paintmepurple

[paintmepurple]

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

P1 in World History - OP81

Oscar Piastri x Historian!Reader

summary: no one understands how Oscar suddenly dropped facts after facts on the most random historical events

based on this request (by my favorite ever)

liked by mclaren, redbullracing and 1,300,000 others

f1 🎥 Grill the Grid: High School Edition is HERE

Watch our drivers struggle with math problems, historical dates, and chemical reactions 👀

Spoiler alert: we had some surprises.

view all comments:

lando who gave oscar a cheat sheet? be honest

charles_leclerc I would like a rematch with no ancient greek questions please

yukitsunoda0511 I said “napoleon” for everything. Not my fault it worked twice.

mclaren We are also surprised. Very surprised.

redbullracing Gonna have to bring this up to the stewards 🙂‍↔️

fernandoalo_oficial finally, someone knows I was there when Caesar was stabbed

alex_albon me watching oscar answer every history and geography question with his arms crossed like he’s on who wants to be a millionaire😭

user bro oscar even corrected the quizmaster once. is he ok?

user oscar casually dropping historical facts like it’s not suspicious at all…

user i'm so glad they are f1 drivers and not doctors or something

user why did oscar answer all of that without blinking? i’m scared 💀

user nah bc that man answered “Battle of Waterloo” like it was a pop quiz at dinner. WHO ARE YOU 😩

user oscar's not real. he’s a government experiment gone rogue

user the way he SMIRKED when he got the Cold War question right?? sir who are you trying to impress 😭😭😭

user idk if i want to kiss oscar or force him to write my next essay

user charles i expected more from you

user no but Lando getting the math question was so sweet

user when max said “well technically…” I felt that in my bones.

> user he maxplained that whole video and still lost

> maxverstappen1 I want a rematch

Oscar Piastri just added to his Instagram Story

"Great read 👍"

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 757,000 others

SkySportsF1 🎤 Oscar Piastri revealed or us the secret behind all his world history knowledge:

“It just sort of happens when you date a historian. Everything becomes a lesson. She once paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism.”

View all comments:

user not me googling “how to become a historian”

user she paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism and he STAYED??? yeah he’s in love your honor

user no bc i’d explain imperialism mid-makeout if he asked 😭

user that household must be insufferable

user I too wanna monologue to Oscar during breakfast

user imagine pausing a movie to rant about colonialism and he looks at you like it’s the hottest thing ever? god i’m weak

user and he LISTENED??? he RECALLS the info??

user she taught him centuries of world history and what did he give her back? driving lessons?

user “everything becomes a lesson” sir that is the dream 😭 i want to analyze the French Revolution over dinner too

user this is what happens when you date a girl who annotates books and knows who Franz Ferdinand is

user i want what they have. and by that i mean him. and also her brain. pls.

lando so you’re telling me i lost to oscar in Grill the Grid bc his gf is smarter than everyone at McLaren combined?

> oscarpiastri: you lost because you said Napoleon invented the calendar > yourusername: to be fair… he did change the calendar. you were just off by a few emperors > lando: OH MY GOD SHE’S HERE I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T QUIZ ME

alex_albon oscarpiastri she paused a movie to explain colonialism and you didn’t RUN? bro you’re in deep

> oscarpiastri: i stayed. i took notes. there was a powerpoint. > yourusername: in my defense, it was really bad colonialism. like offensively inaccurate. > user: i am obsessed with the fact that she said “bad colonialism” like it’s a genre of film > user: alex is 100% pretending he gets this rn

georgerussell63 I want to add to the conversation that just 5 minutes ago during a chat this man casually cited the Meiji Restoration.

danielricciardo nah bc when she paused the movie he just sat there?? with his mouth shut?? couldn’t be me 💀

> yourusername he nodded. he asked questions. it was adorable. > danielricciardo stop you’re going to make the rest of us look bad

mclaren Confirmed: Oscar is now banned from date night and team trivia. Unfair advantage.

user WHY IS SHE SO CASUAL IN THE COMMENTS I’D DIE

> user she’s literally explaining history and being hot about it > user no bc she called it “bad colonialism” and suddenly I need a PhD >user someone make a TikTok of her best comments, we’re documenting greatness in real time

charles_leclerc If my girlfriend taught me history i’d listen too 🥺

> alexandrasaintmleux you can't even tell me who painted the Mona Lisa > charles_leclerc I said "history" 🙄

user do you think Ferrari can hire her to do something?

> user omg what would she even do there? > user anything is better than what they have ❤️ liked by charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, lando, mclaren and 2,400,000 others

oscarpiastri Turns out there are so many good museums in England Also I now know what mercantilism is now.

view all comments

lando i want her to quiz me

charles_leclerc I refuse to learn, but i’m proud of you

georgerussell63 do you think she tutors for fun?? asking for me

alex_albon you’re literally a walking historical source

danielricciardo please ask her to explain the entire French Revolution to me in meme format

maxverstappen1 you scare me but i respect it

user THEY ARE TOURING HISTORICAL LOCATIONS 🥹🥹🥹🥹

user i know he’s got a napoleon bobblehead

user dating a historian and surviving is proof he’s the chosen one

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, mclaren and 8,150 others

yourusername He said “teach me everything” and now he can name every Cold War proxy war. Proud of my little historian-in-training. Also yes, he scored higher than some of my students on the practice quiz.📚💋

view all comments

oscarpiastri Cold War was a vibe

georgerussell63 okay but she’s intimidating in a hot way

> oscarpiastri don’t call my girlfriend hot. LEAVE. > georgerussell63 it was a compliment 😅😅😅

charles_leclerc imagine being forced to learn at dinner 😔

lando can she explain the space race to me using memes and finger puppets

> oscarpiastri are you 2??

user “cold war was a vibe” i’m IN TEARS

user she’s not just teaching him history. she’s giving him range

user whatever taylor swift said about you know how to ball i know aristotle

user i would risk it all for her to yell about the ottoman empire in my kitchen

hattiepiastri just watched him explain the industrial revolution like it was a bedtime story

kimiantonelli who even knows what happened in 1848????

> user aren’t you supposed to be learning that in school?

user is this a kink thing?

user dating a historian sounds like a trap. a sexy, educational trap.

maxverstappen1 can you prepare me for the next grill the grid?

> yourusername sure thing!! > oscarpiastri NO

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 1,450,000 others

mclaren Study season. Quiz night prep. We no longer know if this is for history or Hungary GP. 🧠🏁📚

view all comments

oscarpiastri she just asked me to rank my favorite Enlightenment philosophers. it’s 10pm. i said Kant and she said “incorrect.”

> yourusername it was a trick question. you were supposed to say “you, darling” > oscarpiastri i’m logging off before I get in trouble > user I NEED THEM TO ADOPT ME

lando does this mean i can’t cheat???

> oscarpiastri she said next time you cheat off me she’s quizzing you on Byzantine trade routes > lando nevermind i’m studying. i’m SCARED.

yourusername Quiz night winner gets free coffee. Loser gets a 20-minute lecture on the French Revolution.

> mclaren we are printing flashcards as we speak

alex_albon imagine prepping for Hungary and getting hit with “define the Treaty of Utrecht” over breakfast

> oscarpiastri: she did that. literally. it was before coffee.

charles_leclerc what’s happening? Why is everyone smarter now.

> georgerussell63 she’s infecting the grid with knowledge. we’re not safe > fernandoalo_oficial finally.

user this is the power of a woman who annotates books and kisses you mid-lecture

user can’t wait until one of them starts mixing up tire degradation with the fall of the Ottoman Empire

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽

This is a place where I feel at home

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Og8 X gn reader

Summary: After dance practice, you collapse with a seizure.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 3K

A/N: Requestee, you specifically asked for this. I know seizures can look different and vary from person-to-person, based upon the type of seizures and diagnosis, so I just did a general overview. I hope I managed to write something, that's difficult irl for you, and create something that can make you smile <3 (actually, I hope it makes you laugh)

_ _ _

Sweat seeped out of every pore. In the center of the group, all nine of you became a single entity. Breathing, moving, and creating movements that rippled through time. You were soaked in your own sweat. The collar of your shirt clung damply to your neck. It stuck between your armpits, but there wasn’t time to pull it away from your skin. 

Stomps echoed and the swell of music caused your fingers to stretch in front of you. You grabbed the open air before jerking your body back and fitting between an open pocket of empty space. Between Han and Seungmin, your lungs heaved for air, but none of you stopped. There wasn’t any time. 

You spun and rocked your weight from one foot to the other in a hop motion. Another twirl, bigger arm movements, and the facial expressions didn’t matter yet. You lost count of how many times you’d gone through all these motions. Another dance practice, another day spent losing yourself in the music. Your lungs ached, but you didn’t complain. 

You lived for this. All the sweat didn’t matter. You caught glimpses of everyone in the mirror. You still didn’t understand how one choreographer taught all nine of you the dance moves. Over and over again, she went over the moves and helped you turn your body on time. Each movement translated to the beat and you flew again. 

“Come on! You’re nearly finished! Keep up the energy!” 

Behind you, she stood in the corner watching your formation. Her eyes swayed from person-to-person, trying to make sure nothing seemed amiss. It all ran perfectly, just like she imagined it to go. Everyone moved like she wanted them to. 

When the song came to an end, loud claps came from the same corner. “Great job everyone! You did so well!” 

Han was the first to sink to his knees. Muscular arms stretched outward in his sleeveless black top. “Oh, god. My arms are on fire, I think I’m going to die.” 

The muscles in your arms felt the same way. No matter how much you danced, you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the burning sensation from swinging your arms around so much. You chuckled at his antics, shook your head, and went to your bag to grab your water.

Changbin’s laughter cut through the air. He pointed at Hyunjin, making fun of him. “Look at you, you’re practically drowning in your own sweat.” 

“I don’t have the energy to fight you right now.” 

“Looking good as per usual, hyung,” Felix teased. 

A hand ran through Hyunjin’s hair. Sweaty strands jerked back and fell right back into his face. He huffed and collapsed beside Han. “Ugh, I wanna go home, but I think I need to take five. Just a few minutes to catch my breath.” 

You’d been with the guys for so long, the scent of combined sweat didn’t bother you anymore. You’d gone nose blind to it, but you could feel the warmth of the room. The heat that built from moving bodies, flying limbs, and the stuffy contained feeling that caused your skin to itch. 

“Hey.” A finger reached out and poked you in the back of your shoulder blade. You turned around to find Minho staring at you. “Am I taking you home today, or are you going with one of the other guys?” 

“I wanted to go with you, if that’s okay. Chan, Changbin, and Han are all staying over. I don’t know what the rest of the guys are doing.” 

Minho spun around to face everyone else and his voice raised. “Who needs a ride back to the dorms?” 

Felix and Seungmin’s arms shot up. Jeongin glanced up from digging in his backpack. “Wait! Don’t make me drive back alone! Yongbok, be my passenger princess.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“I guess that means I’m with the cat and dog,” you mumbled beneath your breath. 

“What was that?” Minho asked. 

“Nothing.” 

He blinked multiple times and shook his head. “Alright, Seungmin, let’s go.” He walked beside the leather couch, grabbed his bag, and headed towards the door. 

You barely had time to grab your bag and follow him. Seungmin rushed after both of you. He waved to the guys, promised Felix he’d see him back home, and hurried into the hall. You and Minho were already halfway down it. From the practice room, Hyunjin grumbled, insisting that nobody loved him because nobody wanted to ride home with him. It didn’t take long for Changbin to straddle his back and confess his love. 

In the air conditioned hall, you grabbed your water bottle and slowly sipped, relishing the cool water. The insulated bottle kept your ice water cold. When it came to days like this, you were always thankful for it. You spent a pretty penny on it, but it came from the recommendation of Chan. He used the same brand and always liked having cold water at his disposal, no matter the day. 

“Can you two slow down?” Seungmin called out. “You’re acting like race horses and we have nowhere to be right now.” 

“I have a place to be, it’s called the shower. I don’t know about you, but it’s calling my name.” Minho rushed down the stairs. “I’m in a hurry to get there because, unlike you, I don’t try to attract people to me via my scent.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You chuckled at their antics and took your time going down the stairs. In the lobby, a group of trainees was being addressed by their own manager. When the group spotted the three seniors, they ducked into a respectful bow. You smiled and waved at them. Blushes and shy eyes looked away. Seungmin greeted them back and Minho dropped a respectable nod. 

All three of you knew what it was like meeting senior groups. The butterflies and nerves came fluttering back. It’d been years ago, but you remembered it like it was yesterday. As you walked past them, nostalgia hit you hard. 

Minho held the door open for you and you thanked him. When it came to Seungmin, he let the door go before he walked through the exit. The door started to retract and bumped into Seungmin as he left the building. “Real mature. Thanks a lot, hyung.” 

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” 

“I’m getting the passenger’s seat.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“I’m calling dibs.” 

“Overruled. It’s my car and I pick the assigned seats.” Minho glanced back at you. “You can have the passenger’s seat.” 

Your head shook. “No, that’s okay. Seungmin can have it if he wants it.” 

“Did you not hear me? I said I pick the assigned seats. You’re up front with me.” 

“Yeah, okay. Seungmin?” You spun around. “Give me your bag and I’ll put it in the trunk.” He tossed his duffle bag in your direction, you caught it with a grunt. 

Minho pressed a button on his key fob and the back of his trunk retracted. Without complaint, you headed over and placed your bags in his trunk. Seungmin threw open the back door and slipped inside. Just as he was about to buckle, Minho tossed his bag between the driver and passenger’s seat, causing it to slam into Seungmin’s chest. “Hold that.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“Did I stutter? Can you hear?” His eyes narrowed. “Should we take you to a doctor and get your ears cleaned out? They’re probably full of wax. No wonder why you don’t listen to what you’re told.”

“Real mature.” 

You shut the trunk and looked over. Afternoon slipped into an early evening. The tangerine sky laid with highlights of soft pink. Supple streaky white clouds rolled warmth into your heart. It’d been a while since you’d been out of work early enough to catch the sunset before it faded into darkness.  

Seungmin huffed and pushed Minho’s bag to his side. It stayed upright on the leather seats. Minho looked in the rearview mirror and glared. “Hey, I said hold onto that.” 

“I’m not holding your bag the entire drive home.” 

“You have no respect for your elders.” 

“And the only thing you’re good at is bossing today’s youth around. I’m sorry you're bitter because your joints creak and your back aches. Don’t take it out on me, take it up with your geriatrician and try some fish oil pills.” 

“What the hell did you just say to me, punk?” He unbuckled his seatbelt and jerked around in his seat. “Say it again and see what happens.” 

“I said take it up with the doctor that specializes in old people!” 

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

“Do you kiss anyone at all?” 

Minho lunged back, trying to smack the back of Seungmin’s head, but Seungmin ducked down, just narrowly avoiding it. “Missed me, asshole.” 

“Come here!” 

Meanwhile, your hand expanded outwards and you reached out for the side of the car. You mumbled Minho’s name, but he couldn’t hear it as he argued with Seungmin. It became a sixth sense, an inkling that you were on the verge of something happening. You tried again, softly calling out for Seungmin, but it didn’t work. 

Light fractured and your body caved in. Knees buckled and you tried to stay upright, but your fingers caught nothing, only the smooth black paint of Minho’s car. A loud thud and a sharp pain filled your head. The sharp colors of the sky blended into a watercolor painting. An empty static and then the eerie silence of nothingness. 

The moment a loud bang came from the back of the vehicle, Minho stopped reaching for Seungmin and glanced out the trunk window. “Hey, where’d they go?” 

“Weren’t they just putting the bags in the trunk?” 

“Yeah, but they did and– ah, shit.” 

Seungmin’s eyes widened and he jerked his car door open. It wasn’t always, but you did have seizures every so often. Usually, the guys tried to keep an eye on you, but their actions were limited. You couldn’t spend your whole life being watched twenty-four-seven. He slammed his car door shut and rushed around the car. 

Minho cursed and dropped down beside your shaking body. Every muscle in your body tensed and you jerked unconsciously. A faint noise left your throat. Unaware of it all, there was nothing you could do to stop your brain from firing in all the wrong ways. Muscles spasmed and your fingers twitched.  

“Help me get them onto their side!” Minho barked. 

Seungmin dropped down on your other side. Together, they worked to shift you onto your left side. One of your shoes dug into the cement and scraped across the pavement in the process. He popped up over your body, opened the truck, and quickly unzipped his bag. Minho glanced up in confusion. 

“Here, use this to stabilize their head.” He pulled out a hoodie and folded it into a square. 

Minho grabbed it and gently worked it beneath your head. “There you go. It’s okay, we’ve got you.” 

Seungmin’s hand reached out and grabbed your top ankle. He tried to be cautious, but also stop you from jerking back onto your back. The recovery position, laying on your side, is important when a seizure is active. Minho’s hand hovered above your shoulder. If you jerked back, he gently steadied you. 

“Should we call for an ambulance?” 

“Not unless it doesn’t stop. We’ve been over this, remember?” 

“I know, but I still worry.” 

“We have to trust that they know their own body.” 

For so long, you’d dealt with seizures. Your doctor tried medicine to stabilize you, but sometimes your brain had a mind of its own. You just had to wait for them to pass on their own. 

When it finally stopped, you didn’t know if you were still in your own body. Dance practice already made you sore, but a seizure and aggressive tensing muscles made it so much worse. You sucked in a sharp breath and your eyes fluttered open. 

Minho uttered your name and carefully cupped your face. You groggily looked up, but it sounded like you were beneath water. Whatever he said, you couldn’t understand it fully. Seungmin’s worried face appeared next to his. Your eyes shut. 

“What’s happening?” Seungmin whispered. 

“Exhaustion. Their body totally just freaked out on them. It’s not easy to handle.” Minho called your name again. This time, you could finally understand what he said. 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m going to pick you up and take you back inside, okay? We’re just going to make sure you’re stable before we put you in a moving car and take you home. Do you need anything?” 

“My water.” 

“Let’s get you inside and you can have some. This concrete can’t be comfortable. Seungmin, get the water. Is your head okay? There’s a red spot on your forehead. I think you slammed the bumper of my car when you fell.” 

You shrugged, still feeling a little out of it. Minho’s strong arms slipped beneath your body. He stood up, scooped you into his chest, and slowly walked back to the company building. “If you need something, just let me know.” 

“Okay.” 

You were quiet all the way back upstairs. The pair chose the elevator and Minho instructed Seungmin to press all the buttons. Chan, Changbin, and Han were all in one of the recording studios. When Minho arrived with you in tow, the three of them glanced over. 

“What happened?” Chan asked. 

“Seizure in the parking lot.”

