#Formula 1 Imagine

[f1kenny121]

This just reminded me how MASSIVE Lando’s hands are. Someone sedate me.

[bluewxrld07]

Pins and Needles

Lando X Bff!Fewtrell!Reader

Summary: Y/N doesn't know where she and Lando stand anymore. Their once-tight friendship soon started to tear at the seams.

Warning(s): just pure angst, Lando being toxic (sorry y'all), making out, Charles Leclerc incoming, depression, lack of self-worth

A/N : I can't help myself y'all ok 🥲 This one is gonna hurt, I'm sorry but also not sorry. Enjoy 🙂 (Written and inspired by Nessa Barrett's song Pins and Needles)

Hand on the stove, I barely feel it

And when I let go, I'm already healing

This was not how it was supposed to go.

How it was supposed to wind up.

Y/N didn't even know how she got herself into this situation.

Deep down, she knew exactly how she got herself into this situation, she just didn't want to admit to it.

It started when one drunk night at the club in Monaco led to her becoming tangled up in her best friend's sheets, whispering sweet nothings to one another. The sly touches as the sun crept through the blackout curtains the next morning.

That was when their situation bloomed. Things had become messier between Lando and Y/N.

Little did Y/N realize just how deep she had fallen for the man she had known almost her entire life. He was comfortable. Familiar. Trustworthy.

At the start.

Things at the beginning were smooth. Nothing but absolute lust, addiction, and hunger. It rose and rose, some moments almot becoming reckless.

They couldn't keep their hands off one another. From sneaking around the paddock, to the club bathrooms, to the bedroom next door to Max's. It became reckless. Animals in heat. The craving was insatiable.

The pair didn't know if the sneaking around made them this way, or the fact that it was supposed to be a forbidden relationship. Max would've had Lando's head. He'd have six feet under the ground.

She didn't mean to fall more in love with the boy. She thought it would be harmless. Her feelings would subside. Not do the complete opposite and skyrocket. The way he had begun to treat their little situationship as if they were together is what got her the most.

He made her feel like she was the only one.

Till he slowly became more sloppy. Bailing out on plans more often, leaving her high and dry while saying something came up. The distance became clearer. It was the late-night visits that were only making a daily appearance. No talking, just becoming tangled in the bedsheets.

Their friendship had begun to fade out, only turning into meaningless sex. At least that's what she believed.

She never understood why. What had she done for him to pull away slowly? What was she missing?

Y/N couldn't tell anyone, as she didn't have anyone she told about it. Not trusting a single soul to keep it quiet if things got tricky. Especially not when Max had no idea of what was happening behind closed doors.

When he began to ask why her mood had become more glum, as if she had almost faded. She just used the excuse of lack of sleep, or was just having one of those days.

He didn't question it, only gave her a lingering look, then didn't push further. He knew better.

It wasn't long till she found out why. Why Lando pulled away from her, let their friendship fade out, as well as their late night hookups.

They say your name, I don't even hear it

You dug your own grave, and nobody's grieving

The articles all read and show him with a new girl, a blonde model and actress. She was pretty. His type, too. He looked happy, a genuine smile on his lips as he looked at her.

That's when she noticed the way her chest tightened, crashed in on itself.

He had been seeing this girl, Magui, she thinks her name was, without saying a thing to her. She thought they were close enough that he would've been honest. He has never lied to her. In all the years she had known him, it wasn't something he did.

She remembered when she found out, she sat there trying to figure out what to say to him. Her first message sounded angry. Hurt, betrayed, lost, and confused.

Instead, she clicked the power button off, thinking it was best to not say a word. Instead, she let it fade away. Let him fade away.

There had been a day Y/N was at her brother's, sitting on the barstool while he cooked food with Pietra.

"Is she nice?" she asks, hinting at Lando's new girl. Max looked at her with an unsure gaze, shrugging his shoulders.

"From what I can tell, yeah," he answers. "Still a bit skeptical about her, though. About her past, mainly. Everything is still unclear about what happened between her and Luisna. Lando won't really talk about it."

She nods, deciding not to push any further, picking at the food on her plate.

"Have you heard from him lately?" Pietra asks this time. "I haven't seen you two around one another lately. Usually it's hard to pull you both away from the other," she tries to joke. Max looked back at his sister with just as curious of a look.

"You two haven't been talking?" he asks, Y/N just shrugs.

"Not really," she admits. "Always says something's come up. It's fine, I'm not gonna push it. He's happy."

Max looks at her with a little bit of shock on his face. "You two have been close for years. Closer than him and me, why would he just push you away?"

Y/N knew the real answer to it, but she couldn't give that away. As she knew Max would lose his shit if he knew. Lando would be lucky to leave the brawl with a head on his shoulders if Max found out.

So instead, the girl just shrugs. "Don't know. Just assumed maybe he doesn't want to make things look weird with his new girl. Probably doesn't want her to think anything else."

Max scoffs playfully at that, pouring his eggs onto his own plate. "Trust me, if there was more, I would've known. She wouldn't have had anything to worry about. He'd have a lot more to deal with if that were the case."

She just stays silent, Pietra sensing the awkwardness in the room, deciding to change the subject.

Shot my heart with Novacane

Ice-cold, cut off my blood flow

It had turned into hearing from Lando every other week, and maybe seeing him when he came to help with collabs for Quadrant. When the pair would be streaming with the other streamers, he wouldn't so much as acknowledge her in the chat.

It would be short answers if anything.

Her chest burned every time she made eye contact with him, the gazes between the pair always having something between them. Something she couldn't quite explain.

It wasn't until she had been dragged out to a race day with Max and P, that she could feel the need to hide away in a corner for the rest of her life.

She kept her distance whenever Lando would come around, the boy not missing the way she would excuse herself when he came by.

He should've known.

He caused the tension between them. He pulled back when he only wanted to get closer to her.

He found another girl while in denial of how deeply in love he was with his homeboy's sister, and his best friend. Magui was his way out. His escape from his reality. Even if it wasn't the right way.

He had to let Y/N go, even if it meant he couldn't be in her life anymore.

At least that's what he told himself.

You think you're important,, boy, I've got bad news

You're mean and you're boring, they'll all forget you

Y/N had been standing over by the motorhomes, sipping on the coffee in her hand, when she felt someone bump into her back. The sip had turned into a mess, dripping down onto her white tube top she wore on the hot day.

She turned around to meet the eyes of a familiar Monégasque man, who looked at her in horror. "Shit, Y/N I am so sorry," he nervously chuckles, his eyes seeing the new stain on her top. "I should've been more careful. I was so caught up in the conversation I-"

"Charles," she giggles, making him look at her. "It's okay. At least it wasn't a hot coffee, yeah?"

He snorts while rubbing the back of his neck. "Now that I definitely would've never heard the end of."

She chuckles. "You still won't hear the end of this one," she jokes, making him give her a genuine smile before chuckling back at her. He motions to her shirt.

"At least lemme help get you a new top? I can't bear the thought of you having to be stuck with explaining how the stain came about."

"Ahhh I see you want to protect your perfect image, I suppose?" she tuts playfully, making him widen his eyes.

"What? No I meant like it would probably be annoying having to say the story a thousand times, or you could get weird looks from people, or-"

"Oh my goodness, Charles! I'm joking," she laughs while putting her hands on his shoulders. She watches him visibly relax at her touch and her words, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Sorry, I just," he chuckles breathlessly. "You make me nervous, is all."

She raises her brows, a small smirk on her lips. "Oh, I do now?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this."

She hums. "I didn't know I made the famous Ferrari driver nervous," she jokes while crossing her arms and giving him a knowing look.

His eyes flicker down from her eyes to her lips for a split second, then he smiles at her. "A little."

"A little?"

He purses his lips. "Okay a bit more than a little."

She laughs at his little confession, Charles pinching her waist as he pulls her with him. "You can give me shit later," he laughs. "But right now let's go get you changed into something that doesn't have a stain on it."

She lets him drag her along to the Ferrari paddock, in search of Rebecca and Carlos, knowing the WAG always had a backup set of clothing on her when need be.

Once Charles had found them, he explained the situation, watching as Rebecca lit up and happily said she'd lend a helpful hand.

Y/N followed the girl, keeping up the small talk as they made their way to the Ferrari motorhome, where Rebecca had a cute top waiting for Y/N.

She knew she wouldn't hear the end of it, the color of the top being a bright Ferrari red. It was a one-shoulder cropped tank top, the color sitting beautifully on her skin. Rebecca gave her a low whistle, causing Y/N to chuckle and roll her eyes.

"Red looks so good on you," she says, making Y/N shrug. Rebecca gives her a knowing look, but says nothing as the pair made their way back to the paddock.

Charles did a double take when she returned, his eyes taking in the red top that adorned her skin.

He smiled as he walked up to her. "Red is your color I think," he says, making her roll her eyes.

"Rebecca said the same thing," she answers, watching him nod. "She's never wrong."

Y/N thanks Rebecca one more time, alongside a hug. "Think about it," Rebecca whispers into the girl's ear before pulling away with a wink.

Charles then walks Y/N back over to the McLaren paddock where her brother and P sat. Max frowned at his sister. "I've been looking for you. Where did you run off to?" his eyes then dart to the new top she was wearing, then back to Charles. He gave Max a look.

"I bumped into her and thought I could help her get a new top," he explains. "I felt bad. So blame me for stealing her. Sorry, mate."

Max chuckles while nodding. "Of course it's a red top too," he jokes, Charles ears turning bright red, he puts his hands up in defense.

"Blame Rebecca for that one," he sputters, Max doing a once-over with a smug smirk while nodding slowly. "Uh-huh," Max trails off. "Well, thank you for helping her out," he says, a smug smirk only getting wider.

Charles nods curtly, before facing Y/N with a small smile, and squeezes her side. "Good seeing you, cherie," he mutters to her, kissing her cheek before he leaves her. Y/N realizing her side feeling slightly colder than it did when his hand was there.

She turns to watch him leave and head down the stairs, biting her lip without realizing it. Her head turns back to face her brother and Pietra.

The pair is staring at her with smug and knowing smiles. Max leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and clearing his throat.

Y/N squints her eyes at them. "What?" Watching her brother nod at her.

"Someone has a crush."

She scoffs at her brother. "You're reading into things," she chuckles while shaking her head.

Pietra laughs. "Oh, honey, no. You two were staring at each other like you want to-"

"Don't even say what you're going to say," Max whines, covering his face. "I don't need to hear that."

Y/N just laughs, pointing at Pietra. "You're wrong on top of that."

Pietra rolls her eyes with a smirk, and before she can argue further, Lando is seen walking up to the group, making Y/N want to fade away.

Lando sees her, only doing a double-take when he sees the color of her shirt, also realizing that this was indeed not the color she was wearing earlier. He slowly points at her shirt, Max chuckles.

"Dear old Ferrari man has a crush on my sister," Max admits, then points at her. "She's crushing on him as well."

"Maxwell!" Y/N hisses, watching him crack up. She doesn't miss the way Lando's facial expression drops, something unreadable in his expression.

"What d'you mean?" he asks slowly. Y/N groans while hiding her face.

"What he means," Pietra starts. "Charles spilled coffee on her and helped her get a new shirt. And apparently that was his chance to get her in red."

Lando's eyes snapped down to Pietra, Max just sitting there in a fit of giggles as his sister kicks his shin.

"He was just being helpful," Y/N grumbles. "Besides, Rebecca was the one who gave it to me. Not Charles."

Max looks back at her. "Sure, we know that," he says between laughs. "But the eye fucking you two were doing before he left said more than that. Especially that little kiss move-"

"He kissed you?" Lando cuts in, his tone sharp and stern. Max and Pietra look at him with certain looks. His head and eyes only focused on Y/N in that moment, who was now shifting on her feet with her arms crossed.

"It was just on the cheek," she rolls her eyes before glaring at Max. "Stop making it sound like he laid me out on the table or something," she hisses, making Lando choke on his spit while Max gagged.

"That's vile, do not ever say that again," he points at his sister with a disgusted look. "Second, I'm only saying it because I think you two would be good together."

That makes her eyes widen in shock, watching him put his hands up in defense.

"Say what now? I thought you said no racers."

He hums with a nod before pointing out to Lando. "Yeah, I said that mainly for that one," he says, missing how his mate clenched his jaw. "Charles, on the other hand? I hope it does happen. He's one of the good ones."

Y/N coughs awkwardly, not missing the way Lando scoffed at his best friend's words, mumbling something under his breath as he crossed his arms.

"Can we just change the subject, please? I'm not crushing on Charles, and I'm not going to date him."

Max gives her a knowing look before turning his gaze towards Lando. He frowns. "You good, mate?" he asks, watching as Lando snaps his gaze at Max. He nods curtly.

"Just don't care to hear about her sex life, you muppet. Charles is a player and only wants what he can't have," he admits, not missing the way Y/N glared straight to the side of his face. "Anyways, we're getting ready to start. I was gonna walk you lots to the club level."

Max nods before taking Pietra's hand to guide her. Lando kept his pace next to Y/N's, the girl not missing how his hand would brush against hers every so often.

She could see the gears turning in his head, clenching his jaw every so often, as if he was preventing himself from saying or doing something he might regret. Max and Pietra were further ahead of them, happily making their way to the balcony in the club level of the paddock, overlooking the racetrack.

"He can't give you what I can," the brit says next to her, causing her to snap her gaze at him with a frown. She scoffs.

"That's awfully daft, coming from you," she shoots back. "You ghosted me, remember? You don't have a say in my actions."

"Oh, so you are seeing Leclerc huh?"

She scoffs. "Go check on your girlfriend, Norris. The one you dropped me for."

He glares at her. "Y/N-"

"End of discussion, Lando."

She walks away, a part of her wanting him to grab her and pull her back. Show her she was his. Even if it was behind closed doors. The other part of her was happy he didn't. She wanted him to see that he couldn't have her. He missed the opportunity.

Don't call me your ex, 'cause I never met you

She kept close to her brother and P the entire race, zoning out the entire time the race went on.

Her mind didn't know what to think.

She missed Lando. She really did.

The other part of her though, was also pulling towards Charles.

Y/N couldn't tell if it was just because of how Lando reacted, or because of how she felt a new feeling whenever Charles was near her.

Or how she caught her stare lingering longer on Charles as he took P2. Or how his eyes found hers in the crowd, staring back at her, his smile becoming wider when he saw she was staring first.

It's all pins and needles, babe

I feel nothing for you, nothing for you

Now, here she stood, in the VIP section of the Monaco club after Lando placed P1 at his home race.

She had a drink in her hand, pretty sure the glass could break under her grip. Her eyes did not leave the way his hands and body moved with the blonde on the dancefloor.

At this point she couldn't tell if she was jealous, or pissed off. Or both.

She watched as his hands moved along her body, how his lips never left her body as they danced. He looked like a wet dream.

"You hold onto that glass any tighter, it's gonna shatter and cut up that pretty hand," a familiar French accent says next to her. Her eyes snap out of the daze, turning to see Charles taking the spot next to her.

He nods at her slowly. "You alright, cherie?" he asks her, making her laugh to herself before spinning a finger around the rim of her glass.

"Honestly, I don't know," she admits, looking back at his confused frown. "Can I be honest?"

"Always."

She sighs. "I had been seeing this guy. We weren't anything exclusive, but at the same time, it felt like it. Then out of nowhere, he just stops. No explanation, no excuses, nothing. Just drops me like I'm nothing," she explains, letting a bitter chuckle leave her lips.

"Then I found out it's because he had another girl. I don't even know how long. It was just out of the blue, and I guess I shouldn't have been as upset as I was about it. But I can't help it."

Charles takes in every word she's saying, nodding and humming at the appropriate times.

"It burns my chest seeing them, seeing him, act like I never even mattered," she admits. "But then, I began to realize something else. There's this other guy. I didn't even realize I felt good around him. Like I could relax around his presence. Forget about why I was so hurt about the other guy," she explains, not even realizing how easy it had become to open up to Charles.

The way his expression showed no judgment. No sense of uneasiness as she spoke. Just a genuine expression that showed he was listening to her.

"And part of me wanted this guy I was seeing," she says more to herself. "But a bigger part of me really wants this guy that makes me feel seen. Heard."

Charles nods at her, taking a sip of his drink. "You alright if I give you my advice?" he asks cautiously.

She nods. "Always," she copies his words, making him grin at her.

He points at Lando. "He's an idiot for letting you go," he admits, watching her face contort to confusion, and then to shock before shaking her head.

"I didn't- How did-"

He laughs at her, stepping closer. "It's not hard to see. You two weren't as slick as you thought," he admits, Y/N feeling her face begin to heat up.

"I'm sorry," she admits with a sigh, looking down at her now-empty glass. "I didn't mean to sound like that. I just- I didn't have anyone I trusted to talk to."

"And I'm just easier to talk to? Someone you trust?" he asks her, leaning his elbow on the bar behind them, a knowing smirk on his lips. She snaps her head to him.

As she was about to say something, he stood up straight, walked to stand in front of her, and took the glass from her fingers. She doesn't miss the way his fingers brush hers, goosebumps rising on her skin. He places the glass on the mahogany behind them, his eyes lowering to her own. She gulps as she watches his smirk widen just slightly, while he places both hands on the bar behind her, caging her in. His face was dangerously close to hers, the Monégasque not missing the way her breaths came out shaky.

"As for this other guy," he starts, his tone lower. Darker. "I think he's very worth your time. He wouldn't make you feel like Lando did. He'd take care of you. Treat you right. Show you how a woman like you should be worshipped."

Y/N feels her pulse quicken. "Besides," he mutters, bringing his lips closer to her own. "If you're choosing between two people, choose the second. Because if you really did like the first option, you wouldn't have fallen for the second."

That got Y/N's insides churning, knowing deep down Charles was right. He was so right.

He chuckled darkly as he watched his chest rising and falling quicker after he said that, placing his lips closer to her ear as he placed a light kiss against the lobe. "The second guy also just really wants to be selfish," he admits.

Y/N smiles slowly at his words, letting herself indulge slowly with Charles. She lets out a gasp as she feels his lips planting feather-light kisses from her jawline, down to her neck and her collarbone.

She finally trails her hands up his button-up, slipping underneath the half-open shirt, slithering to rest on the bare skin of his back just before it meets the crook of his neck. His head leaves her neck, bringing his head closer to her own.

