mercrussell

[mercrussell]

THIS IS SO CREATIVE BUT I NEED YALL TO VOTE FOR GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL

about you ⛐ a choose your own adventure

there was something about you that now i can’t remember / it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender / ... do you think i have forgotten about you? ⸻ or: a choose your own adventure story featuring alex albon, lando norris & george russell

ꔮ smau + word count: 2.5k. ꔮ includes: friendship, romance. photographer!reader, childhood friends, one-shots/vignettes per driver, poll at the end of the story!!! ꔮ commentary box: been stuck in a creative rut for the past couple of days and i wanted to do something light/experimental. winner of the poll will get a special chapter!!! i know this is titled after a the 1975 song, but i also spent the entirety of my writing process blasting gracie abrams’ in between. do with that what you will 🎀 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and others f1   The need for speed started young for a lot of drivers 👯 Celebrating World Karting Day with these throwback photos of the 2019 rookies, courtesy of yourusername! 🏁  #F1 #Formula1    

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user1 ALEX MY SHAYLAAA user2 The 2019 rookies are my Roman Empire!!! 😢 lando wowwww… yourusername   ⤷ yourusername i gave ‘em a good one of you bruv user3 obsessed with yourusername getting the 👏 flowers 👏 she 👏 deserves georgerussell63 Have we wronged you lately? yourusername   ⤷ yourusername i’m sure you will soon :-)   ⤷ user4 she’s been there since day ONE bub she can bully you all she wants user5 Lando looks sooo happy in this 😞 Devastated,, alex_albon I’m still the cutest 👆   ⤷ georgerussell63 Denial is a river in Egypt   ⤷ lando says who   ⤷ yourusername can we not fight in the comments of the official f1 insta ??? 😮‍💨

Race day smells like burnt rubber, damp asphalt, and something synthetic under the sun—hot tires and adrenaline, the way a grid always does just before lights out. 

The air hums with energy, vibrating with the echo of mechanics shouting over power tools and fans leaning over barricades with flags draped around their shoulders. Your camera strap digs into your shoulder as you crouch behind a stack of Pirellis near the Williams garage, searching for a clean line of sight through the pitlane chaos.

Alex finds you.

He always does.

“Hey,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just stepped out of a driver briefing and into the thick air of qualifying tension. His suit is half-zipped, fireproof balaclava dangling from one wrist. There’s sweat on his collarbone and a half-smile on his face. “Need some good luck before I head out.”

You glance up from your lens, squinting. “You already did media, right? You don’t need another photo.”

“I’m not asking for a photo.”

“Then what?”

He leans a little closer, tilts his face in your direction. “A kiss. Obviously.”

You snort and shove him gently in the chest. He rocks back, grinning.

“Fuck off, Albon.” 

“Just a little one,” he says. “For morale. On the cheek. Or forehead. Nose, if you’re shy.”

“Absolutely not.”

He clicks his tongue, mock-disappointed. “You know, if we were married, you’d have to kiss me. It’s, like, law.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Good thing we’re not.”

Alex clutches at his chest. “Cruel. After everything we’ve been through. After all we’ve shared.”

He says it like a joke, but his eyes hold that glint—that familiar mischief, sure, but something older, more honest beneath it. The kind of look he’s always given you when he’s mostly teasing. 

And yet. 

You know him. You always have.

“Don’t forget our pact,” he says gently. “If we’re both single by—what was it—twenty-eight? We have to get married.”

You groan. “You only said that because you’d just won your first karting race and thought you were invincible.”

“And because you took the best photo of me ever.” He’s beaming now, from the memory of the win, the photo, the marriage pact made on the way home. “Helmet off, trophy up, smile crooked. Iconic.”

You remember that photo. You remember the way he’d run to you first, before the podium, before the reporters. Beaming like he’d won Monaco instead of some regional track in Kent. You remember the mud on your shoes and the rain that had let up just long enough for the sun to hit his hair golden. You remember the way he yelled your name through the engine noise, like you were the finish line.

“We were kids,” you point out.

Alex shrugs. “We’re older kids now. With better shoes. And paychecks. Which means I could buy you a proper ring instead of a candy one.” 

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. The way he’s always been—half sincere, half absurd, one hundred percent impossible to stay mad at. You think about all the times he’d tried to cheer you up after a bad shoot or when your hard drive crashed and erased half a season’s work. How he’d dragged you away from your laptop and into the paddock for fresh air and a terrible joke. How he always knew when you needed space, and when you needed him to close it.

He has always come to find you. Even back then, even when the wins were rare and the kart broke down more often than it finished a race. 

He was the one who’d call you to the paddock just to see the sun hit the curve of the track in the afternoon. The one who’d steal your camera and fill your SD card with blurry selfies and photos of his lunch. The one who, after a DNF that made him go quiet and distant, would eventually resurface by sitting beside you in the grass with a protein bar and that sheepish smile.

There was a summer once—maybe 2013 or 2014—when you and Alex spent every other weekend together at tracks across Europe. You’d ride shotgun in his dad’s van, gear rattling in the back, music playing low between you. He’d rest his head on the window, eyes half-closed, and you’d wonder if he was dreaming of the podium or something else entirely. He always said you had the best eye, that your camera caught things no one else could. Maybe he didn’t mean just racing.

Alex glances toward his car now. Mechanics swarm around it, tightening bolts and checking sensors. The scent of fuel lingers, faint but ever-present. “Okay,” he says, adjusting his suit. “No kiss. I’ll just win without one. But when I do manage to finish on that podium, you are required to marry me.”

“That’s not how that works.”

He winks, undeterred. “Better start planning.”

And just like that, he disappears down the garage corridor, the sharp scent of tire compound and brake dust trailing in his wake. You lift your camera, watch him through the lens. He looks back once, just for a second, and flashes you a grin.

You don’t take the shot.

You just smile.

