something people talk about like it’s a passage. A sad inevitability. But they don’t talk about what it does to you when it’s sudden. When it’s brutal. When the last words you said were something stupid because you thought you had more time. My dad was my safe place. The only person I could fall apart around. He was the reason I started racing. The reason I believed I could do anything. And when I lost him, I didn’t just lose a person—I lost myself. I haven’t spoken about it. Not to anyone.

Not to my engineers. Not to my teammates. Not to the drivers who think I’m just “shy” or “quiet” or “moody.” Because once I say it out loud, it becomes real in a way I’m not ready for. It becomes the thing people pity me for instead of the thing I’ve survived. So I stay quiet. I keep the noise out. I protect the stillness inside me. People don’t understand it, and that’s fine. They think I’m emotionless when really, I’m overflowing and just trying not to drown. I hear what they say. The fans. The media. That I don’t engage. That I don’t give enough. But I didn’t come here to be their favorite. I came here to race. I came here to honor my father. To survive something else. To find moments of peace between the chaos and the grief that still sits like stone in my chest.

They’ll never understand why I am the way I am. Because they never saw me before. Before the silence felt safer than the world ever did. And I don’t owe them an explanation for that.

—

The air in Barcelona is thick with heat and noise—press cameras clicking, fans shouting driver names like spells, a thousand voices layered on top of each other. I keep my head down but offer a small smile, lifting my hand in a quiet wave. They cheer anyway. Some scream my name. Others don’t. Some just stare, waiting for me to trip or ignore them or give them proof I’m “as cold as they say.”

I smile again, even if it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s not fake—it’s just not loud.

Security walks with me as I cross the paddock. My eyes flicker over the cameras stationed outside team motorhomes, the reporters already calling out names, hoping for a quote. I tighten my grip on the strap of my bag. Just a few more steps.

I keep walking. Fast, but not suspiciously fast. Just enough to dodge the press circling like hawks, waiting for a moment of weakness, a headline, a clipped quote that can be turned into whatever version of me they want to sell this week.

Finally, I step inside Red Bull. The air conditioning kisses my skin. The silence—relative silence—is heaven. I make it to my driver room, push the door shut with my shoulder, and lean against it for a second. Eyes closed. Deep breath. The chaos is muffled now, like a storm just beyond the walls. Then the door opens again without a knock.

“Nice escape,” Max says, completely unfazed. He shuts the door behind him like he owns the building. “You only almost ran over two photographers. New record?”

I huff out a laugh—quiet but real. “Felt like twenty.”

He drops into the chair across from me like he’s been doing this his whole life. Which, to be fair, he basically has.

Max studies me for a second, unreadable as always. “You look like you’re about to vomit. That your media day face?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

He shrugs. “Just saying. You do realize they can’t eat you alive on camera, right? Legally.”

“I don’t know. I think one of the Sky guys has sharp enough teeth.”

He chuckles, dry and quiet. “You’ll be fine. Say as little as possible. Give one-word answers. Scowl a little. That’s what I do.”

“You give plenty of one-word answers.”

“Exactly,” he says, proud. “It’s an art.”

He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, face softening just slightly.

“They don’t matter, you know. The journalists. The fans who think they know you. The Twitter freaks. You’re fast. That’s what counts. That’s what wins. Let them think you’re a robot or a villain or a Bond girl or whatever mood they’re in this week.”

I nod. A slow exhale.

“Thanks, Max.”

He shrugs again. “Just don’t cry on camera. I already have a reputation for being emotionally unavailable. Don’t need yours adding to the Verstappen Cold Front.”

This time, I laugh out loud. He grins. Mission accomplished.

“Go be scary,” he says, pushing himself up. “And if you panic, just pretend they’re all standing in front of your car at turn one.”

“I’d drive through them.”

“Exactly.”

He leaves without another word, and for the first time all morning, I feel like I can breathe.

—

I answer with the same even tone I always do. I deflect, redirect, smile where I’m supposed to. I’ve trained myself not to flinch. But it still chips away at me, a little at a time. I finally escape outside, tucked behind one of the Red Bull displays near the fan zone—close enough to be seen, far enough to feel like I’m not drowning. I sip from a water bottle, hoping the air might settle in my lungs again. That’s when I see her.

A girl, maybe twelve, in a handmade cap with my number scribbled on it in glitter glue. She’s holding a small notebook and a marker, standing with her dad and hesitating like she doesn’t want to bother me. I almost keep walking. I’m tired. Overheated. Ready to shut down for the rest of the day. But something in her eyes stops me. She doesn’t look like the others—she looks like she’s trying to be brave. So I walk over.

Her eyes go wide when I stop in front of her. “Hi,” I offer, voice soft.

She blinks. Then holds out the notebook with slightly trembling hands. “Um—sorry, I just—could you sign this? I know you don’t really like talking to people a lot, but you’re my favorite. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want.”

My chest tightens. Not in a bad way—in the way it does when something hits a nerve you didn’t know was still exposed. I take the notebook and sign it carefully.

“You know,” she says, voice quiet, “I get nervous talking to people too. But I think you’re really brave. I like that you don’t try to be loud just to fit in. You make me feel like that’s okay.”

I blink fast. It’s not the kind of compliment I get. It’s not about speed or podiums or stats. It’s about me. The parts I’ve always kept hidden because the world made me feel like they were wrong. I smile—genuinely this time—and crouch a little so we’re eye level.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “That means more than you know.”

Her face lights up like I just handed her a trophy. We take a photo. I sign her hat. She hugs me before I even have time to react—but I don’t mind. Not even a little. As I walk away, I feel lighter. Like the weight pressing on my shoulders loosened just a little. Maybe I’ll always be the quiet one. The misunderstood one. But to that one girl? I was seen. And that’s enough.

—

The moment I cross the line, the radio explodes.

“P1, YN! That’s P1! You did it! You absolutely nailed that last stint—what a drive!”

I don’t say much. I can’t. My throat is tight and my hands are shaking around the wheel. The pit wall is screaming, my engineer shouting through the static. The grandstands blur into one giant roar. I slow the car down and guide it into parc fermé, P1 board waiting. The marshals are waving, cameras already turned in my direction like hungry mouths. I sit still for a beat. The engine is off, the world is loud, but in my cockpit it’s just… quiet. Then I hear it—Max’s car pulling into P2.

“Let’s go,” I murmur to myself and start the slow climb out.

But my limbs feel heavy. Every emotion I’ve buried all year starts clawing its way to the surface, and I’m suddenly not sure if I’ll make it over the halo without falling flat on my face. And then—there’s a hand. Max, already out of his car, standing beside mine like it’s the most casual thing in the world. He holds his hand out without a word. Just a look that says, Yeah, I know. Take it. I take it. He helps me out of the car, firm but unshowy. As soon as I hit the ground, I sway a little, overwhelmed—but I don’t fall.

He leans in, dry as ever. “You know you’re supposed to breathe when you win, right?”

I huff out something between a laugh and a sob. “I’ll try next time.”

Our helmets clink together briefly as we hug—quick, tight, familiar—and then he nudges me toward my team. They’re already there—Red Bull crew surrounding me, cheering, hugging, spraying water. I let myself fall into it for a moment. I smile, genuinely. I hug back. One of the engineers lifts me off the ground and spins me, and I let them. Because this is theirs, too. Ours. But just as the broadcasters and press start pushing through the sea of mechanics, I slip away—ducking behind the barrier, walking briskly toward the cooldown room before they can catch me.

I hear a few voices behind me—“YN, one word for Sky? Just a few seconds?”

I keep walking. The cooldown room is blissfully empty. Cold, quiet, white walls and a table with water and towels. I sit, press the bottle to my forehead, and finally breathe. No cameras. No questions. No pretending. Just silence. Just peace. Just… me. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like enough.

—

The water bottle sweats in my hands, condensation dripping slowly onto my race suit. I haven’t said much since sitting down, and Max hasn’t asked me to. He’s lounging across from me on the other bench, head tilted back, eyes closed like he owns the room. His suit is halfway peeled down and his hair’s a sweaty mess, but he looks… content. Neither of us are fans of the overexposed post-race routine. The lights. The forced questions. The soundbites that get twisted a dozen ways before the sun even sets. So we sit here, in the eye of the storm, letting the world knock on the door without answering.

Max finally cracks an eye open. “You going to do the interviews?”

I lean my head back against the cool wall and sigh. “Eventually. Maybe. If they don’t forget I exist by then.”

He grins slightly. “You just won. They’ll send a SWAT team if you don’t come out soon.”

Before I can answer, the door opens — fast but tentative — and in walks Camille, my press secretary. She’s breathless. Her clipboard’s half tucked under her arm, and she looks like she’s been fighting off wolves outside.

“YN,” she starts, trying for calm but clearly begging on the inside, “I hate to interrupt, but they’re getting antsy. Sky, F1TV, everyone’s lining up. They want quotes, a soundbite—anything.”

I nod slowly. I expected this. It doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’m not doing the scrum,” I say. “Not the pen. Not the mixed zone.”

Camille looks like she wants to scream into a pillow. “Okay. Fine. What will you do?”

I glance at Max, who’s watching like it’s the most entertaining episode of Drive to Survive he’s seen all year.

“One interview,” I finally say. “That’s it.”

Camille’s already flipping through her mental rolodex. “Okay. Sky? F1TV? Maybe something for social? Martin Brundle is waiting and—”

“No,” I cut her off, gently but firm. “If I do one, it’s with Lissie. No one else.”

Camille blinks. “Lissie—Lissie Mackintosh from Sky?”

I nod.

“She’s the only one who doesn’t make me feel like I’m under a microscope,” I explain. “She’s kind. And she actually listens.”

Camille softens a little. “Okay. I can work with that. But they’ll push back.”

“Let them,” I shrug. “I don’t owe them anything else today.”

She studies me for a moment, then exhales and heads out, already dialing her phone as she goes.

The door shuts again, and I fall back into the silence like it’s a blanket.

Max raises a brow. “Lissie, huh?”

“She doesn’t try to make me a headline,” I reply.

Max gives a nod of respect. “Smart. Wish we all had a Lissie.”

I glance down at my fingers, still slightly trembling from adrenaline. “I just need someone who sees me.”

“You just won a damn Grand Prix,” Max says, standing and nudging my foot with his. “They’re gonna have to see you now, whether they like it or not.”

—

yn's post race interview with lissie mackintosh- barcelona

—

third person pov

YN steps down from the small stage, fingers tugging at the collar of her suit as if she’s trying to breathe easier now that the lights are off. She’s walking fast, already focused on making it back to the safety of the garage. She doesn’t see Oscar until she turns the corner, he is halfway through his own interview with a different outlet. He’s smiling—tired, but still upbeat—and when he spots her, his expression brightens like he’s been waiting for a chance to say something. Oscar turned to YN as she passed by.

“You should really be talking to the winner, huh?”

His voice is friendly. Joking. The kind of throwaway line that’s meant to show camaraderie, not pressure. YN pauses just for a second. She offers a small, polite smile—closed-lipped and barely there. No laugh. No response. Just a nod. And then she’s gone. Quiet steps, fast retreat.

Oscar watches her disappear down the corridor, his smile faltering slightly. His interviewer says something, but he doesn’t really register it.

“…Did I say something weird?”

He turns back to the camera, eyes a little more unsure. In the back of his mind, the question settles in— Does she just not like me? But the truth is simpler. And sadder. She doesn’t dislike him. She just doesn’t have room for warmth in the places where the world watches too closely.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Race Winner, YN LN, only gave 1 two minute interview with @/skysports Lissie Mackintosh. Oscar Piastri who was P3 today, was also doing an interview when LN happened to walk by and made a joke to which YN just walked off. He then asked the interviewer if he said something wrong. Thoughts?

view 120,004 comments.

username00 : imagine winning a race and still managing to have the personality of dry toast 😭 poor oscar was just being NICE

username22 : as someone who watched the full interview with Lissie — she was genuine and soft spoken. maybe what she needs is respect, not attention.

username08 : i love Oscar but this isn’t that deep. she clearly has boundaries and isn’t fake about it. that’s kind of refreshing.

username09 : she didn’t even thank the fans today. one interview and vanishes? okay ice queen 🧊

username17 : not her making Oscar second guess himself when he was literally just being sweet? i would NEVER recover.

username20 : this is why she’s boring. no charisma, no interviews, no interaction. i said what i said. 🥱

username30 : are y’all ignoring the interaction she had with a younger fan today?? she is such a sweetie, she is just camera shy.

—

ynfromredbull

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, redbullracing and 1,7005,002 others.

ynfromredbull : good shit.

—

view 74,032 other comments.

lissiemackintosh : Honored to have been the one to share part of this day with you. Congratulations again, YN! ✨

liked by ynfromredbull

username0 : i feel like max is the only one that understands her.

maxverstappen1 : good shit indeed.

liked by ynfromredbull and redbullracing

oscarpiastri : Insane drive today, YN. 💪🏻

liked by ynfromredbull

↳ username0 : oscar is much better than me bc id be a hater rn

alexalbon : can someone pls nerf the redbull team. i am tired.

liked by maxverstappen1, ynfromredbull and redbullracing

username10 : can y'all shut up now- she is literally taking pictures with fans.

