#formula 1 x reader imagines

[vivace-formulala]

𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭: 𝑨 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒔 (𝑱𝑫𝟕 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

🫵: “AFAB; same-aged ; youngest Schumacher ; nc-17 for suggestive themes ; you are apparently the darling angel of F1 due to your father’s legacy ; romeo and juliet trope ”

⌛️: late 2025

masterlist

a/n: heavily inspired by that scene from RWRB! I kept Zahra in just because 🫶

Jack Doohan was usually fast—just not this morning.

The knock on the door hit like the five lights going out.

“Jack Doohan, it's almost seven!” Zahra’s voice was sharp, clipped—the kind that meant she was three seconds from storming in. “You have interviews. Let’s get going.”

Zahra. His PR manager, the best his dad could recommend in the autosport industry.

Jack shot upright in bed, hair sticking out in confused angles, heartbeat slamming into his ribcage.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He turned to you, tangled beside him in the hotel bed, golden light creeping through the blinds and painting your bare shoulders like a scandal. He gave you a frantic shake.

You stirred, blinking slowly in the haze of early sunlight. The duvet slipped just low enough for the situation to become critical.

“What’s going on?” you asked groggily, clutching the covers to your chest.

Another knock—this time louder, less patient.

“Jack, come on,” Zahra again. “Press conference at nine, photos at ten, you’re already running late.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

Panic ensued. Muted cursing. The soft thud of limbs scrambling for clothes. Jack tripped over his pants. You tripped over Jack. Neither of you ever thought this day would come.

"What if we just tell her, come on she'll love me." You reason as you rapidly shuffled through your clothes to cover yourself up, before settling on your lover's hoodie.

Jack jumps to get his pants on, struggling with the button. "Yes, she would love you, she's a fan— but then she'd also kill me."

"Okay, fair."

Slotting your head into Alpine merchandise, you scanned the room for anything resembling a decent hiding spot.

“Under the bed?” he whispered.

“There’s nowhere to breathe under there.”

“Bathroom?”

“There’s literally one door and it's facing her!”

“Closet?”

You locked eyes. Silence passed between you like a loaded gun.

Knock. Turn of the door handle.

“I’m coming in,” Zahra declared, voice full of fire.

Jack, eyes wide, shoved you toward the closet. “Go!”

“Hey!” you hissed as he fumbled to get the door closed, your bare legs vanishing just as the hotel room door swung open.

Zahra stormed in like a commander in battle, eyes immediately locking on Jack, who stood there shirtless, the bed tousled behind him like a scene from a very unwise movie— something she had warned him numerous times about.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and then narrowed them even more at a pair of women’s shoes peeking out from beneath the chair.

“Where is she.”

"Who?” Jack asked, faux-bewildered.

Zahra scoffed and started prowling the room. “Don’t even try, Jack.”

He followed her like a man trying to keep a wild animal from finding his lunch. “Zahra, seriously. No one is here.”

“Oh, really?” she snapped, then held up a familiar object. “Then who left this?”

Your phone. Bright pink case. Stupid charm a fan gave you, still attached.

Jack blanched. “Okay, so she left her phone.”

Zahra’s eyes lit with the glee of a woman unraveling a mystery. “Where is she? Hmm? Hello, hello?”

Jack tried to pull her away from the room gently. “Zahra, please. I'll meet you downstairs—It’s all chill.”

“Chill?” She rounded on him. “You hook up with some rando the days before the biggest race of your life—with your entire family in attendance, might I add—and you let her keep her phone in here? You don’t have an NDA for sure! What if she was filming? What if she posts? Jack Doohan, Alpine's comeback kid, in bed with God knows who!”

“She’s not gonna do any of that,” he muttered.

“Oh really? And how would you know that?”

Thump.

All three of you froze.

In the closet, you decided that hiding a relationship was much easier in the movies... and that these hotels needed sturdier closet fixtures.

Zahra’s eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey. She lunged before Jack could stop her and flung open the closet.

You tumbled out with all the grace of a baby deer on ice, clutching your dignity and Jack’s Alpine hoodie like a shield.

“Ow. Shit.”

Silence. Then:

“Good morning,” you offered, sheepishly.

Zahra stared at you. The darling of Formula One media. The epitome of grace. The world’s most cherished legacy child. The youngest Schumacher, goddammit. And covered—covered—in Jack Doohan’s teeth marks.

Her breath hitched.

Jack winced. “Zahra, breathe.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do,” she snapped, taking several quick steps backward as if proximity to the scandal might physically infect her. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“You wanna sit?” Jack tried.

Zahra sat.

He fanned her gently. “Here okay?”

“Stop it,” she snapped, swatting him away. “God. You make me feel a hundred.”

Jack straightened, awkwardly. “Okay.”

“How long?” Zahra finally asked.

He mumbled, “Since Australia.”

She looked like she’d just done math in her head and hated the result. “Race one? Who knows?”

“Literally no one but you,” Jack said, and the tension disappeared from Zahra's shoulders.

“And Ronald,” he added. Jack’s security detail. Okay, the shoulder tension was back.

Your voice perked up from the floor. “And Johnny, my bodyguard. And Nora, my best friend…”

“Oh,” Jack added. “I told my sister.” He looked at you with a big grin.

You cooed. “Aw, really? She’s so sweet.”

"Yeah, she was really happy for us," Jack said, beaming.

“I can’t wait to see her again. She’s really—”

“Alright, shut up,” Zahra barked. “Both of you. I need to think.”

Jack lowered his voice, almost boyish. “Please don’t tell my dad.”

Her eye twitched. “We’re in a hotel crawling with journalists, a day away from the deciding race of the season, in the city with the highest paparazzi-per-capita, all eyes on Formula 1, and you’re asking me not to tell your daddy?”

Jack blinked. “Well… I haven’t told him yet.”

She snapped. “Sorry to burst your coming of age, but you decided to put your dick in the darling daughter of Michael Schumacher? The walking halo of the F1 world? Do you understand what you’ve done?”

You raised a hand. “Well, technically, my brother’s more famous now... with the ROC with Sebastian and...”

Zahra whirled. “Not talking to you, Missy.”

You raised both your hands in surrender.

She stopped. Closed her eyes. Exhaled. Slowly.

“Would it make any difference,” she asked tiredly, “if I told you not to see her again?”

Jack’s voice was calm now. Firm. “No.”

You smiled at him, heart swelling despite the chaos.

Zahra rubbed her temples like she was thirty years older than she was. “Every time I see you, I lose a year of my life.”

She stood.

“I’m going downstairs. You better be dressed and in the lobby in five minutes. You better pray you make that press conference.”

Jack nodded solemnly.

Zahra turned to you. “And you, little Miss Angel Eyes, get your ass back to Monaco right now. I want you chewing on a croissant on your private boat by sunset. If anyone sees you leave this hotel, I will bitch-slap you into next year. Got it?”

You nodded quickly. “Loud and clear.”

Then she paused, softened. Hand on your shoulder.

“I’m a big fan of your dad. I really hope he gets better.”

Your expression melted. You nodded, gently patting her hand.

Zahra took a deep breath, stepped back, and slammed the door behind her.

Through it, you heard her mutter, “Unbelievable. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.”

When the tension also made its exit, you laughed in relief. “Zahra’s even cooler in person, Jackie.”

Jack looked at you like you’d hung the stars in his sky.

You grinned. “Now go get dressed. I’ll get changed too.”

You peeled off his hoodie, lifting it over your head with a slow smirk. Jack let out a low whistle. You tossed the hoodie at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Eyes on the prize, Jack.”

©ｖｉｖａｃｅ－ｆｏｒｍｕｌａｌａ

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 🔪

[harrysfolklore]

future wife - ln4

summary: lando always says that yn russell is his future wife. the entire paddock thinks he's just joking, but he's not. wc: 6k + social media posts

folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!! FINALLY !! i loved writing lovesick puppy lando so so much and i really hope you love him too. PLEASE SEND YOUR FEEDBACK AND LEAVE A REBLOG !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 206,378 others

yn.russell silverstone race weekends always hit different 🥹 big bro starting front row tomorrow and i couldn’t be prouder LETS GOOOO

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username1 the most iconic russell

username2 COME ON RUSSELL NATION

landonorris excuse me why didn’t you include a picture of your future husband here ??

↳ yn.russell lando your delusions are talking again

↳ username1 hey he ALWAYS does this

↳ username2 lando and yn’s banter will never get old

carmenmmundt Love you both ❤️

username3 LANDO BEING ANNOYING IN THIS COMMENT SECTION AS ALWAYS

charles_leclerc I see homeboy trying to shoot his shot again

↳ landonorris what are you talking about? we’ll get married

↳ yn.russell LANDO STOP 😭

username4 she’s the real paddock princess

username5 lando really said fake it till you make it

username6 GEORGIE BOY DID IT

georgerussell63 Love you so much little one 🤍 Also Lando, she’s still my sister

↳ landonorris and? she’s my girl 😍

↳ yn.russell STOP

liked by yn.russell, maxverstappen1 and 986,409 others

landonorris honey i’m hooooome 🇬🇧😘 picture by my favorite girl @/yn.russell

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username1 LANDOOOOO

username2 the papaya hat is killing me

username3 CALLING LITTLE RUSSELL HIS GIRL AS ALWAYS

mclaren Papaya forever 🧡

username4 manifesting lando and yn wedding

carlossainz55 Just wait until George finds you cabron

↳ landonorris he knows she’s my future wife

↳ georgerussell63 I HATE YOU

username5 DYING AT THIS COMMENT SECTION LANDO YOU HAVE NO SHAME

username6 lando and yn are my favorite platonic lovers (actually there’s nothing platonic about them we all know it)

username7 SO BOYFRIEND CODED

yn.russell lando i need you to look at me when i tell you this…

↳ landonorris yes i do darling 😍

↳ georgerussell63 I’m literally never letting you two fly together again

↳ username1 IM WHEEZING

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You're lounging in George's motorhome at the track, scrolling through your phone while he reviews data with Alex. Carmen is perched on the sofa beside you, both of you sharing occasional knowing looks at the boys' intense focus on lap times.

"Oh, by the way," you say casually, not looking up from your phone, "I won't be around for dinner tonight. Got a date."

The effect is immediate. George's head snaps up from the screen, Alex nearly drops his water bottle, and Carmen tries (and fails) to hide her amused smile.

"A date?" George's protective brother mode activates instantly. "With who?"

"That new marketing guy from McLaren," you reply, finally glancing up. "Jacob. You know, the one I was talking to at the paddock party last week?"

"The tall blonde one?" Alex pipes up, earning himself a sharp look from George.

"Not helping, mate," George mutters.

"He seems nice," Carmen offers diplomatically, though there's something knowing in her expression that you can't quite read.

"Speaking of nice," Alex says with a poorly concealed grin, "should we tell Lando? You know, since he's been planning your wedding since 2018 and all."

The friendship between you and Lando dates back to karting days, when you'd tag along with George to races. You were fourteen when you first met a tiny, curly-haired Lando who immediately declared you were "pretty cool for a girl." Despite George's protective big brother routine, you and Lando became inseparable during race weekends.

The marriage jokes started right when Lando was making his F2 debut. You were both hanging out in the paddock when he suddenly announced, "When we get married, our wedding colors have to be papaya orange. Because I know I'll drive for Mclaren"

"Bold of you to assume I'd marry you, Norris," you'd laughed.

"Please, you love me," he'd grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Plus, I've already told my mum you're the one. Can't disappoint her now, darling."

That was the first time he called you darling, but it certainly wasn't the last. Over the years, the pet names multiplied - love, sweetheart, future wife - each one delivered with that characteristic Lando grin that somehow managed to be both cheeky and endearing.

But at the end of the day, he was Lando. And it was all jokes.

"He's probably too busy planning our honeymoon in papaya-colored paradise to care about my actual dating life," you said, trying to sound casual.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carmen murmurs, just as the door bursts open.

Lando's characteristic energy walks in, his curls slightly messy from his helmet. "Hello lads! Future wife," he grins, making his way over and dramatically flopping onto the couch, his head landing in your lap like it's his designated spot.

"Comfortable?" you ask dryly, but your hand automatically goes to his curls.

"Very," he beams up at you. "Why's everyone looking so serious though? Did George finally realize his neck's too long?"

"Ha ha," George deadpans, while Carmen tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.

"Little Russell was just telling us she's got a date tonight," Alex announces, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.

Lando sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you. "A what now?"

"A date," you repeat, watching as his face does a complicated journey before settling on forced nonchalance. "With Jacob from marketing."

"McLaren Jacob?" Lando's voice goes up an octave. "My Jacob?"

"He's not your Jacob," you roll your eyes. "And yes, that Jacob."

"The one who still can't figure out how to work the coffee machine?" Lando scoffs, repositioning himself to face you properly. "Come on, darling, you can do better than that. What happened to our sacred Friday night FIFA tournaments?"

"Sacred?" George snorts. "Is that what you call screaming at the TV when she beats you?"

"Oi, whose side are you on?" Lando throws a nearby cushion at George. "Besides, I let her win. Can't have my girl crying, can I?"

"Your girl?" you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his words.

"Obviously," he grins, but there's something slightly off about it. "Who else is going to fulfill my mum's dreams of having you as a daughter-in-law?"

"I'm sure Jacob would love to hear about these marriage plans," Alex teases, earning himself a glare from Lando.

"He better watch himself," Lando mutters, then louder, "Where's he taking you anyway? Probably somewhere boring like that chain restaurant near the factory."

"Actually," you say, "he's taking me to that new rooftop place in town."

"The one I said we should try?" Lando looks genuinely offended now. "That's just... that's just rude, love. I called dibs on taking you there."

"When exactly did you call dibs?" Carmen asks innocently.

"In my head," Lando protests. "This is not fair."

You poke his side. "Jealous, Norris?"

"Of course I am," he says, and for a moment, his voice loses its playful edge. "Can't have someone stealing my future wife away. We've got plans, remember? House in Surrey, three kids, dog named Fernando..."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" you laugh.

"Been planning our future since I was fourteen, love," he grins, but there's something soft in his eyes. "Now, would you cancel on Jacob and have a proper movie night with your future husband instead?"

"Still not your wife, Lando," you remind him.

"Not yet," he corrects, "But I'm a patient man, darling."

"Okay this is getting weird," Alex chimes in, "Lando, we're leaving. Little Russell, have fun on your date."

"Right," Lando stands up, but his usual bouncy energy seems subdued. "Have fun with boring Jacob. But just remember," he points at you with mock seriousness, though something flickers in his eyes, "I'm not giving up without a fight. Can't let some marketing guy steal the love of my life, can I?"

"The love of your life?" you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heart skips.

"Since karting, darling," he winks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, Alex, let's leave the Russell siblings to their protective brother-sister chat."

As soon as the door closes behind them, Carmen turns to you with raised eyebrows. "You really have that boy pining over you, you know that right?"

"Oh please," you wave her off, though your cheeks feel warm. "We're just joking around. We've been doing this since forever."

"Sure, sister, sure," George snorts, exchanging a knowing look with Carmen. "Because every guy I know plans out their future house in Surrey with their 'joke' wife."

"And names their future dog Fernando," Carmen adds.

"It's just Lando being Lando," you insist, but you can't help glancing at the door where he'd disappeared. "He jokes like this with everyone."

"Really?" Carmen leans forward. "Because I've never heard him call anyone else 'the love of his life' or 'darling' or plan out their wedding colors."

"Or look like someone kicked his puppy when they mention going on a date with someone else," George adds.

"You're both reading way too much into this," you say, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I have to go get ready for my date with Jacob."

"The date that Lando looked absolutely thrilled about," George mutters under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him as you leave, trying to ignore the way Lando's slightly hurt expression keeps playing in your mind.

Because it's all jokes. And he's just Lando.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 211,984 others

yn.russell great great night 😙

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username1 OMGG LITTLE RUSSELL

username2 she's so pretty its not fair

flonorris1 we need to catch up 👀

username3 HUHH DID LANDO FINALLY ASK HER OUT

username4 how did george allow her to go on a date

charles_leclerc Oblivious little baby russell

↳ yn.russell ?

↳ username1 EXPLAIN

iamrebeccad Prettiest girl 😍

jacob___ ❤️

↳ yn.russell 😘

↳ georgerussell63 I'm watching...

↳ username1 IM YELLING

↳ username2 WHATS GOING ONNN

landonorris the prettiest girl in the world and my future wife idc idc

↳ username1 lando have some class ffs

↳ yn.russell ENOUGH

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liked by carmenmmundt, jacob__ and 229,836 others

yn.russell snaps from the summer break 💙 happy happy

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username1 AN ICON

username2 i wish i was this pinterest feed coded

carmenmmundt Love you my girl !

username3 HOLD ON. THE SECOND PICTURE

username4 did she just soft launch 👀👀

username5 LITTLE RUSSELL HAS A BOYFRIEND ?????

username6 if her bf is not lando we don’t want it

alex_albon i know someone who’s NOT going to like this

landonorris my darling 😍😍 do u miss me as much as i miss youuuu?

↳ username1 HES SHAMELESS

↳ yn.russell STOP THIS MADNESS

georgerussell63 I know a lot of ways to make a crash look accidental

↳ yn.russell you’re literally not intimidating anyone BYE

↳ username1 SO SHE DOES HAVE A BF

jacob__ ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun is surprisingly bright as you make your way through the Zandvoort paddock, dodging various team personnel rushing around for Thursday preparations. The summer break was finally over and it was time for race cars again. You're just turning the corner when you hear a familiar voice.

"There's my darling!" Lando calls out, jogging over with his signature grin. "Thought you'd forgotten about your future husband during the break."

Before you can respond, he's pulled you into a tight hug. You catch a whiff of his familiar cologne, the one he's worn since F2, and automatically hug him back.

"How was your summer?" he asks, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he starts walking with you. "Did you miss me terribly? Cry yourself to sleep thinking about our FIFA rematch?"

"Actually," you start, feeling unexpectedly nervous, "I've got some news."

"Oh?" His eyes light up. "Did George finally admit his neck is abnormally long? Because I've been saying—"

"Jacob and I are officially together," you cut in quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. "Like, properly together. Boyfriend and girlfriend."

Lando's step falters slightly, his arm dropping from your shoulders. "What?"

"Yeah," you continue, fiddling with your paddock pass. "We kept seeing each other after that first date, and during the break... it just got serious."

"Serious?" His voice sounds strange. "How serious? When did this— why am I just finding out about this?"

"We wanted to keep it quiet at first, you know? But he talked to the higher-ups at McLaren today about dating someone connected to another team, and they're cool with it, so..." you trail off, watching his face carefully.

"Cool with it," he repeats slowly. Then, visibly forcing his usual grin, "Well, that's... that's great, love. Really great. Though I have to say, my mum will be devastated. She was really counting on those papaya-themed grandchildren."

But his joke falls flat, lacking its usual warmth. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Lando—"

"No, really," he cuts in, running a hand through his curls. "I'm happy for you. Even if he is rubbish at making coffee. And boring. And probably doesn't even know your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, or that you secretly love watching those terrible reality shows, or that you—" he stops himself, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Good for you. Both of you."

You're about to respond when his race engineer calls him over.

"Duty calls," he says, already backing away. "But hey, tell Jacob he better treat my future wife right. Even if she's... not actually my future wife anymore."

He tries to wink, but it looks more like a flinch. Before you can say anything else, he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the paddock with an inexplicable heaviness in your chest.

But you immediately brush it off. Because at the end of the day, he's just Lando.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,504 others

yn.russell making it official 🤍 @/jacob___

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username1 OH?

username2 YALL HE WORKS FOR MCLAREN ??

username3 what happened to lando ?? the marriage proposal??

georgerussell63 About time you stopped sneaking around 🙄

↳ yn.russell shut up old man

↳ carlossainz55 Protective brother mode activated

carmenmmundt You guys look so cute! ❤️

↳ yn.russell love you xxx

alex_albon Well this is going to be interesting 👀

↳ landonorris mate.

↳ alex_albon what? I said nothing

username4 But what about Lando?? 😭 They were literally perfect together

usernsme5 nooo my ship is sinking

username6 the way lando looks at her tho…

jacob___❤️

↳ yn.russell 🤍

landonorris i guess i need to find a new future wife then 🤷‍♂️ applications open x

↳ danielricciardo i volunteer as tribute mate

↳ landonorris sorry mate you're not george's sister

↳ carlossainz55 You okay there buddy?

↳ yn.russell don't worry, you'll always be my favorite husband-that-never-was x

↳ landonorris 💔

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yn.russell has added to their stories

landonorris has replied to your story

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The Singapore night air is thick with humidity and celebration. The club's bass thrums through your bones as you watch Lando being congratulated for what feels like the hundredth time. He's practically glowing, champagne-drunk and victory-high, but something seems off about his smile.

"Babe, want another drink?" Jacob's voice pulls your attention back. His hand is possessively placed on your lower back, and you notice Lando's eyes flicker to it before he quickly looks away.

Across the VIP section, Alex nudges Charles, nodding towards where Lando is now aggressively stabbing at his ice with a straw.

"Subtle, mate," Alex smirks, sliding into the booth beside Lando. "Very subtle."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Lando mutters, but his eyes betray him, darting back to where Jacob is now whispering something in your ear.

"Ah, l'amour," Charles sighs dramatically. "It is painful, no?"

"Nothing's painful," Lando protests, straightening up. "I just won a Grand Prix, in case you forgot."

"And yet you look like someone stole your puppy," Alex points out.

"Or your future wife," Charles adds with a knowing look.

"She was never actually going to be my future wife," Lando says, but his voice lacks conviction. "It was just jokes. Always has been. She's George's sister, for fuck's sake."

"Right," Alex drawls. "So you wouldn't mind if I told you they're probably going to move in together soon?"

Lando chokes on his drink. "They're what?"

"He's joking," Charles quickly intervenes, shooting Alex a look. "But your reaction..."

"Means nothing," Lando insists, but his knuckles are white around his glass. "I just... I don't want her to rush into anything. As a friend. A protective friend. Who happens to be her brother's mate. And her future husband. But like, as a joke. Obviously."

"Obviously," Alex repeats dryly.

Suddenly, Charles straightens up. "Where did they go?"

The spot where you and Jacob were standing is empty. Lando's eyes scan the crowd, something uneasy settling in his stomach.

"Probably just getting more drinks," he says, but he's already standing up.

"Lando..." Alex starts.

"I just need some air," Lando cuts him off, making his way through the crowd.

The corridor leading to the outdoor area is quieter, the music muffled. That's when he hears raised voices.

"You're being ridiculous," Jacob's voice is sharp. "I was just talking to her."

"With your hand on her waist?" Your voice sounds tired. "While I was right there?"

"Oh, so I can't even network now? That's literally my job, YN. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, since you're only here because of your brother."

Lando's feet move before his brain catches up.

"Everything alright out here?" His voice is deliberately light, but there's steel underneath.

"Fine," Jacob snaps. "Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend."

"Doesn't sound very private," Lando steps closer to you instinctively. "Or very pleasant."

"This doesn't concern you, Norris."

"See, that's where you're wrong, mate," Lando's usual playful demeanor is gone. "YN's wellbeing always concerns me. Future wife contract, remember? Legally binding and all that."

"We're still doing that joke?" Jacob scoffs. "Bit pathetic, don't you think?"

"Not as pathetic as hitting on sponsors' daughters while your girlfriend watches," Lando retorts, then softer, to you: "You okay, darling?"

The familiar pet name makes your chest tight. "I'm fine, Lando."

"Great, she's fine," Jacob moves to grab your arm. "Let's go."

"Touch her like that again," Lando's voice is deadly quiet, "and you'll be looking for a new marketing job. Might want to learn how the coffee machine works first though."

Jacob looks between you and Lando, jaw clenched. "Whatever. This is bullshit anyway. Call me when you're done playing happy families with your brother's friend."

He storms off, leaving you and Lando in charged silence.

"So," Lando finally says, attempting his usual lightness, "does this mean I can keep the dog name Fernando?"

You let out a watery laugh, and without thinking, he pulls you into a hug. You fit against him like you always have, his cologne familiar and comforting.

"My darling," he murmurs into your hair, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't call you that anymore."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "You've been calling me that since we were teenagers."

"Yeah, well," he gives you a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "things change, don't they?"

The way he's looking at you makes your heart stutter. Has he always looked at you like that?

"Is he always like this?" Lando asks quietly, still holding you close. His usual playful tone is gone, replaced by something more serious than you're used to hearing from him.

"No, no," you shake your head quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Lando's brow furrows as he studies your face. "It's not— he's not usually... it was just a misunderstanding."

He's silent for a moment, his hands fidgeting like they always do when he's worried about something. "You'd tell me though, right? If he ever... if he's not good to you? Or tell George at least?"

"Of course," you try to smile reassuringly. "But really, today was just a bad night. Too much pressure, too much champagne..."

"YN," he cuts in, and the way he says your name instead of one of his usual pet names makes you look up at him. His eyes are intense, concerned. "Promise me."

"I promise," you say softly. "You're a great friend, Lando."

Something flickers across his face – so quick you almost miss it – before his signature grin returns, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Friend?" he scoffs, but his voice sounds slightly strained. "Future husband, remember? Can't have my darling dealing with drama alone. Bad for our future marriage prospects."

You laugh, and he joins in, but there's something heavy hanging in the air between you. Before either of you can say anything else, Alex's voice carries from the doorway.

"Found them! Everything okay out here?"

"Never better," Lando announces, stepping back and throwing an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease. But you notice how his smile doesn't quite match the one in all those podium photos from earlier. "Just reminding the future Mrs. Norris about our very legitimate marriage contract. Very binding. Legally waterproof and everything."

He's doing that thing he does when he's uncomfortable – talking too fast, jokes tumbling out one after another. But his hand squeezes your shoulder gently before he lets go, and you catch him glancing back at you as he bounces toward the club entrance, his "Let's celebrate my amazing win, shall we?" almost drowning out the sound of your heart beating too fast.

Alex watches the exchange with knowing eyes but mercifully says nothing, just offers his arm to escort you back inside.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

texts between george and yn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 287,540 others

yn.russell british boy steps foot in mexico city and instantly thinks he's a local... who's gonna tell him

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username1 LANDO X LITTLE RUSSELL IS SO BACKKK

username2 he looks so cuute

username3 i know her bf is not going to like this

alex_albon he can't even keep tequila shots down. such a fake

↳ landonorris want to test that theory?

↳ charles_leclerc Poor little Lando Norris

username4 HELP SHES SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭

jacob___ 👀

↳ username1 i know he's JEALOUS

username5 the way yn's feed is like 60% lando

username6 MY PARENTS

landonorris why is my future wife so mean to me

↳ yn.russell LANDO

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Later that afternoon, you're sitting with Carmen in the Mercedes hospitality when George joins you, stealing a bite of your sandwich.

"Get your own food," you swat his hand away.

"Sharing is caring, little sis," he grins, then notices your expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," you say automatically, but Carmen raises an eyebrow.

"She's overthinking," Carmen supplies helpfully. "About Jacob."

"I'm not overthinking," you protest. "I'm just... thinking. Normal amounts of thinking."

"About?" George prompts.

You fidget with your paddock pass. "He wants me to meet his parents. After Abu Dhabi. Says it's time we got more serious."

George's expression shifts slightly. "And you want that?"

"I mean... yeah? I think so. It makes sense, right? We've been together for a few months now, things are good..."

"Are they?" Carmen asks gently.

"Of course they are," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. "The Singapore thing was just a one-off. He apologized. He's been really sweet since then."

"Sweet enough to make up for being a dick?" George mutters.

"George."

"Sorry, sorry," he holds up his hands. "Just... you don't sound very excited about meeting his parents."

"I am excited," you insist. "It's just... a big step."

"Not as big as naming your future dog Fernando," Carmen says under her breath.

You shoot her a warning look. "Can we not?"

"Not what?" George asks.

"Nothing," you say quickly. "Just... Carmen thinks I'm not fully committed because..."

"Because you still light up every time Lando calls you 'darling'?" Carmen finishes.

"That's not— he calls everyone darling."

"No, he doesn't," George and Carmen say in unison.

"I hate you both," you groan. "Look, Lando and I are friends. That's all we've ever been. The whole future wife thing is just our running joke."

"Sure," Carmen nods. "That's why he looks like someone kicked his puppy every time Jacob touches you."

"He does not—" you start, but stop when you catch sight of Lando walking past. He gives you a small wave and his signature grin, but something about it seems off.

"Doesn't what?" George prompts.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "I should go. Jacob's waiting for me."

As you leave, you hear Carmen say to George, "They're both idiots, aren't they?"

"Complete idiots," George agrees. "But at least they're consistent about it."

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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 298,605 others

yn.russell happy birthday to my favorite “future husband” 🎂 from stealing your caps in karting to stealing your FIFA records (still undefeated btw), you've somehow become one of my favorite people in this weird little world of ours. here's to many more years of terrible jokes, impromptu dance parties in the garage, and you pretending to let me win at everything (we both know I'm just better 😌). love you loads landolorian 🤍

ps: fernando the nonexistent dog says happy birthday to his future dad x

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username1 THIS IS TOO CUTE

username2 YOUR HONOR IM CRYING

landonorris still waiting for that marriage certificate darling 💍 also you definitely cheated at FIFA last time

↳ yn.russell sounds like someone's a sore loser

↳ landonorris sounds like someone's avoiding the marriage topic

↳ georgerussell63 get a room you two

↳ landonorris working on it mate

↳ username1 LANDO WTF

↳ username2 HE HAS NO SHAME

mclaren Happy Birthday @/landonorris! @/yn.russell when's the wedding?

↳ landonorris asking the real questions admin

↳ oscarpiastri I'll officiate

↳ landonorris DEAL

↳ yn.russell STOP IT

jacob___ 🙄

↳ landonorris problem mate?

↳ yn.russell boys.