"So this other guy," she says breathlessly. "You think he'd worship me, huh? Show me how worth it I am?"

He hums with a nod, kissing the corner of her lips. Y/N found herself craving more, her body aching for his own against hers. Skin to skin.

"He'd do more than just that," he chuckles against her jaw. "He'd take his time with you. Show you exactly how a woman like you should be appreciated. Till you're shaking."

Y/N lets out a breathless moan at that, one of her hands finding his hair. "Spoil you to death. Treat you like the absolute Queen you are."

Charles brings his head back up to really look at her. Y/N staring back into his own eyes, flicking down to his lips for a split second. "Charles," she says softly, earning a hum from him. "Kiss me please."

That's all it took for Charles to take her jaw in his hands, placing a passionate and messy kiss on her lips. Their teeth clashed, tongues messily battling against one another as she kissed him with such need. Such obsession.

The more they kissed, the more they craved one another. Charles let his hands fall from her jaw to her hips, pulling her lower body into his.

Lando was long forgotten in Y/N's mind. He was the last thing she was thinking of; she could forget his name if Charles kept up the way he touched and kissed her.

Little did she realize, Lando was now frozen in his spot on the floor. His eyes darkened. He glared as he watched the girl his heart yearned for, and the guy who was going to be six feet under if looks could kill.

He could tell it wasn't just for show either. She really wanted Charles. Charles wanted her.

He only knew that because of how she was kissing Charles, it was the way she used to kiss him. His heart hurt, chest tightened. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene across the club.

Magui was long forgotten in that moment, Lando realizing he lost the girl he wanted most.

He should've known.

Y/N whines at the loss of Charles' lips when he pulls back, the man looking down at her blown-out state. Her lips swollen as her eyes look up at him with a knowing look.

"What do you say, cherie?" he says slowly, watching her slowly smile.

"I think I'm open to giving this other guy a chance," she jokes, watching him bite his lip to hide the big ear to ear smile that was forming.

He leaned down to kiss her once more, before breaking away and lacing a hand with hers.

Charles began to lead her away from the bar, his gaze locking with Lando's as they passed by.

He didn't miss the way Lando slightly mouthed a 'what the fuck' at his friend, a glare in his direction. Charles held his head up high, smirking at Lando, giving him a sly little wink before he turned his attention to Y/N.

Lando saw the way her eyes looked up at Charles, like she finally felt happy. At ease in his presence. Like she had forgotten Lando existed in that moment. She probably did, and that hit him like a truck.

He watched as Charles placed his other hand on her lower back to help keep her next to him as they pushed through the crowd, making sure not to lose her as they headed out.

Lando didn't even excuse himself from Magui, earning a shocked squeak from her as she watched him rush away from the dancefloor.

Lando scurried past everyone and towards the front entry, pushing past the people who were trying to congratulate him as he passed by.

He didn't give a single fuck about any of them, his mind only thinking about her.

Please. Don't go home with him

His mind begged, wishing she could read minds. Read his.

The way he knew he was already way too late. Months too late.

Once he had gotten outside, he had seen Charles shutting her door before turning to thank the valet workers. His eyes flicked twice over to Lando's state. Trying his best to hide the winning smirk as he saw the disheveled state of the British man.

Charles looked back at his car towards her window, before looking back at Lando. He walked up to him, Lando's gaze hardening as he got closer.

"Don't," Lando warns him.

Warning him to not cross this line. To not take the girl that Charles knew he was so in love with, not take her home. He didn't like this feeling. He hated it.

That's when he realized what it was.

Lando Norris was jealous. He was jealous beyond words.

He never gets jealous.

Not until now.

Charles chuckles at him, patting his shoulder. "Lando," he chuckles. "You ruined your chances. Give her the chance to finally be happy, hm?"

He shook his head. "You can't give her what I can give her."

Charles bites his lower lip before speaking. "That's the point," he begins. "I wouldn't treat her like shit, like you did. I'll give her everything she deserves, and more. Not give her nothing, like you gave her."

That made Lando feel like he had been shot in the chest.

“I won’t ever let her feel or think she’s only good for one thing,” Charles adds, giving Lando a knowing look. Lando’s face drops slightly, then frowns. “I’m going to show her she’s worth more than she could ever imagine. Because she is.” Charles admits, a genuine look in his eyes.

Lando doesn’t know what to say in that moment. He felt defeated.

Because part of him knew (all of him knew) that Charles was good for her. He wouldn’t treat her anything lower than the Goddess she was.

Lando just hated that it wasn’t him.

Charles pats him on the shoulder. "Goodnight, mate," he says before walking away and getting into the car. Lando watched as the pair drove off into the night. Something was burning inside Lando's chest. Burned in his eyes.

Tears.

Jealousy.

Need.

Y/N smiled to herself as Charles and she drove along the roads, his hand gently on her thigh while hers rested on top of his.

Her phone buzzed, not once, not twice, but three times. This caused her to pick it up and look down at it. She thought she would feel something, anything, as she read the messages.

Please, don't go with him. I'm so in love with you

Come back to me, I'll be better. It hurts to see you not with me. Hurts to see you happy with him. I'll prove myself. I'll do better, for you

It's always been you

Y/N takes a deep breath as she begins to type with her free hand.

Your time ran out. A long time ago, Lando. It's time I let myself be happy.

Goodbye Lando

With that, she turned her phone off and looked over at Charles. His eyes gazed back at her, nothing but admiration as he stared at her.

"You okay?" he asks softly. She takes a moment before nodding.

"Yeah," she hums. "I am now."

[requiemforthepoets]

you had me at throat slit ⟢ OP81 series (coming soon!)

main masterlist | fic playlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: oscar was completely okay of being single, though lando says otherwise. lando had managed to convince oscar in joining a dating app—under fake name with a cursed meme for a profile pic, and mostly expecting nothing. but then he matches with you—a gorgeous girl, awkward, sarcastic, emotionally bruised, and just as skeptical about online dating. somehow, your weirdness clicks with oscar's.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, face claims, photos taken from pinterest, satire, humor (dark humor), crack au, dating apps, inaccurate information, awkward, unhinged, memes are maybe a bit too much, dump accounts as form of freedom of expression, and minor typographical errors.

FACE CLAIM: liang lawrence (& others)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: it's me again! with new oscar smau. i'm really into smaus these days, and maybe i'll stick into doing stuff like this up until i'm finally okay with writing full length aus. i've mentioned this the last time, but as of the moment, writing full length aus drains me so much bc there's a lot of typing and proofreading—which can be really tiring. i'll be staring this smau once i'm done with the oscar smau that i'm currently working on.

part one ⟢ part two ⟢ part three ⟢ part four ⟢ part five ⟢ part six ⟢ part seven ⟢ part eight ⟢ part nine ⟢ part ten ⟢ part eleven ⟢ part twelve (ending) ⟢ alt. ending

[verstappenverse]

hi! can i request that the reader and max anticipate their first child? he was so worried when the reader had a morning sickness and when the reader was about to deliver the baby? he worried whether he could be a good father or not to their firstborn baby. and how he was so protective, care, and just soft with the reader? thank you! i love your fics anyway, you're doing great! i hope you have a very good day ahead!! xoxo.

What If I Get It Wrong?

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was never afraid of anything, but fatherhood? That’s a different kind of terrifying. As the two of you prepare for your first child, Max is protective, terrified, and completely in awe, and you watch the man you love fall headfirst into fatherhood. (Requested)

4.1k words / Masterlist

You weren’t expecting it to feel like this, equal parts overwhelming and breathtaking. A surreal mix of the mundane and the extraordinary.

Two faint pink lines on a stick, the distant hum of the bathroom fan. The sound of your shaky breathing as you sit on the edge of the tub, blinking down at something that just shifted the axis of your entire world.

Your hands tremble when you press your palm to your stomach. It’s still flat. Still unchanged. And yet… you already feel different. Maybe not physically, but something inside you is new. Expanding. Blooming.

You had a plan.

Of course you did. You’d always imagined telling Max with a smile too wide to hide, maybe over a fancy private dinner at home with the test tucked inside a gift box or a Red Bull baby onesie folded on his plate. Maybe filming his reaction when he opened it. Something worthy of the moment. Something permanent.

You even started writing a card, got as far as, "You changed my life once. Now—."

But when the door opens that night and Max comes in, home late from some media obligations, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and grumbling about TikTok's and something you can’t quite hear. You don’t even get a word in before he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry I’m late. What’re we having for—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words leap out of you before you even mean to say them. It’s not soft. It’s not poetic. It’s raw and breathless and a little panicked.

The silence is immediate. Thick. His mouth stays open mid-word. His eyes flick to your stomach, then back to your face.

“I—” you start, already flustered, “I was gonna tell you in some big, sweet way, I swear. With a whole surprise and maybe a stupid cake or balloons, I even wrote like half a card and now I’ve just blurted it out like a maniac and—”

“Pregnant,” he interrupts.

You nod. Your voice is a whisper. “Yeah.”

It takes another two seconds before a breathless laugh escapes him. He crosses the room in one long stride, pulling you into his arms. His hands cradle your face like you’re something breakable. “You’re serious?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “I took the test three times.”

He looks down at your stomach again. Then back at you. Then exhales a shaky breath that sounds like something breaking open in his chest.

“I’m going to be a dad?”

You bite your lip, eyes filling. “Yeah. You are.”

You nod again, and before you can say another word, he’s kissing you. Slow. Deep. His hand presses instinctively to your belly, protective already, and you feel his body tremble as his forehead rests against yours.

The nerves come quickly.

You’re crouched over the toilet, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain, on what feels like your fifth straight day of relentless nausea. Your stomach rolls again, and you groan, dry heaving into nothing.

Max hovers like a man teetering on the edge of a panic attack. He’s pacing the bathroom floor in bare feet, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other holding your water bottle like it might fix something if he just offers it enough times.

“Should I call someone?” he says for the third time in five minutes. “A hospital? Maybe your mum, I think, maybe Dr. Hendriks? I’ll fly him in. We have the jet, it’s—”

“Max,” you croak, cutting him off mid-spiral. “I’m fine. Just... a bit gross.”

He drops to a crouch beside you so fast you almost flinch. His hand is instantly at your back, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles over your spine like he’s trying to manually ease the nausea out of you.

“You threw up twice, you’ve barley eaten anything since yesterday, and you can’t even stand up straight. This isn’t fine,” he mutters, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for signs of something worse.

You want to reassure him, but all you can manage is another gag and a feeble wave of your hand.

He makes a frustrated sound under his breath, somewhere between a growl and a groan and presses a kiss to your temple. You feel him shift beside you, still kneeling, still rubbing your back.

You’re pretty sure he was supposed to be on a flight to the Red Bull factory two hours ago. His suitcase is still zipped up in the hallway. His laptop sits forgotten on the kitchen counter next to the tea he brewed for you earlier, the tea you couldn’t even look at, let alone sip.

He didn’t even finish drying his hair. It’s still damp, curling at the edges. There’s a red line pressed into his cheek from where he must’ve fallen asleep beside you on the bathroom floor the night before.

“Max,” you mumble, finally able to lift your head. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, exhausted, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before the baby’s even here.”

He tries to laugh but it comes out hoarse and half-broken. “I just hate this. Watching you like this. I keep thinking, what if I’m missing something? What if I’m not doing enough?”

You tilt your head up slightly, catching the crease between his brows, the lines of guilt that don’t belong there.

“You made me three kinds of toast this morning,” you murmur. “And cut the crusts off, and you held my hair and Googled ginger remedies until your phone died.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you press a hand to his chest right over the spot where his heart’s racing, fast and wild.

“You’re here,” you whisper. “That’s not useless. That’s everything.”

He exhales shakily, eyes locked on yours and for a second you swear they shine.

“I’m just so scared of getting it wrong,” he admits, barely audible. “This whole dad thing. Taking care of you. It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done, and I keep feeling like I’m already screwing it up.”

“You’re not,” you promise, curling your fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re already the best dad, because you care so much, because you show up.”

The weeks pass in waves. Ultrasounds. Appointments. Cravings that come out of nowhere at 2 a.m. and leave you both laughing in the kitchen in your pajamas, sharing a jar of pickles and toast with peanut butter. There are stretches of calm, slow, quiet mornings when the Monaco sunlight creeps across the bedsheets and Max wraps an arm around your waist, murmuring something sleepy against your neck. And then there are flashes of chaos, bags packed, schedules rearranged, Max on a video call with his race engineers while still rubbing your swollen feet with one hand.

Somehow, amidst it all, you find a rhythm.

You learn to time what you can around Max’s races, his travel, his returns. You count the days until he’s back, until he’s lying beside you again, one hand stretched protectively over your belly like it’s instinct now.

The first time you hear the heartbeat Max looks like someone knocked the air out of him. His mouth parts. His eyes fill.

“She’s real,” he whispers, the words barely making it past his lips. “Our baby is real.”

You haven’t even found out the gender yet, but he says she instinctively, without hesitation, like his heart already knows something the rest of you don’t.

You tease him about it once, smiling as he folds baby clothes that aren’t even needed yet.

“It might be a boy you know?” you say, watching him hold up a tiny lemon-patterned onesie like it’s the crown jewels.

He looks up from the clothes, something quiet and unshakable in his gaze. “Maybe, but I don’t know, I just feel it, every time I picture the future, it’s you... and her.”

You stare at him, your breath catching somewhere in your throat.

“She’s loud,” he continues, grinning now, his accent curling around the softness of his voice. “Talks too much. Bosses me around. Already a little menace. Definitely your child.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs, quick and boyish, and leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. “You’ll see. She’s gonna have your fire.”

You don’t say it, but the truth sinks deep into your chest, he already loves this baby with his whole being.

He talks to your belly when he thinks you’re asleep. You catch him doing it all the time, quiet, unguarded moments where his world has narrowed down to two things, you and the life you’re creating together.

When you both lie awake at night, hands intertwined under the duvet, whispering about baby names and nursery colors and what kind of parents you want to be, Max is always a little breathless. Like he still can’t believe it’s real. Like he’s terrified and amazed in equal measure.

“She’s going to change everything,” he murmurs once, voice low in the dark.

“She already has,” you whisper back.

He nods slowly, curling into you like he always does, like you’re the only home he’s ever needed.

Max becomes… soft.

In every possible way.

It’s not just the way he handles you now, like you’re something precious and breakable. It’s not just the way he walks slower beside you or watches your face when you stand up too quickly or how he quietly puts your sneakers on for you when your feet start to swell.

It’s in the little things.

He buys three different pregnancy pillows, a full-body one, a C-shaped one, and some strange ergonomic wedge because he isn’t sure which one will help you sleep better. One night you catch him actually reading a parenting blog in bed next to you, blue light from his phone casting shadows across the duvet. He scrolls silently, occasionally muttering things like:

“Did you know babies can hear our voices by week twenty?”

Or,

“Apparently we’re supposed to play music for her.”

Then there’s the night you find him in the nursery.

It’s late. You’d gotten up to grab water and noticed the light was on down the hall. You pad softly to the doorway, heart already warm with affection and there he is.

Max. Standing perfectly still. The crib is built, assembled a few days ago it sits against the far wall now, freshly made up with soft cream sheets and a stuffed lion tucked in the corner.

He’s just staring at it.

Half terror. Half wonder.

“Max?” you say gently, stepping into the room.

He startles a little but doesn’t turn around.

“Do you think I’ll be good at this?” he murmurs.

You cross the room without answering and slide your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against the cotton of his t-shirt. He reaches for your hands, holds them tightly over his chest.

“You’re already good,” you whisper.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. The kind that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest for months.

“It’s just…” he starts, and then pauses, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t exactly have the perfect example.”

You nod, letting the silence stretch. You don’t talk about his childhood much but he’s never needed to say much for you to understand. Jos was many things, passionate, driven, ambitious. But he was also sharp around the edges. Affection was earned, not given freely. Max learned young what it meant to perform under pressure. To please. To succeed, or suffer.

“I’m scared I’ll mess her up,” he says, voice quieter now. “That I’ll push too hard. Or expect too much. Or say something I can’t take back. What if she cries and I don’t know how to make it better? What if she needs something I don’t know how to give?”

You pull back just enough to tilt your head and meet his gaze.

“Max, you’re the most patient person I know.”

He snorts, but there’s not much humor in it. “That’s a word I don’t think has ever been used to describe me.”

“You’re patient with people you love,” you correct gently. “With me. You’ve been soft and kind and so careful this whole time, even when I’ve been sick or moody or irrational. You listen. That’s what she’ll see. That’s what she’ll learn.”

You hesitate, then add softly, “I’m scared too, you know.”

His brows draw together, surprised. Maybe he hadn’t realised, maybe you’ve hidden it well. “You are?”

You nod. “Every single day. I lie in bed and think about how much we don’t know yet. About how overwhelming it all feels sometimes. What if I’m not enough? What if she needs more than I can give?”

His arms tighten around you instinctively, like he’s trying to hold the fear out of your body.

“But then I see you,” you whisper. “And I remember… we don’t have to do any of it alone, and that makes all the difference.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just turns in your arms, eyes a little wet, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” he breathes. “Not with her. Not with you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper. “But if you ever feel like you are, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He nods slowly. Swallows. “Promise me you’ll tell me if I ever forget, if I ever slip. If I start to become…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

“I promise, but I already know I won’t need to.” you say, holding his face in your hands.

You kiss him then, soft and sure, and he kisses you back like your faith in him is something he never wants to let go of. And in the stillness of that nursery, with your belly pressed to his and the crib waiting quietly behind you, Max lets the fear settle… just a little.

Maybe it’s okay to be scared, as long as neither of you is scared alone.

The last month is the hardest.

Your back feels like it’s been replaced by concrete. Your feet have swollen so much you’ve officially retired every pair of shoes you own except one pair of very ugly slides. You cry at everything, a dog food commercial, a voicemail from your mum, Max just looking at you across the kitchen.

You’re tired in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your body feels like it’s working overtime to grow a person and also remind you of gravity’s cruelest tricks.

Max, meanwhile, has entered full protective mode. As if the impending arrival of your daughter has turned every single instinct inside him up to eleven.

He won’t let you lift anything.