Liked by mclaren, williamsracing, and others yourusername   nothing beats silverstone    

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user1 her garage access go crazyyy user2 George Russell I am free on Thursday night user3 preset reveal pls!!! 🙏 alex_albon 👁️👄👁️<- georgerussell63   ⤷ user4 THIS MENACE   ⤷ georgerussell63 ?    ⤷ user5 george fight back  user6 congrats to whoever’s bouncing on it    ⤷ user7 idek who you’re referring to but #same.  lando why am i the second slide    ⤷ yourusername it’s not that deep    ⤷ alex_albon Soz I’m the favorite #confirmed      ⤷ georgerussell63 Were you dropped on your head as a child  user8 How does yourusername survive these boys   ❤️ Liked by creator   ⤷ lando hey why did you like this comment yourusername user9 Silverstone is always so special for these rookies! Can’t imagine the nostalgia user10 truly the best foursome f1 has ever seen   ⤷ user11 Maybe let’s not put it like that… 

Your back aches under the weight of your gear—two camera bodies, a monopod, lenses that could double as dumbbells. Sweat trickles beneath your collar in the thick, gluey humidity of the race you fought tooth and nail to get access for.

You’re moving too fast, trying to beat the next media rotation, weaving between crews and hospitality staff. Head down, one shoe somehow untied, the other catching on cords taped to the tarmac. You’re checking your checklist in your head. Battery packs, memory cards, light metering settings—

Your balance shifts suddenly. One wrong step and your whole body lurches, camera bag swinging like a wrecking ball. You brace for the fall that doesn’t come, and you resolve to fix the damn shoelace in the next five minutes. Maybe the next ten. 

“Oi!” someone shouts, and then Lando materializes out of nowhere. All McLaren papaya and boyish indignation, sneakers skidding on the painted concrete.

Before you can protest, he crouches low right there in the middle of the walkway, deft fingers looping the laces of your sneaker like you’re five years old and he’s your designated babysitter. The cameras flash behind him, fans murmur his name. His PR officer is practically vibrating ten feet away, clutching a clipboard like it might explode.

“Lando, media pen in two minutes—” she’s saying. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says over his shoulder, not even glancing back. “Tell ‘em I’m being a humanitarian.”

You blink down at him, incredulous. “I could have done that myself.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans. “Right after you face planted into the tarmac and cracked a five-grand lens.”

You try to swat him, but he’s faster, ducking with practiced ease. He finishes the knot and gives it a triumphant tug, then stays kneeling for a moment longer, hands resting lightly on your ankle like he’s anchoring you to the earth.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“But you’re thinking it.” 

There’s that grin again—smugness laced with sunburn, a little uneven from biting his lip too often as a kid. He stands up in one smooth motion, brushes his palms on his race suit, then reaches over to adjust the strap of your camera harness as if it’s second nature. His fingers are warm against your shoulder, undeterred by the dozens of eyes watching him care for somebody beyond himself.

“You have to ask for help,” he murmurs. “Seriously. You’re not made of carbon fiber.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off with a look. One of those looks. The kind he’s been giving you since you were twelve and hauling twice your bodyweight in kits just to prove you belonged in these circuits.

Lando’s always looked out for you. 

Back when he still had a mop of curls too big for his helmet, he’d chase off anyone who teased you for tagging along with your camera bag bigger than your torso. He once taped an old GoPro to his chest during practice and narrated the entire session just so you’d have something fun to edit. He used to carry your monopod like a sword and declare himself your knight, jousting invisible dragons between races. 

Once, at a muddy circuit in Wales, he gave you his only clean hoodie after you slipped into a puddle. You wore it the rest of the day, two sizes too big and smelling like engine oil, mint gum, and whatever cheap shampoo his hotel had.

He’s grown into himself since then—jawline sharp, voice lower, media trained within an inch of his life—but the core of him hasn’t changed. He’s still the one who notices, who steps in, who makes sure you eat something even when you swear you’re not hungry.

“I’ll be fine,” you grumble, shifting your weight.

“You’re never fine,” he replies, softer now. “You’re stubborn, sleep-deprived, and possibly concussed from that Red Bull you just inhaled.”

You roll your eyes. “It was one can.”

“It was two. And one of them was Sugarfree, which is basically battery acid.”

He’s still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize something—your posture, your exhaustion, the curl of your hair at your temple. The kind of look that holds everything and nothing at once.

The PR officer clears her throat again, louder. “Lando. Now.”

“I’m going,” he says, but he backs away slowly. “But promise me something.”

“What?”

He points at you like he’s casting a spell. “See me later. After quali. I mean it.”

You hesitate, still clutching your camera. “Okay,” you sigh, because he’s always been impossible to deny. 

“Good.” He grins again, already sliding into the spotlight version of himself, full of practiced charm. “Because if you trip again and I’m not there to save you, it’ll ruin my whole weekend.”

You watch him go, swallowed by camera crews and fluorescent lights, his laughter echoing faintly. Even though your bag is still heavy, something in you feels lighter.

You glance down at your shoe.

Double-knotted.

Liked by kimi.antonelli, carlossainz55, and others yourusername   my type of weekend 👋

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user1 god me when ? user2 wish that were me user3 This is my dream blunt rotation ngl. lando WTF?????????   ⤷ lando yourusername YOU SAID YOU HAD DINNER PLANS     ⤷ yourusername lando i did. with george 🤷 georgerussell63 And that was my treat too 😀   ⤷ alex_albon (2) Coffee was on me….   ⤷ lando (3) i paid.    ⤷ user4 YES GIRLLL MAKE THEIR POCKETS HURT 🗣️🗣️🗣️ georgerussell63 This is the type of greed they talk about in the Bible alex_albon Thought I was your number one boy 💔   ⤷ yourusername you’re one of my number one boys ♥️     ⤷ alex_albon yourusername So you hate me and want me to die user5 A full day of meals paid for by the 2019 rookies. Queen shit

A cable snakes beneath your foot, dangerously close to tangling. You’re not even supposed to be here, not in this exact spot, but the light was perfect—low and golden, glinting off carbon fiber—and then he showed up.