↳ username0 : wowww one time in her whole career.

carlossainz55 : such a beast. congratulations yn

liked by ynfromredbull

—

I don’t like nights like this. Too many people. Too many lights. Too many eyes that don’t know me but swear they do. I don’t stop for cameras, I don’t pose, I don’t even slow down when someone calls my name. I just head straight inside the theater like I’m late for something, even though I’m not. I keep my eyes low, find the row I asked Max to save for me, and drop into the seat beside him with a quiet exhale. He glances at me, unimpressed but amused.

“Nice entrance. Scared three PR people on the way in.”

I almost smile. “Was aiming for five.”

He snorts, and just like that, I feel a little more human. Max has always understood the value of silence. He never pushes, never demands more than I can give. We talk a little—about the ridiculousness of the event, the car updates, the championship—but mostly, we just sit. It’s enough. Until I feel a shift. I don’t even have to look up. I can sense someone walking toward us with too much hesitation, like they’ve already decided I’m going to run. When I do glance up, I’m met with wide brown eyes and a nervous smile. Oscar.

“Hey. Sorry—YN? Can I talk to you for a second?”

Max raises a brow. I pause, heart twitching in my chest for reasons I don’t fully understand, and then I nod. I follow Oscar into the hallway, the noise of the event fading behind me like static. The lighting is dimmer here. Softer. Still too bright. He turns to face me, shifting on his feet like he’s rehearsed this five times already.

“I, um—did I do something to upset you?”

My stomach drops.

“What?”

“After the race. I made that joke and you just… walked off. And I get it if you’re not a fan of me or something, I just—” He laughs nervously. “I keep thinking I said something wrong.”

I blink. I want to laugh, but I don’t. Instead, I look down, ashamed.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “It’s not you. It’s just… me.”

He looks confused. Still gentle, though. Waiting. I don’t know why, but I want to explain—just a little.

“When I was younger, I lost someone. My dad. He was… my person. The one who made the noise of the world feel a little less loud. And after it happened, I kind of… shut off. I don’t like being watched. I don’t like being asked to smile when I don’t feel like it. I just… exist better in the quiet.”

Oscar doesn’t speak for a long moment. But his expression softens in a way that makes my chest ache.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says eventually. “But thank you for trusting me.”

I nod, throat tight. Then, a flicker of guilt. “And I’m sorry for walking off like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

He smiles, shy and genuine.

“So… you don’t hate me?”

That makes me laugh. Just once, but it’s real.

“No,” I say softly. “I don’t.”

There’s a pause, and for the first time since I got here, I feel something shift in my chest. A crack of light.

He nudges me lightly with his shoulder. “Cool. Friends, then?”

I think about it. About how hard it is to let people in. About how much it scares me.

Then I nod. “Yeah. Friends.”

—

3 month time skip

ynfromredbull

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, lando & 2,409,001 others.

ynfromredbull : as my counterpart @/maxverstappen1 would say— these last few months have been simply lovely. 🏆💪🏻

—

view 127,002 other comments.

username0 : this caption is the most personality i’ve seen from her all season.

username14 : i can’t believe she is leading the wdc rn

maxverstappen1 : id sue for copyright infringement if i wasn’t so proud

liked by ynfromredbull

oscarpiastri : very artistic post yn

liked by ynfromredbull

↳ ynfromredbull : thank you mr. piastri

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ lando : OMG SHE SPEAKS

liked by ynfromredbull

↳ lando : yn i didn’t mean that in a bad way pls don’t drive me off the track

liked by ynfromredbull

georgerussell63 : it is against fia regulations to have a teddy bear in the car. RACE BAN (she is still destroying all of us— it would not help save the season)

liked by ynfromredbull

—

f1gossipgirls

428,023 likes.

f1gossipgirls : For the first time in her F1 career, YN LN has not walked into the paddock alone. She walked in with none other than Oscar Piastri himself. Not only did she walk in with him but the two stopped for the press multiple times and stopped to talk with fans. Many people say that this is the most they’ve seen her smile in her whole career. Thoughts?

—

view 15,539 other comments.

username00 : from Oscar “did I do something wrong?” to Oscar walking her in and making her smile… the arc is so insane

username15 : f1gossipgirls is finally being NICE about her. this is how powerful love is

username17 : i haven’t seen her this relaxed since she debuted. i’d cry if i wasn’t already crying.

username22 : this is NOT a drill. she SMILED. she TALKED. she STOOD STILL for the PRESS. what is happening

username0 : So now she wants the attention? Pick a side. Either be private or don’t.

username14 : she’s literally only tolerable when she’s standing next to a man. that’s so sad lol

username20 : i’m sorry but this whole “she’s just shy” thing got old last season. f1 drivers are public figures. she knew what she signed up for.

—

It happens slowly. Like sunlight through tinted glass — warm but filtered, creeping in without permission. Oscar’s been around a lot lately. Not just in the paddock, where we’re both supposed to be, but everywhere in between. Track walks, post-race debriefs, long flights, short layovers, dinners in quiet towns we don’t name on social media. He’s become part of the background noise of my life, and for once, that doesn’t scare me.

I notice it when we’re sitting side by side in the sim room, not speaking, just existing. The silence between us feels easy now. Familiar. Like I don’t have to earn my space — I just have it. I notice it when he hands me a coffee before I’ve even asked, the way he always remembers I take it black with a splash of oat milk, no sugar. Or when he throws a hoodie at me because I always forget I get cold before FP3.

I notice it most on the plane ride. He’s asleep beside me, his head tilted toward me, headphones slipping. I’m staring at the clouds and thinking about how close I am to the title. Closer than I’ve ever been. I should be terrified. But I’m not. Because he’s here. And for some reason, that grounds me.

He mumbles something in his sleep and leans slightly toward my shoulder. I freeze. Not because I’m uncomfortable — but because I’m suddenly too comfortable. My heart stutters. It’s a dangerous thing, comfort. I’ve avoided it for years, convinced it would disappear the moment I reached for it. But Oscar—he never asked me to reach. He just stayed.

Now I’m sitting in row 8F of some transatlantic flight with a soft-voiced Aussie curled up next to me and a World Championship lead in my lap — and all I can think is... God, I might actually be in love with him. And that’s scarier than any press conference I’ve ever dodged.

—

I could already feel the heat of the Monaco sun pressing down as we stepped out of the car. The walk to the paddock always felt long, even when it wasn’t. My palms were tucked into my jacket pockets, nerves dancing beneath my skin like they always did. But this time, I wasn’t alone.

Oscar walked beside me, chatting softly about absolutely nothing — the weather, the coffee at the hotel, the chaos of the Monte Carlo grid. I appreciated it. His voice was grounding. I didn’t have to say anything, and he didn’t expect me to.

I kept my eyes low, used to the flashes of phones and the buzz of people trying to get my attention. Normally, I’d keep walking. Fast. Direct. No room for error. But then I heard it.

“YN!”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t aggressive. Just… hopeful. I slowed down without thinking. Oscar noticed instantly and stilled beside me.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… give me a sec.”

I turned toward the barricade. A young fan was holding a poster of my car from Australia. I’d won that race. My name was scrawled across the sidepod in sharp lettering — a moment frozen in time I’d barely let myself process. I took the marker from their hand, signed it quickly but neatly.

“Thank you for today,” the fan said, eyes wide. “You’re… amazing. You’ve always been amazing.”

The words hit me somewhere in the chest I didn’t know was sore.

“…Thanks,” I said, almost too quietly. Then louder: “Thanks for saying that.”

They smiled like I’d handed them gold. I took one photo — just one. And then I stepped back beside Oscar, who gave me a subtle smile. Not too proud. Not too over-the-top. Just there. Solid. Steady. We weren’t even halfway through the paddock before a Sky Sports reporter called out.

“YN! Oscar! Over here?”

I froze.

Oscar looked at me. “Wanna skip it?”

I shook my head. “Just one.”

We walked over together. I didn’t say much — I never do — but I stood there. Present. Listening. And when they asked how I was feeling going into the weekend, the words came before I could edit them.

“Focused,” I said. Then, after a breath: “And a little less alone today.”

Oscar glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. There was a flicker of something soft there, something understanding. It felt… safe. When we finally reached the Red Bull garage, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in twenty minutes. I peeled off my jacket, tugged at the brim of my cap, and tried to disappear through the back. But Max was already leaning on the pit wall, headset half-on, watching me with that unreadable Verstappen face.

“You smiled,” he said, completely monotone. “Terrifying.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

He smirked just slightly. “I’m just saying… if you become media friendly, I’m going to have to be the difficult one now.”

“You already are,” I deadpanned.

Max laughed under his breath and tossed me a bottle of water. “You did good, LN.”

And for once, I let myself believe it.

—

The world was quiet around us. The kind of hush that only existed in moments like this — between heartbeats, between stares. Monaco’s lights flickered just beyond the windows, gold threads pulling through navy silk. I could hear the sea in the distance. Oscar lay beside me, legs stretched across my duvet like he belonged here. He wasn’t touching me, not yet, but he was close enough that I could feel every inch of space between us — and it made my chest ache.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

I turned my head toward him. “That’s saying something.”

He smiled, tired and tender. “Fair. Still true.”

I didn’t answer. Because truthfully, I was scared. This was all new. The closeness. The comfort. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t hard to figure out. Then he said it — no fanfare, no buildup, just a simple truth.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

It should’ve terrified me. But it didn’t. Not really. It cracked something open.

I stared at him, eyes burning, heart folding in on itself. “I think I already have,” I breathed, voice barely there.

The silence that followed was thick — not heavy, not awkward. Just real. He reached over, his fingers grazing mine so gently it made my skin buzz. It wasn’t a grab. It was an invitation. And for once in my life, I accepted. I laced my fingers through his and sat up, pulling open the drawer next to my bed. There was only one thing inside — an envelope. Worn at the edges, the flap taped down three times because I’d opened and closed it more than I should have. I handed it to him. His brows furrowed as he opened it slowly. The photo slipped into his hand.

Me, at six. All tiny teeth and wild hair, grinning up like the sun had never set. Standing next to a man in a racing suit. His hand was on my shoulder. The same eyes. The same smirk. My father. Oscar looked between the photo and me, and I saw the shift happen in real time — confusion to understanding to quiet reverence.

“That’s… is that who I think it is?” His voice cracked just slightly.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “My dad.”

I didn’t say his name. I didn’t need to.

“He died when I was eight. It was… it was violent. Sudden. One second he was there, and then he wasn’t. He was my safest place. My everything. After that, I… broke. I stopped talking for months. And when I started again, it was never the same.”

He didn’t move. Just stared at me like I was something delicate, like if he breathed too loudly I might fold in on myself.

“I never told anyone,” I continued, voice barely holding. “I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want to be treated like some ghost of his shadow. I wanted to be me. Just me.”

Oscar’s fingers tightened around mine — not too much, just enough to remind me I wasn’t alone anymore.

“You are,” he whispered. “You’re everything.”

I looked at him then, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like hiding.

“I think he’d like you,” I said, smiling through the burn in my throat.

Oscar leaned in, resting his forehead against mine, and whispered back, “I like you more than I should.”

And in the soft glow of the Monaco skyline, wrapped in the quiet I used to fear, I finally let myself feel it all. Love. Safety. Peace. Him.

—

f1

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, ynfromredbull & 8,029,003 others.

f1 : Your 2025 World Champion, YN LN! Incredible drive this season, YN. This is well deserved.

tagged : ynfromredbull

—

view 239,492 other comments.

username00 : MY QUEEN! CONGRATULATIONS YN.

username15 : gonna be insufferable about this for the next 40 years ok????

susie_wolff : YN has made history. I am forever proud of her.

liked by ynfromredbull and f1

username30 : people doubted her, the press dragged her, and she STILL smoked them all. cold-blooded. we love a quiet assassin 💅

lissiemackintosh : I’ve seen your journey up close. You are everything this sport needs. Congratulations, champion. 💫

liked by ynfromredbull

oscarpiastri : No one more worthy. What a season, YN. 🏆🤍

liked by ynfromredbull

lando : MY GOATTTTTT LFGGGG

liked by ynfromredbull

lewishamilton : It’s been inspiring watching you come into your own. World Champion sounds good on you. 🔥

liked by ynfromredbull

maxverstappen1 : Couldn’t be more proud. YN deserved this more than anyone.

liked by ynfromredbull

—

ynfromredbull

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, lando and 12,037,024 others.

ynfromredbull : this is what it is all about. thank you all. it is an honor to be your 2025 world champ. i hope you grow to love me as much as i love all of you.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

We were far from everything — the noise, the cameras, the endless headlines. Just a small coastal town somewhere in Portugal, sun-drunk and slow, the kind of place where people didn’t care about championship points or last names. Oscar and I had spent the day walking through sleepy markets, eating too much gelato, and laughing at nothing. Now, the two of us lay tangled together on the bed in the little apartment we rented, the linen sheets kicked down to our ankles and the windows cracked open to let in the salt-kissed night air. His hand rested on my stomach, thumb drawing slow circles over the hem of my shirt. The world outside our window was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. Not tonight.