Not a grocery bag. Not a chair. Not even your own overnight hospital bag.

You once reached for a water bottle and he appeared out of thin air swiping it out of your reach with a sharp, scandalized look.

“Max,” you deadpanned, “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

“I’m aware,” he muttered, already unscrewing the cap and handing it to you like a peace offering.

“You think the baby’s going to fall out if I hold a Fiji bottle?”

“No,” he said seriously, “but why take the risk.”

You rolled your eyes then. You do it often now. But secretly?

You love it.

You love how protective he is. How he walks slightly behind you in crowds, like a buffer. How he started driving ten kilometers under the limit the second you entered your third trimester, even though he used to complain that Monaco traffic was basically just expensive cars parked in motion.

You love how he fusses, quietly but constantly. How he now triple-checks that your favorite snack is stocked before leaving the apartment, how he installed a nightlight in the hallway so you wouldn't trip during your nightly bathroom trips. How he downloaded six different white noise apps on his phone so you could try them out in bed. "For practice," he said, “in case she’s fussy.”

But what really gets you, what makes your chest ache with something warm and vast and impossible to describe is the way his face changes every time you talk about the baby.

A softening around his eyes. A slight tilt of his head. The more you speak about her name, about what she might look like, about whether she’ll like racing or painting or maybe dinosaurs, the more he leans in.

He’s never looked at you like this before. Not when he’s on the podium. Not even after winning his first championship. This? This is different.

This is awe. This is devotion. This is Max Verstappen world-class driver, famously unshakeable completely and utterly undone by the thought of his daughter.

He leans down and kisses your skin. “She’s going to wreck me isn’t she?”

“She already has.”

He looks up at you, eyes shining under the soft lamp light, and for once he doesn’t have a smart reply.

Then the day finally comes.

You wake at 3:13 a.m. with a pressure in your abdomen that steals your breath. It isn’t sharp, not at first. Just a heavy, aching pull deep in your core, like gravity has shifted suddenly inside you.

For a moment you think it’s another false alarm.

You shift under the covers, already rehearsing the mental checklist your doctor gave you: hydration, time the contractions, don’t panic. You ease out of bed, try walking to the bathroom, just like they said to do when you’re not sure it’s real yet, but then the pain tightens, sharp and low and unmistakable. It doesn’t come and go. It grips.

Just like that you know.

You shuffle back to the bed and place a trembling hand on Max’s chest.

“Max.”

He jolts upright as if someone’s fired a starter pistol. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it time?”

His voice is gravelly with sleep, but his body is already moving.

You nod, barely able to get the words out through the rising wave of pain.

“Okay. Okay. Alright, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, as he flings the covers off and springs into motion.

What follows is like watching a pit stop in human form.

Max moves with sharp, terrifying focus. He’s already helped you into the comfiest clothes he can find, sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts, before you even finish brushing your teeth. He pulls the hospital bag from the front closet, double-checks its contents, grabs your water bottle, chargers, snacks, the car keys.

But the entire time, his hands are shaking.

You notice it in the way he fumbles with the seatbelt when helping you into the car. In the way he presses the elevator button three times like it’ll come faster.

By the time he’s in the driver’s seat, knuckles white on the steering wheel, you’re gripping the side of the door, breathing through another contraction.

“Max,” you whisper, chest rising and falling in short bursts. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing, you need to breath.” he says quickly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror even though the road is deserted.

“No, you’re hyperventilating.”

“I’m not, maybe a little,” he admits, cheeks flushed. He loosens his grip on the wheel, forces one deep inhale through his nose.

You reach across the console and take his hand, squeezing through the contraction.

“You’re going to be amazing,” you say through gritted teeth.

He glances at you, eyes shining under the dashboard light. “You’re the one doing the hard part.”

You laugh sort of. It’s half a wheeze, half a whimper. “Hard doesn’t even cover it.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles at the next red light. “Just keep holding on. I’m right here.”

The labour is long.

Twenty hours of chaos and calm. Of excruciating pain and quiet moments in between, your hand curled tight in Max’s.

He never leaves your side.

“I love you,” he says every few minutes, even when you’re too far gone to reply. “You’re doing so good. You’re so strong.”

He hovers beside you, whispering soft encouragements, brushing sweat from your forehead with shaking fingers.

And then, after everything, comes silence.

The kind that feels holy.

The room stills. You collapse against the pillows, exhausted and trembling. And then it happens.

A sound. Fragile. Piercing.

A cry.

Your baby’s first breath shatters the stillness, high-pitched and perfect and real.

Max sags beside you like his legs can’t hold him anymore. He buries his face in your shoulder, and for the first time since you’ve known him, since the earliest days of cautious flirtation and long-distance calls, since the podiums and the plane rides and the quiet "I love you"s you feel him cry.

“She’s here,” he chokes out. His whole body shakes. “She’s really here.”

When the nurse places your daughter on your chest, something in you clicks into place. She’s tiny. Wrinkled. Red-faced and slippery and making the most outraged little sounds, but she’s perfect. She’s yours.

And Max… Max looks like he’s been struck by lightning. He can’t move at first. Just stands there, one hand braced on the edge of the bed, the other hovering like he’s afraid to touch her. His face is wet with tears. He looks shell-shocked.

“She’s…” he starts, but he can’t finish. His voice breaks again.

You reach for his hand and guide it gently to her. His fingertips brush her hand and her tiny fingers curl around his pinky, as if she already knows him.

“Hi, kleine meid,” he whispers. “I’m your dada.”

Just like that he’s gone.

Hopelessly, entirely, irreversibly in love.

Later, after the visitors come and go after your families cry over tiny fingers and kiss your cheeks with soft, trembling mouths, after nurses shuffle in and out with gentle voices and kind hands the hospital room falls quiet again.

Just the three of you now. The soft hum of machines. The muffled hallway beyond the door. The gentle rustle of a newborn’s breath in the bassinet beside the bed.

Max lies beside you on the narrow hospital bed, somehow fitting his long frame against yours like puzzle pieces. One arm is curled protectively around your back, anchoring you to his chest. The other hand rests on the side of the bassinet, fingers still.

You watch him as he stares at her. He hasn’t looked away in over twenty minutes.

Not since the nurse gently wheeled her over and whispered, “She’s all yours now.”

“She’s got your nose,” you murmur sleepily, the exhaustion pulling at you like a tide, but the kind you’d wade into again without question.

Max smiles, slow and full and a little dazed. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears he no longer bothers hiding.

“Poor thing,” he says softly.

You chuckle, too tired for more than a breathy laugh. “She’s lucky.”

He looks over to you, his gaze heavy with affection. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there like he’s silently thanking the universe for bringing you through it.

“No,” he murmurs against your skin. “I’m the lucky one.”

You curl into his chest a little deeper, feeling the solid beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His hoodie smells like hospital linen and baby powder and Max, warm, worn-in, familiar.

“You were worried,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

He nods without hesitation. “Terrified.”

There’s no bravado in his voice now. No need to pretend.

He exhales, glancing back at your daughter. “I’ve been trying to imagine this moment for months. Her face. The sound she’d make. Whether I’d be good enough for her.” His fingers flex slightly against the edge of the bassinet, just brushing the corner. “And now she’s here. And I just keep thinking… how do I live up to her?”

“Still scared?” you whisper.

He hesitates. “Yeah.”

He glances down at the baby again. She’s sleeping now, her tiny fist curled near her cheek, lips parted in a soft, steady rhythm.

“But it’s different now,” he adds. “I think… how is she real? How did we make her? How is she breathing and blinking and making those tiny sounds like it’s the most normal thing in the world?” His voice catches. “How do I ever make sure she knows how much I love her?”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. He grips yours back immediately, tight, like he needs to feel your pulse to believe any of this is real.

“She already knows,” you whisper. “She’s felt it. She’s felt it every time you talked to her. Every time you rubbed my back or held my hair or teared up during an ultrasound.”

Max looks at you then, and you see it all, the vulnerability, the devotion, the pure, unfiltered wonder that hasn’t left him since the moment she arrived.

You smile through the tears clouding your lashes.

“We’re in this together,” you say.

He nods. “Always.”

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak

[lilliezzzzz-fics]

Lord knows (it would be the last time)

pairing: carlos sainz x reader author's note: uh. lots of angst here, isn't there? *crickets* guys? anyway ficnation this is a little more angsty than usual so keep the tags/warnings in mind <3 carlos' debut on the lilliezzzzz-fics blog too!! yippie!! anyway, all that yapping aside, i hope you enjoy (^_^)/ tags: no use of y/n, established relationship, semi-toxic relationship, hurt/comfort, heavy angst though, post-argument reconcilation warnings: messy relationship dynamics, alcohol mentions, implied physical altercation (not between main characters), description of injury (a black eye, scarred lip, blood), toxic communication patterns word count: 1.2k

Arguing with Carlos is like arguing with yourself. Utterly, insanely stupid.

Not in the way that it's stupid just because you're arguing about nonsensical things, no, just because you're both incredibly hot-headed and it never ends well. Tonight was no different.

It had been as heated as ever, and Carlos had stormed out of your shared apartment claiming he needed some air, and you hadn’t stopped him; but it’s been hours by now, and he isn’t back. To say you were concerned would be a gross understatement.

By the time you’ve paced around the kitchen island for the fifty-fifth time, you finally decide to go out looking for him, slipping on a leather jacket that seems suspiciously too large, suspiciously smelling of cologne that’s not yours. You really couldn’t care—right now, all you wanted was for Carlos to be okay.

The air outside reeks of wafted smoke and gasoline from passerby cars, and the cold night air plummets at you like a violent embrace. The streetlights buzz with that quiet hum they always have, and the night is far, far too loud. The streets weren’t crowded, though, so you at the very least had that.

Gravel crackled underfoot as you walked through the desolate streets of Madrid, taking turns you were all too familiar with, searching out that one singular place that you just knew you were gonna find him at.

A little bar on some street corner—one Carlos once called his favorite place in the city. So welcoming and warm, he had said that night, leading you in with a smile that you so clearly remember. At the time, the words he described it with fit him more than the bar itself.

When you step through the bars’ open doors, there's two distinct smells that hit your nose first: cheap booze and a familiar cologne. Your eyes dart around the locale, disappointment fizzing through your body. And in the corner by a sticky table, alone—and seemingly drowsing off—is Carlos fucking Sainz. Beaten and bruised, and sticky with beer.

You walk towards him with a fire in your chest, an anger fueled by concern and bewilderment; why would he do this? Why would he let himself get drunk like this, and when you get close enough, you see something. Something unusual, a staining, a bloom of bruising around his eye. Dark, swollen at the edges—

Oh, oh what the hell?

“Carlos?” 

His name falls off of your tongue, coated with hurt and frustration as you stand beside the table, eyes trained on him.

“I knew you’d come,” he mumbles into his arms, like it’s a wish he didn’t want to make out loud.

“I don’t give a shit about that right now—what the fuck happened to you?” 

Carlos tilts his head up and you get to see his face more clearly, the bar’s dim lights an alright kind of lighting. His lip is broken, nose blood dried up that’s been smudged across his face—and then the black eye that still looks like it’s pulsing.

“I… I’m fine,” he utters, straightening his back, “you should see the other guy.”

“Fuck the other guy!” You exclaim, “come on, we’re getting you home.”

You heave the Spaniard off of the bar’s couch, letting him rely on you as you walk him out—because there’s no way he can walk on his own. Not in this state anyway. And you pull him out of the bar despite his hiccuping whines, despite his pleas and no’s. Carefully guiding him back to your little apartment.

“You’re wearing my jacket,” he murmurs, head drooping against your shoulder. “Smells like me.”

“It was the only one I could grab,” you say, low.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did.”

A pause.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he huffs—barely a laugh.

The apartment door shuts closed behind you with a slam. Loud, but you couldn’t care less. His weight sinks into the couch like he’s done it a thousand times before, and maybe he has, but never like this.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” You murmur, running a hand through your hair as you walk to grab the first aid kit.

It’s lodged between your pain killers and hangover pills in the medicine cabinet, a light layer of dust coating its top. You’d never think you’d have to use this thing ever again.

When you’re back in the living room, Carlos is nearly asleep, head tilted back against the couch, face slack toward the ceiling. A light trickle of blood starts re-emerging from his nose.

The cushions sink beneath you as you sit down beside him, lightly tapping his shoulder to let him get back to you, “I’m back.”

He looks down and you can notice how he panics, just a little, as blood trickles down his chin, almost down onto your couch—fumbling with his hands to not let it touch the fabric. 

You almost laugh at the sight, how even in his drunken state, there’s still a lot of Carlos in there. Your Carlos.

“Wait, move your hand amor,” you waft his hand away, lightly dabbing his nostril with a cotton ball, replacing it with a fresh paper piece to keep the blood from running, “just replace it if it’s getting too filled with blood, ‘kay?”

He nods slowly, eyes cast down. His lips part like he wants to say something—maybe thank you, maybe sorry—but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

Your hand grazes his cheek before softly grabbing a hold of it to closer inspect his injuries. It’s nothing major, but you do have to probably disinfect it.

You let go of your hold on him, opening the first aid kit to find a bottle of rubbing alcohol, “what even happened?”

“It was just some guy,” he drawls, words slurring together, “recognized me. Insulted me. Insulted you. So I punched him.”

“And you didn’t get kicked out?”

He shrugs, wincing as it tugs something in his side. “They… know me.”

You sigh, not out of relief. Not out of frustration. Something in between. A tired kind of sigh.

“Carlos…” you start, but the words catch.

His head turns toward you slowly, eyes glassy, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t want him to talk about you like that.”

Your lips part, but no breath comes out.

“You think I don’t know I ruin things?” he adds. “Every time. Even with you. I— I just couldn’t have him ruin that, too.”

The room stills, and your arm hovers as it holds the alcohol-soaked cotton ball, half way leaning over to him, slowly retreating back to sit straight. To look at him properly. Broken, bruised, and still sticky with beer, but he’s still your Carlos.

“You haven’t ruined anything, amor.”

You dab at his face with the cotton ball, dried blood flaking off with ease. Carlos’ eyes flutter shut. His gentle breathing, unlike how it was earlier, brings you a sense of calm. His steady presence eases you, because he’s at least here now. And he’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmurs, head softly dropping to the couch.

His breathing steadies, and soon enough, he’s asleep. Your eyes linger just a little longer on his figure, before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, bearing all the words you couldn’t say.

“I always will.”

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

credits: @/cafekitsune for the dividers <3

author's note: a little fic to post something while i work on a long fic!!! hope it's alright :)

taglist: @toodeepintofandoms @milessunflowers

[norrisainz33]

protect your peace || ls18

summary: you and lance keep your lives pretty private and so it's no surprise when you keep a really big secret from the world!

pairing: lance stroll x wife!latina!reader

fc& warnings: karol g and some hate comments, mentions of pregnancy and poorly translated spanish

requested: yes!! thank you for your patience xoxo

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

view replies

user1: who cares

user2: omg pls let this be true lance and y/n would make sure good parents

user3: respectfully no one cares about y/n and lance

user4: y/n really did disappear hold on.. she hasn't been in the paddock since australia and she hasn't posted a photo dump since winter break

user5: hope its not them i truly don't care about y/nlance

ynstroll has posted to their story

view all story replies

user4: so cutieful but i am noticing the crop here

yourbff: spoilleedddddd

ynstroll: hes always taken good care of me but ever since we found out he's gone above and beyond

yourbff: i mean AS HE SHOULD!!! you are the perfect, beautiful, gorgeous woman carrying his child

ynstroll: can you believe you're going to be an auntie?

yourbff: no! but i cant wait!!!

user1: yeah your husband is rich we get it

lance_stroll: i hope you enjoyed your day my beautiful girl!

ynstroll: i had the best time!! thank you for coordinating and for getting chloe to come with me. you are so incredibly thoughtful even when you're not here

lance_stroll: its been killing me that i can't be there with you

ynstroll: i know but you are busy scoring points for us my love! plus you'll be home for a summer break soon

user2: you've got a glow about you

flavy.barla: prettiest girl in the world

ynstroll: 😭🤍

user6: a rare y/n appearance! that spa must have really hit

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, yourbff, chloestroll, estebanocon, ynstroll, scottyjames31, pierregasly, and 875,324 others

lance_stroll: slowing down for a while 💙

view all comments

f1gossip: convenient cropping

chloestroll: sunshine for my sunshines

ynstroll: and it is much needed 🤍

user1: you’re usually pretty slow mate

estebanocon: enjoy mon ami

lance_stroll: 💙

user4: y/n front and center as she should be

ynstroll: always thankful for you and summer break 🤍

lance_stroll: one day summer break will be every day

ynstroll: looking forward to it

user3: will never understand why she chose you

flavy.barla had posted to her private story

view all comments

iamrebeccad: GORGEOUS

flavy.barla: no you

ynstroll: i love youuuuu 😭🤍

flavy.barla: i love you more my wonderful best friend 🤍

lance_stroll: thanks for celebrating with us flavy😘

flavy.barla: i wouldn’t have wanted to celebrate with anyone else!! i love you both so much and can’t wait to see what wonderful parents you two make 😘

estebanocon: 🥹❤️

flavy.barla: 🤍🤍🤍🤍

chloestroll: two of the prettiest girls in the entire world

flavy.barla: merci mon ange 🤍

ynstroll has posted to their private story

[only 3 more days until we meet our baby girl!!]

view all story replies

flavy.barla: it’s actually criminal how beautiful you are

ynstroll: you’re the sweetest. i’m so thankful to have had you here with me through this all

flavy.barla: aww mon ange!! you are my best friend and i sincerely can’t imagine a world in which i wouldn’t be by your side 😭❤️

chloestroll: you’re glowing

ynstroll: i actually feel radiant but also i feel really ready to get ms girl out!!

chloestroll: i totally know the feeling. you’re almost there mama!

yourbff: MILF!!!!!!! wait who said that

ynstroll: must have been the wind!!

lance_stroll: i can’t wait to meet her!! i love her so much already my heart may explode

ynstroll: same!!! i’m so excited. i can’t wait to be her mommy and daddy 🤍

lance_stroll: you’re going to make the best mom in the whole world

ynstroll: i really hope so 😭

lance_stroll: i know so! you are the best mom to our puppy and the most caring and thoughtful person i’ve ever met. our little princess is in the best possible hands

ynstroll: i love you lance

lance_stroll: i love you more my beautiful wife

estebanocon: i’m so excited to be an uncle 🥹🤍

ynstroll: and i’m so excited for you to be an uncle!!!