Not George. The other one.

A fellow photographer. Older, sharp-eyed, and brimming with condescension. He’s been slowly edging you out of your frame all evening. First with his elbow, then with his lens hood, and now with his entire tripod leg shoved directly into your shot.

“You’ve had your angle for ten minutes,” you say curtly, adjusting your lens with all the grace you can muster. “I just need a clean thirty seconds.”

He scoffs, shifting like he owns the tarmac. “Maybe if you weren’t blocking the paddock entrance like a tourist—”

“Excuse me?”

He gestures broadly with his camera, as if it’s a police badge. “Just saying. Maybe respect the people who’ve been doing this longer.”

You clench your jaw so tight it could cut glass. You’re not new. You’ve been doing this for years. Since karting days and rundown paddocks and lighting kits held together with duct tape. You’re two seconds from snapping, and not with your shutter.

Then, like divine intervention, a voice cuts through the clamor. Clean. Crisp. Unmistakably posh.

“Back off.”

George appears out of nowhere, six-foot-something of pure British fury in a fire suit. He materializes between you and the man like a scene change in a drama. Smooth, sudden, and devastatingly well-lit.

“She’s been covering this team longer than you’ve been photographing anything that isn’t your cat,” George says coolly. “So unless you want to have this conversation in front of the comms manager and the entire broadcast crew, I suggest you rethink your tone.”

The man stammers, blinks, and retreats with his camera and his ego bruised. You can still smell the bitter mix of cheap cologne and sweat lingering in the air.

George exhales and turns to you. There’s a fire in his eyes—protective, proud, a little manic.

“Are you okay? Did he touch you? Because I swear, if he laid a finger on you—”

“George.” You place a hand on his arm. His bicep is tense beneath the suit. “I’m okay.”

“That guy’s a menace. I’ve seen him elbow interns and shoulder off mechanics. I’m going to speak to someone—honestly, I should have done it ages ago—”

You squeeze his wrist. Just enough to ground him. “Thank you.”

He blinks. “What?”

“For stepping in. For always stepping in.”

That stops him more effectively than any PR directive. He softens, jaw unclenching. The armor slips. He looks at you like you’ve just handed him something delicate. Something he’s afraid to drop.

You’ve known George since you were kids and he still had that awkward boyishness in his face and a voice half a pitch too high. You met him in Buckmore Park when your camera bag broke and he offered you half a sandwich and his last roll of electrical tape. Since then, he's been a fixture: a constant in a world that changes by the minute, the lap, the season.

He’s always been like this. Protective. Principled. Prone to indignation on your behalf. 

He once carried your entire gear kit through the Silverstone paddock after you slipped on a curb and sprained your ankle, grumbling about the lack of proper walkways the whole time. In Barcelona, during a brutal double-header week, he stood in front of your lens when you were crying quietly behind it, shielding you from any shot that could turn you into tabloid fodder. You didn’t even ask him to. He just did, and he never asked for anything more. 

George Russell: Defender of the Downtrodden. Or at least, defender of you.

He looks at you now, eyes scanning your face for cracks. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod. “Promise.”

Around you, the paddock roars back to life—an engine fires three garages over, a tire gun whirs, and someone shouts a driver’s name from the hospitality barrier. The chaos resumes, but George doesn’t move. He tilts his head, brow furrowing just slightly like he’s measuring the weight of what he’s feeling against the moment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muse.

“Of course I did,” he says softly, almost indignantly. And then, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world: “It’s you.”

You don’t answer. You just look at him, framed in the buzz of fluorescent paddock lights and soft shadows, and feel the beat of a friendship that’s weathered everything from pouring rain to podium champagne. 

There’s something solid about George. Like a hand at your back, steady even when you stumble.

And somehow, beneath the metal tang of brake dust and the din of a race day nearing climax, those two words—it’s you—ring louder than all the noise in the world.

📸 yourusername bored at the paddock rn, send questions about anything :] 🗨 230 ⟳ 400 ♡ 6.3k

👤 user1 Replying to yourusername What’s your latest camera purchase? ⤷ yourusername user1 recently got the kodak ektar h35 half frame!

Lando Norris ✓ LandoNorris Replying to yourusername who is the most attractive 2019 rookie and why is it lando norris ⤷ yourusername LandoNorris get help.

👤 user2 Replying to yourusername DO YOU HAVE ANY UNRELEASED 2019 ROOKIE PICS PLS PLS PLS FROM KARTING DAYS ⤷ yourusername user2 hahaha i’ll do an ig dump after this race

Alex Albon ✓ alex_albon Replying to yourusername gimme something to listen to (@ the airport waiting lounge rn) ⤷ yourusername alex_albon about you - the 1975

👤 user3 Replying to yourusername fav circuit???? ⤷ yourusername user3 always and forever silverstone 🇬🇧

George Russell ✓ GeorgeRussell63 Replying to yourusername Favorite thing about your favorite boys? 😉 ⤷ yourusername GeorgeRussell63 that i couldn’t escape y’all even if i tried

kae 🌸 tsunodaradio Replying to yourusername we always joke about you having insaneee garage access, but we all have to know: on your paddock pass, who does it say you’re a guest of ??? alex, lando, or george ??? 👀

[mercrussell]

oh gosh 💔💔💔

George Russell & Max Verstappen - BLUE by Billie Eilish

"two sides of the same coin"

[mercrussell]

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: You're nothing more but his best friend. Until he kisses you on a night out.

“I’m just saying, you’re being a dick,” you note casually, pointing out something you wonder if he’s been aware of regarding the situation he’s in.

You can hear his sigh through the headphones, the sound loud and clear despite the thousands of miles that’s between the two of you. When you glance at the screen on your side to check his camera feed, you can see him staring at you through it with an annoyed look on his face.