They were up within seconds, worrying about you. You wanted to be embarrassed, but you couldn’t be. Your head felt so fuzzy and you were tired. Minho gently placed you onto the couch. Your eyes reopened. 

“Are you okay?” Changbin approached you first. “Do you need anything?” 

“My water.” 

Seungmin handed it to Changbin. He helped you sit up and watched as you took a few sips of the cool water. Multiple pairs of eyes fell on you, but you tried to ignore it. You didn’t like being the center of attention, but in times like this, you didn’t get a choice. 

Han finally appeared and slowly slipped behind your legs. “You’re sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah, just tired.” 

“Do you want to stay here for a bit? Chan, Changbin, and I were just about to rearrange our next song. It’s a ballad, so it shouldn’t cause your head to ache.” 

“Or I can take you back home,” Minho added. “With Seungmin, it’s up to you.”

“Can I stay here? I just wanna rest.” 

“Of course. Seungmin, let’s head out and give them some space. We can’t have you stenching up the place with your wet dog scent.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Minho waved him to the door. He rolled his eyes, placed your bag beside the couch, and headed away. “Whatever. Take care, you know where to find us if you need us.” 

“If they make it home without murdering each other,” Chan joked. 

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” 

Your eyes shut, but you listened to the bickering with amusement. Their taunts would never get old. Changbin glanced at you once more before heading back to one of the chairs in front of the recording booth. 

Han gently patted your legs. “I’m going to stay right here beside you. Maybe if I’m here, I can keep the seizures away. Like a mosquito repellant, but for seizures.” 

“You think so?” You asked.

“I hope so.” 

Chan shut the door and sighed. “I guess it could be worse. The other three went home earlier.” He headed back to the spot beside Changbin. “Maybe it’s better they’re not here because-” 

The door jerked open and Hyunjin rushed in, nearly tripping over himself. He called your name with worry and dropped in front of the couch. “Are you alive? Are you a ghost? Tell me you can still see me! How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Hyung, Minho said not to bother them and let them rest.” Jeongin entered the room with crossed arms. “You’re going to stress them out more.”

“Am I not allowed to worry? How many fingers? You’re not responding!” 

“Probably because their eyes are shut.” 

Your eyes reopened at the sound of Felix’s voice. He placed an arm around Jeongin’s shoulder and waved at you. “Hey, we heard what happened from Minho. We just came to see if you’re okay.” 

“I thought the three of you went home?” Chan uttered from his spot. 

“Oh, yeah, we were going to, but-” 

“I don’t want to drive home alone!” Hyunjin whined. “It’s like nobody in this group loves me. I stole Jeongin’s car keys and he keeps chasing me and trying to get them back.” He called your name. “Tell Innie that he can’t drive home with Lix. I need a passenger princess, too.” 

The worry from your seizure melted away a little. Your seizures were serious and always would be, but with the antics of the guys, you couldn’t worry for long. Before you could speak, Minho appeared. “Hwang Hyunjin, I’m about to roast your ass in the airfryer. Get over here!” 

“I had to make sure they were still alive!” 

“I’m about to make ferret kabobs in the next five seconds if you don’t leave.” 

“But hyung!” 

Chan groaned and rubbed his face. “I can’t believe I picked all of you and have to put up with all of this years later.” 

“Who wants to try a wolf kabob next?” Minho asked. 

Every single hand went up, including yours.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv

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Ko-fi

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🥰🥰🥰

it’s early in the mornin’

summary: you and isack have a quiet morning together (fluff) (proof read & lowercase intended) (requested!)

pairing: isack hadjar (6) & reader

content warning: french nicknames (chérie), cursing, fire/food burning, short make out

note: to my isack girlies, I SEE YOU 🤧

“chérie?” isack whispers as he extends his arm out to feel you “chérie??” he says a little louder, now feeling your coldness of your side of the bed.

he exhales as he sits up, reaching towards his nightstand to grab his phone.

__________________________________

7:43 am

isack 🤍 : where r u?

you : in the kitchen

isack 🤍 : why?

you : i had to go pee but then i couldn’t go back to sleep so i just decided to make breakfast for us

isack 🤍 : why???

you : so we can eat? come to the kitchen

isack 🤍 : no come back to bed, i miss you

you : im IN the kitchen, just come here

read 7:46 am

__________________________________

you hear isacks foot steps, soften by the house slippers you got him for christmas.

he exhales loudly well leaning against the counter, looking at you while you work the stove.

when you don’t answer he exhales even louder

“yes isack? how may i help you?” you say, setting the spatula down and turning to face him.

he only responds by standing up straight and opening his arms wide, asking for a hug.

you sigh softly as you approach him and wrap your arms around him.

“what are we cooking?” you hear him mumble in the crook of your neck

you pull away softly, placing your hand on his chest, “we as in, you and i? or we as in you just stand next to me and give me occasional kisses?”

he puts on a fake thinking face, humming softly to seal the deal.

“i think the second option sounds the best.” he says kissing you softly, grabbing your arms to wrap them around himself.

the kiss continues as your hands get tangle in his hair and his hands wrap tighter around you

you pull away softly, “do you smell that?”

he looks behind you, “oh shit, the food is burning!”

you turn around quickly, “what?!?”

you quickly grab the handle of the pan with a towel and put it in the sink, running the water over it to put out the fire.

you hit isack against the bicep as you rush to turn on the fan under the microwave, “why didn’t you do something?!”

“can you blame me?” he says loudly as he moves throughout the apartment, opening up the windows and turning on the fans

“yes, isack! i can blame you!!” you laugh softly, putting your hands on your hips as he approaches you once again.

“you’re right, i should’ve put out the fire first and then call the fire department and you fall for one of the fire fighters” isack says teasingly, grabbing you by your waist and softly pulling you in.

“you know what? i think i’ll call them right now” you tease back, leaning in and kissing him softly.

you pull away as you feel the kiss deepen, “coffee?”

“kisses.” isack responds as he pulls you back in the kiss.

__________________________________

the song the title is based off of 😽

[paintmepurple]

🥰🥰🥰🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

IN SWEETNESS ; IH6.

synopsis: In a moment of pure coincidence, Y/N L/N discovers a hidden box under the bed, with photographs of Isack Hadjar from when he was a child.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective. Other than that, pure fluff.

a message from the author: This actually just happened to a friend of mine, and she told me about it. Inspiration struck and this basically wrote itself. I love Isack Hadjar. The title comes from “Robin” by Taylor Swift; I was listening to it while I wrote this. Hope you enjoy reading this!

You would swear in front of a judge and jury if you had to, but you swore you didn’t mean to find it. Honestly.

You wanted to turn on the season finale of Stranger Things, and had accidentally knocked the remote off of the bedside table. With a beleaguered sigh, you had set upon your quest to recover it from the void. And suddenly, your fingers had touched a mysterious plastic surface – the lid of a faded brown box, which had been tucked under the bed where you slept with your boyfriend, Isack Hadjar.

There was a heavy layer of dust that suggested that it had been left undisturbed for a very long time. 

When you discovered this secret treasure, your curiosity was piqued. Not to mention, you were incredibly surprised. Isack was typically so open with you in every aspect of his life, even the uncomfortable parts. So, it begged the question: what did Isack have that was so secret he felt that the only spot safe enough was hidden below the bed, where chances were extremely slim that you would unearth it?

You did a quick, furtive glance behind you to see where Isack was, but he was still unaware of what mischievous activities you were engaging in. Your boyfriend was busy chatting away on the phone in rapid-fire French; probably about the latest football match that he had nearly pulled out all his hair from. (It was hilarious, and you thought you might have broken a rib from laughing so hard.)

Quickly, you peeled back the protective case, wincing when the sharp edge snagged at your skin. You eagerly began rifling through the box’s contents. Obviously, there was a mountain pile of more dust, which made you sneeze twice and warranted another check over your shoulder. Somehow, Isack was still oblivious, and you stifled a chuckle.

A fan of papers were wedged at the bottom, some glossy and others matte. You picked up the first one your fingers touched, your eyebrows shooting up when you realized what it was. 

A photograph, from probably a dozen years ago. Isack had to be at least eight or nine years old, with his curly brown hair spilling over his forehead like a bowl of pasta and chubby cheeks that made you squeal with joy. His hands were on his chin, and he was gazing at something you couldn’t see in the photograph. He was absolutely adorable, and you pressed the paper against your chest.

The other photos you had found were from other stages in Isack’s life, but none crossed his teenage years. One was of Isack lifting a golden trophy that was nearly taller than him, a medal slung around his neck, a grin splitting his face as he cheered in victory. It was like he was glowing, positively radiant, as if he were the Sun. Two other boys stood to the sides of him, more muted in their excitement. 

The next photograph you inspected was a young Isack with a camera clasped in his hands, a scarf obscuring part of his face, his chestnut brown puppy-dog eyes peeking through. You fumbled through the box, searching for more, and then –

“So. You found it.”

Your heart jackrabbited in your chest, and you jumped so high you almost took flight. “Oh my God! Isack. I didn’t mean to – it’s not what it looks like – I wasn’t trying to –” you stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. You were caught red-handed, and your cheeks blazed in a mixture of embarrassment and guilt.

Isack kneeled down, propping himself up next to you. “I forgot about this box. My father gave it to me as a birthday present years ago.”

“Yeah?” you murmured softly, looking at the picture you still had in your hand. “You look adorable in each and every one of them. It should be illegal.”

Isack kissed you on the forehead, lips feather-light. “Vous le pensez?”

“Of course.” You picked up a leftover photograph – one you hadn’t seen yet. Isack was sitting in a bright crimson go-kart, his eyebrows furrowed as he focused on the upcoming race. His father was angled beside him, giving him advice in his ear. “Look at this, Isack. It’s so precious. I have a horrendous case of cuteness aggression right now.”

Isack laughed, his expression slightly wistful. “I remember when that photograph was taken. It was right before my second race, and I was terrified.”

“Yeah, and then you kicked everyone’s ass,” you shot back. “Like a little French speed demon.”

Isack cocked his head. “I’m not exactly sure I did, but thank you.”

“Always.” You pecked him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, though. This could have been sensitive stuff, and I just intruded without caring.”

Isack shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t have been mad anyway; I don’t want to have secrets between us.”

“I know, that’s why I was surprised.” You bit your lip. “But this is a lovable secret to have kept. I’ve seen loads of them, but it’ll never be enough. Your baby pictures are the sweetest thing ever.”

Isack scoffed. “I’m not a baby in this. I have to be at least ten years old.”

“You’re tiny! I could pick you up in my hands and cuddle you!” you protested loudly.

“Then prove it,” he said as he puffed his chest up. 

You dropped the picture, letting it float down to the ground like a loose flower petal. With your arms outstretched, you jumped on his lap and crashed your lips against his. “I love you, Isack. I think all of these photos – they really solidified what I already knew about you.”

“Oui? And what was that?” Isack inquired, his voice gentle. 

You met his eyes. “That you’re an angel, and I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

“Merci, ma chérie.” Isack hummed in the shell of your ear, breath tickling hot against your skin. “Je t’aime. But! Now you have to show me some more of your photos. Then we will be equal.”

“Deal!”

Credits: Dividers — @thecutestgrotto

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

do it scared I IH6

pairing: bf! isack hadjar x reader word count: 1.2k tags: hurt and comfort, fluff, tiny tiny angst due to mc's insecurities, isack being the best boyfriend that he is in my head, badly translated french and mandarin, etc a/n: dedicated to @tsunodaradio. it seemed fitting that my first isack fic would be for you. hadjoints makes me happy but you make me happier <3

Isack was as dramatic as any Parisian could be. He would tell you every time that not every French was as over the top as you always say they were. The actual word is ‘expressive’. Thank you very much.

That's why you are shocked to the core when you said you wanted to break up and Shakespeare forgot to possess him like he always does. Isack froze for a second and then wanted to know where this came from.

“Was it anything I did, ma chérie ? Did I neglect you?”

He was patient and looked like he would wait until the Côte d'Albâtre was eroded away by the Atlantic Ocean. You didn't think you could bear to disappoint him by saying that it was because he is too cute. He felt too good to be true. So you mumble that it's a tiktok trend and walk away. 

………

The second time you told him that you wanted to break up was when you guys had the perfect day, the perfect date, and the perfect weather. You are laying down on his arm. his pulsing heart a companion to the blazing heat radiating from him. You snuggle into him as the cold wind nips at your neck even though there was no space between the two of you. Isack was mumbling like he always does and the cadence of his voice was getting lower with each passing sentence. It was the worst time to blurt out,

“I don't think this is working.”

Isack didn't even open his eyes to reply. “Ma moitié, I already told you I would request someone to fix our heating tomorrow. Do you want me to bring another blanket for us? C'est impossible to endure?”

There was a suspicious lump in your throat when you whispered, “I meant that I want to break up.”

He shifted until he had his arm across you and rubbed your arms. A puff of “We can talk about this tomorrow.” and he was out like a light. This conversation didn’t continue tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after next. Or in the next six months.

………

It picked up when you celebrated your second anniversary with a nice trip out to Shenzhen, China. You always wanted to walk the vibrant streets of Dafan Oil Painting Village. Isack always wants to give you anything your heart longed for.

Between inhaling your body weight in dimsum, giggling as you dared each other to try yā xīn, and the famous seafood dishes, you fell in love again with food and with Isack. This can't go on, you thought. How do I keep falling in love with him again and again? 

Final day of the trip was gently passing away with you glued to a painter mixing the most horrendous shade of blue and ending it with a finished painting that would have made Monet sell all his valuables to have it in his collection. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you were able to get it for 465 yuan. Hoisting your new favourite piece of art under your arm with one hand, you pattered off to where Isack was losing badly to a game of chess. The grandpa playing against him was looking at him with such adoration that anyone would think your boyfriend saved him from certain death and was not just getting his arse kicked by an 80 year old man.

“Okay, I thought it over. I want to break up for real.” You declared as you came to a stop.

Both Isack and the grandpa looked up in unison. In a blink you found your hand stuffed with a 10 yuan. The older man was pointing at the board and said, “Měinǚ jiějiě, qù hē zhenzou nǎichá bā. Wǒ hái xiǎng zài wán yī jú. Méi xiǎngdào quán shìjiè dōu méi rén bǐ wǒ wán dé chà.”

Mandarin was not a language that any of you picked up. But food is a universal language and you knew ‘zhenzou nǎichá’ was boba milk tea. You figured that he wanted to play another round with the money being a bribe for you to let your boyfriend play. 

You look at Isack and he shrugged his shoulders in a way that only he does. “We are not breaking up and can you get me one with sugar.” 

Giving up was the best choice since you already accepted the bribe and Isack’s bullheadedness. “Fine. But you are only getting the basic one. Someone's favourite brown sugar one is for ex-boyfriends.”

You sashayed away thinking that you had the last word but a distant “I think current boyfriends deserve a grass jelly boba” shout had you walking a tad bit faster.

You got him his grass jelly drink. Full ice too because that boy had you wrapped around his finger and the both of you knew it.

………

“Enough.” Isack grumbled. “I will try to be a bad boyfriend.”

“Hm?” You look up from your cards. It was game night and both of you were sitting on the floor with elbows being pressed into the kotatsu you insisted was a necessary addition to the household. Isack had his arms across the chest. His eyes were boring into you. “I know what you are gonna say now. Mon chou, I want to break up. Our relationship is not working. No more of this. Please.” His tone got smaller until it fizzled out in the end.

Your brain short-circuited. “How did you know?”

“You always do this. We are having fun. The cheese pizza hit the spot AND you were winning all the games. It is the perfect vibe so I knew that you would try to run away. I am not letting you go without an actual reason. Spill. Why do you hate me the most when I show you the most love?” Isack's chest was heaving by the time he was done. It broke your heart to see him in distress. “I could never hate you.”

His breath hitched. You could see him relaxing his stance as a tension left his body. “What did I do wrong? Please tell me.”

You finally had to admit to him you were scared that this was the best memory you guys would ever have. That something this perfect couldn't be true. “Mon cœur, I think you are too good to be true too. And I can't help but scratch the itch of wanting to tear out the lies.”

Isack runs his hand through his hair as he starts pacing. “So you always want to give up on me without letting me have a chance to show you that this is real. Our love is real and it's here to stay.” He continues in a tight voice, “Do you not trust me?”

“You know I do. With my whole life.”

“But not with our relationship.”

“I-”

“Sorry.” Isack cuts you off. “That was cruel of me. Can you just promise to trust me a bit more when you are happy? Trust me to make you happier?”

After this, whenever you wanted to pack up and leave because this boy was making you experience another heart-wrenching, high-inducing level of contentment you never thought you would reach, you would simply press a kiss to his hair. Isack knew what it meant. He would hold you a bit tighter and that was enough.

Love was scary. Trusting someone to love you was scarier. But you would live life to the full while being frightened. For him.

[paintmepurple]

Cute 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

Fan First, Girlfriend Second | IH6

Pairing: Isack Hadjar x Reader

Summary: Isack brings you along to see Jannik Sinner, your favourite tennis player. He might regret it when he notices your attention is not on him, until he remembers that you're his no matter away.

Author's Note: i fear I'll never move on from this🤗 ngl it's kinda best we don't have a pic of them together bc i wouldn't survive it like I'm already unwell enough lol❤️ anyways i hope y'all enjoy this lil thing i wrote in honour of my fav rookie watching my fav player (can we believe i wrote this in less than 24h??)

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

Isack didn’t think much about it when he invited you to come to Roland-Garros with him and his mum.

Following a successful triple header, you and Isack were back in your shared flat in Paris. And what better activity than to go to the tennis tournament that was currently ongoing in the same city?

Isack did not follow tennis as much as you did, but he enjoyed the sport and was definitely excited to see a match with you. Especially when it was one of the semi-finals, featuring the number one player and one of the ‘big three’.

However, he should’ve thought about two things.

One: Isack had never watched a match with you. Not even on TV as you usually watched the tournaments alone while he was either on training or racing.

Two: you were going to see your favourite player.

So with those two factors combined, Isack was in for a treat.

When you arrived at the stadium, you were like a kid opening presents on Christmas Day while Isack was acting way too casual for your liking.

“Isack, on est à Roland-Garros.”

“Je sais.”

“Roland. Garros.” You gestured around you, as a way to emphasise your words.

“Je sais”, he repeated with a chuckle. He was amused at your reaction, finding it cute that you were so excited to be there.

Despite living in Paris your whole life, you had never been to Roland-Garros. When you first started watching tennis, you were still a student. So every year, the tournament was during your last weeks of classes. And you could’ve gone, to be honest. But it was probably not worth it to go watch tennis while you were supposed to study for your exams, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to fully focus on either thing.

So you were truly over the moon to be there for the first – and hopefully not the last – time.