↳ username3 THE TENSION

username4 why aren't they together yet??

username5 my heart can't take this anymore just date already

liked by username1, username2 and 3,976 others

f1.gossip Lando Norris and YN Russell spotted getting cozy at his birthday celebration last night. Swipe for more 👀

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username1 "just friends" my ass

username2 no because why does he look at her like she hung the stars

username3 wait where's jacob? 👀

↳ username1 apparently he left early...

↳ username2 he posted from a different party later that night

username4 george watching his best friend and his sister like 🧍‍♂️

↳ username1 he's been watching this slow burn for years poor man

username5 jacob watching these photos like 👁👄👁

username6 the way lando calls her darling more than her actual boyfriend does

username7 who's gonna tell jacob his girlfriend has better chemistry with lando in these photos than their entire instagram feed

username8 the "future wife" jokes don't seem so jokey anymore huh

username9 okay but can we talk about how she literally glows when she's around him?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The afternoon sun filters through your apartment windows as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You're going out to dinner with Jacob - another fancy restaurant, another chance for him to network while you smile politely beside him.

A knock at your door makes you pause. Opening it reveals Lando, holding a bag of takeaway and what appears to be your favorite ice cream.

"Oh," he says, taking in your dress and heels. "You're going out."

"Yeah," you adjust your earring, but can't help smiling at the familiar sight of him with food. "With Jacob. Remember?"

"Right," his smile dims slightly. "The boyfriend. Must've slipped my mind." He holds up the bags. "I brought provisions for our traditional post-race debrief. You know, where you tell me how amazing I was and I pretend to be humble about it?"

You laugh despite yourself. "Since when are you ever humble?"

"I'm incredibly humble. The most humble. No one's more humble than me," he grins, then peers around you into the apartment. "But seriously, can't you reschedule? I got your favorite ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, because I'm the best future husband ever."

"Still going with that, are we?" you ask, turning back to the mirror to check your lipstick.

"Always, darling," he follows you in, setting the food down and flopping onto your couch like he owns it. "It's legally binding, remember? Can't disappoint my mum now."

"I can't tonight," you say, checking your phone. "Jacob said he has something important to tell me."

"The one who made you cry?" Lando's voice loses some of its playfulness.

"That was one time," you defend, though without heat. "And he apologized. He actually told me he loves me last week. Says he wants us to be serious."

Lando sits up straighter, his usual energetic demeanor momentarily stilled. "And do you? Love him?"

"You don't know anything about my relationship, Lando," you say, but it comes out softer than intended.

"I know you," he counters, standing up and moving to lean against the wall near your mirror. "I know you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at bad jokes. I know you secretly love those terrible reality shows but pretend you're 'just watching them ironically.' I know you stress-eat ice cream when George has a bad race."

"That's different," you say, but you're fighting a smile.

"Is it?" he challenges, but his tone is gentle. "Look, I just... I want you to be happy. Even if it means dealing with boring Jacob who still can't work the coffee machine."

"He figured it out last week, actually," you laugh.

"Finally! Only took him what, six months?" Lando grins, then sobers slightly. "But seriously, if he makes you happy..."

"He does," you say, though something in your chest tightens. "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, darling."

"Nobody's perfect."

"I am," he says immediately, making you laugh. "What? I'm just saying, our future children would have excellent genes. Plus, I make a mean cup of coffee."

Your phone buzzes - a text from Jacob asking where you are.

"I have to go," you say, grabbing your purse. "Lock up when you leave?"

"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "Abandon your future husband with melting ice cream. But just know, Fernando the dog is very disappointed in you."

"Still haven't given up on that name, huh?"

"Never," he grins, but something flickers in his eyes. "Save me some time this weekend? For proper FIFA revenge?"

"You mean so I can beat you again?"

"Excuse you, I let you win," he protests, following you to the door. "It's part of my long-term strategy."

"Which is?"

"Can't have my future wife thinking I'm bad at something, can I?" he winks. "Even though we both know I'm actually terrible at FIFA."

You shake your head, laughing. "Goodbye, Lando."

"Wait," he calls as you start down the hall. "Just... be happy, yeah? Even if it's with someone who took six months to learn how to make coffee."

"I am happy," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds more like a question than a statement.

"If you say so, darling," he says quietly. "But just remember, the Fernando name reservation is still valid. You know, in case the coffee-challenged boyfriend doesn't work out."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling as you walk away, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to be arguing with your head about exactly what - or who - makes you happiest. Behind you, you can hear him humming what sounds suspiciously like the wedding march, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Because at the end of the day, he's still Lando. Your Lando. Even if you're not quite ready to admit what that really means.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,498 others

yn.russell last dinner date before heading back to the circus 🏎️ @/jacob___

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username1 ewww

username2 cute couple tbh

jacob___ miss you already x

↳ yn.russell ❤️

landonorris see you in las vegas darling x

↳ jacob___ can you not?

↳ landonorris sorry mate, contractual future wife obligations

↳ yn_russell boys. please.

↳ georgerussell63 🍿

↳ carlossainz55 Share some with me

↳ username1 LORD

↳ username2 THIS IS SO MESSYYYYY

username3 THIS COMMENT SECTION HAS ME IN TEARSSSS

username4 i feel like shit is about to hit the fan reaaaally soon

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

"I just don't understand why you have to be there for every single race," Jacob's voice carries down the paddock corridor. "It's not like you're actually part of the team."

You're standing outside the McLaren hospitality, what started as a casual conversation having turned into yet another argument. "My brother races in F1, and Lando's one of my closest friends. Of course I'm going to be here."

"Right, Lando," Jacob scoffs. "Because God forbid you miss one of his races. Wouldn't want to disappoint your 'future husband.'"

"Don't do that," you say tiredly. "You know it's just a joke."

"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you'd rather spend time with him than support your actual boyfriend's career."

"Your career? I've been to every single marketing event you've asked me to attend. I've smiled and networked and played the perfect girlfriend."

"Perfect?" He laughs humorlessly. "You barely talk to any of the sponsors. You're too busy hanging out in the Mercedes garage or watching Lando's practice sessions."

"That's not fair—"

"You know what's not fair? Having a girlfriend who's more invested in other people's careers than mine."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to give up my entire life just because we're dating."

"Your entire life?" His voice rises. "You mean hanging around the paddock like some glorified fan?"

You step back like he's slapped you. "Is that what you think I am?"

"I think," he says coldly, "that you need to figure out what's more important - playing happy families with your brother's friends or having a real relationship with someone who's actually going somewhere in life."

"Hey!" A sharp voice cuts through the tension. George is standing there, face thunderous. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend," Jacob says stiffly.

"Doesn't sound very private to me," George steps closer, positioning himself slightly in front of you. "Or very respectful."

"George, it's fine," you start, but he cuts you off.

"No, it's not fine," he says, not taking his eyes off Jacob. "No one talks to my sister like that."

Jacob holds up his hands. "Look, this is between me and YN."

"Not anymore it's not," George's voice is dangerously calm. "I think you should leave."

For a moment, it looks like Jacob might argue, but something in George's expression makes him think better of it. "Whatever. Call me when you're ready to be a proper girlfriend."

As he walks away, George turns to you, his anger melting into concern. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," you say automatically, but your voice wavers.

"Come on," he wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward his driver room. "Let's talk."

Once inside, you sink onto the couch while George grabs two water bottles. "How long has he been talking to you like that?"

"It's not... it's not usually that bad," you say, fidgeting with the bottle label. "He's just stressed about work."

"That's not an excuse," George sits beside you. "Has he said things like this before? About you being just a fan?"

You stay quiet, which is answer enough.

"YN," George's voice softens. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's embarrassing," you admit quietly. "He's right, isn't he? I am just hanging around because of you."

"Stop," George says firmly. "You've been part of this world since we were kids. You understand racing better than half the people in the paddock. Hell, you probably know more about tire strategies than some of the engineers."

You manage a small laugh. "Only because you never shut up about them."

"Exactly," he grins, then turns serious again. "Look, being here isn't just about me. It's your life too. You've built relationships with everyone here. Carmen loves you, Alex considers you a little sister, and Lando..."

"Don't," you cut him off. "Please don't bring Lando into this."

George studies you for a moment. "Why not? He's your best friend."

"Because..." you trail off, not sure how to explain the complicated mix of emotions that surface whenever Lando's name comes up lately.

"Because Jacob's jealous of him?" George suggests gently.

"He's not... it's not like that."

"Isn't it?" George raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like your boyfriend has a problem with how close you are to someone who's been in your life a lot longer than he has."

"Lando and I are just friends," you say, but the words feel hollow.

"Are you?" George asks softly. "Because friends don't look at each other the way you two do. Friends don't have elaborate future plans including dogs named Fernando. Friends don't get that look in their eyes when the other person is dating someone else."

"George..."

"I'm just saying," he continues, "maybe Jacob isn't entirely wrong to be jealous. Just... wrong about everything else."

You're quiet for a moment, processing. "I don't know what to do."

"Yes, you do," George says simply. "You just need to be honest with yourself about what - or who - actually makes you happy."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" He challenges. "Because from what I just heard, Jacob doesn't make you happy. He makes you feel small. And my little sister," he squeezes your shoulder, "deserves someone who makes her feel like she could take on the world."

"Someone like Lando?" You ask quietly.

"I didn't say that," George grins. "But now that you mention it..."

You shove him playfully. "Shut up."

"Make me," he laughs, then sobers. "Seriously though, YN. You deserve better than someone who makes you question your place here. This is your home too."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. I'm the older sibling, remember?"

"By like two years!"

"Still counts," he says smugly, then adds more seriously, "Just... promise me you'll think about what I said? About being honest with yourself?"

"I promise," you say softly, even as your mind drifts to a certain curly-haired driver who's probably wondering where you are for your traditional pre-race FIFA tournament.

"Good," George stands up. "Now, want to go watch Lando absolutely butcher his quali prep? I heard he's still convinced he can take turn 3 flat out."

You laugh, letting him pull you up. "Some things never change, do they?"

"Nope," George agrees, but there's something knowing in his smile. "And some things are just waiting for you to realize they've been there all along."

As you walk toward the McLaren garage, you can't help but think about how some of the best things in life start as jokes - like a fourteen-year-old boy declaring you'll have papaya orange wedding colors, or a nickname that feels more like home than any other word in the world.

Maybe it's time to stop pretending it's all just a joke.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 301,988 others

yn.russell my big brother just won in VEGAS!!! 🏆✨ from watching you race karts in the rain to watching you stand on top of the podium under those lights... i've never been prouder to be a russell. you deserve this more than anyone georgie. also thanks for letting me steal your champagne and ruin your hair before the photos 😘

ps: mum's crying, dad's crying, i'm crying, even fernando the dog is crying and he's not real x

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username1 I LOVE THEM SMMMM

username2 THIS IS MY FAMILY

georgerussell63 love you little sis ❤️ (but i was definitely the cuter kid)

↳ yn_russell keep telling yourself that x

↳ landonorris can confirm yn was the cuter kid

↳ georgerussell63 no one asked you lando

↳ landonorris just supporting my future wife mate

↳ yn.russell boys please this is george's moment

username2 THE WAY SHE RAN TO HIM IN PARC FERME 😭

username3 sibling goals fr

username4 ok but can we talk about how lando waited to celebrate with george until after yn had her moment with him 🥺

↳ username1 future brother in law behavior

username5 wait why isn't jacob in any of these photos? Wasn't he there?

carmenmmundt so proud of you both ❤️

↳ landonorris *all three of us

↳ carmenmmundt ?

↳ landonorris future wife = future family

↳ yn.russell this is GEORGE'S post omg

↳ landonorris sorry darling carry on x

charles_leclerc the russell genes are strong

↳ landonorris hopefully our kids get her genes

↳ georgerussell63 LANDO.

↳ yn.russell i swear to god

↳ landonorris what? just planning ahead 😌

username6 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS KILLING ME

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yn.russell has added to their stories

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Abu Dhabi night is alive with celebration, the McLaren garage covered in papaya and champagne. But you're hidden away in one of the quiet corridors behind hospitality, mascara smudged, trying to muffle your sobs.

"There you are, darling! We've been looking everywhere for—" Lando's voice cuts off abruptly when he sees you. "YN?"

You quickly try to wipe your tears, but it's too late. His championship-winning smile vanishes instantly as he drops down beside you.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" His voice is soft, concerned. When you don't answer, he gently takes your hands away from your face. "Talk to me."

"It's stupid," you manage to say. "You should be celebrating. You just won the constructors'."

"Pretty sure the champagne will still be there in ten minutes," he says, thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "What happened?"

You take a shaky breath. "Jacob... he..." Your voice breaks.

Lando's expression hardens. "What did he do?"

"He broke up with me," you let out a bitter laugh. "Apparently now that he's secured a position at Mercedes for next season, he doesn't need the Russell connection anymore."

"He what?" Lando's voice is dangerously quiet.

"Turns out I was just... convenient. A way to get closer to Toto. To Mercedes." Your voice cracks again. "God, I feel so stupid."

"You're not stupid," Lando says fiercely. "He's the stupid one. He's worse than stupid, he's a complete—"

"I really thought..." you cut him off, fresh tears falling. "I actually thought he cared about me."

Without hesitation, Lando pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his race suit, still damp with champagne, and let yourself break.

"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you, darling."

You stay like that for a while, his hands running soothingly up and down your back as you cry. The distant sounds of celebration feel like they're from another world.

"Want me to crash his car?" Lando finally asks, making you let out a watery laugh. "I could do it. Make it look like an accident. I am a professional driver, after all."

"Lando..."

"Or we could put laxatives in his coffee. Though he'd probably notice, since he still can't make a proper cup himself."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly.

"There's my girl," he says softly, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't..."

"It's okay," you whisper. "I've always been your girl. Even if it was just as a joke."

Something shifts in his expression. "YN..."

"Don't," you pull back slightly. "Please. I can't... I can't lose you too. Not tonight."

He studies your face for a long moment, then nods, pulling you back against his chest. "You'll never lose me. Future husband contract, remember? Legally binding. Can't get rid of me that easily."

You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. "Promise?"

"Promise," he kisses the top of your head. "Besides, Fernando still needs both his parents."

This gets a real laugh out of you. "We don't actually have a dog, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects. "We don't have a dog yet. But when we do—"

"His name will be Fernando," you finish with him, and for a moment, everything feels okay again.

"Want me to get George?" he asks after a while.

You shake your head. "Not yet. Can we just... stay here for a bit?"

"As long as you need," he says, and you can hear his heart beating steadily under your ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

In the distance, someone calls his name.

"Go," you start to pull away. "They need their champion."

"They can wait," he says firmly, pulling you back. "You need me more."

And maybe it's the way he says it, or the gentle kiss he presses to your temple, or how his arms feel like the safest place in the world, but suddenly you realize what everyone's been trying to tell you all along.

This was never just a joke to him.

And maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke to you either.

But that's a revelation for another night, when your heart isn't quite so broken and his race suit isn't covered in your tears. For now, you let yourself be held by your best friend, your future husband, your Lando, as the Abu Dhabi night carries on without you.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 288,760 others

yn.russell back to my favorite job: professional thirdwheel 🏖️ (at least they feed me occasionally) @/georgerussell63 @/carmenmmundt

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username1 MY PARENTS

username2 wait... where's jacob? 👀

↳ username1 he unfollowed her last week 👀

↳ username3 tea incoming

georgerussell63 You love us

↳ yn.russell debatable

↳ carmenmmund We literally paid for your dinner

↳ yn.russell okay fine you're alright

landonorris need a fourth wheel? 👀

↳ yn.russell ...

↳ landonorris i'll bring snacks

username4 THE WAY LANDO COMMENTED SO FAST

username5 LANDO THIS IS YOUR CHANCE

username6 single little russell era is coming

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across your apartment. It's been a month days since Abu Dhabi, a months since Jacob revealed his true colors, and you're curled up on your couch in your comfiest sweats, surrounded by empty ice cream containers.

George and Carmen tried to cheer you up, making you tag along on their vacation, but now that you were back home, the sulking feeling inevitably came back too.

A familiar pattern of knocks at your door makes you groan. "Go away, Lando."

"Not a chance, darling," his voice calls back. "I come bearing provisions!"

"I don't need provisions," you call out, but you're already getting up to open the door. "I need to wallow in peace."

You open the door to find Lando, arms full of bags, wearing a ridiculously oversized hoodie that you're pretty sure belongs to George.

"Wallowing is officially cancelled," he announces, breezing past you into the apartment. "We're having a proper heartbreak recovery session."

"We are?"

"Absolutely," he starts unpacking the bags. "I've got all the essentials. More ice cream - mint chocolate chip, obviously. Every terrible rom-com Netflix has to offer. Popcorn. Those weird crisps you like that no one else understands. And..." he pulls out a bottle with flourish, "your favorite wine."

"Lando..."

"No arguments," he says firmly, but gently. "I'm not leaving you alone to cry over that coffee-challenged idiot."

"I wasn't crying," you protest weakly.

He raises an eyebrow at your clearly tear-stained face. "Right. And I'm not the most talented driver on the grid."

This actually makes you laugh. "Your modesty never fails to amaze me."

"I know, I know, I'm incredible," he grins, already making himself at home on your couch. "Now come here. We're starting with The Notebook because I know it's your guilty pleasure, even though you pretend to hate it."

"I do hate it," you say, but you're already curling up next to him.

"Sure you do, darling," he throws a blanket over both of you. "Just like you hate reality TV and actually love Jacob's boring marketing presentations."

You wince slightly at Jacob's name, and Lando immediately softens.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "No more mentions of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Though I still think we should put glitter in his car ventilation system."

"George already offered to have him banned from the paddock," you smile slightly.

"Good man, your brother," Lando nods approvingly. "Though my revenge plans are much more creative. I was thinking we could reprogram his laptop to only play 'Baby Shark' when he opens PowerPoint..."

You can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"Made you smile though, didn't I?" he says softly, and something in his voice makes you look up at him.

"You always do," you admit quietly.

He holds your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Right, well, that's what future husbands are for, isn't it? Can't have my darling being sad. Bad for our wedding photos."

"Still going with that, are we?"

"Always," he says, and despite his light tone, there's something earnest in his eyes. "Someone's got to look after you properly."

"I can look after myself," you point out.

"Oh, I know," he grins. "But it's more fun together, isn't it? Plus, who else is going to appreciate your terrible taste in movies?"

"My taste is not terrible!"

"Darling, you genuinely enjoyed that film about the talking cats."

"It was artistic!"

"It was horrifying," he laughs, pulling you closer. "But I watched it three times with you anyway."

"Because you're a good friend," you say softly.

Something flickers across his face. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "The best friend you'll ever have. Even if you have questionable taste in everything except future husbands."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Speaking of questionable taste, weren't we supposed to be watching The Notebook?"

"Oh right!" he brightens, grabbing the remote. "Time to pretend you're not going to cry at the end."

"I never cry at the end."

"Darling, you've cried every single time we've watched it."

"Have not!"

"Have too! Remember last time? You got tears all over my favorite hoodie."

"That was one time!"

"One time this month, maybe," he grins, then softens. "It's okay though. My hoodies are always available for your tears. Even if they're about stupid coffee-challenged marketing guys who don't deserve them."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Lando."

"For what?"

"For being you. For being here. For..." you gesture at all the supplies he brought. "For everything."

He's quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Always, darling. In sickness and in health, remember?"

"We're not actually married, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects, but there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "We're not actually married yet."

The movie starts playing, but you're more aware of his steady breathing, of how perfectly you fit against his side, of how safe you feel in this moment. And maybe it's too soon, maybe your heart is still too raw, but you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the right person has been here all along.

But that's a thought for another day. For now, you let yourself be comforted by your best friend, your constant, your Lando, as he quotes along with the movie and keeps you supplied with ice cream and terrible jokes until you're laughing more than you're crying.

And if you do end up crying at the end of The Notebook, well, his hoodie is already there to catch your tears.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 291,483 others

yn.russell FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON. WHAT A RIDE !!!! lando winning and georgie on podium. ALEX P5 !!!! all of my boys killing it 🥺 so happy to be back, i missed this so much

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username1 LITTLE RUSSELL BIGGEST SUPPORTER

username2 SHE WAS SO HAPPY FOR LANDO OMFG

username3 still gutted for the missed mclaren 1-2 but GEORGE P3!!

carmenmmundt You almost broke my hand with all the squeezing !! Missed you so happy my girl 🤍

↳ username1 AHH LITTLE RUSSELL IS HEALING

username4 the way she JUMPED into lando's arms

ciscanorris My future daughter in law! It was so good to see you

↳ username1 AHH MAMA NORRIS CLAIMING HER

landonorris THAT WAS FOR YOU MY DARLINGGG

↳ yourinstagram 🥺

↳ username2 AHH SHE DIDN'T CORRECT HIM

georgerussell63 Love you sis, even tho you hugged Lando first

↳ yn.russell he won okay

↳ landonorris and i'm her future husband

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Miami night air is warm and sweet, carrying the distant sounds of celebration from the post race party below. You're leaning against the balcony railing, watching the lights of the circuit sparkle in the distance, when familiar footsteps approach.

"There's my darling," Lando's voice is soft as he joins you. "Hiding from your adoring public?"

You smile, not looking away from the view. "Just needed some air."

The past few months flash through your mind - Lando showing up at your door with takeaway after particularly hard days, marathon gaming sessions that somehow always ended with you falling asleep on his shoulder, countless movie nights where he'd quote every line just to make you laugh. He never let you wallow, never let you retreat into sadness. Whether it was surprising you with your favorite coffee in the morning or sending you ridiculous memes at 3 AM, he was constantly there, slowly piecing your heart back together without you even realizing it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, bumping your shoulder gently with his.

"Just thinking about everything that's changed since last season."

He hums in agreement. "Good changes though, right?"

You finally turn to look at him, really look at him. His curls slightly messy from running his hands through them - a nervous habit you've known since you were teenagers. But there's something different in the way he's looking at you now, something that makes your heart skip.

"Yeah," you say softly. "Good changes."

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels charged with possibility. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous hobby," you tease, falling into your familiar pattern.

"Very dangerous," he agrees, but his voice is serious. "Been thinking about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes."

Your breath catches. "Lando..."

"Like when a fourteen-year-old boy tells this pretty girl she's going to be his future wife," he continues, taking another step closer. "And he keeps saying it for years, making it this big running joke, because it's easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke at all."

"What are you saying?" you whisper, though your heart already knows the answer.

He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. "I'm saying that I've been in love with you since we were kids. I'm saying that every time I called you darling, every time I talked about our future dog Fernando, every time I claimed the future husband title - I meant it. All of it."

"Lando..." your voice wavers.

"I know it's only been a few months since... everything," he says quickly. "And if you're not ready, if you don't feel the same way, we can pretend this never happened. We can go back to just joking around. But I needed you to know that for me, it was never just a joke. You were never just a joke."

You stare at him, this boy who's been your constant, your safe place, your home for so long. And suddenly everything clicks into place.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he says softly, giving you time to pull away if you want to.

You don't.

His lips meet yours, gentle at first, like he's afraid you might break. But when your hands slide into his curls, pulling him closer, the kiss deepens into something that feels like coming home and falling free all at once.

When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "So," he says, slightly breathless, "about that legally binding marriage contract..."

You laugh, the sound full of joy. "Still going with that, are we?"

"Always," he grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "Though now I'm thinking maybe we should make it official. You know, for Fernando's sake."

"We still don't have a dog, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects, pulling you closer. "We don't have a dog yet. But we will. Right after the wedding. Which will definitely have papaya orange colors because I called dibs when we were fourteen and—"

You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him smile against your lips.

"FINALLY!"

You break apart to find George standing in the doorway, grinning like he just won the championship.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Lando grumbles, but he doesn't let go of you.

"On a balcony door?" George raises an eyebrow. "Besides, I've been watching you two dance around each other for months. Years, actually."

"Have not," you protest.

"Have too," both men say in unison.

"I hate you both," you mutter, but you're fighting a smile.

"No you don't," Lando says confidently. "You love me. You're going to marry me and we're going to have a dog named Fernando and—"

"Still with the dog name?" George groans.

"It's tradition!" Lando defends. "Tell him, darling, tell him how important traditions are."

You look between your brother and the boy - no, the man - who's been your everything for so long, and feel your heart might burst with happiness.

"Actually," you say slowly, "I was thinking maybe we could name the dog George."

"What?" both men exclaim.

You burst out laughing at their expressions. "Just kidding. Fernando it is."

"See?" Lando beams at George. "She agrees with me. Because she loves me. Because we're getting married. Because—"

"Because it was never really a joke?" you finish softly.

His expression softens as he looks at you. "Never."

"Right," George clears his throat. "I'm going to leave before this gets any more sickeningly sweet. But Lando?"

"Yeah?"

"Hurt my sister and they'll never find your body."

"Please," Lando scoffs, pulling you closer. "I've been planning our future since I was fourteen. I'm not about to mess it up now."

As George leaves, shaking his head but smiling, Lando turns back to you.

"So," he says, his eyes twinkling, "about those wedding colors..."

You silence him with another kiss, thinking about how sometimes the best love stories start as jokes, and how sometimes the person you're meant to be with has been there all along, calling you darling and planning your future with a dog named Fernando.

And maybe, just maybe, those papaya orange wedding colors don't sound so bad after all.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 201,384 others

yn.russell turns out some jokes become reality 🧡 @/landonorris (yes, we're actually getting the dog. yes, his name will be fernando. no, this isn't a drill - the future wife position has officially been filled, i love you my lando)

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username1 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING??? 😭😭😭

username2 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS

username3 THE FUTURE WIFE JOKES WERE REAL ALL ALONG

georgerussell63 About bloody time 🙄 (but actually very happy for you both)

alex_albon the group chat can finally rest, no more "should I tell her?" messages from lando every 5 minutes

carmenmmundt The paddock's favorite love story

ciscanorris Finally! I've only been waiting for this announcement since they were teenagers 🥰

username4 the way this man has been calling her darling for YEARS and we all thought it was just banter 😭😭

username5 THE WAY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SINCE 2019

username6 ok but can we talk about how he's literally been manifesting this since they were TEENAGERS???

username7 this is actually the cutest thing ever like???? he's been planning their wedding since he was 14???? hello???

username8 the way george is probably somewhere being like "finally i don't have to pretend i don't see them flirting"

landonorris worth the wait, every single second❤️ love you darling x

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in late summer, and you're curled up on your couch with a book when you hear Lando's key in the door. You smile, not looking up - he's been coming and going from your place so much lately that it feels more like his home than his own apartment.

"Darling!" his voice calls out, sounding suspiciously excited. "Close your eyes!"

"Why?" you ask warily. "Last time you had a surprise, it didn't end well."

"Just trust me!"

You sigh fondly, closing your eyes. "Fine, but this better be good."

You hear him moving around, and then something warm and furry lands in your lap.

Your eyes fly open to find yourself face to face with the most adorable chocolate Labrador puppy you've ever seen. The puppy immediately starts licking your face while Lando watches, beaming with pure joy.

"Lando..." you breathe, already in love with the wiggling bundle of fur. "What did you do?"

"Well," he drops onto the couch beside you, reaching over to scratch the puppy's ears, "I was thinking about how we've been together for months now, and living together basically even though we pretend we don't, and how there's this one very important member of our family still missing..."

"You didn't," you whisper, even as the puppy settles contentedly in your lap.

"I did," he grins. "Meet Fernando. Finally."

You look between Lando and the puppy - Fernando - feeling your heart might burst. "You actually named him Fernando?"

"Of course I did! I've been planning this since I was fourteen, remember?" His eyes soften. "Plus, I made you a promise, didn't I?"

"We're not married yet," you point out, but you can't stop smiling.

"Yet," he emphasizes, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "But really, I thought... I mean, we practically live together anyway. Might as well make it official. You, me, and Fernando."

You look down at the puppy, who's now snoring softly in your lap, then back at Lando. "Are you asking me to move in with you? Properly?"

"Maybe," he fidgets slightly. "Unless you think it's too soon? I know we haven't been together that long, but it feels like we've been building towards this forever, you know? And I thought, with Fernando here now..."

You cut off his rambling with a kiss. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll move in with you. Properly. All three of us."

His face lights up like you've just given him the best gift in the world. "Really?"

"Really," you laugh.

"You're ridiculous," you tell him fondly.

"You love it," he says confidently.

"I do," you admit softly. "I love you."

His expression melts into that soft look he reserves just for you. "I love you too, darling. Both of you," he adds as Fernando stirs and licks his hand.

Just then, your phone buzzes - a text from George.

"Oh no," you groan, reading it. "George is coming over."

"Perfect!" Lando brightens. "He can meet his nephew!"

"You did not just call our dog George's nephew."

"Of course I did! He's family now. Speaking of which..." he pulls out his phone, "my mum's been asking when we're bringing Fernando to visit."

Before you can respond, George's voice carries through the door. "Why is there puppy food in the hallway?"

Lando jumps up excitedly. "Ready to meet Uncle George, Fernando?"

The puppy perks up at his name, tail wagging as George opens the door.

"You didn't," George says, taking in the scene.

"We did!" Lando announces proudly. "Meet your nephew!"

"My... nephew?"

"Fernando Russell-Norris," Lando declares. "Well, technically just Norris for now, but that'll change once your sister finally agrees to marry me."

"Still waiting on that proposal, aren't you?" George smirks.

"All in good time," Lando winks at you. "Got to do it properly, haven't I?"

You watch George pretend not to be completely smitten with Fernando, while Lando chatters about all his plans for family weekends and teaching Fernando tricks. You can't help but think about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes about future marriages and dogs named Fernando.

"Our little family," Lando says softly, pulling you close while Fernando attempts to climb into George's lap.

And as you lean into his side, watching your brother and your boyfriend argue about who gets to be Fernando's favorite uncle (while the puppy seems more interested in chewing George's shoelaces), you realize that this - this moment, this love, this little family - is better than any dream you could have had.