His livestream is about to begin, yet here he is, listening to you rambling about how stupid he’s been when his girlfriend suggested moving into his place. But how could you not scold him when he instantly brushed off the idea? 

They’ve been together for a bit over a year, as far as you know he loves her, but now that he’s talking about her, his voice lacks emotions, as if he was talking about a one-night stand, someone who means very little to him—if she means anything at all.

So, how could you expect him to be honest with her when he can’t even be honest with his best friend?

“Oh, fuck it,” he suddenly says, his voice now sounding a lot more emotional, full of anger you didn’t even know was lurking beneath the surface.

“What?”

He looks away, staring at the screen ahead of him, but you can almost hear the gears turning inside his head. “She doesn’t even like me anymore, but she wants to stay because I’m one of the top drivers in F1,” he explains, spitting out the words with so much hatred you’re honestly getting a little scared.

This confession leaves you temporarily speechless, because you sure as hell didn’t expect him to drop such a bomb onto this conversation. Before you could say anything, he rage quits and you follow him without a question so you can focus on whatever he has to get off his chest.

“I overheard a conversation she had with a friend over the phone the other day. I got home earlier, and she didn’t notice I was there, so she kept talking, and then suddenly she went, ‘It feels like I’m dating a teenager who lives in front of his gaming rig while drinking dozens of cans of Red Bull. He’s lucky he’s a successful F1 driver, otherwise I would have already kicked him out.’ How could I stay with her after this, huh?”

Now you get it, and you feel your own anger rise as the seconds pass. “Okay, you’re right, she needs to go,” you agree, although you want to go on and say something about her that wouldn’t be very ladylike. 

He knows. Max always knows what’s on your mind, as if there was a radar in his brain that can help him clock you, even over the computer screen. “You know, I kinda envy you,” he suddenly speaks up, surprising you. “I couldn’t bite my tongue like you can. I mean, if I said the things that are probably on your mind now, I would be banned from F1 for the rest of the season,” he jokes. 

To be fair, he’s right, he would never be able to hold back and lie, so right now you’re sure he’s not even that mad at his girlfriend. Well, at his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. 

“So, what now?”

A thoughtful hum fills your ears. “I already packed her shit. Damn, I didn’t even notice how many things she had in my apartment,” he adds with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, she’ll come over today as if nothing happened, and then I’ll point at the boxes. Go wherever the fuck you want, the door’s that way. Or something like that.”

“Good,” you agree with the plan.

Silence falls between the two of you—a nice, comfortable one that you’re used to after the decade you’ve been friends for. You were a VIP with your dad at one of the races, and that’s how you met him in the paddock when he was still a rookie. This idiot tried—and failed—to flirt with you, but that strange mixture of awkwardness and arrogance made you realize that maybe you could be friends at least. 

And then, out of nowhere, his face lights up. “Oh, you need to join me for the tripe-header. You know what? I’ll send my jet to pick you up right now,” he says excitedly. “It’s gonna be like back in the day during your school breaks.”

“I have to work,” you point out. 

Max rolls his eyes at this. “Unpaid leave. I’ll give you your salary in return—not like you need it,” he adds with a cheeky grin. 

You snort. “Unlike you, I’m not a tax-evading billionaire.”

“You’re old money, sweetheart. Alright, I have a livestream coming up, and I’m already a few minutes late, but I want to make a quick call before that to schedule my jet for you. I’ll send you the details. Bye.”

“Max, I didn’t say,” you begin, but he quits before you finish the sentence. 

As you are sitting on the jet, you can’t help but wonder why you have a bad feeling about this trip. It’s like an upcoming storm you can feel in your bones. 

Max is waiting for you at the airport, just like he always does, and when you wave at him through the window, you don’t miss the wide, happy smile that’s plastered on his face. He certainly doesn’t look like a guy who’s just broken up with his girlfriend, but you don’t mind that you’re not going to spend the next weeks in the company of an annoying version of him. 

You’ve seen him after bad breakups and it wasn’t funny. This post breakup Max? This one you actually like. 

“We’re gonna have so much fun together,” he says as a greeting.

With a questioning hum, you watch as he wraps his long fingers around the handle of your suitcase. “Is that a threat? It did sound like a threat.”

“Why didn’t you say, ‘Don’t threaten me with a good time?’ It would have been much funnier.”

“Don’t push your luck. Be happy I’m here.”

Max throws his head back as he laughs, then opens his car with a shake of his head. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know traveling to Monaco on a private jet, then going from one country to another in the following weeks was such a terrible thing to do,” he says as he puts the suitcase in the trunk.

“I already told you, I have a job to focus on. There’s this upcoming project that—”

“BOOOO! You workaholic,” he adds with a laugh before signaling you to get in the passenger seat. 

Without hesitation, you punch his upper arm, a move that draws another laugh out of him. “Says the one who races both IRL and online.”

“And here I was, thinking you handled the breakup well.”

The two of you are standing outside his favorite Monaco club, with him leaning against the side of his car that will be driven to his home by a chauffeur service once they get here. Until then you need to babysit him, the kind of pathetic drunken Max that you haven’t seen in years. 

He lets out a long, loud sigh, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, then wraps his arms around your neck as he leans against you, burying his face into your shoulder. “You’re the only woman in my life who loves me despite everything. The only one who’s not a relative, that is,” he mumbles against your shirt. 

You don’t even think when you run a hand through his dirty blond hair in a soothing manner, a gesture that wasn’t unusual between the two of you. But this time it prompts him to do something he has never done before—he kisses you. 

This is the first time it happens, and it surprises you so much that you instinctively return it at first. 

It seemed like his stupid little crush on you disappeared shortly after you became friends, but now you can feel something, like long-repressed feelings were coming to the surface. You can’t say up don’t like it, because you do, but being the relatively sober one, you know you can’t let this happen.