“I want to do it,” I said into the stillness.

He turned his head, his voice a low murmur against my temple. “Do what?”

I hesitated, even though I already knew he’d understand. He always did.

“The interview. I want to finally say it. Talk about… him. All of it.”

Oscar sat up slightly, enough to look at me properly. “You’re sure?”

I nodded, throat tight. “It’s time. I’ve hidden behind the silence for so long. And I don’t want to anymore.”

He searched my eyes, then gently tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t owe anyone your pain, you know. You don’t have to justify who you are.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But I want to tell the story. My story. People have made it for me for so long — all the gossip, the assumptions. I’ve let them believe I’m cold or arrogant or just awkward. But the truth is…” I swallowed. “The truth is, I’m just someone who lost the one person that made the world feel safe.”

Oscar’s hand found mine under the sheets, his fingers warm and steady.

“I think he’d be proud of you,” he said softly. “For everything. For surviving. For being brave enough to do this now.”

I blinked hard, staring up at the ceiling to stop the tears from spilling.

“I miss him so much, still. Every day. Sometimes I think that little girl in the paddock died with him — the one who used to talk to everyone, who smiled without thinking about it.”

He pulled me into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “That girl’s still in there. I see her every time you light up after a race. Every time you laugh when you think no one’s listening. You’re still her. Just… grown, and stronger.”

I breathed him in — the cologne I’d come to associate with safety and something close to peace.

“Will you be there? When I do it?” I asked quietly. “When I finally say his name?”

“Every step,” he said without hesitation. “Always.”

And in that moment, with his arms around me and the stars blinking somewhere above the rooftops, I knew I wasn’t alone anymore.

Not in the silence. Not in the truth. Not ever again.

—

‘hey lissie— its yn. i want to do an exclusive interview with you. if you’re willing.’

’omg hey champ— obviously id be willing to. where do you need me?’

’my house. next week? i can send a plane your way.’

’ill be there. i am honored, yn. truly.’. 

—

world champion, yn, sharing her truths from her home in monaco with lissie mackintosh - 1/2/2026

—

ynsenna

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, oscarpiastri & 17,023,004 others.

ynsenna : i’ve spent most of my life trying to be quiet enough not to be noticed. not because i didn’t have anything to say—but because grief took the words from me before i ever had the chance to speak.

this season changed my life. not just because of the results, but because i finally stopped running from the part of me that hurt the most. my father was everything to me. and losing him the way i did shattered something i didn’t know how to rebuild—until recently. the truth is- i’m proud to be his daughter. but i’m also proud of the woman i’ve become, entirely on my own.

to those who’ve seen me when i couldn’t see myself—thank you. to the ones who stayed kind even when i stayed quiet—you mean more than you know.

and to the person who reminded me i’m allowed to be loved, messy and whole—i love you.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirl : YN just did an interview from her home with Lissie Mackintosh going into detail about her childhood and revealed that Ayrton Senna is in fact her father. She spoke about how her father’s tragic death left her emotionally shut her down for most of her life— and she chose silence as form of self protection. She led Lissie through a room in her house which held a large collection of her father’s helmets and trophy’s and she shared a few photos of them on her instagram today— which her new instagram handle is @/ynsenna. She also revealed in this interview that she is indeed dating Oscar Piastri. Oscar was behind the camera silently supporting her during the interview. Thoughts?

—

view 802,482 comments.

username0 : i’m crying real tears. she carried the weight of that legacy in complete silence. absolute warrior.

username14 : Oscar being behind the camera and just silently supporting her???? marriage. immediately.

username20 : now it all makes sense. the silence, the eyes that always looked a little sad. she’s been carrying so much. proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.

username15 : she didn’t win the championship for the world. she won it for her dad and for the little girl who lost her dad. i’m not okay.

username17 : everything about this interview was raw and honest. we don’t deserve her but god do we respect her.

username30 : the fact she said nothing for years and let people think the worst of her, just to protect herself?? she’s not cold. she’s human. and she deserves peace.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by ynsenna, maxverstappen1, lando & 10,273,005 others.

oscarpiastri : proud to know you. proud to love you. you are the strongest human i know. you made him proud, sweetheart.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

The interview with Lissie had gone live less than twelve hours ago. I’d barely blinked since then. I was curled up on my couch, hoodie three sizes too big, hair in a bun, face completely bare. Oscar sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, his back leaning against the couch between my legs. I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair while he scrolled through TikTok with the volume low. My phone buzzed every five seconds on the table, but I ignored it. Oscar didn’t ask questions. He just stayed. And he was quiet in that way that felt like peace.

The soft hum of city traffic below filled the silence until—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone was knocking on my door like it owed them money. Oscar and I both jolted.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, twisting to look at me.

“No—wait. Shhh. Listen.”

BANG BANG BANG.

Then—“YN! OPEN UP! YOU OWE US A DAMN EXPLANATION!”

That voice. That unhinged tone.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “Is that—Max?”

Oscar looked up at me. “Should I get the bat?”

I was still laughing as I padded to the door, the sound of voices growing louder.

“Carlos, stop pressing the buzzer, it’s annoying.”

“She’s probably ignoring us—”

“She probably moved to Brazil, bro.”

“Shut up, George.”

“YN, IF YOU DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR I’M GETTING THE SPARE FROM CHRISTIAN!”

I opened the door. And immediately got hit with a wave of chaos. Max was at the front like the ringleader. Behind him stood Charles, Lando, Carlos, Pierre, Yuki, Lewis, George, and Alex, all staring at me like I’d just casually announced I was royalty.

“Hi,” I said blandly.

“‘Hi’?! That’s all we get?” George sputtered.

Max shouldered his way in first, eyes wide. “You—YOU—” He pointed at me. “Are Senna’s daughter and you didn’t tell anyone?!”

“I told Oscar,” I mumbled, leaning against the door frame.

“Yeah, okay, Oscar gets a free pass,” Lando said dramatically, waving a hand as he walked in. “Since he is the boyfriend.”

“I can’t believe you’re his,” Pierre said, mouth open as he stared around the apartment.

Yuki beelined for my kitchen. “Do you have snacks?”

Carlos gave me a look that was half stern, half soft. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Lewis stepped forward, eyes kind. “You didn’t have to. But… damn. That was powerful, YN.”

“Yeah,” Charles agreed, nodding slowly. “I cried, but that might’ve been the wine.”

The room was buzzing. Full of movement, questions, half-jokes, too much cologne, and disbelief so thick I could feel it crackling in the air like electricity. And yet, through it all, I just… Chuckled. I mean — this was my life now? Eight world-class athletes pacing my apartment like it was a race strategy debrief while Oscar, my boyfriend, my soulmate, looked like he wanted to protect me from the emotional onslaught with nothing but a throw pillow.

Max stared at me. “What’s funny?”

I smiled — wide and honest. “You guys are all losing your minds in my living room. Like I’m a unicorn or something.”

George raised a finger. “To be fair, you are. We just didn’t know it.”

Lando turned toward Oscar. “You knew. You absolute sneaky bastard.”

Oscar held up his hands, all innocence. “She told me. I didn’t say anything. Not even in the group chat.”

“I’m so proud of you, and also I hate you,” Pierre muttered, clapping Oscar’s shoulder.

And then — without warning — Max said, “Alright, that’s it. Everyone shut up.”

I blinked. “What—”

He lunged. Then Lando. Then Charles. Then George. Before I could even think to protest, I was being dragged into a ridiculous, suffocating, all-limbs, too-many-colognes, full team group hug. My face was squished between Max’s shoulder and Pierre’s head. Oscar laughed and wrapped his arms around all of us from the outside.

Someone yelled, “We’re proud of you!”

Someone else yelled, “She’s a Senna but she’s our YN!”

And I think it was Alex who shouted, “WE LOVE YOU, WORLD CHAMP!”

I couldn’t breathe. Not from the pressure of the hug — from the feeling of it all. Acceptance. Support. Love. After years of walls, of silence, of solitude, it all rushed in like the wave I didn’t know I’d been bracing for. And I let myself sink into it. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to carry the legacy alone anymore.

—

[brainddeadd]

reckless — ln4, op81

smau/real life

lando norris x !ex singer reader

oscar piastri x !singer reader

y/n and lando had been inseparable since they were nineteen, building a life together through the highs and lows. but lately, something felt off. as lando grew distant, yn’s suspicions quietly grew—until the truth unraveled…he’d been cheating with magui. instead of confronting him, yn poured her heartbreak into a song—one that ended their relationship for the world to hear. in the aftermath, she found comfort where she least expected it… in the arms of lando’s own teammate.

fc : stassie karanikolaou and various pinterest gals

special request from my love @cmgmikealson 🧡

i am legit posting heal your heart right as we speak so part 4 is posted if you’re looking for it

—

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55, mclaren & 1,294,389 others.

yourusername : life’s been pretty good to me lately<3

—

username00 : so pretty love

username7 : no lando like?

username15 : he usually is first comment 🤨

username5 : im so confused where is her man

username8 : guys he is in the dump relax

alexandrasaintmleux : god you are so beautiful

liked by yourusername

yourusername : come smooch on me pretty

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : what did I walk into?

alexandrasaintmleux: look away cha

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 : Miss you yn!

liked by yourusername

yourusername : miss you carlitos! golf with papà soon?

liked by carlossainz55 and carlossainzoficial

carlossainzoficial : Sí!

liked by yourusername and carlossainz55

kikagomes : my stunning girl

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you to the moon and back

username10 : where tf is lando?

—

‘This chapter's about

How you said there was nobody else

Then you got up and went to her house

You guys always left me out’

—

He grabs his keys from the counter, barely glancing in my direction.

“I’ll be back later,” Lando says, voice flat.

“Where are you going?” I ask, keeping my tone light—casual, like I don’t already feel the distance growing between us.

He shrugs. “Just out.”

No name. No place. No explanation.

I nod, pretending not to care. “Okay. Be safe.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and silence floods the room. I sit there, staring at the space he just walked out of. My chest feels heavier than it should. I could’ve asked again, pressed for an answer—but what would that change? I already know the truth, even if I’m too scared to say it out loud. Something’s wrong. I feel it in the way he doesn’t look at me the same. In how he only kisses me when he thinks I’m not paying attention to the way his mind is somewhere else. Maybe I don’t argue because deep down… I’m tired of fighting for someone who’s already gone.

—

f1gossipgirls

457,296 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Rumors have been swirling for weeks about F1 driver Lando Norris and model/influencer Magui Corceiro, and it looks like things just heated up. The two were seen leaving Magui’s apartment early Tuesday morning, looking very cozy—and definitely not like just friends. Sources say Y/N, Lando’s longtime girlfriend, was not around at the time. The pair kept it low-key, both wearing sunglasses and casual fits, but witnesses couldn’t help but notice the chemistry (and the fact that lando was spotted there overnight).

—

username00 : yn deserved so much better. she gave that man years of loyalty and he gave her betrayal in return. i hope she writes a whole album about this.

username10 : lando leaving his apartment with Magui like we wouldn’t notice?? men have no shame.

username22 : you mean to tell me lando threw away 5 years with yn (the most stunning person on the planet) for felix’ sloppy seconds?

username30 : yn’s silence speaks louder than words.

usernameeee : lando FUMBLED.

—

‘When you told me that I was the only girl

You'd ever want in your life’

The post sits on my phone screen, still open. Lando and Magui, walking out of our apartment like it was theirs. Like I didn’t exist. When I hear the front door open, I don’t move. Just stare at the screen until it turns black. I lock it and set it face down.

Lando walks in, running a hand through his hair like he’s exhausted. “Hey, I’m back,” he says softly.

I look up, trying to sound casual. “Were you with Magui?”

He pauses in the middle of the room. Not long, but long enough.

Then he walks over slowly, kneels in front of me, and rests his hands gently on my knees. “Yeah,” he says, voice calm. “She needed someone to talk to. She was going through something, and I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“There are pictures,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “They look worse than it was. I swear, Y/N. Nothing’s going on with her. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

His eyes search mine like he’s begging me to believe him. He squeezes my hands. “You’re the only one I want. You always have been.”

I nod slowly, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Okay.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

But I still don’t believe him.

Because love shouldn’t come with this much doubt.

And the part of me that used to feel safe with him… doesn’t anymore.

—

‘Each day goes by and each night, I cry

Somebody saw you with her last night

You gave me your word, "Don't worry 'bout her’

The room is quiet except for the occasional sniffle I try to stifle into my pillow. The sheets are pulled up to my chin, but they don’t feel warm—just heavy. Like everything else. My phone is beside me, screen dimmed, waiting for a notification that won’t come. No apology. No explanation. Just silence. I open my Notes app instead, the cursor blinking back at me like it knows what’s coming. I start typing, barely able to see through the blur in my eyes. The words hurt. But they feel true. They feel like mine. I let out a shaky breath, backlit by the soft glow of the screen, when a buzz cuts through the stillness.

Max Fewtrell :

Hey. I know Lando is my best friend but what he is doing to you is so wrong, yn. You’ve been loyal to him for so long. I saw him out with magui again. I wanted you to know. I’m so sorry.