It's your reality. Your perfect, slightly chaotic, absolutely wonderful reality.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

[lvrclerc]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it. 

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression. 

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.” 

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it. 

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in. 

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off. 

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued,  voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical─ scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend. 

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder. 

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play. 

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever. 

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours. 

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it. 

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes. 

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him 

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t. 

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his. 

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings  and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

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

[uramakimochi]

me for the past week and i'm so fucking maddd

STOP👏TAGGING👏XREADER👏IF👏YOU👏USE👏AN👏OC👏NOBODY👏 FUCKING👏ASKED👏FOR👏THAT👏OKAY???

The wrong thing is not the fact that you write a story with an oc, no, that's not the real problem, really.

IT'S JUST THE FACT THAT YOU USE THE WRONG TAG SO YOU HOPE MORE PEOPLE READ YOUR STORY. BUT BELIEVE ME IT'S JUST FUCKING ANNOYING 'CAUSE WE AREN'T ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT FICS IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS!!!

There are people who like to read more stories with ocs than reader inserts, so use the fucking right tag go reach that community and stop spamming your stories among ours.

I don't think you get it but, you know, the purpose of fanfics with reader insert is to make the reader imagine her/himself as the mc of the story. The best part of these fics is the fact that EVERYONE can be included in them.

SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THEM BY MAKING THE MC A PERSON THAT LOOKS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE READER AND EVEN HAS A NAME THAT IS NOT THEIRS?

Not to be dramatic but i hate y'all.

And the fact that it's always the same fandoms and we all know who we're talking about...

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | serving yourself less (tiktok trend)

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : serving your formula one boyfriend more than you serve yourself

୨ৎ : genre : comedy - tiktok trend ୨ৎ : word count : 1547

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i got a final exam tmrw and i already know im beyond cooked

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

immediately looks at your plate, then at his, then back at yours.

“that’s it?”

scoops food onto your plate without asking. “you didn’t see me doing that.”

mutters under his breath the whole time: “ridiculous. you think i’m gonna eat all this while you nibble on two leaves?”

makes you sit down while he fixes you a proper plate.

“you’ll thank me later when you’re not starving in two hours.”

yuki tsunoda

jaw drops. full betrayal.

“why is your plate sad? do you hate food?”

takes food off his plate and puts it on yours like he’s rescuing it.

“you need to eat or u will be grumpy. and you know what happens when you're grumpy.”

glares at your plate for the rest of the meal to make sure you don’t sneak food back.

will literally feed you if he has to.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

stares at your plate like you’ve just insulted everything he stands for.

“darling... that’s not a meal. that’s a sad sample.”

immediately puts his fork down. “what’s going on? why are you eating like a bird?”

gives you a speech about nutrients. you don’t even make it five minutes in before he’s switching your plate with his.

“eat. i’ll make us smoothies after. with oats. and peanut butter.”

glares at anyone else at the table who doesn’t say anything.

kimi antonelli

freezes mid-bite and just blinks at your plate.

“...wait, is that all you’re eating?”

awkwardly tries not to panic but can’t stop glancing at your food.

“you want some of mine?” pushes his whole plate toward you like a puppy offering a toy.

you say you’re not hungry and he goes quiet.

five minutes later: “okay but… what if i just gave you half of everything i have?”

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

eyebrows instantly scrunch together.

“bébé… where’s the rest?”

literally keeps waiting for you to go back for more.

when you don’t, he starts panicking gently: “is this about something? are you okay? are you mad at me?”

puts things from his plate on yours like it’s no big deal.

whispers “please eat, i hate when you don’t” like you just told him you’re leaving forever.

kisses your temple and goes “merci” when you take a bite.

lewis hamilton

side-eyes your plate with a little smirk.

“you planning to go back for seconds… or is that a cry for help?”

smooth as hell while sliding his fork over to your plate, spearing some of his food, and holding it to your mouth.

“open up, baby. i know you're hungry.”

if you say you’re not, he tilts his head and gives you the look.

“don’t make me get up and fix you a real plate. because i will.”

makes you finish at least half of his meal too, while rubbing your back the whole time.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

stares at your plate. then stares at you.

“what’s that?”

full dramatic gasp. clutches chest. “you’re joking. that’s the appetizer, right? where’s the rest?”

scoots your plate next to his and starts transferring food over like it’s a formula one pit stop.

“you’re not doing this ‘cute portions’ thing again. eat properly or i’ll call your mum.”

makes airplane noises while feeding you a bite just to be annoying.

you try to glare but you’re laughing too hard to stop him.

oscar piastri

doesn’t say anything at first, just silently eyes your plate… then yours again.

“that’s... all?”

furrows his brows slightly. “is something wrong? are you okay?”

super calm but will not let this slide. adds food to your plate like he’s just “helping,” not completely panicking inside.

casually: “you can finish mine too if you want.”

when you finally take a real bite, he visibly relaxes and says, “thank you” like you just took your meds.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends not to notice at first.

then eyes your plate like it's personally disrespecting him.

“you’re kidding. right? that’s not dinner. that’s—snack behavior.”

takes your plate, loads it up himself, and hands it back without a word.

“eat,” he says, deadpan.

if you protest, he hits you with the eyebrow raise and mutters something in Spanish under his breath like “mi vida está loca.”

cuts your food into pieces and says “better” while sipping his wine like the crisis has been handled.

lance stroll

instantly frowns when he sees your plate.

“hey… where’s the rest?”

full concerned rich boy mode: “did the chef mess something up? do you want me to order something else?”

scoots closer and starts offering bites of his meal.

“you want a bite? actually—here, have all of it.”

if you take even a few bites, he goes, “that’s my girl” and kisses your forehead like you just saved his life.

100% sneaks extra dessert onto your plate later. plays innocent when you call him out.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

dramatic gasp. like cartoon-level gasp.

“okay, what is that? no really, explain. is that a bite? a sample? a decoration?”

“i’m calling your mom. i’m calling your best friend. we’re staging an intervention.”

takes your plate and starts adding food while lecturing you.

“you’re hot and smart but your portion control is a war crime.”

kisses your temple like he didn’t just drag you and says, “eat up, pretty girl.”

continues feeding you from his plate like a clingy golden retriever boyfriend.

carlos sainz

freezes when he sees your plate. stares at it. stares at you.

“is that all you’re eating?”

you shrug. he sighs and sets down his fork. full concerned boyfriend mode.

“mi amor, that’s not enough. seriously.”

pushes his plate toward you and waits until you take a bite. then goes soft.

“tienes que comer bien, cariño.” (you have to eat well, darling.)

“te necesito fuerte y feliz, no con hambre.” (i need you strong and happy, not hungry.)

spoons extra food onto your plate every time you’re not looking. smiles like he’s done nothing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

gasps like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

“wait wait wait. THAT’S your plate? you’re kidding.”

points at it dramatically. “someone get the girl a real meal!”

piles food on your plate himself while mumbling, “she thinks that’s gonna get her through the day? she’s insane. adorable. but insane.”

offers to feed you personally if it means you’ll eat more.

“open up. no, seriously. i’m not letting you leave this table hungry.”

won’t let it go for a week. “remember when you tried to survive on three leaves and half a tomato?”

esteban ocon

doesn’t say anything right away. just side-eyes your plate with increasing concern.

“is that enough? are you sure? you’re sure?”

when you insist it’s fine, he just sighs and very gently starts moving food from his plate to yours like it’s a covert operation.

“just in case you get hungry later,” he says softly.

watches you eat like a hawk. when you finish, he smiles like it’s a personal win.

mutters to himself in French the entire time — something suspiciously close to, “elle va me rendre fou.” (she’s going to drive me crazy.)

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

does a double take. then slowly turns to you.

“so you hate food now? or is this performance art?”

chuckles but immediately adds more food to your plate. “this feels illegal.”

makes jokes the entire meal, “you need a magnifying glass to see that portion.”

but side-eyes you so hard every time you put your fork down.

halfway through, scoots his plate between you both. “just share mine. easier.”

whispers “you’re actually feral for that” in your ear, but kisses your cheek while handing you a bite.

isack hadjar

absolutely scandalized.

“quoi?! that’s not dinner. that’s—what is that!”

full-on offended. places a hand on his heart like you’ve betrayed his entire French culinary heritage.

literally gets up and remakes your plate. “you eat what i give you. this is criminal.”

gives you a “look” every time you try to protest. you know the one.

softens immediately when you take a real bite. “bon. merci, mon cœur.”

kisses your head like a reward and mutters, “don’t scare me like that again.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

immediately dramatic. like, eyebrows raised, jaw dropped, wine glass in hand.

“you trying to break my heart? because that’s what this is.”

pokes at your plate with his fork. “this is… decorative. c’est rien.”

slides his plate next to yours and starts serving you from it.

“eat, mon ange. i need you strong enough to carry this relationship.”

flirts relentlessly until you give in.

“you’ll eat for me, right? be my good girl?”

smirks like he just won the Monaco GP when you take a real bite.

jack doohan

doesn’t say much. just blinks at your plate.

“is that enough?”

you say yes. he nods.

five minutes later he’s quietly refilling your plate like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“i just thought you might want more.”

casually puts a piece of his food on your fork and waits.

won’t push you, but his quiet worry is palpable.

kisses your temple when you finish and mumbles, “thank you,” like you saved his appetite.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

raises an eyebrow. says nothing for a full thirty seconds.

“...that’s it?”

sips his drink, pretending not to care. he cares so deeply it’s physically hurting him.

eventually breaks. sighs and says, “give me your plate.”

doesn’t ask — just starts adding food to it.

“you’ll thank me when you’re not lightheaded later.”

kisses your forehead once and mutters something like, “don’t do that again, yeah?”

gabriel bortoleto

visibly stressed.

“babe? love? angel? why is your plate empty?”

starts rapid-fire listing all the food options: “do you want rice? bread? i can go get something else—”

won’t start eating until you’ve got a full plate.

watches you take every bite like he’s tracking your hydration levels too.

ends the night making you tea and saying “you scared me,” while cuddling you for the next three hours.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[suliigwp]

Controversially Young Girlfriend

Max Verstappen x Reader | age gap, written+smau

Inspired by my follower @maxswhore33 's blog title (I got permission)

SULI: Hey so.....🫦 I'm sorry this is my guilty pleasure— I tried to keep everything in check though I promise it's not too much🙏 the girls that get it, get it — short and sweet

SUMMARY: max and his young girlfriend have a hard time navigating what everyone has to say about their age gap

Warnings: age gap (duh) 27-20

“Anyone sitting here?”

He gestures to the empty spot beside her.

She doesn’t even glance at him.

“Is anyone ever sitting anywhere at these things, or do you just like the idea of asking?”

He blinks, then laughs. “Fair enough.”

She finally looks up—dead in the eyes. Calm. Amused, maybe. “You’re Max Verstappen, right?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She shrugs. “Just a thing.”

Max sits. Sips his drink. There’s a pause. “You here alone?” he asks.

“My father’s here. Somewhere between the scotch and the politicians pretending to care about art.”

She tilts her glass toward the display on the far wall. “This is his idea of bonding.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “So you’re not into any of this either.”

“I like the environment,” she says simply. “Not the company.”

Another pause. Then—

“You here alone?”

Max scratches his jaw. “No. My girlfriend’s somewhere upstairs. Talking to someone about those paintings upstairs, I think.”

“Ah,” she says, and something shifts. Her tone is lighter, but her eyes? Sharp.

“Those are mine, I'll get her on the guest list if she meets the age requirements. How old is she?”

He frowns a little, caught off guard. “Uh… thirty-five.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“That’s… a bit weird, isn’t it?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says, as if it’s obvious, “you’re what—twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six,” he says.

“Still. That’s like dating your older cousin.”

A tiny sip. “Emotionally speaking.”

Max stares at her. “That’s a reach.”

She hums, unconvinced. “No judgment. Just interesting.”

She leans forward, a sly smirk curling.

“So… how old were you when you two got together?”

Max blinks, caught off guard. “Uh… nineteen, I think?”

She nearly chokes on her drink.

“Dude. Really?”

Max shrugs, uncomfortable.

“Yeah. It just... happened.”

She laughs softly. “Wow. So she’s basically been your age for a minute. That’s wild.”

He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“And you’re okay with that?” she asks, voice teasing but sharp.

Max looks away. “I guess.”

“And how old are you?” she asks, shifting back, deadly serious again.

“Twenty,” she says flatly. “Still know how to use a microwave. You?”

He laughs again, out of confusion or disbelief, he’s not sure.

“You really don’t care who I am, do you?”

She tilts her head. “Should I?”

“No. It’s… refreshing, actually.”

She finishes her drink and stands up, pulling her phone from her coat pocket.

“Give me your number,” she says.

He hesitates. “You didn’t even tell me your name.”

“You can earn that later.”

She holds the phone out. He taps in the number. Watches her save it.

She shows the screen before she tucks it away:

“Dutch.”

He chokes on his laugh. “Seriously?”

“It’s either that or ‘older cousin dater.’ Your pick.”

She walks off, coat slipping over her shoulder, not even glancing back.

...

They didn’t become friends so much as they kept… happening to each other.

It started with the texts.

She wasn’t exactly warm. Her replies came in lowercase, sometimes hours later, never with an emoji. But they always had bite.

Artiste: you drive like you’re trying to kill the car

Dutch: you watch?

Artiste: first five minutes, I fell asleep

Dutch: harsh

Artiste: honest

He liked it. She didn’t ask for selfies or gossip. She never brought up his girlfriend, either. She asked about silence, about books, about whether he thought fame was real or just a side effect of boredom.

And then there were the encounters.

Always random, always surprising.

At a Monaco rooftop party in May, she appeared at his side just after midnight, arms crossed, gaze heavy-lidded. He offered her a drink. She stole the lemon slice from his instead.

“Still dating the older cousin?” she asked dryly.

He almost choked.

She smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting like a secret.

In Silverstone, she was in the VIP section with someone Important and Very Tired Looking. She caught his eye from across the paddock and lifted her hand—not to wave, just to show him a book.

When he squinted, she mouthed, “Camus.”

That night, he texted her:

Dutch: Why are you reading The Stranger during qualifying?

Her reply: existential dread pairs well with overpriced hospitality passes

By summer, he looked for her. At afterparties. At brand dinners. In the background of other people’s photos.

She always showed up unexpectedly—leaning against a balcony, sipping red wine, disappearing before anyone else even realized she’d been there. Her laugh was rare, but when he got it? It echoed in his head longer than his podium anthems.

Then came September.

A lowkey watch event in Milan. Nothing serious. He spotted her standing near a sculpture, arms folded like she didn’t trust the marble.

They talked for nearly an hour. Not about racing. Not even about art.

He told her about his childhood in karting. How sometimes, when the adrenaline was gone, the silence after a win scared him more than any crash.

She listened without interrupting, head tilted, eyes like glass.

...

Few Months Of Meeting Later

The walls are covered in stark, minimalist paintings and photos — cold, evocative, unapologetic. The kind of place where silence feels loud.

Max steps inside, slightly out of place but trying not to show it. She’s already there, arms folded, eyes scanning the newest exhibit.

She looks up and smirks.

“Well, if it isn’t Dutch.”

Max grins, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey. Figured I’d finally see where all your mysterious gallery talk was about.”

She nods toward a black-and-white detailed painting of a lone tree in winter.

“Cold, right? I like to think it’s honest.”

He shrugs.

“Kind of like you.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Maybe. So, how’s life? Still hanging with the older cousin?”

Max’s smile fades for a second.

“Actually... we broke up a few months ago.”

She studies him quietly.

“Really? What happened?”

He sighs, running a hand over his face.

“Guess the age gap wasn’t just a headline. Things got complicated.”

She folds her arms tighter.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet.”

Max smirks.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just traded one complication for another.”

She tilts her head.

“Oh?”

He shrugs.

“Let’s just say… I’m still figuring out what I want.”

She smiles softly, but there’s steel beneath it.

“Well, if you ever want a crash course in complicated, you know where to find me.”

He looks at her, eyes sharper now.

“Yeah. I do.”

...

May, 2024

They were careful.

No holding hands. No public eye contact that lingered. She always walked two steps ahead, and Max never looked at her for too long when there were phones nearby.

But that night in Madrid — some dim-lit restaurant tucked into a quiet street after a sponsor event — someone caught them slipping.

It wasn’t even dramatic.

Just a blurry photo.

She’s leaving the restaurant first, coat draped over her shoulders, head turned slightly toward the car. Only the lower half of her face is visible — but it’s enough. The shape of her jaw. The curve of her mouth. The unmistakably young silhouette.

Behind her, Max walks out.

Not too close. But closer than friends.

He’s smiling.

Not the “for-press” kind of smile — the kind no one had really seen before.

...

F1GossipNow.com

🗞️ “Mystery Woman Spotted with Verstappen in Madrid — New Flame or Just Dinner?”

> Sources spotted Max Verstappen leaving a private dinner Tuesday night with a mystery woman. Dressed casually, the two exited separately but entered the same vehicle minutes later. Her identity is still unknown — but fans are already buzzing about how young she appears...

F1 Twitter

@/F1Spill: there’s no way max is out here with a girl who looks FRESHLY 19… bro this better be a niece or something 😭😭

@/wagwatcher: not to be that person but that’s not his girlfriend. his girlfriend is literally 36 and this girl has a side part and ballet flats. do the math.

@/verstappen_stan88: people age differently??? y’all always jump to conclusions 🙄

@/pitlanequeen: it’s the way he’s smiling. I’ve never seen him look like that. I’m scared.

REDDIT THREAD: “Max’s New Girl???” [RUMOR]

> u/f1deepsleuth

I reverse image searched and I think she was at that Monaco rooftop party in April — I posted about it then. She’s always in black, always quiet, and someone said she might be the daughter of that EU guy who owns like five galleries.

> u/softlaunchalert

She's always ahead of him. Never with him. This is the first time we’ve seen them in the same frame. Trust — something’s going on.

Max says nothing.

She says even less.

But that weekend, she’s not seen at the race. And Max?

Max crashes in Q2. For the first time all season.

Coincidence?

The fans don’t think so.

...

Her name was supposed to stay out of it.

That was the unspoken rule.

The one she didn’t write, but enforced — with private profiles, no tagged photos, a digital footprint cleaner than most politicians.

She never posted. She never smiled for cameras. She wasn’t Max’s girlfriend; not officially, not loudly.

But it took one cousin.

One private school girl with too much free time.

One blurry paparazzi photo from Madrid where she was stepping into a car and Max was just a few paces behind, smiling in a way that no man does for “just a friend.”

That was all it took.

11:07

Her phone buzzes. Then again. And again. And again.

By the twelfth vibration, she doesn’t bother turning it over.

She knows what this is.

Online, it unfolds like a murder scene

“Her name is y/n”

“She’s 20. Twenty. Let that sink in.”

“She was 10 when Max started f1.”

“Is no one gonna talk about how WEIRD this is?”

There are edits. Screen-recorded TikToks.

A quote from The Stranger overlays a video of her walking silently in heels.

There’s a photo from when she was sixteen.

One from a yearbook.

A repost of her standing next to a man in a tux—her father—but the comments assume otherwise.

“oh so she’s been groomed to orbit rich men”

“this is giving succession x pretty little liars”

“she’s not even hot, she just looks expensive”

She scrolls once. Then stops.

Opens a bag of grapes and eats one slowly.

11:26

Dutch: They found you. Don’t post anything just ignore it all

Dutch: I’m sorry.

Artista: don't be silly, focus on the race, good luck🫶

By the next race weekend, her name is being whispered louder than lap times.

At the press conference, the question is polite on the surface.

“Max, given the increase in media attention surrounding your private life, how are you staying focused this season?”

He blinks. The PR girl to his left stiffens.

He leans forward slightly, jaw tight.

“I drive.”

A pause.

“So you’re not addressing the rumors about—”

He cuts them off with a glance that could kill.

“I said what I said.”

He leaves two questions early.

Her Father’s Villa, Côte d’Azur

She’s on the terrace, curled into a corner of the outdoor sofa. Her black hoodie swallows her whole. The wind off the sea is cold but welcome.

Her phone is still buzzing.

She hasn’t checked it all day.

She eats another grape, slow, thoughtful.

Her father steps outside, hovering like smoke.

“Do you want me to call someone? I can—”

“No.”

“We can release something if it’s hurting your reputation.”

She doesn’t look up.

Just shifts her legs beneath her and murmurs, "It's not, I don't care about it."

It’s past midnight when she finally calls him.

No warning. No text. No “you up?”

Just his name on her screen.

Just the silence stretching between them like a red string pulled too tight.

He picks up after two rings.

His voice is quieter than usual — less cocky, more… careful.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t speak at first.

She just listens. To the way he breathes. To the way he says nothing, waiting for her to go first.

Then—

“They found me.”

Max exhales like he’s been holding it since Madrid.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs, even though he can’t see it.

Her voice is even, calm, cold in that way only she can be — like a girl narrating her own biography from outside her body.

“They found my name, my school, a photo of me at sixteen in a Christmas concert.”

A pause.

“I think I’ve officially become an archetype.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

That’s what makes her pause.

Not the press. Not the edits. Not the death threats in her DMs from strangers calling her everything from manipulative to brainwashed.

But that. Are you okay?

“I am now.”

Max is quiet again. And then—

“I shouldn’t have smiled in that photo.”

That makes her laugh. Just a breath.

“You were doomed the moment you did. You smiled like I was yours.”

He doesn’t argue.

“You are,” he says.

Silence again.

But this time it’s warm.

“My father wants to issue a statement,” she murmurs. “Some PR girl sent me a suggested apology. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be sorry for.”

“Existing,” Max mutters.

“Exactly.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells her.

“You don’t owe anyone that.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“But I owe me something. I just haven’t figured out what yet.”

There’s a long pause. Neither of them fill it. Neither of them need to.

Then—

“I’m coming to see you,” he says.

“Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever you want.”

“You’ll be seen.”

“Let them look.”

She closes her eyes.

Lets herself smile, just a little.

“Okay,” she says.

“Come tomorrow.”

“Tell me where.”

“You already know where.”

...

He’s been holding it together for three weeks.

Three long weeks of whispered questions disguised as “racing talk.”

Three weeks of edits and threads and sick little opinion pieces calling her everything but a person.

At first, he brushed it off.

Then he ignored it.

Then he started flinching whenever someone mentioned the word age.

But today?

Today, he snaps.

The room is packed. The lights are hot. Someone in the second row is already typing before he’s said a word. He can hear the click of nails on a phone screen.

He doesn’t want to be here.

The first few questions are fine. Tires. Conditions. Something about tire deg. He answers robotically.

Then a hand goes up in the back. A reporter from one of the tabloids. The kind who always smiles with her eyes when she's about to ruin you.

“Max, there’s been a lot of discourse lately about your personal life. People are concerned about the age difference with your alleged girlfriend—”

He exhales slowly through his nose.

“—do you think that criticism is fair?”

And that’s it. The chair shifts. He leans forward.

“Are people also concerned when it’s a 27-year-old woman dating a 19-year-old guy? Because I didn’t see headlines when that was my situation nine years ago.”

A beat of silence.

The room freezes.

“Or is it only weird when I’m the older one now?”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile.

“You’re all suddenly experts on morality when it suits you. When it trends. When there’s a girl you don’t recognize and a headline you can stretch into outrage.”

Another breath. Controlled. Measured. Dangerous.

“She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t post anything. She hasn’t said a word. But people are treating her like she committed a crime by breathing near me."

"So no—I don’t think the criticism is fair. I think it’s pathetic.”

The PR girl next to him reaches out gently, warningly. He doesn’t stop.

“Next question.”

He gets up before anyone can ask one.

Walks out.

Doesn’t wait for his handler. Doesn’t look back.

Behind him, the room erupts into camera flashes and urgent whispers.

He doesn’t care.

Dutch: I snapped at them. Sorry.

I couldn’t just sit there and let them talk about you like that.

...

comments.

feralforf1: the way he said “she didn’t say a word” like he knows she’s been silently watching everything… I’m unwell

f1lawyerwannabe: let’s be real. the press has never known what to do when max goes full ice mode. he’s scary when he’s mad in defense not just competition.

mcloveme:.the “pathetic” was delivered with chest 😭😭 he’s in his protective boyfriend arc and I support him

maxsupremacy: not him standing up for her harder than he ever defended red bull strategy 😭

paddockpookie: max saying “is it only weird when I’m the older one now?” is the media accountability moment of the year.

wagscentral: she didn’t ask for this. she didn’t post anything. she hasn’t said a word ← go ahead and tattoo that on my spine

scuderiashawty:.this man said “next question” and the whole press room collectively peed a little. we love to see it

teammaxxx33: he didn’t flinch. he didn’t yell. he didn’t look at PR. he looked dead in their eyes. king behavior only.

maxwellgirl1999: I love how he didn’t say her name. Didn’t try to “own” her. He just defended her right to exist in peace. That’s real respect.

racerxqueen: notice how the room went silent after he said “you’re all suddenly experts on morality” — he read them for filth

noodlebrainf1: clock em king

...

It was late — past 1 a.m.

Max was asleep beside her, one arm slung across her hip like he was afraid she’d vanish in her sleep.

She stared at the screen in the dark, thumb hovering.

The photo was already in her drafts.

She stared at it for another second. Then hit “Post.”

The likes came in fast. Faster than she’d expected. The comments even faster.

She locked the phone, rolled over, and tugged the blanket higher over Max’s bare shoulder.

His breathing didn’t change, but his arm tightened around her.

“You posted something?” he murmured, half-asleep.

She raised a brow at the man, "what- how do you know?"

"My phones blowing up."

...

painted.by.y/n

Liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 4.3M others.

painted.by.y/n stay mad

305k comments.

dutchdefenseunit: WHAAAAAAT

prettylittlerogue: she said “here’s the mouth you’re all talking about” 😭😭😭

suliiwgp: “stay mad” is what i’m going to whisper before i die

maxverstappen1: 💜 ♥️105.4k likes.

↳ painted.by.y/n: stop stealing my likes old man

↳ maxverstappen1: 😔

redbullconfessions: YOU DIDN’T JUST POST THAT. YOU NUKED THE GRID.

pitlaneprincess: soft launch? babe this is a declaration of war

lonelyferrarifan: how does it feel to wake up and choose violence and victory

mclarenfangirl33: ma’am some of us were TRYING to sleep

maxstappenlove: i’m scared. i’m impressed. i’m making this my phone wallpaper.

padDOCKedup: PR teams are on the FLOOR. sponsors are CRYING. she is DRINKING CHAMPAGNE.

exposethegrid: casually kissing the reigning champion

deadeyefem: i want to be her. i want to be kissed like that. i want to make the world mad by existing.

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 @freyathehuntress make sure you can be tagged!

[meadowscarlet]

CAN YOU FIGHT? | OP81.

✩ — summary: fans teases a whipped oscar piastri if he can fight for his pretty girlfriend.

✩ — oscar piastri x fem!reader

✩ — author’s note: leading the championship babyyy

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe, nicolepiastri, mclaren and 346,678 more

youruser 3 wins in a row 🤩💫 so proud of my osc! (still love you after that horrendous griddy)

View all 11,457 comments

random “my osc” 😭😭😭🩷🩷🩷 babies

oscarpiastri i get to have a relaxing week with you after this ❤️ (thank you for still accepting me, love you more)

random don’t u dare gatekeep her from us pls post lots of pics

random girl his account is basically 90% y/n 7% about mclaren & 3% about him

oscarpiastri wouldn’t have it any other way

random OMGDDJS HE REPLIED

mclaren our princess 🧡

* ♥ by author

oscarpiastri 🤨

lando i finished p2 btw. if you even care.

youruser congrats to you too lando 🙄

oscarpiastri no she doesn’t

youruser osc play nice

oscarpiastri he’s trying (and failing) to take away my spotlight from you

lando oh who is you 🤬🤬🤬

random oscar being y/npilled is so special to me

random oscar heading straight to y/n after his win with the biggest smile ever im so soft for them 😭

random and the way y/n kept ushering him to celebrate first with his team but he shook his head and hugged her tightly instead #pissingmyself

nicolepiastri my beloveds ❤️❤️🥰

youruser we love u so much!!

alexandrasaintmleux leo misses you already 🐾

youruser MISSING BABY LEOOOO RN ):

random BEST GIRL!!!!! 💕💕💕💗💗💗💗💖💖

random prettiest girl ever ! so happy to see you again in the paddock ! ❣️😻

random favorite wag

liked by youruser, charles_leclerc, hattiepiastri, mclaren, f1 and 790,987 more

oscarpiastri decent race next next week again 👌🏻

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mclaren P1AS-THREE 🧡🧡💯

opeightyone Masterclass

random winning + being in love looks so good on you

random ok but can we talk about slide 3??? she’s unreal.

random y/n on the last slide is the real win of the weekend tbh

oscarpiastri i agree

random she’s insanely gorgeous wow

f1 our championship leader winning on and off the track 😎

random her smile 🥹 the way he clings on to her 🥹

lando second slide wasn’t necessary mate

random we all are just y/n fans

random oscar leading the fanclub LMFAOO

random YOU GUYS ARE THE CUTEST EVER

ausgp LETS GO OSCARRRRRRR 👏👏👏

youruser love ❤️

oscarpiastri 🥰😘

random my people 😭

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt, yasminwijnaldum and 366,823 more

youruser 🍝 🩵😘 happy weekend with my favorite photographer xx

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random ofc oscar liked this 10s after she posted

hattiepiastri genuine question. how did my brother pull you???????

oscarpiastri don’t worry i ask myself the same question everyday

hattiepiastri at least you’re aware

youruser my hattie babyyy 😣💗

oscarpiastri ☹️ what about me

random can’t believe i’m witnessing clingy oscar piastri rn…

random better get used to it girl he has no decorum when it comes to y/n

random LMFAOOSHEJ look up heart eyes piastri on twitter it’s literally pics of him just staring at her like where’s the shame

alexandrasaintmleux the cutesttttt!

oscarpiastri my beautiful baby 😍😍

* ♥ by author

oscarpiastri just updated my lockscreen x

youruser you’re adorable 😭😭😭

oscarpiastri 😘😘😘 love u

random OSCAR CAN YOU FIGHT.

random BROO LITERALLY SHE’S GORGEOUS

random omg queen who is that random man

random i’m a big fan of whatever this is

random BODY GOALS WOOOOW

random that dress looks good on you oh my

desireinglander angel 😍

random that dress is EVERYTHING.

random oscar you’re not that special. we love her too

random LIKEEEE CAN HE FIGHT 🤬

liked by lewishamilton, mclaren, alex_albon, kimi.antonelli and 567,122 more

oscarpiastri yes i can and will fight you all

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youruser stop 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

oscarpiastri had to clear things up baby

random he calls her baby im gonna be sick

alex_albon taught you the best 😌

random the caption is killing me where is his pr manager

mclaren zak emailed you something please check ASAP.

random IM CRYIJG

random oscar u lucky man im pissed

random ya’ll literally barbie and ken irl

random MY FAVORITE COUPLEEEE

lando mom and dad

oscarpiastri you’re older mate

charles_leclerc love this side of you 👏

random competitive in racing and y/n’s heart i have no choice but to stan

random he can’t handle all dat

oscarpiastri you’d be surprised

random /?/?/?/? SHAME WHERE

youruser has added to their story!