“Max,” you say quietly as you push him away a little. 

But he doesn’t seem to hear you, or even notice that you broke the kiss to make him focus on what you have to say, because he dives back in to kiss you again.

“You taste like strawberry,” he notes with a chuckle.

Sure you do, your cocktail was full of it after all. When he leans in again, you move out of the way and place a hand under his chin to make him focus. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t,” you respond.

Max doesn’t seem to understand. Maybe he’s too used to the idea of always getting what he wants, maybe he’s just a drunk, lovesick puppy. Whatever’s the case, you know you have to put an end to this before things get out of hand.

“You’re my best friend, and—”

“Aww, you’re my best friend too!”

“Dude, focus,” you say with a tiny little bite to your voice. “The chauffeur can be here any second, pull yourself together. I’m sure you don’t want articles about your drunken state.”

He suddenly starts giggling as he shrugs theatrically. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he points out, then leans forward again, trying to capture your lips as if he was some infected from The Last of Us. 

A car parks on the other side of the street, and a man gets out of the passenger seat to walk up to the two of you. Since Max still doesn’t seem to behave, you kick his leg, and finally he stops whatever he’s doing. 

“Huh? What?”

You motion towards the driver with your head. “Get in the backseat,” you order. 

“As you wish, milady,” he says with a Cheshire Cat grin. 

“Idiot,” you say with a sigh.

The next morning you sit on a barstool in the kitchen, one hand wrapped around the warm mug, the other patting Donut’s head as you read a longer post on your phone. It’s a peaceful morning, although your mind keeps returning to the kiss. 

There are photos and videos online, the rumor mill is working full time, and you’re not that sure about the triple-header anymore. If you join him when so many people believe you’re his girlfriend, showing up in the paddock would only confirm the theories. 

“Morning,” you hear Max’s voice from behind, and it’s laced with a yawn that he can’t fight back. 

Before you turn to look at him, you gulp and quickly try to think about what to say. Does he even remember what happened? Does he know what kind of shitstorm you’re in? 

Donut jumps off from your lap, probably sensing the upcoming fight between the two of you. The funny thing is, you’re not mad, not really. You’re just annoyed that you managed to convince the world that you’re not dating, but now they have something to point at when they bring up a secret relationship.

You watch as your friend rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms, then lets out a sigh and rests his forearms on the counter across from you. “I saw the posts. I’m sorry,” he say seriously, the drowsiness seemingly nowhere to be found. 

With a nod, you raise your mug and take a sip of your coffee.

“I guess you’re thinking about not coming with me.”

“Yeah, maybe that would be for the best.”

Scoffing, Max rolls his eyes. “That’s what they want. They want you to run and hide. Don’t let them win.”

There are so many things you want to say, but your brain can’t put a proper sentence together. 

Lucky for you, your best friend knows exactly how to put what’s on his mind into words. “Listen, that kiss… It doesn’t have to mean anything, but…”

“But?”

A beat of silence. “Nothing. You want breakfast?”

After shaking your head, you empty your mug and put it in the dishwasher. Your hunger vanished the moment you saw the messages from friends and family, all asking why didn’t you tell them.

Soon, the two of you begin to move in perfect sync in the kitchen, as if this was part of your daily routine. He made himself something to eat, while you prepared the cats’ healthy little snacks for the day.

But deep down you couldn’t stop thinking about that little, inevitable but.

Finding out Charles was now Max’s neighbor after moving into his new home didn’t surprise you at all. Despite not making a big deal out of their friendship, you knew they often hung out together in their limited free time.

Tonight the two of you bumped into the Monegasque in the elevator, and your best friend immediately forgot that you existed as he stepped out of the elevator on the wrong floor just to continue the conversation.

“Max, I don’t have keys to your place,” you call after him once you stopped the elevator.

He turns around with a questioning hum, then—after a short pause—his eyes go wide. “Shit, sorry. Why don’t you come over?” he asks the fellow driver. 

Rolling your eyes, you step back into the depths of the elevator, then press the button to close the door. In the last second, you see the confusion on their faces, but you can’t care about that.

What you don’t understand, though, is why you feel disappointed that he asked Charles to come over. He’s a friend. Another friend. A male friend. He’s no competition.

Then again, why do you keep considering everyone he’s on good terms with that?

The day before Max is supposed to travel to Japan for the first triple-header race, you decide to do a little shopping in your favorite boutique that’s hidden from the prying eyes of tourists.

What you don’t except to see is Charles, going through a rack of clothes, searching for something that catches his eyes. Occasionally, he asks for the opinion of a woman who looks to be in her thirties, but you can’t quite understand what they say.

Not like you care. 

You go back to your own quest to find the perfect dress to a party you’ve been invited to, but sadly, mere minutes later, you hear the Ferrari driver’s unmistakable voice from your side.

“Didn’t think I’d find someone who’s not a local here,” he says with a smile.

“Hey. Looking for a gift for Alex?”

He smiles, and it’s the kind of fond smile only someone with a deeper connection to him could deserve. “Nope, it’s for my mom.”

Nodding, you pick a dark green dress to take a look at it. It’s nice. A little different in style than what you usually wear.

Even without looking, even without hearing a sound coming Charles, you can tell he has a look of disapproval on his face. 

“What?”

“Royal blue suits you better. Trust me.”

When you turn to him with a questioning look, he holds up a dress he’s been apparently hiding behind his back. It’s beautiful, really, but you’re not sure about it.

“It’s not as fancy as the one I need,” you point out as you return your attention to the clothes. 

He sighs. “It’s been approved for the party you’re going to.”

“Approved by who?”

“Max.”

“Max is going to the triple-header, I’ll be in Copenhagen to meet a friend,” you say with a shrug.

This seems to surprise the Monegasque who immediately glances down at his phone. “I don’t understand, he just texted me that he’s taking you to some restaurant in–Wait, you really don’t want to go with him.”