iamrebeccad: carlos and i have been training for our auntie and uncle duties! house is officially baby proofed

ynstroll: no why am i actually crying my eyes out right now. you and carlos are going to be the best aunt and uncle ever! baby stroll is so so so lucky to have people like you guys in her court 🤍

lance_stroll has posted to his private story

view all story replies

yourbff: i’m screaming i can’t wait i can’t wait i can’t wait!!!! im in the car right now on my way to the hospital!!!

lance_stroll: we just got here and she’s asking for you!! hurry up !!!!

yourbff: oh my god i’ll be there in 2 minutes

chloestroll: AHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! IM OMW!!!!!!

lance_stroll: i’m freaking out please hurry

chloestroll: you’ve got this my sweet baby brother!!! it’ll be ok!! i’m pulling up now.

estebanocon: sending you both all of my love! i can’t wait to see the little princess stroll 🤍

lance_stroll: merci estie 😘

flavy.barla: best news!! praying for a safe delivery for mama and the beautiful little girl 🤍

lance_stroll: thank you flavy! i’ll keep you up to date

iamrebeccad: make sure you take care of our girls 😘

lance_stroll: i will do my best!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: i’ve actually never been more excited for something ever in my life

lance_stroll: SAME

ynstroll has made a post

liked by lance_stroll, flavy.barla, yourbff, astonmartinf1, maxverstappen1, lando, estebanocon, and 876,239 others

ynstroll: the happiest we’ve ever been. welcome to the world little girl! your mommy and daddy love you more than life itself. gracias por elegirnos [thank you for choosing us] 🩷

view all comments

yourbff: brb crying in the club

ynstroll: me too

user1: hid the whole thing that’s wild

ynstroll: it’s called protecting our peace 😘 [liked by lance_stroll, estebanocon, yourbff, astonmartinf1, maxverstappen1, lando, flavy.barla, iamrebeccad, alexandrasaintmleux and more]

lance_stroll: the strength you have shown has been nothing short of inspiring. i am so thankful to be sharing this life with you and now our little girl 🩷

ynstroll: thankful for a husband like you 🩷

user4: getting a little parasocial rn no one look at me!!! i’m so excited for you both

astonmartinf1: welcome to the team princess stroll 💚

ynstroll: gotta get her in some am gear quick

user2: another milf and dilf have entered the villa

iamrebeccad: beautiful mama

ynstroll: beautiful auntie

user12: cutest family on the grid

flavy.barla: the best parents to the best little girl 🤍

ynstroll: love you big time auntie flavy 😘

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are appreciated

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[jo-com]

pls alex albon fic next🙏🤞parang awa mo na teh

──★ ｡🫧⋆｡˚ The Backup Plan

Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You’ve had a long-standing pact with Alex: If you’re both still single by 30, you’ll marry each other...You’re engaged to someone else now… until Alex drunkenly posts the pact on Twitter. It blows up—and fans vote that you should dump your fiancé.

୨ৎ Genre: Slight angst?, a little smau and a happy ending or nah? read to find out ;)

୨ৎ Note: Send request y'all, also hope you like this! has some grammatical error and stuffs

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

They were sitting on the roof of his apartment, legs dangling over the edge, two beers between them and an entire city below. It was 2:08 AM, the kind of hour that made everything feel quieter, closer, truer.

You were both twenty-one. Young enough to believe in forever, dumb enough to talk about it like it was something you could schedule.

“I’m never gonna find someone,” Alex said, head tilted back to look at the stars. “They either want the driver or the version of me they think lives on yachts.”

You snorted. “Yeah, god forbid someone loves you for your sparkling sarcasm and sleep deprivation.”

He smiled, soft and sideways. The kind he only gave you. “You’re not exactly thriving in the romance department either.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the breeze catching your hair. “I’m holding out for a golden retriever in a human man’s body. Loyal, dumb, likes snacks.”

“That’s literally me,” he said, deadpan.

You turned to him, smirking. “You’re not dumb.”

He blinked. “That’s what you took from that?”

You were quiet for a moment, the laughter settling into something gentler.

And then you said it—half a joke, half a wish:

“Okay, if we’re both still single at thirty, we get married.”

Alex didn’t laugh. He didn’t even hesitate. He looked at you with that warm, steady certainty that always threw you off.

“Deal,” he said, holding out his pinky.

You looped yours with his.

“We’ll probably forget we even said this.”

But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t.

Neither of you ever did.

...

Years slipped through your fingers like sand—quiet, unnoticed, until they weren’t. Now, at twenty-eight, you and Alex were two almost-strangers orbiting around what used to be everything. Birthdays, wins, late-night calls—once sacred little rituals—were now reduced to muted texts and empty-hearted “miss you’s.”

The milestones still came. But they came alone.

The big 3-0 was creeping up now—no longer a distant joke or a silly pact sealed on a rooftop, but a deadline that loomed like a memory you hadn’t made peace with. It sat in the corners of your thoughts, like dust you kept forgetting to clean.

Only this time, something was different.

You were engaged.

To someone steady. Kind. Good. To someone who wasn’t him.

And for the first time since that night on the roof, the deal—the pinky promise you once held like a lifeline—felt like something you had quietly buried in the past. Not because you forgot.

But because remembering it hurt.

...

The proposal had been perfect.

A quiet dinner. Your favorite restaurant. Warm lights, soft music, a ring that sparkled in just the right way. He’d gotten down on one knee and asked, and you’d said yes with a smile that felt real.

It was real. But it wasn’t whole.

Because the first person you wanted to tell—the one person who would’ve rolled his eyes and said “finally, someone’s dumb enough to marry you”—wasn’t there. Not in your inbox. Not in your messages. Not even in your life the way he used to be.

You sent him a picture of the ring anyway.

No caption. Just that. He didn’t reply.

And maybe that should’ve been enough for you to let it go. To finally move forward with both feet planted where they should be.

...

username NOT ALEX ALBON SOFT LAUNCHING HIS HEARTBREAK AT 3AM 😭😭😭

username whoever that girl is… break up with your fiancé. it’s for the grid. for the sport. for the legacy 🏁💍🚩

username no bc if alex tweeted this about ME i would be at his door in a wedding dress IMMEDIATELY 👰‍♀️💅

username the way this man just said “i’m emotionally unavailable but loyal” in one tweet 🥲

username imagine being engaged and the ENTIRE F1 fandom is telling you to go back to alex albon. i would simply fold.

username this tweet has more chemistry than most paddock couples. i fear this ship is sailing with or without her 😭🚢

username alex albon said “what if i caused emotional damage AND chaos in 140 characters” and honestly? he succeeded ✨

username “they forget” — YOU KNOW SHE DIDN’T FORGET BRO 😭 this is pain. i’m feeling it in my chest.

...

Two months later—on a regular Tuesday, when the sky was gray and your phone was face-down—he tweeted it.

Your eyes widened instantly as you red between his tweet— Your breath caught without permission.

And that feeling—the one you'd spent months, maybe years, trying to bury—rose fast and vicious in your chest. That familiar tightness. That ache between your ribs. The one that only ever belonged to him.

Confusion hit first. Then came the anger.

What was he thinking? why now? why publicly?

And then came the other realization.

Why do i care so much?

Because everything was different now. You had a ring on your finger. A man who loved you. A wedding date marked in ink.

You were getting married.

Just not to the boy who once pinky-promised you forever at 2:08 a.m.

And that’s the problem.

...

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were still sitting on the couch, phone limp in your hand, the tweet burned into your retinas like some kind of confession you hadn’t meant to write—but somehow belonged to you anyway.

“Y/N?”

Your head snapped up. He was standing in the doorway, coat still on, holding a takeout bag and a look that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed. “Hey. You’re back early.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just walked in slowly, set the food on the counter, and stared at you in that quiet way he always did when he was thinking too hard and trying too hard not to show it.

“You’re trending,” he said.

Just like that.

You opened your mouth, but there was nothing ready to come out. Not an excuse. Not an explanation. Nothing that could make this better.

He sat across from you. No anger. No raised voice. Just… restraint.

“That tweet,” he said softly. “The one about the marriage pact.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He let out a breath. It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff. It was disappointment, paper-thin and sharp.

“Do you love him?”

Your heart stuttered.

“No,” you said too quickly. “I mean—not like that. Not now. I don’t—”

“But you did.”

Silence.

He nodded, slow and defeated, like the answer had already been written in every pause, every time you’d flinched at Alex’s name, every time you smiled too softly at an old memory.

“I know I’m not him,” he added, barely above a whisper.

And the worst part was—you didn’t even know if that was meant to comfort you or remind you.

“I’m trying, Y/N,” he said. “I’ve been trying. But I feel like I’m holding a place someone else still owns.”

The room felt small. The air too still.

“I chose you,” you whispered. “I said yes.”

“But have you let him go?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

[sydwritess]

The Life of Racing Pt. 3

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: through it all, the racing, the media, the meetings. What matters to Lando the most is you. His home life is just as important as track life. Some days, he doesn't balance it easily. But through it all, the both of you try. Going through some challenges, but always coming out together, hand in hand again.

Second Person POV

Warning: swearing

Notes: my first F1 series! Requests are open!

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

----------------------------------

Reader POV:

"Zak I don't know I just found her." You say, holding the girl in your arms.

"Alright, go through the back to the inside. If you don't find her mom, we have to make an announcement or something."

"Yeah I know." You say. You walk into the back of the garage, walking through the back door into the paddock hallway.

"Let me know if you see your mom okay?" You say to the girl. She nods and looks around as you walk.

You walk up the stairs, swinging around the many people in there. You walk up to the second floor, all there was were bathroom's. No one in them.

We walk up to the third floor which had to balcony on it.

"There she is." Adeline points. Her mom was standing outside, talking to police officers. You rush out there towards her.

"Oh my God, Adeline!" The women shouts, rushing over to you.

"I found her all the way by the garages." You say, letting her mom take her.

"Oh my God, thank you so much!" She said.

"Yeah of course. She opened right up to me actually, so it was easier to find you." You say, slightly smiling.

"Was she talking to anyone else?" She asks quickly.

"Some camera man was trying to talk to her, but she refused. Didn't even say a word." You say. Her mom nods.

"Thank you so much. Oh my God- your a life saver." She says, quickly hugging you.

"It's, no problem. I was just glad I could help-"

"Before someone bad did." She said, interrupting you.

"Exactly." You agree.

"God, I need to like- I need to pay you or- or something." She stuttered. Her purse shaking in her hands.

"No. No seriously it's okay. Just don't loose sight of her. This place can get... nerve wracking." You say.

"Well, thank you again." She said happily. You smile before walking away.

You walking down the flight of stairs that you came up, reaching the hallway where the garages are. You go through the back door, walking through the garage and back to your table.

You sit down next to Zak and log back into your laptop.

"Nice thing you did there." He said, eyes locked on his screen.

"Maybe because I'm a nice person." You smirk.

"Y/n Y/l/n, being nice."

"I'm always nice." You say. He let's out a laugh under his breath.

You finally publish your last article for this week, just in time to go to the team meeting.

You pack your bag back up and make your way to the conference room, Zak following behind you. You stop in front of the door, but before you could open it, Zak put's his hand on the handle.

"Whatever you do. Be nice." He says. A questioning look arises on your face as he opens the door. You walk in, seeing many of the teams employee's there, including Lando and Oscar.

You take your seat between Zak and one engineer and wait until Zak stands to start. It had been a good five minutes before Zak stood. Everybody's laughter and talking died down.

"Alright. This weekend was good. But, we can do better in Australia. Lando." He says, looking in Lando's direction.

"We better not see any accidental crashes from you. even if it was your fault or not. Try not to take the gap's again." Zak said.

You heard slight laughter coming from the corner of the room. Your eyes snap over to Gerard.

"Gerard. Have something to say?" Zak said, leaning on the table.

"Yeah. We work hard for this team. And the car get's fucked over an accident." He says. You see Lando put his head down slightly.

"Maybe he tried. And maybe he truly didn't mean. But, after all, you are the certified engineer. So you can fix the car... right?" You say. Your eyes narrowing towards Gerard.

"Yes- uhm, Y/n is right. We all have our job. And no matter what it throws at us. That's what we were meant to do." Zak said.

"Wait- so she get's to talk and I get to sit here and take it?" Gerard said. You couldn't help but laugh a little.

"No. Y/n why don't you just... relax." Zak said.

"Yeah, relax." Gerard repeated.

"You know if I was named Gerard I'd probably throw myself off a bridge." You say, looking over at him. "Now... I'm done talking." You say, looking up at Zak.

"Right." Zak said. You look across the table to Lando how gave you a look.

A look that said 'thank you.' You nod slightly and turn your attention back to Zak, who was going over next weekend race in Australia and some other things for the race.

The meeting had taken almost an hour before Zak let us leave. You were walking through the inside of the paddock behind the garages when a hand on your shoulder spun you around.

"What do you think your doing? Humiliating me like that?" Gerard said.

"Just... said what I had to say." You shrug.

"You.." he pointed. "You didn't have to say that."

"What? And take your shit? Let's be honest, the only reason why you don't like me is because I'm a women." You say.

"Yeah, and women should not be aloud to work in F1." He said, his voice low and threatening.

"Oh, but the one's that you see 'privately' are aloud to work here?" You say, stepping up to him.

"You... that isn't true."

"Right. And Lando wrecked the car on purpose so he could what> Get back at you? Make you actually do your job?"

"He shouldn't be here. And you know that. You know... you know and everyone knows that he is to immature to be here." He said, getting closer to your face.

"Everything okay here?" A voice cuts in. Gerard spins around, and you look past him to see Lando standing there. Hands in his pockets, standing tensely.

"Yep. Just giving our good friend here a friendly chat." Gerard says.

"Oh give me a fucking break." You say.

"Excuse me?" Gerard says, turning slowly towards you. You see Lando step up to you both.

"You are seriously such a fucking idiot. The dumbest idiot I've ever met. Why don't you." You say, pointing at him. "Go back into that garage 'where you belong' and I'll take my leave for the day. 'Kay?"

"You better watch it." He says.

"Or what? You'll hit me like some insecure bitch?" You say.

He went silent. The hallway, went silent. He walked away quietly, walking back into the garage.

"What-" Lando said, until Zak walked up to you.

"Y/n, why don't we try to not piss Gerard off. Or anyone else off." He said.

"Trust me. He won't be talking to me again." You say.

"Uh- right. Anyway, flights in the evening. don't be late." He says, walking away.

"What was that?" Lando asked, stepping closer to you.

"Just... assholes being assholes." You say. You turn on your heel to walk down the hallway again. You hear Lando walking right behind you.

"Thanks." He said quietly. "For, in the meeting."

"It's no problem." You say calmly. You both went silent, walking out the side door and into the parking lot.

"Are you staying here?" You ask.

"No. If- if that's fine."

"Yeah, it's fine." You say.

You both walk out to your car, you get in and sit there for a moment before driving off.

"Is Oscar coming?" You ask.

"No, I talked to him today, he's got a ride." He says. You nod before slowly driving out.

You drive across the bridge again and down in the city, it was around three in the after noon, so it was as busy as before. You quickly made it to the hotel.

You parked in front of it, walking in through the lobby and back to the elevators. The ride was silent, slow to.

You and Lando were standing together in the middle. You were zoned out until you felt a hand snake around your waist. Lando pulled you closer to him.

"You better watch it." You whisper. "Camera." You say. He looks up to the corner it's in and immediately removes his hand.

"Well shit. Recording without my consent. Isn't that illegal?" He said, loudly at that. You laugh at him.

"You'll be okay. We get a break after Australia." You say. He sighs deeply.

"Every place has to have cameras." He says sadly. Just then the elevator stops and the door opens.

"I'll see you later." You say, quickly looking at him before walking out and down the hallway.

You get to your room quickly, unlocking the door and walking in. You go straight to your bedroom and start packing up your suitcase. You got all of your clothes packed, all of the stuff from the bathroom packed.

You went out into the kitchen, throwing anything you didn't need away, and taking your stuff with you. Same with the living room. You had spent around thirty minutes packing everything.

Before you left the room, you double checked everything to make sure you had all of your stuff and walked out.

You quickly make your way down the lobby, handing your key to the receptionist and walking out to your car. you put your bags in the back and and got in, driving off to the airport.

It was around forty minutes when you finally arrived. You got your suitcase and bookbag, and walked in. Zak said your car would be on a ship with the other's to Australia so you left it.

You were in the airport. It was packed full of people. You were walking up to the security line when a voice called out behind you.

"Y/n!" You turn around to see Lewis there.

"Oh hi, how are you?" You say happily.

"Good, great actually. I wanted to come get you before you go stuck in that line." He said.

"Okay, where are we going?" You ask. He leads you around the airport, going through the smallest security line you've seen and eventually walking onto the plane.

"Jesus, you really do have all the perks don't you?" You joke.

"It's pretty easy when you are Sir Lewis Hamilton." He said, smirking. You guys handed your tickets to the flight attendant and when to go sit by each other.

"So, what's producing a movie like?" You ask. You sit over by the window, sprawling out in your seat. He put's his bags behind you but stands, leaning against the wall separating your seat from the aisle.

"Well, I can say this. It felt nice bossing people around." He said.

"Oh I bet."

"But, other then that... you just really sit back and see how the movie is made, watching every scene in live action. Fixing things or telling people to fix things if needed. It was great." He said.

"Well that's fun. I never expected you to be a movie producer, I'll say that." You say. He laughs and continues talking about the movie, and what his experience was like producing it.

You eventually look over at him after getting your bookbag in hand, but past your shoulder you see Lando looking right at you. Arms crossed, a killer look on his face.

He was standing with Ollie, Franco, Esteban, and Gabriel. All of which were laughing their ass's off. But Lando... he had his eyes on you.

You look away after a minute, focusing back on Lewis.

"So... what did your dad say about the job?" You ask.

"He was happy. Oh yeah, that reminds me, he wanted to know when your joining us for a family dinner again. He hasn't seen you in a while." He says.