My heart drops. Max never texts me like this. Not unless it’s something important. Not unless he feels like I deserve to know. I stare at the message, my fingers trembling. He lied. Looked me in the eye and told me she just “stopped by.”

I feel something crack quietly inside me—not loud or explosive, just the kind of break you can’t come back from.

—

‘How could you be so reckless with my heart?’

I lie in bed for a while, Max’s message burning a hole in my chest. I keep hoping—praying—there’s a reasonable explanation. That I’m overthinking. That he’s telling the truth. But something inside me shifts. That quiet voice that’s been whispering doubts for weeks gets louder. I can’t ignore it anymore. So I get up. I move through the apartment on autopilot, careful not to make a sound, like I’m trespassing in a home that used to feel like mine. Lando’s bag is by the door, half-zipped, carelessly tossed like everything else in this relationship lately. I kneel beside it, heart pounding. I don’t want to be this person. I never wanted to look. But he made me. Inside, I find his phone charger, his sunglasses… and then a second phone. One I’ve never seen before. It’s not locked. My hands are cold as I scroll through the texts. Her name is right there—Magui—bold and glowing like a warning.

“Miss you already.”

“Last night was everything.”

“Don’t forget your hoodie. I kept it.”

Photo attachments. Her in our kitchen. Her in his hoodie. The same one he wore when he left that day. The same one I folded and left out for him the night before. My breath catches. I can’t cry. Not right now. My body won’t let me. I set the phone down on the counter and stare at it, like it’s some kind of weapon. Because it is. Proof of betrayal. Of everything he swore wasn’t happening.

And suddenly, I’m not heartbroken.

I’m done.

—

‘You check in and out

Of my heart like a hotel

And she must be perfect, oh well

I hope you both go to hell’

I don’t rush.

There’s a strange calm that settles over me as I fold my clothes, one by one, placing them carefully into the suitcase I bought on our first trip together. I don’t slam drawers or throw things. I just… let go.

Piece by piece.

Everything that once felt like home now feels like evidence. The framed photo of us at Silverstone. The hoodie he gave me when I first stayed over. The mug with my initial that he always filled before his morning races.

I don’t take them.

He can have the memories.

I zip the suitcase slowly and glance around the apartment one last time. It looks the same. But everything’s changed.

On the counter, I leave the second phone. Unlocked. Open to the last message from Magui.

And next to it, I place a folded piece of paper.

‘i trusted you. i loved you. she must be perfect, oh well. i hope you both go to hell.’

—

‘Hey, this is a story I hate

But I told it to cope with the pain

I'm so sorry if you can relate’

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri & 4,379,275 others.

yourusername : i got cheated on so alex got me this shirt, we went to ibiza to party and i released my new single reckless out now 🗣️

—

username00 : alex is the best ever

username10 : this is so iconic. the shirt. the cig in ibiza. im in tears.

alexandrasaintmleux : i love love love you- the trip was so fun

liked by yn_ln

charles_leclerc : Glad you girls had fun! Hope you’re feeling better, yn:)

liked by yn_ln and alexandrasaintmleux

yn_ln : thanks for letting us borrow the jet Charlie;)

liked by charles_leclerc

kikagomes : so iconic FUCK HIM

liked yn_ln

oscarpiastri : Glad you’re healing, YN. He did you wrong.

liked by yn_ln

kikagomes : or fuck his teammate??

liked by yn_ln & oscarpiastri

username17 : OH MY GOD

carlossainz55 : glad to be your tour guide :)

liked by yn_ln

yn_ln : 10/10 would recommend

username000 : oh so she won everyone in the breakup

—

36 missed calls from Lando

115 messages from Lando

—

The Monaco streets are quiet this early—just the soft hum of waves below and the rhythmic slap of my sneakers against the pavement. The city’s waking up, but I’ve been up for hours. Running clears my head in ways sleep can’t lately. I round the corner near Port Hercule, pulling my hoodie tighter around me as the breeze cuts through. Just as I hit the incline by the marina, a familiar figure jogs past in the opposite direction—then slows down and doubles back.

“Yn?”

I pause, pulling out one earbud. “Oscar?”

He jogs up, slightly out of breath, curls damp with sweat, that easy smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know you were back.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to steady both my breathing and the sudden flutter in my chest. “Just got in a few days ago.”

He nods, studying me for a beat. “You alright?”

I give a tired smile. “Getting there.”

He doesn’t push. Just offers a quiet, steady presence, the kind I didn’t know I needed until now.

“I was gonna grab a coffee and walk the market after this,” he says, shifting his weight slightly. “You feel like company?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is this a pity invite?”

He grins. “Only if you say no. Then it’ll definitely be pity.”

I laugh—really laugh—for the first time in days. The air feels lighter somehow.

“Alright,” I say. “But I’m picking the playlist next time we run into each other.”

He falls in step beside me. “Deal.”

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, kikagomes, carlossainz55 & 2,278,245 others.

yourusername : never been happier <3

—

username00 : new man??! bets??

username10 : better not see any “you moved on quick” comments because he moved on while they were still together

username5 : what if it’s Oscar???

kikagomes : you’re so cute omggg ily

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux : my angel deserves to be happy 🦋

liked by yn_ln

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & 1,238,255 others.

oscarpiastri : Been pretty productive lately.

—

username00 : mans is soft launching and is so nonchalant

carlossainz55 : Hell of a season for you so far amigo!

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri : My good luck charm definitely helps

liked by carlossainz55

username10 : call me delulu but that’s def yn

hattiepiastri : who? what? when?

oscarpiastri : you could’ve just texted bro

hattiepiastri : you never answer your texts

nicolepiastri : or calls

—

The Monaco sun hits hard, even in the morning, but the buzz of the paddock is electric as always—cameras flashing, engines humming in the background, and whispers floating like static. This time, though, it’s not the usual chaos that turns heads.

It’s me.

Walking beside Oscar.

I’m wearing sunglasses, a soft black cap pulled low, and an oversized McLaren hoodie. Not just any hoodie—his hoodie. The number 81 stitched on the sleeve in that unmistakable papaya orange.

Oscar doesn’t say anything when the photographers start snapping. Just glances sideways at me with a small, knowing smile like he expected this.

I shrug. “It was the most comfortable one I had.”

“Sure it was,” he says, gently bumping my shoulder with his.

We pass a few crew members. They nod politely—but their eyes dip to my sleeve.

The whispers start instantly.

“That’s Piastri’s number, isn’t it?”

“Since when are they a thing?”

“I thought she was with—”

“Not anymore.”

Somewhere across the paddock, I catch a glimpse of Lando.

He’s mid-conversation but freezes for a split second when he sees us. His eyes drop to the hoodie, and I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens.

I don’t look away.

Oscar doesn’t either.

He simply says, “You ready?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He grips tightly onto my hand as we walk through.

—

The podium celebration is chaos—in the best way. Champagne rains down like glitter, the crowd is deafening, and Oscar’s smile is wider than she’s ever seen it. There’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. A quiet, humble pride. He climbs down from the stage, face flushed with adrenaline and joy, and immediately scans the crowd.

And then he sees me. Standing just behind the McLaren garage barrier, still wearing his hoodie, tears in my eyes and the biggest grin on my face.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He pushes through the crowd—crew members cheering, pats on the back, cameras chasing him—and walks straight to me.

“You did it,” i breathe, eyes shining.

“I told you I would,” he says softly, almost in disbelief.

And before either of us can talk ourselves out of it, he leans in and kisses me.

Not rushed. Not messy. Just sure.

The kind of kiss that says finally.

Around us, everything blurs. Reporters stop mid-sentence. Phones come up. Paparazzi lenses refocus. Someone gasps—someone else screams.

It’s official. Public. Real.

When we pull apart, Oscar rests his forehead against mine.

“I wanted to do that for a while.”

I laughed, still a little breathless. “Figured. You did win, after all.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But I think you’re still my favorite part of today.”

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc & 10,279,255 others.

yourusername : finally got a man who can handle having a baddie

—

charles_leclerc : the cutout picture has me rolling

liked by yn_ln

yn_ln : he told me to leave it out

oscarpiastri : i know how lucky i am to have pulled you;)

liked by yn_ln

oscarpiastri : my pretty girl

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux: my loves!

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

carlossainz55 : oh this is the good luck charm, huh?😉

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

—

☘️🌿🌎☁️🍃🌱🐢

[brainddeadd]

my boyfriend’s pretty cool but he’s not as cool as me

smau

oscar piastri x !dancer reader

lando norris x best friend reader

in which lando’s childhood best friend is one of the most well known dancer’s/choreographer’s in the world— she has choreographed tours for beyonce, kendrick lamar, sza—etc— when she comes to visit lando in the paddock during a tour break—a certain teammate catches her eye—it leaves the internet and lando baffled on how he managed to pull her.

—

hello guys— I am busy working on secrets rn but I had this in my drafts and figured I’d give you guys something while you wait. requests are always open pookies 💋

—

fc : pamela hughes

—

yourusername

gnx tour 📍

liked by lando, lewishamilton, kendricklamar & 4,324,396 others.

yourusername : gnx tourrrr mamassss!! massive thank you to kenny and solana for giving me the opportunity to not only dance on this tour but to choreograph a huge majority of it — I love you both and you both have been such a huge inspiration to me <3 this has been one of the best opportunities of my life and i am so grateful every single day.

lando : bub!!!! this is so huge! so so proud of you

liked by author

yourusername : love you lan!! see you soon 💋

liked by lando

username: omgomg yn paddock appearance??

liked by author and lando

username2 : are her and lando dating??

username : they are childhood besties

lewishamilton : Absolutely incredible. Love to see it 🖤

liked by author

yourusername : thank you lewis!! so excited to see you

liked by lewishamilton

sza : love you and your beautiful soul sooooo much🦋 you are such an incredible talent and i wouldn’t want anyone else to do the job

liked by author

yourusername : love you forever and ever — the most special angel 🐞

kikagomes : i have been DYING to see you again— come to alpine?🥹

liked by author

alpinef1team : pleaseeeeee

liked by author

mclaren : she stays with us.

yourusername : you guys can share me,, i want to see my keeks😻

liked by kikagomes

alexandrasaintmleux : sooooo proud of you! cant wait to see you mon ange

liked by author

yourusername : my heartttt ily

kendricklamar : The best in the business. All the love for you.

liked by author

yourusername : the GOAT. thank you for believing in me.

username : when you get back from tour will you start master classes again???

liked by author

yourusername : absolutely! so excited to teach again!

oscarpiastri : Excited to meet you, finally. Big fan of your work.

liked by author

yourusername : same to you oscar! seems you’re having a stellar season so far😎

liked by oscarpiastri

lando : osc trying to be sly 😁

oscarpiastri : leave lando

—

lando added a post to his story!

seen by mclaren, oscarpiastri , charles_leclerc & 2,368,296 others.

charles_leclerc : alex said to tell you to hurry up and hand her over

lando : bro all she is talking about is your girlfriend it’s like she didn’t even miss me — driving her over now 😔

charles_leclerc : yay my wife 😚😚💋💋 - alex

oscarpiastri : She’ll be in the paddock tomorrow?

lando : yes lover boy she will

oscarpiastri: Shut up, Lando. I’m just preparing myself to meet the girl version of you.

lando : sureeeee😁

—

The air was thick with salt and heat—Miami’s signature cocktail. Palm trees leaned toward the track like eager fans, and the bass of engines vibrated beneath the soles of my sneakers as I stepped out of the black car. The paddock swarmed with movement: crew members, journalists, influencers dressed like it was fashion week, and the ever-present scent of gasoline and competition.

I kept my hood up—not because I needed to hide, but because it felt surreal being here, back in his world. Tour life had been nonstop: Tokyo, Berlin, São Paulo. Sold-out shows. Headlines. Backstage chaos. But I hadn’t seen Lando in person in almost a year. Not since that night we sat on the rooftop in Monaco, passing a bag of chips and talking about everything except our careers.

Now I was here, finally. And I was nervous. Which was ridiculous. He was Lando. My best friend since we were seven. The one who dared me to audition for my first dance academy. The one who called me right before my first solo show, whispering “You’ve got this,” like it was a promise.

A buzz passed through the paddock crowd. I looked up.

There he was.

Walking straight toward me with that grin—lazy, lopsided, utterly him. His race suit tied around his waist, curls messy, eyes sharp behind the sunglasses he pulled off the second he saw me.

“You actually came.”

His voice broke through the noise, and in that moment, the engines, the cameras, the heat—it all melted away.

“You think I’d miss you racing in Miami?” I dropped my bag just in time for him to scoop me into a hug that lifted me off the ground.

“You’re heavier than you used to be,” he joked, squeezing me tighter.

“I’m stronger than I used to be,” I fired back, laughing.

He set me down but didn’t let go. “God, I missed you.”

I pulled back enough to see his face—flushed, sun-kissed, and that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “You look good,” I said.

“So do you. Better, actually. Must be that stage lighting.” He poked my shoulder. “Or maybe all those standing ovations.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been watching the shows?”