You let out a long sigh at this. Great, now you know these two are talking about you behind your back. With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair. “Look, I just don’t want rumors. I’m sure you know what happened the other day, so no wonder I think this would be for the best.”

But Charles immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no. You have to attend the races, especially now. His fans adore you, and Max—” His voice suddenly fades away and you can see his eyes go wide when he realizes he was just about to say something he wasn’t supposed to. “Never mind.”

“Charles,” you growl. 

“Okay, okay. You didn’t hear this from me, but Max talks about you. A lot. Even while he was with his ex, I heard more about you then her. And that kiss meant a lot to him, even though he was drunk that night.”

If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s trying to tell you that your best friend probably thinks about you differently than you think about him. Although… what does seeing competition in everyone he interacts with means exactly?

Two hours later you arrive to your temporary home and realize it’s empty. Three hours later you’re sitting on the couch with your suitcases neatly placed next to it. 

When Max gets home, he doesn’t even notice the suitcases at first, because the moment he sets foot in the living room, the words begin to flow out of his mouth as he begins his famous maxplaining session. He’s talking about his idea to get a dog, about how good it would be, and he even came up with name ideas that he doesn’t hesitate to share with you.

But then he suddenly stop mid-sentence. “Oh, good, you’re ready,” he says, motioning towards the objects on your side.

Of course he assumes you packed for the upcoming races. He doesn’t even take it into consideration that you maybe changed your mind about it. That maybe you don’t want to be involved in the mess he caused. 

Finally, he realizes the truth. “You’re not coming with me.” When you shake your head with an almost apologetic smile, he sits down next to you. “Listen, I know these photos, and the rumors, and all that shit can be a lot to handle, but this isn’t the first time someone assumes we’re dating.”

“Charles didn’t warn you?”

“Warn me about what?”

You let out a long sigh and lean your head against the back of the couch. “He said this kiss wasn’t nothing to you,” you tell him quietly.

Max gulps and exhales sharply, probably cursing his friend in his mind for not being able to keep his mouth shut. Maybe it wasn’t fair to throw Charles to the lion, but he became collateral damage along the way.

“That’s something you don’t have to worry about.” 

And he means it, you can tell, but his voice is different now. Less certain. More cautious. 

How could you not worry, though? “Did it start now, or…?”

“What? Me catching feelings?” he asks, sounding a little confused. You nod, he leans back with a sigh. “When I asked you out after we met, and you pretty much told me to fuck off.”

“So all this time—” 

He flashes a small, sad smile at you. “I’ve been in love with you at the end of the day.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this? Max, if you told me, I could have… I don’t know, just…”

A smile. Small, reserved, maybe a little sad. “Tried to love me back? Leave me? What?” he asks, his voice rough but quiet.

Looking into those blue eyes turns out to be the biggest mistake you could make, because you’re instantly rendered speechless by them. You’re kinda used to being one of the few who can see this side of him, but now that he looks this defenseless, broken even, because of you makes it worse. 

What you’re saying next isn’t out of pity. It’s out of curiosity. 

“One date. One proper date.”

A dry laugh leaves his lips. “If this conversation wasn’t awkward already, I would probably kiss you again.”

[mercrussell]

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

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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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 ─────────

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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 💔

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yn.russell has added to their stories

landonorris has replied to your story

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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

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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.

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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

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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.

[mercrussell]

the apartment we won't share | CS55

a carlos sainz x fem!doctor! reader oneshot

summary : inspired by niki's the apartment we won't share, carlos and his partner navigate through their emotions as they part ways — their minds lingering on the things they've done and could have done.

warnings : slightest bit of angst and a sprinkle of hurt

word count : 927

a/n : i actually shed a tear writing this one it hurts so bad...i have a love-hate relationship with it and i wouldn't wish this experience upon my worst enemy. it's a oneshot so, i'll leave you with that ;)

all the best, ellie.

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the last box sat untouched in the hallway, flaps open like a gaping mouth that still had room to swallow the final pieces of what used to be them.

carlos leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her kneel in front of the kitchen cabinet — the cabinet where they used to argue about where mugs should go. she was pulling out the last few plates she claimed were hers, her movements mechanical, almost too quiet, as though sound might make it real. the sound of the plates clinking as she stacked them reverberated throughout the kitchen.

he hated the silence more. it was sharp and deafening. none of them knew which would break first — them, or the plates in her hand.

“you’re taking the white ones?” he asked, voice rough as if he’d been choking it down his throat.

she paused, blinking up at him. her hazel eyes looked tired — not the tired you fix with sleep, but the kind that buries itself in your bones. “yeah,” she answered. “they were mine when we first moved.”

“right,” he nodded. “right.”

the clock ticked like it had been waiting for them to notice the seconds they were wasting. the apartment that once was filled with late-night takeout and her humming while she studied on the couch, with his racing gear tossed in corners and promises whispered between flights — felt cold now. like it had already let go of them before they had let go of each other.

it hadn’t always been this way. there was a time they used to sit cross-legged on the floor, her in his sweater, him still in socks from a flight, planning a life that now would never happen.

they had plans.

“we’ll always have dinner together. no matter what. even if it's just ramen at midnight,” she’d once insisted, and he had pinky-promised it over chinese takeout.

they had a list of countries to visit on the off-season : greece, argentina, new zealand.

they talked about a dog. about moving somewhere quieter after his career. about maybe starting a family someday, when hospital shifts didn’t break her and jet lag didn’t swallow him whole.

none of it came.

instead, there were missed calls. cold food. messages left on read at the worst times. she slept through his races. he didn’t make it back before her night shifts. they became two ghosts in the same apartment.

until the night it cracked wide open.