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youruser p3 babyyy what a drive! you were amazing out there osc 🧡

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random love it when she calls him osc 😭

random oscar being lowkey disappointed after the race and immediately searching for y/n after he got out of the car that’s his comfort your honor ☹️☹️

oscarpiastri i’m the luckiest man alive i love you so much ❤️

mclaren six consecutive podiums 💯💪🏼

random he won the race in my mind bye

random the pitstop was so fucking slow my 99 year old grandma is faster than that

random proud of you oscar bravo!! 👏

random osc kissing her forehead was so 😭❤️❤️

random and u can read from y/n’s lips saying “proud of you, love you” and oscar keeps hugging her tightly until she had to physically push him away so he can be interviewed 😭 bears….

random “yeah, yeah, glad she’s [y/n] here. every podium is dedicated to her. it’s a bad call on us that costed a secure win and we’ll do better next race but i was hoping to win this for her…” “she was proud anyway… she’s amazing, don’t know what i’d do without her” FULLY SOBBING WHEN HE SAID THIS TO THE INTERVIEWER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

random still leading the championship ik my goat

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oscarpiastri p3 not bad 👍🏻

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formula2 great drive! 🏎️🏎️🏎️

random win the next race king i beg

random quick blink if u were forced to post a pic dump without a single pic of y/n

* ♥ by author

youruser my boy 🧡 so proud

oscarpiastri 🥰 i’ll win the next race for you

random 100 men vs an obsessed oscar piastri

oscarpiastri 👊

random he still hasn’t let go of those comments huh?

oscarpiastri no. i will fight you all.

mclaren oscar no

random i just know he sneaked in that interview pic bc that’s where he yapped all about y/n

random knowing oscar 100%

random pls bring y/n next race!!!

random it’s monaco she’s gonna be there for sure

random GOOOOAATEEEEDDDDDD

[rex-rambles]

➤ THE COSTUME | LANDO NORRIS

pairing: lando norris x single mom!reader

summary: your son wants nothing more than to have spiderman at his birthday, and when a certain neighbour finds out, he decides to take matters into his own hands to make it happen.

wc: 4.2 k

warnings: none!

➤ MASTERLIST - part two

"Mr. Norris?" Lando had a soft spot for kids. That much was obvious, especially when they were fans. Maybe it's that he remembers being that age, what it felt like to meet someone he thought was a celebrity. Maybe it was the little McLaren merch, or baby fever, or something, but Lando had a soft spot for kids.

Milo, however?

Milo could probably tell Lando to crash during a race and he'd do it.

"You alright?" He finds himself saying, immediately squatting to Milo's level by the elevator. In the boy's hands are a stack of red and blue envelopes, with names written twice: once in neat, formal writing, and the other in Milo's. "What've you got there?" 

"It's for my birthday party." Milo says quietly, extending the envelopes. "It's spider-man." 

"No way!" Lando says, smiling down at the papers. "That's so cool! How old are you turning?" 

Rather than answering, Milo holds up four fingers, the coordination making the envelopes spill from his hands. Lando's quick to pick them up, neatly sorting them into a stack, when he realizes one has his name on it. "Is this for me? Do I get to come to your birthday party?" 

"Oh, you're the guest of honour." Your voice says from above, and Lando counts another reason he has a soft spot specifically for Milo: 

You. 

His mother. 

You couldn't be much older than him, soft spoken and so kind when you moved in next door, offering sweet treats and texting apologies, laughing at his jokes, taking care of Milo. It was the sort of infatuation that Lando wasn't used to, at least with normal people in real life. You were perfect, he was pretty sure, except that was an insane thing to say to someone, let alone your neighbour. "I'm so honoured." 

The elevator doors ding open and Lando rises to let Milo and you past, and despite the fact that he had just gone up the elevator, he gets back on to waste a moment with you. "Is spider-man coming?" Milo asks up at you, and you gently card your hand through the boy's hair, and Lando wonders how that would feel if you did it to him. 

"No, sweetheart. I'm afraid Spider-Man is busy in New York!" Maybe it was the little British accents, too, that really got him. Lando rented an apartment, back home, for whenever he needed to escape from the chaos that was Monaco and just be normal. You, he thinks, are the perfect embodiment of that normal. 

Just a normal person, leading a normal life, telling your kid Spider-Man can't come to his birthday. Only, as Lando stares down at the envelope in hand, Spider-Man could technically come to the birthday. He might not be able to do a flip, but Lando's pretty sure he still has an old Spider-Man costume hung up in a closet somewhere, and has a cheery enough voice for it. 

"Well, I will definitely be coming." The elevator doors ding open to the first floor as you lead Milo out by the hand, and he reaches up to take Lando's, dragging him along towards the main doors of the building. "Oh, am I joining you today?" 

"You're going to take us in your car," Milo states firmly. "Your fast car." 

"I don't think we'd all fit," You offer with a soft laugh, the kind of noise that has Lando dreaming of a domesticity he's never even thought of before. "And I think Mr. Norris has more important things to be doing today." 

Mr. Norris. It was a sweet thing, for Milo to call him, but whenever you said it, Lando always considered what it would be like to call you Mrs. Norris. 

Not that he would ever, ever voice that thought aloud. "And if you're busy the day of the party, no worries." You add quietly back to him, stopping at the door. "Milo just wanted to make sure you got an invite." 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" He responds honestly. "Do you need me to bring anything? Snacks? Presents?" 

"I think just bringing yourself would be enough. I'm sure the other kids will be very, very excited a professional race car driver is at the party." Well, an F1 Driver AND Spider-Man, but he decides to leave you out of those plans. "Say goodbye to Mr. Norris, Milo!" 

"Bye, Mr. Norris," Milo says, waving happily. "See you at the party." 

Lando watches the two of you go, happily walking down the street, and he waits in the doorway until you're gone before he's sprinting back to the elevators. He needed to test out that Spider-Man costume, and find the best possible gift he's ever given in roughly a week. 

Manageable, he thinks. 

Surely that's manageable.

-

The knock on the door is the only unexpected part of Milo's birthday party. So far, everything had gone off without a hitch - all the decorations were perfect, the cake had arrived, the kids were somewhat behaving themselves for a room of four year olds, hyped up on sugar. 

Milo, ever the little copycat, was trying to show them how to play Mario Kart, because when Mr. Norris arrived, Milo wanted to show off how he could beat him at the game. 

Lando threw every game, but Milo didn't need to know that. The thought of the racer next door then clicks to the knock on your door, and you quickly spare a glance in the mirror in the hall before answering. It was a stupid, stupid, childish crush to have on the man, but you couldn't help it. 

Maybe it was the way he played with Milo, offered to babysit, raced around the world and somehow kept a level head, maybe it was how he looked, and how he spoke, and how he dressed, and how he acted, or maybe it was the way he looked at you when he thought you were paying attention to Milo. 

Whatever it was, you were starting to get a bit embarrassed of how much you looked forward to seeing Lando today, until you open the door, and Lando was not standing there. 

Instead, there's Spider-Man, with a stack of boxes tucked under his arm. "Hey there!" He says, with an accent most certainly British but trying not to be. "I heard there's a me-themed birthday party?" 

Slowly, without alerting the kids, you peer around the door and into the living room, where they are still glued to the television, and the parents are watching and conversing nearby. "Spider-Man," You say quietly, "How did you get my address?" 

"A friend of mine told me," He says, accent slipping, "He drives fast cars, and lets me borrow them for my missions." 

"Oh, does he now?" You step aside to hold open the door, and you turn toward the kids. "Milo, your special guest is here!" 

"Mr. Norris?" Then, as Milo turns, you watch the greatest shock you think you've ever seen wash over his face as his jaw drops, clinging to the back of the couch as he stares at Spider-Lando, who offers a cheesy wave. 

And really, maybe you liked Lando because of how much Milo loved him. Watching him now, sprinting full-tilt at the driver, it almost makes you emotional. He had never run like that towards any man, only ever you. Well, you suppose he doesn't know it's Lando, but maybe it's the fact that Lando does stuff like this when he really doesn't need to. 

Lando lets the presents drop to scoop up the boy, who's been spouting questions faster than any human, or any superhuman, could answer them. You join Lando's side to gently take Milo's hand, who finally sucks in a breath to look at you. "Mom," He whispers dramatically, "Spider-Man came." 

"Well, you're a very special kid." You answer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Of course he'd come." 

Four years old. You remember when he was just a thought, a terrifying realization, and now, he was your world, dressed up like Spider-Man himself and in Spider-Man's arms. "Is that Mario Kart?" 

"We have to wait to play with Mr. Norris." Milo says, looking at the TV and the other kids, who are now circling Lando. "He's coming soon." 

"Why don't we do something else then?" Lando offers, voice cracking. You can tell he's smiling under that stupid mask at the thought of Milo waiting for him to play the game. 

"We could do cake." You say, and the crowd erupts with chants for cake. Lando gets Milo to his spot at the head of the table and helps pull out chairs for the others as parents snap photos, offering you strange looks. You had told them, outright, you hadn't been able to afford someone to play Spider Man. 

And now, here he was. You take the cake from its box on the counter, and stick in the large 4 candle and light them, as the kids begin singing. You had been so worried, once, about Milo making friends, about being a single mother, but watching now as you set the cake down in front of him, as he blows out the candles and everyone cheers, as other parents offer to help with plates and knives and forks, you realize you might actually be good at this parenting thing, even if the situation wasn't the best.

"Can you take off your mask to eat some?" Milo says, awkwardly grabbing at Spider-Lando's cheek, who happily moves the boy's hand away.

"I have to keep my identity a secret!" Lando says, before carefully rolling up the edge of his mask. "So I'll do it like this, yeah?" 

"That's silly," Milo says with a giggle, and you cut out a slice for him, which he immediately hands off to Lando. "For you!" 

"No, muppet, birthday boys get the first slice!" Lando has fully abandoned the accent by now, but no one really cares. The rest of the cake gets distributed and smeared across faces, Milo included. He gets one streak of blue icing far up on his cheek, and you grab a napkin to wipe it off. "Do I have any?" Lando asks, and without thinking, you reach over to gently wipe some icing from the corner of his mouth. 

No one seems to notice the action, too absorbed with eating and celebrating, but you feel your cheeks burn, quickly turning back to watch Milo as he finishes up. By the time the cake is done, and Lando hasn't arrived, Milo decides to turn from Mario Kart to a game called 'Spider Man Tag', where everyone chases Lando around the apartment, and you take videos of the whole thing, laughing. 

When that's done, and the kids stop climbing on him, and just when he looks like he might faint, one of the girls suggests hide and seek, and Milo immediately volunteers to be the seeker. "Go hide," He says to you, before clapping his hands over his eyes. "Spider-Man too." 

You're quick to help the other kids find their spots, throwing blankets over them and tucking them behind curtains until finally, Milo is down to 1, and you realize you haven't hidden. Luckily, you don't seem to be the only one alone in this, because Lando grabs your hand and pulls you into the front hall closet, just as Milo pulls his hands away from his eyes. 

"Hold the door," Lando says, and you put your hand together on the sliding doors to keep them from moving, and Lando pulls off his mask with a gasp. He's flushed, hair slick with sweat, and you can imagine this is what he must look like after a race. Hell, you've seen what he looks like after a race - he might honestly look worse. 

Cramped together, he doesn't have much room to wipe over his face, arm bumping into you. "You okay there, Spider-Man?" 

"I worked out this morning!" He groans softly. "That was so stupid." 

"Language," You chide softly, and he offers an amused scowl. "There are little ears nearby." 

"They can't hear us," Lando says, intercut by a scream of a child found as Milo happily laughs. "Right?" 

"We'll just have to whisper," You say, as the predicament you're in slowly dawns on you. 

You're chest to chest with Lando Norris, in a spider-man costume, in your closet, as he pants against you.

There are a lot of not age-appropriate thoughts that occur, so you shift quickly into something you can talk about. "You really didn't have to do all this," You say, and Lando cracks a smile. "You've made his year, I think. This is too much." 

"Well, he said he wanted Spider-Man, so he gets Spider-Man." Lando says, eyes skimming down your face before snapping up to your eyes. "How much longer do you think we have in here?" 

The world slows a little bit at the question. "Not much longer," You say, as Lando somehow manages to shift closer. "Breath while you can." 

"The mask is awful," He says, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "Think it's constricting my airways." 

Well, if you need CPR... "You can say you need to get going to stop a villain or something, and then come back as Lando. He'd be just as excited." 

"No, no, I'm committing to the Spider-Man thing." He says, tugging the mask on, but stopping before his mouth. "Can I ask you something cheesy, and you promise not to hate me for it?" 

"Trust me, Lando, there's little you could do to make me hate you." 

"I always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thi-" The door to the closet yanks open as Lando fumbles to get the last of his mask down, and Milo cackles in delight. 

"FOUND YOU!" He grabs both your hands and drags you back to the living room, and you try to take as many deep breaths as possible. 

He always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thing. 

Did he...with you? "Why don't we do presents?" You say, trying to find anything to distract you, and also give Lando a break. "Go sit on the couch, Milo." 

You gather up the few gifts the children brought, and Lando grabs the ones he abandoned by the door. Like any little kid, Milo rips through each package excitedly, showing off cars and Spider-Man toys and a new bubble-blower, until finally, he gets to Lando's presents, who you're sure didn't wrap them himself. 

Or, if he did, you might just love him more, considering the Spider-Man wrapping paper that's wrapped neater than you could ever manage, bow included. Milo, for some reason, takes his time opening them, and the first two are Lego sets, one of a Spider-Man scene, the second a McLaren car. 

Oh, Lando. "Mr. Norris still isn't here!" Milo says, distraught. "This is his car!" 

"Mr. Norris invited me!" Lando says, gesturing to the gift. "He told me what to get you! Maybe he'll build it with you when he gets back." 

Then, Milo carefully opens the third box, and discovers his very own webshooters. "No way!" He immediately hands the box off to you to open, which is basically the equivalent of silly string, strapped to his wrists. The moment he gets them on, he begins spraying, and in a matter of mere minutes, the room is covered in string as the kids all giggle in unison. At some point, Lando squats beside him to help him aim and shoot, carefully gesturing to things that will be easier to clean up, and your heart clenches at the image. 

Because as much as you were good at this parenting thing, as much as you had mastered being a single mother, it was something new to see a man in Milo's life who wanted to be there, who cared for him, who bought him gifts and came dressed as Spider-Man and who just...adored him, like you adored him. 

You're not sure how long you just stare at the chaos unfolding, but it's long enough you think you might genuinely have feelings for Lando, cheesy Spider-Man suit be damned. It's the sort of messy, perfect ending to a messy, perfect day. As much as Milo really doesn't want to end the party, considering Mr. Norris hasn't shown up, he's yawning and trying to fight off the inevitable crash that comes after this. 

The kids get their party favours, which include pictures with Spider-Man, and Milo says goodbye to everyone, perched on Spider-Man's shoulders, and Lando carefully dumps the boy on the couch with a huff. "I think you need to get cleaned up!" He says, gesturing to the cake and silly string staining the boy's clothes. "Heroes have to stay clean!" 

The moment Milo disappears into the washroom, Lando collapses onto the couch, head hanging back off the back of it to look at you. You step forward and gently uncurl the mask, and with as much bravery as you can muster, you speak. "Can I ask you something cheesy, and you promise not to hate me for it?" Lando's lips part as he swallows, before he nods. "I always wanted to do the Spider-Man kiss thing." 

"Yeah?" Lando breathes out, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Well, Mary Jane, now's your chance." 

Kissing Lando upside down is not how you originally planned on doing it, but it's sort of everything you wanted it to be and more. It's soft and sweet and patient, the kind of loving you need after everything you've gone through, that's just hot and heavy enough that when you hear the tap turn off in the bathroom, you're quick to pull away. 

"Can Spider-Man stay the night?" Milo asks, running up as Lando pulls down his mask again, and he lets out a soft sort of laugh that does something to your stomach. 

"I've got to get home! Maybe another time," Lando says as he rises from the couch, and Milo's bottom lip trembles. "Just think, you still have your guest of honour that needs to visit." 

"I don't want to see Mr. Norris," Milo mumbles, "I want you to stay." 

You watch Lando hesitate then, about pulling off his mask and revealing himself, but for the sake of the magic, he chooses not to, and you intervene to let the poor man go home. "There's lots of people Spider-Man has to go save," You say, crouching down to his level and brushing the hair from his face. "And you never know, he might come back soon. But for right now, let's thank him for coming." Milo pushes away from you to wrap around Lando's leg, and Lando kneels down to give him a proper hug. 

"Thanks," Milo mumbles into his shoulder. "You can come back whenever you want." 

"Thank you for having me!" Lando tries to say cheerfully. "But your mom is right, I have to get going back to New York! It's a long plane ride." 

"Say goodbye, Milo." Milo finally lets go, and helps walks Spider-Man to the door. 

"Bye, Spider-Man." He says, offering a small wave. 

"Bye, Milo. Hope you had a great birthday." 

-

Lando strips the moment he gets home. 

Fireproofs were hot, the race suits were hot, but the Spider-Man suit? 

Wrangling that many kids? 

With you kissing him? 

He's practically a sauna. And yet, as soon as he's done showering and gets changed, he'd back at your door, knocking and hoping it's not too late, and that Milo's already gone to bed. There's a shuffling noise behind the door before you open it, and he's discovered in the time it took him to shower and get back here, both you and Milo had changed into pyjamas, and were eating dinner at the table. "Mr. Norris!" Milo says, mouthful of pasta falling into his bowl. "You missed Spider-Man!" 

"What? Spider-Man came?" You let Lando in with a soft smile, and all he can think of is your lips on his, how you repeated his line back to him like it was nothing, how right it had felt. Kissing you right-side up probably felt better, but he was just riding off the high that you kissed him at all. He was pretty sure, all things considered, that you had to like him, as much as his brain tried to convince him otherwise. 

Having you actually kiss him and prove it? He was still struggling to wrap his mind around that. "And he brought me webs!" 

"Webs that are going to be tricky to clean up." You say, shooting a grin his way as you move to the stove. "Dinner?" 

"Actually, that sounds great." He had a single slice of cake after being the personal play-place for kids all afternoon. It might not be the most gentlemanly thing he's ever done, but he's not turning down a bowl. He finds his place at the table, and you take your place across from him, and for a moment, Lando thinks he can see into the future. "Did you get anything else?" 

"Bubbles, a book," Then, as if remembering it all over again, "He got me your Lego car! He said we can build it together." Then, as if remembering what Spider-Lando said, "You know Spider-Man? And you didn't tell me?" 

"It's top secret," Lando says around a mouthful of noodles, and you grin down at your own bowl. Dressed in an over-sized t-shirt and fuzzy pyjama pants, it gives a certainly warm glow that has Lando wondering what man could ever give this up. "But, I still haven't given you my gift." 

Milo perks up as your head shoots up to look at him, confusion furrowed between your brows. "Lando, that's not-" 

"I want you to come to a race." He couldn't really think of some big gift to get Milo, besides a full-paid trip to a race. Silverstone was soon, anyways. It would be fun, for Milo to see him race, for you to see him win. At least, Lando really hopes he'll win, because then that's one more reason to kiss you. "All expenses paid." 

"Lando!" You exclaim, fork clattering to your bowl. "No, no that's too much-" 

"Really?" Milo cuts you off, leaping out of his chair to throw himself at Lando. "Thank you thank you thank you-" 

"Okay, okay," Lando says, trying to calm both of you. "But you have to promise to be on your best behaviour for it, okay Milo?" 

Milo nods furiously against Lando's leg, and Lando scoops him up to hold him in his lap. "I promise. Can I drive your car?" 

"Wait another eleven-ish years for that one, mate." He continues eating his pasta as Milo drags his bowl over, content to finish his dinner sitting with Lando, and he catches you staring. You do that a lot, especially when Lando and Milo interact, and he doesn't blame you. He's a strange man playing with your kid, who wouldn't want to be checking in?

But there's always something more in the way you look at him, like you're not used to someone being there. He doesn't know the full story, and he doesn't need to, but he has a feeling that, if he pursues this, he's filling in a spot that never really was occupied before. 

"Thank you, Lando." You finally say, finishing up the last of your dinner. "That means a lot." 

"What else would I do for my favourite neighbour?" Milo, also now finished eating, yawns into his hands. "Bedtime, buddy?" 

"Come on," You say, pulling Milo from his lap. "Let's get you changed and ready for bed. Lando can read you a bedtime story." Then, back towards him, "Finish up your dinner first. No rush." 

And then, like it's the most normal thing in the world, Lando finishes the last of his food and gathers up all the dishes on the table and puts them in the sink, and finds you and Milo already on Milo's bed, a Spider-Man storybook laid out on Milo's Lap. Lando takes the other side of you, and as guest of honour, Milo explains, he gets to read tonight. If he had really been prepared for how tonight was going to go, Lando would've brought his own pyjamas, but instead, he just cozies further into his hoodie, and flips open to the first page. 

"This is Spider-Man," He begins as Milo crawls over you to splay over your lap. "He's a superhero."

"You're a superhero," You whisper quietly with a yawn, and Lando is pretty sure he turns as red as Spider-man's suit. 

"Spider-Man shoots webs," Lando continues, moving to the next page, and he decides to focus all his energy into the book, rather than you pressed up beside him. However, he finds that as he finishes up the last page, he might've let his attention wander to far. 

You're asleep beside him, head tilted back as you doze, and Milo is the same in your lap, tuckered out from the party. Honestly, if Lando could, he'd fall right asleep beside you, but that's for another time, another date, so instead, he presses a kiss to your temple, closes the book, and turns off the light. 

It's how he hopes he can spend every night for the rest of his life.

a/n: baby fever is in full swing. tell me he wouldn't be a fantastic dad.

[charlotteking27]

The pretty interviewer

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: You are Max's favorite interviewer...so much that he will not stop flirting with you.

PT2: Pursuing the journalist

Three Races Earlier…

You stand off to the side of the paddock, fiddling with your Sky Sports F1 microphone. As the newest member of the broadcasting team, you typically handle the less significant interviews, while the veteran reporters get to speak with drivers like Max Verstappen. Today, you're set to interview one of the midfield teams.

The buzz in the paddock suddenly grows as Max comes out of the Red Bull garage after his stunning pole position. A crowd of reporters quickly surrounds him, microphones pushed forward, voices overlapping with "Max! Max, a moment, please!"

You watch from your quiet spot while he walks past them, his expression neutral and barely acknowledging them. This scene is familiar. Max is known for being choosy with the media and often speaks only to a select few senior reporters.

That’s why your heart skips a beat when his eyes suddenly turn to you. His face brightens with a smile, and before you realize it, he changes direction and walks confidently toward your corner.

"Sorry," he tells the stunned reporters behind him, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm giving my first interview to her."

You hear your producer’s voice in your earpiece: "Wait, what's happening?"

Max stops right in front of you, that familiar half-smile on his lips. "Hi," he says casually, as if he hasn’t just brushed off every major broadcaster in the paddock.

"I… um…" You struggle to collect your thoughts, acutely aware of the jealous stares from the other reporters. "Hi?"

He laughs softly at your surprise. "You're new, right? I've seen you around. You ask good questions – technical ones. Not just the usual PR stuff."

"I… yes, I started this weekend," you manage to reply, still in shock. "But shouldn't you be talking to—"

"I'm talking to exactly who I want to talk to," he cuts in, his Dutch accent somehow stronger when he speaks softly. "So, would you like to hear about that qualifying lap?"

𐙚

That first interview changed everything. Since then, Max has asked to give you his post-session interviews. Each one became more flirtatious than the last. This brings you to today.

The Red Bull garage looms ahead as you adjust your Sky Sports F1 microphone for the thousandth time. Post-qualifying interviews are routine by now, but nothing about interviewing Max Verstappen has ever felt normal. Especially not since he started doing whatever this is.

"Three minutes," your producer says through your earpiece. You try to focus on your questions, but all you can think of is last week's interview. Max had deliberately held your gaze so long that you forgot the second half of your question.

He emerges from the garage, race suit tied at his waist as usual. Your heart skips a beat as he approaches, wearing that annoying half-smile that makes you forget basic English.

"Max, congratulations on another pole position," you begin professionally.

"Thanks," he interrupts, eyes shining. "I was hoping it would be you interviewing me today."

You feel warmth creeping up your neck. Stay professional, you remind yourself. "That last lap was incredible. How did you find the grip through—"

"The grip was good," he says, leaning slightly closer than necessary. "But you seem a bit nervous today. Everything okay?"

Your producer chuckles in your ear. Traitor.

"I'm perfectly fine," you manage, though your voice comes out higher than you wanted. "About turn three—"

"You're cute when you're flustered," he says quietly, just low enough that the microphone won't catch it. The smirk on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.

You almost drop your notebook. "I'm trying to conduct an interview here," you whisper back, fighting a smile.

"And I'm trying to ask you out," he counters smoothly before raising his voice back to interview level. "But yes, turn three was tricky today. The crosswind made it challenging."

Your face feels like it's on fire. You're painfully aware of the camera rolling, capturing what must be the most unprofessional blush in F1 broadcasting history.

"Speaking of challenges," Max continues, clearly enjoying himself, "there's this great restaurant in Monaco that's almost impossible to get into. I have a reservation for two tomorrow night if you're interested in discussing race strategy, of course."

You hear your producer choking back laughter. "The interview, Max," you remind him, trying to sound stern despite your racing heart.

"Right, right. The interview." He grins. "But about dinner…"

"Maybe we should finish talking about your qualifying lap first?" You're fighting a losing battle against your smile now.

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, then winks. "But just so you know, I'm going to keep flirting with you until you say yes."

Your producer is practically cackling now. "Best. Interview. Ever," she whispers in your ear.

"The qualifying lap, Max," you insist, but you’re grinning too.

"The qualifying lap," he agrees, finally sitting up straight and attempting to look serious. "But I should warn you, I'm very persistent. Almost as persistent as I am on track."

You shake your head, trying to remember your questions through the butterfly storm in your stomach. One thing's for sure—this interview is definitely going viral on F1 Twitter.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll say yes to that dinner in Monaco.

𐙚

You barely remember how you finished that interview. Your mind is still spinning from Max's dinner invitation. But the real chaos is just starting.

Your notifications have not stopped buzzing since that interview aired. #MaxAndTheReporter is trending on Twitter, and F1 TikTok is having a field day with edited clips of every moment you and Max shared during the past three races.

"OMG THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER," says one viral tweet, featuring a slow-motion clip of Max's eyes softening when he sees you in the paddock.

"Remember when Max used to HATE interviews? Now he’s literally running to them. #MaxAndTheReporter." This tweet includes a side-by-side comparison of his usual stern media face and his smile when he approaches you.

Your producer sends you a link to a fan-made compilation video titled "Every time Max Verstappen has flirted with the Sky Sports reporter (so far)." It has already gathered 2 million views.

Not everyone is convinced. "She's just another reporter," one skeptic tweets. "Max is probably just being nice."

That theory gets blown away during the next race weekend. You're interviewing Carlos Sainz when Max casually walks by. He does such an obvious double-take that Carlos starts laughing mid-answer.

"I think someone wants to interrupt this interview," Carlos teases, watching Max hover nearby with barely hidden impatience.

"He can wait his turn," you respond professionally, though your cheeks warm when you hear Max chuckle behind you.

"Can I?" Max calls out. "Because I'm pretty sure my dinner reservation is in an hour, and someone still hasn't given me an answer."

Carlos raises his eyebrows and grins. "Ah, so the rumors are true?"

Your producer's voice crackles through your earpiece: "The social media is going absolutely crazy right now. This is better than Drive to Survive!"

Later that evening, a photo appears of you and Max at a hard-to-get-into restaurant in Monaco. He is looking at you instead of the camera, with that soft smile on his face that F1 Twitter has named the "reporter smile." Fan theories start to explode:

"HE REALLY TOOK HER TO DINNER, I'M SCREAMING." "The way he only smiles like that for her.❤️" "Remember when we thought Max would never date someone in the F1 media? This man really said 'Watch me."

Your phone buzzes with a text from Max: "Have you seen we’re trending again?"

You reply with an eye roll, trying to ignore the butterflies that haven't settled since that first interview.

"Good," he responds. "Maybe now everyone knows why I only want interviews with you."

Your producer sends you a message: "Just wait until they see tomorrow's pre-race interview. The internet might actually break."

You smile, thinking about how a simple paddock interview three races ago changed everything. From a reluctant interviewee to whatever this is becoming, Max Verstappen has definitely kept his promise about being persistent.

And honestly? You wouldn't have it any other way.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

What's in my bag ?