“Every one I could— bits and pieces on tik tok. You kill every performance. Kendrick’s lucky to have you.” He paused, then added more quietly, “But I’m luckier.”

A silence hung between us, not awkward, but heavy with years of shared history. All the missed birthdays, the FaceTimes from hotel rooms, the stupid memes sent at 2 a.m. We’d grown up and grown famous—but we’d never grown apart.

“You look like you’re in your element,” I said, gesturing toward the chaos of the paddock.

“I am. But,” he tilted his head, “it’s better now.”

“Because of me?”

“Because you’re here,” he said, like it was obvious. “You always show up when it counts.”

He slung an arm around my shoulders. “Come on. I want to show you the garage—and maybe steal you for the driver’s parade tomorrow. You know, if you’re not busy headlining the world.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Lead the way, Norris.”

And as we walked deeper into the paddock, the sound of engines roared louder—but nothing drowned out the quiet, steady rhythm of coming home.

—

The McLaren garage was a different kind of chaos. Engineers speaking in quick bursts. Monitors flickering with data that looked like hieroglyphs to me. The hum of focus in the air—pure, precise.

Lando led the way, his voice cutting through the noise as he introduced me to the crew like I was royalty. “She’s family,” he kept saying, and they all nodded like they already knew. Maybe they did. Cameras followed us, but I was used to that. It was the vibe in here that threw me—intense, but somehow… inviting.

And then he walked in.

Helmet tucked under his arm, race suit half-zipped. Brown hair slightly tousled, brows knit in thought until he glanced up—and saw me.

Oscar Piastri.

I knew the name, of course. Rookie no more. Calm, clinical, fast as hell. Lando had talked about him in that complicated way he talks about people he respects but also wants to beat. But he hadn’t mentioned that Oscar was… cute. Unfairly cute. And tall. And had dimples, which—honestly—should be illegal.

Lando grinned wider, catching the pause. “Oscar! Come meet the real star of the weekend.”

Oscar looked between us, a little cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he was about to be pranked. “There she is,” he said with a smile, offering a hand. “Lando has told me so much about you.”

I blinked at him, then laughed. “And Lando told me you are ‘weirdly good at not talking.’”

He smirked—dimples on full display. “That sounds accurate.”

Our handshake lingered. Just long enough for both of us to realize it. Then we dropped hands quickly, both pretending not to notice.

“I saw the Brazil show,” Oscar said. “It was… unreal.”

“You watched it?” I tilted my head, a little surprised.

“Lando made me. Then I watched the rest on my own.” He shrugged, trying to look casual. Failing slightly. “You move like you’re not even human.”

“Neither do you,” I said before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked up to mine—surprised. A slow smile. “Touché.”

I was suddenly very aware of how close we were standing. Of how good he smelled—something clean and sharp, like adrenaline and fresh laundry. I crossed my arms, needing to do something with them.

Lando narrowed his eyes like he was watching a tennis match. “Am I interrupting something here, or…?”

Oscar stepped back half a step. I did too. Guilty.

“Not at all,” I said, way too fast.

“Definitely not,” Oscar echoed.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Right. Okay. I’m gonna go check tire data. You two—try not to combust or whatever that was.”

He walked off, muttering something about “chemistry I did not authorize,” and I turned back to Oscar, trying not to smile too hard.

“So,” I said, shifting on my feet. “Is this where you pretend to be mysterious and brooding, or are you gonna show me what a car looks like up close?”

Oscar grinned. “Depends. Are you impressed by carbon fiber and too many buttons?”

I smirked. “Try me.”

He led me toward the car, gesturing like a tour guide. I followed, but my heart was beating faster than it should’ve been for a garage tour. There was something about the way he moved—confident but careful. Like he was always thinking two steps ahead.

“You know,” he said over his shoulder, “Lando said you were off-limits.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Did he now?”

Oscar glanced back, and his smile was downright dangerous. “Yeah. I’m terrible at listening.”

—

The party was still going—somewhere behind the hospitality suites, i could hear the bass thumping, people shouting, champagne spraying. But Oscar wasn’t there.

I found him behind the McLaren garage, sitting on the edge of a stacked tire rack, still in his fireproofs, hair damp, champagne-stained suit unzipped to the waist. The golden Miami sunset lit the side of his face, casting long shadows behind him. The world was buzzing around him, but he looked like he’d stepped out of it completely.

“You’re hiding,” I said softly, stepping into his little pocket of silence.

He looked up—eyes tired, chest still rising a little too fast—and when he saw me, he didn’t smile right away. Just exhaled like i was the thing he didn’t realize he needed.

“I needed a second,” he said. “Before the noise catches up to me again.”

I walked over and stood between his knees, my hand brushing his. “Oscar, you won.”

He blinked slowly, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“But you don’t look happy.”

He looked down at his gloves in his lap, twisting one between his fingers. “I am. I just… I don’t know. You dream of a moment like this, and then it happens, and it feels—” He stopped himself. “It’s a lot.”

I didn’t speak. Just reached for his jaw gently, tilting his face back to mine.

“You don’t have to be anything right now,” I said. “Not the golden boy. Not the winner. Just… you.”

That broke something open in him. His shoulders dropped. His hand came up and slid behind my waist, pulling me in closer.

“You were the only person I wanted to see after the podium,” he murmured.

I smiled softly. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t want to see you like… this,” he admitted. “All sweaty and gross.”

I leaned in, forehead resting gently against his. “You just won a Grand Prix. You’re allowed to be gross.”

He laughed quietly, then stilled. “You being here—it made it feel different. Better.”

I let my fingers thread through his hair. “You made it feel real. And watching you today… I think I stopped breathing for a few laps.”

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his voice low. “I wanted to kiss you the second I laid eyes on you.”

I tilted my head, pulse skipping. “What’s stopping you now?”

He didn’t answer.

He just kissed me—soft and certain.

And for once, the chaos could wait.

—

yourusername

miami 📍

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux & 4,427,268 others.

yourusername : miami you were a slay — so proud of my little orange minions on a 1-2 — congrats boys 💋

lando : i am so hurt by the hat. take it off NEOWW.

liked by author

yourusername : ur so overdramatic #sassymanapocalypse

yourusername : and oscar gave me that one so he could put on his podium cap…you could’ve given me yours if you wanted

lando : i just think you should support your best friend sorry if that makes me sassy

username : bro she was just wearing quadrant merch at her last rehearsal

username2: and she was wearing an ln4 hoodie in the airport

yourusername : ^^tea

lando : okay im sorry im sorry i dont think before I behave

oscarpiastri : we know.

liked by author

oscarpiastri : Who knew you’d end up being my good luck charm?

liked by author

yourusername : you don’t need luck when you’re already insanely talented ;)

liked by oscarpiastri

username5 : is mr. ‘no words’ piastri flirting with her?

lando : i hope not 🤮

username10 : you look SO GOOD. eat them up pretty

kikagomes : i love you so much !! pierre and I can’t wait to come to the next show:)

liked by author and pierregasly

yourusername : love you keeks 🤩

sza : hurry up and get back to us babes!! one show without you was enough

liked by author

yourusername : omw mamas

—

f1gossipgirls posted!

26,378 likes

f1gossipgirls : Pierre Gasly, Charles Leclerc, Alexandra Saint Mleux, Kika Gomes, Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri all attended the Grand National tour this evening which is fully choreographed by Lando’s Best Friend, Y/N L/N. She is also in the show!

username : oh Oscar is so down bad

username2 : that man never ever goes to public events like this

username5 : let alone looking as happy as he does now

username10 : guys he is just supporting Lando’s friend cmonnnn

username2 : unlikely^^

username12 : it’s so cute how much the grid supports her

liked by author

username8 : I heard lewis was there too

username7 : he was!!

—

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

seen by yourusername, lando, hattiepiastri & 2,367,533 others.

{caption 1 : good shots, mate. @/lando.jpg} {caption 2 : yourusername, you are insanely talented— i am blown away by you}

yourusername : thank you sm for coming osc— the pre show kiss really helped

oscarpiastri : anything for you, princess. love watching you do what you love

hattiepiastri : so jealous. you don’t deserve to be in the presence of yn or sza. especially sza

oscarpiastri : jealousy is a disease hattie

—

oscarpiastri

liked by hattiepiastri, lando, yourusername & 1,257,543 others.

oscarpiastri: Life’s pretty good.

username : this man is attempting to soft launch and all he says is “life’s pretty good” 😭

oscarpiastri: it’s a “soft” launch for a reason

username5 : i love sassy osc

hattiepiastri : im tagging mum

oscarpiastri : stop being a snitch

hattiepiastri : @/nicolepiastri

oscarpiastri : fuck

nicolepiastri : oscar give me a call right now please

lando : oscy boy is in loveeeee

username : with your best friend bro bro

lando : what r u talking about that isn’t yn

username2 : lando is so so oblivious sometimes

aussiegrit : 😉

username5 : MARK WHAT DO YOU KNOW

aussiegrit : Oscar never shares about his love life and he finally did and I am not gonna make him regret it. My lips are sealed.

nicolepiastri : Mark call me

aussiegrit : Dialing right now

username : AHSJWN^^

oscarpiastri : never again

—

yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux & 4,267,255 others.

yourusername : fun stuff

lando : wait a minute

yourusername : what hoe

lando : who r u even dating

lando : why haven’t we discussed this

yourusename : you’ve never asked pookie

lando : answer my facetime

alexandrasaintmleux: you are so stunning it’s unreal

liked by author

yourusername : that’s all you angel

username : the caption is so oscar coded could they be anymore obvious

sza : oh my gooddd ur so beautiful

liked by author

yourusename : says you omg 😭

—

F1gossipgirls

245,267 likes

f1gossipgirls : Oscar Piastri and Y/N L/N were seen together in Australia…getting rather cozy with each other

username : I did not need this to confirm what I already knew

username2 : they r so cute together

lando : huh

username : LANDO-

username7 : baby we all knew we tried to tell you

—

yourusename

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, nicolepiastri & 5,254,208 others.

yourusername : my boyfriend is pretty cool

(our child lando is still adjusting, be kind)

oscarpiastri: not as cool as you pretty girl

liked by author

yourusername : mymanmymanmyman i love u sm

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri : love you too sweetheart

lando : as betrayed and disgusted as I am— you guys are cute ig

liked by author and oscarpiastri

yourusername : lan honey the internet literally tried to tell you 100 times

lando : when I get told something I don’t want to hear I act like it never happened

oscarpiastri : a literal toddler

lando : you both will never escape me 😁

sza : so happy for you queen!

liked by author

nicolepiastri : convinced you made my son 100 times cooler

liked by author

hattiepiastri : agreed

liked by author

oscarpiastri : gee thanks

liked by author

yourusername : love you both !! pilates next week nicole??

nicolepiastri : Absolutely!

username : Oscar are you nervous for your mom and girlfriend to hang out without you?

oscarpiastri : not really, they already gossip about me all the time.

liked by author and nicolepiastri

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, aussiegrit, lando & 2,264,432 others.

oscarpiastri : now I can kiss her in public all I want

lando : that is not what this means

liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri : please don’t start again

lando : I was the one who said off limits and you heard OH make her your girlfriend

oscarpiastri : yes I hear what I want

yourusername : bickering like an old couple

liked by author and lando

aussiegrit : oh good I couldn’t keep the secret anymore

oscarpiastri : you literally didn’t — you told my mum

aussiegrit : doesn’t count — she scared the information out of me

nicolepiastri: you act like I threatened you

aussiegrit : I wouldn’t say you didn’t

logansargeant : Happy for you guys!

liked by author and yourusername

yourusername : does this mean I can be thirsty for you on Twitter now?

liked by author

lando : NO

oscarpiastri : yep

—

tag list : @klauslovemepls , @omgsuperstarg , @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 , @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 , @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505

[brainddeadd]

hello hello hello my love! i definitely dwelled on this for far too long so it’s time to request it before i change something else.

oscar has stated casually that he has a twin. nicole has mentioned that they are nothing alike. it’s revealed that not only is oscar’s twin a girl, but a extroverted, expressive, social and newly successful broadway actress!

think glinda upland, very pink, very peppy, has no off button.

as if the world needed more to obsess over than how different the oldest piastris are from one another, they start to obsess over how different she is from another f1 driver who can’t seem to make it less obvious he’s into her. a driver who absolutely would not be into glitz and glamour of broadway. one who notoriously hates anything that isn’t racing, winning, and partying (in that order).

max verstappen x broadway actress! piastri!reader

god i hope that made sense, it’s 10pm, it’s hot asf and i’m dehydrated so just do your best, i believe in you, love you🫶🏾🫶🏾

wickedly charming — mv1

smau + blurbs

max verstappen x !broadway actress piastri reader

oscar piastri x !twin sister reader

everyone knew oscar piastri was calm, collected, and laser focused on racing. what nobody put together—until now—is that he has a twin. and she’s absolutely nothing like him. yn piastri is broadway’s newest “it girl.” all glitter, giggles, and pink heels, she’s just been cast as glinda in wicked, and the world can’t get enough of how wildly different the piastri twins are. while oscar is quiet and dry witted, yn sparkles with an energy that could light up times square.

the f1 paddock is in chaos over the reveal, but not as much as one max verstappen, who—despite hating musicals, broadway, and anything unrelated to racing—suddenly can’t stop showing up where she is. opposites attract? maybe. or maybe max verstappen is just helplessly obsessed with the one person who makes absolutely no sense in his world.

fc : ariana grande, allie trimm and mckenzie kurtz

(a/n) : WHDJSJSJJDJ im screaming. this was such a good idea. i had way too much fucking fun. i absolutely adore you. and i love the piastri fam dearly. side note— my second day in a row posting max content. who am i? BUT I LOVE YOU BABY. hope you enjoy.