“you’re never here,” she said, standing in the doorway of their bedroom, arms wrapped around herself. “and when you are, you’re… not with me.”

she never begged. he always promised that it wouldn’t be necessary because he would never give her a reason for it. and yet here she was, her voice breaking in desperation.

carlos exhaled. “i’m trying, joder. you think i don’t miss you too?”

“you missed my birthday, carlos.”

he flinched. “i was stuck in japan. i told you—”

“that’s the point. there’s always something. a race, an appearance, media, flights, engineers — there’s always a reason i'm not worth showing up for. come on, carlos? not even a text? or an attempt to call?”

“that’s not fair.”

she laughed bitterly. “isn’t it? we said we’d make it work.”

“and we did,” he snapped. “for as long as we could.”

silence.

she stared at him then, really looked at him — the man she’d memorized and loved and lost, all in the same body.

“we can’t keep doing this,” she whispered. “this slow dying of something that was once beautiful.”

and the worst part?

he didn’t disagree.

so they packed.

box by box.

memory by memory.

now she taped the final one and stood, brushing her hands on her jeans.

carlos stepped forward, hesitating.

“so… this is it.”

she nodded. “yeah.”

“i don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“then don’t say anything,” she said. “not this time.”

but still, she lingered in the kitchen, her hand on the countertop they once sat at, legs tangled as they talked about cities and calendars and dreams. she looked at him, really looked.

“i hope one day we stop hurting when we think of each other,” she said.

he swallowed hard. “do you think we will?”

she didn’t answer right away.

“i don’t know. i hope so,” she finally said. “but hope is… tricky.”

then she picked up the box, carried it toward the door, and opened it slowly.

she paused, her back to him.

“i don’t hate you, carlos” she said. saying his name felt like a lump in her throat. “i never did.”

his voice came out broken. “i know.”

and with that, she stepped into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

carlos didn’t move. the apartment buzzed with silence. empty shelves. a faint outline of where their photo frame used to hang. a wine stain on the carpet from a clumsy night full of laughter.

gone.

he walked over to check the remaining things they left. his eye caught a beige envelope lying on the shelf. he assumed it was hers — it was too neatly folded to be someone else’s. it seemed as though it was okay for the letter to either be found or not.

with a sigh, he tucked the paper in his back pocket and walked over to the light switch by the door, hand trembling.

he looked around one last time.

then he turned off the lights.

and in the darkness, all that remained were the echoes of everything they didn’t become.

[mercrussell]

My Woman

Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: You're a Williams race engineer constantly battling sexist journalists. When Carlos finally intervenes, his declaration leaves you breathless: "I'm not defending you because you're a woman—I'm doing it because you're my woman."

Requested: yes by @totheluna

Warning: first-ever Carlos fanfic

The Monaco sun cast long golden shadows across the Williams paddock as the afternoon began to fade into evening. The Mediterranean breeze carried the intoxicating scent of sea salt and expensive cologne, mingling with the sharp tang of racing fuel and hot tarmac. You stood near the hospitality area, your Williams polo clinging to your curves in the humid air, tendrils of hair escaping your ponytail to frame your face as you finished your interview with Sky Sports.

The adrenaline from discussing tire strategies and aerodynamic updates still thrummed through your veins when their voices cut through the ambient noise like a blade.

"I still don't understand why Williams hired her," one of the older journalists was saying to his colleague, his voice dripping with condescension as he gestured in your direction with his coffee cup. "There are plenty of qualified men who could do that job better. Pretty little thing like that? She's probably only here because she's warming Sainz's bed."

Heat flooded your cheeks, a mixture of humiliation and rage coursing through your body. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, manicured nails digging crescents into your palms. You'd sacrificed everything to get here - countless sleepless nights poring over computational fluid dynamics, years of proving yourself in junior categories while fighting twice as hard for half the recognition.

"Ignore them, cariño," came a voice like warm honey and smoke behind you.

You turned to find Carlos approaching, and your breath caught in your throat the way it always did. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, all lean muscle and controlled power beneath his fitted Williams shirt. The fabric stretched deliciously across his broad shoulders, and his dark hair was perfectly tousled from removing his cap. But it was his eyes that undid you - those deep brown pools that seemed to see straight into your soul, now burning with barely contained fury as he'd clearly overheard the conversation.

"Carlos, don't," you said, stepping back as he reached for you, your voice trembling with emotion. "I don't need you to defend me because I'm a woman. I can handle myself."

He froze, his hand suspended in the air between you, and something dangerous flickered across his features. The setting sun caught the sharp line of his jaw, casting shadows that made him look almost ethereal yet utterly masculine. When he spoke, his voice was low, gravelly, with that thick Spanish accent that never failed to send shivers down your spine.

"I'm not defending you because you're a woman," he said, each word deliberate and heavy with meaning. He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his intoxicating cologne - something woody and expensive that made your head spin. "I'm doing it because you're my woman."

The possessiveness in his tone made your knees weak. His large, calloused hands - hands that could control a Formula 1 car at 300 kilometers per hour - came up to cradle your face with infinite gentleness. Despite your earlier protests, you felt yourself melting into his touch as his thumbs traced the gorgeous curve of your cheekbones.

"Do you understand the difference, mi vida?" he whispered, his face so close that you could feel his warm breath fanning across your lips. Your heart raced faster than any engine as his intense gaze searched yours. "Sí, I would defend any woman from those ignorant bastards. But you? Dios mío, you are everything to me."

As he continued, his voice dropped to that husky register that made heat pool low in your belly, causing your lips to part slightly and a soft gasp to escape.

"You're mine to protect, mine to stand beside, mine to worship every single day," he murmured, one hand sliding down to rest at the base of your throat, feeling your rapid pulse beneath his fingertips. "Not because you need it, hermosa, but because I need to do it. Because when someone disrespects the woman I love, they disrespect my entire world."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes - not from sadness, but from the overwhelming emotion coursing through you. The paddock around you seemed to blur and fade, leaving only Carlos and the magnetic pull between your bodies.