While you were admiring the place and taking pictures of the iconic Philippe-Chatrier court from outside, Isack did a couple media duties with the tournament staff. His mum had stayed with you, preferring to spend time roaming around the stadium with you. She even turned into your personal photographer for a bit, enjoying your obvious happiness. You two then met Isack again a bit before the match would start so that someone would take you to your seats.

When you entered the court, your hand went straight to your mouth. It was even more impressive in person, and you really couldn’t believe that you were actually there. You thought that it couldn’t get any better, but it did when you saw the view from your seat.

The best in the house: slightly above the court, not in the middle, and literally right next to where the players would enter the court. But more importantly, the seat was in the width and not the length of the court.

“Oh my God…” You were so close to the court, you could see the tiny details that made Roland-Garros iconic like the recently unveiled plate in honour of Rafael Nadal or the smooth white lines not yet covered by the clay. “This is crazy.”

Isack was really having a field day watching you look around to take in everything. He didn’t dare interrupt you, noticing how special this was to you. Suddenly, he decided that he would do his best to bring you here every year if it meant that you would be as happy as you were right now.

Soon enough, it was time for the players to enter the court and this was the moment when Isack realised that he should’ve thought more before inviting you to come with him. Because when Jannik Sinner – number one in the ATP rankings and your favourite player – appeared in your eyesight, it was like you had turned into a whole other person.

Isack hadn’t expected it, but you suddenly stood up – which he noticed you hadn’t done for Novak Djokovic – and cheered so loudly that Isack would be surprised if the Italian player hadn’t heard you. He almost felt betrayed, wondering if you were also cheering as loud as right now whenever Isack scored points during a race.

It was then, that Isack realised he didn’t stand a chance against Jannik. Your attention would solely be focused on the match for the next three hours, barely acknowledging your boyfriend outside of the changeovers and in between sets. It also didn’t help that the Italian was playing really well today, which meant that you didn’t want to miss even one point.

Isack wasn’t exactly mad; tennis was one of your favourite sports – if not the favourite, F1 be damned – and he understood that you were simply enjoying the moment. But he had to admit that the way your gaze followed Jannik’s body made him a bit insecure.

Jannik Sinner was objectively good-looking, and Isack knew that you did find him attractive as he remembered you ranting about the hottest tennis players on the circuit. The Italian was taller, leaner, and his confidence on court was one to admire.

Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe it was just the excitement of seeing your favourite player for the first time. So Isack let it go and stopped overthinking it. He just enjoyed the match as much as possible, cheering and clapping when a point was well won.

For your pleasure, Jannik won the match after three hours.

“Straight sets once again, wow.” You were mostly talking to yourself, but Isack acknowledged the impressive statistic. You could only clap and cheer for Jannik, truly amazed at his game and the fact that he would play his maiden Roland-Garros final in two days.

“I take it you enjoyed the match?” Isack’s mum turned towards you, a smile on her face.

“Hundred percent yes”, you answered with a passionate nod. “It’s just insane, like– that doesn’t feel real. Merci beaucoup de m’avoir invitée”, you thanked both Isack and his mum. You were truly grateful for them, and would genuinely remember today as one of the best days of your life.

“C’est normal”, she told you before taking your hand in hers. “I’d be a bad mother-in-law and my son would be a bad boyfriend if we didn’t treat you well.”

The smile on your face widened, and you squeezed her hand to keep showing her your gratitude.

You then quickly turned your attention back onto the court, noticing that the mic had already been set up for the usual post-match interview.

While Jannik talked about the match and his opponent, you internally cursed the side of the court where you were seated because you could only see Jannik’s back. Still, you were hanging on to every word the Italian was saying.

In this moment, Isack almost wanted to drag you home and keep you all to himself. But that was until his mum had to make a comment:

“I forgot, but who’s the player we’re meeting after that?” She asked.

This immediately made you turn towards Isack, unsure if you had heard the words well.

“We’re meeting one of them?” You desperately needed Isack to confirm that it would be Jannik, as hope filled your eyes.

“Hmm, yeah…” Isack scratched the back of his neck.

“Who?” When Isack didn’t answer, you didn’t know if it meant that he was sparring you with the disappointment of you not meeting your favourite player. “Isack, qui?”

“We’re meeting the winner”, he admitted. “So, Sinner.”

Those last two words were all it took for your brain to short-circuit. You couldn’t believe it. Meeting Jannik Sinner? You thought. That has to be a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. Soon enough, you were being evacuated from the court before a staff member found you. She brought you three to a room where you would be waiting for the player, and told you that he would come before his press conference.

“I’m so unwell”, you dramatically stated. “I think I’m gonna be like– hyperventilating or some shit, and faint.”

“You’ll be fine,” Isack reassured you. He gave you a side hug, rubbing your shoulder as a means of comfort.

It seemed to have somehow worked, and you treated it as a win when Jannik entered the room without you crying.

“Hi”, he just said before going to personally greet you individually. "Thanks for coming." Jannik first shook Isack’s mum’s hand, being his best polite self. Then, he dabbed up Isack as if he were his long-time friend. “Isack, right? Nice to meet you.”

“You too, mate. Great match out there”, Isack congratulated.

“Thanks. I saw your recent races, you’ve been doing good in the last couple weeks.”

“Yeah, the triple header’s been treating me well.”

Jannik nodded in agreement before he turned to greet you with a smile.

“Hey, hmm… hi, sorry.” You gulped, nerves taking over you. “Congrats, that was a superb match.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, and you were done for. “You guys were sitting near the entrance, right? I think I noticed you.”

“She’s been cheering for you like crazy, so it’s no wonder. You probably heard her before seeing her”, Isack teased.

“Isack! Chut!” You blushed, not wanting him to embarrass you in front of Jannik.

“Maybe”, Jannik somewhat confirmed with a chuckle. “I won’t complain about having such a lovely fan rooting for me, though.”

Now, Isack was regretting even introducing the topic because you were beaming at Jannik’s words.

Thankfully for Isack, but unfortunately for you, your time with the player was now up due to Jannik having to go to his press conference. Two things were left for you to do: hug Jannik – literally a life goal – and take a couple pictures with him because you needed to immortalise this moment forever.

Then, it was the two athletes’ turn. While Isack and Jannik took professional pictures, you could only admire them. Your boyfriend and your favourite player together? You were definitely printing and framing the photo as soon as you would get your hands on it.

One could have thought that your eyes were on Jannik, probably looking at the Italian and still not believing that he was real – which was kind of true. But actually, you were focused on Isack. The thing you currently couldn’t believe was how lucky you were to have him. You would forever be grateful to him for bringing you here and being the reason why you had been able to meet Jannik.

Today had meant the world to you, and you would do your best to repay Isack however you could.

When it was really time for you to say goodbye to Jannik, you were once again looking at him as he had hung the moon. He gave you the brightest smile known to mankind – the one that made him seem like the sun’s personification – and you could only reply with a smile as well, your cheeks still flushed from the previous interaction.

Glancing at you, Isack decided that he wasn’t really mad nor insecure anymore about the whole situation. He just had to accept that you were a fan first, gilrfriend second. Because even if he didn’t truly stand a chance against Jannik, he was the one going home with you at the end of the day. He was the one whom you fell asleep next to, and he was the one who could enjoy your smile whenever he wanted.

..........

I fear i will never write anything as quick as i wrote this😭 still feels insane how the inspo went 📈📈 as soon as i saw isack on my tv

If it wasn't common knowledge yet, i am a HUGE tennis fan and have been for several years already!! This year was my 1st time going to roland garros and I'm still not over it, so it feels even more special to write smth in which i can include my own feelings/impressions

I promise i have not forgotten ab max and the rookies👀 grid mum part 6 (european triple header) is in the drafts and I'll hope to post it before canada (ik i always announce a deadline and then i don't respect but y'all are used to it atp)

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽❤️❤️

IH6: debí tirar más fotos²

EVE’S 2K CELEBRATION 🎤: your relationship with isack through the lens of your camera …… ft. dtmf and baile inolvidable by bad bunny

pairing: isack hadjar x photographer!ex!reader

contents: part one here, exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst with a happy ending, there’s four people in a two-person relationship (ft. pepe martí and gabriel bortoleto), jealousy, pepe went from sidepiece to unwilling couples counselor, drunk confession, google translated french.

word count: 4.3k + smau (it got out of hand)

liked by gabrielbortoleto, isackhadjar and 91,207 others

stakef1team First day jitters 🇧🇭

👤 tagged: yn.png, gabrielbortoleto

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yn.png green has never looked better 🫶 ♥️ liked by author

user1 PAUSEEE GABI LOOKS HOT

user2 pre-season testing has never looked so goddamn fine

user3 cuidem bem de nosso menino 🇧🇷

user4 admin is stronger than me fr…. imagine taking that picture of gabriel and then having to act like everything’s fine?? HELLO

user5 that second gabi pic??? i feel faint

user6 why is hadjar lurking in the likes of the competition 😭

Working with Gabriel is different. Not good, not bad—different.

It’s taken some getting used to—not that he’s hard to work with. You’re still undergoing the process of getting to know him, though you suspect he’s been trying to make your job easier. It’s a blessing, honestly. Especially when you’ve heard from some of the photographers from the other teams that there are drivers—both from Formula 1 and otherwise— that almost seem to strive to make their jobs harder.

You’re still not sure whether Gabriel is a good person or if he’s just as unsure as you are on a new job. If anything, the two of you share that—starting from zero in F1. Maybe he wants someone who’s in a similar situation as him. Or maybe he’s just notices his legs are significantly longer than yours, and decides to walk slower for your sake.

Still. For all his politeness and awkward smiles, it’s hard to separate Gabi—this Gabi—from the image you had of him last year. The competition. The enemy. The boy who ripped Isack’s dream straight out of his hands.

You’re not sure that’s a fair assessment anymore, though.

Gabriel is looking up at the screens as one of the engineers points at one section. He nods, and you can see him making mental notes for the next laps. Quietly, you bring up your camera to your face, snapping a picture of Gabriel and his engineer. It’s sweet—a little more unfocused than you would’ve liked. When you bring your camera back up to try and take another one, you find that Gabriel is not where he was before.

You furrow your brows. How did you lose sight of him already? He’s in a neon green suit, he can’t—

“Can I see?”

You jump, hands gripping your camera tightly. “Fuck!” you say, a little too loudly. Do you get fined too, if you cuss? You hope not. Gabriel stands just behind you, peering over your shoulder. “You startled me.”

Gabriel shrugs his shoulders, though you can see a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “Sorry,” he says in a voice that suggests he’s everything but. He gestures at the camera. “Can I?”

“It’s not my best work,” you say immediately, tilting the camera towards him so he can see it.

“I like it,” Gabriel says simply, meeting your gaze with a small smile and an only slightly-awkward thumbs up. “I look… official. Can you send it to me later?”

You nod, smiling despite yourself. You feel like you’re in second grade again, and the teacher has just given you a gold star. When Gabi is called back, he hums a quick goodbye before moving back into the garage. You hold your camera with a little more fondness.

Then, a loud, reverberating metal clang echoes behind you. You flinch, if only for the startling closeness of the loud sound. You turn around.

He’s holding his forehead against his palm, wincing. The metal pillar in front of him still vibrates a little from the impact. He mutters a curse in French, pink growing from his neck and spreading onto the tips of his ears.

Isack meets your gaze. Your heart jumps inside your chest, hands tightening around your camera. Among the nervousness and eagerness to do well in your first official day, you’d completely missed the fact that the RB garage was sharing a wall with Sauber.

“Hi,” Isack says, just a few steps shy of you. His hair’s grown out. It’s the first thing you notice, even though, with Isack, it’s not saying a lot. There’s a faint red imprint of the wall on his forehead, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

“Hi,” you repeat dumbly. Foolishly, you’d thought you’d have more time before seeing him again. That as Gabriel’s personal photographer, you wouldn’t be around other drivers that much. You still haven’t even caught a glance of Lewis Hamilton.

And yet.

Isack’s eyes turn downwards, taking in your black and green shirt. Blinding, you’re sure. Certainly less subtle than the RedBull merch he’s given you in the past. You watch Isack’s gaze flick somewhere behind you, swallowing as he returns to you. “You’re with Gabriel,” he says. It’s not a question.

“I’m with Sauber,” you correct, ignoring the sudden unsteadiness you feel inside your chest. A drumbeat in your ears. “I got a job with their social media team.”

“Ah.” But he doesn’t look convinced. You’ve always been good at reading him—at least, you used to think you were. But after last year, you’re not so sure anymore. Still, you can’t force yourself to overlook the signs. His fingers twitching at his side. His throat bobbing. The attempt he makes to keep his lips set into a line. He’s nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t quite trust himself around you. Then, like he’d been holding his breath, he says, “You look good—great. You look great.”

You straighten. Right. After months of bordering on texting him, of waking up with red-rimmed eyes, of watching romcoms and crying at the TV that he’s lying, he’s a liar, don’t fall for it, Sydney.

You suppose that, technically speaking, you seem to have it together now. But it’s unfair—so, so unfair, how he can just show up and make you feel everything you’ve been pushing down for months.

“I know,” you say, even when it’s a lie, even when you don’t believe it. You glance behind you, and spot Gabriel already putting his helmet on. “Sorry—I have to go.”

“Yeah,” Isack says, and his voice sounds strained. “Yes, um—” he clears his throat, even when you’re already turning away from him, he hastily adds, “it’s good to see you!”

Something tightens around your stomach. Warm. Uninvited. “Yeah,” you say, quietly—maybe too quiet for him to hear, “you too.”

MARCH, 2025 : MELBOURNE.

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yn.png race day at melbourne + first official race in sauber 💚

👤 tagged: gabrielbortoleto, stakef1team

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gabrielbortoleto Big day for both of us today 🫡 ♥️ liked by author

user1 oh someone cooked here

user2 THE GREEN AAAAH I’VE BEEN BLINDED

stakef1team It’s too iconic 💚

user2 girl- it wasn’t a compliment 😭 it’s seared into my retinas

user3 OMG??? I GAVE GABI THAT KOALA PLUSHIE

yn.png he was so happy!!! he made me look after it for most of his media duties <3 he also might have named it

user4 “might have” ?

yn.png he won’t tell me the name :( i’ll get it out of him though dw

user5 we are being FED

user6 bora borboleto!! 🇧🇷

user7 why is no one talking about that second picture????? hello 😵‍💫

user8 no exactly cause is this man single

user9 i mean…….. you can’t convince me someone that ISN’T in love with him can take a picture like that

user8 WAIT that’d be so cute 😭 and it’s the first race in f1 for both of them as well……. that’s just a romcom waiting to happen

MARCH, 2025 : SHANGHAI.

You don’t know why you’re nervous. Standing backstage, moments before Gabi is supposed to go on stage alongside Nico. You can hear the excited cheers from the crowd, and something in your gut flutters a little. They’re not here for you. You wipe your sweaty palm on your jeans.

Media day in Shanghai for you means having three memory cards in your bag and your camera ready to take as many pictures of Gabriel as you can manage, before you eventually get back to your hotel room, open your laptop, and start sorting through them. You’re not exactly a believer of quantity over quality, but if your job demands it then so be it. You’ll choose your favorite ones to post on your Instagram account, anyway.

They’re supposed to go on stage in less than ten minutes, and yet, Gabriel and Nico are nowhere to be seen. You wipe your palms against your shirt again, anxious. Was it your responsibility to bring Gabriel here? Surely not—surely that falls beyond the scope of your job. Still, you can feel as you slowly start to gaslight yourself into thinking you were told and you just forgot.

Before your panic can start jumping away like a jackrabbit, you hear talking and footsteps from the metal stairs behind you. You turn around, hopeful—

Surprised brown eyes meet yours.

“Hi,” Isack says, voice soft. His press officer gives some indications to one of the technicians backstage, before leaving you and Isack temporarily alone.

Your shoulders drop. “I thought you were Gabi.”

“Ah,” Isack says, and your disappointment sours into regret.

I didn’t mean it like that, you very nearly say. You swallow back the words, ignoring the way they lodge into the back of your throat.

Isack scratches his neck, smile faltering just enough for you to notice. “Sorry to disappoint.” He shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to be nonchalant. “He’ll be here. Gabriel, I mean. He’s responsible like that.”

You turn away from Isack, glancing once again at the stairs for any sign of his black and bright green team kit. You bite your thumb anxiously, foot drumming against the floor of the stage. You can’t fail at your job on the second race of the season. Do people get fired over this? How do you explain to your boss that you lost your driver?

“Hey,” Isack says, quietly, gently. His hand reaches out for yours instinctively, his thumb caressing the back of your palm in a soothing motion. You resent that it works, that it grounds you just a bit. When you look up, Isack meets your gaze a beat later.

The realization in his eyes is near instant.

Isack pulls his hand away hastily, as if touching your skin has burned him. He inhales sharply. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t—” The words die in his throat. He looks away from you as his hand drops against his side.

“It’s fine,” you say, for his sake. Maybe for yours, too. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek, and you can’t remember the last time it was like this between you two. Like stepping around broken glass.

A beat passes. “This is your first time on this side of the stage, isn’t it?” he asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” you sigh, anxiousness wearing you down. You make a sound at the back of your throat that borders on a scoff and a laugh. “I guess I’m more used to being down there with the crowd.”

“You were always easy to spot, you know,” Isack responds absentmindedly. He’s already gazing at the gathering crowd, though he doesn’t seem to be looking at anything specific.

You ignore the way your heart skips a beat. Ignore it, suppress it, dismiss it—whatever it takes not to acknowledge the easy warmth that blooms in your chest now that you’re standing next to him. “Was I?”

Isack turns back to you, but his eyes drop to the embroidered strap around your neck, eventually finding the camera by your hip. His brows furrow. “You still have it,” he says, like a revelation.

A blush tints your cheeks. It’s so dumb. Stupid, really, how exposed you feel when he points it out. Your camera is your job—it’s an extension of you, like an arm or a leg.

“Of course I do,” you say, and there’s no sharp edge to your words. Maybe an undeserved softness. It’s your fault for being sentimental. If anything, you should’ve long upgraded to a better model, one with a better lens, with more light settings and a better zoom. But you couldn’t—not when it was a gift from him. Not when you know he spent restless nights scouring the internet, asking around the F2 paddock for suggestions for a professional camera he could get his girlfriend.

It was out of his budget. You know it was, because it was before he had major sponsors like he does now. You know, because unlike most drivers you’ve met, Isack doesn’t come from money. Every penny that went into your birthday gift had been hard-earned by him—and it landed him eating chicken and rice for three weeks. You’d reprimanded him, saying that you could still return it—only for him to lean closer to you and press a kiss onto your temple, whispering against your skin, “Why would I do that? C’était fait pour toi, chérie.”