Summary : While filming a “What’s In My Bag?” video for TUMI during a dreamy shoot in Lake Como, Lando Norris proudly shares his favorite travel items: headphones, cinnamon mints, lucky charms… and a stack of Polaroids of his girlfriend.

Until one very private photo slips into the mix, and suddenly the internet sees a whole lot more than he meant to show.

Genre : suggestive, fluff, oneshot

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Warning : mature content, allusion to nude and sex activities

Main Masterlist

Author notes : funny and soft oneshot to bring a little bit of joy after the race of Sunday. Everyone please stay safe and if you can, stay away from social media if it gets too hard after this week-end race, love you all <3

Lake Como glistened in the soft morning light, its surface scattered with diamonds of sun as gentle waves rolled against the dock. A light breeze rustled the cypress trees lining the water’s edge, carrying with it the scent of pine and polished wood from the nearby villas. Birds chirped, water lapped, cameras clicked.

And somewhere on a private terrace above the lake, Lando Norris was trying not to sweat through his linen shirt.

“Alright, we’re rolling in three, two, one...” the cameraman’s voice faded into silence as the red light blinked on.

Lando sat back in the sleek director-style chair, a black TUMI backpack resting on his lap. He adjusted the strap, cleared his throat, and gave the camera his signature, cheeky grin.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

His voice echoed softly against the terracotta walls behind him.

“This is my TUMI backpack. I take it everywhere, especially when I’m traveling. It’s kind of like my...survival kit,” he chuckled, unzipping the top compartment. “You’ll see what I mean.”

One by one, he began pulling items out, placing them carefully on the small table beside him.

“First up: my headphones,” he said, holding up a sleek black pair. “Can’t live without these. Whether it’s music, Netflix on the plane, or zoning out in the paddock, these save me.”

He paused and smirked at the camera. “They also help when I’m pretending not to hear Oscar.”

The staff behind the camera chuckled.

“Next... passports. Plural. Yeah. I have three.” He fanned them out like a hand of cards, laughing. “I’m international, baby.”.”

He dug deeper into the backpack and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. Opening it carefully, he revealed several stone bracelets in warm earthy tones.

“My mum got me these for Christmas,” he said quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t always wear them on track days, but I keep them close. Just… makes me feel a bit more grounded.”

He placed them gently down and then brandished a small tin.

“Cinnamon mints,” he declared proudly. “For the sweet tooth. Helps with cravings. Or when you want to pretend you don’t eat like a raccoon at midnight.”

More laughter. The atmosphere was warm, friendly. Lando was in his element, somewhere between boyish and bold.

“Now we’re getting to the fun stuff.”

He pulled out a tangled mess of keychains, one shaped like a tiny McLaren helmet, another a fluffy orange pom-pom, and the last: a piece of tissue with the initials LN sewn into it.

“A fan gave me this,” he said, holding it between his fingers. “I’ve had it for years. It’s falling apart but... can’t travel without it.”

He smiled at the memory, then paused as his hand slipped into one of the deeper side pockets. His brow furrowed.

“Oh... wait,” he muttered, pulling something halfway out before immediately stuffing it back in.

He looked up at the camera, suddenly sheepish.

“Uhh...yeah. Some stuff I definitely can’t show you,” he said, grinning and scratching the back of his neck. “Let’s just say... it's better to stay protected”

The staff broke into laughter. One of the camera guys let out a dramatic “ooooohhh.”

“What?” Lando laughed, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “You never know, okay? I like to get prepared.”

Still grinning, he reached again into the bag and pulled out a small, silver disposable camera.

“This guy comes everywhere with me,” he said. “I take film photos when I travel. Stuff that’s just for me, you know? Not for Instagram. Just memories.”

He held it up with affection, then reached in again and began pulling out little mementos: a handmade skull keyring from Mexico, a folded receipt with something scribbled on the back, a broken friendship bracelet.

“I’m kind of a hoarder,” he admitted. “These are all... pieces of places. People. Moments. I like keeping them close.”

His hand brushed against something in the side pocket. A small, rubbery bottle.

He pulled it out before he registered what it was.

There was a beat.

He stared at the camera.

The bottle gleamed in the sunlight. Bright pink. Labelled clearly ' Lubricant: Strawberry flavor' .

“Oh. My god.”

He blinked, went pale, then immediately turned red.

“I...okay, that’s not, this is not...this wasn’t meant to be in here.”

He stuffed it back into the pocket, eyes wide.

The cameraman wheezed behind the lens. A staffer covered her mouth.

“I swear this is not... I didn’t pack this bag this morning!” Lando stammered. “Okay I did, but not, like, not with this interview in mind so I didn't know I had to show it.”

Lando groaned. “Can we cut that out? Please? It’s for...dry skin.”

“Oh wich part of your skin?”

He buried his face in his hands and trie to change the subject.

Still flustered, he grabbed one of his tech pouches and unzipped it, desperate to pivot.

“Oh!” he beamed. “Okay. These are my favorites.”

From the padded pouch meant for a laptop, he pulled out a neat little stack of Polaroids tied with a red ribbon. He untied them quickly, holding the first one up to the camera.

“This... is my girlfriend.”

The way he said it, like he couldn’t believe his luck, was soft, sincere.

He flipped through the pictures with reverence.

“This is her in Spain last summer. Look at this, she was trying to take a serious photo and I made a face behind her.”

He laughed.

“This is us in Monaco. Don’t ask how I convinced her to get in the pool. She hates cold water.”

Another.

“This is her sleeping. And this... this is her at breakfast, in my hoodie.”

His smile melted into something private, like a quiet sunrise behind his eyes.

“And this...”

He held up the next Polaroid to the camera without looking at it first. There was a beat. A pause.

From behind the camera, someone made a choked noise.

Lando glanced up. “What?” Then looked at the picture.

“Oh...oh, no. No, no, no...”

He yanked it back quickly, his ears flushing bright pink.

“Shit, this isn’t...this was not supposed to be in that pile.”

He stuffed it deep into the side of the bag, clutching the remaining Polaroids protectively.

“Oh my god, please can you blur it,” he groaned, covering his face. “That’s from the other pile. Like...the private-private collection.”

The entire crew burst into cackles.

“I swear to god if that makes the cut, I’m a dead man. She’s going to kill me.”

“Was that a nude?” someone asked, not even trying to hide the glee.

“I am not answering that.”

“Was it?” the assistant pressed.

“I plead the fifth,” Lando said dramatically, still red-faced. “Blur it. Blur it, please. I’m begging you. I have a career. I have a relationship.”

He tried to laugh it off, but his smile was flustered, eyes wide and nervous.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, trying to move on.

“Anyway. My phone. My wallet. You know. The boring stuff.”

But even as he listed the rest of his items, he kept glancing at the camera, haunted. Regretfully boyish. Still blushing.

“Alright. That’s what’s in my bag,” he said quickly, snapping the backpack shut. “And apparently... a reason to get murdered by my girlfriend.”

He groaned again. “Can we cut that part? Please? I swear, she’s gonna make me sleep on the balcony.”

The red light turned off.

The staff burst into applause.

“Best interview yet,” one of the directors laughed, clapping. “Gonna break the internet.”

@TUMIofficial

WHAT’S IN MY BAG with Lando Norris: Lake Como Special Catch our exclusive behind-the-scenes interview with what Lando really carries with him👀

@_user1 WAIT. Did he just… show a nude of his gf on camera?? 😭😭😭

@_user2 THE WAY HE PANICKED. omg that was NOT staged. He looked like he wanted to die 💀💀💀

@_user3 No bc I NEED to know what was on that Polaroid. Was it like artsy nude or nude-nude?

@_user4 LMFAO he had the audacity to hint at condoms, then literally WHIPPED OUT A NUDE LIKE IT’S A FAMILY VACAY SNAP 💀💀

@_user5 He carries cinnamon mints for his sweet tooth AND spicy pics of his girl?? man’s layered fr

@_user6 Not Lando Norris accidentally exposing his thirst for his gf on a sponsored ad 😭 someone check on the TUMI PR team

@_user7 Lube AND nudes of his girl?? Lando Norris is not packing for a trip. He’s packing for a weekend of sin.

@_user8 He really said: “this is her being pretty, this is her sleeping… and this is her NAKED” lmao LANDO WHYYYYY

@_user9 This man is not traveling. He’s on a mission.

@_user10 Lando really opened that bag and gave us: emotional support bracelets, cinnamon mints, protection, lube, porn. He's got range.

@_user11 “Some stuff I can’t show you” and then five minutes later accidentally shows us 😭 this man has NO filter and NO chill

@_user12 This isn’t a “what’s in my bag” this was a “what’s in normally in my bedroom drawer but I somehow take it everywhere in my backpak”

@_user13 He said “I like to be prepared” and I believe him now

@_user14 “That’s from the other pile” UM. HELLO????? THERE IS A PILE??

@_user15 Protective AND obsessed with his girl?? I need a man like Lando

@_user16 He really said “what’s in my bag?” and the answer was: horniness

Texts messages

Y/N Just watched the TUMI video 😇

Lando Oh no.

Y/N The one where my nude photo makes a guest appearance in front of 1.2 million people? 🤗

Lando BABE It was an ACCIDENT But don't worry it's blur we can't see a single thing I didn’t mean to pull that photo I meant the cute ones!! The breakfast one!! The one where you’re wearing my hoodie!!

Y/N So you show the one where i’m wearing nothing at all?

Lando I’m sweating I’m actually sweating I’m gonna get sued. by you. By TUMI. By your parents

Y/N My mum did text me She said “interesting campaign... very modern”

Lando NOOOOOOOOOOOO I’m crawling into the lake

Y/N Also “i like to be prepared”? Really? What exactly are you preparing for mid-flight with lube? 🤔

Lando Dry skin!!! I said it's for my dry skin!!!!!

Y/N Right Because when i think of skin hydratation i think of edible lubricant 🙃

Lando I’m scared to check twitter Someone called my bag “frat boy coded" They’re not wrong

Y/N You do carry condoms, lube, candy and a Polaroid of me naked in the same backpack You’re like Dora the Explorer if she was addicted to sex

Lando DORA?!?!?! 😭

Y/N “What’s in my bag?” Everything but self-control

Lando Okay, first of all, RUDE Second of all… the lube smells nice Third of all… You didn’t complain last time

Y/N Oh so now you’re doubling down??

Lando Just trying to make the best of my public humiliation Besides What’s so wrong with carrying a few... essentials? A man’s gotta travel prepared

Y/N You sound like a horny boy scout

Lando “Always be ready” is a valid motto 🙋‍♂️

Y/N Valid until you drop a bottle of lube in front of a camera crew

Lando They laughed so hard i thought someone was gonna need CPR

Y/N You’re lucky i love you And you’re lucky the nude was actually a good one

Lando Thank you 🥺 i almost show the one where you’re biting the sheet but i had... instincts

Y/N INSTINCTS???? You mean your last two brain cells had a moment of clarity

Lando Pls Do you still love me?

Y/N Debatable Might depend on whether or not you bring me almond croissants when you will come back

Lando Deal But only if you let me take a new Polaroid… One just for me to see😉

Y/N … Good luck on media day tomorrow Norris

Lando Oh no god I forgot about that

The paddock was already buzzing by the time Lando arrived, hoodie up over his head like he was trying to go incognito. Not that it helped, cameras turned as soon as he walked through the gates.

Media day.

He kept his head down, offering a few tight-lipped smiles to passing crew and journalists. He could feel the looks. The barely contained smirks. The PR team had already warned him to "expect commentary.” He hadn’t realized commentary meant the entire motorsport world was now intimately familiar with the contents of his bag.

He reached the McLaren hospitality unit and headed straight for the driver lounge.

Oscar was already there.

He looked up from his phone the second Lando walked in, and the smile started immediately.

“Morning,” Oscar said, way too casual. “Sleep well?”

Lando didn’t answer. Just dropped into the chair across from him and stared at the ceiling.

Oscar waited half a beat.

Then: “So… what’s in your bag today?”

Lando groaned, eyes closing. “No.”

“No what?” Oscar asked, blinking innocently.

“I’m not doing this with you.”

Oscar nodded slowly, tapping his phone against the table. “Right. Of course. Strict media day focus. No time for lube talk.”

Lando didn’t move but look at him shocked. “Oscar!”

“Yes?”

“I will actually fight you if you keep talking”

Oscar continued, unfazed. “I’ve learned a lot about you this week.”

“Please stop.”

“Your skincare routine. Your travel essentials.”

“It’s for my girlfriend,” Lando muttered.

Oscar nodded slowly. “Romantic.”

Lando looked at him. “I didn’t mean to show half that stuff.”

Oscar took a long sip of his water bottle, then added, deadpan: “You were really sweating.”

“I was panicking, Oscar.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

There was a pause.

Oscar looked back down at his phone.

“I just didn’t know you were the type to carry… souvenirs.”

Lando threw his head back and groaned. “It’s private. It’s supposed to stay private.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You handed it to a camera crew.”

“I didn’t know it was that one.”

Oscar hummed. “Risky system.”

Lando covered his face. “I’m not coming out for media. Tell them I’ve combusted.”

Oscar leaned back again, shrugging. “Might be safer. Someone from Williams asked if you’re sponsored by Durex now.”

Lando didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to crawl into his chair.

Oscar gave a tiny, satisfied nod.

Then, after a beat: “At least the mints were normal.”

“Thanks,” Lando said miserably. “Really comforting.”

Oscar took another sip from his water bottle, then looked back at Lando, who was still sulking in the chair across from him, hoodie half over his face.

After a moment, Oscar spoke again. Calm. Curious.

“Okay, but... I actually have a question now.”

Lando didn’t move. “Please don’t.”

Oscar ignored him, tone completely deadpan. “What’s in the pile?”

Lando sat up slowly, blinking at him in horror. “What the hell, Oscar?”

Oscar stayed relaxed, perfectly composed. “You said it yourself. There's the normal Polaroids. And then there’s the private-private pile. So… what’s in it?”

“I am not...” Lando pointed at him, absolutely done. “...having this conversation with you.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Just curious. For science.”

Lando stood up instantly. “I’m leaving.”

Oscar shrugged. “Fair.”

Lando stormed toward the door, muttering something about changing teams, changing sports, maybe even changing names.

He was halfway out when,

“Oi!” Oscar called after him. “Don’t forget your backpack, Norris.”

Lando froze mid-step.

Oscar was already grinning.

“You left it,” he added, far too casually. “Y’know… the one with your precious things in it.”

Lando turned around like a man walking back into a crime scene, snatched the bag off the chair with one hand, and glared.

“Stop talking about it,” he muttered.

Oscar just smiled. “I’m not saying anything.”

“You are thinking them.”

Oscar leaned back, unfazed. “I’m not.”

“You’re being insufferable.”

Lando slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out without another word.

As the door shut behind him, Oscar shook his head slightly and let out a quiet laugh, just enough to himself, just loud enough for it to echo in Lando’s memory for years to come.

taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @sashisuslover, @gold66loveblog, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @h-rtsnana, @anonomano, @guacala, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie

[vivace-formulala]

𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭: 𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒖𝒑 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒔 (𝑭𝑪𝟒𝟑 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

🫵: “AFAB; same-aged ; reserve driver for rbr ; F2 Prema driver ; angst with comfort”

⌛️: november 2024 (rookiesm)

masterlist 

While your feet grew heavier by the minute, it did some good, somehow, when it found you a quiet spot—sandwiched between barricaded areas between the F2 and F3 garages.

You sat on a secluded bench, your body curled into itself, as if trying to shrink away from the weight pressing down on your chest. The world outside this quiet corner of the paddock buzzed with the noise of F1 teams for Free Practice at Lusail Circuit, but here, in this small bubble of solitude, you could allow yourself to feel the disappointment that had been gnawing at you all day.

It was meant to be your year.

Your hands were shaking. You’d fought so hard—too hard, maybe—and yet, no seat. What Kelly said dunked you into cold water, confirming what you feared most: Red Bull had chosen someone else next season.

The day started with more hope. The Red Bull hospitality had been brimming with excitement for Free Practice. Two races left in the Constructors’ Championship, and you’d given the other teams a run for their money with the points you had fought tooth and nail for, subbing in for Max while he juggled being a world champion and a new father.

But today, with Max back, you were benched—playing interviewer for PREMA on Instagram, your F2 home.

Once the cameras stopped rolling and you’ve terrorized enough people on the paddock, you found yourself cooing over the three-month-old baby Verstappen, charming onlookers as the little one giggled at your antics.

“WAG in training, huh?” Kelly joked, resting a hand on the stroller, watching you both with a soft smile.

You stood taller, grin faltering. “What do you mean?” Around you, the crowd began to drift off, pulled back to the thrill of Free Practice.

Kelly smiles, not mirroring hers. “You’re a natural with the camera... and kids love you. They media try to find every flaw with us, you know. But I’m sure you’ll be a fan favorite... watching his races.”

Oh, but you weren’t a WAG. You were a driver.

“Well, I don’t know much about that, since I’ll be behind the wheel,” you replied with a laugh, trying to play it off.

That’s when her expression changed. Something softer. Something sad.

“Oh honey,” she said gently. “I thought you saw the news.”

Your brows furrowed, smile trying not to collapse.

Kelly's face became unreadable. “And… with you… and the Haas boy, I thought... well, I thought you’d be joining us girls this year…”

Your face paled and flushed all at once. Your ears rang. Your vision tunneled. The truth became unbearable.

You didn’t have an F1 seat next year.

Across the room—almost cruelly on cue—Christian Horner walked in. Surrounded by important people with clipboards and the media, he caught sight of you.

But he didn’t hold your gaze. Just like he didn’t hold his promise.

He looked away and left.

Your world tilted. You’d been promised a seat at Zandvoort. Max was there to attest. The stars had finally seemed to align. You’d built your career from the ground up—earned every point, every podium. You weren’t supposed to be clawing for a shot anymore. You were supposed to be there.

But instead, as the press release now confirmed: Y/N L/N—still trying to claw her way into Formula 1.

And so, that’s how your heavy heart found you. Tears threatening to fall, hands trembling as you clutched your phone with the stupid article. You didn’t know what to do. Didn’t even realize you weren’t alone until a voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.

“Oh Prema girl, you found my secret cry spot.”

Your head snapped up, heart skipping. The brown curls. The blue eyes. The teasing smirk on his pouty lips

Franco Colapinto.

Of course it would be him.

Monaco 2022 flashes in your mind.

Somehow, he always had this timing. Like he knew exactly when to show up—whether you wanted him to or not.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice wavers.

“Shouldn’t you be at Free Practice with Alpine?” You swipe quickly at your eyes, embarrassed. But it’s Franco. He’d seen you in all sorts of moments—just not like this.

He gave his signature smirk of his, leaning casually against the fence, tumbler in hand. “Yeah, but they gave it to Jack. Because of that article you’re reading,” he adds with a smirk before sipping.

You blink. Confused.

Franco shrugged trying to maintain his nonchalance. “Turns out, they don’t want me either. You know, despite half a season or whatever. Just the backup.”

Your heart twists in your chest, realizing he was in the same boat you were. You let out a soft laugh, though it felt more like a quiet sob.

“Wait,” she said softly, her eyes scanning his face. “You didn’t get a seat?”

Franco looked at her, the twinkle in his eyes fading for just a second. “Yeah,” he confirmed, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t.”

The realization hit her like a wave. Franco Colapinto, the charismatic and talented driver, a force in their older F2 days, the guy who had made a name for himself with his passion and fire in Williams mid season—was now just like her. Stuck.

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t. You watch him fiddle with the tumbler.

“Iced yerba,” he says, offering it to you. “Try.”

You hesitated, but not for long. You’d watched enough of his interviews with Alex to know the drill. Taking it in hand, you brought it to your lips and took a cautious sip. The bitterness hits immediately, your face contorting slightly at the unfamiliar taste.

“Yeah, it’s strong,” Franco chuckles, clearly amused.

You handed the tumbler back. “At least you’re up as a reserve,” you muttered, though the words tasted hollow. You didn’t even get a reserve seat— but of course you didn’t want to be a reserve. You didn’t want to be waiting in the wings. You wanted to be racing.

Franco took a sip, his expression softening as he sat down beside you. He didn’t keep the tumbler back, instead resting it on the bench between the both of you, where it sat as a silent testament to your shared disappointment.

"But you and me," he began, his voice light but meaningful, "we’re meant to go fast. Not sit on the sidelines.”

You let out a deep sigh, nodding as you took for another swig of the yerba. The bitterness almost felt comforting now. It was like the taste of failure—a reminder that misery loves company.

“It’s like…” you whispered, hugging your knees to her chest, feeling small. “A slap in the face, you know? After everything I’ve done, after how hard I’ve fought... I had a taste of the top. And now? Now, I take two steps back, and I’m back where I started.” You shook her head in disbelief. “How am I supposed to get out of this?”

Franco leans back, letting the hum of engines echo around you both. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just listens.

“Yeah,” he murmurs eventually. “Feels like it all means nothing when you don't get chosen.”

“Exactly,” you say. Your voice raw. “You just... you wonder if it was all worth it. If you’re just... not enough.”

Franco smiles, and spares a glance at you. “You and me, we’ve got the passion. The heart. The drive. They can’t take that away from us.”

You looked at him then, surprised at how comforting his words were. “How do you do that?” you asked quietly, the weight in your chest lightening just a little. “How do you always know what to say?”

Franco shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the mate,” he joked. “But seriously, you’re more than just a driver. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re not enough.”

You smile—really smile—for the first time all day. “You’re right,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s next...”

Franco’s gaze softened. “You’ll figure it out. And no matter what you decide, I’ve got your back.”

For a moment, there was a silent understanding between you both, something unspoken but undeniable. Your heart was still heavy, but somehow it didn’t feel as crushing with Franco beside her.

Cheers and claps filled the air— the sound of Free Practice finishing echoed in the distance, Franco stood up, offering you a hand.

“You want me to walk you back?” he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow, not quite sure if you was ready to face the pit crews and the chaos again. But his offer was genuine, and there was a comfort in knowing you didn’t have to go through this alone.

“Sure,” you replied, standing up and brushing off the grass from your shirt. You walked side-by-side toward the garages, your heart still heavy but a little less burdened. You didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time today, maybe—just maybe—it would be okay.

As you walk, Franco pulls out his phone. “Hey, realized I don’t have your number.”

He offers it to you, grinning.

“Just in case you need someone to talk to.”

You smiled, tapping you number into his phone before handing it back. You didn’t say it out loud, but you had a feeling there was something here—a spark, a bond forged in the heat of the Doha Sun and in the trenches of disappointment.

For now, it was enough.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

©ｖｉｖａｃｅ－ｆｏｒｍｕｌａｌａ

[harrysfolklore]

grid dad - mv1

summary: max decides accidentally adopts the 2025 rookies and his life becomes chaos

folkie radio: HERE IT IS!! i thought it was super late to post this but you guys wanted it so i finished it! i hope you like it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by maxverstappen1, olliebearman and 198,635 others

yourinstagram hosted our rookie dinner tonight because someone had to adopt these kids before the season starts 😂 @/maxverstappen1 trying to teach them the racing line around our dinner table while I'm just making sure they're all fed properly. good luck this season boys! ❤️

tagged: maxverstappen1, olliebearman, isackhadjar, kimi.antonelli, gabrielbortoleto_, jackdoohan

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username1 OMFG THIS ???

username2 max casually having all the kids over help me

maxverstappen1 They're already asking when they can come back for dinner 🤦‍♂️

username3 MY HEART 😭 mama yn and papa max adopting all the rookies i can't

username4 the way he's actually becoming the dad of the grid at 27 💀

username5 max going from youngest driver to grid dad is the character development we love to see

kimi.antonelli best pasta i've ever had outside of italy!! grazie mille

lando this is so unfair, where was my rookie dinner in 2019??

username6 STOP this is the wholesomeness we needed before melbourne 🥹

username7 giving me flashbacks to when seb used to adopt the younger drivers

isackhadjar thanks racing mum and dad 😌🏎️

jackdoohan catch me sneaking back in for leftovers tomorrow 👀

alex_albon @/georgerussell63 remember when we just got a RedBull and good luck text?

username8 NOT THE 2019 ROOKIES GETTING JEALOUS

username9 max really just adopted them all ??? hello!!

olliebearman thank you for everything! ready for the season now 💪

gabrielbortoleto_ such an amazing evening! grateful for the advice and the food was 🔥

username10 THE 2025 ROOKIES ARE SO LOVED

f1 The Class of 2025 getting the VIP treatment 🤩

liked by username1, username2 and 15,037 others

f1updates Max Verstappen reveals the 2025 rookies have become regular visitors at his home after his girlfriend invited them for a pre-season dinner

"Yeah, it's quite funny actually. My girlfriend invited them all over and now they just keep showing up. Antonelli's always asking for her pasta recipe, Bearman raids our fridge like it's his own house... Doohan's basically moved into our guest room at this point."

"It's nice though, they're good kids. They ask a lot of questions about racing, but mostly we just hang out. YN loves it, she's always making sure they're eating properly and stuff. I think she'll be screenshotting their race results like a proud mom"

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username1 NOT MAX BECOMING A GRID DAD AT 27

username2 the way he pretends to be annoyed but we know he loves it 🥺

username3 ollie living his best life raiding their fridge i'm crying

username3 kimi antonelli getting that family support AND pasta recipes? unstoppable

username4 max and yn collecting f1 children like pokemon and we're here for it

username5 the way he's actually proud of them 🥺 dad max era

username6 most unexpected wholesome f1 moment of 2025 already

username7 remember when max was the youngest driver? now look at him being grid dad

username8 WHY IS THIS SO CUTE LIKE THOSE ARE HIS KIDS

username9 i just know yn will be cheering for them at every race like a proud mom

username10 WHAT IF I CRY RN

liked by yourinstagram, jackdoohan and 1,094,483 others

maxverstappen1 Ready for Melbourne. Had a good winter break

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username1 2025 WDC ALREADY

kimi.antonelli thanks for the setup tips dad 😎

yourinstagram our kids are so talented 🥹

username2 HELP THE ROOKIES JUST INVADED THEIR HOUSE AND NEVER LEFT 😭

username3 not antonelli calling him dad i'm deceased

olliebearman fifa rematch when we're back? still saying you cheated

jackdoohan THANKS MUM AND DAD

isackhadjar best preseason prep ever 🙌

username4 the way this isn't even weird anymore, just max and his 5 adopted children

gabrielbortoleto_ those pancakes changed my life ngl

lando this is getting ridiculous, i'm moving in too

username5 yn collecting f1 sons every time max turns his back

username6 THIS IS THE WHOLESOME CONTENT WE DESERVE

username7 horner somewhere punching the air watching max parent the entire rookie class

username8 LANDO IS STILL COMPLAINING HELP

username9 the fifa tournaments at their house must be INTENSE

username10 THOSE ARE MAX'S SONS

username11 he really posted a picture with his girlfriend and pictures of their grid kids 😭 IM YELLING

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liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 202,483 others

yourinstagram race day! good luck to my boyfriend and our... five adopted children 😂 still wondering how this happened but wouldn't have it any other way. make mama proud boys! ❤️ @/maxverstappen1 @/kimi.antonelli @/olliebearman @/jackdoohan @/isackhadjar @/gabrielbortoleto_

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username1 IM CRYING THOSE ARE THEIR CHILDREN

username2 the ducklings !!!

maxverstappen1 They're asking if we can have pizza night after the race 🤦‍♂️

kimi.antonelli grazie racing mom!

olliebearman promise not to crash dad's car 😇

jackdoohan home race AND family support, let's go!

isackhadjar thanks mom 🥹

gabrielbortoleto_ best racing parents ever ❤️

lando petition to be adopted too?

username3 NOT THEM ACTUALLY CALLING THEM MOM AND DAD NOW

username4 the way this started as a dinner and ended with 5 new family members

username5 ollie promising not to crash "dad's" car HELP ME 💀

username6 yn really said "i have 5 children now"

username7 mercedes wondering why their rookie keeps disappearing to verstappen family dinners

username8 the most wholesome timeline we never knew we needed

username9 verstappen family collection: ✅ max ✅ yn ✅ 5 rookies ✅ probably lando soon

username10 imagine telling someone in 2015 that rookie max would become f1's dad

liked by username1, username2 and 4,985 others

f1shitpost MAX'S FACE WHEN THEY TOOK KIMI. THAT'S HIS SON

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username1 the way max's face went 😦 -> 😳 -> 🥺

username2 they're interrupting their father-son time

username3 HEEEEEEELP THIS IS TOO FUNNY

username4 mercedes pr trying to prevent the adoption papers from being signed

username5 the way he immediately went to isack after this

username6 help why is this the most wholesome thing ever 😭

username7 the other rookies watching like "one of us, one of us"

username8 YN IS PROBABLY YELLING AT THIS

username9 he's taking the dad role way too seriously

username10 THATS A FATHER

liked by maxverstappen1, yourinstagram and 498,055 others

isackhadjar Not the way I wanted my first F1 race to go... but that's racing sometimes. Learning from it and moving forward. Thanks Max & YN for the emergency comfort dinner and pep talk (the cake was fire). Having the best support system helps a lot ❤️ On to the next one!