"I see how brilliant you are," he continued, his forehead coming to rest against yours, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. "I watch you work magic with those computers, turning data into speed, making our car fly when everyone said it was impossible. I see how other engineers come to you for advice, how they respect your mind, your talent."

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against his firm chest, and you could feel his heart beating as rapidly as your own.

"Those men see nothing. They know nothing," he said, his voice fierce with conviction. "But I know you, cariño. I know how you taste like coffee and determination in the morning. I know how you curl into me at night, trusting me with your dreams and fears. I know the little sound you make when you finally solve a problem that's been plaguing you for days."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, his touch reverent.

"So yes, I will defend you," he whispered, his lips barely brushing yours as he spoke. "Not because you cannot defend yourself - eres la mujer más fuerte que conozco - but because you are the love of my life, and I would burn this entire paddock down before I let anyone make you doubt your worth."

The tender moment was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. The same journalist who had made the crude comments was walking past with his colleague, their voices carrying in the evening air as they continued their disparaging conversation.

"—honestly don't know what Williams was thinking, hiring her when there are so many qualified—"

Something snapped in Carlos. His entire body went rigid against yours, the gentle hands that had been cradling your face now trembling with barely restrained fury. You felt the shift in him immediately - from tender lover to protective predator in the span of a heartbeat.

"Oye, hijo de puta," Carlos called out sharply, his voice cutting through the evening air like a blade. The journalist stopped mid-sentence, turning with a startled expression as Carlos stepped away from you, his movements predatory and dangerous. "You have something to say about my girlfriend? Let's hear it to my face instead of whispering like a coward."

"Carlos, don't—" you started, but he was already moving forward, his hands clenched into fists.

The journalist's face went pale as he realized he'd been caught, but Carlos was beyond caring about diplomacy. "You think she doesn't belong here? That she's just some decoración pretty enough to warm my bed?" His Spanish accent thickened with rage, each word dripping with venom. "She has more talent and intelligence in her little finger than you'll ever have in your pathetic existence, and if you ever dare to disrespect her again—"

"Carlos, para!" you said urgently, rushing forward to grab his arm before he could close the distance. You could feel the coiled tension in his muscles, see the fury blazing in those beautiful brown eyes that had been so tender moments before. This was about to become very public, very quickly, and the last thing either of you needed was headlines about Carlos Sainz getting into a physical altercation. "Mi amor, he's not worth it. Please."

Carlos looked down at you, his chest heaving with barely controlled anger. For a terrifying moment, you thought he might ignore your plea, but then his gaze found yours, and you saw the internal struggle playing across his features.

The journalist, sensing an opportunity to escape, hurried away with his colleague, but Carlos's eyes never left yours. Slowly, you felt some of the tension leave his body as your touch grounded him.

"Breathe, cariño," you whispered softly, your hands smoothing over his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your palms. "I'm okay. We're okay."

"Te amo," he murmured against your lips, switching to his native tongue in his passion. "Every brilliant, fierce, beautiful part of you. And anyone who tries to diminish you will have to go through me first."

The kiss that followed was soft yet claiming, tender yet passionate. His lips moved against yours with practiced familiarity, yet every kiss still felt like the first. When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes were dark with desire and love.

"I love you, too," you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that would tickle your skin later when he kissed your neck. "And I love being your woman."

His smile was radiant, transforming his entire face and making your heart skip. "Bueno," he murmured, pressing soft kisses along your jawline. "Because I'm never letting you go, mi amor. Nunca."

From across the paddock, you noticed the journalists watching your intimate moment, their expressions shifting from smug dismissal to uncomfortable recognition of their mistake. But you barely cared anymore. Let them watch. Let them see how Carlos Sainz Jr. looked at his woman with reverence, desire, and unshakeable love.

Carlos noticed your gaze and turned, his arm sliding possessively around your waist as he guided you toward the Williams garage. The movement was fluid, protective, his body shielding you from prying eyes while his hand rested intimately on the curve of your hip.

"Vamos, princesa," he murmured into your ear, his breath sending delicious shivers down your spine. "Let's show them what magic my brilliant woman can work to make our car dominate tomorrow."

As you walked together through the paddock, the setting sun painting everything in shades of gold and amber, you marveled at how perfectly you fit together. His tall frame beside yours, the way your bodies moved in sync, the protective curve of his arm around you - it all felt like destiny.

"Carlos?" you said softly as you reached the garage, where mechanics were still fine-tuning his car under the bright lights.

"Sí, mi vida?"

You turned in his arms, looking up into those beautiful brown eyes, holding your future. "Win tomorrow. For us. For this."

His grin was wicked and confident, full of the cocky charm that had first caught your attention years ago. He cupped your face once more, thumb brushing across your lower lip in a gesture so intimate it made your breath catch.

"Siempre, cariño," he promised, his voice thick with love and determination. "I'll win every race for the rest of my life if it means coming home to you. Eres mi todo."

The promise hung between you in the warm Monaco air, as eternal and unbreakable as the love burning in his eyes.

[mercrussell]

silly bearnelli graphics inspired by motogp ones

[mercrussell]

oh gosh this makes sense now

the mercs had a shit quali because they touched toto's seat when no one was supposed to

[mercrussell]

lost p5 streak

lost q3 streak

lost points streak

this season is definitely over for us 63 nation 😭😭

[mercrussell]

mercedes amg petronas formula team, you guys should be ashamed of yourself

[mercrussell]

experience Mercedes amg petronas f1 team

[mercrussell]

KIMIIIIIIIIII

[mercrussell]

George races without underwear… this boy is winning races pussy free to the world… what a time we live in

[mercrussell]

call me crazy but what if albon gets his podium this week! because i can smell it from george flying commando 🤥🤥

[mercrussell]

we are so SLOWcedes 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[mercrussell]

half-heartedly manifesting rn

[mercrussell]

George Russell is pregnant with Max Verstappen's baby, apparently.