You’d kept it, because Isack had insisted, and because, in all honesty, you didn’t want to let go of it.

A part of you still doesn’t.

Isack looks like he wants to say something, before he swallows it back. He looks conflicted, apologetic, and when he glances down at your palm again, you get the feeling he wants to intertwine your fingers with his.

The sound of steps coming up the stairs makes the two of you take a step back from one another. Warmth shoots up your spine. You hadn’t even realized how close you’d been standing.

Gabriel comes up the stairs with Nico and Liam in tow, curls poking from underneath his Sauber cap. “Hey—thought I had lost you.”

You try to smile—you do. Gabriel’s attention shifts over to Isack, who’s jaw looks tenser than it did a moment ago. Something akin to recognition flickers in Gabriel’s gaze.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:14 PM ] : Hi

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:14 PM ] : What are you doing right now?

you [ 10:14 PM ] : just got back to my room!! so i’m choosing n editing a few pics for sauber

you [ 10:14 PM ] : dw i’m making sure you look handsome in all of them

you [ 10:15 PM ] : unless you choose to wrong me in the future. in which case i have plenty of unflattering material

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : Good to know

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : Hey, can I ask you a personal question?

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : You can say no

you [ 10:15 PM ] : yeah ofc!!!! shoot

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : You used to date him, no?

you [ 10:16 PM ] : pardon

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:16 PM ] : Hadjar

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:16 PM ] : I kept thinking your face looked familiar when we first met.

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:16 PM ] : I figured I must’ve seen you around in F2 or F3. But you were his girlfriend yes?

you [ 10:17 PM ] : yeah

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : That makes sense

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : I’ve noticed him staring at me a lot. Especially today at the fan forum

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : And it couldn’t be because of the races, since our car is a million dollar piece of shit

you [ 10:17 PM ] : GABI

you [ 10:17 PM ] : YOU CANT SAY THAT

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : What

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : This is all confidential right

you [ 10:18 PM ] : 😭 what would you do if i said no

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:18 PM ] : It’s not like I’m lying,,, everyone knows it’s a shitbox

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:18 PM ] : Is it too invasive if I ask why you two broke up?

you [ 10:18 PM ] : we just had different priorities i guess

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:18 PM ] : Ah

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:21 PM ] : We’re friends, right?

you [ 10:23 PM ] : mmmm no

you [ 10:23 PM ] : you haven’t told me your embarrassing middle name yet

gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:24 PM ] : It’s Lourenzo.

you [ 10:24 PM ] : boooo 👎👎 that’s not embarrassing at all

you [ 10:24 PM ] : sounds really regal though

you [ 10:24 PM ] : prince lourenzo

you [ 10:24 PM ] : eh

you [ 10:24 PM ] : i think i like people calling you bubbles better

bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : only max calls me that

you [ 10:25 PM ] : mhmm sure 😁

you [ 10:25 PM ] : also yeah we’re friends gabi <3

bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Okay

bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Then as your friend I would like to say that you should probably tell Isack that we’re not

bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Together or anything

bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Because I keep getting a chilly feeling and then turning around and just. Catch him staring at me.

you [ 10:25 PM ] : have you considered maybe this has nothing to do with me

you [ 10:26 PM ] : i mean maybe he has a crush on you

you [ 10:26 PM ] : have you considered that

bubbles ☘️ [ 10:26 PM ] : What

liked by gabrielbortoleto, pepemartiofficial and 91 others

yourusername got to visit an actual f1 factory? in switzerland? shoutout gabi for convincing the big boss to let me tag along <3

👤 tagged: gabrielbortoleto

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friend1 pls tell me you bought the cow

yourusername i bought the cow

friend2 WAITT your new friend has cheekbones for DAYS

gabrielbortoleto Last time I do that cause I didn’t know you would snore the whole flight

yourusername I DID NOT??????

yourusername pepemartiofficial you like my posts but don’t comment anymore? woowww

pepemartiofficial what are you on about i hadn’t even seen your post

pepemartiofficial oh i mean. yeah idk

APRIL, 2025 : SUZUKA.

liked by isackhadjar, yn.png and 180,921 others

visacashapprb had… joints? HADJOINTS!

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user8 MY GOAT

redbullfrance Solide 🙌

user9 protect him from the redbull seat at all costs

user10 HELLO that last slide…….. not complaining

formula2 YESS ISACK! BIEN JOUÉ

user11 is isack single asking for a friend

This isn’t stalking. You’re not—you’re not. Not really. You’re just… seizing up the competition.

You’re sitting inside the Sauber motorhome, waiting for the post race interviews to be done. It’s not as crowded as you expected—and, at least, you have Emma to keep you company. In the short time you’ve known her, you’ve decided you like her—even going as far as to offer taking a few pictures for her for the next time F1 and F1A races overlap.

She’s texting someone on her phone while you hide yours behind your open laptop. It feels… wrong, like a betrayal both to Sauber and to yourself. You can’t help yourself either way.

You scroll down VCARB’s recent Instagram feed, stumbling upon a post celebrating Isack’s first F1 points.

Is this pathetic? You feel a little pathetic. What good is having him blocked if you’re still searching for breadcrumbs?

Your thumb slides on the screen, showing a picture of Isack along with the rest of the team. Then, one of him with his hair mussed and his race suit still on. Then—

You smack your phone facedown against the table, making Emma flinch across from you.

She blinks. “…Are you okay?”

Your cheeks burn. Isack’s shirtless torso. On social media. On a team account. Something you wholeheartedly refuse to name flutters around your gut. Why are you so affected by this? You’ve seen him shirtless—fuck, you’ve seen him naked before.

It just took you by surprise, you reason.

“Yeah,” you say, voice strangled, “fine.”

you [ 6:14 PM ] : do you think it’s unprofessional that i still have him blocked

pepe 👎 [ 6:16 PM ] : i think it’s unprofessional that you’re having this conversation with me

you [ 6:16 PM ] : can you just answer the question

pepe 👎 [ 6:16 PM ] : no

you [ 6:16 PM ] : no you don’t think it’s unprofessional or no you’re not going to answer

pepe 👎 [ 6:17 PM ] : the second one

you [ 6:17 PM ] : why

pepe 👎 [ 6:18 PM ] : because i’m seeing isack tonight and i have a terrible poker face

pepe 👎 [ 6:18 PM ] : and when he winds up asking about you i don’t wanna tell him everything and risk you paying someone to put me in the wall

you [ 6:18 PM ] : josep maría martí.

pepe 👎 [ 6:19 PM ] : your intimidation tactics don’t work on me

you [ 6:19 PM ] : did you know my paddock pass works for f2 races as well

you [ 6:19 PM ] : and i’ve been becoming good friends with joshua dürksen. he’s starting p7 tomorrow

you [ 6:20 PM ] : what position are you starting again? p6?

pepe 👎 [ 6:20 PM ] : getting a job in f1 has made you demented

you [ 6:20 PM ] : is it unprofessional YES OR NO

pepe 👎 [ 6:20 PM ] : ?????? HOW WOULD I KNOW

pepe 👎 [ 6:20 PM ] : would he want you to unblock him? probably

pepe 👎 [ 6:21 PM ] : does he use my phone to see what you’ve been posting on instagram? on occasion

pepe 👎 [ 6:21 PM ] : has he checked your linkedin multiple times because it’s the only social media you haven’t blocked him on? YEAH

you [ 6:22 PM ] : he what

Seen 6:22 PM

you [ 6:24 PM ] : PEPE

pepe 👎 [ 6:24 PM ] : I’VE SAID TOO MUCH ALREADY

isack 🥷🏽 [ 6:31 PM ] : Hey

isack 🥷🏽 [ 6:31 PM ] : Has she said anything to you?

pepe 👎 [ 6:32 PM ] : FUCKING LEAVE ME OUT OF THIS

isack 🥷🏽 [ 6:33 PM ] : ????

APRIL, 2025 : BAHRAIN.

liked by pepemartiofficial, redbulljuniorteam and 99,871 others

yn.png we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to say PEPE WON THE SPRINT RACE I KNOW HIM HE WON I WAS THERE

👤 tagged: pepemartiofficial

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pepemartiofficial i do not know this woman

yn.png i can’t even be bothered by this YOU WONN

chloechambersracing what. a. race. 👏

redbulljuniorteam We’ve definitely missed being photographed by yn.png 🏆

user14 should’ve hired her while you still could cheap ass

user15 GET HIM AN F1 SEAT NOWW

user16 why do y/n’s redbull pics hit so different from the sauber ones though

user17 win so good it actually made pepe and y/n forget they can’t stand each other

user18 did you even watch the race 😭 she was up there hugging him and crying and smiling “they can’t stand each other” be so fr

♥️ isackhadjar has liked your post

The scent of champagne and celebration is thick in the air. Despite the sun having long sunk over the horizon, the night air still feels warm, electric.

You’re waiting in the garage, checking the pictures from your camera with giddy excitement. It feels like centuries since the last time you were at an F2 race celebrating. You imagine Pepe will want to take you guys out, maybe somewhere to eat, maybe to a club. It hurts a little, knowing you won’t be able to go—knowing that you’re already behind on work you need to get done before tomorrow morning.

You feel him before you ever see him. Like magnets, you turn around and you find him. You always seem to.

Maybe there’s something in your face that gives you away, because Isack is quick to say: “It’s okay, you don’t have to go.” He’s wearing his RB team kit, and it’s still odd, not seeing him in RedBull gear. With how the team is looking, you suppose it’s for the better—not that you’re in any position to say anything. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

Your throat tightens. There’s a glint in his eye you can’t seem to place. Still, you try for a smile you hope looks relaxed, nonchalant. “Shoot.”

Isack swallows, and only then you realize he’s nervous. “I realized I never apologized,” he starts, slowly, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. There’s still celebrations going down all around you. It’s a stark contrast to Isack’s quiet, tentative tone. “I’ve been meaning to—for, for a while, I mean. To apologize.”

“Isack,” you start, though you’re not sure what you intend to say.

“You were right,” he says, more confidently this time. “You deserved better—you still do. It was a shitty thing to do, and it was disrespectful to you.” Your mouth closes, and Isack takes it as a chance to continue. “I, ah. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. That it was never my intention to make you hurt. I was in over my head, and when I should’ve been turning to you, I turned to wrong influences in the team and shut you out.” He gnaws at the inside of his cheek, and you catch him toying with a string bracelet around his wrist you gave him back when he was in F4. “I’m sorry.”

This is it—what you’ve been wanting to hear since last year. But there’s distance between you, and you’re painfully aware of it. Isack doesn’t attempt to close it, so neither do you. You lick your lips. “It’s in the past, Isack,” you say, even when you hear your heart beating in your ears. “It’s fine.”

“The past,” he repeats. He tries to smile, but it feels strained. He drops his hands. “Right.”

You open your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by a round of claps and whistles going around. Before you even get the chance to turn, you feel Pepe wrap his arms around both you and Isack as he brings the three of you into a sideways hug.

“What a day, huh?” he grins, skin still sticky with champagne. There’s excitement vibrating off his skin, and you’ll be damned if you’re the one to try and dampen that.

“What a day,” you repeat, smiling.

Pepe pulls away from the two of you, clasping his hands together with a giddy smile. “Okay, so. The guys from the team said there’s a bar nearby that’s really good for celebrating. So, I was thinking we could go after you guys finish with your quali?”

“I’m gonna have to sit this one out,” you say, regretfully. You can feel Isack’s eyes on the side of your face. When you briefly meet his gaze, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “I still have a lot of work to do, and I don’t fancy being fired before the break.”

“Killjoy.” He rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t seem to take it personally. Instead, Pepe turns to Isack with a mischievous glint and a grin. “But, that means you can’t ditch me now.”

Isack raises a brow. “Really? Why not?”

He shrugs lightly. “Because then you’d be leaving me on my own. Are you really gonna leave me lonely on the day I won?”

Isack rolls his eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile curling his lips. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told, yeah.”

[ INCOMING VOICE MESSAGE FROM: isack 🥷🏽 2:31 ]

hi. um. you unblocked me. that—ha, that wasn’t what i wanted to say. i… pepe missed you, at the celebration. everyone did. the guys from campos kept, um. they kept asking why i wasn’t with you. i didn’t—i mean—putain, that’s not what i wanted to… i guess i’ve just been thinking about you. a lot. earlier—earlier you said it was in the past. and—and that’s fine? i mean, i should have apologized to you in person so fucking long ago. and i didn’t, because i was a coward. like, a big, stupid, coward who didn’t want to look you in the eye. who had to ask you for a break over text—and fuck, what was i thinking? maybe you were right—maybe i was concussed. i mean, just, who does that? ah—anyway, i know you’ve moved on, that you have your life together now. but—but you said it was in the past, and i should be fine with that, cause you’re fine with that but—it’s not in the past for me, okay? et je suis un idiot—je sais. i was an idiot last year, and i’m still an idiot now. and look, i know i’m not supposed to know—but pepe mentioned that i made you cry. more than once. and i hate—i hate that. i hate it when you cry, and—and knowing i was responsible for that? ça me brise le cœur, chérie. but that’s fair, because i broke your heart first, even when you didn’t deserve it, when you weren’t at fault, when it was me— je n’aime pas ça. i don’t want to sound like, like i’m trying to be a martyr, or anything. i know i’m not, that i am not being fair. i know that i should have said this months, months ago, that it’s too little too late. but i miss you. so, so much, chérie. and i keep seeing you around the paddock with your camera and that embroidered camera strap you bought in algiers, and i keep forgetting that i ruined it. that i ruined us. and when i get out of the car, i keep—i keep looking for you. c’est pathétique. god. sorry. you, um—you don’t owe me an answer, or anything. you don’t… you don’t owe me anything. i’ll just… putain, je ne devrais pas envoyer ça. comment… comment puis-je supprimer ça—

isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:45 AM ] : Dont listne to thabt

you [ 2:47 AM ] : are you drunk??

you [ 2:47 AM ] : isack you’re racing TODAY

you [ 2:47 AM ] : i can hear music in the background where are you???

isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:48 AM ] : Are you mad atme

you [ 2:48 AM ] : your location. share it with me now

you [ 2:49 AM ] : NOW.

isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:49 AM ] : I dont like it whne you yell :(

isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:50 AM ] : 📍Iguana Lounge, Bahrain

you [ 2:50 AM ] : ask for water at the bar

you [ 2:50 AM ] : and don’t move. i mean it

you [ 2:52 AM ] : you’re dead to me

pepe 👎 [ 2:55 AM ] : whatddid i do

you [ 2:55 AM ] : oh my god. you’re useless

By the time you arrive at the bar, the streets are empty with the dull beat of club music. Isack and Pepe sit beside each other on the curb, with the latter leaning his head against Isack’s shoulder.

You get out of the car, and Isack helps you get Pepe onto the backseat. Once you put on his seatbelt, you go back to the driver’s seat, while Isack sits next to you.

The drive to their hotel is quiet. Pepe snores softly in the backseat. Your knuckles are tight around the steering wheel, and you’re unwilling to even glance at either of them. You threw on the first thing you had in hand—an old sweater of yours to cover the pajamas you’re wearing underneath.

You stop at a red light. Then, quietly—

“Are you mad at me?”

You look over at Isack. He’s toying with his string bracelet, looking unbearably small as he stares at you, brown eyes wide and worried. He drops his hand from his bracelet, turning instead to fiddle with the bottle cap from the water you gave him.

“Of course I’m mad at you, Isack.” You watch his face sink, and you force yourself to look ahead. “How—How could you be so irresponsible? You’re supposed to be in the car in a matter of hours, and you’re gonna wake up hungover. Do you know how reckless that is?” The light turns green. “What were you thinking?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, barely above a murmur: “I was thinking about you.”

Your throat feels like sandpaper. “You can’t—you can’t say that. Not like this. Not when you’re drunk. Like—fuck, Isack,” your voice breaks, “you can be so mean sometimes.”

You breathe in slowly, attempting to blink back the tears that are threatening to spill.

“Please don’t cry,” Isack says, and you can see him shifting on his seat out of the corner of your eye. You park on the sidewalk of the hotel, and when you turn to face him, you find he’s leaning closer to you. His brows are drawn together, and even when he looks miserable, your heart is begging you to give in. His throat bobs, and Isack reaches up with his thumb, wiping away a tear from your cheek. “You know I hate seeing you cry.”

“Then why do you do this?” you ask. You’re afraid if you open your mouth again, you’re gonna start crying and be unable to stop.

His eyes look glassy now. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, apologetic, sincere. His thumb still rests against your cheek. “I had a plan—I did. I was gonna ask you today, after the race. I was gonna ask you to talk, just the two of us.” He searches your face, and he tries to smile, even when it makes tears gather at his eyeline. “I found this cafe that has those strawberry desserts that you like. But—” his voice dies in his throat, and you remember what he said in his voice message. You said it was in the past.

“Isack—”

“Je suis désolé,” he says, and it sounds like the words are stolen from beneath his ribs. Something guttural. “For everything.”

You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t. But he’s there, cast in moonlight like a dream. Everything you’ve been missing. His warmth, his laugh, his presence—missing, like a phantom limb.

You capture his lips with yours, closing the gap between you two in a breath. Isack tenses in surprise for just a split second before he’s melting into you, kissing you back like he’s afraid to let go. Like you’re everything he’s been missing. His hand is still on your cheek, bringing you closer to him. He kisses you softly, gently, with a care that makes you want to cry again. For a moment, it feels like breathing easier again—like coming home.

You’re the first to pull away, even when Isack tries to chase you. He opens his eyes, uncertain. You lean your forehead against his, taking a moment to relish this. Him.

It feels impossible, going back to not having him anymore.

“I miss you,” he says. A murmured confession.

You don’t think you could lie even if you wanted to. “I miss you too.” And he’s looking at you the way he always has—like you’re early spring, like you’re the moon itself, like you’re everything he’s been waiting for his entire life.

You hear rustling in the backseat. You pull back, glancing at Pepe through the rearview mirror.

Pepe groans quietly, voice hoarse and disoriented. “Are we there already?”

“Yeah, champ,” you say, and you can’t find it in yourself to be mad right now.

Isack unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car to help maneuver Pepe out as well. He slings Pepe’s arm around his shoulder, helping him stand.

Your window is lowered when you meet Isack’s gaze. His lips press together, like there’s more he wants to say. Instead, he simply opts for: “Tomorrow. Can we talk tomorrow?”