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username1 STOOOOOP THIS IS SO SWEET

username2 mom and dad to the rescue

yourinstagram always here for you sweetie! you'll come back stronger next weekend

maxverstappen1 Good weekend until the issue. We'll look at the data tomorrow 💪

kimi.antonelli next one will be better bro!

olliebearman you did great mate! also yn's cake fixes everything trust me

lando this family thing is getting out of hand... (yn can i have cake too?)

username3 NOT THE COMFORT DINNER FROM RACING PARENTS 😭

username4 yn really said "my son dnf'd? emergency cake needed"

username5 YN CALLING HIM SWEETIE AND MAX SAYING THEY'RE GOING TO REVIEW THE DATA? MY HEART THOSE ARE HIS PARENTS

username6 the way they all immediately gathered for support dinner 🥺

username7 verstappen family therapeutic cake session: activated

username8 my boy got the best racing parents fr 😌

username9 max analyzing data while yn bakes comfort food, perfect parenting

username10 most wholesome post-DNF recovery ever

username11 yn's cake solving all f1 problems one slice at a time

username12 lando still trying to get adopted in the comments HELP

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 509,755 others

olliebearman P8!!! First F1 points in the bag! 🙌 Found this note in my driver room this morning and it gave me the extra push. Thanks @/maxverstappen1 and @/yourinstagram for being the best racing parents and sneaking into Hass to leave it 😂 Also mega racing from my bros today!Great weekend ❤️

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username1 AHHHH FIRST OLLIEPOINTS

username2 UMMM THIS IS SO SWEET??

yourinstagram SO PROUD OF YOU! 🥳 (also don't tell how we got into the garage)

maxverstappen1 Good job kid 💪 Now about that overtake attempt on lap 32...

kimi.antonelli my bro killing it! (but seriously how did they get past haas security)

isackhadjar crushing it bro! save me some celebration cake

gabrielbortoleto_ first of many points! 🙌 (yn's ninja skills are scary ngl)

username3 YN AND MAX SNEAKING HAAS TO LEAVE PARENT NOTES I'M DYING 😭

username4 the most supportive illegal garage entry ever

username5 THEY REALLY BROKE INTO HAAS FOR THEIR SON I CAN'T

username6 most dedicated racing parents award goes to...

username7 the note is actually so sweet though 🥺

username8 verstappen family really said "security who?"

username9 IM SOBBING THOSE REALLY ARE THEIR KIDSSSS

username10 I LOVE THIS LORE SM

liked by maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli and 301,054 others

yourinstagram WHAT A DAY! 🎊 super proud of dad for the win (as always) but seeing three of our kids score points?? mom's heart can't take it 😭❤️@/kimi.antonelli P6, @/isackhadjar P8, and @/olliebearman P10 - YOU'RE ALL DOING AMAZING! @/jackdoohan and @/gabrielbortoleto_ your time is coming soon babies! now time to stuff everyone with celebration sushi

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username1 I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

username2 MAX AND HIS KIDDOS

maxverstappen1 They're fighting over the last california roll as we speak 🤦‍♂️

kimi.antonelli best racing family ever 🫶 (i won the sushi battle btw)

olliebearman thanks mom!! also kimi definitely cheated for that roll

isackhadjar perfect day with the family ❤️

jackdoohan next race is mine! (save me some sushi pls)

gabrielbortoleto_ points loading... also who filmed kimi's sushi heist

lando this family content is getting out of hand (but can i come for sushi?)

alex_albon mate why wasn't there family sushi in my day 😫

username3 NOT YN CALLING THE WIN "DAD" AND THE POINTS "OUR KIDS" 😭

username4 the way she's actually more excited about the rookies than max's win help

username5 verstappen family sushi war is sending me 💀

username6 yn collecting champion boyfriend and point-scoring children

username7 toto sharing custody with max and yn wasn't on my 2025 bingo card

username8 jack and gabriel getting the "your time is coming babies" treatment 🥺

username9 isack really secured points AND family dinner we love to see it

username10 THE VERSTAPPEN FAMILY IS SO TALENTED

username11 lando trying to get adopted in the comments AGAIN 😭

liked by yourinstagram, olliebearman and 976,387 others

maxverstappen1 When you're on a two week break from F1 and want a nice time at home with your girlfriend but your 5 adopted kids refuse to leave the house... 🤦‍♂️ At least they're getting better at FIFA (still not better than me though)

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username1 IM DYING

username2 THIS IS SO REAL

yourinstagram you love it really 😘 (also kimi and gabe are banned from my kitchen after that pasta incident)

kimi.antonelli this is our house too now, no take backs

olliebearman jack's been hogging the sim for 2 hours, this is favoritism

jackdoohan not my fault i'm fastest

isackhadjar your couch is just really comfortable okay

gabrielbortoleto_ the pasta wasn't THAT bad...

lando might join the invasion tomorrow 👀

charles_leclerc mate your house is literally turning into a rookie daycare

username3 HELP THEY'VE LITERALLY JUST MOVED IN 😭

username4 max pretending to be annoyed while actually loving it: a series

username5 the pasta incident?? we need details 👀

username6 yn collecting children while max pretends to protest

username7 BEST THING ABOUT THE 2025 SEASON

username8 breaking: 5 f1 rookies stage permanent occupation of verstappen residence

username9 ollie really said "this is our house" the confidence 😭

username10 most expensive f1 daycare service

username11 "the pasta wasn't THAT bad" WHAT DID THEY DO

username12 max's villain to dad arc is actually complete

username13 yn somewhere: finally, i have all the children 😌

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liked by username1, username2 and 10,483 others

f1gossip Spotted: Fighting for dad's attention again... Kimi and Gabriel arguing over who gets Max's feedback before the race 😭

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username1 the way max is actually trying to listen to both of them at once 😭

username2 yn in the back like "my children are embarrassing me again"

username3 HELP WHY ARE THEY ACTUALLY FIGHTING LIKE SIBLINGS

username4 THOSE ARE HIS KIDS FR

username5 kimi really said forget mercedes i need dad's opinion first

username6 ollie watching this like "amateurs, i already got my feedback during lunch"

username7 yn collecting more chaotic children by the minute

username8 I BET LANDO IS STILL JEALOUS OF THIS

username9 jack somewhere taking notes on how to get feedback without the fight

username10 the way max is actually giving equal attention to both 😭 dad skills on point

username11 toto watching his rookie choose max's feedback over merc engineers

username12 gabe really speed walking to beat kimi to max HELP

username13 remember when max was the youngest driver? now he's managing kid fights

username14 the way yn is just accepting this chaos now

liked by maxverstappen1, jackdoohan and 409,386 others

yourinstagram this isn't goodbye, it's just a new chapter ❤️ So proud of how you're handling this @/jackdoohan. you're still our kid and this house is still your home (yes, even the sim room 😉). the racing world hasn't seen the last of you, and until then, you've got your whole family behind you. love you lots sweetheart 🫶 also @/francolapinto welcome to the family, dinner's at 7!

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username1 THIS IS SO SWEET OMG

username2 SHE SAID THATS OUR KID FOREVER

maxverstappen1 The sim is always open for you. We've got work to do 💪

jackdoohan love you mom ❤️ thanks for everything

olliebearman our brother forever 🫶 (also i'm still slower than you in the sim)

kimi.antonelli family sticks together no matter what

isackhadjar we've got your back bro!

gabrielbortoleto_ you're stuck with us forever

francolapinto thank you for the welcome! (slightly nervous about joining this family 😅)

lando proper family you've got there. i still feel excluded

username3 NOT ME CRYING AT YN'S MOM ENERGY 😭

username4 "you're still our kid" I'M NOT OKAY

username5 yn really said "my kid lost his seat but not his family"

username6 jack still having his racing family is everything

username7 franco getting adopted before he even starts HELP

username8 most supportive racing family award goes to...

username9 "yes, even the sim room" knowing that's where he spends most time 🥺

username10 this family really sticks together no matter what

username11 franco about to learn what it means to join this family

username12 "dinner's at 7" yn adopting the replacement immediately

username13 the way they're making sure he knows nothing changes

username14 most wholesome f1 family doesn't exi-

username15 franco watching these comments like "what am i getting into"

username16 this isn't a racing family anymore it's a FAMILY family 🥺

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 601,287 others

isackhadjar when @/olliebearman leaves his phone behind so max can take a pic with his actual favorite kid 😌

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username1 HELPPP ME

username2 MAX SELFIE ALERT

olliebearman DELETE THIS RIGHT NOW. also we all know I'M the favorite 😤

yourinstagram both of you are grounded.

maxverstappen1 Neither of you are the favorite. It's kimi.

kimi.antonelli AS IT SHOULD BE 😌

gabrielbortoleto_ this family meeting is about to get spicy...

lando still trying to figure out how max ended up with 6 children and i'm not one of them

username3 MAX ADMITTING THAT KIMI IS HIS FAVORITE JUST LIKE THAT HEEEEEEELP

username4 THE FAVORITE CHILD DRAMA I'M CRYING 😭

username5 yn having to parent a favorite child fight was not on my 2025 bingo card

username6 ollie somewhere sprinting back to get his phone

username7 max choosing chaos by saying kimi is the favorite HELP

username8 kimi really won the favorite child battle without even trying

username9 yn about to give the "i love all my children equally" speech

username10 isack really started a civil war with one post

username11 yn somewhere preparing the "we don't have favorites" lecture

username12 gabi just getting the popcorn ready for the drama

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 401,376 others

yourinstagram last but definitely not least of our 2025 rookies making his debut! @/francolapinto you've worked so hard for this moment sweetheart ❤️ the whole family is so proud already. jack left you his lucky charm (yes I saw that), the boys have been sharing all their rookie race tips, and dad's already got your data analyzed. now go show them what you've got! also stop being nervous about family dinners, you're stuck with us now

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username1 MELTING AGAIN

username2 THEY JUST TOOK FRANCO TOO

francolapinto thanks mom 🥺❤️ (the note made me cry btw)

maxverstappen1 Remember what we discussed about turn 1. You've got this 💪

jackdoohan lucky charm worked for me, now it's your turn mate

olliebearman youngest sibling energy let's go 🔥

kimi.antonelli show them how it's done franco!

isackhadjar family's newest rookie about to kill it

lando this family keeps growing and i'm still not in it

username3 max and yn collecting another child: complete

username4 "stop being nervous about family dinners" WHY IS THIS SO CUTE

username5 franco went from replacement to beloved youngest child so fast

username6 yn's mom powers activated immediately for the new rookie

username7 newest verstappen family member making his debut

username8 all the siblings sharing rookie tips is actually so sweet

username9 jack supporting his replacement like a true big brother 😭

username10 "dad's already got your data analyzed" most supportive racing parents

username11 max is really a softie for this kids fr

username12 lando still trying to get adopted in the comments HELP

username13 most wholesome grid family keeps expanding

liked by lando, maxverstappen1 and 578,394 others

gabrielbortoleto_ Some Spain prep in the sim 💪 Getting those lines perfect for next week.

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username1 HELP IS THAT MAX'S SIM ROOM??? THE HELMET IN THE BACK 😭

username2 the way he's just casually posting from max's house like it's normal

username3 this man really said "sim prep" like we can't see max's entire setup 💀

username4 they've actually never left that house have they

lando you guys really never leave do you

username5 LANDO IS JEALOUS WE CAN TELL

yourinstagram dinner's at 7 sweetie 🫶

maxverstappen1 I still live here too you know 🤦‍♂️

username6 bro posted from casa verstappen like we wouldn't notice

username7 "the sim" sir that's your dad's gaming room

kimi.antonelli It's my turn with the sim

username8 NOT THEM FIGHTING OVER THE SIM

username9 they really just live there now and think we don't know

username10 at this point do they even have their own houses

username11 yn somewhere baking more cookies for her permanent residents

username12 not even trying to hide that they've moved in permanently 😭

liked by maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli and 605,976 others

yourinstagram MY BOYS!!! 😭❤️ @/kimi.antonelli getting his first podium AND @/maxverstappen1 right there to celebrate with him - mom's heart is exploding! so proud of both of you! (and yes I cried, a lot) also all the other kids running to the podium to celebrate their brother's first podium? this family i swear

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username1 IM SOBBING

username2 THIS FATHER AND SON

maxverstappen1 Super proud today 👏👏

kimi.antonelli thanks mom and dad 🥺❤️ (yn you didn't have to cry THAT much though)

olliebearman my turn next! also kimi you owe us dinner now

gabrielbortoleto_ podium celebration was worth the paddock pass violation

isackhadjar nothing can stop us from celebrating family wins

username3 MAX THE PROUD DAD

username4 yn crying more than kimi at his first podium is peak mom energy

username5 the way all the siblings broke paddock rules to celebrate

username6 security watching 4 f1 drivers sprint to their brother's podium

username7 toto watching his driver celebrate with the competition family again

username8 yn really crying like it's her biological son's first podium 😭

username9 THE WAY THEY ALL RUSHED TO CELEBRATE WITH HIM

username10 most chaotic podium celebration

username11 them breaking rules just to celebrate together is everything

username12 from max's rival team to max's son real quick

username13 most wholesome father-son podium in f1 history

liked by maxverstappen1, yourinstagram and 1,029,588 others

lando since max and yn won't let me join the family, i'm stealing some of the kids. taking these three to the f1 movie premiere while their dad's stuck in simulator duties

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username1 HEEEEELP

username2 I LOVE LANDO SM

yourinstagram take care of my babies! 🥺 and make sure they don't stay up too late, they have duties tomorrow! also ollie needs his allergy meds and gabe gets cranky if he doesn't eat every 3 hours and franco gets nervous in crowds so keep him close! text me when you land! ❤️

maxverstappen1 Bring them back in one piece Norris

olliebearman WE'RE NOT BABIES (but yes i packed my meds)

gabrielbortoleto_ already hungry tbh

francolapinto sticking to lando like glue don't worry mom

kimi.antonelli this is favoritism, why wasn't i invited 😤

username3 YN'S MOM INSTRUCTIONS IN THE COMMENTS 😭

username4 lando really kidnapped 3 verstappen kids

username5 yn listing care instructions like they're toddlers HELP

username6 max stuck in sim while lando takes his kids out

username7 "ollie needs his allergy meds" WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY

username8 lando finally got into the family through uncle status

username9 "gabe gets cranky if he doesn't eat every 3 hours" EXPOSED

username10 THE ROOKIES + LANDO I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

username12 most expensive babysitting job in monaco

username13 lando finally found his way into the family 😭

liked by username1, username2 and 10,986 others

f1gossip SPOTTED: Max Verstappen and YN finally getting alone time on their yacht in St. Tropez!

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username1 THE ROOKIES ACTUALLY LET THEM HAVE A VACATION ALONE??? 😱

username2 breaking news: f1's busiest parents get a break

username3 somewhere in monaco 6 drivers are probably burning down the house

username4 first documented evidence of max and yn without children in 2025

username4 checking ig stories to make sure the house is still standing

username5 the kids finally let mom and dad have a date 😭

username6 I KNOW THE ROOKIES ARE CRYING BC THEY DIDN'T TAKE THEM

username7 most shocking f1 2025 news: verstappen parents spotted without children

username8 guarantee yn is still texting them every hour to check in

username9 max and yn experiencing peace and quiet for first time this year

username10 casa verstappen probably in chaos while parents are away

username11 who's taking bets on how long before one of them calls

username12 lando somewhere offering emergency uncle services

username13 giving it 24 hours before they rush home to check on their children 😭

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liked by maxverstappen1, isackhadjar and 613,029 others

yourinstagram 48 hours of actual peace and quiet with @/maxverstappen1. no sim schedule, no driver coaching, no chaos... just us (already missing our chaos though 🥺)

view all comments

username1 MY PARENTS ACTUALLY

username2 they really left all the rookies at home help

kimi.antonelli mom please come back the kitchen is... concerning

kimi.antonelli unrelated but how do you get pasta off the ceiling

olliebearman franco tried cooking, it didn't end well

gabrielbortoleto_ this is betrayal

jackdoohan guys stop snitching on each other in the comments 🤦‍♂️ but also yn the washing machine is making weird noises

francolapinto didn't start the kitchen situation, that was ollie. also we miss you 🥺

maxverstappen1 We're never going home, the kids can find a new foster home

username3 THE KIDS FALLING APART WITHOUT THEM AFTER 2 DAYS

username4 six f1 drivers vs basic household tasks: a saga

username5 "how do you get pasta off the ceiling" HELP

username6 they really can't survive 48 hours without mom and dad

username7 max and yn enjoying peace while their house burns down

username8 GET BACK TO THE KIDS

username9 them snitching on each other in the comments 😭

username10 yn reading these comments while booking next flight home

username11 professional athletes vs washing machine: washing machine winning

username12 "franco tried cooking" immediate evacuation needed

username13 max really said we're never going back 😭

username14 yn's notifications just: HELP HELP HELP HELP

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 1,094,593 others

maxverstappen1 Back to usual programming... Google search: how to kick 6 Formula 1 drivers out of my house? (Asking for a friend)

view all comments

username1 HELP MEEE

username2 THATS THEIR DAD

kimi.antonelli you'd miss us after 5 minutes

olliebearman we pay rent in entertainment

gabrielbortoleto_ you literally adopted us first

isackhadjar too late we have keys now

francolapinto who else would eat all your food?

jackdoohan you love us and you know it

lando make it 7 i'm coming over

yourinstagram babe you were literally just showing their baby photos to horner yesterday

username3 YN EXPOSING MAX SHOWING OFF BABY PHOTOS 😭

username4 "we pay rent in entertainment" they really do though

username5 max pretending he doesn't love the chaos

username6 man went from world champion to full time dad real quick

username7 "too late we have keys now" HELP 💀

username8 max's retirement plan: adopting every rookie

username9 yn exposing max's proud dad moments in the comments

username10 max acting like he doesn't love being everyone's dad

username11 man really adopted half the grid and is pretending to regret it

username12 FRANCO WITH NINO IM CRYING

liked by username1, username2 and 15,974 others

f1updates SPOTTED: Ollie Bearman caught sneaking into Red Bull garage to steal energy drinks... again. Dad's drinks hit different apparently

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username1 naur why he sneaking around like his dad doesn't LITERALLY DRIVE FOR THEM 😭

username2 caught in 4k trying to steal from his own family's garage HELP

username3 not him acting like a whole spy for some red bull

username4 the way he could've just asked max but chose crime instead

username5 he just wanted to see his dad

username6 THEY REALLY CANT STAY AWAY FROM MAX

username7 the way he's literally part of the family but still sneaking around

username8 times ollie's been caught stealing rb drinks: 27

username9 max's child getting caught robbing his workplace is peak 2025

username10 he wanted the family discount but forgot to ask first 💀

username11 max come get ur kid he's stealing from work again

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liked by olliebearman, maxverstappen1 and 1,344,982 others

f1 Stefano's dinner for the drivers ! ❤️

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username1 the seating arrangements exposing the family favorites 💀

username2 kimi really secured the spot next to dad

username3 ollie at the other end like a disowned child HELP

username4 max keeping the good kids close and sending ollie to timeout with oscar

username5 kimi won the favorite child competition and it shows

username6 the favoritism is real and we have photo evidence

username7 ollie being exiled to the other end for crimes against red bull garage

username8 max keeping his well behaved children close and ollie in australian timeout

username9 kimi strategically claiming the favorite child spot

username10 ollie watching kimi get the prime spot: 🧍‍♂️

username11 the three good children got front row seats

username12 consequences of stealing red bull: banishment to oscar's end

username13 seating chart exposing family dynamics

lando at least ollie has oscar to console him 💀

olliebearman THIS IS LITERALLY BULLYING

kimi.antonelli earned my spot fair and square 😌

yourinstagram maybe if someone hadn't been caught stealing from the garage...

maxverstappen1 Good children get good seats 🤷‍♂️

oscarpiastri don't worry @/olliebearman we'll start our own family

f1world 24 hours after defending Bortoleto in press conference, Max Verstappen helps Gabriel in quali. Bortoleto makes Q3 for the first time thanks to Max giving him tows on track. Proud dad energy radiating from Red Bull garage 👀

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username1 journalist really made max activate super dad mode

username2 NOT HIM LITERALLY GOING TO HELP AFTER THAT PRESS CONFERENCE 💀

username3 THATS MAX'S SON FR

username4 max said talk shit about my kids and watch what happens

username5 man took "and i took that personally" to another level

username6 journalist accidentally unleashed father verstappen

username7 max really said watch me fix this real quick

username8 HELP HE LITERALLY WENT TO PROVE THEM WRONG

username9 max choosing violence via parent mode

username10 journalist opened their mouth and max chose dad revenge

username11 fastest parent response time in f1 history

username12 max: and here's what my children can do actually

username13 "disappointing? let me show you something"

username14 man took criticism of his kids personally and did something about it

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liked by maxverstappen1, isackhadjar and 603,597 others

yourinstagram mixed emotions kind of day... but mostly just proud ❤️ our little family had its first racing incident (they're fine, already hugged it out before even leaving the track) and... GABE GOT HIS FIRST POINTS! P8! 🎉

the way maxie went straight from his DNF to watching gabe's race from our garage... my heart 😭 mow time for celebration dinner (yes kimi, you're still invited, stop texting asking if you're grounded)

view all comments

username1 MY FAVORITE FAMILY

username2 THEY'RE EVERYTHING TO ME ACTUALLY

maxverstappen1 Never missing a kid's first points even if i have to watch from the garage

gabrielbortoleto_ best racing parents ever 🥺❤️

kimi.antonelli thanks for not grounding me mom

isackhadjar family dinner about to be wild

olliebearman gabe finally joining the points club 🎉

username3 NOT KIMI ASKING IF HE'S GROUNDED 😭

username4 max dnf'ing and still being proud dad we love to see it

username5 the way they're actually parenting these grown men

username6 "stop texting asking if you're grounded" I'M CRYING

username7 max watching from garage after dnf is peak dad behavior

username8 most wholesome f1 family fr

username9 their parenting energy is too powerful

username10 gabe getting his first points on family drama day

username11 max going from dnf to proud dad mode instantly

username12 tried for drama, got wholesome family content instead

liked by yourinstagram, kimi.antonelli and 1,274,599 others

maxverstappen1 We might have racing incidents, but these 6 are still my kids (even though they keep crashing my romantic dinners, stealing my drinks, and never letting me have alone time with my girlfriend) 🤷‍♂️❤️ Proud of everyone today. Yes, even you @/kimi.antonelli, stop sending apology memes now

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username1 SOFT MAXIEEEE

username2 im crying so bad

kimi.antonelli 🥺 sends another apology meme

olliebearman we crash dinners out of love

gabrielbortoleto_ best day with best family ❤️

isackhadjar you love us really

francolapinto we make life interesting admit it

jackdoohan family chaos is our brand

lando still waiting for my adoption papers

yourinstgarm OUR KIDS FOREVER 🥺

username3 "stop sending apology memes" HELP

username4 complaining about no alone time while enabling it

username5 kimi sending apology memes is killing me

username6 man really adopted 6 drivers and acts surprised they're around

username7 "we crash dinners out of love" I'M CRYING

username8 pretending to want peace while collecting children

username9 days since max last complained about his chaos: 0 days since he enabled it: also 0

username10 THOSE ARE HIS BIOLOGICAL CHILDREN

username11 man gave everyone keys then acts shocked they show up

username12 "these 6 are my kids" THE ACCEPTANCE STAGE

[tracksidebaby]

His Favourite

Summary: It's no secret that Max Verstappen has no time for press, media and interviews. That is unless you're there.

Requested: Yes / Anon

Requests are open!

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, redbullracing, mclaren, lando and 792,901 others

ynln: missed this place

username: YES CONFIRMED YNS BACK !!!

username: oh max is gonna love this

redbullracing: our favourite journalist

| username: ok hi max

username: thank god when she didnt show up for the first two gp's i was worried

username: max has been so annoyed girl get back in that media pen

| ynln: 🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️

maxverstappen1: never leave again

| username: lmao not max exposing himself

| ynln: 🫠

| username: yns screaming rn i just know it

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, ynln and 1,001,921 others

redbullracing: Media days just got better

username: the difference between yn interviewing him to anyone else is so funny

username: the way hes so cold in interviews and then yn shows up and suddenly he has so much to say

ynln: always a pleasure 🤭

| maxverstappen1: Glad you're back

| username: are they dating?

username: its the fact they have to post only from yns interviews bc he looks miserable every other time

username: did someone let max write the caption??

username: ok but even redbull ships them

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, lando, redbullracing and 992,901 others

ynln: lovely to speak to the drivers, good luck for tomorrow!

maxverstappen1: but I'm your favourite, yes?

| lando: nah mate that's me, right @/ynln?

| ynln: no comment 😶

| username: tell him he's ur fav its killing him

username: shes acc so shy and yet all the drivers love her

username: landos getting rammed on the track tomorrow

username: ive never seen max smile so much

| username: and when i say they're in love

username: i dont think ive ever been earlier than Max wtf

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: ynln, redbullracing and 1,320,101 others

maxverstappen1: Good fun, good race, good company 💪🏻 💪🏻 💪🏻 

username: and guess who he's looking at in slide 4

| username: wait is it actually yn

| username: yeah she caught him on the way to the garage

yln: congratulations!

| maxverstappen1: Best company

| username: you know she is blush and giggling like crazy

| ynln: 🫠

| username: as if there was any doubt yn was the good company

username: he's in love

username: not yn getting her own slide

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen, lando, mclaren, redbullracing, and 832,402 others

ynln: another day, another city

username: MAX MAX MAX

username: pretty girl

username: imagine being her, this pretty, travels the world and max verstappen is in love with you

maxverstappen1: Why are you at the McLaren garage, Redbull is better

| username: lando count your days

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 892,901 others

ynln: I guess I'm good at my job 

username: they way he just WILL NOT do media without her anymore

username: tell me how bad you were screaming when he demanded you personally

| ynln: 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

username: the highest compliment girl

username: ok jokes aside he lightens up so much when hes around her its adorable

maxverstappen1: Making you sign a contract so only you can do my interviews

| ynln: ✍🏻 ✍🏻 ✍🏻

| username: hes such a diva

username: he flirts so boldly and shes so giggly and shy omg i love it

username: not max saying to her face shes his favourite and her being speechless

Instagram /

liked by: ynln, redbullracing and 1,792,901 others

maxverstappen1: Brilliant weekend! 💪🏻💪🏻 What a race!!

username: ah it wouldn't be a max post without yn

username: 🦁🦁🦁

username: man gets p1 and still posts her

username: i know every time she makes it into one of his posts shes so giggly

| ynln: please don't expose me like this

| username: SCREAMING

username: i love that you can always spot when yn is interviewing even when shes behind the camera

username: HIM SAYING TO HER 'THAT WIN WAS JUST FOR YOU, Schatje (sweetheart)' !!! CUT TO YN GIGGLING SO BAD AND NOT BEING ABLE TO RECOVER FOR THE REST OF THE INTERVIEW AND MAX LOOKING SO PROUD

liked by: maxverstappen1, ynln and 1,592,901 others

CC:

YN: You've, I mean obviously it has been a brilliant weekend for you! Is there anything different this season that's helping you?

Max: The pretty journalist for sure, the more wins you get the more media time you have.

YN's eyes widen and a blush spreads across your cheeks, stammering out another question as Max grins, proud of himself and so much affection in his gaze.

redbullracing: Whatever gets him to do an interview.

username: OMG not redbull just exposing them

username: shes so flustered, stop thats so cute

username: imagine max verstappen calling you pretty

username: watch the rest of the interview, she could not recover

YN's Instagram Story /

Instagram DM's /

Max's Instagram Story /

Story Replies:

username: no way you got her moved from mclaren 😭

username: diva

username: just tell her you love her atp

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 992,901 others

ynln: your favourite driver's favourite journalist

username: wow this is so bold for her

username: her in red bull merch !!!

| username: you just know max gave it to her bc she was in mclaren

| ynln: no comment 😶

| username: WOW

| username: i fear for lando on the track

maxverstappen1: My favourite

| ynln: i need to lay down 🫠

maxverstappen1: You look good in my colours

| username: post three is yn rn after reading this comment

| ynln: @/username please dont expose me

| ynln: deleting this app

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, ynln and 1,492,901 others

CC:

YN: Not the best start to the weekend for you.

Max, laughing and shaking his head: Not at all. I blame you.

YN, smiling nervously: Oh, it's my fault?

Max: Yes, if I wasn't so focused on keeping you for Redbull I would have done better in qualifying. Perhaps a deal for the real race, something to look forward to? I win, you let me take you out.

YN, blushing so brightly and left speechless.

Max, grinning: I'll take that as a yes.

redbullracing: Who needs points and trophies to cross the finish line?

username: forget the points max, get the girl !!!

username: its happening omg

username: she likes him sm you can just tell she wants to flirt back

username: if anyone else had done that interview and started with 'not the best' he'd have been so mad

| username: fr instead he just laughed !!!

YN'S Instagram Story /

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: ynln, redbullracing and 2,092,901 others

maxverstappen1: better than a trophy 🏆

username: wait they actually went out???

username: she looks so happy

username: look at my parents

ynln: perfect night💙

| maxverstappen1: Perfect girl

| username: this feels illegal to see

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen, redbullracing, lando and 1,292,901 others

ynln: simply lovely

username: THE CAPTION

username: omg theyre still together

maxverstappen: Best day with you 💙

username: love yn posting the fan pic of them kissing

Twitter /

YN's Instagram Story /

Instagram /

liked by: ynln, redbullracing and 1,992,901 others

maxverstappen1: Couldn't have asked for a better weekend 💪🏻

username: THE KISS

ynln: what a win 💙🏆

username: hes been looking so good lately

username: boyfriend life suits him

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 1,992,901 others

ynln: that's my winner right there 💙

username: they've both been looking so good lately

username: shes been so bold lately i love it

maxverstappen1: mijn mooie meisje (my pretty girl)

| ynln: 💙💙💙

username: my parents i love them 😭

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen, ynln and 2,092,901 others

CC:

YN: So you've been on a winning streak lately,

Max: Yes I've got to keep your eyes on me somehow, traitor.

YN laughing: It was one day of media in McLaren months ago! That you dragged me out of by the way. But yes, you're certainly impressing everybody lately.

Max: I'm impressing you too though, right?

YN rolling your eyes: Yes Max, I'm impressed love.