—

f1

liked by lando, mclaren, nicolepiastri and 5,705,007 others.

f1 : hey it’s admin and im totally not chill about this and i will be doing tons of detective work to find this twin. thx oscar. (pls don’t get me fired for this)

—

view 534,000 other comments.

mclaren : typical oscar behavior. when do WE get to meet her?

charles_leclerc : i for one, HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.

↳ lando : the most important being…is she single?

olliebearman : I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING. what’s her star sign. what’s her favorite sandwich. what’s her opinion on Crocs. please admin you have to find her

↳ username00 : ollie pls😭

username15 : wait WHAT IF SHE’S FAMOUS TOO. what if i’ve seen her in something. what if i’ve been obsessed with piastri’s twin this whole time and DIDN’T KNOW??

lando : @/nicolepiastri pls confirm

↳ nicolepiastri : i went through 15 hours of grueling labor and two babies came out…can confirm

↳ olliebearman : does she like crocs????

↳ nicolepiastri : unless they are pink…no

username7 : Admin I will Venmo you to find her. We need to know IMMEDIATELY.

gabrielbortoleto_ : oscar lore drop was not on my bingo card for this season

carlossainz55 : Oscar you HAVE A TWIN and didn’t tell any of us????

↳ oscarpiastri : sorry?

lando : i stg if she is even an ounce cooler than you im switching sides

↳ nicolepiastri : she is

↳ oscarpiastri : this feels personal

maxverstappen1 : Just curious. What is her full legal name?

↳ lando : i know her last name 🤓👆🏻

↳ maxverstappen1 : no fucking shit sherlock.

username77 : how is everyone just finding this out??? when nicole did that podcast ages ago she mentioned oscar has a twin and she’s absolutely NOTHING like him.

↳ username55 : WHERE IS IT

↳ username77 : @/f1gossipgirls recently posted another clip of it

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 3,507,007 others.

f1gossipgirls : Clips from a Podcast with Nicole Piastri a while back where she speaks about Oscar’s mysterious twin.

—

view 175,000 other comments.

username000 : You’re telling me there’s a pink wearing, spotlight loving, sparkle dripping Piastri twin out there just waiting to be revealed??? This is my multiverse of madness.

username00 : no offense but i would ditch oscar in a heartbeat if she turned up in rhinestones and heels

username0 : if she’s even a little unhinged i will be dedicating my life to her

username1 : NICOLE PLEASEEEEEE I’ve suffered enough

lando : any new developments guys???

liked by f1gossipgirls

↳ oscarpiastri : oh i see you are still taking this very well

↳ lando : maybe if my teammate IVE KNOWN FOR YEARS wasn’t so sneaky I would not be spiraling and asking fangirls for help

↳ oscarpiastri : it really must suck to be you

↳ lando : @/nicolepiastri your son is being mean to me

↳ nicolepiastri : he is just like that sometimes sorry

username5 : i know that Nicole is LOVING watching the internet crumble at this

↳ nicolepiastri : it is very entertaining to me

liked by f1gossipgirls

—

Lando was pacing the McLaren motorhome like a man possessed. His phone was abandoned on the table, open to the gossip page post of Nicole Piastri casually dropping the twin bombshell, while Oscar sat calmly across from him, picking at a granola bar like it was just another day.

“Okay,” Lando said, hands on his hips, like he was bracing himself for a tsunami. “So I’ve known you for years. Years, Oscar. I’ve been to your house. I’ve met your mum. I’ve met your sisters. All three of them. And now you’re telling me there’s a fourth?!”

Oscar didn’t look up. “I never said you met all of them.”

“What does that even mean?” Lando practically shouted. “You have a twin, mate! That’s not a side note! That’s not a fun fact at the end of a race debrief!”

Oscar shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

Lando stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “So you just… forgot to mention the girl who literally shared a womb with you?”

“She’s kind of busy,” Oscar said, finally glancing up. “It’s not like she’s hanging around the paddock waiting to be noticed.”

“Busy doing what?! Solving world hunger? Living on the moon?!”

Before Oscar could answer—or dodge the question, which he was alarmingly good at—the door swung open.

“Hey.” Max Verstappen stepped in, casual as ever, but with that unmistakable look in his eye. The one he wore when he smelled blood in the water. “I heard Lando’s yelling from outside and wanted to see what all of it was about?”

Oscar groaned. Lando immediately pointed at him.

“Did you know?” Lando demanded. “Did you know Oscar has a twin?!”

Max blinked, lips twitching ever so slightly. “No. But now I’m interested.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it might swallow him. “Why do I feel like this is going to ruin my life?”

Lando’s arms flailed. “Because it is! There is a twin! A secret twin! And his mum literally said—and I quote—‘bubbly little princess.’ That’s not a personality, Oscar, that’s a threat! She probably wears pink! And glitter! And sings!”

“She does,” Oscar said, far too casually.

Max raised a brow, voice quiet. “She sings?”

Oscar sat up straight, slapping his granola wrapper down. “Okay. Enough.”

Lando froze.

Oscar pointed at Max. “You clearly want to meet her.”

Max didn’t deny it. He just tilted his head, waiting.

Oscar sighed. “Fine. Get your jet ready. We’re going to New York.”

Lando’s jaw dropped. “New York?! Why New York?! What’s in New—wait.” His voice cracked. “No. No no no. You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

Oscar didn’t blink.

Lando spun around in a full circle, his mind short-circuiting. “Is she on Broadway?! Like actual Broadway?!”

Max, still infuriatingly silent, simply grabbed his phone and walked out of the room like a man with a purpose.

Lando turned back to Oscar, eyes wide, heart clearly in full meltdown. “I am not emotionally equipped for this.”

Oscar just smiled faintly and said, “No one is.”

—

gigglesandglitz

liked by hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri and 1,750,007 others.

gigglesandglitz : ✨it’s good to see me, isn’t it?✨ beyond thrilled (and still a little in shock) to share that i’ll be stepping into the bubble as glinda in wicked on broadway 💖 dreams do come true—see you in oz 💫🌟🎭

tagged : wicked_musical

—

view 172,500 other comments.

username000 : your tone, your energy, your smile—this is about to be ICONIC. see you in the front row 😭💖🫧

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : thank you sweetheart!! cannot wait to see you 💞🎀

username00 : you floated into our hearts long before you floated in that bubble. congratulations angel 💕✨🧹

liked by gigglesandglitz

username0 : I’ve followed your journey since the community theatre days and now…Broadway Glinda?! This is surreal. You deserve it all 💫💫💫

liked by gigglesandglitz

username1 : a lot of piastri’s in the likes 👀

↳ username7 : i will literally scream, cry and jump for joy if this is Oscar’s twin.

yourbff : I SAID SHE WAS DESTINED FOR THIS!!! Our pink princess is headed to Oz!!! 🌟💖

liked by gigglesandglitz, hattiepiastri and nicolepiastri

↳ gigglesandglitz : i love you so much 🤧🤧💓💓

hattiepiastri : STOP IT 😭 i’m already crying and i haven’t even seen you float down in the bubble yet

liked by nicolepiastri, gigglesandglitz and oscarpiastri

↳ gigglesandglitz : love you to the moon and back my hattie!! 💐💕 i cannot wait to see you

↳ username5 : erm???? r we seeing this???

lilyzneimer : my girl!!!!!! there is no one in the world more perfect for this role💖 you are going to kill it. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!

liked by gigglesandglitz, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ gigglesandglitz : MY LILY. MY BABY. love you forever and ever 🩷💕

username17 : oh this is definitely the twin and im eating up every bit of it

nicolepiastri : We always knew you were born for this. You were singing before you could talk 💕💫

liked by lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri and gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : could have never done this without you💓💞💞 love u always

↳ username22 : mhm mhm *me examining the evidence*

oscarpiastri : The most Glinda to ever Glinda. So proud of you (but still not wearing pink, sorry)

liked by lilyzneimer, hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri and gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : aw but my ozzie, you would look so pretty! but i love you— pink or no pink🥹💞💓

↳ username22 : this sealed the deal for me. case is dismissed

—

Oscar already regretted everything. The moment he stepped onto Max’s private jet and saw Lando Norris sprawled across the cream leather seats with a smoothie in hand and a million questions already queued, he knew it was going to be a long flight.

“You still haven’t told me what show she’s in,” Lando said, for the fifth time in ten minutes.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Oscar muttered, settling into the seat opposite him, desperately wishing for noise-canceling headphones. Or earplugs. Or a tranquilizer dart.

Lando leaned in dramatically. “Is it Hamilton? Wicked? Oh my god, wait. Is she in Les Mis? Is she Fantine? Does she die??”

“She doesn’t die,” Max muttered from the back, where he was sipping coffee and pretending not to care—while very clearly listening to every word.

Nicole Piastri stepped on board next, glamorous as ever, sunglasses on, effortlessly composed as if she hadn’t just been dragged into the most random F1-Broadway crossover of the decade. She beamed at Max.

“Max, darling. Thanks for flying us.”

Max nodded. “Of course.”

Oscar something muttered under his breath. Nicole gracefully ignored her son and dropped into a seat next to Hattie, who was FaceTiming one of the other sisters to keep them updated. Chris Piastri followed after, wearing a jacket that screamed “tourist dad in New York” and holding a Tupperware of homemade sandwiches.

“Thought we might get hungry,” he said cheerfully, offering one to Max.

Max blinked. “Thanks.”

“Do you think she’s playing a princess?” Lando continued. “I bet she is. She sounds like a princess. Nicole literally called her a ‘bubbly little princess.’ You can’t just say things like that and expect us to not obsess.”

Oscar leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe I did this.”

“You did this,” Max agreed.

“And you,” Oscar said, pointing accusingly at Max without even opening his eyes. “Are acting like you don’t care when I know you’re just as obsessed.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Max said.

“He offered the jet,” Lando whispered to Nicole, who giggled behind her mimosa.

“Did she always sing as a kid?” Lando asked, now leaning over the aisle toward Nicole.

“Always,” Nicole said proudly. “She was the one performing in the living room, while Oscar built LEGO cars in the corner pretending not to watch.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Oscar mumbled. “I wasn’t watching.”

Chris chuckled. “He was. He knows all the words to Defying Gravity.”

Max glanced over, brow raised. “Wait. That’s from Wicked, right?”

Silence. Lando dropped his smoothie. “IS SHE GLINDA??”

Oscar rubbed his face with both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“YOU DIDN’T NEED TO,” Lando shouted, now fully losing it. “THIS IS WHY YOU’VE BEEN SO CAGEY. SHE’S GLINDA THE GOOD WITCH. OH MY GOD. I’M GOING TO FAINT.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Max muttered under his breath.

Chris blinked. “You alright, mate?”

“I’m fine,” Max said through gritted teeth, staring out the window like it personally offended him.

Nicole sipped her mimosa delicately. “He’s just overwhelmed. It happens. She does have that effect on people.”

“You’ve all seen her perform?” Lando asked, looking between the family members like they were the last witnesses to a secret society.

“Opening night is tonight,” Hattie said, eyes shining. “She’s been working toward this her entire life.”

Lando clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “And we’re going to see her?! LIVE?! In the bubble?!”

Oscar opened one eye and stared at him. “If you embarrass me—”

“I’m going to cry so hard,” Lando whispered dramatically.

Max still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t said much, either. But he was leaning just slightly forward now, legs bouncing, coffee long abandoned.

Oscar sighed. “You’re all hopeless.”

Nicole smiled at her son and patted his arm gently. “And yet, you’re still the one who told Max to book the jet.”

Chris grinned. “Face it, mate. You love her.”

Oscar stared ahead.

“I tolerate her.”

Hattie snorted.

“Sure,” she said. “And Max just came for the sandwiches.”

From the back, Max muttered, “They are really good.”

—

oscarpiastri added two posts to his story!

seen by gigglesandglitz, lando, hattiepiastri and 7,500,000 others.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,789,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris AND Max Verstappen were all spotted in New York City. The three were seen alongside the rest of Oscar’s family and his long term girlfriend, Lily, as they were attending the opening night of Wicked on Broadway. There have been rumors swirling for weeks that Oscars twin is the new Glinda, is this all the confirmation we need???

—

The theatre hums with nerves and glitter. You’re halfway through vocal warmups, perched in fuzzy pink slippers and your satin “Glinda” robe, lips stained with gloss and eyes already sparkling with half-done stage makeup. You’ve got curlers in your hair and butterflies in your stomach. It’s opening night in your new role, and nothing could possibly make this moment more surreal.