You nod. “Tomorrow.”

pepe 👎 [ 8:56 AM ] : i feel like death

you [ 8:57 AM ] : good morning princess 😍

you [ 8:57 AM ] : serves you right for pulling that last night

pepe 👎 [ 8:58 AM ] : i can feel you laughing at my misery stop it

pepe 👎 [ 8:58 AM ] : ohhhh fuck me i’m never drinking again

you [ 8:59 AM ] : screenshotting that for future reference btw

pepe 👎 [ 9:00 AM ] : 🖕

pepe 👎 [ 9:00 AM ] : real talk though and maybe this is an awkward question but

pepe 👎 [ 9:00 AM ] : have you heard from isack?

pepe 👎 [ 9:01 AM ] : i went to his room and he wasn’t there? and when i call it just sends me to voicemail

pepe 👎 [ 9:03 AM ] : hello?

Sent 9:03 AM

The knock on your door makes your heart skip a beat. You don’t miss a second, dropping your phone onto the hotel bed and hurrying towards the door. You don’t waste time looking through the peephole.

When the door opens, you’re met with Isack and a bouquet of pink lilies clutched between his hands. His hair looks disheveled, and to your relief, he doesn’t look nearly as hungover as you expected him to be.

“I will spend every single day trying to earn your forgiveness back,” Isack says, “if you give me the chance.”

There’s no hiding the smile that lights up your phase. He’s ready to catch you in his arms when you throw yourself at him, bringing his lips to yours. His hands settle around your waist, familiar, at home.

He smiles against your lips.

liked by isackhadjar, pepemartiofficial, and 92 others

yourusername forgot to mention 💌

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friend1 wait no i shit talked him SO MUCH what do you mean you’re back together

gabrielbortoleto Finally

friend2 MY PARENTS ARE BACK TOGETHER

pepemartiofficial you get drunk ONE TIME and SUDDENLY you miss the entire plot

pepemartiofficial after keeping up with you two since SEPTEMBER

pepemartiofficial isackhadjar yourusername you two owe me reparations

isackhadjar You said to keep you out of it 🤷🏽‍♂️

pepemartiofficial i hate you

a/n: crazy how writing this turned me into a pepe martí fan. like during the 2024 f2 season i was so blinded by franco and gabi that i COMPLETELY overlooked isack and pepe and now i have regrets.

also! thank you thank you for all the love i got on part 1 of this!! it definitely helped getting this out quicker than i expected <3 ily all so much 💘

[paintmepurple]

😭🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽😭🫶🏽🫶🏽

everything but lovers ⛐ 𝐈𝐇𝟔

the person on the other side of your screen is not your friend nor your rival. he’s a third, evil thing: a lewis hamilton stan account dead set on making your life absolute fucking hell. 

ꔮ starring: hamilton stan account!isack hadjar x rosberg stan account!reader. ꔮ social media au. ꔮ includes: humor/crack, fluff, hint of romance. profanity. set somewhere in 2024-early 2025, twitter beef, manufactured hate on hamilton & rosberg (opinions i do not share!!! all for the plot!!!), rivals to lovers lite, google translated french. for tweets on the timeline, it's best read bottom -> top!!! ꔮ commentary box: this idea has been on my mind for literal months. let’s say it’s celebration for the consistent hadjoints so far!!! dedicating this to the lovely @spiderbeam, because her comments on my plot bunny compelled me to get this done 🤳 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

IH6: debí tirar más fotos¹

EVE’S 2K CELEBRATION 🎤: your relationship with isack through the lens of your camera …… ft. dtmf by bad bunny & si no vas a volver by aitana

pairing: isack hadjar x photographer!reader

contents: exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst with a happy ending (not this part), swearing, there’s four people in a two-person relationship (ft. gabriel bortoleto and pepe martí), hate comments, 2024 f2 championship battle, gabriel haunts the narrative, requested by @tsunodaradio

word count: 875 + smau

a/n: i think this might be my longest smau ever? part 2 will be coming next weekend <3

NOVEMBER, 2023 : YAS MARINA.

liked by isackhadjar, redbullfrance and 231 others

yn.png aaand that’s a wrap on the f2 2023 season! 🎬 always an honor to get a lil sneak peek into the redbull garage ;)

👤 tagged: isackhadjar, hitechgp

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friend1 gorgeous gorgeous!! is that a new camera 👀 quality looks much better

yn.png ……..maybeee

yn.png you wanna guess who gave it to me for my birthday…..

isackhadjar :)

pepemartiofficial why do your pictures look so blurry

yn.png i was going for a something okay god forbid people take risks 🙄

isackhadjar Where is the one of us together :(

yn.png it’s my wallpaper ❣️

pepemartiofficial you two sicken me.

MARCH, 2024 : MELBOURNE.

liked by camposracing, pepemartiofficial and 1,379 others

yn.png watched my boyfriend get waterboarded today BUT ON A PODIUM BABY

👤 tagged: isackhadjar, camposracing

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isackhadjar I think i still have champagne up my nose ♥️ liked by author

isackhadjar You’re really making that new lens work 🥷🏽

yn.png i wanna kiss your face

redbulljuniorteam From a DNF to P1? Talk about a redemption arc 👏

pepemartiofficial why is this sepia

yn.png why is being my hater your part time job

pepemartiofficial because spraying champagne up your boyfriend’s nose doesn’t pay the bills 😔 racing is expensive

yn.png isackhadjar get your side piece out of my comment section

isackhadjar replied to your close friends story:

isackhadjar: WHY did you let me leave the hotel with shortsleeves

yourusername: ??? cause you look beautiful in them and you’re always running hot

isackhadjar: I didn’t even realize you bit my arm at the gym until my trainer pointed it out

isackhadjar: mon coeur I was warming up with a BITE MARK on my bicep FOR EVERYONE TO SEE

isackhadjar: I couldn’t focus on anything Warren was saying after that

yourusername: not my fault your arms are so bitable

isackhadjar: Maybe next time I should be the one biting you for a change

yourusername: i’d be into that

isackhadjar: What

yourusername: what

APRIL, 2024 : IMOLA.

liked by isackhadjar, pepemartiofficial and 81 others

yourusername a well-rounded weekend with my favorite boy and his side-chick. next time i will be insisting we get to do the tourist route, though >:(

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isackhadjar ♥️

friend1 a post that isn’t on your alt account??? someone call the president 😨

friend2 ……do i have to remind you that your family follows you on this acc and will read that caption

pepemartiofficial JAJAJAJA

friend3 why did your mum just text me asking if you’re in a throuple

liked by redbulljuniorteam, isackhadjar and 6,871

yn.png 9 points leading the championship i know that’s right 🏆

👤 tagged: isackhadjar, camposracing

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user1 wait why do these look better than the pictures posted by red bull 😭

user2 championship battle in f1 is so boring rn i’ve actually turned to watching f2

user3 is this an isack fanpage

camposracing VAMOS! 💪

user4 okay gunning for that social media job at redbull i see you 👀

user5 idk if this is an unpopular opinion but there’s no way isack wins unless he locks in. too many mistakes

pepemartiofficial these look……. marginally better

yn.png i thought i blocked you

pepemartiofficial you’re just jealous he was looking at me in that first picture 😍

pepemarti_unofficial ??? okay RUDE unblock me

user6 why is pepe commenting on a post by isack’s girlfriend but not isack……? 🤨

JULY, 2024 : SILVERSTONE.

you [ 3:18 PM ] : oh my god!!!!! oh my god ???

you [ 3:18 PM ] : i just saw the quali you were amazing isack 🤍 first pole position!!!!

you [ 3:19 PM ] : wish i could be there to celebrate with you <3

Sent 3:18 PM

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:47 PM ] : Merci chérie 😊

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:48 PM ] : I missed you too. But it gave me the chance to focus all my energy on the race

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:50 PM ] : Bortoleto is still not making any mistakes though. Kinda wish his car would also stall every once in a while 🙃

you [ 9:51 PM ] : bortoleto doesn’t have anything on you <3 you’re still leading the championship

you [ 9:51 PM ] : also wait pause. did you just call me distracting?

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:52 PM ] : Absolument.

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:52 PM ] : How am I supposed stand next to you at the garage and pretend like I don’t wanna kiss you every time you look at me

you [ 9:53 PM ] : JAIL JAIL JAIL you can’t SAY THAT when we’re like two timezones away

you [ 9:53 PM ] : now i wanna kiss you :(

isack 🥷🏽 [ 10:03 PM ] : Sorry, the team is calling me. Still have to get a few things sorted out before the race.

isack 🥷🏽 [ 10:04 PM ] : Can I call you tomorrow?

you [ 10:04 PM ] : yeah!!! sleep well x

you [ 9:06 AM ] : good morning!! i forgot to mention it last night but we haven’t talked about our plans for the upcoming break?

isack 🥷🏽 [ 11:29 AM ] : I still have to work a few things with the team now that we’re leading the championship.

you [ 11:31 AM ] : ahh okay! lmk when you have it figured out so we can start looking at plane tickets x

JULY — AUGUST 2024 : SUMMER BREAK.

liked by pepemartiofficial, isackhadjar and 2,301 others

y/n.png girls trip🍷(on film)

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friend1 wait these look so cute

friend2 voulez-vous coucher avec moi 💘

y/n.png i told you that doesn’t mean what you think 😭

user1 cute! but i thought this was an f2 page…….

user2 are we finally getting a break from f2 pics?

pepemartiofficial “on film” and its just a filter you downloaded

y/n.png your parents don’t love you

pepemartiofficial WOWWWW

user3 where’s isack? 😕

you [ 4:56 PM ] : hey, haven’t heard from you in a while. how’s everything at the factory?

you [ 5:31 PM ] : are we okay?

isack 🥷🏽 [ 5:39 PM ] : Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?

Read 5:39 PM

SEPTEMBER, 2024 : MONZA.

isack 🥷🏽 [ 8:58 PM ] : Did you watch the race?

you [ 8:59 PM ] : yeah. wish i could’ve been there :(

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:00 PM ] : What for? It was a disaster.

you [ 9:00 PM ] : i know it’s not what you want to hear but it’s one race. there will be others to make up for it.

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:00 PM ] : Except maybe there won’t be. Bortoleto is first now.

you [ 9:01 PM ] : i saw

you [ 9:01 PM ] : do you wanna facetime?

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:11 PM ] : I need a break.

you [ 9:12 PM ] : that’s okay, we can talk tomorrow if you want

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:12 PM ] : No I mean I need a break

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:12 PM ] : From us

Seen 9:12 PM

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:15 PM ] : Mon coeur I can see you read it

you [ 9:16 PM ] : i know.

you [ 9:16 PM ] : i’m giving you the chance to take it back and course correct

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:16 PM ] : That’s not how this works

you [ 9:16 PM ] : exactly. that’s not how this works. why would you think it’d be okay to break up with me over text??

you [ 9:16 PM ] : i mean this so genuinely but are you concussed

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:17 PM ] : I just need to have all my attention on the championship right now. I’m not in the right headspace to be in a relationship

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:17 PM ] : My trainer already told me I can’t afford any distraction if I want to make it to F1

you [ 9:17 PM ] : distraction?

you [ 9:18 PM ] : you’ve already called me that before

you [ 9:19 PM ] : isack how long have you been planning on breaking up with me?

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:19 PM ] : It’s not a break up, it would just be a break.

you [ 9:20 PM ] : until when? until you’re number one again? until the end of the season?

you [ 9:20 PM ] : what happens after that?

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:20 PM ] : I’m sorry

you [ 9:20 PM ] : clearly not if you’re breaking up with me like this. you could’ve at least had the decency to do it to my face

isack 🥷🏽 [ 9:21 PM ] : Chérie it’s not a break up

you [ 9:22 PM ] : no, it is now. fuck you.

you have blocked this number

OCTOBER, 2024 : BAKU.

user1 replied to your story:

user1: no f2 pics this week? :(

user2 replied to your story:

user2: why didn’t you post any isack pictures? is it because he didn’t get any points 🫤

user3 replied to your story:

user3: lmao girl since when are you a pepe marti fan ☠️

pepemartiofficial replied to your story:

pepemartiofficial: ???? are you being held at knife point please don’t do this

yourusername: don’t do what

pepemartiofficial: don’t put me in the middle of this???? i already have to deal with him as is

pepemartiofficial: he’s gonna put me in the wall when he sees this delete it delete it delete it

yourusername: he won’t see it. i blocked him

pepemartiofficial: well that explains the sulking

yourusername: he’s the one that didn’t want distractions. i just made it easier for him

pepemartiofficial: does this mean you won’t be coming around for the last races?

Read 8:01 PM

DECEMBER, 2024 : YAS MARINA.

You’ve never been good at healing quickly. At outgrowing things, at leaving them in the past. Not that any of your friends could blame you—a three year relationship is not something you can just forget overnight. You did the right thing, the first step towards healing: blocking him in every platform you could think of. Instagram, Twitter, Whatsapp, TikTok—even Facebook. It was easy, quick, as long as you didn’t allow yourself to think twice about it.

The pictures weren’t as easy. You couldn’t find it in yourself to erase them. They’re three years worth of your life—three years worth of you quietly and steadily learning about framing, about lighting, about when to snap a picture and when to wait. Eventually, you convinced yourself it would be unfair to you if you deleted them. They’re your professional portfolio—even that one photo Isack took of the two of you when you fell asleep on his shoulder. Or the one you took with your camera in front of his bathroom mirror—where Isack stands behind you, head tucked against your neck, murmuring something you’ve long since forgotten.

It still makes your throat tighten, the thought of him. You always knew motorsport was his first love, that it was his goal. It had been long before you met him, when he was still round-cheeked, had a high-pitched voice and a heavy accent. Driving had existed in his life years before you. But it stung, knowing that you would always fall second to it. That the chance at a title was worth more than your love.

You feel pin pricks at the back of your eyes, making you blink them away. You’ve always been too good at pouring salt on the wound.

Today, though—today you made a promise to yourself. It’s been months. You’ve already broken your heart enough times with every item of his that seems to spawn in your apartment.

You place them all inside the cardboard box your microwave came in, folding them with far too much care. Shirts. Hoodies. A Redbull windbreaker with his name printed at the back. An MC Alger jersey he forgot when he came over to watch a game—the same one he saw you wearing a night he stayed over, whispering into your ear how it suited you much more than it did him. You stuff them all into the box and stare at it.

Broken pieces of your heart threaten to climb up your throat. Your eyes sting again.

You never return it to him. He never asks for any of it back, either.

By the time you’re done, you find out. Trending on Twitter, or posted by the Formula 2 Instagram account. The results of his last race of the season—the one that ends his championship run before the first lap. You scroll down the comments, searching between the congratulations for Gabriel Bortoleto on his title win. Technical issue. Isack’s car never started, leaving him at the starting line while Bortoleto’s papaya car took off along with his chances for a title.

You sit in your bedroom, empty, alone. He must be destroyed. And for all your anger, all your resentment, your frustration and your tears, he was your friend, before he ever was your boyfriend. You don’t want him to suffer, you never have.

You consider texting him, telling him you’re sorry. Telling him he deserved better.

You don’t.

Instead, you close the box with tape, shove it into the back of your closet. Onto better things.

FEBRUARY, 2025 : BAHRAIN

liked by gabrielbortoleto, stakef1team and 98,371 others

y/n.png to new beginnings 📸

👤 tagged: gabrielbortoleto

all comments have been disabled

a/n: do yourself a favor and listen to the songs that inspired this fic but ESPECIALLY si no vas a volver by aitana cause what a banger that is. let me know if you enjoyed! this took so long and it’s only part 1

also! huge HUGE shoutout to birdy @cinnamorussell for letting me borrow their gorgeous texting layout 💘 couldn’t have stayed under the image limit without you <3

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐰 𝐛𝐟!𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫

warnings: none!! note: hehe i was so excited to write for himmmm i wanna squeeze his cheeks so bad ALSO GUYS IM SEEING STRAYKIDS IN JUNE I JUST GOT TICKETS AHHHHH

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🍿🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

Feeling my way back to you...(IH6)

starring: isack hadjar x bestsellingpoet!reader.

social media au.

includes: fluff, romance, friends to lovers, kind of slow burn {im a slowburn maniac ik 😇}, social media chaos ig? yep thats it.

note: This is like my first social media au and first time writing for Isack so like please forgive me if i mess this up slightly 😭. As alwways imma try to deliver the best but just a warning this is my first one 😭 also face claim for olivia rodrigo and louis partridge also a lill messed up dates because i forgot to read them propperly

Music: Lovers - Anna of the North (slowed)

Liked by isackhadjar,user731,and others yourusername Sundays are for poetry, coffee, and race days 🏁 imola didn’t disappoint..

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user1 the multitasking is unmatched user2 guys isack hadjar liked this like IMMEDIATELY user3 wait she watches f1 😭 ⤷ user4 oh you must be new here 🙃 ⤷ yourusername keeps me mentally sane for the entire week 😇 user5 can't wait for the new poetry book to drop 🎀 ⤷ yourusername trying my hardest to finish it within the next few months😭isackhadjar glad you liked watching the gp ⤷ user6 help 😭 he's back at it again

Liked by isackhadjar, scuderiaferrari, and others yourusername thank you scuderiaferrari for the invite, the speed and the sea were good for the soul ❤️‍🔥

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scuderiaferrari come back anytime poet 😇 charles_leclerc glad to have you watching from the paddock today ⤷ yourusername glad I got to meet Leo finally 😭 isackhadjar monaco suits you. ⤷ user3 ISACK. AGAIN. ⤷ user2 you aren't slick 💀 user6 imagine having your favorite team invite you to your favorite driver's home race ⤷ yourusername IKR I happy cried for about half an hour before letting it sink in 😭

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Definitely didn't expect this invite...but not asking twice 🌬️✈️ #vcarb

Liked by isackhadjar,visacashapprb,and others yourusername “wasn’t on the calendar, but surprises are good for the writing process 🇪🇸🌀thank you visacashapprb for the view

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isackhadjar You are a good luck charm L/n ⤷ yourusername thankyou always hadjar 🎀 visacashapprb we are fast learners 👏 ⤷ user3 and matchmakers 😭 user8 slide 3. i am eating the walls. user19 you’re telling me she just CASUALLY showed up at vcarb looking like THAT??? user5 if yall like eachother just say it 😭. end the suffering

isackhadjar posted a story

isackhadjar the world is more peaceful when she's the one yapping

yourusername thanks for not letting me fall face first in the cafe 😞 ⤷ isackhadjar always L/n

yourusername posted a story

yourusername another one? maybeee...😌

Liked by isackhadjar,visacashapprb, and others yourusername slow morning, caffine overdosage and isackhadjar

Veiw all comments

isackhadjar you do drink a very concering amount of coffee ⤷ user4 cant be that much... can it? ⤷ isackhadjar 6 cups a day is concering ⤷ yourusername who let you speak 💀 user8 i am NOT surviving this era user19 her softlaunch game is leathal 😭

Liked byyourusername,visacashapprb, and others isackhadjar too much caffine. yourusername

Veiw all comments

yourusername hey I made it less today 😭 ⤷ isackhadjar 4 cups a day is still concering ⤷ yourusername stop 💀 user8 how long are they going to drag this 😭 user1 its pure suffering at this point.