"God, I don't know. I've been really busy. But I can sit down and see what time I have? And I can text him for something." You say.

"Don't stress about it. He's just being good old Anthony." He said, smiling.

"I get that. My dad was talking about him the other day. Like 'oh y/n, have you seen Anthony at the track?' "Y/n, ask Anthony if he wants to go golfing this Sunday.' Like, okay, sure dad." You say, laughing.

"That does sound like your dad right there." He says, slightly pointing at you.

You continue talking for a while. The plane filling with many of the drivers and film crew. Lewis eventually sits back behind you when they tell everyone it's time to fly off.

The plane started to lift off the ground, you had looked out the window over the Montreal view. When you were fully in air, the flight attendant announced that everyone could use their devices and walk around if needed.

You pulled your phone out, going on Instagram and scrolling through it. You decided to post all different pictures of the Canadian GP when you felt someone sit next to you. You look up to see Lando there, smiling widely at you.

"What are you doing?" You say lowly.

"Just wanted to talk business." He said.

"Pretend like we are talking business." He whispered. He started moving his hands around slightly, like he was really talking.

You couldn't help but laugh a him.

"You look stupid." You say, covering your mouth with your hand, still laughing.

"Are you ready for the premier?" He asked.

"Yeah. Are you?" You ask. He nods.

"Are you going to the top of the rock with us?" He asked.

"If I'm invited."

"I don't even know what it is." He said, tilting his head towards you and putting a hand on his chest.

"It's just a building in New York that gives you like the whole view of the city." You say.

"Oh, so it's not actually a rock?" He asks.

"Not, it's not a rock." you say, laughing at him again. "Just like the bottom of the rock is the basement of the building."

"Well what do they have in there?"

"This awesome cafe. It's really good." You say. You start pulling up the menu for him.

"Well well. Might have to sneak down there after pictures." He says. You hand him your phone and he looks through it.

"Oh my God. A triple chocolate muffin! Yes, we are definitely going there." He says excitedly.

"Oh... right because that's healthy." You say sarcastically.

"It is. And I'll even get you one." He says. He turns around when he hears someone move behind him. It was just Lewis walking past him.

"Right, what was he saying to you?" Lando whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, before we took off. He made you laugh pretty hard. I can't even make you laugh that hard." He says seriously.

"We're like best friends. Our families know each other well."

"Oh... right okay." He says.

'Don't be jealous.' You mouth.

"Me? Jealous? Never." He whispers.

"Yeah right." You say. You went silent, opening your mouth, but debating on whether or not to speak.

"Why'd you really come over?" You ask.

"Because, to 'talk about work.'" He said, his air quotes low.

"Really? Because you have a whole audience behind you." You say. Lando snaps his head around to fine Ollie, Franco, Gabriel and Esteban all looking at the two of you. When Lando caught their attention, they turned their heads, acting like they never looked.

"I don't know what their deal is." He said.

"Right, right. It's just me being Schizophrenic." You joke.

"They're just pricks." He said, smirking.

"Is that so?"

"It is."

Hey loves! Pt. 3 is here! I am trying to get as much out today because I am going on vacation soon so I will not be updating for a bit! Comment to be added to the tag list! Requests are open!

Tag list:

@landofotographyy @mimisweetz

@latay7

[checkeredflagggs]

+1s

Pairing: logan sargeant x reader

summary: When a member of Logan’s team gets married in Vegas, he invites the new wife and her bff to travel with him as his Williams guests. He didn’t know being a +1 would also see him in love

a/n:this took so much longer than I thought it would…oops 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: made up some names for Williams workers — sorry if you’re actually real

a/n3: this is set in 2023 and I switched Austin and Vegas in the racing calendar

a/n4: sorry this was later than I said — the heat was brutal

Masterlist

Private Messages, Logan and Jon

Private Messages, Logan and Jon (2 hours later)

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n (4 hours later)

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

f1gossip

user1: Vegas just literally became my favorite track

↳user2: where else are we gonna get content like this??

↳user1: right???

user3: bets on who it is?

↳user4: level mode extreme because most of them were partying together…

↳user5: ok time to put on my crazy hat and deep dive — I need to know which driver was crazy enough to get Vegas married

↳user4: ok but no one said it was a driver? Like they specifically said f1 employee which makes me think it wasn’t a driver

↳user5: ohhhh good point good point

↳user3: ok but i need it to be a driver???

user6: I think it’s gonna be a redbull employee

↳user7: reasoning?

↳user6: they have nothing to worry about

↳user7: I can see it

↳user8: i think it’s gonna be a Ferrari employee

↳user9: plot twist it’s both

↳user10: that would be fucking hilarious

user11: other gossip pages are apparently reporting that Logan was spotted leaving the party early

↳user12: DID LOGAN GET MARRIED?!?

↳user13: I can’t believe wtf is a kilometer is married…

↳user14: tbh not the driver I would have bet on but I can see it

↳user13: same

Bluesky

user15: 😂😂😂😂

user16: the tweet format to live in infamy

oscarpiastri: really?

↳logansargeant: shouldn’t have been so funny if you didn’t want us to copy you

↳oscarpiastri: 😒😑

user17: oh my god we really thought that Logan got married

↳logansargeant: really appreciate the faith

↳user17: of course!

↳logansargeant: 😑😑

alex_albon: I had faith in you!

↳logansargeant: thank you Alex

↳lilymhe: he didn’t — he was texting me his theories and you were near the top of the list

↳logansargeant: 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻

↳user18: oh my god this is the best ever

Private Messages, Logan/Jon/Wendy and y/n

wendy_travel

liked by travel_with_yn, jon_pr, logansargeant, and 827,193 others

tagged: jon_pr

wendy_travel: honeymoon in Mexico 

view all comments

user19: married?!? Girl what

↳user20: oh my god your the girl!

↳user21: what girl?? 

↳user20: the f1gossip page girl! There was a rumor someone in f1 got married in Vegas last week and this is the wife! 

↳user21: oh my god that’s so cute!

jon_pr: paradise with you

↳wendy_travel: always when I’m with you

↳travel_with_yn: cheesy

travel_with_yn

liked by logansargeant, user, user, and 3,824,293 others

tagged: channel, summer_fridays, google

travel_with_yn: traveling in style with my trusted companions! The best to travel with, the best to look good, and the best to find my way!

view all comments

user22: oh my god you always look so good!

↳travel_with_yn: thanks in large part to my summer fridays berry lip gloss!

logansargeant: glad you could come

↳travel_with_yn: thanks for asking!

↳logansargeant: now that you’ve met some of the grid — do we still have the same vibes?

↳travel_with_yn: You? No. The rest? Mostly

oscarpiastri: it was nice to meet you two

↳travel_with_yn: you too!

↳oscarpiastri: now if you could give me my hat back?

↳travel_with_yn: sorry I need it more

↳logansargeant: trash it — I’ll give you a better one liked by travel_with_yn, oscarpiastri

alex_albon: always nice to meet new fans!

↳travel_with_yn: I don’t know if I’d go that far yet…

↳alex_albon: but you were in my garage all weekend?

↳travel_with_yn: cause I was flirting with Lily?

↳lilymhe: loml 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

user23: best Williams guest!

↳user24: it was so fun seeing you on the big screen!

↳travel_with_yn: they definitely got my good side!

↳user25: impossible for you to have a bad one!

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

f1gossip

user26: they look so happy most of the time though…

user27: if you go on YouTube, there’s actual footage of that argument…it’s bad

↳user28: oh my god really?

↳user27: it really is. It goes on for like 20/30 minutes

↳user28: yikes…

user29: girl dump his ass

user30: this is why Vegas weddings never work out

↳user31: really?

↳user32: well spontaneous weddings

user33: i wanna know what rumors are swirling around to get to the gossip page

↳user34: right??? Cause like what’s happening that we can’t see?

Private Messages, Logan and Jon

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

williamsracing

liked by travel_with_yn, logansargeant, and 1,829,293 others

tagged: travel_with_yn

williamsracing: Brazil here we come! And thanks for all the traveling tips y/n!

view all comments

user35: and looking good doing it!

user36: I love Brazil

travel_with_yn: you guys certainly know how to treat a girl right, of course I’ll offer some tips

↳williamsracing: anything for one of our favorite guests

↳user37: ok what do I need to do to get this treatment?

↳user38: idk but I’m laughing that it isn’t the wife of one of their pr people that’s getting the red carpet treatment

↳user37: omg I didn’t even notice. I wonder what Wendy is thinking about it…

↳user39: shes probably too busy fighting with her husband to notice

alex_albon: you guys never post me like this

↳travel_with_yn: skill issue

↳alex_albon: I didn’t sign up to be bullied!

↳logansargeant: it’s a service she offers for free

user50: you guys thought we wouldn’t notice! But we did!  

↳user51: ummmm notice what?

↳user50: that Jon and Wendy (the Vegas couple) spent a lot of the weekend arguing with each other

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 682,384 others

f1gossip: Logan on a date? The American driver was seen at a local Austin Japanese restaurant — with an empty but occupied seat next to him

view all comments

user52: that was supposed to be me!

↳user53: or me…

user54: ok are we thinking date date or friend date?

↳user55: I desperately want it to be a date date because I need relationship Logan…

↳user56: on the other hand I need it to be a friend date so I still have a chance!

user57: ok but conspiracy theory time — I think its gonna be y/n!

↳user58: the travel influencer that’s been at the Williams garage lately?

↳user57: ok hear me out first — we know they’ve been spending a lot of time together recently because of Jon and Wendy (Vegas couple who’s their besties)

↳user57: and I’d imagine they’re getting the front row seat to the implosion of their marriage — and having been there, done that — you get close to people also going through it

↳user57: and if you go back through the pictures and videos of Austin and Brazil — they spend a lot of time together in the background

↳user58: …ok you got me

↳user57: just you wait and see

user59: wtf is a kilometer looks so good here!

↳user60: that’s what I was thinking!!

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

williamsracing

liked by travel_with_yn, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 1,213,274 others

tagged: logansargeant

williamsracing: Logan points here in Austin!! We repeat — Logan points!

view all comments

user61: this is everything I’ve ever wanted

↳user62: OUR AMERICAN DID IT!

oscarpiastri: congratulations man

↳logansargeant: thanks!

user63: LOGAN POINTS LOGAN POINTS!!

alex_albon: show ‘em how it’s done!

↳logansargeant: you know it!

user64: caw caw mofos!!! 🦅🦅

travel_with_yn: it was a genuine pleasure to watch you race today

↳logansargeant: you must be my lucky charm!

↳user57: interesting interesting 📝

user65: WOOHOO!!

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

Private Messages, Wendy and y/n

logansargeant

liked by travel_with_yn, oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 772,923 others

tagged: williamsracing, alex_albon

logansargeant: as the season comes to a close, I just want to thank everyone at williamsracing for the amazing chance to drive for you. It was a rocky start but we’ll definitely come back stronger next year! With hopefully less excitement at Vegas 😂

view all comments

alex_albon: it was a great time having you as a teammate this year!

↳logansargeant: it was definitely great being teammates!

user66: I’ve only had this American for a season but if something happened to him etc etc

oscarpiastri: first year done, more to come!

↳logansargeant: can’t wait for them!

user67: ok are we all skipping over the last picture or???

↳user68: no no we are not! Logan Sargeant come explain yourself!

↳user57: if I may??

↳user69: you may not!

↳user57: it’s definitely y/n!

travel_with_yn: it was certainly a pleasure traveling with you these last few weeks!

↳logansargeant: excellent

Private Messages, Logan/Wendy/Jon and y/n

travel_with_yn

liked by wendy_travel, logansargeant, user, and 829,439 others

travel_with_yn: no traveling necessary when I’m with you

view all comments

user70: a soft launch?!?

↳user71: not on my bingo card for the year..

↳user70: but I love it!

user57: I’m telling you guys!

↳user72: alright there grandma…

logansargeant: 🩵

↳user73: oh my god!!

logansargeant has posted 3 stories

[back with benny][ Vegas here we come][forever with you yn_sargeant]

user74 replied BENNY!!

user75 replied Benny Benny Benny!!

user76 replied what are you and Benny doing together?!?

travel_with_yn replied oh you look so handsome…

↳logansargeant oh I’m blushing ☺️

oscarpiastri replied are you really going to do it?

↳logansargeant yes

↳oscarpiastri crazy man but good luck

alex_albon replied you’re getting married and you didn’t even invite me???

↳logansargeant 😂sorry but it is a bit of a spur of the moment decision — we’ll have an actual ceremony soon

↳alex_albon good! I’d like to see you and yn again

↳logansargeant …she says she’s excited to see Lily again

↳alex_albon 🙄🙄

user77 replied MARRIAGE?!?

jon_pr replied are you sure?

↳logansargeant I’ve never been more sure in my life

↳jon_pr well at least it’s not a drunk one

↳logansargeant 😂

user78 replied Alexa play that should be me

yn_sargeant replied oh my lovely husband — here’s to forever

↳logansargeant thankfully 😊😊

georgerussell63 replied congratulations 🎉

↳logansargeant thanks man! Be on the look out for an invitation — we’ll be having a real ceremony soonish

wendy_travel replied treat her well

↳logansargeant I will

user57 replied I KNEW IT!!

Taglist

@daniskywalkersolo @thenerdysimp @quinquinquincy @lecfosimaxbull @gr3yhues @armystay89 @simplylovelysworld @mimisweetz @angelluv16 @hamiltonforwdc @alexxavicry @suns3treading @ymrereads @monzipan @stuffyownswrld @kuolonsyoja @ky14-1 @devilacot @justheretoreadthxxs @minrayven @albonoracers @hc-dutch @somerandomf1fan @purplephantomwolf @shadowreader07 @spilled-coffee-cup @galaxygurlll l @anamiad00msday @freyathehuntress @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @ihaveitprinteddout @deena-beena-weena @lilyofthevalley-09 @nightrose-18 @kodeelyn @star73807-blog @avengers-assemble123456 @howling-wolf97 @boke-hinata-boke @hannahmotors10 @mountainshuman @daisydaze111 @evie-119 @shadowreader07 @r0nnsblog @1800-love-me @edgyficuselastica @everydayimagineer

[suliigwp]

BUON FUCKING GIORNO

You said you wanted to hear from me again??? Well here I am!! 1: LOVE your Mirrored hearts series it’s 😗🤌🏾😘💋MWAH chef kiss. 2: I’ve had in idea for a SMAU with Kimi Antonelli x best friend!reader… like reader is studying engineering and her dream is to get in Ferrari but Kimi is trying to get her to shift from Ferrari to Mercedes to have her close,(and because of his repressed feelings). Lest throw in Mercedes socials admin being a menace, reader kinda crashing out on her finsta bc she thinks that Kimi doesn’t like her back and in the end best friends to lovers bc why not. Do you see the vision??? Feel free to ad your ✨touch✨ to it. I’ll let you cook…

XoXo from Italy,

-🐢 anon

Engineered to love

Kimi Antonelli x Engineer!Reader | SMAU + Written | angst + fluff

SULI: hiiiiii 🐢anon! Oh it is so lovely to hear from you! Thank you for your kind words🫶 hope you enjoy this and thank you for requesting🫶 and yes, I'll wait to hear from you again tehe— I did have to add written part because I just Have to make it angsty — sorry this took this long😭

SUMMERY: Kimis ways of trying to get his best friend to join Mercedes puts a crack in their friendship

Warnings: none

yourusername

📍Maranello, Italy

Liked by kimi.antonelli, Ferrari, yourmom and 12k others.

yourusername got the call. I’m going to Ferrari.

I look grumpy in this because they dragged me away from the data screens mid-run and handed me snacks like that was supposed to help.

I was seven. I already knew what I wanted.

thank you to every version of me that kept going.

(and yes, I still snack like this before debriefs.)

comments:

kimi.antonelli: you’re not even in the factory yet and already giving ted talk captions huh

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: let me have my moment you bitter future world champion

mercedesamgf1: still time to change your mind 🤍

->yourusername: this feels like emotional tampering

f1paddocktalk: not the data prodigy origin story 😭😭

->yourusername: born to overanalyze throttle maps

kimi.antonelli: you were annoying even then

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: and you’ve never known peace

...

yourusername

Liked by kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, ferrarif1 and 16k others.

yourusername 12-year-old me would be crying.

Got to spend the week at the Ferrari Innovation Campus in Maranello — got my hands on real aero data, shadowed the team on a test day, and cried twice in a supply closet. No shame. This is the dream. This is my dream.

I know it’s just a visit. But some places feel like home even when you’re just passing through.

comments:

kimi.antonelli: you cried twice?? and didn’t text me?? ♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: you would’ve made fun of me and I was emotionally vulnerable

->kimi.antonelli: I would’ve said “come to Mercedes” and then driven to get you gelato

->yourusername: See. Exactly.

mercedesamgf1: Okay but. Like. What if we gave you access to our wind tunnel too. For... reasons. 👀

charles_leclerc: it was amazing meeting you❤️ I felt like the dumbest person in a good way🤣

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: charlie🫶

ferrarif1: Real recognize real. You’re always welcome, ragazza rossa ❤️ ♥️ Liked by Author

->kimi.antonelli: delete this please

f1gossipqueen: is it just me or is @/kimi.antonelli fighting a silent war in this comment section

->yourusername: 😐

...

mercedesamgf1

Liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, susiewolff and 1.4M others.

mercedesamgf1: Kimis favorites around the paddock🩶 Working with our data girl🩶

Even if she refuses to wear silver. 🙄

comments:

kimi.antonelli: remove slide 4 before she kills me

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: I am going to kill you

->kimi.antonelli: worth it

yourusername: “DATA GIRL.” do you even respect me as an academic

♥️ Liked by Author

->mercedesamgf1: actually we’re printing that on mugs 😇

ferrarif1: shouldn’t she be in Maranello right now? 🧍‍♂️

->kimi.antonelli: she’s exactly where I want her to be

f1teaofficial: PLS the comments are giving “pining Italian boy who doesn’t know how to say I love you”

->yourusername: I AM RIGHT HERE

->mercedesamgf1: and yet not in silver 😔

...

It was almost one in the morning when you finally stepped outside the simulator building, exhausted and overstimulated and still buzzing with the kind of clarity that only came with too much data and too little sleep. The air was sharp, biting, the chill wrapping around your arms like a warning. You sat on the edge of the stone bench outside, staring at the quiet Mercedes campus, his jacket in your lap but not on your shoulders.