Max grins and looks smug.

redbullracing: Whatever motivates you, @/maxverstappen1 💪🏻🏆

username: SHE CALLED HIM LOVE ON LIVE TV

username: redbull is so over them and so in love with them

username: ok but is nobody going to talk about how much more confident she is

| username: no bc if he had said that to her months ago she'd have been a blushing mess

| username: and now look at her, giving it as good as she gets

username: he looks so proud

Instagram /

liked by: maxverstappen1, redbullracing, lando and 2,792,901 others

ynln: moments like this with my love 🤍

maxverstappen1: Mijn mooie meisje, ik ben voor altijd van jou 💙 (my beautiful girl, i am yours forever)

| ynln: i love you so much

username: i want this

username: matching outfits !!!

username: you can see how blushy she is in slide 1 im obsessed

[theonottsbxtch]

NO BABYSITTER NEEDED | LN4

an: i have this delusion that i could 100% change his bad habits because i work as a personal assistant and have experience in childcare. so enjoy this. also if you struggle with mental health, always know im here to talk <3

summary: lando norris, f1 golden boy who hasn’t slept properly in months and lives off protein bars gets assigned a carer by max who reminds him to eat, sleep, and maybe feel something other than anger or guilt. she brings flowers into his sterile flat and hides his gym clothes so he’ll actually rest and he lets her. and somewhere between her gummy vitamins and his races, he realises he doesn’t just need her, he wants her too.

wc: 10k

“ABSOLUTLEY NOT.”

Lando stood in the middle of his sparsely furnished flat, arms folded, jaw tight. The overhead light flickered once, as if in protest too. Max, seated on the battered grey sofa with a cup of tea he’d made himself, simply raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve not eaten today, have you?”

“I had a protein bar.”

“That doesn’t count, mate.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to the side. He knew Max was right. The protein bar had been from the stash he kept in his gym bag, a dry, tasteless thing that barely passed as food. Still, admitting that would mean giving ground, and he wasn’t in the mood.

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “I’m not eighty-five.”

Max sighed, setting down his tea with the sort of calm that only long-suffering best mates could master. “She’s not a babysitter. She’s… a carer. Technically.”

“Oh, brilliant. Even worse.”

The silence that settled wasn’t comfortable. Outside, the steady hum of Monaco traffic drifted through the slightly ajar window. Somewhere below, someone shouted about bin day. Lando raked a hand through his curly brown hair and paced towards the kitchen. Max didn’t need to follow him to know what he’d find.

The fridge opened with a creak. Lando grimaced. A carton of milk two weeks out of date. Half a wilted bag of spinach. One lonely caprisun.

“See?” Max called from the living room. “You need someone to help.”

Lando shut the fridge, harder than he needed to. “I’m not broken.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you’re not exactly in one piece either.”

That one landed. He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. His eyes were tired, darker than usual, with the tell-tale puffiness that came from pushing through sleepless nights. After a bad race, it was always the same: the silence, the self-punishment, the long hours in the gym until his arms shook, or the empty buzz of late-night gaming until sunrise blurred into morning.

Lando wasn’t cruel, not to others. But he was brutal to himself.

Max stepped into the kitchen, soft-footed. He opened the cupboard, plucked a cereal bar, and tossed it to Lando. “Just give her a week. One week. If it’s hell, I’ll back off. You can go back to forgetting to eat and dying slowly. Deal?”

Lando caught the bar, didn’t unwrap it. He stared at it like it might explode. After a long moment, he gave a non-committal grunt.

“Fine,” he said at last, eyes flicking up. “But just a week.”

The doorbell rang at exactly ten o'clock.

Lando was on the sofa, one leg slung over the other, arms crossed, face unreadable. He hadn't shaved that morning. Or the one before, probably. Max, already halfway to the door, shot him a look.

“Try to smile, yeah?” he muttered.

Lando didn't answer. Max opened the door.

“Hiya,” came a warm, bright voice. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure which buzzer it was. I guessed.”

“You guessed right.” Max smiled, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold with a kind of lightness Lando noticed but didn’t comment on. Trainers, jeans, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She didn’t look like a carer, whatever that meant. But then again, what did he expect? A clipboard and scrubs?

Her eyes flicked to him on the sofa and lit up with a friendly smile.

“You must be Lando.”

“I must be,” he said, dryly.

Max shot him a warning look. She didn’t seem fazed, though. Just walked in like it wasn’t a battlefield.

“I’m here for the trial week,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a small notebook. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take over your life. Just nudge it in a slightly healthier direction.”

Lando snorted. “Great. Can’t wait to be nudged.”

Max coughed to hide a laugh.

She sat on the armchair across from him, perching rather than settling, like she didn’t want to assume too much. Lando appreciated that. A bit.

“So,” she said, flipping open the notebook. “What’s your usual routine, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Train. Race. Gym. Repeat.”

“And food?”

He shrugged. “When I remember.”

“Sleep?”

Another shrug. “When I can.”

She smiled, scribbling something down. “Right. Noted.”

Lando tilted his head. “You’re very… upbeat.”

“Would you rather I was miserable?”

“No, just…” He waved a vague hand. “You’re in a flat with a stranger who clearly doesn’t want you here. I’d be a bit put off.”

“Well,” she said, closing the notebook, “I’m not easily put off. And you don’t scare me.”

That surprised a breath of laughter out of him, more exhale than anything, but it was the closest he’d come to smiling in days. Max looked between them, pleased.

“She’s good,” he said to Lando. “Give her a day. You’ll be grateful by tonight.”

Lando leaned his head back on the sofa, eyes half-closing. “We’ll see.”

She stood up. “I’ll pop to the shop, then. I’m sure the fridge is crying for help.”

Max dug into his pocket, handed her twenty euros. “Get whatever you think he won’t argue about eating.”

“Right,” she grinned. “Crisps and biscuits, got it.”

She left with a wink. Lando opened one eye, watching her go. Max gave him a look that was both smug and fond.

“You like her.”

Lando didn’t reply.

But he didn’t protest, either.

He didn’t last long after Max left.

He didn’t announce it, didn’t say goodbye, just grabbed his keys, mumbled something about “needing air” and left her alone in the flat. It wasn’t meant to be rude, not really. He just didn’t know what to do with her being there, so full of smiles and softness and trying. It made his skin itch in a way he couldn’t explain.

So, he went to the gym. Again. Even though his arms still ached from last night. Even though he’d barely slept. He didn’t care. Pushing himself until the edges blurred was easier than sitting in silence with a stranger who was supposed to fix what he wouldn’t admit was broken.

He stayed out longer than he planned. Took the long way home. Wandered a bit, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the fading light. He even stopped off at the corner shop and bought a bottle of water he didn’t want, just to delay the inevitable.

But eventually, the sun started dipping below the Monegasque skyline, and he had no more excuses.

When he opened the door, he paused.

The flat looked different.

Not massively, not like she’d moved furniture or painted walls, but nicer. The blinds had been tugged all the way open, letting the warm orange light of evening spill in. The windows had been cracked open too, letting out the stuffy, lived-in gym-sweat air he’d become nose-blind to. On the kitchen counter sat a small bunch of flowers in an old pint glass, cheap daffodils, probably from the shop down the road, bright yellow and unapologetically cheerful.

And she was cooking.

He blinked.

She hadn’t heard him come in. She had music playing quietly from her phone and she was humming under her breath as she stirred something on the hob. She’d tied her hair up, sleeves rolled, apron on that definitely wasn’t his.

He hovered at the doorway like a ghost.

“I won’t eat fish,” he said, voice flat.

She jumped slightly, then turned to him with a grin, unbothered. “Good thing I’m not making fish then.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I know,” she added, casually flipping something in the pan. “And you don’t like raw tomatoes. Or coconut. Or mushrooms unless they’re chopped so small you can’t see them. I did my homework.”

He folded his arms, suspicious despite himself. “Homework?”

“Max told me what he could, and the rest I found in old interviews. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

He had no idea what to do with that. “Right.”

She nodded towards the side counter. “There are some vitamins over there if you fancy. They’re the gummy ones, so they’re fun to eat.”

Lando turned his head slightly. Sure enough, there was a bottle of multivitamin gummies sitting next to a clean glass of water. He squinted at it like it might bite.

“You think that’s going to fix me?”

“Nope,” she said, flipping off the hob and plating something. “But you’ll taste strawberry and get a vitamin boost, and that’s two good things. Two’s better than none.”

He watched her carry the plate to the table, proper food, he realised. Real stuff. A bit of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, some sort of green that didn’t look like it came from a packet. She’d even set out cutlery.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, but his voice had less edge than before.

“No, but your fridge did. Loudly.” She smiled. “Sit down, Lando.”

It was the first time she’d said his name. It startled him, how easily it came out of her mouth, no weight, no judgement, just lightness.

He didn’t move right away. But the flat smelled warm for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. It smelled like food, and flowers, and something gentle he couldn’t place.

Eventually, he sat.

And he took the bloody vitamin.

He started eating without saying much, though to be fair, the food shut him up quickly. It was annoyingly good. Not fancy, not trying too hard, just cooked well. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the first bite, and now his fork barely paused between mouthfuls.

While he ate, she moved around the kitchen, wiping down surfaces that were already pretty clean, rinsing the chopping board, putting away the little packet of daffodils that had come with the flowers. She was humming again, soft and almost tuneless, like it was more for her than anything else.

He watched her from the corner of his eye.

After a few minutes, he frowned.

“What about you?” he said, voice low. “Are you not going to eat?”

She looked up from where she was drying a mug. “I eat after work.”

He stopped chewing. “That’s weird.”

She laughed, not offended. “Not really. I’m used to it. I don’t like eating in other people’s homes unless I’m invited to.”

“Well… I’m inviting you now.”

Her eyes softened a little. “Thanks. But I’m alright, honestly.”

He stabbed a bit of potato. “Can you at least sit? You’re making me feel like I’m in a restaurant.”

That seemed to surprise her. She blinked, then nodded, pulling out the chair opposite him.

“You’re on edge,” she said gently, not like she was accusing him, just stating it.

He didn’t deny it.

She leaned back in the chair, folding her hands on the table, not trying to fill the silence with too much. Just being there. He hated how much of a relief that was.

After a beat, she tilted her head. “So… do you actually enjoy racing? Or is it just something you’re brilliant at?”

He looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.

“No one’s ever asked it like that before.”

She smiled. “Well, everyone knows you’re brilliant at it. But enjoying it that’s something else.”

He chewed, swallowed, shrugged. “I used to. When I was a kid. I’d sit in front of the telly with my dad and pretend I could hear the engines. I used to think the drivers were invincible.”

Her smile didn’t fade, but it did soften into something more thoughtful. “And now?”

“Now I know they’re not,” he said simply. “Now I know I’m not.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t rush to fix it or tell him he was, in fact, invincible. Just let it sit there.

He liked that more than he expected.

“You know,” she said after a quiet moment, “I watched last year's Brazil race before I came. The one where it rained.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “That bloody race.”

He didn't think of it fondly, until she spoke again.

“You made that turn like it was nothing. Everyone else looked like they were wrestling their cars, and you just… glided.”

He looked at her properly for the first time that evening. “You watched it for research?”

She nodded. “Had to see what I was dealing with.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re very strange.”

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”

He picked up the glass of water next to his empty plate, holding it in both hands. He didn’t know how to name the feeling in his chest, tight and loose at once. Like something had shifted half a centimetre to the right.

He didn’t say thank you.

But he didn’t ask her to leave, either.

The flat had gone quiet again and before he knew it, he’d finished his food and she’d taken the plate.

Lando sat there a while after she’d gone to tidy up again, not quite ready to move. His limbs were warm and heavy with food, his stomach full for the first time in, God, he couldn’t remember. The corner of his eye still caught the flash of yellow from the daffodils. Even the clutter on the coffee table had been gently rearranged, like someone had lived here instead of just existed in it.

He stood eventually, dragging a hand through his hair.

He didn’t say goodnight. But as he passed her, kneeling to organise something ridiculous like the cereal cupboard, he gave her a small nod.

“Night,” she said softly, like she knew he wouldn’t say it first.

By the time he got to his room, he felt it creeping in, the kind of sleep that didn’t come with punishment. Not exhaustion, not collapse. Just rest.

He changed half-heartedly, dropped into bed without bothering to pull the duvet straight.

And for the first time in what felt like months, he didn’t lie there for hours staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t toss or turn or drag himself back up to check his phone, or throw on joggers and go for another run he didn’t need.

He just closed his eyes.

And slept.

Deep. Still. Undisturbed.

He was that comfortable with his sleep he hadn’t even heard her leave.

The trial week came and went, and with that came his little scheduled meeting with Max.

“So,” Max said, leaning back in the café chair, hands wrapped around his coffee. “How’s life with Mary Poppins?”

Lando rolled his eyes, sipping slowly from a mug of hot chocolate that was somehow still hot.

“She doesn’t float in with a brolly, if that’s what you mean.”

“But she’s working, isn’t she?”

Lando didn’t answer straight away. He watched a dog trot past outside the window, nose down, tail wagging. The streets of Monte Carlo were busy with the usual Sunday bustle, people with tote bags full of veg, couples bickering gently over directions, someone playing guitar near the kerb.

He shrugged. “It’s less shit.”

Max smirked. “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard you give anyone.”

Lando looked down into his tea. “She’s just easy to be around. Doesn’t treat me like I’m a problem. Or fragile. She just makes dinner and talks about stupid things and leaves vitamins on the counter like it’s no big deal.”

“And you like that?”

“I don’t not like it.”

Max grinned. “So you’re keeping her?”

Lando huffed. “She’s not a goldfish.”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer at first, and Max let him have the space. There was something behind Lando’s eyes, quieter than before, but still guarded. Except now, the edges weren’t quite so sharp. He looked a little less hollowed out. A little more present.

Lando stirred the drink absently, then said, “I think she’s staying another week.”

Max didn’t say I told you so, but he smiled like he’d already said it a hundred times.

Over the next week, a rhythm began to form.

It wasn’t a schedule, exactly, Lando hated those, but there were now patterns. Gentle ones. He’d wake up to the faint clatter of pans and the smell of food. She never made him breakfast outright, but there was always a plate of something on the side, covered with a tea towel, like it had just happened to be left there.

He’d find his gym gear washed and folded in the same place on the sofa each morning. Not spoken about, just done. Vitamins still by the sink. Her music always low. The flowers in the pint glass had been swapped out for fresh tulips.

He didn’t say thank you. But he noticed.

And he started sleeping better.

Not every night, but more than before. Enough that the dark under his eyes wasn’t as heavy. Enough that the fridge had actual food in it now, and it wasn’t all hers.

By Monday night, she was packing up her bag to go home like usual when he spoke up.

“I leave for Barcelona tomorrow.”

She looked up, bright as ever. “Yup, I know. Made you an airport snack.”

She reached into the fridge and pulled out a tupperware container, sliding it across the counter towards him. The lid was already labelled in biro, ‘Do not open until bored at terminal gate’.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I fly private, right? They’ve got catering.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And what are the odds you didn’t reply to the email asking about your dietary preferences?”

He paused.

She grinned.

“Thought so. It’s just a wrap and some fruit. No tomatoes, no weird mayo, no drama.”

He huffed, but he didn’t push it. He picked it up and tucked it under one arm.

“Oh, and,” she added, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “I put a few things on your bed. Clothes you might consider packing. You don’t have to. Just thought I’d save you standing in your pants tomorrow morning wondering what the weather in Barcelona will be, and yes I know you like to dress warm.”

He let out a proper laugh, low and unexpected.

“You’ve done two of my most hated tasks in one night,” he said, eyes warm for a moment. “That’s impressive.”

She shrugged, light as always. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He stood in the doorway, still holding the tupperware, gaze lingering on her longer than he meant to. She didn’t make anything of it, just smiled and went back to packing her bag.

Race weekends were always a blur.

Even after years of doing it, Lando never really adjusted. The heat, the noise, the cameras, the pressure. Spain in May was dry and heavy, the kind of heat that sat on your shoulders and made your helmet feel three sizes too small. Qualifying had been a disaster, traffic, a lock-up, something just off with the rear grip. He was starting further back than he liked. Further back than the car deserved.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the cool-down lap.

His engineer had been cautious over the radio, Max had texted a brief ‘rough one. you’ll fix it.’ and that was about it. Lando stayed in his suit too long, helmet off but gloves still on, sitting at the back of the garage with his jaw clenched and a bottle of water sweating in his hand.

Later, after media duties and a cold shower and a half-hearted poke at some pasta, he was lying on the hotel bed, one leg still on the floor, staring at the ceiling when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it out of habit.

It was a photo.

She was in a little French bar somewhere, low lights, strings of flags, telly mounted high on the wall with the F1 coverage paused mid-graphic. He recognised his own face in the corner, frozen mid-interview. She was holding up a pint of something cloudy, face half in frame, smiling like she’d just bumped into an old mate. A bowl of crisps sat in front of her.

The caption followed a second later:

That quali looked tough. Make sure to have enough electrolytes or a banana. 

Lando stared at it for longer than he meant to. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She hadn’t asked how he was.

Hadn’t said you’ll get them tomorrow or you’re still the best or any of the usual platitudes.

Just, looked tough, take care of yourself.

Simple. Uncomplicated.

He let out a small breath of something that might have been a laugh. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second, then tapped out a reply.

They only gave us oranges.

A few seconds passed.

That’s alright. Oranges are just citrusy bananas in disguise.

He shook his head, grinning now, properly.

There was still noise in his chest, frustration, the echo of tyres locking up, but it didn’t feel quite so loud anymore.

And for the first time after a bad Saturday, Lando didn’t feel like running from it.

The flight back to Monaco was uneventful. He slept for half of it, sprawled inelegantly in the reclined seat, his cap pulled low and earphones in with no music playing. His body was tired in that hollow, post-race way, blood still buzzing faintly, muscles tight, but his brain was quieter than usual.

P2 wasn’t bad. Not a win, but solid points. Still, it ate at him.

He arrived home just after midnight. The flat was dark, blinds drawn, the sea outside nothing but soft black noise.

Lando dumped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. It should have felt like relief, home, bed, no media duties, but it didn’t. It felt still.

He flicked on the light in the kitchen, expecting nothing.

Instead, there it was on the counter.

A piece of white printer paper, creased slightly down the middle, folded like a school certificate. Hand-drawn, with glitter gel pen of all things.

P2 – WELL DONE, CHAMPION 

Underneath, in all-caps block letters, it read:

REDEEM THIS FOR 1 (ONE) FAVOURITE CHOCOLATE BAR, TO BE EATEN IMMEDIATELY.

And there it was. His favourite. Not the obvious one either, the one he used to buy from the corner shop when he was fifteen and couldn’t afford imported Swiss stuff with his pocket money. He hadn’t had one in years.

He picked it up, staring at it like it might disappear.

Beside the certificate was a folded note, written in her loopy handwriting:

I figured you’d want some space after the weekend, so I’m giving you the night off from me.

BUT. Your favourite meal is in the fridge. I expect to see the container empty when I’m back at 7am. I will be checking the bins. I’ve taken the power cable for your PC and hidden your gym clothes, so don’t bother looking. Please sleep. Properly. You’ve earned it x

He read it twice, then once more for good measure.

There was no teasing smile in the room, no hum of music or smell of herbs in the air, but her presence was there, in every corner. Quietly looking after him without needing him to admit he needed it.

He opened the fridge. The meal was there, labelled, still warm enough to be reheated. He didn’t even question how she knew it was his favourite. He just took it out, turned on the oven, and sat at the counter with the chocolate bar already half-eaten.

The flat was silent.

Normally he hated the silence. It stretched and scratched at him until he had to fill it. TV, weights, anything. But tonight it was different.

Tonight, the silence felt... safe. Like something was waiting just out of frame.

And though he’d never say it aloud, not even to himself—

He missed her. Slightly.

Just enough that 7am didn’t feel all that far away.

The first light slipped through the half-open blinds, soft and pale against the dark wood floor.

Lando was already up.

He didn’t mean to be. He’d woken sometime in the small hours, restless, but then the smell of coffee brewing pulled him from the blur of sleep. He found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the warmth of the oven still humming softly nearby.

The meal was gone. The container clean.

He smiled a little to himself, small victory, at least.

The kettle clicked off, and she appeared in the doorway, hair tied back loosely, eyes bright but gentle.

“Morning,” she said quietly, like she was trying not to wake the flat.

He met her gaze, caught in the calm.

“Morning.”

She reached for the coffee pot and topped up his mug, then poured one for herself.

They stood there for a beat, just the two of them and the quiet hum of the morning.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

Lando shrugged, but there was something different in his tone. “More than I usually do.”

“That’s good.”

He nodded, watching her move around the kitchen with that effortless ease, putting the chocolate wrapper in the bin, tidying the dishes.

He felt it again. That small, stubborn flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before: contentment.

She looked over her shoulder, catching his eye.

“Race weekend’s done,” she said softly. “You’re home now.”

He gave her a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes just yet, but was close.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

She blew on her coffee, then glanced over at him with a curious tilt of her head. 

“So what do you usually do on days like this? After a race?”

Lando paused, mug halfway to his lips.

“Usually?” he said. “Try not to think.”

She gave a small nod, like she understood exactly what he meant. 

“Right,” she said lightly. “So why don’t we go to the beach?”

He blinked. “The beach?”

“Yeah. You know, sand, sea, a bit of fresh air. It’s 27 degrees, the water will be decent. You’ve done all the not thinking bit, now you can do the part where you feel like a person again.”

Lando looked at her like she’d just suggested skydiving. In the rain. Naked.

She met his stare head-on, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.

“I’m not saying we have to go swimming,” she added. “Just sit. Maybe with a drink. Or ice cream. I’ll bring snacks if that helps.”

He huffed a small laugh. “You’re relentless.”

“I prefer the term optimistic.”

He glanced out the window. The sun was already climbing, a shimmer of gold across the buildings. Monaco in May didn’t waste time. It was exactly the kind of day he’d usually spend in a dark gym or glued to his screen with a headset on.

And yet.

“Okay,” he said at last, surprising even himself. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Her smile lit up, bright and immediate. “Brilliant.” He turned to head for his room. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

“I’ll meet you back here in thirty,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Just need to pop home, get a few bits.” He nodded. “Alright.”

And then she was gone, the flat felt quieter without her, but not in the lonely way. More like a held breath, waiting.

Lando glanced around, bemused at himself.

The beach. On a Monday.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “What am I doing?” 

But he was already reaching for his sunglasses.

When she came back, the sun was even higher in the sky and so was something in Lando’s chest. He’d opened all the windows while she was gone, and the breeze drifting through the flat was warm and salt-tinged.

He heard the door go and turned, halfway through stuffing a towel into a backpack.

She stepped into the kitchen in a light summer dress, sunglasses perched on her head, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was nothing dramatic, just something simple and floral, but it suited her. She looked soft, golden in the sunlight, like she belonged exactly in that moment.

Lando’s brain hiccuped. He didn’t say anything but he looked, really looked, and quietly thought to himself. 

God, she’s pretty.

She caught his gaze, raised a brow. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothing.” 

He slung the bag over his shoulder and nodded towards the door. “We’ve got to go somewhere that’s not Monaco, though.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “People’ll see. Paparazzi, fans, someone’ll clock it. Me. Us”

Her smile curled. “Us?”

“I just mean—” he started, but she was already grinning wider.

“I know what you meant, so where then?” “We’ll have to drive into France,” he said, completely serious.

She laughed.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “Just the way you said it like it was just us popping down to the shops.” He gave her a look, lips twitching. “It sort of is.”

She shrugged, following him down into the garage. “Alright then, France it is.”

The garage was cool and dim after the heat of the morning. Rows of sleek cars sat like sleeping beasts under soft overhead lights. She slowed as they walked, eyes wide.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured. “Is this all you?” He chuckled, unlocking one of the quieter looking models. “Some are mine. Some are team perks. Some are just there.”

She ran a hand along the bonnet, clearly impressed. “Not bad for a day at the beach.” They set off, the coast unfurling beside them like a painting. The drive was easy, winding roads and open skies, her hair dancing in the breeze as music played low from the speakers. She sang along quietly to bits she knew. He didn’t join in, but he listened.

And he smiled.

The beach was quieter than expected, a little cove tucked away from the road, shaded by cliffs and speckled with driftwood. They laid their things on the warm sand, and she kicked off her sandals with a sigh.

Lando was laying out the towles when she pulled her dress over her head in one swift motion, revealing a bikini underneath.

He didn’t stare, or at least he told himself he didn’t.

But he did definitely notice.

Something in his stomach dipped for a second, caught between admiration and the very sudden awareness of who he was and who she was.

She stretched like she’d been waiting all day to do it, hair tied up now, skin kissed golden by the sun.

Lando barely had time to take off his own shirt before she looked over her shoulder, grinning wickedly.

“Race you!”

And before he could respond, she was already sprinting towards the sea, feet kicking up soft clouds of sand.

He blinked, startled, then swore under his breath, grinning.

“You little—”

He chased after her, heart thudding, not from the sun. Something lighter than adrenaline, freer than pressure. The breeze bit at his skin, the salt stung his eyes, and the sound of her laugh carried over the waves. 

And for the first time in a long time, he felt light.

The sea was warmer than he expected, cool at first touch, then refreshing against his sun-warmed skin.

She was already thigh deep when he caught up, turning to glance over her shoulder with a grin that said you’re too slow. 

Lando launched at her.

She yelped, laughing as he caught her around the waist and they both stumbled deeper into the water, waves breaking around them.

“Alright! Alright! Truce!” she shouted, breathless.

But he didn’t let go, just held her steady against the current for a second too long. She looked up at him, cheeks pink from the sun and smiling so wide it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Then, without warning, she dunked him.

His head went under with a surprised splash and he surfaced with a splutter, hair slicked to his forehead and eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning through the water dripping from his lashes.

They splashed and shoved and laughed like children, the kind of silly, harmless chaos that left his chest aching, but not in the bad way.

Eventually, soaked and smiling, they drifted into a quiet stretch of the cove, water up to their waists, the sun casting long golden streaks across the surface. 

They talked a bit, nothing too heavy. Favourite ice creams. Embarrassing childhood stories. He learnt she hated the sound of polystyrene, and she learnt he once fell asleep in a bin lorry by mistake during a school trip (real story from me lol). 

Time stretched in that slow, delicious way that only seemed to happen when he was with her. 

The rest of the day passed in sun-drowsy contentment. 

They dried off on the towels, eating snacks and reading bits from a tatty magazine she’d brought on how to impress your manager. She dozed for a while with her arm flopped across her eyes. He sat beside her, knees pulled up, watching the tide roll in and out, trying not to overthink how much peace he felt in that exact moment. 

Later, on the drive back, they stopped for ice cream from a stand near the harbour. She ordered something fruity. He got mint choc chip, mostly so she’d stop teasing him for being too grown up and choosing something like coffee.

By the time they were halfway home, the sun had dipped below the hills and she was fast asleep in the passenger seat, head turned gently towards him, mouth parted slightly.

Lando glanced at her, then back at the road. His grip on the wheel softened. 

When they got back to the flat, he didn’t wake her.

Instead, he slipped out of the driver’s seat, came round, and unbuckled her gently. She stirred slightly as he lifted her into his arms, warm and still faintly smelling of suncream.

Her head dropped to his shoulder. He didn't say a word, he didn't even breathe.  

The lift ride up was quiet. His flat even quieter. 

He nudged the door open, padded through the hall, and carried her straight into his bedroom. The sheets were still crisp from the morning, untouched.

He laid her down carefully, brushed a bit of hair from her face. She sighed softly, turning into the pillow like she belonged there.

Lando lingered for a moment.

Then he backed out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He crashed on the sofa, limbs heavy but heart oddly light. His damp curly hair pressed against the cushion, and for once, the silence didn’t bother him.

He could still hear her laugh echoing in the waves. 

The following morning she woke with a start.

It took her a second to realise where she was, the unfamiliar softness of the duvet, the crisp linen, the faint scent of him on the pillow. Definitely not her flat. And definitely his bed.

“Shit.”

She sat up quickly, heart thudding, scanning the room for her jacket or bag or anything that proved that she hopefully hasn’t slept with him.

The flat was quiet except for the faint sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Not exactly a disaster, but not quite peace either.

She pulled a random hoodie over her head, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and padded out into the main room, bracing herself.

He was in the kitchen. Barefoot, curls a mess, concentration furrowed into his brow as he flipped a pancake that looked… questionably thick.

The pan hissed. The pancake landed mostly where it should’ve.

She crossed her arms, trying not to laugh. “Are you… cooking?”

Lando turned, startled. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment, more from the warmth of the kitchen and the fact he hadn’t expected her to be awake.

“Sort of,” he muttered, glancing down at the half-stack on the plate. “They’re edible. Just about.”

She looked at him, messy-haired, in an old hoodie, trying to figure out if the one in the pan was burnt or just dark golden.

She couldn't help it. She smiled.

“I’m meant to be the one looking after you,” she said, shaking her head.

He rolled his eyes but there was no bite to it. “You fell asleep. I wasn’t going to wake you just to supervise me making average pancakes.”

“Below average.”

“They’re fine,” he defended, lifting one with the spatula. It folded in half on itself. “Okay, they’re character-building.”

She stepped closer, nudging him with her shoulder. “Look at that. First meal you’ve cooked yourself in how long?”

Lando scoffed, but the back of his neck went pink. “Dunno. Ages.”

She tilted her head, eyes soft with something he couldn’t name. “Domesticity looks good on you.”

He froze for a second but he felt the words settle somewhere in his chest.

Domesticity.

Her, here. His hoodie. Pancakes. Morning light.

He looked at her, really looked, and for once didn’t feel the urge to run from the quiet.

Instead, he flipped the final pancake with a slightly smug smirk. “Told you I didn’t need a carer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “One half-decent breakfast doesn’t mean you’re cured, sweetheart.”

He smiled despite himself. Sweetheart.

And just like that, he knew the rest of his day was going to be warm.

She grabbed a plate and scooped a pancake onto it, then passed it over with a cheeky grin.

“Here, try not to burn it.”

Lando took it, biting into the warm, slightly uneven stack. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty good. The kind of good that made you forget about the mess of your last few days.