Liked byyourusername,visacashapprb, and others isackhadjar so we’re both terrible at being subtle and somehow still managed to say nothing until a fan tweet shoved us off the edge yourusername

Veiw all comments

yourusername sounds very us ⤷ isackhadjar very us user3 finallyy stopped beating around the bush 😭😭 user9 we finally made it out the blurry-photo era y’all user4 he fell first. she fell harder. user8 if she writes a poem about their soft launch i’m suing for emotional damage

Liked by isackhadjar,visacashapprb, and others yourusername so apparently ‘just friends’ don’t stare at each other like that isackhadjar. thank you, twitter, for the intervention. 🫶

Veiw all comments

isackhadjar i was just staring in a respectful, slightly obsessed way. that’s legal right? ⤷ yourusername you’re lucky you’re cute. and that you texted first. ⤷ isackhadjar justice for me typing and deleting that text 47 times btw. user9 THEY CONFIRMED??? OH WE’RE WINNING TODAY 🫠🫶 user4 his whole face changes when he looks at her i’m gonna cry on the floor brb user12 this isn’t a soft launch this is a swan dive into endgameuser83 is this why her last poem ended with “maybe the softest thing about love is the way he looked at me across a quiet room” user3 not the caption dragging them both and thanking twitter 😭 you’re welcome ig? user2 can’t believe we went from grainy café pics to full on mutual pining confession arc in a MONTH

©WHOISRAII 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[paintmepurple]

🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

➤ SEEING RED (AND ORANGE) | LANDO NORRIS

pairing: lando norris x soulmate!reader

summary: since lando turned eighteen, he has yet to figure out what his soulmate trait is, but he's pretty sure he has mastered the art of emotional intelligence, which is totally the same. right?

or: you can feel your soulmate's emotions. lando has no idea.

wc: 7.3 k

warnings: moments of angst and poor emotional management

➤ MASTERLIST

2017

Lando sits, in the middle of his living room couch, surrounded by all of his friends and family. This year had been magical, joining McLaren, becoming a reserve driver, so close to his dream he could almost taste it. And now, he was about to find his soulmate, and his entire life would be complete. 

He never could dream small, he thinks as the seconds tick down. He had this all planned out for who knows how long: he would win a world championship, have a giant family and a dog and a house in Monaco and England and maybe even one somewhere fun and tropical, and he would be the happiest, coolest person alive. His soulmate would be gorgeous and smart, much smarter than him, and run to him after every race, and-

"Five," They begin to count down for him, and Lando lets his fantasy slip away to brace for impact, arms stretched out in front of him to watch for any magical marks on his wrists. "Four." 

"Three," Lando whispers under his breath. His soulmate mark or trait would be something cool, not the stupid colour blindness one, or a hard-to-find one. "Two," 

"One." For a moment, the world is perfectly still. No one moves, no one breathes, and nothing appears on Lando's arms. No voice fills his head, no memories of past lives come flooding to him. He stands, ripping off his shirt in case it's a mark hidden someone, stripping down to his underwear as everyone laughs, and he waits. 

Mere seconds pass before the realization hits like a truck: Lando has no idea what his soulmate trait is, and it isn't obvious. "Maybe you have to write something on your arm?" Someone passes him a marker, and he frantically writes 'hello' on his forearm, and nothing appears. 

Disappointment has never felt so bitter. It's deep within him, spiralling around his chest in a way he'd never felt before, ceasing him up entirely. He didn't have a soulmate trait. Maybe, he didn't have a soulmate. Maybe, this was all stupid and pointless, and he was standing in his underwear in front of everyone. 

And then, just as he thinks he might cry, his heart very gently become warm, a slow building happiness that has Lando awkwardly smiling as he sniffs and wipes at his eyes. It's a calming notion, that comes over him next, like his heart is reminding him to take deep breathes, and he does. "So?" 

"Nothing," He says to the crowd. "Nothing changed." 

-

2023

"And you're alright with travelling?" Amanda asks over a mug of tea, steaming in the cool England air. "We've a winter house in the Alps and a summer house in Monaco, which with little ones is a big deal." 

"Travelling, if anything, would be a perk." You joke back over your own mug, hands clamped around it tightly. Why she insisted on sitting outside in the morning just after the rain, when the chill still hadn't quite left the air despite the spring weather, was beyond you. That being said, you weren't about to miss this opportunity because of the weather, or your own annoyance with the cold. This was your one chance to finally travel, to finally put all your hard work to use, even if it was chasing a billionaire's kids around. 

"Well, it's a highly stressful perk." Amanda continues, "And taking care of kids is a highly stressful job. Are you good at handling stress? Negative emotions?" 

You nod, your real answer stuck on your tongue. Bringing up soulmates during an interview wasn't exactly the smartest of ideas, considering the potential discrimination from employers who might not want to hire someone who has yet to find their soulmate. After all, soulmate tracking could lead you around the world, and above all, you can tell Amanda needs someone committed to her children and their needs. "May I be honest?" 

Amanda raises an eyebrow, mug paused just below her mouth. Based on the name scrawled on the inside of her wrist, and the fact you were interviewing to be an au pair, she had no trouble finding her soulmate.

But you? 

You were not so lucky. "I have to be good at handling emotions, because it's my soulmate trait. I feel whatever they feel, all day, every day." 

When you turned eighteen, nothing obvious had changed. Your family had stayed up to see the clock strike midnight, to see what soulmate trait you'd get, carrying on the tradition of colour-blindness, or maybe a timer, like your cousin had gotten. Instead, you saw no change, no secret mark appearing on your skin. 

You just felt disappointed, and somewhere in the universe, in yourself, the feeling of disappointment returned to you. 

It was always hard to explain that you could feel the same emotion as your soulmate, but you could. It was a separate thing, based in the middle of your chest, as if your heart could feel two things at once. It was always there, at the back of your consciousness, every feeling attached to a life you'd never seen.

Joy, you think, was the most pure and obvious emotion, something that bubbled up in you with a smile you could never shake. When your soulmate was happy, it was never just contentment, but a bright thing that made you daydream of how their grin must look, how wonderful their laugh must sound. 

Anger was the second most common. It came in short moments of frustration, or sometimes a deep, week-long affair of something blinding, a rage that seemed to consume them whole, and you by proxy. Sadness was a different sort of beast, originally all consuming. There had been long, long stretches of time where it felt as if all your soulmate could feel was anxiety, sadness, grief, and it was this period that made you seek out meditation methods, psychology courses and ways to help others. You spent enough energy sitting with your soulmate's emotions, keeping calm on your end to help them with theirs, that it just sort of became your whole life. 

They might have outgrown the sadness, but you never outgrew your ways of helping them.

You found joy in the world around you because you knew how it helped someone else feel. You pursued jobs and opportunities that allowed you to help others because you knew how to keep a level head, to hear everyone's story, to sit and mourn and love as if they were your own emotions.

Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest thing to get so wrapped up in the emotions of others instead of your own, but it was what your life had come to. Your soulmate had carved this life for you, despite the fact that you had no luck so far in finding them. The next step, then, was obviously branching out and travelling, which made this position, offered to you based on your emotional intelligence, a dream. "But besides your soulmate, how can you deal with other people's emotions, especially children's?" 

"I've spent so long studying people, their emotions and their body language in attempts to find my soulmate that it's now just sort of second nature. I can tell what people are feeling because I'm so used to feeling more than just one thing at one time." You answer, and she shakes her head slowly. 

"What an impossible thing to track. How would you know?" She sets her mug down and flags a waiter. The man stops by with the receipt, the timer on his wrist reading four months, six days, three hours. "See, a timer, that's useful. Emotions? Ridiculous, if you ask me." 

"I think I'll just know when I meet them." Or at least, that's how all your fantasies played out, just locking eyes across a crowded room and realizing that you could feel them, that it was always them, but so far, nothing of the sort had happened.  "I mean, I've experienced all of their emotions for the past five years, I ought to be able to pin that to a person." 

Amanda rises, putting on her coat, and you're quick to follow, your own half-full drink abandoned. "I would've hired you already without the soulmate trait, but I suppose that's the bonus that makes you so special, anyway." She pauses, then, and turns back to you. "If you don't mind me asking, what is your soulmate feeling currently?" 

"I think he's frustrated, but it's not the same as angry. Just sort of annoyed." You take a slow, deep breath in an attempt to calm your own racing heart. If they were annoyed, the last thing they'd need to feel is your nerves added to it. And, after enough breaths, you can feel them start to relax, all on their own. 

-

“No soulmate trait?” Oscar asks, and Lando hums over a ridiculously large bowl of salad.

“It makes no sense!” He answers, stabbing at the lettuce in front of him with a vengeance. “Like not a mark, no colour changing shit, just…nothing. I think it’s one of those things where you have to touch people to know.” 

“So that’s why you’re so clingy,” Oscar answers sympathetically, and Lando takes a crouton and throws it at him. It had been six years, and he had yet to find his soulmate, to have that connection click into place with a simple touch. Sue him for being clingy when it was the only hope he had for finding true love.

Then, just as soon as Lando begins to feel genuinely resentful, a soft wave of calm comes over him. He had joked, once, that his heart and his brain were capable of feeling two different emotions at once. Sometimes, he was furious, but in his heart, he knew he would be fine. Othertimes, his heart was just so happy for no reason. No one really understood what he was talking about, but Lando didn't mind. He was rather proud of his emotional intelligence, being able to decipher what he was really feeling under the surface. He was maturing into a proper adult who could rationalize their thoughts and feelings, but then again, proper adults don't throw croutons in dining halls.

He takes a slow, deep breath, trying to match the beating of his heart, and after he exhales, he returns to his conversation. “Does your heart ever get happy when your brain is angry?" 

“What?” 

“Like I was pissed about the soulmate thing, and now I feel all calm. Like my heart knew I was being stupid.” It was like someone reminding him to breathe, to think of the better alternatives, like the fact that his soulmate was probably out there, just with a rare trait that would make it all the more worthwhile.

Oscar, unfazed by both the strange question and the crouton, thinks for a moment before speaking. “I think you’re just old enough to know not to be mad about things. Or you have other things to focus on.” 

“Maybe.” Years later, Lando would look back at this moment and bang his head into a table, but in the present, he continues to eat his salad and ponder why no one's investigated the psychology of the heart.

-

2024

"Micah? Is that what you're supposed to be doing?" Micah, who should be unpacking his things into the summer house in Monaco, has decided he will not be sorting his socks, and instead will be constructing the world's largest indoor racetrack around his bedroom floor. Never to be left alone, his younger sister Emily is perched in the middle, drooling over a little pink car. 

"I put 'em away, Nana." Micah says, jabbing his thumb in the direction of his suitcase, half shoved in a closet. Typically, children called their grandmothers Nana, but they had adopted the word for you, a sweet little thing you were terrified they'd outgrow. "See?" 

"Ah, yes, I see." You walk over to the suitcase, gently drumming your nails on the top. "How silly of me, this is perfectly unpacked as your mother requested." 

Micah, not quite yet understanding sarcasm, beams his gap-toothed smile. "Told you!" 

"But, what if you need to get an extra pair of shoes? Or sandals? They're stuck at the bottom." Emily gives up on her determination to eat the pink car and grabs part of the track, like a baby-sized Godzilla over the raceway. "And what if we, say, wanted to go to the beach after dinner?" 

Micah pauses at that, sitting up and squinting at his suitcase. "...I can just lay the suitcase down?" 

"And if you can lay your suitcase down, you can put your other clothes away too. Now come on, before dinner. Your cars will stay exactly where they are." Then, to grant him some mercy, you scoop up Emily from the floor and try to put the pieces of his track back in place. 

And then, your heart stops beating in your chest, fingers hovering over the little plastic track. 

Disguised for a moment of panic, you realize it's your soulmate's heart that's stopped, your whole body going cold. For a moment, a terrible awful moment, it feels as if the connection is broken, that there is no emotion to be felt at all, and before you can truly grasp what is happening, a joy greater than anything you've ever known washes over you. Scientifically, you know it must just be a rush of adrenaline, of endorphins and hormones, but god, this must be the most a human body can produce at once, rendering you entirely numb to anything but the excitement, the triumph, it can't compare. It's ecstasy, with a laugh you've never heard before ringing in your ears. 

It's a bright kind of sunshine that makes you dream of how your soulmate must be smiling, what they must be doing to become so happy, how much you wish you could be there to experience it with them. Then, as it begins to wane, it becomes tinted with every other emotion possible.

Sadness, grief, pain, fear, love. It's that last one, the love, that startles you the most, because you've never felt it on your soulmate's end before. You dream that this must be how it will feel when you finally meet, so different than any other emotion you've dealt with before. It's something pure and unadulerated, with no real sign. You just know it's love, and you have to sit on Micah's bed as you try to catch your breath at the feeling. 

It's the sort of mosaic of emotions that you think must embody a person whole. That everything your soulmate has ever felt has just been channelled back inside you, taking over where veins once were. Colours are brighter, the world slower, the pain softer. Emily reaches up to pat your cheeks, startling tears from your eyes that you hadn't realized had formed. 

Micah comes to stand beside you, a sock outstretched in his hand. "I'm sorry I didn't put them away." 

"Oh, sweetheart," You soothe softly, gently parting his hair away from his face. It's sad, you think, that people don't get to experience this in their everyday life. To know what it's like to feel a partner's joy, to know that when you reach out with your own happiness for them, it gets taken and amplified a hundred times over. "I'm not upset because of you. I'm happy." 

"Happy?" 

"Your mom told you what soulmate's are, right?" He nods along quickly, face lighting up. 

"Did you just meet yours?" He almost shouts, and while she must have explained some concepts, it's obvious he doesn't understand how the whole thing quite works yet, but he has plenty of time to learn.

"My soulmate is really, really happy about something, and I'm so happy for them." It makes it all worth it, you think.

Becoming so devoted to learn about the brain and emotions was already worth it, already a passion, but feeling this, greater than any emotion you've ever felt, it's indescribable. It's something you doubt you ever could forget, the power of their excitement feeling as if it might never fade.

"But you don't know what they're happy about." Micah points out, returning to the volcano that is his suitcase. 

"I don't need to." You answer honestly. "Joy should be shared at any time, for any reason. I don't need to know the fine details." And with that, you rise, intent on finding Emily's sandals somewhere in her nursery. "And for that reason, we should go and celebrate too. We can get ice cream after dinner." 

Micah, not needing much convincing, quickly joins your side. "I like your soulmate. He should be happy more often." 

"Yes," You answer, wishing you could bottle this emotion and keep it forever, "He should." 

-

Lando knew his first win would be big, but it was the sort of dream that didn't feel real, even as he was thrown into the crowd, even as he put the trophy over his head, even as he hugged his mom, even as the night waned and the club slowed and he, inevitably, found himself back in his hotel room. 

He couldn't help it. It was just this constant rush of everything all at once, the excitement, the pride, the terrifying realization that life continues on. There will be more races that he might win, and he finds himself more determined than ever to win them. It's the delight that he did it, he finally did it, and the sadness that comes with knowing it took him so long. His younger self would be so proud, and the thought only adds more confusing emotions into the mix. Overall, however, is how much he loves this sport, despite all the pain that does come with it. This was what he was always meant to be doing. 

His heart isn't helping either. The happiness from it just sort of comes in waves, not connected to his thoughts or his words at all. It's like his heart, every so often, remembers that he has something to be so happy about, radiating a warmth that Lando's never felt before. He's never been this happy in his life, like he's perfectly whole, even with his missing piece, a small cloud he'd ignored hanging over him the entire day. 

He never could dream small, but when he had his first win, he wanted a soulmate to share it with. That being said, he's not sure it really matters now. This moment, soulmate or not, is just perfect. He can share plenty of wins with them in the future, anyway. For right now, there's just him and his heart, gently beating and echoing warmth, joy, delight, triumph, whatever you want to call it. 

Lando is very happy that his heart is happy, he decides as he finally goes to bed. 

It should feel like that more often.

-

2025

Fourth wasn't bad, Lando could tell his heart was trying to tell him, but he didn't want to listen. 

He had fucked up, plain and simple, all the way back to starting tenth like he was a fucking rookie again, and sure, he had made his way back to fourth. It was respectable, really. He made a good recovery, he was fine, but he was more furious than he had been in a long time, because this season showed that he should know better. 

He was leading the championship, for god's sake, and now he was below Oscar when he could've kept his title. It was an anger that led, rather quickly, into self-deprecation. He had failed, of course. He could have done better, could have tried harder, could have been better. He didn't have the mindset, people kept saying. What mindset? What did Oscar have that he didn't?

He had cried and fought and struggled to get here now, and he fucked up. In qualifying, like a rookie, like someone who should know better. Fourth, a burn only worsened with the thought of the meagre points he'd get. Fourth. 

Needing something to lash out against, Lando picks up his water bottle from beside him in the driver room and winds up, eyes set on the wall across from him, when his heart does what it does best, and soothes him. It wasn't telling him that fourth was okay, he finds, but rather a strange sort of sympathy that he had a right to be mad. 

It was understanding of his pain, sending soft waves of calm, a tune stuck in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite understand. He should be mad, the water bottle launched across the room, but it stayed in his hand as his heart unravelled the worst parts of him. Anger, rage, was a good, short release, but it didn't get to the heart of the problem. He needed to take a deep breath, his lungs working of their own accord as he let his arm fall, dangling uselessly at his side. 

Fourth. 

Next race would be better. Next race, he'd lock in, he'd figure out whatever hiccup had cost him podium, had lost him first. He would do better, and he would be better, and that would be that.

Even still, as he finishes up for the night, he finds a sadness coming from his heart, an emotion he didn't know would hurt as much as it did. 

-

The anger and joy, this year, kept coming in rounding bouts. Excitement one weekend, failure the next, something that could only be akin to gambling addiction, some sort of sports fan, or someone going through just a rough couple of months. Emily seems as attuned to your soulmate as you are, wailing the moment the anger occurs, rearing its ugly head, and you find yourself calming two souls at once. 

You bounce Emily in your arms, a hefty task now that she's four, humming a soft lullaby as you try to get your soulmate to take deep breaths, take apart their anger. Sorting through emotions was a tall task, even this many years in, but there were so many layers to the sadness and anger that it was just...hurtful. 