Kimi was already out there, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together. He hadn't said a word when you sat down.

You didn’t either. Not at first.

And then—

"You looked good at the Innovation Center," he said suddenly, voice rough from silence.

You blinked. "Is that a compliment or the start of a complaint?"

"I don’t know," he muttered. "Both, maybe."

He finally turned his head toward you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something he already knew too well. "You looked like you belonged there. I hated it."

You laughed, a dry little sound, burying the ache it caused. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, Antonelli."

He leaned back, stared up at the sky like it might help him find the words he couldn’t say directly to your face. "I want you to come to Mercedes."

You let the words hang. You’d known this was coming. Still, it made something twist in your chest.

"No shit," you said lightly, but your voice cracked right at the end.

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

He looked at you this time, really looked — like he was hoping you'd already said yes and he just hadn’t heard it yet.

You exhaled. "Kimi… I’ve worked for this my whole life. Ferrari has always been the dream. Every class, every project, every scholarship I wrote about them. I grew up with posters of the SF70H above my bed. I applied to Maranello before I even finished my thesis. It’s not just some internship, it’s—"

"—your oxygen," he finished quietly. "I know."

You nodded. "And now you’re asking me to give it up?"

"I’m not asking," he said, voice low. "I’m just… hoping."

You went still. The bench felt colder beneath you.

He kept going. "I want you here. Where I can see you. Where you don’t fade into someone else's legacy. You could build your own here. You should.

"And you think I can’t do that at Ferrari?" you challenged, eyes sharp.

"I think they'll let you in, yeah. I think they'll love having you around. I also think they’ll keep you in a box and smile while they do it. And I think… I think you won’t even notice, because you’ve wanted it too long to question it now."

Silence stretched. The wind blew your hair into your face. You didn’t move.

"That’s not fair," you said finally, almost a whisper. "You don’t get to weaponize the fact that you know me like that."

"I'm not trying to weaponize anything," Kimi said, quiet but firm. "I’m just telling you how I see it. And maybe…" He swallowed, looked down at his hands. "Maybe I want you close because I don’t trust myself not to fall apart if you go."

You froze.

There it was. Not dressed up. Not disguised as concern. Not even veiled in professionalism. Just raw, stupid honesty in the middle of a cold night.

You looked away, blinking fast. "So this is about you?"

"No," he said, and this time his voice broke a little. "It’s about us. If that still exists."

Your throat felt tight. "Don’t say that unless you mean it."

He didn’t look away.

"I mean it," he said. "I just don’t know what I’m allowed to want anymore."

You stood up too fast. The jacket fell to the ground.

Kimi didn’t move.

You stared at him like you were trying to convince yourself he was still the boy you grew up with. The one who used to cheer from the karting fences. The one who used to fix your helmet strap like it was sacred. The one who never once made you question what side he was on.

Now?

He felt like the very thing pulling you off-track.

“You’ve been waiting for me to break,” you said, voice trembling despite everything in you willing it not to. “Every time I talk about Ferrari, you get quiet. You make comments. You guilt me.”

“I never—” he started.

“No. Don’t lie,” you cut him off, sharp. “You don’t say it directly because that would make you the bad guy. But you drop hints. You say things like ‘Mercedes would treat you better’ and ‘you shouldn’t be someone else’s legacy.’ Like it’s concern. But it’s not. It’s control.”

He flinched.

You didn’t care.

“You don’t actually believe in me,” you continued. “You believe in me if I choose you. If I orbit your world. But the second I try to build something that doesn’t include you, suddenly it’s wrong. Suddenly I’m throwing everything away.”

Kimi stepped toward you, voice low and tight. “You really think I don’t believe in you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“You think I’ve spent the last ten years fighting for you, dragging you into every room you deserved to be in, defending you to people who didn’t even see you—just so I could control you?”

“Then what is this?” you snapped. “What is this choice you’re making me make?”

“I’m not making you do anything—”

“You’re making me feel like I’m betraying you by chasing the dream I had before you ever came into the picture!”

That shut him up.

And it made something in your chest break.

You lowered your voice, finally—like your anger had burned through and left nothing but ash behind.

“I loved Ferrari before I even knew your name. And now I can’t even think about taking the internship without wondering if I’m about to lose you.”

Kimi looked at you. Really looked.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you,” he said quietly.

“But you did,” you replied. “And I don’t know if I can forgive you for it.”

He took one step closer. "So that’s it?"

You shrugged. "I don’t know. Is it?"

He stared at you.

You had spent years imagining this moment. The one where you got the call from Ferrari. The one where it all paid off. The one where you'd finally be living the dream you bled for.

You never thought Kimi Antonelli would be the one making it feel like a betrayal.

The silence was suffocating.

And then he said it.

Quiet. Cold. Final.

"Then go."

Like you were some passing thought. Like everything you'd built together—friendship, trust, whatever the hell this almost-love thing was—meant nothing.

Your body locked for a second. Not from shock, but from the sharp heat that flared beneath your skin.

Then you let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Right,” you muttered. “Of course. That’s what you do, isn’t it? You push people out the second they stop orbiting you.”

Kimi flinched—but didn’t speak.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t follow you.

So you stepped back.

You turned on your heel with more force than necessary—your footsteps loud against the concrete, your spine stiff with fury.

And as you walked away, your voice snapped through the air like a whip:

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to see me fade into someone else’s legacy. You won’t see me at all.”

And then you were gone.

You didn’t look back.

Not once.

And Kimi?

He stood there. Silent. Still.

Not brave enough to stop you.

Not strong enough to admit he wanted to.

And he would regret that for a very, very long time.

...

They were twelve.

The heat was brutal. The kind that clung to your neck and made your fireproof suit stick to your skin, sweat pooling in your gloves and boots. You were sitting on the edge of the pit wall, legs swinging, fingers clenched around a half-melted paper cup of water someone shoved in your hands after the last heat.

Your helmet sat beside you on the concrete. Scuffed. Too big. Still humming with the leftover echo of your own breathing.

You stared at the track like it had betrayed you.

Twelfth.

You came twelfth.

Not because the kart wasn’t good enough. Not because you weren’t fast.

Because you locked up on Turn 4—went wide, didn’t recover, and lost everything in three stupid seconds.

You blinked hard. The sting behind your eyes was building fast, like heat rising in an engine. You hated crying. Especially in front of him.

Kimi sat next to you. Quiet. Always quiet, but especially after races. You’d learned by now not to expect much talking from him unless he had something to say. He wasn’t like the other kids, didn’t brag or scream or throw tantrums. He just sat there, knees bent, fingers picking at the Velcro on his gloves.

You were halfway through convincing yourself to go cry in the bathroom when he spoke.

Soft. Like he’d been thinking it for a while.

“You’re gonna change F1 one day.”

Your head whipped toward him. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Still staring at the track, like he was seeing a version of it you couldn’t yet.

“You’re gonna change everything,” he said again, firmer now.

You scoffed. “I just came twelfth.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You furrowed your brow. “It does a little.”

He finally turned to you.

“No, it doesn’t. Not really. You made one mistake. That’s not the point.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked at him like he was speaking another language.

Kimi sighed and leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.

There was a cut on his elbow and dust on his collar. He looked like a kid who belonged in this world — someone built for it. Born into it.

“You see things the rest of us don’t. That turn? Everyone else just takes it. You overthought it. You were already trying to correct the line before you even locked up. I watched.”

You blinked.

He kept going, voice picking up like he finally had something to say.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever seen go straight from the kart to the telemetry screen without even taking your gloves off. You ask better questions than half the mechanics. You feel things in the setup before the data even shows it.”

You looked down, biting the inside of your cheek.

“You think it’s about winning. And it is, kind of. But it’s more than that. You’re not just fast. You’re smart. And that’s the part no one trains for.”

You swallowed hard. The paper cup in your hands crumpled slightly.

Then came the part you’d remember forever.

He sat forward again, elbows on his knees, and looked at you — straight on.

No jokes. No sarcasm. Just quiet, unshakable belief.

“You’re gonna fix cars better than half the engineers on the grid. You’re gonna read data better than the guys on the pit wall. You’re gonna build things they haven’t even thought of yet. And yeah, you’re gonna piss off a lot of people by doing it better than them.”

He shrugged, like it was obvious.

“You’re gonna change everything. I just know it.”

The air felt too heavy in your lungs.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

You just looked at him — the boy with dirt on his face and grease on his fingers — and something clicked.

For the first time that day, you didn’t feel like crying.

You’re in Maranello.

Ferrari ID badge hanging from your neck. Data sheets in your inbox. Everyone’s shaking your hand, telling you they’ve “heard so much.”

You should feel proud. Triumphant. Fulfilled.

But all you can hear is a twelve-year-old boy’s voice echoing in your head.

“You’re gonna change everything.”

And all you can think is:

He believed in you before you believed in yourself.

And now he won’t even look you in the eye.

...

kimi.antonelli

📍Barcelona, Spain

Liked by mercedessamgf1, georgerussell63, lando and 52k others.

kimi.antonelli clean weekend. good vibes. grateful. thanks to everyone who made it feel like home out here 🤍

Comments:

landonorris: and yet I still beat you at padel

♥️ Liked by Author

mercedesamgf1: the sunset pic??? ok moodboard king

f1gossipgirl: Not @/yourusername being dead silent?? hello?? 😭

georgerussell63: amazing weekend mate✊

♥️ Liked by Author

f1updatesonly: wait has she not liked any of his posts since the Ferrari announcement…

pitlaneprincess: used to be top commenter. this is actually so sad now 💔

georgiaracegirl17: idk if y’all are still besties but she made you feel real in posts like this.

...

landonorris

📍Miami

Liked by zacbrown, mclaren, oscarpiastri and 1M others.

landonorris good food mid chaos 🧡

Comments.

f1gossipgirl: okay wait where’s @/yourusername???

pitlaneprincess: she hasn’t posted since Kimi’s “clean weekend” post 😭

mercedesamgf1: can neither confirm nor deny our collective heartbreak

scuderiaferrari: she’s working. y’all should try it sometime. Liked by kimi.antonelli

...

PRIVATE GROUP CHAT — “grid therapy (unpaid)”

@/landooooooo: Kimi’s still asking where you are. This is hilarious.

@/dying.in.data:

he told me to go. I went. case closed.

@/notcharleslol: not closed.

you still post about him at 2am in Helvetica italics with blackout captions like we can't tell.

@/teamradiotrauma63: she soft launched heartbreak like it was a firmware update

@/carmen.in.crisis: she hasn’t posted a selfie with eye contact since the argument. I’m scared.

@/gossipgasly: she posted a photo of his helmet on her Pinterest board and captioned it “whatever.”

girl be serious.

@/dying.in.data:

I didn’t think you’d notice that

also shut up

...

…Then Kimi Antonelli finally cracks.

...

@/dying.in.data:

Guys...

There's a note with it

It says "I'm sorry <|3"

@/landooooooo: okay wait that’s actually really soft????

@/notcharleslol: he’s annoying and I still want you to kiss him

@/carmen.in.crisis: this is literally the boy version of “it was always you”

I’m crying at my desk

@/dying.in.data:

I miss him

@/teamradiotrauma63: girl go get your man?!?!

@/dying.in.data:

He's not my man

He doesn't feel that way about me

@/gossipgasly: denial is a river in Egypt

...

It was late.

The paddock was mostly empty. Media had cleared out. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting long shadows against the concrete.

You were leaning against the pit wall, arms crossed, jacket zipped up to your chin. You weren’t supposed to be there — you’d finished your analysis hours ago — but your badge still worked, and the silence felt cleaner than whatever mess was still clinging to your chest.

Behind you, soft footsteps approached. Then stopped.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

He didn’t speak at first.

Neither did you.

Until—

“You still won’t look at me.”

Your jaw tightened. “And you still think everything deserves to be forgiven just because you finally show up.”

A pause.

Kimi stepped beside you, leaned on the wall without touching you. Just close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“I don’t want forgiveness,” he said quietly. “I want to stop pretending like we’re strangers.”

You stayed quiet. Let that sit.

“You made me question myself,” you whispered. “You made me feel like chasing my dream meant losing you.”

He didn’t flinch this time. Maybe he’d rehearsed this.

“I never wanted you to give it up,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding selfish.”

“So you chose silence?”

“I chose wrong.”

The words were simple. Honest. You hated how much they cracked something in you.

You turned toward him, finally, and the look on your face stopped him mid-breath.

“I’m still not sorry I went,” you said.

“Good,” he replied. “You shouldn’t be.”

You held each other’s gaze.

Years of friendship. Months of tension. One moment of sharp clarity.

“We don’t fit neatly into each other’s worlds, Kimi,” you said.

“No,” he agreed. “But maybe we can stop trying to fit, and just find a way.”

You looked at him. Not as a teammate. Not as a boy who let you down. But as someone who had always, in some fractured way, loved you—even when he didn’t know how to show it.

You nodded once.

“Okay.”

Not a promise.

Not a fix.

But a beginning.

He smiled, soft and crooked. “Still team red?”

You smiled back. “Still team red.”

Then he pulled the snack you liked from his jacket pocket and handed it to you without a word.

You laughed. Took it.

And for the first time in weeks, it didn’t hurt to be near him.

But you didn’t move away either.

Didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

You stared at the wrapper in your hand. Familiar. Stupid. Intimate.

“I got your box,” you said, voice low.

He looked over, surprised — not because you said it, but because you finally did.

> “Yeah?” he asked. Like it had been sitting heavy in him, too.

You nodded, slowly. Eyes still on the ground.

“I didn’t open it all the way at first,” you admitted. “Just enough to know it’d make me feel worse.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

You paused.

“But it did anyway. Because it was… you. And it was thoughtful. And I was mad at you. And I didn’t want to be grateful while still being hurt.”

The silence between you stretched again. But this one wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Worn-in. Like grief finally finding somewhere to land.

You finally looked at him.

“So… thank you. For sending it anyway. Even when I didn’t deserve nice things from you.”

Kimi’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile. Not quite a wince either.

“You always deserved them,” he said. “Even when you hated me.”

You blinked once, throat tight.

“I never hated you,” you said. “I just didn’t know how to stop being disappointed.”

He nodded. “I know."

You turned away then, just a little — enough to hide the glassy edge in your eyes. You tucked the wrapper into your jacket pocket like it was something fragile.

“It meant something. The box,” you added, quieter now. “It really meant something.”

“So did the silence after,” he said.

You looked at him again ��� wide, startled.

He shrugged, like it didn’t destroy him to say it.

Like maybe it already had.

“But… this? This right now?” he said. “It means more.”

This time, you didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

And when you finally walked away, he didn’t follow — but he didn’t feel left behind, either.

...

@/teamradiotrauma63: saw you two talking

What did he say?

Anything 👀👀👀

@/dying.in.data:

Nothing?

We just talked the fight out

@/teamradiotrauma63: tell me you're shitting me

...

@/georgerussell63: I need to have a word with you

@/kimi.antonelli:

???

...

It was quiet in the garage long after the debrief ended. The engineers were gone. The screens dimmed. Just the low hum of lights and the kind of silence that makes people say things they probably shouldn’t.

Kimi was still sitting at the desk, tapping a pen against a telemetry sheet he wasn’t reading.

George leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You’re actually unbelievable,” he said suddenly.

Kimi didn’t look up. “Good to see you too.”

George pushed off the wall and came closer. “She’s in the same paddock as you. You get the chance to talk to her every weekend. And you just… don’t?”

Kimi finally glanced up. “It’s complicated.”

George scoffed. “No, it’s not. You like her. She likes you. You both look like kicked puppies around each other. What’s complicated?”

Kimi’s voice was low. “We said things.”

“So say better ones now.” George’s tone was sharper than usual. “You think you’re protecting her by staying silent? You’re not. You’re just making her feel like she was wrong. Like she made it up. Like you didn’t care.”

“I do care,” Kimi muttered.

“Then act like it.”

Kimi went quiet again, fingers tightening around the pen.

George ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick here—actually, no, I am. Because I’m sick of watching this play out like a bad movie.”

Kimi exhaled slowly. “She’s at Ferrari. She’s doing what she always wanted. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

George stepped closer. “You think you’re not already in the way? She’s hurting. She doesn’t say it, but she is. You’re hurting. And instead of doing something, you’re sitting here playing noble idiot.”

Kimi’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“It’s never going to be the perfect time,” George snapped. “There’s always going to be pressure, always going to be something. But the right people? You don’t let them slip just because the timing’s a bit shit.”

Kimi didn’t say anything, but something in his face shifted. Something like guilt. Or maybe realization.

George took a deep breath and said, softer this time, “She doesn’t need grand gestures. She just needs to hear it. From you. Not from the box. Not from Lando. Not from some story you think tells her everything. She needs to hear it.”

Kimi blinked. “And if she doesn’t feel the same anymore?”

George gave him a look. “Then at least you’ll know. But right now? You’re punishing both of you for being afraid.”

Kimi stared at the telemetry sheet like it held an answer he hadn’t considered yet.

George grabbed his jacket. “Tell her before someone else does.”

Then he walked out, leaving Kimi in the low hum of silence.

...

@/teamradiotrauma63: I swear I am a driver not a therapist

...

He found you in the back paddock lot, standing by the railing. It was quiet, late. You didn’t look surprised to see him.

You just crossed your arms and said, “Took you long enough.”

Kimi stopped in front of you, eyes tired. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

He nodded. Fair.

You sighed. “Why are you here, Kimi?”

“I need to say something. Actually say it. Not send a box. Not drop a hint. Just—say it.”

You looked at him. “Then say it.”

He took a breath, steadying himself.

“I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. And I was too scared to say anything because I thought it would ruin what we had. And then I let you walk away without fighting for you, and that’s on me.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at him, trying to figure out if he meant it this time. If he really understood what it cost you.

“I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to pick me over Ferrari,” he continued. “I didn’t want to be that guy.”

“You didn’t make me choose,” you said. “You didn’t make me feel anything. You said nothing. That’s what hurt the most.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I thought I was protecting you. Turns out I was just pushing you away.”

You looked down at your hands. “You hurt me, Kimi. Not because you didn’t like me. But because you didn’t trust me with it.”