Until, of course, you turn around and see your entire family standing in the hallway behind you. You blink. Then blink again.

“Mum?” you say, squinting through the haze of hairspray. “Dad? Hattie?!”

Your mother grins and holds up a Starbucks and a tiny bottle of champagne like a trophy. “We made it, sweetheart.”

“WHAT?!”

You break into a squeal, racing across the narrow hallway with slippered feet and throwing your arms around them, your heart pounding faster than it had when you stepped into the bubble during tech rehearsal.

“You said you had work! Oscar said he had media—”

“I lied,” Oscar says dryly, arms open as you throw yourself into them. “You’re welcome.”

“You liar!” you shout, laughing, pulling back to smack his shoulder. “You hate surprises!”

“I hate being on Max’s jet more.”

You blink. “Max’s jet?”

“Hi.”

You turn—and your world tilts. Max Verstappen is standing there. In your theatre. Backstage. Wearing a nicer suit jacket, arms crossed awkwardly, somehow managing to look both completely out of place and like he belonged in the center of this chaos.

Behind him, Lando Norris is practically vibrating, and next to him is a serene, smiling Lily, holding Oscar’s hand and sipping a green juice like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Oh, wow.”

“Hi,” Max says again, voice softer now.

Before you can say anything else, Lando launches at you.

“You’re YN!” he yells, hugging you like he’s known you forever. “You’re Glinda!! You’re the twin!! I can’t believe you’re REAL.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “You must be Lando. You sent me 46 TikToks about glittery F1 cars this week…after you managed to find me on social media.”

Oscar groans behind you. “You gave him your number?!”

“She’s delightful,” Lily chimes in, stepping forward to kiss your cheek. “And our very own Glinda?! I had wicked posters on my walls growing up.”

You’re still reeling. Still processing. Max still hasn’t moved.

You turn to him slowly, head tilted, curiosity bubbling in your chest. “You okay, Red Bull?”

He nods once. “You look… pink.”

“That’s usually the goal,” you say, grinning.

He exhales through his nose—almost a laugh. You watch his eyes scan the glitter on your eyelids, the rhinestones on your cheeks, the blush pink satin tied around your waist like a second skin.

“You’re not a fan of musicals, are you?”

“No.”

“Sparkles?”

“No.”

“Stage makeup?”

“No.”

You lean in a little, voice dropping just enough to make him blink. “And yet… you’re here.”

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“I’m here.”

And for the first time tonight, it’s not the spotlight or the stage that makes your heart race—it’s him.

From behind you, Lando’s voice cuts through. “OH MY GOD, are you two flirting?! Is this a slow burn?! Someone warn the internet!!”

Oscar groans again. Max just smiles. And you? You float back into your dressing room like you were born on air—because for the first time tonight, the magic didn’t come from the stage. It came from them. From all of them showing up. From Max Verstappen, standing in your glittering world of pink and theatre and sparkle… and not running away.

—

The curtain falls. The orchestra swells, the crowd erupts, and you’re standing center stage with a wand in your hand, heart in your throat, and glitter in your hair.

You did it. Opening night had been conquered.

You bow so deeply your tiara nearly falls off, and when you lift your eyes, your family is on their feet in the front row. Your mum’s wiping tears. Hattie’s holding her phone sideways, probably recording everything. Your dad is cheering like he’s at the Grand Prix.

And right in the middle of them—between Lily and Lando—is Max Verstappen. Standing. Clapping. Watching only you.

You’re still in costume when you burst into the dressing room afterward, laughter bubbling in your throat as you collapse into your chair. Your castmates are hugging you, handing you flowers, someone pops open champagne, and you feel like you’re floating again.

But nothing prepares you for the pounding on your dressing room door.

“HELLO?! IT’S ME, YOUR BIGGEST FAN,” comes Lando’s voice. “OPEN UP BEFORE I START CRYING IN THE HALLWAY.”

You unlock the door and are immediately tackled by Lando Norris—who is, indeed, already crying.

“YOU WERE AMAZING,” he sobs, crushing you in a hug. “YOU SPARKLED. YOU BELTED. YOU DID THAT BUBBLE THING. I AM OBSESSED WITH YOU.”

You’re laughing and crying and trying to hold your wand in one hand and a bouquet in the other when Lily gently peels Lando off of you and hugs you properly.

“You were stunning, darling,” she says, brushing a rhinestone off your cheek. “I think I actually stopped breathing during ‘Popular.’”

“Join the club,” Oscar mutters from behind her. He’s standing awkwardly in the corner, hands shoved in his pockets.

You grin. “You okay there, Oz?”

“I’m fine,” he says flatly. “It was… well executed.”

“You cried.”

“I didn’t.”

“He did,” Nicole adds as she enters, dabbing at her eyes. “Second verse of ‘For Good.’ I caught him.”

Oscar glares at her. “Betrayal.”

“I loved it,” Chris announces, squeezing your shoulders. “Couldn’t understand a word in the second act but it looked fantastic.”

And then—Then you see him.

Max is lingering in the doorway. Quiet. Still in all black, still looking like he stepped onto the wrong movie set. But he’s holding flowers.

You raise an eyebrow. “You bring those for me, or did someone mistake you for Elphaba?”

His lips twitch. “They’re for you.”

You walk toward him slowly, pink skirt rustling, glitter still clinging to your skin.

“You stayed.”

“I said I would.”

“I figured you’d sneak out at intermission.”

“I almost did,” he admits. “But then you floated down in that bubble and started singing about being popular and… I don’t know.”

You blink. “You don’t know?”

He clears his throat. “It was funny. You were funny.”

You tilt your head. “You laughed?”

“A little.”

You pause, then grin. “You loved it.”

“I tolerated it,” he deadpans. “With great effort.”

“You loved me in it.”

Max doesn’t respond. He just looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s still trying to process how someone like you—bright, glittering, unapologetically pink—exists in the same world as him.

“I loved you in it,” he says finally.

And your heart does something dangerous.

Oscar loudly clears his throat. “I hate this.”

“You’re welcome,” Nicole says.

Lando fans himself dramatically. “I KNEW this was a slow burn! The way he clapped like his life depended on it? Romantic.”

“Can someone remove him?” Oscar grumbles.

But you’re not listening. You’re still staring up at Max, holding your flowers, your heart racing. Because maybe this was a little ridiculous. Maybe you’re pink and glitter and bubblegum and musical theatre.

And he’s Max Verstappen—champagne, circuits, podiums, fire. But right now? In this moment? He’s yours. And he stayed.

—

After photos and flowers and what felt like ten thousand hugs, your cast slips away to their dressing rooms, leaving you alone with your chaotic entourage. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, your feet hurt from heels, and your heart is still thudding like it never came down from the final note. Max hasn’t left your side. Which is wild. And a little suspicious. And also making Oscar increasingly twitchy.

“You don’t have to stay for stage door,” you say, glancing at Max as you peel off your false lashes. “It’s going to be a madhouse.”

He leans against the dressing table, arms crossed, eyes soft. “Do you want me to leave?”

You pause mid wipe with a makeup remover pad. “…No.”

“Then I’m staying.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “You’re going to get glitter on your jacket.”

Max looks down at himself like he’s already accepted the consequences. “I’ll live.”

You glance up to see Oscar watching the two of you like a man who regrets every life choice that brought him to this moment. Including birth.

“Are we seriously letting this happen?” he mutters to Lando.

“I mean,” Lando shrugs, “he flew your entire family to New York. You let him sit front row. This ship has sailed, my guy.”

Oscar sighs into his hands. “She’s my twin.”

Lily gently pats his arm. “And Max is… surprisingly soft. Let it happen.”

“He’s Max Verstappen,” Oscar hisses. “He barely has feelings.”

“Tell that to the way he looked at her during ‘Popular,’” Lily says with a smug little grin. “He literally leaned forward like she was the main event at a Grand Prix.”

You’re still blotting glitter off your collarbone when a stagehand pokes her head in. “YN? They’re ready for you at stage door.”

You nod, heart thumping. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

You slip into your coat—still in stage makeup and pink heels, because, well, theatre—and follow the low hum of noise growing louder as you approach the back exit.

Outside, it’s electric. Fans are lined up against barricades, Playbills and pens in hand, camera flashes ready. You hear your name shouted in waves, a few scattered gasps as people recognize your face.

Lando, naturally, steps out first.

“HELLOOOOOOO NEW YORK!” he yells, signing a Playbill that isn’t even his. “YN WAS ICONIC! GIVE HER A TONY NOW!”

You shriek with laughter as security gently moves him back.

“Lando!” you hiss. “You’re not in the show!”

“I AM IN THE MOMENT!”

Oscar groans so loudly a few fans look over and gasp.

“Oh my god, is that—?!”

“OSCAR PIASTRI?!”

And then—chaos.

Phones are up. Fans are screaming. Someone literally yells, “THAT’S HER BROTHER??” followed by, “WAIT—IS MAX VERSTAPPEN WITH HER?!”

You don’t even have time to react before Max—very calmly—steps behind you, one hand resting lightly on your back, the other tucked into his coat. Silent. Protective. Firm.

And just like that, the crowd explodes again.

Max doesn’t flinch. But you swear you feel him shift just a little closer. Like he’s shielding you from the madness. Like this glittering, pink, musical chaos you live in doesn’t scare him off at all.

You sign Playbills. Take photos. Someone calls you “Broadway Barbie” and you nearly cry. You feel hands squeezing yours, hear compliments that leave you breathless.

And all the while, Max stays just behind you. Steady. Quiet. Watching.

You turn to him at one point, cheeks flushed, overwhelmed.

“You’re still here.”

He nods. “I said I’d stay.”

You smile. “You’re gonna end up in a DeuxMoi submission.”

He smirks. “I’ll live.”

Oscar appears between you like a panicked chaperone. “Okay. Time to go. We’ve flirted. We’ve sparkled. Let’s exit before this becomes a trending topic.”

“Too late,” Lando says, holding up his phone. “You’re literally on the F1 subreddit right now. Titled ‘Oscar Piastri’s twin is Glinda on Broadway and Verstappen’s in love—Discuss.’”

Oscar’s eye twitches.

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your wand.

As the crowd begins to thin and the magic starts to settle, Max leans close to your ear.

“You were really good.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, your nose almost brushing his.

“You’re really bad at hiding feelings.”

He breathes out a quiet laugh.

“I’m not trying to hide anything.”

—

gigglesandglitz

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, lando and 3,470,005 others.

gigglesandglitz : opening night vibes 💕💞💗💓 ft how i arrive everywhere now that i can say im glinda @/trixiemattel

—

view 252,000 other comments.

trixiemattel : oh you better WERK mama. absolutely stunning.

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↳ katya_zamo : you did more for the gay community in one night than we've done in YEARS baby.

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↳ gigglesandglitz : i love you both so fucking much

oscarpiastri : I’m never recovering from this. You were ridiculous. You were loud. You were sparkly. You were perfect.

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↳ hattiepiastri : she made him CRY and he won’t admit it

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↳ oscarpiastri : blocked.

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↳ gigglesandglitz : aw my ozzzzz ily both sm

nicolepiastri : The most magical night for the most magical girl. We are SO proud of you 💖🌟✨

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lilyzneimer : You were everything. And I will be referencing your Glinda laugh for the rest of my life 💅

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lando : I’m not saying you changed me as a person but… I sobbed. And also stole someone’s pink heels. We’re all different now.

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maxverstappen1 : Congratulations, superstar.

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↳ gigglesandglitz : thanks champ ;)

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↳ username00 : brb spiraling.

—

It’s their last night in New York. You know it the second you wake up—curled up on your tiny dressing room couch in an oversized hoodie someone draped over you after the afterparty—and the weight of it settles in your chest like something bittersweet.

You haven’t seen Max all day. He disappeared after brunch with your family, claiming something vague about meetings and logistics. But when your phone buzzes around six, it’s his name on your screen.

come to dinner with me?

You don’t ask where.

You just say yes.

—

You don’t expect the place he takes you to.

It’s not the usual Manhattan buzz. No white tablecloths, no chandeliers. Just a tiny, tucked-away restaurant in SoHo with dim lights, warm wood, a booth in the back where no one seems to care who you are—or who he is.

Max slides into the booth across from you, hair still a little damp from the rain, wearing a navy sweater you’re almost sure he stole from Lando. He looks tired. Comfortable. And for the first time, not even trying to be guarded.

“You okay?” you ask as you set your purse beside you, tugging off your coat. Your voice is soft. Stage-weary.

He nods, then pauses.

“I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”

You blink, heart flipping in that way it always does around him now—quietly, suddenly, like your body knows something before your brain does.

“Why does that sound like a goodbye?” you ask gently.

He shrugs. “Because I hate goodbyes.”

You both sit there in the soft hum of the restaurant for a moment. There’s candlelight between you. You watch it flicker and try not to get lost in the fact that Max Verstappen just flew halfway across the world to watch you float down in a bubble and sing about popularity.

“I’m glad you came,” you whisper.

His gaze lifts to yours. It’s steady. Quietly intense.

“You were amazing. I meant it.”