A pain you couldn't fathom. Emily soothes as your soulmate does, falling back asleep as you get her tucked into bed, your soulmate's resentment cascading away to just a tired, dull sort of thing. There's a hint of happiness, somewhere at the edges, and that's all you need to let go, to focus back on your own life. 

You don't know how often you'd done that, taken time to soothe someone who never did the same. Your own anger, sadness, what have you, never seemed to be noticed. There was never a comforting, deep breath, a calm happiness to comfort you, just whatever they were feeling, like they couldn't care about helping yours. 

You had devoted your life to the emotions of others, you realize as you peer into Micah's room to find him asleep, peacefully curled up under his blankets. You'd raised him for the past two years, taught him how to exist and grow and act, same as Emily, sleeping peacefully behind you. They were children who needed the guidance, the extra set of hands, but your soulmate was grown. 

So how could they not handle it? You took extra courses, found a career path out of it, but they just seemed to live life, going through the motions with little regard for what all the frustration might do to someone else's daily life. That spike, that explosion of joy held so fondly in your memories now only returned in shorter bouts, like a drug slipping away from someone, and you focus on tidying up the last of the toys scattered around the hall to distract yourself. 

You knew all the emotion tactics to calm yourself, anyway. 

So why would you need someone else? 

-

Lando's heart has been acting up lately, following him through Miami's second place, and into Imola's second place, and now Monaco. 

It just hadn't been as happy as it could've been, as calming as it could've been, like every time Lando experienced a bump, it got less and less willing to pick up the pieces, and Lando understood. Being his heart was a big task, but it was sort of his heart. He needed it, and its strange intelligence. 

The worst part was people started noticing it, too. Not his heart, exactly, but just that as much as he was happy, it wasn't to his core. He had tried numerous remedies, chocolates, therapies, everything, including now going for runs at random hours of the day, currently on a hike in the few hours of dawn just outside of Monaco. 

But the farther he ran, the more up this hillside he went, the further his heart sank inside him, until he could only describe it as weeping.

Reaching the top, he begins to think he might be losing his mind when he begins to hear it crying, too, only to stumble across a real person, crying before him, and his heart tugs in his chest so hard he thinks it might fall out. 

-

Burnout happens far too fast to really understand it, even coming from someone who dedicated their life to understanding people's emotions.

It was hard to always be happy, to always be in tune with other people's emotions, but it was all that you knew. You were supposed to be the happy one, the helpful one, but it was hard to always be happy and always be helpful when it was all coming to an end anyway. Emily and Micah were grown, old enough to have opinions and dreams that far outshone your own, because at some point, children outgrow nannies. This would be your last year full-time, Amanda had broken to you a week or so ago. 

She wanted you around for help with Emily, at least until she was five, but after that, they were going to try functioning as a whole, with you there if they needed extra support. And it wasn't leaving the family, leaving this job, that was the hard part. You were more than understanding, after all. 

The hard part was the realization that nothing was meant to last. You weren't meant to always be there, supporting other people, raising children and sending peace out into the world. At some point, you needed to stop projecting emotions and needed to start feeling them, stunted for so long in the name of love. 

You didn't blame your soulmate, really, but it was time you started living, outside of them, outside of nannying, and that meant doing things for you, like waking early, finding a nice hiking trail, and just going. You walked until your feet grew sore, until a bench looked promising, until your emotions caught back up, and so did your soulmate's. 

Soft and on edge, a sadness that wasn't anything too deep, but just persistent. Instinctively, you take a breath, and it all falls apart. 

Every emotion you've been taught to suppress, to help others navigate through, every joyful moment not shared, every painful moment you've taken on as a burden comes out in a wail that you can't control.

It was a gift to feel your soulmate's emotions, but you shouldn't have to feel so obliged to help them through every bout of sadness and anger, exhaustion piled up from years of your own neglect.

You had been given so much joy in this life, watching a Monaco sunrise from the clifftop, but you can't help the way it's all been tainted by experience.

After all, there are no tips or courses on how to heal a broken heart, desperately trying to get out of your ribcage.

-

Lando's heart keeps tugging him toward the person currently sobbing on a bench, and he has no idea what to do about it. He's emotionally intelligent, he tries to reason with himself. If someone is in distress, like they're lost, he can help! Or, he might be ruining a moment that a stranger needs alone, but his heart keeps weeping and the sadness keeps spreading until finally, Lando takes a few brave steps forward before coming to kneel before the person on the bench. "Hey," He says, with the awkwardness of a man thrust into a truly new situation, "Don't cry." 

You blink at him owlishly before covering your face with another sob. 

Great start. "I mean, crying's okay!" He says, quickly coming to sit beside you, leaving enough space not to crowd you. "It releases stuff for you. But like, if you're crying about a reason, I can...help." 

"Oxytocin and endorphins," You sniff, a sentence that fully catches him off guard, but the weeping in his heart ebbs way for...annoyance? "Crying releases oxytocin and endorphins, they help promote-" You uncover your face to look at him, and it's just heartbreaking, truly. He doesn't remember the last time he saw someone this upset besides his own reflection in the mirror. "Helps promote well-being." 

"Maybe I should cry more often," Lando jokes softly, and happiness slips into his heart before disappearing again. His heart normally was so good at calming him, so why was it so difficult to calm other people? "But I mean it. I get that I'm a stranger, but if something's wrong, I can help." Then, because he knows better, "Or I can try?" 

You don't answer him immediately, turning to look out at the sunrise. It's pretty, he thinks. Calming. You hiccup beside him, and Lando glances over to see your bottom lip tremble with another wave of unshed tears, and his body reacts before he can. 

He takes a big, deep breath. The kind his heart is always telling him to take. One deep breath in, one deep breath out. "You can breathe like that, too. It helps." 

"It triggers the relaxation response." You answer through stuttered breath, somehow far more informed on emotions and their controls than he is. You must be a doctor or something, he thinks. Maybe one of those wellness coaches. Either way, you start breathing alongside him, in perfect unison.

"My heart always helps me breathe." Lando says, trying to make conversation, and you give him a strange look as his heart echoes confusion. "I don't know how to describe it, but my heart has its own emotions. And when I get upset, god knows it's too often, it reminds me to be calm, and breathe. Like this-" He takes in a deep breath, and releases it.

Then you take a deep breath in, and release it, and his heart mimics the action. You watch him intently, repeating the action a few times, until Lando realizes his heart is in sync with you. 

The breathing, the confusion, the weeping. 

A strange mix of emotions floods his heart seconds before he makes the connection, too. 

"You can feel me?" You ask softly, "My breathing?" 

The world sort of comes to an end on a park bench in Monaco, Lando realizes, because he can feel you breathing. When your eyebrows raise, he feels the shock deep in his heart, and his mind supplements that his soulmate trait must be feeling your emotions, and like the true idiot he is, this whole time he just thought it was his heart feeling things. 

God, it's been eight years. Eight years you've been feeling every emotion and trying to help him out, and Lando never knew. He'd never got to help you with your emotions, anyway. You've just had to suffer through all his anger, all his sadness, and he slowly lowers his head into his hands, truly unable to come to terms with what you're saying, what he's feeling, what you're feeling. 

He's been blind. Worse than that, he's been ignorant and honestly almost manipulative. All those deep breaths were you having to take the time to breath with him. All those moments his heart was sad, for no reason, or happy, for no reason, it was you living a life that he was unaware of. Every secret emotion he let out, that only he and the walls of his room shared, you knew.

You knew all the deepest, darkest parts of him, and he thought you were his heart.

It's a new sort of grief that wells up inside him, that is immediately replaced with action. This was not his time to mourn, but yours. He snaps back up, and you're still in the same, curled up position, looking at him in awe, and without much ceremony, Lando reaches over to pull you to his chest, the soulmate connection snapping in place as he gently cradles the back of your head into his shoulder. "Jesus fucking christ," He breathes out, "I thought you were my heart." 

You don't answer him, but he waits to expect the anger, the confusion, the sadness, but all he can feel is something soft and small radiating from you that he thinks might be love, and he begins to cry for it. 

He's sure that if there are any other unfortunate hikers on this trail, they'll stumble across a strange scene of two strangers hugging each other and crying, but Lando has seen stranger in Monaco. Besides, he can't care much about anything besides the soulmate in his arms, and all the ways he needs to make it up to you. From now on, his emotions take a back seat, and he'll help calm you, keep you happy. He wants to memorize every detail of your face, your smile, your laugh. Firstly, he thinks, he should probably get your number and your name.

"How do you know how to handle it?" Lando finds himself asking as he lets you pull away, wiping at your eyes. "Oxy-cotton or whatever, how could you..." 

"I studied it." You answer quietly, "For you." 

"For...for me?" You nod, and Lando's body shakes with unshed tears. 

"You experience everything so vividly. I just wanted to help." You've felt how hard he's been on himself, how angry, and you've been there every step of the way, trying to help. You studied how to help him, for him specifically, and there's nothing he could ever do to make up for it. You reach up to wipe away the tears as they fall, studying his face. "Seems like I could have taught myself a thing or two." 

"You're perfect," He says, voice cracking as he looks down at you. "I'm an idiot." 

Lando never expected to meet you here. He always thought he'd be in some strange corner of the world, where he'd lock eyes across a crowded room and just know, but instead, you're here, in Monaco, a gift from the universe because he never would have been able to find you otherwise. "Your words," You answer with a sniff. "Not mine." 

"Stop being so good at this," Lando says, rubbing his hands over his face. "I need to be the one helping you, not the other way around." He opens his fingers to peer at you through them. 

"You just being here helps." You shove his shoulder gently as you speak. "But you really didn't consider once that your heart having emotions was weird?" 

"Thought I was emotionally intelligent. Like...my heart was also a brain." He watches you suppress a laugh and he hides behind his hands again. "Shut up! I know, I know, I have a lot of work to do." 

And for a moment, you just look at each other, and then that happiness comes spiking back up, and you're slumping into his side as you laugh, a deep thing that has Lando laughing too, like some old joke you've known forever. 

His soulmate. You're his soulmate, and he can feel your emotions, and while that is genuinely probably the worst soulmate trait Lando has ever heard of, it's a trait. He has a soulmate, and he is an idiot, but as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and watches the Monaco sunrise, he realizes he has all the time in the world to make up for it. "I'm Lando, by the way." 

-

-

-

Every time you look at Lando, you feel a rush of emotions that you now know he feels too. Maybe that's why he turns to flash you a grin, just as bright as you knew it would be. Or, maybe, it's because it's your first time in the paddock, the first time Lando gets to reveal you to the world, the fact that you're real. 

You can't really fathom how he never knew he could feel another person's emotions, and with a soft groan, he leans into your side. "You're never going to let that go, are you?" 

The past months you've spent together, Lando has been determined to get to know your emotions. Every little thing you go through, you get a text, a random delivery at your door, him peering around the corner into the living room with a raised eyebrow as you angrily try to put together Ikea furniture. Nearing the end of your contract with Amanda, and trying to find your new way in life, Lando insisted you move in with him, and that he would be your emotionally intelligent student. It was a lot of big steps to take, but looking at him now, you're more than happy to take them. 

"I thought you couldn't read minds," Lando's teammate Oscar says, and Lando's quick to shake his head. 

"I told you, we can feel each other's emotions," He says, arm wrapping around your waist. "For example, I can tell that right now, they are madly in love with me." 

He leans in to kiss you, and you gently shove his face away with your hand, matching grins plastered over your faces. You were, honestly. He was a strange, strange being who defied the emotional courses you took, but it made sense. You were a rock when he was a bouncy ball - hyper and all over the place, but he was teaching you to relax, to let go, to let him go. He insisted that he didn't need your help now that he knew how much brainpower it took up, but that didn't stop you from slipping into old ways, reminding him to breathe no matter where in the world you were, calming him from a distance.

Micah makes a fake gagging sound from beside you, though he's also grinning ear to ear. Lando had given the entire family paddock passes, mostly as a gesture of goodwill, but also so that he could have an excuse to have you here for a race.  "Be nice, Micah." You say, ruffling his hair. 

"Yeah, Micah." Emily quotes, reaching for your hand. She was still quite shy around Lando, whose energy was not always appreciated. You pick her up, an old habit that will die hard, even as she's no longer a toddler, but you hold her on your hip as you hum one of her old lullabies to help ease the stress. 

Beside you, Lando absent-mindedly hums along, and you stop your own noise to stare at him. He was always full of surprises, really, somehow knowing a song that must have slipped through the cracks of your emotions. Well, all of him was a surprise, being an F1 driver more famous than you had ever expected your soulmate to be. 

To Lando's surprise, you existed. It was something to get used to, a shame that clung to him, but he was growing out of it. He wanted to know every little detail, from favourite colours to where you grew up to where you wanted to go. You weren't sure yet, really. You wanted to help people, but you needed your own time and space with your emotions, and Lando was more than willing to help grant you that.

The media, unfortunately, had also wanted to know every little detail, intent on painting you as some young mom before it came out that you were a nanny, which was somehow better and worse. People had plenty of things to say, but that didn't really matter when Lando was at your side, intent on making Emily smile and putting up with Micah's antics, who had already scored a free hat, shirt, and the fuzzy part of a boom mic from somewhere. "Who do you think is going to win the race?" Lando asks the two, who both blink back at him. "Come on, it's me, right?" 

"Or is it going to be Oscar?" You ask, the other man beside you laughing. 

"Oscar." Emily announces rather quickly. "He can win." 

Both Lando and Oscar wear matching expressions of confusion, but Oscar's quickly morphs into a grin as he does a little bow. "Thank you, I'm happy to have your support." 

"Oh, come on!" Lando says, now desperately turning to Micah. "You want me to win, right? British boy to British boy." 

Micah looks from Lando slowly to Oscar, who offers two thumbs up. "I want...Oscar?" 

"Oh, this is just not fair!" Annoyance stirs in Lando, but dissipates when he looks at you. "You're supposed to teach them better than this." 

"Oscar wins so you can stay home," Emily says, playing with her paddock pass. "You make Nana happy." 

Lando pauses, and you can feel his heart swell with love, and with little regard for the cameras everywhere, he buries his face into the side of your neck as he blushes. "Get off Nana!" Micah says, tugging at Lando's shirt. 

"Nope," Lando says into your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tight. "S' my heart now." 

"Always was yours," You answer with a kiss to his temple, and you can feel Lando melt both against you and in your heart. "Now go win a race, yeah?" 

Lando peels back with that smile that makes your heart do things, and you can tell he knows exactly what you're feeling when that grin just grows. "Thought I was supposed to stay home to keep you happy?" 

"You've got the rest of your life for that." With a genuine sadness you can feel in your veins, Lando finally parts, sneaking another kiss before he's off, and you find yourself that much more attuned to his emotions when he's gone. You can feel the anxiety and the stress as he prepares, the excitement as the race starts up, and the inevitable growing anger and fear as he fights for pole. Second, in your mind, was fantastic, but Lando never knew how to dream small. 

Taking a deep breath, slowly in and out, you wait for Lando's heart to sync with yours, and you can feel him relax just the smallest bit, granted a moment in a corner to overtake Max, and you scream so loudly with excitement that Emily and Micah cover their ears. Lando echoes back that joy and excitement, keeping pace until the race ends. You don't get to see him when he pulls up to the parc ferme, still stuck wrangling the young children, but you can feel nothing but pure joy all the way until he's up on that podium, trophy high above his head as he scans the crowd. He belonged up there, you think, with this kind of ecstatic delight taking over him. That moment filled with joy and love, all those years ago, had been his first win. 

And yet, here, now, that memory was dull in comparison. 

Because when Lando scans the crowd, and finally locks eyes with you, you feel a burst of nothing but pure love.

It's a feeling that never goes away. 

a/n: i saw this concept for a soulmate trait and just had to do something with it!! i honestly want to write so much more between these two

[paintmepurple]

Awe🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

f1 grid (1/2) | oops wrong name

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : accidentally calling them the wrong name for shits and giggles - tiktok trend

୨ৎ : genre : comedy / pranks ୨ৎ : tws : playful banter ୨ৎ : word count : 2305

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i was ctfu while writing this LMFAOO i think my bf would KILL ME if i called him the wrong name 😭 the charles gif makes me wanna 😩

ʚ・max verstappen

you were lounging on the hotel bed while max sat at the little desk beside it, tapping something into his phone. his hair was still damp from the post-qualifying shower, messy and sticking up in tufts. the tv was on, but you weren’t watching. not really. you were focused on your plan.

“tom,” you said casually, stretching out across the mattress. “can you pass me my water bottle?”

max didn’t respond at first, too focused on his phone. but then he froze.

his head tilted slowly, like a machine turning to scan a threat.

“sorry, what?”

you glanced at him, innocent. “water, please?”

now he was fully facing you. his eyebrows raised, that signature are you serious look all over his face. “who the fuck is tom?”

you shrugged. “just asked for water.”

“yeah, but you didn’t ask me.” he leaned back in the chair, arms folding. “you asked tom.”

you bit back a laugh. “you’re overreacting.”

“i’m overreacting?” he repeated, tone flat. “you’re lying on our bed calling for 'tom' and i’m overreacting.”

you picked up your phone like you were checking something. “maybe i got the names mixed up. tom, max. could happen to anyone.”

“not unless tom’s been around enough to replace me in your muscle memory.” you glanced at him and saw he was trying really hard to keep his expression unreadable, but his brow was twitching. “seriously...tom?”

“it’s a joke,” you finally said, unable to hold the straight face any longer. “you’ve been pranked.”

max didn’t speak for a moment. then he shook his head, muttering in dutch under his breath.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he said finally, getting up to hand you the water you never really wanted in the first place. “but if i hear that name again, i’m revoking cuddling privileges.”

you grinned. “noted.”

but later that night, just as you drifted off, you whispered, “thanks, tom.”

max shoved a pillow in your face.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you were in the middle of organizing lewis’ growing sunglasses collection in the closet when he walked in, shirtless and relaxed, holding two smoothie bottles. one was your favorite.

“thanks, marcus,” you said sweetly, taking it from his hand.

he stopped mid-step.

“…come again?” he asked, lips parting just slightly.

you didn’t look up. “hmm?”

he blinked. “what did you just call me?”

you sipped your smoothie. “i said thanks. for the smoothie, babe.”

there was a pause. then—

“marcus?” his voice pitched up at the end like he was genuinely trying to figure out whether he heard wrong… or whether he was being cheated on in real time.

you blinked innocently. “huh?”

he slowly put his bottle down. “babe, i don’t want to jump to conclusions, but...who the hell is marcus? is that some guy from soulcycle or something?”

you stifled a laugh and shrugged. “that name jogs my memory...i thin he just brought me a smoothie once at work? very thoughtful.”

lewis crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, eyebrows up. “wow. okay. and what does marcus do? race? rap? make smoothies for girls who forget their boyfriend’s name?”

you bit your lip, holding the laugh deep in your chest.

he looked away, shaking his head, grinning despite himself. “unbelievable. seven world championships and i’m getting marcus’d in my own house.”

you walked over to him slowly, trying to look apologetic. “lewis—”

“no, no. marcus is probably better at opening jars too,” he said, deadpan.

you finally broke, laughing as you wrapped your arms around him. “it’s a prank, babe. from that old trend. there is no marcus.”

he let out a long sigh, dramatically resting his forehead against yours. “you play too much.”