“I do now,” he said. “I want to fix it. If you’ll let me.”

You looked up at him, straight in the eye. “I don’t need perfect. I just need honest.”

“This is me being honest,” he said. “I missed you. Every day. I hated not talking to you. I hated wondering if I ruined it forever.”

Your voice was quieter now. “I missed you too.”

Neither of you moved for a second.

Then, slowly, you stepped in and wrapped your arms around him.

He didn’t hesitate. Just pulled you in tight, like he’d been waiting for it since the second you left.

It was everything.

...

yourusername

Liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt, f1 and 1M others.

yourusername: do NOT ask. yes we yelled. yes we’re fine 🩶❤️

Comments:

kimi.antonelli: you forgot “yes, he was wrong”

lando: finally i can breathe again

charles_leclerc: no bc what was i supposed to do during the silent treatment?? babysit BOTH of you??

georgerussell63: i literally fixed this you’re welcome

mercedesamgf1: nothing to see here. just excellent cross-team collaboration 😌

scuderiaferrari: we’ll allow it. for now.

carlossainz55: who had ‘public truce photo’ on their bingo card?

alex_albon: does this mean she’s back on main? the finsta was scaring me

...

kimi.antonelli

Liked by mercedesamgf1, maxverstappen1, yourusername and 3M others.

kimi.antonelli: anyway. i’m fine now.

Comments:

lando: NAUGHTY. BOY.

yourusername: you did not just post the last pic i will literally cut your brakes

->kimi.antonelli: amore😉

charles_leclerc: oh he’s IN it

iamrebeccad: babies😍

user17: THE POST-ARGUMENT GLOW IS CRAZY

georgerussell63: was this pr approved?

->georgerussell63: forget it I know the answer

user55: KIMI WHAT IS THIS

pierregasly: HELLO???!!??!!

carlossainz55: happy for you. scared of her.

alex_albon: “i’m fine now” as in whipped beyond repair? yes we see that.

mercedesamgf1: posting like it’s a 2014 indie romance. proud of you, king.

scuderiaferrari: someone’s getting a strongly worded email about the driver lounge keycard

user12: he's a freak like us

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu

make sure you can be tagged!

[nyree2712]

Formula 1 - Incorrect Quote 247

Charles: Next time we meet, we will be in formula one and became enemies!

Max: *In his head* Enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst with happy ending, 500k+ words

[theonlyonesora]

Naked Truths and Saltwater

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

The yacht rocked gently on the soft belly of the sea, nothing but deep blue and silence all around you. No paparazzi, no race engineers, no noise but the sound of water lapping against the hull and the quiet plink of your toes splashing in the ocean.

You were perched on the edge of the yacht, bikini-clad, sunglasses sliding down your nose, hair still wet from a lazy swim. Lewis sat beside you, arm draped over the railing, sun glinting off the golden brown of his skin.

“This is the first time I’ve had an actual break in... months,” you murmured, kicking your legs like a kid. “I forgot what bored felt like.”

Lewis chuckled, head tilted back to soak in the sun. “You? Bored? You just made a sea creature out of grapes and toothpicks twenty minutes ago.”

You grinned. “Sir Grapesea was a masterpiece.”

“RIP,” he laughed, glancing toward the discarded snack plate. “Eaten too soon.”

There was a beat of silence before you heard the unmistakable splash of water… and then the sound of elastic snapping.

You turned your head just in time to see Lewis shimmying out of his swim trunks, casually tossing them to the deck like it was just another Tuesday.

“…Did you just get naked?” you blinked.

He stretched luxuriously, fully nude and unbothered, dipping his feet back in the water like he was not stark naked on a multi-million-dollar boat in the middle of the sea.

“Why not? No one’s around. The fish won’t mind,” he said, looking over at you with a relaxed smile.

“You’re literally naked,” you said again, brows raised, trying very hard not to laugh. “And I’m still in a bikini. This feels unbalanced.”

“We could fix that,” he teased with a wicked grin.

You snorted, swatting his shoulder. “Stop it. I am not getting arrested because you wanted to skinny dip in international waters.”

“You can’t get arrested in international waters,” he argued.

“You absolutely can,” you replied, grinning. “And I don’t trust you not to flash a passing cargo ship.”

He laughed so hard he almost slid off the railing. “You make it sound like I’m some pervy sea pirate.”

You nudged his foot with yours. “You are a pervy sea pirate. Just a very hot, charming one with too many tattoos and not enough clothes.”

He leaned toward you with a soft, amused smile, brushing your wet hair from your cheek. “You love it.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him, cheek against his shoulder. “Yeah. I really do.”

And so you stayed, two bodies sun-kissed and tangled together over blue water — talking about nothing, laughing at everything, and knowing that this, the quiet absurdity of it all, was love in its purest form.

.

You knew something was wrong the moment you stepped onto the dock.

Not “the-yacht-is-sinking” wrong — but Lewis Hamilton just broke the internet wrong. His phone hadn’t stopped buzzing for the last ten minutes. Yours had gone nuclear. A notification avalanche: missed calls, texts, memes, and God help you, trending hashtags.

Lewis squinted at his phone, thumb scrolling.

Then he laughed.

That easy, low chuckle that made your stomach twist — the one that usually meant he was about to be smug about something wildly inappropriate.

“What?” you asked slowly.

He tilted the screen toward you.

#HamiltonHangsLoose #FreeTheChampion #Sun’sOutBunsOut #SheDidn’tEvenBlink

There, clear as crystal, was a paparazzi photo taken with a long lens. You and Lewis on the yacht — you in your bikini, hair messy from the ocean, sunglasses on. Him?

Fully naked. Legs in the water. Arms relaxed behind his head. A picture of serenity… and butt cheeks.

And the caption on the most viral tweet?

“The way she’s so calm about Lewis Hamilton sitting next to her fully naked??? I would’ve passed away on the spot. #Envy #TheyAreTooComfortable #MarryHerBro”

You covered your face with your hands. “Oh my God.”

Lewis just grinned. “That’s a pretty good angle of me, to be fair.”

“Your entire ass is on Twitter, babe.”

“I know,” he said, tapping at the screen. “I just sent the photo to Roscoe’s Instagram with the caption ‘Dad’s summer bod.’”

You stared at him, horrified. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” he shrugged. “You look hot. I look free. The world can deal.”

Your phone buzzed again — a message from your best friend:

"Explain the naked Lewis thing or I will pass out."

Then another:

“She’s not even flinching. The way she’s drinking coconut water while he’s airing it all out??? I aspire.”

And another:

"THIS is the energy I want in a relationship. Unbothered. Bikini x buttcheeks dynamic."

Even the gossip accounts were spiraling:

DeuxMoi-style post: “Anonymous tip: Lewis and his girl are definitely used to this. You don’t look that calm next to a naked man unless it’s happened many times before. Just saying.”

TikTok voiceover edits:

That night, Lewis posted an Instagram carousel with the caption: "Sun, sea, peace… and maybe a bit too much freedom 🌊☀️😂" The second slide? A zoomed-in crop of your unimpressed expression and his bare back, blurred tastefully with a peach emoji.

You tossed your phone on the bed, groaning into the pillow. “I’m never showing my face in public again.”

Lewis wrapped his arms around you from behind, whispering against your neck, “Too late. They’ve already seen my best side.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are the worst.”

He kissed your shoulder. “And you love me anyway.”

Yeah. Unfortunately, you really did.

.

It was the post-race press conference in Monaco, and the energy was buzzing.

Lewis had just pulled in a solid podium finish. He looked sharp in his race suit, sunglasses pushed up in his curls, calm and collected… until the third journalist asked the question.

"Uh, Lewis,” the reporter began, struggling to hide a grin, “firstly — congratulations. Secondly, I have to ask: how does it feel to not only land on the podium but also trend worldwide for… let's call it, ‘a breezy lifestyle choice’ on a yacht?”

A wave of laughter erupted in the room. Even the translators chuckled.

Max smirked immediately, leaning into his mic. “I told him to wear sunscreen, not take his entire suit off.”

Fernando didn’t even look up, just deadpanned, “At his age, you’d think he’d be more careful with exposure.”

Lewis held up a hand, grinning despite the very obvious blush creeping up his neck. “Okay, okay—look, I was on my yacht, with my girlfriend, in the middle of the sea. If that’s a crime now, we’re all in trouble.”

“Butt cheeks out, Lewis,” Max added, snorting. “Fully out.”

The room erupted again. A few journalists tried to keep it professional, but the hashtag #FreeTheChampion had over 40 million views on TikTok, and it was impossible to ignore.

Another reporter, more serious, leaned forward. “But jokes aside, Lewis — this is the first time fans have seen you that relaxed, and with someone that... close. Is it safe to say you’re in a relationship?”

Silence.

Lewis hesitated just for a second. Then that rare, soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I guess it’s not much of a secret anymore,” he said quietly, adjusting his mic. “She’s… incredible. And she’s been there for me in ways people don’t see. The photo—yeah, it was funny, but that moment was us just… being. No pressure, no world watching. Just peace. And love. I’m really happy.”

The room collectively melted.

Max leaned over again, voice full of smug glee: “Bro. Did you just confess your love during a press conference?”

Fernando leaned back, arms crossed. “Romantic and naked. A dangerous combination.”

Lewis chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered now. “I should’ve known better than to sit next to these two.”

Later that evening, a clip from the conference would go viral — not of the race highlights, but of Lewis saying “I’m really happy” with that soft, boyish smile, your name on everyone’s lips, the internet swooning again.

And just to stir the pot, you posted a single story: A peach emoji. Nothing else.

Max replied:

“Can’t take you two anywhere.”

Fernando reposted it with:

“Legends only.”

Lewis? He just reposted it with a heart and the caption: “Still the best view I’ve ever had.”

...

Should I do about other in particular? Tell me what you think!

[redwinelewis]

LIKE A MERCEDES | LH44

type social media au

pairing lewis hamilton x chinese!reader

face claim lexie liu

song like a mercedes by lexie liu

summary in which lewis' singer girlfriend is part of the f1 the movie soundtrack

warnings none i think idk

author's note super short one bcs i've been wanting to write a smau with this song and lewis ❤️

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.

masterlist

INSTAGRAM!

f1 and 5 others

liked by lewishamilton, roses_are_rosie and 1,836,938 others

f1 Here's the lineup for F1: The Movie soundtrack with a special track from two more mysterious acts 🏎️ Available June 27.

#F1 #F1TheAlbum

view all 2,728 comments

user TATE????

user user ln4 x t8 agenda continues to spread we love to see it

user DOJA?? ROSÉ???? TATE???????

user who are these people

user the way i only recognize like 2 of these singers

user MADISON BEER OMFG

user wait mysterious acts?

user LEWIS LIKED

user user everyday i manifest for an xnda comeback

user i wonder if lewis produces the soundtrack as well

user user dear god pls

yourinstagram

📍 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

liked by dprian, kikagomes and 3,836,899 others

yourinstagram do me, you don’t have to do me properly

view all 4,726 comments

user RARE LEWIS SIGHTING ON Y/N'S POST

user okay freaky

user HIS BACK 🫦

yourinstagram user behave

user y/n feed your children we're starving for a new album

user i love how she brags about her bf

user user i mean it's sir lewis hamilton. i would do the same.

user user real

user third pic is so bf lewis coded

user THE DRESS OMFG

user sir lewis can u fight

flavy.barla that dress 😍😍

lewishamilton

📍 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

liked by charles_leclerc, francolapinto and 2,826,314 others

lewishamilton 與你一路飛馳緊握著方向盤

view all 1,026 comments

user ok what is up with the caption

user user a vacation in brazil and he wrote the caption in mandarin he's so random 😭😭

user user i mean his gf is chinese right

user can someone tell me what the caption means the translate button isn't working

user user "Feeling like going on a joyride with you through the night" something like that

user user .... is this a lyric?

yourinstagram not fair!!!! that's my favourite part!!!!

yourinstagram yourinstagram and i told you not to post the fourth pic lew!!!!

lewishamilton yourinstagram You used my favourite part as well. And I love that photo

user yourinstagram lewishamilton HELLO WHAT'S GOING ON??????

user yourinstagram lewishamilton are yall teasing us a new single with those captions? 🤨

yourinstagram user no (yes)

user yourinstagram AHSKSHSHSJSKSH WHAT

yourinstagram

liked by jacksonwang852g7, lilymhe and 2,733,927 others

yourinstagram but you already know what i'm about to say 👀 LIKE A MERCEDES, my new single from F1: The Movie soundtrack featuring the one and only xnda is out now 🏎️

i have always admired lewis, on and off track. he is as passionate about music as he is about racing and making this song with him has been such an amazing experience. i hope you all love this song as much as we had fun making it ❤️

view all 3,570 comments

user OH I FUCKING KNEW IT

user FEATURING LEWIS??????

user XNDA IS BACKKKKKK

user is this a dream can somebody pinch me rn

user a new xnda song in the year of our lord 2025

user user "thank you y/n" we all say in unison

user this is everything to me btw

user this song is gonna be the only good thing from that fuck ass film

georgerussell63 Hell yeah! Let's go! 🙌🏻🔥

yourinstagram georgerussell63 thank you george! ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux song of the year ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourinstagram alexandrasaintmleux i love you ❤️❤️

tatemcrae a bop

lewishamilton and xnda

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user KMS POSTPONED

user whoremilton is back

user user we cheer

user i'm still processing the lyrics

user user this feels like "pipe" all over again

user his gf is so lucky 💔

user user thank you

yourinstagram user 🤨🤨

user user my bad queen 🙏🏽

yourinstagram you're so fucking amazing

lewishamilton yourinstagram Right back at ya darling

user lewishamilton DARLING 💗🩷🌷🌸♥️❣️❤️💘💖💝💞💟

user lewishamilton oh to be called darling by lewis hamilton

user this is already the best song from that movie

redwinelewis producing the film about the sport he conquered AND creates a song for its soundtrack.... sir lewis hamilton everybody ✨

[requiemforthepoets]

you had me at throat slit ⟢ OP81

main masterlist | fic playlist | series masterlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: leave it to lando asking oscar out of the pocket questions at an ungodly hour (at one in the morning)—how it feels like to be single. what starts as a no-harm friendly teasing turns into lando planting the first seed of disaster: putting oscar on a dating app.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not reapost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, face claims, photos taken from pinterest, satire, humor (dark humor), crack au, dating apps, inaccurate information, awkward, unhinged, memes are maybe a bit too much, dump accounts as form of freedom of expression, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: none

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hiiiii!! this is officially the part 1 of the new op81 series, a teaser of some sort. the next parts will be posted once i'm done with my current op81 socmed au. let me know what you guys think of this hehe and enjoy this teaser! (which is not really a teaser, but it is to me!!)

────── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ──────

────── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ──────

[ taglist status: open ]

taglist: @wandabillywrites , @leclercdream , @formulahoney , @chirpchirp69 , @jusxmaaad , @usseraloo , @maiyaholics , @1-of-many-obsessions , @littlegrapejuice , @generousfreakgardenalien , @littlebugsinthecity , @suibianupyourass , @taetae-armyyyyy

[verstappenverse]

All This Time

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was your first everything, first friend, first heartbreak. Now years later he’s world champion, and you’re standing in front of him like no time has passed at all. (Requested)

3.1k words / Masterlist

You didn’t expect him to remember.

Not after all this time. Not after the years had passed like train cars speeding in the dark, loud, fast, and gone before you could even wave.

You’d stayed in motorsport, of course. Racing had been in your blood too once. You never fully pursued it like Max did, but you’d carved out a place for yourself behind the scenes, making a name for yourself in strategy, development, coaching, anything that kept you close to the world you loved. Anything but Formula 1. You avoided that part like a wound you never let scab, too afraid it might tear open the second you saw his name on a garage wall.

But today when you finally step into the Red Bull garage and your eyes meet his, those same ocean-blue eyes that once squinted against the sun as he begged you to race him down some dusty backroad the world doesn’t just pause. It stops entirely.

Max Verstappen freezes like he’s seen a ghost.

“Hi,” you say, barely above a whisper. Because really, what else can you say after almost ten years, multiple countries, and the ache of being forgotten?

He blinks once. Then again. His jaw tightens.

“You came.”

You nod, nervous under the weight of his gaze. “Yeah. I mean, your mum invited me, and… it felt like time.”

Time. That strange, cruel thing that unraveled the knot you’d once tied so tightly between you, a knot built from scraped knees, shared dreams, and the kind of trust that only comes from growing up side by side.

Time turned summer sleepovers into unanswered texts. Turned secret handshakes into blank stares across a room you no longer shared. It turned “always” into “used to.” You had been inseparable. Velcro. Chaos in a two-person unit. Trouble, always in pairs and never quite as brave alone.

You’d kept up with his career of course. You knew his stats, his wins, the way the crowd chanted his name now. But the Max you remembered the one with grass stains on his knees and ice cream on his chin felt like someone else entirely.

You grew up in karting garages together, your laughter bouncing off concrete walls louder than the engines. You were twin shadows slipping between toolboxes and tyre stacks, dodging mechanics and stealing zip ties like they were gold. Oil-smudged fingers. Greasy fries in one hand, tyre pressure gauges in the other. Max taught you how to kick-start an engine before you’d even mastered telling the time. You taught him how to tie a tie, how to tape a blister, how to calm down after a bad lap.

You used to sneak snacks off each other’s trays and pretend neither of you noticed. You fell asleep shoulder to shoulder in the back of his dad’s van, watching old F1 races on a cracked iPad and whispering commentary until one of you snored. You had a notebook, battered and dog-eared, where you’d both sketch ridiculous helmet designs, all glitter paint and fire decals. He always said he’d wear yours if he ever made it. You still have that page, folded and faded.

After every race, whether he won or crashed out, he’d find you. Every time. He’d pull off his gloves and jog toward the barriers just to hear your opinion. When you raced his face would light up when you crossed the line whether first or last didn’t matter. You were his best friend. That was enough.

But then life did what life does. You moved. He kept racing. You said you’d write. He said he’d call. And you did at first, but life moves fast and somewhere along the way you stopped.

Now here you are standing in the Red Bull garage as if no time passed, as if the world hasn’t changed, as if you’re still those two sunburnt kids who thought karting trophies and fizzy drinks were all that mattered.