He looked up at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad for a carer’s breakfast, huh?”

She laughed, sitting down at the small kitchen table. “I might have to upgrade you to sous chef.”

He shook his head, but the smile stayed. “You sure you want to get stuck with a bloke who can barely boil water without a minor disaster?”

She reached across the table, nudging his hand lightly.

“I think I can manage.”

There was a pause, comfortable and easy. The sunlight caught her eyes, making them shine in a way that made Lando’s chest tighten just a little.

“So…” she said softly, “how are you, really?”

Lando swallowed, the question catching him off guard. Usually, he brushed it off or changed the subject.

But today, he let it hang in the air.

“I’m… better than I was,” he admitted, voice low. “Being with you, well, it’s different. Less noise upstairs.”

She smiled gently, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.

“That’s good,” she said quietly. “You deserve that.”

He met her gaze, a flicker of something like hope stirring beneath the usual mess.

Maybe this was the start of something, not just a routine or a distraction, but something real.

He didn’t know what it was yet.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to find out.

A few days passed in the way only good days do, quietly, comfortably, and all at once.

They fell back into their routine with ease. She was there every morning, bright and soft and organised, keeping him on track without ever making it feel like a chore. Meals appeared when he forgot he was hungry. She swapped out the expired yoghurt in the fridge without saying a word. She scribbled reminders onto post-it notes and stuck them in ridiculous places. On his phone, the bathroom mirror, his steering wheel.

And somehow, despite everything, he was sleeping again for more than 4 hours.

The flat no longer felt too quiet.

He met Max at their usual café down in the port the morning before he flew out to Austria.

Lando slumped into the chair opposite him, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.

Max gave him a look. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You dress like a celebrity in hiding but show up to the same café every time.”

Lando smirked, pulling down his glasses. “Creature of habit.”

Max took a sip of his coffee, eyeing him properly now. “You look better.”

Lando blinked. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not half-dead,” Max said bluntly. “You’ve got colour in your face. You’ve shaved. I don’t see a Monster can fused to your hand.”

Lando huffed a laugh. “Thanks, mate. Proper confidence boost, that.”

Max grinned. “So she’s working, then.”

Lando paused. Thought about the pancakes. The post-its. The quiet sound of her humming in the kitchen. The way she made the flat feel like something more than just a place he slept in between breakdowns.

“She is,” he said, nodding. “More than I thought, actually.”

Max raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Told you. She’s got that stubborn kind of sunshine thing going on.”

Lando looked out at the boats bobbing gently on the water. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like she’s fixing me. It’s just… I want to keep up. For once.”

Max leaned back in his chair, smiling like he already knew.

“You’ve got someone in your corner now,” he said. “And you like it.”

Lando didn’t answer straight away.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Austria should’ve felt like business as usual.

The team was buzzing, the garage busy, the hotel sleek and sterile in that forgettable sort of way. He’d done this so many times he could go through the motions with his eyes shut, briefings, media, gym, sleep. Repeat.

But something was different this time.

His room was too quiet. His meals, though catered, tasted like cardboard. He’d forgotten to bring his vitamins, and the note she’d once stuck to the inside of his wash bag, remember to be a person, not just a machine, was no longer there.

He missed her. Not just her reminders and routines, but her. The way she’d talk at him while he made coffee, narrating her morning like it was the most important story on earth. The way she hummed while folding laundry. The way she looked at him, not like he was a driver, or a mess, but just… him.

The ache surprised him.

By Saturday night, he was holed up in his hotel room, lights dimmed, race prep done. But instead of watching footage or scrolling, he stared at his phone.

Then, almost on a whim, he opened their chat.

Would you ever come to a race?

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then came back.

That’s quite a question. Is this your subtle way of inviting me to Austria?

He smiled. Tapped back.

Austria’s a bit mad. But Silverstone’s next. Thought you might like it. Home race and all that.

The typing bubble came and went again. Then,

We can talk about it when you’re home.

And there it was, that word.

Home.

He stared at the screen longer than he meant to.

It did something to him. Knocked something loose. Not because she’d said it. But because she meant it. Like his flat wasn’t just a stopgap anymore. Like him being away wasn’t permanent.

They’d talk when he was home.

He stared at her last message a moment longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I’d like you to be there when I get back Sunday night. If you’re free, I mean.

He regretted sending it immediately. Read it back twice. It looked desperate. Or worse, uncertain.

But a reply came a few minutes later.

I’ll be there.

That was it. Simple. Certain.

He smiled. Couldn’t help it.

And for the first time on a race weekend, he couldn’t wait for it to be over, not for the result, but because it meant he’d get to see her again.

Sunday night came fast.

The flight was smooth, the car from the airport quick, but Lando felt that weird tug of nerves all over again as the lift doors slid open to his flat. His bag thumped against his leg. The hallway smelt faintly of fresh linen and vanilla.

She was there.

He could feel it even before he saw her.

When he stepped inside, the lights were low, and something warm flickered in the corner of the living room, a couple of candles, set along the windowsill. The blinds were open, showing off the Monaco skyline in soft golden hues.

She looked up from the sofa, dressed in cosy joggers and a big jumper, her hair tied up, a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap.

“There you are,” she said, smiling like he hadn’t just spent three days thinking about her.

Lando stepped in, shrugging off his jacket, suddenly very aware of the domesticity he'd walked into. A blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. Two mugs sat on the coffee table, one clearly his, already filled with hot chocolate.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of mood you’d be in,” she said, shifting slightly to make room, “so I picked three films. Comfort, distraction, or dramatic sobbing, dealer’s choice.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked around at the quiet little world she’d built for him in his absence.

His shoulders dropped.

“This is nice,” he said, finally. “Really nice.”

She grinned. “Well, I figured if I’m going to keep pretending to be your carer, I might as well offer full post-race recovery packages.”

He laughed, genuinely, the kind that shook a bit of the tension from his chest.

She patted the seat next to her. “Come on then. Sit down before your hot chocolate gets cold.”

And he did, just like that. Kicked off his shoes, slouched onto the sofa, and let his body fold into the warmth of it all. Her shoulder brushed his as she pressed play, and he didn’t move away.

He hadn’t realised how much he needed this.

Not just the quiet, but her quiet.

And as the film played and her head gently tipped onto his arm, Lando let himself enjoy it, just for a while.

Home.

It really did feel like that now.

The following morning he woke with a crick in his neck and the faint scent of her still clinging to the blanket draped over his chest.

The telly had switched itself off at some point in the night. His hot chocolate was long cold. And she was gone, left sometime after the credits had rolled, quietly, without waking him.

But the flat didn’t feel empty.

It felt like she’d just stepped out.

He pulled the blanket closer, burying his face in it for a second longer than necessary. Lavender and laundry powder. Familiar. Her.

Later that morning, she came by as usual, letting herself in with a chirpy “Morning!” and two coffees in hand.

He was already up for once, hair still rumpled from sleep, hoodie creased.

“Sleep on the sofa?” she asked, amused.

“Mm.” He took the coffee gratefully. “Didn’t make it very far after you left. Blanket was too warm.”

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t tease.

They settled at the kitchen table, a shared croissant between them, her notebook open to a new page.

“So,” she said, flicking the cap off her pen, “Silverstone. Talk to me.”

Lando took a slow sip of his coffee. “I meant what I said. I want you there.”

She glanced up, smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “I know. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You never do,” he said, honest and quick, before he even realised it.

That earned him a small look, soft, appreciative.

“So,” he continued, shifting slightly in his seat, “you’ve got two options. I can get you a pass for the paddock, proper team kit, blend in, pretend you belong.”

She raised a brow, amused. “Pretend?”

He smirked. “You’re bossy enough, you’d fit right in.”

She grinned. “Flattering.”

“Or,” he went on, “you can watch from the grandstands. Might be a bit calmer, but I’ll know you’re there either way.”

She looked at him properly now, pen stilled in her fingers. “And you want me there even if it’s chaos?”

He shrugged, suddenly a bit shy. “I don’t know. Just when you’re around, it feels like less of a mess.”

That quiet settled in again. Not awkward. Just true.

She nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. “Alright. I’ll come. You’ll have to get me a kit that doesn’t drown me, though. I’m not showing up looking like I borrowed it off a rugby player.”

Lando laughed. “Deal.”

And as she tucked her notebook away and moved to put the kettle on, he watched her like he was seeing the start of something he hadn’t quite had the words for yet.

But he knew this much.

He didn’t just want her there.

He needed her there.

They flew out on the Thursday morning.

Private jet, naturally, something Lando barely registered anymore, part of the machine that came with the job. But watching her take it all in was another story entirely.

“Wait,” she whispered as they pulled up onto the tarmac. “This is yours?”

He shrugged, smirking. “Well, not mine mine. But yeah. Team flight.”

She stared up at the sleek plane like it had dropped out of a film set. “Right. Okay. No big deal. Totally normal. Not freaking out.”

Lando chuckled as he grabbed her bag from the boot. “You’re allowed to be impressed, y’know. You don’t have to be cool all the time.”

“I am cool,” she insisted, following him up the steps with wide eyes. “Just also wildly unprepared for this level of luxury.”

Inside, she settled into one of the leather seats like she was afraid she’d break it, eyes darting around at the polished surfaces and perfectly folded blankets.

He sat opposite her, grinning like a fool.

“You alright there?”

She looked at him over the rim of her paper cup. “Lando, they offered me a mimosa and I said no because I panicked. I’m not alright.”

He burst out laughing, tipping his head back. “You’ll get used to it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

By the time they reached Silverstone, her nerves had settled into excitement.

The team garage was already buzzing, and when she stepped out in the McLaren kit he’d had waiting for her, a proper fit, not some oversized leftover, Lando had to look away for a moment just to get himself together.

She fit in effortlessly.

Wearing the colours, she didn’t look like someone tagging along. She looked like she belonged.

And it was oddly comforting, more than he’d expected.

She was laughing with one of the engineers before he’d even finished debrief. Swapping notes with his physio. Keeping a watchful eye on the water bottle in his hand like it was her full-time job.

And for once, when he walked through the paddock, he didn’t feel like he was floating above it all.

He felt anchored.

Between sessions, she found him sat outside the motorhome, cap pulled low, headphones around his neck.

She passed him a banana and a look. “Don’t roll your eyes. You skipped breakfast.”

Lando took it, peeling it slowly. “You just like bossing me around.”

“Absolutely,” she said brightly. “Now eat it, number four.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You calling me by my driver number now?”

She grinned. “Only if it motivates you.”

And as she sat beside him, cross-legged and chatting like they were just two mates at a park somewhere, Lando realised this didn’t feel like chaos.

It felt… right.

Later that day, the two of them found themselves in the motorhome again, half-drawn blinds, casting warm strips of light across the small lounge space. Lando had pulled off his boots and fireproofs, now in team joggers and a loose t-shirt, legs stretched across the sofa while she sat on the carpet in front of him, back resting against the edge of the seat, her hair still slightly windswept from being trackside.

His hand dangled loosely near her shoulder. Not touching. But close.

She was humming, some random tune from the playlist she’d put on while he cooled down, and carefully peeling the corner of a protein bar wrapper for him.

“Do you know you hum constantly?” he said, watching her with that quiet, lopsided sort of amusement.

She glanced up. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Like, properly. All the time.”

“Well, maybe you’re just always around now.”

He smiled, then laughed softly when she tossed the protein bar at him without looking.

They fell into that easy silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. She reached up to tug a hairband from her wrist, redoing her ponytail absentmindedly. His gaze lingered.

“You alright?” she asked, craning her neck slightly to look at him.

He nodded. “Yeah. You just make all this feel

less mental.”

That earned her softest smile, the kind she didn’t even have to think about. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.

Then the door creaked open and Oscar stepped in with a knock-knock gesture and a raised brow. “Sorry, didn’t realise this was occupied.”

Lando blinked, quickly sitting up, hand retreating behind his head like he hadn’t been close to her at all. She turned slightly, offering Oscar a warm, unapologetic smile.

“Hi,” she said, chipper as ever. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lando’s carer.”

Oscar grinned, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”

Lando shrugged, slumping back into the sofa like it was no big deal. “Yeah. She cares so I don’t have to.”

Oscar snorted. “Nice work if you can get it.”

She laughed, then added, “To be fair, he’s more work than a pensioner with a sugar addiction, so I earn every bit of it.”

Oscar shot Lando a mock-sympathetic look. “She’s got you nailed, mate.”

Lando just shook his head, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles as Oscar backed out of the room with a wink and a wave.

Once the door shut again, she turned and looked up at him from the floor.

“Too much?” she teased.

He leaned forward, still smiling. “Not at all.”

And for the rest of the hour, with her back pressed to his knee and the quiet buzzing of the paddock beyond the walls, everything felt settled.

Like maybe this was becoming the new normal.

Race day came with its usual noise and nerves. The low thrum of engines in the distance, the hiss of tyres on tarmac, the sting of adrenaline thick in the air.

Silverstone buzzed with the kind of energy only a home race could bring.

And Lando had never driven better.

Every lap was clean, calculated, ruthless. No mistakes. No self-doubt. Just grit and instinct and a car that, for once, felt like an extension of himself.

When he crossed the finish line in P1, the roar from the grandstands felt deafening. Team radio crackled with cheers, engineers shouting down his ear, someone nearly in tears.

He barely heard it.

All he could think, where is she?

Pulling into parc fermé, he yanked off his helmet and looked around like a man on a mission.

“Where is she?” he asked one of the mechanics, already half out of the car.

The guy blinked. “Who?”

“Uh” He gestured vaguely. “My uh carer, she’s in the team kit, she was in the garage earlier. Has anyone seen her?”

Shrugs. Shaking heads. No one knew.

His jaw tensed, nerves he hadn’t felt all race prickling in now like static. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. All of this meant less if she wasn’t here to see it.

Still, he went through the motions: hugs with the crew, the sweaty TV pen interviews, the slow walk down the corridor lined with monitors and back-slaps. The moment was his, but it felt a bit empty.

Then he stepped onto the podium.

The crowd was thunderous. British flags everywhere, people chanting his name, flashes going off like strobes.

And there, down below, tucked between a few McLaren pit crew, cap pulled low and grinning up at him like he’d just done the impossible, there she was.

Her face lit up when he spotted her, and the tension in his chest just dropped.

He grinned, grabbed the champagne bottle, and with precision honed from years of celebration, arced the spray right in her direction.

She squealed, laughing, trying to duck behind someone’s shoulder but getting caught in it anyway.

He laughed too, and when the moment calmed, he looked down again and caught her eyes.

She mouthed something at him, something small, like ‘well done’, and he mouthed back.

Go back to the motorhome.

She gave a little salute, still smiling, and disappeared into the crowd.

And suddenly, the day felt complete.

The moment the press duties were done, Lando didn’t waste a second.

Still damp from champagne, hair sticking to his forehead, race suit tied at the waist, he all but jogged back through the paddock. Past cameras, past well-wishers, barely nodding as people tried to offer congratulations.

He needed to see her.

The motorhome was quiet when he pushed open the door, the rest of the team still caught up in the chaos outside. But she was there, sat on the sofa, McLaren cap now off, holding a bottle of water and staring out the window like she was waiting for him too.

“Hey—” she started, but didn’t finish.

Because he was already across the room, already scooping her up into a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of both of them. She gave a soft little laugh of surprise, arms winding round his neck as he held her like he’d just won her.

Which, in a way, he had.

“You were incredible,” she said against his shoulder.

“I didn’t care about the win,” he murmured, voice muffled in her hair. “Not until I saw you.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, eyebrows drawing in. “Lando…”

“No, I mean it,” he said, heart racing now for entirely different reasons. “When I crossed the line, I should’ve felt everything. But I couldn’t think about anything except the fact that you weren’t there. Not at first. It felt, empty.”

Her expression softened, smile faltering at the edges.

“That’s the adrenaline talking,” she said gently, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “You’re on a high, people say all sorts when their heart’s going.”

“No,” he said firmly, eyes locked on hers. “I know it’s not.”

She stilled.

Lando took a breath. “My heart’s been on fire before, after wins, crashes, everything in between. But it’s never felt as empty as it does when you’re not near me. I didn’t know it at first, I didn’t have the words for it, but I do now.”

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed.

“I don’t just want you here when I’m falling apart,” he said quietly. “I want you here when I’m winning. When I’m okay. When I’m tired. When I’m not.”

Silence fell like a held breath.

And then she smiled, soft, shaken, and real. The kind that said she’d been waiting to hear those words without even realising it.

“I was always going to stay,” she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”

They stood like that for a moment, bodies close, breath mingling, the silence between them full of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

She tilted her chin ever so slightly, and his nose brushed against hers. Neither of them moved beyond that, like they were afraid to disturb something fragile.

Then she whispered, “You smell like champagne.”

He gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You smell like bananas and home.”

She smiled at that, small and warm and a little bit shy.

And then, like gravity had finally caught up with them, he leant in.

Their lips met softly, tentative at first, the kind of kiss you give when you’ve been thinking about it for far too long and you want to get it right. It wasn’t hurried, or heavy, or anything like what the world outside might’ve expected from a Formula One driver fresh off a win.

It was slow. Careful. His way of saying he didn’t want this to be over too soon.

Her hands curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, and he held her like she might disappear if he let go. When they parted, barely an inch between them, neither moved away.

She blinked up at him, dazed in the gentlest way.

“That wasn’t adrenaline,” she said quietly, as if to confirm it for herself.

“No,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That was me. Just me.”

Her nose scrunched in that familiar way, eyes glinting with something fond. “Good.”

He smiled again, this time slower, fuller. And in the soft hush of the motorhome, with the noise of Silverstone still echoing somewhere in the background, Lando finally felt what peace might look like.

It looked a lot like her.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132

[itsaintmebabe]

oscar piastri’s “partner”

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ pairing: oscar piastri x lando norris sister!reader

summary: you appear on the race broadcast and f1 mistakenly puts “oscar piastri’s partner” as your title even though the two of you have never spoken and youre lando’s younger sister

notes: i love making smau one shots so much and would love to take requests from you guys!!

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / social media au / fc: lexi jayde

liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 263,198 others

y/nnorris shoutout to my brother for winning monaco and giving me a free paddock pass

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user6 imagine being so girlfriend coded that sky sports couldn’t even wait for confirmation

↳ y/nnorris confirmation of WHAT😭

↳ user93 the relationship that apparently only you don’t know about

user14 paddock pass this, paddock pass that. GIVE US A PIC WITH OSCAR BE SERIOUS

lando glad to know i’m just your paddock pass provider now

user23 not her pretending like she didn’t get introduced as OSCAR’S PARTNER on live TV

user67 "free paddock pass" no babe they put your full relationship status on the international broadcast

user19 the way she’s not just a drivers sister now but a whole wag too

↳ y/nnorris WHOSE wag??? be so serious rn

↳ user43 girl don’t play dumb we all saw the monaco broadcast

user89 the fact that you’re confused just confirms it. that’s exactly how all the lowkey couples act

↳ y/nnorris I AM NOT A LOWKEY COUPLE

↳ user10 yeah that’s what the last lowkey couple said too

y/nnorris just added to their close friends story!

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 289,472 others

y/nnorris pls stop tagging me in “wags of the grid” edits sorry to disappoint but i’m just lando’s little sister

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user27 girl be so fr. you expect us to believe sky sports made a whole graphic for fun???

user4 she debunked the rumor but i somehow feel even more convinced

lando you had a boyfriend and didn’t tell me?? damn thought we were close

↳ y/nnorris YOU ARENT HELPING

user38 “just lando’s sister” okay but why did oscar like this post 17 seconds after it went up? be fr

user3 the fact that oscar liked the “we’re not dating” post is the exact behavior of a man IN LOVE

user32 girl you had us in the first half but now you’re following each other??

oscarpiastri sorry about the graphic btw… not sure how that happened

↳ y/nnorris nah it’s okay 😭 my mum was so excited and now i have to explain we’ve literally never spoken

↳ user27 “we’ve literally never spoken” and yet… here they are… speaking

user29 girl he commented. he FOLLOWED. he LIKED. sky sports knew before y’all did

user2 no but how have they never met before oscar and lando have been teammates for like 3 years???

y/nnorris just added to their close friends story!

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 304,592 others

y/nnorris he ordered for me so now i have to marry him i guess

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user63 rue when was this??

user87 we went from “sky sports accidentally exposed them” to this?? i’m grieving

user93 this is so sick. sky sports gave us hope just for you to do this vague little boyfriend soft launch??? and you’re saying it’s NOT oscar????

↳ user5 she never said it wasnt oscar

↳ user35 nurse she’s out again

user73 we were rooting for you. we were all rooting for you.

user26 this post aged me 7 years and it’s only been up for 6 minutes

user48 idc if his face isn’t in it. that’s oscar. my heart told me.

lando hilarious post considering who took the second pic

↳ y/nnorris i’m going to unplug your sim rig

↳ user26 WHAT DO YOU KNOW LANDO

↳ lando 🤐

y/nnorris just added to their story!

liked by oscarpiastri, lando and 430,982 others

y/nnorris my love just won the spanish gp!!! congrats to my brother too ig

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user16 no bc oscar hugging you was already too much but this caption just buried us alive

user75 nah bc the fact you posted this with ZERO photos of lando is sending me

user41 okay but does anyone feel like this happened too quick

↳ y/nnorris babe i’ve had a crush on him since he joined mclaren so no it def didn’t happen to quick

↳ oscarpiastri i’m sorry WHAT i didn’t know that??

↳ y/nnorris u ever try flirting while your brother’s also in the hospitality suite??

↳ lando alrighty logging off forever

user73 can we talk about the fact that oscar LIKED THIS POST IN UNDER A MINUTE

user26 con😭grat😭ula😭tions😭

lando you’ve known me 22 years. oscar? like 3 months. betrayal.

↳ y/nnorris ok but who won today? that’s what i thought

oscarpiastri wait wait wait… you’ve liked me this whole time??

↳ y/nnorris yes bro. i was literally fighting for my life in silence while you talked to my brother about tire degradation.

liked by y/nnorris, lando and 987,924 others

oscarpiastri 25 points, a podium, and a photo that might be my favorite

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user26 “a photo that might be my favorite” YOU ARE NOT SLICK

user4 25 points for McLaren and -1000 points for my emotional stability

user15 we won. sky sports was RIGHT. the prophecy is fulfilled.

lando y’all are gross. blocked. reported. see you at dinner.

↳ y/nnorris don’t be mad ur teammates pulling more than you 😌

↳ oscarpiastri she said it not me

↳ lando i’m sitting between you at dinner. say goodbye to holding hands

↳ yourusername bold of u to assume we wait for dinner

↳ oscarpiastri bold of you to assume we just hold hands

↳ lando I’M CALLING MOM

user46 he said “my favorite photo” and it’s HER??? we lost him. it’s over.

user16 y’all called me delusional for connecting the dots but LOOK AT ME NOW

user72 WE DID IT JOE

[landoughnut]

You're Dating Him?! - LN4

masterlist - request

pairing: lando norris x leclerc!fem!reader

summary: lando's been soft launching, but when someone spots the youngest leclerc out with him in Italy, her brothers don't react as they'd hoped

w/c & a/n: smau | I need smau fic ideas, chat gpt is not helping 😭

lando

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen1, and 1,832,075 others

lando nice and needed vacation ☀️

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user1 IS THAT A G-GIRL ⁉️⁉️

carlossainz55 aye you bastard answer my messages 😑 ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc looks like little lando norris is all grown up 🥺

maxfewtrell oh he's all grown up all right 😏

lando maxfewtrell you keep your mouth SHUT

charles_leclerc maxfewtrell ????

user2 damn we got lando soft launching before gta 6

user3 she looks oddly familiar but I can't think of how

maxfewtrell 😶

user3 maxfewtrell TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW

maxfewtrell user3 🤐

user3 maxfewtrell you BITCH

oscarpiastri looking tan mate 👍 ♥︎ by author

user4 do we think oscar knows who she is

maxverstappen1 why was I not informed about this

lando because you have connections 😄

maxverstappen1 lando so you're assuming I'd tell others ??

lando maxverstappen1 don't play the victim we all know you love to gossip 🙄

user4 lando says max v has connections to her 🤔 does that mean she's part of the f1 world ♥︎ by author

user5 YOU'RE ONTO SOMETHING

user6 LANDO LIKING ?????

user7 maybe she's a sister of one of the drivers??

user8 no way that would ever happen lmao

lando

liked by charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, and 2,310,871 others

lando they do say Italy is the country of love 🫶

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user9 soldiers we've lost him 🫡

carlossainz55 🫡😢 ♥︎ by author

user10 carlossainz55 LMAOAOAO its okay carlando lives on forever

oscarpiastri don't do anything I wouldn't do kids 👍

lando I'm literally older than you 🤓 and she's your age...

user11 NEW INFORMATION UNLOCKED ‼️ mystery girl is brunette, 23, knows f1

user12 that unfortunately doesn't really help much

user11 user12 yet...

danielricciardo since when did you take good pictures 🤨 ♥︎ by author

lando she taught me 🤭

user13 THAT SHOULD BE ME HOLDING YOUR HAND 💔

alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous girl ♥︎ by author

maxverstappen1 I recognize that back...

lando SHUT UPPPP

lando maxverstappen1 wait wdym you recognize her back 😾

charles_leclerc hey my sister went to Italy recently too lmao imagine if you ran into her

lando heh that would be pretty funny 😅

maxfewtrell lando can you be anymore obvious mate

yourusername I cant charles is so oblivious 😭

lando

liked by maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 2,310,871 others

lando 🌊🛥️ maxfewtrell

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maxverstappen1 interesting...

oscarpiastri stay hydrated folks 👍

lando yes dad 👍

charles_leclerc looking clean 🔥 ♥︎ by author

arthur_leclerc cute couple 🤝 ♥︎ by author

lando I hope you'll still think that when you realizewho she is

maxfewtrell 🤪

arthur_leclerc maxfewtrell 🤔

carlossainz55 you two better be keeping it PG 👀😏

lando more like MA

charles_leclerc lando be safe use protection ☝️

maxfewtrell charles_leclerc ☠️

charles_leclerc maxfewtrell ?????

alexandrasaintmleux tell her I said hi 🎀 ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc you know who she is??

alexandrasaintmleux charles_leclerc hehe....

user14 I HAVE A SUSPICION ON WHO IT IS BUT Y'ALL WILL CALL ME CRAZY

user15 SPILL

user14 user15 I THINK SHE'S yourusername

user14 hear me out: she's oscars age (who are both 23), she's brunette (like charles lorenzo and arthur), charles told us that his sister recently went to Italy on lando's post of pics from there, she liked this post, AND alexandra (charles' gf) commented on this and the last post

user16 user14 WAITTTTTT I THINK YOU'RE RIGHT

yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, alexandrasaintmleux, and 2,310,871 others

yourusername cat's out of the bag I guess 🤗 this is my cutesy boyfriend lando 💗

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user17 WHATATATATAAT YOU'RE WHO LANDO HAS BEEN SOFT LAUNCHING ⁉️

maxverstappen1 I KNEW IT ♥︎ by author

user7 I CALLED IT BRO I SAID A DRIVERS SISTER AND YALL DOUBTED

user8 IM SORRY 😣

oscarpiastri finally!! congrats 👍 ♥︎ by author

maxfewtrell NOOOO I WAS HAVING FUN TROLLING

yourusername yeah we know 😄

user18 how did lando pull a leclerc

lando excuse me???

user19 lando she's literally an angel and then you're.... lando

yourusername user19 that's exactly why I love him :)

lando yourusername I love you too baby 🥺 ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc what the FUCK.

charles_leclerc I'LL KILL HIM

charles_leclerc WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE YOU HUGGING THAT THING

lando "THAT THING" ⁉️⁉️

charles_leclerc lando fuck off je ne te parlais pas

lando charles_leclerc I don't understand french 😢

yourusername lando maybe it's for the better my love 🥰

charles_leclerc yourusername "MY LOVE"???? UNBLOCK ME AND ANSWER MY CALLS

alexandrasaintmleux yourusername don't unblock him he's got steam coming out of his ears... and arthur also showed up

maxfewtrell 😎🍿 ♥︎ by author

lando glad you're enjoying this while I'm fearing for my life

charles_leclerc WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS TOUCHING MY BABY SISTER????

arthur_leclerc WHY IS HIS MOUTH ON YOURS IN THAT TWEET

charles_leclerc POURQUOI TU SORS AVEC LUI?? JE VAIS LE POUSSER DANS LES BARRIÈRES SUR LA VOIE, ATTENDS JUSTE

charles_leclerc lando YOU SAID YOU WERE KEEPING IT MA ON THIS VACATION

arthur_leclerc don't worry bro I'm sharpening my axe 🥰

lando arthur_leclerc AXE?!?!!? WHY DO YOU HAVE AN AXE??

maxverstappen1 lando it was nice competing with you

lando ☹️

user20 damn lando I wasn't familiar with your game 😮‍💨

lando everyone being so surprised that she's dating me is quite insulting 😪

leclerc_pascale beautiful ❤️ ♥︎ by author

yourusername I LOVE YOU MAMAN

lando I'm too pretty to die 💔

arthur_leclerc who lied to you??

lando arthur_leclerc your sister I guess ♥︎ by author

lorenzotl lando you're only digging your grave deeper

lorenzotl I'm so happy for you ma petite soeur ❤️ ♥︎ by author

yourusername thank you enzo I love you ❤️

arthur_leclerc lorenzotl YOU'RE OKAY WITH THIS ?????

charles_leclerc does he make you happy.

yourusername yes very happy 🥹

charles_leclerc yourusername is he respectful.

yourusername charles_leclerc he couldn't be more of a gentleman

charles_leclerc yourusername I still don't like this 😡 but... I'll give him a chance

lando charles_leclerc THANK YOU PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I SWEAR I'LL BE THE BEST BROTHER IN LAW

arthur_leclerc lando BROTHER IN LAW?????