“but you looked so betrayed. it was kind of cute.”

lewis kissed your cheek, then whispered, “you’re lucky you’re adorable.”

as you turned to leave, he added, “but i’m calling you katie all day tomorrow. just for balance.”

ʚ・george russell

it started over breakfast. you were seated at the little table in george’s apartment, scrolling through your phone while he made tea. he was shirtless, hair still a little messy, humming some fleetwood mac song to himself, completely unaware he was about to be mentally ruined before 9 a.m.

“jake, can you pass the oat milk?”

george froze.

you didn’t look up. you scrolled a little more. very nonchalant.

he didn’t say anything at first. he just slowly reached for the oat milk and set it down in front of you — quietly, methodically — then walked around the table and sat across from you with that look.

“who’s jake?” he asked, voice light but suspicious.

you took a sip of your tea. “what?”

“you called me jake.”

“no i didn’t.”

he narrowed his eyes. “you absolutely did.”

you shrugged. “maybe you misheard.”

“i don’t think i did.” he leaned forward, elbows on the table now. “do i know this jake?”

you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “i don't know, probably? that's what you heard right.”

george blinked once, then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms like he was preparing to take you to court. “does jake have better hair than me?”

you snorted.

“is he taller?” he asked, a little more seriously now.

“george.”

“no, because if jake is over six feet and makes a good cup of tea, i’m leaving.”

that did it — you burst out laughing, nearly spilling your drink.

george tilted his head. “wait—oh my god. you’re doing that bloody trend, aren’t you?”

you nodded, face buried in your sleeve as you kept laughing.

he exhaled, rolling his eyes as he picked up his mug. “you’re awful. i nearly had a personal crisis.”

“i noticed,” you said between giggles.

“swear to god, if i ever call you ‘sophie’ and you cry, i’m just gonna say it was balance.”

“who’s sophie?” you blinked.

he gave you a look. “exactly.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos was sprawled on the couch, flipping through the channels with one hand and lazily draping the other across your thighs, completely unbothered. it was one of those rare, quiet evenings where neither of you had to be anywhere, the kind that made you feel domestic and soft.

you were curled up at the end of the sofa, scrolling through your phone, when you looked over at him and said, casually, “matteo, can you turn the volume up?”

carlos froze.

the remote paused mid-click. he turned his head, eyes narrowing with laser focus. “what did you say?”

you blinked at him sweetly. “volume, carlos. i can’t hear.”

silence.

then, he sat up slowly — dramatically, even — his hand still hovering in the air like he was physically trying to process what just happened. “who,” he began, “is matteo?”

you shrugged. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he said, placing the remote down like it offended him, “you just called me matteo. that’s not my name, cariño.”

you bit your lip to hold back the smile. “oh, i must’ve been thinking of someone else.”

carlos leaned forward, one eyebrow raised in complete disbelief. “someone else? so now i am… easily confused with other men?”

you snorted.

“no, no, it’s fine. maybe matteo has better hair than me. maybe matteo owns a vineyard and serenades you with a guitar.”

you lost it at that. but he wasn’t done.

“does matteo also say ‘smooth operator’? or is he a rough operator?” he added, now fully invested in this imaginary rival.

you leaned in, resting your chin on his shoulder, voice soft. “carlos, i was kidding. it’s a trend. i called you the wrong name on purpose.”

he stared at you for a beat, lips pursed. “you’re playing with fire, mi amor.”

“i know,” you grinned. “but matteo would’ve let it slide.”

carlos lunged at you with a laugh, wrestling you into his chest. “then go be with matteo! but first, tell him i’m coming for him.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

you were doing your makeup at the vanity in your shared monaco apartment when charles wandered in, fresh from his shower, towel around his waist, hair a fluffy disaster. he looked at you through the mirror, all sleepy eyes and boyish charm.

“lucas, can you hand me my lip liner?” you asked offhandedly, still focused on your face.

you heard the towel drop.

not in the hot, sexy way.

in the he's shocked and spiraling way.

“lucas?” he echoed, voice higher than you’ve ever heard it. “who the hell is lucas?!”

you turned slowly, biting your lip to hide the smile. “what?”

he stared at you like you’d just run him over with a ferrari. “you just called me lucas.”

you shrugged. “did i?”

“YES,” he said, wildly gesturing. “you didn’t even hesitate. you were so confident—like it was natural! like you say it all the time!”

you turned back to the mirror, calmly applying mascara. “you’re overreacting.”

charles dropped onto the bed like he’d been mortally wounded. “lucas. mon dieu. that sounds like someone who wears boat shoes with no socks.”

you bit your lip harder.

“is he french?” charles asked, sitting up. “or worse… italian?”

“it was just a mistake, love.” you said airily, brushing your cheeks.

charles stood, eyes wide. “mistake?! i literally brought you pain au chocolat this morning and kissed your forehead like some guy in a rom-com!”

you finally broke, letting out a full laugh. “charles—”

“no, no, no. this is worse than the monaco curse. lucas. i can’t believe i lost you to someone named lucas!”

you got up and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his dramatically tense shoulders. “babe. it’s a tiktok prank. i made it up.”

he blinked. “so… there is no lucas?”

you grinned. “no lucas.”

he exhaled. “good. because if there was, i’d have to challenge him to a karting race. or maybe just cry.”

you kissed his cheek. “you’re so dramatic.”

he whispered, offended. “it’s my birthright.”

ʚ・lando norris

you and lando were chilling on the couch, deep into a gaming session. or, more accurately, lando was gaming and you were curled up next to him, offering the occasional sarcastic comment and stealing his snacks.

he was laser-focused, headset on, tongue poking out a little as he tried to win some online match.

you waited for the perfect moment, just as he landed a kill and started celebrating.

“nice job, ethan,” you said sweetly, clapping once.

lando froze.

like… absolutely no movement. not in his hands, not in his mouth, not even a breath.

then, very slowly, he turned to look at you. headset slightly askew. brow furrowed.

“did you just call me ethan?”

you blinked. “hmm?”

“hmm?” he repeated, his voice cracking halfway through. “who the fuck is ethan?!”

you shrugged. “just… ethan.”

lando set the controller down like it was made of glass. “is he one of your gym guys? does he have better curls than me? wait, is ethan taller than me?!”

you laughed under your breath. “does it matter?”

“of course it matters!” he cried, fully spinning to face you now, hands on his hips. “you can’t just ethan me and then expect me to cope. i’m not built for this emotionally.”

you fought so hard not to crack. “just someone i know very lightly at the gym, he's a big motivator.”

“oh my god,” lando said, flopping backwards like he’d been shot. “i’m being replaced by a walking affirmation board.”

you finally broke, snorting as you leaned over him. “lando. baby. it’s a prank.”

he peeked up at you. “no ethan?”

“well..." you pause, "just kidding, of course there's no ethan."

he exhaled dramatically. “okay. good. because i was two seconds away from dming every ethan on your follower list and challenging them to a race.”

“you can’t race them all.”

he grinned, eyes gleaming. “watch me.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was a quiet sunday morning, the kind that begged for soft sheets, slow cuddles, and no alarm clocks. you were both curled up in bed, tangled under the duvet, with the curtains barely cracked to let the light in.

oscar was scrolling through something on his phone, his head resting against your shoulder, calm and cozy.

you stretched lazily, then nudged his thigh. “asher, can you hand me my water?”

he blinked.

paused.

then, with terrifying composure: “sorry, who?”

you yawned. “water, please. it’s by your side, osc.”

he slowly turned to look at you, expression blank, voice deadly even. “you just called me asher.”

“did i?”

“you definitely did.”

you shrugged, pretending not to notice the sharp turn in atmosphere. “just slipped out.”

oscar sat up a little straighter. “do we know an asher? is there an asher in the paddock? because i swear i don’t know an asher.”

you casually rolled over to the other side of the bed. “he’s someone from uni... no one special just someone i talk to during class for a little laugh.”

oscar scoffed, tone still flat but deeply offended. “he sounds like a real crowd favorite. must be hard, competing with asher and his sunshine energy.”

you were fighting so hard not to laugh, clutching the duvet to your face.

he wasn’t done. “tell me—does asher also give you the inside line into turn 3 at silverstone? does he organize your sock drawer? does he know your coffee order by heart?!”

you burst out laughing.

oscar narrowed his eyes. “you’re pranking me.”

you wheezed, nodding. “i couldn’t keep it going, you looked like you were going to call asher’s imaginary mother and file a complaint.”

oscar leaned back, smug smile on his face. “good. because i was five seconds away from changing your contact name to ashtray and never explaining why.”

you grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist. “no asher. just you.”

he kissed your forehead, muttering, “i don’t trust pranks. but i trust revenge.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[paintmepurple]

god forbid a woman is boring and a low achiever and likes to drink

[paintmepurple]

Reposting cos CL16 mention 🏎️

so hungry – stray kids

— that one “i’m so hungry i could eat…” trend with your boyfriend.

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

[paintmepurple]

Also me coded

꣑ৎ sending them sabrina carpenter lyrics ꣑ৎ

warnings: suggestive! it’s sabrina ofc

drivers: f!reader x lewis hamilton, lando norris, charles leclerc, max verstappen, oscar piastri, carlos sainz

note: this one was fun lol ive had her album playing on repeatttt i love short n sweet so much

edit/disclaimer: i do not allow my work to be copied/reposted/translated in any capacity

@justaf1girl @sltwins @c8lap1nto @copper-boom

[paintmepurple]

😫🫶🏽😫🫶🏽😫🫶🏽😫🫶🏽

diamond  bright  ,  kiss  me  right ⸻  lando  norris  x  reader  .

featuring  lando  norris  ,  new(ish) relationship , love  confession  ,  reader  is  dramatic  as  hell  but  we  love  her word  count  1.8k author’s  note  requested  by  anon  !  i  have  basically  thought  about  nothing  but  law  school  for  the  past  two  days  but  i  was  missing  being  creative  and  wanted  to  give  you  all  something  fun  .  as  a  number  one  lando  defender  i  LOVED  writing  this  .  i  firmly  believe  he’s  a  little  bit  of  a  simp  when  he  really  likes  someone  …  very  precious  TO  ME  !  as  always  come  tell  me  what  you  think  or  send  me  a  request  !  okay  now  back  to  my  finals  studying  cave  .  love  you  all  <3  title  is  from  claws  by  charli  xcx  !

It was never supposed to be serious. 

You knew Lando Norris. The party-boy reputation, the DJ sets, a different girl at every circuit. When he sidled up to you at a bar in Monaco with that charming grin on his face, those blue-green eyes sparkling like the Mediterranean behind him, you didn’t expect much. An evening of harmless flirting, maybe. He’d buy you drinks. You might go home with him, if he wasn’t unbearably cocky. (You had a feeling he might be.) He was a player — you’d written him off in your mind before he even opened his mouth.

Turns out, you didn’t know Lando Norris at all. 

You didn’t know he would talk to you that entire night, looking ridiculously pleased every time he made you laugh, like he’d won a prize he hadn’t dared to hope for and couldn’t believe his luck. You didn’t know he would walk you home, and instead of asking to be invited up, asking if he could take you to dinner, hands stuck in his pockets so you couldn’t see the way they trembled. You didn’t know that one date would turn into nearly six months of good-morning texts, of coming home to bouquets of flowers on your doorstep just-because, of slow kisses that burned you up from the inside. 

It was like trying on a dress that looked ugly on the hanger and finding it fit you so well you never wanted to take it off again. To make a long story short, dating Lando was kind of your favorite thing. You liked everything about him. And lately, when you lay tangled in his sheets at night, his arms wrapped around your waist and his mouth pressed softly to your shoulder, breathing in his clean, boyish scent, you thought maybe your feelings were more than simply liking him. 

You couldn’t tell him, though, not yet. You cringed at the thought of the awkward silence that would stretch between you if he didn’t say it back. You trusted Lando — he was sweet to you in a way that made your chest ache sometimes, in a way that you couldn’t imagine being fake. But what if the thrill for him was all in the chase, the reckless desire to get something he thought he couldn’t have? What if now that he had you, now that he really knew you, the shine had worn off?

So you kept it to yourself. Let him slow dance with you in his kitchen to a song you’d never heard, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at you. Let him text you stupid jokes and ridiculous strings of emojis in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Let him scrape his teeth over your collarbone and whisper your name like a prayer into the darkness. Loved him quietly, secretly, in the private corner of your heart he hadn’t quite found yet. 

You told yourself it was fine. Things were good between you. Great, even. You weren’t going to mess it up by saying it first. You would wait until he did. 

If he ever did. 

—

The most embarrassing moment of your life starts with a phone call. 

You’re weaving through the aisles of the grocery store, looking for the pasta. Lando’s had a long day of sponsor meetings and media, but insisted that he wanted to see you anyway for your regular date night. You agreed, on the condition you could make him dinner; you like the idea of taking care of him for once, instead of the other way around.  

Your phone starts buzzing, and you pull it out of your pocket, greeted with Lando’s face — some ridiculous photo he’d taken of the two of you early on, your cheeks pressed together like two halves of a heart. You answer without hesitating, shifting the basket of groceries onto your hip. “Hey, you.”

“Hi, gorgeous.” His voice is light, but you can hear the weariness underneath he’s trying to cover up. “Just checking what time you were thinking of coming over. Zak added a last-minute meeting to the calendar, but I should be done by 7.”

You prop the phone between your shoulder and your ear, grabbing a carton of eggs. “That’s fine. I’m just picking up the stuff now, I’ll stop at home and then come to yours.” You lo- You like the domesticity of the conversation. You wonder if someday, you’ll make grocery lists together, wander through the aisles side-by-side.

“My little chef,” he says, warmth in his voice. “Give me a sneak preview of the menu. What are you making me?” 

“Oh, I thought I’d whip up some sushi,” you tease, grin on your face. You can imagine him on the other end of the phone, crinkling his nose in disgust, and the thought lodges in your chest with a far-too-familiar fond ache. 

“Right, I actually have plans. Can’t have you over anymore,” he deadpans, like clockwork. 

You let out a bark of laughter, throwing a box of pasta into your basket. “I’m kidding. Do you think I don’t remember your freakish aversion to fish?”

“Wow. My own girlfriend, bullying me,” Lando sniffs. “Might just die now. Wasting away, starving and alone, with no one to comfort me.” 

“I’m making carbonara, you big baby,” you snort, pressing the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you inspect two different wedges of Parmesan. “And maybe cookies, for dessert.” You place the cheese in the basket, heading for the checkout lane. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Oh, you’re a goner. It does something stupid to your heart. 

“Guess the universe knew you needed me,” you reply, unpacking your basket onto the conveyor belt. You’re moving a little slowly; you only have one hand to unpack while the other holds the phone.

He laughs. “Score one for the universe.” His voice drops a little lower, a little softer. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too,” you reply, fumbling for your wallet as the cashier eyes you with increasing impatience, tapping at the card reader. A line has grown behind you, you realize. “Shit. Lan, I gotta go. I love you, bye.” Click.

You slide your sunglasses over your eyes as you step out of the air-conditioned grocery store. The weather as you walk home is warm. The late-afternoon sun hangs low and golden in the sky, and— 

You nearly drop the bag you’re carrying, catching it just before the eggs shatter over the Monaco sidewalk.

You told Lando you loved him. And you didn’t even realize it. 

—

By the time you get home, you’re seriously considering faking your own death.

You stand slumped against the wall of the elevator, cheeks burning with humiliation. You’ve spent the entire walk thinking up what feels like a thousand different ways to play it off — jokes, sarcasm, pretending you were talking to the cashier instead of him. They’re all stupid, all equally unlikely to work on Lando. Maybe the best option is to cancel tonight in favor of lying facedown on your carpet and never moving again. 

The elevator doors ding and slide open. You step off, turn the corner down your apartment hallway, and there’s Lando’s standing on your doorstep. 

For a minute, you think it’s a hallucination, because he can’t actually be in your hallway. He lives on the other side of Monaco, practically, and there’s always traffic. You stare at him, taking in the ruddy cheeks, the way the sweat beads at his temples, how he’s still trying to catch his breath.

He ran here, you realize, heart thudding wildly in your chest. He ran. 

The silence is terrifying, stretching between the two of you like a chasm. Then:

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

“You’re supposed to be in a meeting,” you blurt, eyes wide. 

“Fuck the meeting,” he rasps, gaze trained on you. “Did you mean it?”

You have an out, now. You could lie, say it was unthinking, a force of habit from calling your mother, your friends. You could stay where you are, with those three little words rattling around your head every second of every day, and pretend it doesn’t kill you to hold them back now that you know what it feels like on your tongue. 

Or you could tell the truth, and take the chance that you’ll lose something, because there’s a possibility you could get everything. 

You look at the wild-eyed boy in front of you, who ran across Monaco just to see your face, and you already have your answer. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice small and heart in your throat. “Yeah, I meant it.”

He closes the distance between you in two steps, cups your cheeks in his hands, and smashes his lips to yours. It’s desperate, wild — your teeth knock together, and when you gasp against his mouth, he slides his tongue against yours in a way that makes your knees buckle. You pull him closer, closer, hands fisting into his shirt like he might disappear if you let go. 

“I love you too,” he gasps when you finally break apart, like it’s paining him to hold the words back. “Fuck. Been wanting to tell you for weeks, but I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You laugh wetly, forehead pressed against his. “I love you,” you say, and his whole face cracks into a smile so bright it’s like you’re looking at the sun. 

“Say it again,” he breathes. The look on his face is so obvious, all soft and awestruck. You wonder, distantly how you ever thought he didn’t feel the same.

“I love you,” you repeat, every syllable deliberate, and his arms wrap around you so fiercely it knocks the air out of your lungs. You yelp as he lifts you off your feet, laughing against his neck, your legs kicking uselessly for a second before you just give up and cling to him instead. He carries you to your door like that, arms steady and warm around you, and for one dizzying moment you think you could stay like this — weightless and safe and stupidly, overwhelmingly in love — forever. 

Maybe it was never supposed to be serious. But when he hugs you from behind while you stir the pasta, whispering I love you into your ear for the hundredth time that night like a promise he intends to keep, you seriously don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing it.