You smile, pressing your cheek into your palm as you look at him across the table. “Didn’t think musicals were your thing.”

“They’re not,” he says. “But you are.”

Your breath catches. And there it is again—that quiet, heavy something that always seems to settle between you when the noise dies down. Something pink and unspoken and real.

The server brings wine. You clink glasses. You make him try half your plate because he “doesn’t trust anything that isn’t steak or pasta” and you force him to admit your grilled peach salad is “weird but good.”

He watches you like he’s memorizing. And when you lean forward, elbows on the table, chin in your hand, asking about Spa or Monza or how it really felt to win that last race—he opens up. Just a little. Just enough.

“You make it easy to talk,” he says eventually.

You grin. “Maybe I should start offering therapy sessions in full Glinda costume.”

“I’d pay for that,” he deadpans.

You snort.

And maybe that’s your favorite thing about him—that you can go from glitter to silence, from stage lights to city shadows, and he still feels the same. Still sees you.

—

After dinner, he walks you back to your apartment even though his hotel is in the opposite direction.

The New York streets are wet and glowing. You’ve changed into boots and a hoodie and you’re walking beside him with your hands in your pockets and your heart doing cartwheels.

When you reach your door, you both stop.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

You lean against the railing and look up at him, heart fluttering.

“When’s the next race?” you ask.

“Two weeks.”

You nod. “You’ll be gone by morning?”

He hesitates.

“Yeah.”

You glance down at your shoes. “Okay.”

Max steps forward, closing the space. Gently. Carefully. His voice is low.

“I’m not good at this. You know that.”

You look up. “At what?”

He lifts one hand to your face, brushing a curl behind your ear.

“Saying I don’t want to leave.”

Your breath stutters.

“But you have to.”

He nods. “But I’ll come back. If you want me to.”

You wrap your fingers around the front of his sweater. “I want you to.”

He leans in slowly. No fireworks. No crowd. Just you and him and the sound of the city breathing around you.

And when his lips touch yours, it’s soft. Certain.

Like something you’ve been moving toward for a long, long time. When he finally pulls away, he smiles.

“You still taste like lip gloss and glitter.”

You laugh, breathless. “You still smell like champagne.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Don’t change,” he whispers.

“Only if you don’t.”

And just like that, Max Verstappen kisses Glinda goodbye on a quiet street in New York—pink, glitter, chaos and all. And you already know he’ll be back. Because he never really left.

—

several weeks later...

vogue

liked by gigglesandglitz, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 9,000,000 others.

vogue : Broadway’s brightest star takes center stage—and this time, the spotlight follows her offstage too. ✨ Meet YN Piastri, the breakout actress redefining Glinda for a new generation, bringing sparkle, strength, and unapologetic softness to the role (and the real world). In our latest cover story, she talks twinhood, opening night tears, and the unlikely romance that has turned her world upside down.

—

maxverstappen1 has reposted this to his story!

oscarpiastri has reposted this to his story!

nicolepiastri has reposted this to her story!

lando has reposted this to his story!

hattiepiastri has resposted this to her story!

—

f1gossipgirls

2,110,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Glinda goes grid?! Broadway’s newest it-girl and certified sparkle queen YN Piastri was spotted trackside today, casually strolling the paddock with her twin brother Oscar (who looked like he aged 10 years), Lando Norris (who was clearly THRIVING), and none other than Max Verstappen… who, by the way, has never smiled this much in public. Ever. Sources say she flew in during her Broadway break to support her “favorite driver” 👀 (Max’s reaction suggests it’s not Oscar… sorry king). We’re not saying anything, but the body language is body languaging.

—

You weren’t supposed to be here. Technically, you were supposed to be resting. “Take the break,” your stage manager had told you, practically forcing you to shut off your phone and escape New York before you talked yourself into attending more rehearsals “for fun.”

But rest? Boring. So now, here you are, standing behind the pit wall at the paddock, disguised in a hoodie, sunglasses, and a hat that Oscar left at your apartment months ago and never asked for back. Which was rude of him, really, because it’s clearly yours now.

The paddock is buzzing. Engines screaming, radios chirping, sun glaring down on the garages like something cinematic. You’ve missed this chaos more than you expected to.

You peek toward McLaren’s side first, trying not to laugh at the way the crew is already muttering about Oscar’s increasingly obvious restlessness. He's pacing, glancing toward the media pen like someone should be showing up but isn’t.

im wearing this dumb hat just for you and you don't even notice me.

A second later, you see him stop mid-step, eyes narrowing at his phone.

Then he turns. And freezes.

You lower your sunglasses and give him a small wave.

Oscar’s face drops into full big brother disbelief. You watch the exact moment his internal monologue short-circuits. He storms toward you, practically tackling you in a hug, his helmet bumping against your shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says.

You grin into his fireproof suit. “Neither are you. You should be in Q3 right now.”

He pulls back, inspecting your face like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real.

“You flew out for this?”

You shrug, cheeky. “Broadway’s shut down for three days. Did you really think I was going to spend it sleeping?”

Oscar shakes his head like he’s debating launching you into the pit lane. But you can see it in his eyes—how much it means to him.

Before he can say anything else, a voice cuts through the chaos behind you.

“You’re both blocking the damn entrance.”

You turn—and there he is.

Max.

Still in his Red Bull kit, still sweaty from practice, still looking at you like the noise of the whole world just dropped out.

“You’re here,” he says, not even hiding the smile.

You grin. “I’m here.”

Max doesn’t waste a second. He strides over, wraps an arm around your waist, and lifts you just enough to make you squeal before kissing you in full view of every stunned mechanic in the garage.

“Hi,” you whisper when he finally sets you down.

“Hi,” he replies, forehead pressed to yours. “I missed you.”

Oscar groans audibly behind you. “I’m leaving. This is disgusting.”

“You’re welcome for the hat,” you call after him as he walks off.

Max just smiles at you, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You came all this way?”

“I had to see my favorite driver,” you say, sweet as sugar.

He quirks a brow. “You mean me, right?”

You gasp. “I meant Lando.”

Max glares. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He sighs, hands on your waist, pulling you back in. “No. I don’t.”

—

You spend the rest of the afternoon ducking media pens, sneaking snacks from Red Bull’s hospitality, and sitting in the back of Oscar’s garage with Lily, who’s wearing a “Glinda’s #1 Groupie” shirt that she definitely made on Etsy.

Max keeps glancing over at you from the garage wall. He doesn’t say much.

But the way his gaze softens every time your laugh echoes over the team radio?

Yeah.

You were so worth the flight.

—

You’re buzzing. Not stage-opening-night buzzing. This is different.

This is champagne-slick, sun-drenched, roaring-crowd kind of buzzing. Because somehow—somehow—Oscar finished P2 and Max finished P1, and now you're standing behind the podium barrier with Lily and your dad, watching both men you love absolutely beaming at the top of the world.

Oscar’s grin is real and wide and completely unfiltered for once. Max has that rare, unbothered smile—the one that’s soft and secret and not meant for media. And you know without even trying that part of it’s for you.

They haven't spotted you yet. You debated staying low, out of view, just another guest in the crowd.

But then your mum slipped a tiny glittery tiara into your hand and said, “Just go give your brother a heart attack.”

So now it’s perched in your hair, subtle but sparkling under the podium lights, and you’re bouncing on your heels, waiting for that perfect moment.

The national anthems finish. The champagne sprays.

Oscar gets Lando right in the face, Max laughs like a boy in a street fight, and for a second, they’re both kids again—wild, joyful, golden in the sunset.

Then Max looks down.

Sees you.

And stops smiling for half a second—like the world short-circuits—before that private little smirk comes back, deeper now. Directed just at you.

You lift your fingers in a wave, tiara glinting.

His eyes narrow playfully.

Oscar looks over to see what Max’s staring at… and nearly slips in champagne when he spots you.

“NO,” he mouths.

You blow him a kiss.

Max watches all of this unfold like it’s his favorite play.

When they come down from the podium, Oscar wraps you in a damp, fizzy hug first. He smells like podium and panic.

“Couldn’t stay away,” you tease.

“You wore the tiara on purpose,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You're going to break the internet.”

You grin. “Again?”

He rolls his eyes, but kisses your temple.

And then Max is there—still clutching his bottle, still damp from celebration, his eyes locked on yours like the rest of the track doesn’t exist.

“Hi,” he says softly, voice rough from shouting.

“You did good,” you whisper, stepping close.

“You were watching.”

“Always.”

He looks at you, champagne-slick and flushed from adrenaline, and says nothing.

Just lifts a hand to your cheek and wipes away a speck of podium glitter you definitely didn’t earn.

Then- a kiss, quiet and real and quick. Not hidden. Not rushed.

Someone in the crowd gasps. Lando yells, “I KNEW IT!” from somewhere behind you.

Oscar audibly groans. “Absolutely not.”

But Max doesn’t care. And neither do you.

You’re his Broadway star. His good witch.

And this time, you came down in a bubble just for him.

—

gigglesandglitz

liked by maxverstappen1, hattiepiastri, lando and 7,900,000 others.

gigglesandglitz : stepped out of glinda and into the paddock and forgot which team i was supposed to root for...srry oscar

tagged : maxverstappen1

—

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—

maxverstappen1

liked by gigglesandglitz, oscarpiastri, lando and 11,000,000 others.

maxverstappen1 : She came down in a bubble and wrecked me.

tagged : gigglesandglitz

—

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oscarpiastri : absolutely not. this man has less emotions than i do.

↳ lando : HE SAID BUBBLE OSCAR. BUBBLE. THIS IS CINEMA.

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yukitsunoda0511 : does this mean i have to watch wicked now?

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↳ maxverstappen1 : yes.

↳ charles_leclerc : grid trip to broadway???

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↳ lando : YES

↳ oscarpiastri : lord please no.

hattiepiastri : my roman empire

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—

bonus scene! grid takes on nyc

Max texts you one sentence at 10:37 AM on a Thursday.

what’s the group rate for wicked

You blink at your phone. Then immediately call him.

"Max, what did you do?

“I told a few people I was flying back to New York,” he says calmly. “And then a few became everyone.”

“Everyone?”

There’s a long pause.

“…The grid.”

—

You don’t believe it until the stage manager pulls you aside before curtain and whispers, “Hey, there’s like fifteen European men in the front rows arguing about tires. Should we be concerned?”

You laugh so hard your false lashes nearly fall off.

—

From the stage, it’s impossible to miss them.

The front center row is filled with the most absurd collection of racing drivers ever assembled. Charles is wearing a button-down that’s a little too unbuttoned. Lando brought opera glasses. Yuki is eating something from his jacket pocket. Fernando Alonso is sipping wine.

Oscar looks like he’s praying for the floor to swallow him.

Max is in all black, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt, and somehow still manages to look like the only person meant to be there. But even from up here, you can tell he’s nervous.

You wink at him mid-song. He almost falls off his seat.

—

Backstage, after bows, you’re mobbed in your dressing room before you can even change.

“YOU WERE FLOATING!” Lando yells, practically vibrating. “YOU WERE IN A BUBBLE AND YOU SANG ABOUT SHOES—THIS IS HIGH ART.”

Charles grabs your hand dramatically. “I cried. Twice. Maybe three times. When you sang 'For Good'? I saw God.”

Isack is holding up his Playbill like it's a diploma. “This is going in a frame.”

Yuki squints at your wig on the counter. “Do you wear that the whole time?”

Oscar is sitting on your couch with his head in his hands. “You were amazing, but I will never recover from Carlos saying ‘bro she has pipes’ during act one.”

“Oh come on,” Carlos says from the doorway. “She does!”

“Who yelled ‘SLAY’ when I hit the high note?” you ask.

Everyone points at Ollie.

“Fair,” you laugh.

Pierre holds up his phone. “Can we take a photo? The lighting in here is tragic, but I need to flex.”

“Absolutely not,” Max cuts in smoothly, stepping beside you with a rare, proud smile. “She gets a proper photo. Outside. After party lighting only.”

“After party?” you blink.

He raises a brow. “I’m Max Verstappen. You think I’d bring the entire grid to Broadway and not plan a party after?”

You’re still in pink heels and half a tiara when Lando drags you out to the alley behind the theatre, where Max has arranged for a glowing rooftop bar, themed cocktails including a "Defy Gravity" drink that turns your tongue green, and a tiny cake with gold icing.

Oscar’s still somewhere in the corner muttering, “This is not happening,” while Carlos tries to flirt with your Elphaba understudy and Yuki steals glitter stars off the cake for no reason.

Max just stands beside you, arm around your waist, champagne in hand, looking utterly out of place in a room full of theatre kids and F1 chaos—but still completely, entirely yours.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” you murmur.

He glances at the crowd—Lando dancing to “Popular” on a barstool, Charles holding a drink that sparkles, Kimi Antonelli taking selfies with a Glinda wand someone gave him.

He smiles.

“I’ve survived Monaco. I’ll survive this.”

You tilt your head up. “Are you proud of me?”

He looks at you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I’m in awe of you.”

And then he kisses you again—under rooftop lights, with the whole grid cheering, the whole city twinkling, and just the faintest trace of glitter still on his jacket.

—