Max looks at you like you might disappear if he blinks again.

His gaze flicks over your face with an urgency he’s trying to hide, like he’s checking to see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. Like he’s afraid to find too much of one or the other.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you around here again,” he says finally, voice low and rough-edged, like it’s scraped up from somewhere buried.

You swallow the lump that rises instantly in your throat. “Didn’t know if you’d even remember.”

His mouth tilts not a smile, exactly. More like the ghost of one, soft and haunted around the edges. “You’re kind of hard to forget.”

And just like that, something inside you, something carefully packed away for years, twists, sharp and sudden. An old ache, familiar and stupidly alive. He used to say things like that all the time, back when the only people in your world were each other.

Max shifts like he wants to say something else. Instead his eyes catch on your features again, and he frowns faintly.

“You look…” he starts, then trails off. His lips part like he might keep going, but nothing comes.

You don’t press him. You’re not sure you could handle it if you did.

So you offer a crooked smile. “Older?”

He snorts, a low, almost fond sound that slips past his defences. “Still short.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his arm. “Still rude.”

Then he laughs. Really laughs. It hits you in the ribs like a punch, that sound because it’s the same. Deeper now, with age and wear, but still the same boyish rasp that used to echo through paddocks and across bunk beds and over midnight walks when the world felt too big and all you had was each other.

For a second, it’s like no time passed at all.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been staring, locked into the space between who he was and who he is, until his voice drops lower, softer.

“I missed you.”

Three words, barely breathed.

They land like a stone in your chest.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes at first. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something that might no longer be yours.

“I missed you too,” you whisper finally, and the truth in it feels like something dangerous.

Because now you’re not just remembering him.

You’re feeling him.

The next morning, the paddock is alive with chaos, engineers buzzing, cameras swiveling, drivers darting past like comets. But all you can think about is the message from Max that was left at your hotel for you.

Come by the garage in the morning, before FP?

Your fingers tremble slightly as you enter the paddock. You’ve barely slept, head full of things you almost said and things he nearly did. It’s like a door opened yesterday, and now you can’t stop looking inside.

He’s waiting by the back of the garage, half in uniform, half in thought.

His face softens when he sees you.

“I was hoping you’d come.”

You nod, trying not to stare at the way his fire suit clings to his frame. “I figured if I didn’t you’d just track me down.”

He smirks. “Yeah probably. I know where you’re staying.”

You laugh, but there’s a tightness in your chest.

You watch as he fiddles with the velcro of his gloves, not quite meeting your eyes. “There’s something I want to show you. Maybe it’s stupid.”

He leads you to his driver room, past engineers, down the corridor with controlled chaos humming all around you, and when the door clicks shut, it’s just you and him.

He opens a drawer. Pulls out something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

A photo.

Faded. Bent at the corners. But unmistakable.

You and him. Teenagers, around fifteen. Covered in dirt and grease and beaming like idiots. You’ve got a bottle of water in one hand and Max is mid-squint, arm slung over your shoulders.

“I’ve had it since that last race before you left,” he says, voice low. “I kept it in my wallet for years. Then it started to fall apart, so I moved it here.”

Your fingers graze the edge of the picture.

“We look ridiculous.”

“You look happy,” he corrects quietly.

You don’t ask how often he’s looked at it. You don’t have to.

Because you remember that day too.

The air had smelled like petrol and hot asphalt, and your heart was still pounding from the race. You were grinning, practically vibrating with adrenaline. Because for the first time ever you beat Max.

He pulled off his helmet slowly, curls a sweaty mess, and sulked like someone stole his dog.

You plopped beside him in the pit lane, holding out the fries you’d bought from the food truck near the gate. “Truce?”

He gave you the side-eye. “You cut me off on turn six.”

You shrugged. “You left the inside line open. Rookie mistake.”

“I hate you.”

You popped a fry into your mouth. “No you don’t.”

He didn’t say congrats, but the way he smiled when he thought you weren’t looking that said enough.

You offered him the last fry without looking at him. “For your bruised ego.”

He took it, but didn’t eat it right away. “You’re gonna win a lot of races,” he said quietly.

“So will you.”

“But I’ll always remember this one.”

You turned to him, confused. “Why this one?”

His gaze met yours, and something in his expression shifted, a flicker of hesitation, like a thought stumbled too close to the surface.

He leaned in.

It wasn’t fast or sudden. It was slow, careful, uncertain.

Your breath hitched. The grease-stained paper bag slipped from your fingers onto the ground. You felt the sun on your skin and the heat of his body so close, his mouth a breath away from yours.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Your noses nearly brushed. His eyes flicked to your lips. You could count his freckles.

But then, footsteps. Loud. Sharp.

You both jolted back like the moment hadn’t happened at all.

His father walked past, barely glancing at either of you.

You looked down. Max rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in his shoelaces.

And just like that, it was over.

Not a kiss.

Just an almost.

An almost that would live quietly in the silence between you, never spoken about, never quite forgotten.

You didn’t expect to be invited to the RedBull motorhome for lunch. And you definitely didn’t expect Max to sit across from you the entire time, answering questions from media with one eye always flicking back to you.

After the interviews, he corners you in a quiet hallway.

"Come for a drive with me."

You blink. “Now?”

He nods. “Yeah. I need to clear my head. I think… I think we need to talk.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you follow him out into the sun.

The car is fast, obviously, and expensive, a blur of black and blue. But inside it everything slows.

“I tried calling once… recently, I mean” he says, not looking at you.

You swallow. “I changed my number.”

He nods. “I figured. I just, you were gone. One day you were there, and the next…”

“I didn’t want to leave Max, I was a teenager I didn’t get a say.”

Silence. Then, “I know, but I really didn’t want you to. I wished I could’ve done something.”

“You were just a kid too. It was no ones fault.” You take a deep breath and then add. “I waited for you that last night, you know. I kept thinking… maybe you’d come find me.”

You’d gotten the news on a late afternoon: your family was relocating. New country. New start. It felt like the world cracked open beneath your feet.

You’d ran to him heart pounding with the knowledge that your whole life was about to split in two.

“I need to tell you something,” you’d said, voice shaking.

He looked up instantly. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Then forced the words out.

“I’m leaving.”

Max blinked. “What do you mean, leaving?”

“My dad got a job offer. We’re moving.”

He stared at you. Completely still. “When?”

You bit your lip. “Soon.”

His soda can crumpled slightly in his grip.

You hated the silence that followed. You wanted him to fight it. You wanted him to shout, to say no. Instead, he looked down.

“For how long?” he asked quietly.

You couldn’t lie. “I don’t know.”

He nodded once. Too slowly. Too carefully. Like the movement itself hurt.

You waited. You waited for him to reach for you, to say anything, that he’d miss you, that he was angry, that you meant something. But he just stood there, like his body had shut down and left only a shell behind.

So you swallowed your tears, your pride, and your heartache and whispered, “Guess I’ll see you around.”

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and say you’d fight this, that you didn’t want to leave, but your throat burned and your eyes were wet and you couldn’t force the words out.

Then you turned and walked away.

“I should’ve said something,” Max says quietly. “Anything. I was a coward.”

You look at him.

You don’t say me too.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a decade.

It’s quiet after that. The kind of quiet that lives in the space between memory and regret.

He drives to a lookout over the sea. It reminds you of a place you used to sit together as kids, eating fries from a greasy paper cone and talking about what you’d do if you ever made it.

“You made it,” you say as you climb out of the car.

“So did you,” he replies.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Not in the same way.”

He doesn’t argue. Just leans against the hood of the car and looks at you like he’s trying to memorise you.

“I thought about you,” he says quietly. “All the time.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“I kept waiting for you to come back. For years, I’d look for your face in the stands. I kept thinking maybe today.”

Your throat tightens. You remember all the times you wanted to reach out, to send a letter, an email, anything. But something always stopped you.

Fear. Pride. Guilt.

“I didn’t know if you’d care.”

He turns fully to you then, and his eyes, older, sharper, but still that same ocean blue burn into yours.

“Of course I’d care. You were everything to me. You still are.”

The air between you shifts.

“Max,” you whisper, and this time your voice trembles. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it means anymore. It’s been years.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “But you’re still the only person I’ve ever felt like this about.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He exhales, eyes flicking to your lips before dragging back up. “I don’t expect anything. I just… I needed you to know.”

For the first time in a decade, you let yourself touch him, your fingers brushing against his, slow and tentative.

“I still feel it too,” you whisper.

His hand closes around yours like he’s afraid to let go again.

That night, you sit on the edge of your hotel bed and stare at your phone.

A message from Max.

Come up. Roof bar. Just us.

Your heart is in your throat as you ride the lift.

When the doors open, he’s already there two drinks in hand, back turned to the city view. He turns as you approach, something soft and aching in his smile.

“You came.”

“You asked.”

He hands you a drink. “For old times?”

You take a sip. “Something like that.”

You stare at him. At the man he’s become. Stronger. Sharper. Quieter, somehow. But the boy you knew the one who always gave you the last bite of his sandwich, who held your hand during thunderstorms, who whispered secrets to you in the dark he’s still there.

“Do you think we can go back?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the city noise.

He steps close. Not touching, not yet. But close enough that you feel the pull in your chest like gravity.

“I don’t want to go back,” he says. “I want to start again.”

His next words crack something open.

“You know how often I used to write texts I never sent. Every race, every flight. I’d delete them before takeoff like an idiot.” His voice breaks, just slightly. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you again?”

You nod, because you do. Because every stupid highlight reel of his wins made your heart ache. Because you once screamed into your pillow after seeing him kiss someone else in the paddock and you thought you’d missed your chance for good.

He reaches out. Not touching you yet, just hovering. “I’m never losing you again.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“No. Don’t.” His fingers find yours. Threaded. Familiar. “Please. I’ve won everything I ever wanted. Except this.”

Your forehead presses to his chest before you can stop yourself, and he holds you like he remembers exactly how to. Like he’s angry at the space between you. Like if he squeezes tight enough, you’ll forget the wasted years and remember everything else.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper.

“Don’t ever leave again,” he mutters into your hair.

You don’t answer with words. You don’t even think you just act on instinct.

You kiss him.

Desperate but somehow gentle. A question.

He answers with a hand on your waist, the other on your cheek, anchoring you like he used to when the world spun too fast.

And just like that, you’re fifteen again. And twenty-two. And every version of yourself that ever loved him.

Later, when he walks you back to your room, he doesn’t try to come in.

He just stands there in the hallway, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promise.

His eyes soften. “Stay. In Monaco. Just for a while.”

You bite your lip. “Max…”

“Not just for me,” he says quickly. “For you. For us. Let’s see where this goes.”

You look at him, this man who waited years, who still looks at you like you hung the stars and you know the answer, you’ve always known.

“Okay.”

And when he leans in, forehead resting against yours, everything feels still.

You were always meant to find your way back to him.

It was always Max.

Always you.

Even after all this time

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leo-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds

[starset21]

The Paris Pact

Pairing: Isack Hadjar x reader

Summery:  In France during NASCAR’s off-season she runs into Isack at a karting facility. They bond over aggressive turns and late-night croissants, and decide to see what long-distance dating looks like between stock cars and single-seaters.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

Paris wasn’t supposed to feel lonely.

You’d been told it was a romantic city—lit up in soft gold and full of art, laughter, buttery pastries, and warm drinks. But the truth was, Paris in January was more grey than golden. The cold settled deep in your bones, and the rain never quite fell—it just hovered in the air, misting your skin like nature itself couldn’t commit.

You liked it.

It felt honest. Like the world taking a breath before the season kicked off again. Like how you felt: paused. Waiting. Rebuilding.

It was just you, your duffel bag, and a karting track a few blocks from your Airbnb that had surprisingly good online reviews. It sat in a tucked-away industrial zone, more functional than glamorous. You liked that too. No press, no fans asking you how it felt to “almost” win the Cup last year.

You tugged your jacket tighter around you and pushed open the glass doors to the building. Warm air hits your face immediately, along with the faint buzz of electric engines.

Perfect.

You walked toward the counter to sign in, only vaguely registering the other driver already gearing up across the room.

Until he looked up.

Brown eyes. Sharp jaw. Hair poking out from under a balaclava. The Red Bull logo on his sleeve.

Oh.

Isack Hadjar.

You tried not to look too surprised. He definitely saw you. His expression shifted slightly—not shock, but recognition. 

Of course he knew who you were. You were one of the youngest NASCAR drivers to win back-to-back oval races last season. Your face has been splashed on motorsport blogs more than once.

You gave him a nod. Cool. Casual.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t expect to see stock cars in Paris,” he called over in accented English, voice half-muffled by his helmet strap.

You shrugged, pulling your own balaclava over your head. “Didn’t expect to see F1 guys slumming it with us commoners.”

That earned a short laugh. “Touché.”

You both approached the karts, clearly signed up for the same heat. The attendant looked like he might faint from excitement, watching two professional drivers size each other up like this was Monaco.

You climbed in, fingers itching for speed.

Isack glanced over at you. “Loser buys coffee?”

You smirked. “Are you sure you want to go home broke?”

He grinned.

You strapped yourself in, tugged on your gloves, and rolled your neck out like you were about to grid up at Martinsville. It was muscle memory now. Comforting.

The karts weren’t anything special—just rental electrics—but your body still tuned in, alert and hungry. A proper racer's brain didn’t care about the horsepower. It only cared about the gap. The edge. The feeling.

You snuck a glance across the grid.

Isack was already seated, tapping the steering wheel lightly like he was playing piano. Calm. Calculated. His helmet turned slightly in your direction, like he could feel your gaze even through the visor.

The green light dropped.

You hit the throttle like a shot.

The race was electric.

Tight corners. Aggressive passes. You cut him off twice, he brake-checked you once, and by the final lap, you were nose-to-tail. But on the last turn, he went wide—just wide enough for you to dive inside and steal the lead. You crossed the line half a second ahead of him.

He pulled off his helmet and looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to be mad or impressed. You hopped out of your kart, bouncing on your heels.

“Well?” you teased. “I take my coffee black.”

He walked over slowly, brushing his hair out of his face.

“You’re fast,” he admitted, breathless and flushed from adrenaline. “Aggressive. You drive like you’ve got something to prove.”

You shrugged. “I usually do.”

Isack tilted his head. “So, why Paris?”

You bit your lip. “Got tired of the noise. Wanted to remember what driving felt like... without sponsors breathing down my neck.”

He nodded, suddenly serious. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause—strangely soft, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

“So,” he said, finally. “How long are you in town?”

“Three more days.”

He gave you a slow smile. “Then I’ve got three days to convince you to try espresso over drip coffee.”

You smirked. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is,” Isack said, still smiling. “You just don’t know it yet.”

You raised a brow. “What’s your plan? Caffeine me into submission?”

“Exactly,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Day One – Espresso & Evasion

You met the next morning outside the café he promised had “the best espresso in Paris, better than Monza paddock coffee.”

It was quiet—just a few locals and a small chalkboard menu in rushed cursive French. Isack ordered for you both, and you didn’t protest this time.

You sat across from each other at a table too small for the distance you were used to keeping.

“This still feels weird,” you muttered.

“What does?” he asked, stirring his espresso with the edge of a sugar packet.

You glanced out the window. “Not being... watched. Not racing for something.”

“You were racing me yesterday.”

You met his gaze. “Yeah, but that wasn’t about the title or points or interviews. That was just... fun.”

He leaned back slightly, fingers curled around his tiny porcelain cup. “You make it sound like that’s rare.”

You didn’t answer right away.

“It is,” you said eventually. “I forgot what fun feels like when there’s a stopwatch involved.”

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded, slow and quiet, like he got it more than you realized.

You sipped your espresso. Bitter. Sharp. Kind of like him.

You didn’t hate it.

Day Two – Karting, Round Two

You beat him again.

This time, he didn’t let you have it. He fought tooth and nail, even clipped your rear bumper once with a grin behind the visor. But you still got him at the line.

As you pulled off your helmet, he pointed at you accusingly.

“You brake late on purpose,” he said. “Every time. You’re a menace.”

“And you love it,” you replied, smug.

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he shook his head, hair damp, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. “You know, I think we’d kill each other if we ever shared a team.”

You snorted. “Only if you kept trying to talk about setups while I’m eating.”

“You don’t talk setup while eating?” he asked, mock-horrified.

“I drive by feel, Hadjar. Not spreadsheets.”

He looked at you for a long second—no teasing this time. “That’s why you’re dangerous.”

You gave him a wink. “That’s why I win.”

Day Three – The Pact

It rained.

Not much—just enough to dampen the city, turn the streets slick and reflective, light bouncing off every puddle like glass. You both ducked under a café awning, your coats dripping, hands cold, cheeks flushed from the wind.

You weren’t sure how you ended up here, walking the city with him, just the two of you and a promise that these quiet days weren’t just borrowed time.

He held a cup of espresso in one hand, his free one tucked in his coat pocket. You had a paper bag full of pastries you didn’t need, but he'd insisted they were “absolutely essential to the Paris experience.”

You stopped near the river, staring at the slow swirl of water and the grey blur of the city behind it.

“This has been...” you started, then stopped.

He glanced at you. “Good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Weird. But good.”

“I get it.”

A quiet beat passed.

“I don’t want to leave and forget this happened,” you said.

He turned toward you fully. “Then don’t.”

You blinked. “We live on different continents.”

“I travel a lot.”

You gave him a look. “You want to long-distance this?”

He hesitated—but only for a moment.

“I want to see what it becomes. Not everything has to come with pressure right away. Maybe we just... meet up. When we can. One race. One place. A deal.”

“A deal?” you echoed.

“A pact,” he said, a little softer now. “Anywhere. Anytime. We show up.”

You exhaled. You were always so used to being all-in, full throttle, no breathing room. But this? This felt... manageable. Real.

You stuck out your pinky.

He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“It’s binding,” you said. “You break it, I’ll outbrake you next time and send you into a barrier.”

He laughed and linked his pinky with yours.

“Paris Pact,” you said.

He nodded. “Paris Pact.”

Six Months Later~

A bouquet of wildflowers sat in your hauler.

Just a sticky note on the wrapping: “See you in Austin. Pact still stands. —IH”

You grinned.

Racing wasn’t the only thing worth chasing anymore.