swiftiethatlovesf1

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto's obsession p.13

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this part and if you've missed part 12 or if you want to read it from the beginning here's my masterlist :)

The hum of activity was already high at the paddock, teams moving in and out of garages, media crews adjusting lights, engineers checking data. You sat outside the hospitality unit, cradling a warm cup of coffee between your hands, watching the bustle with a small, content smile. The sun was still low, casting a soft golden hue over everything, and you were simply waiting for Toto to finish his early morning meeting with the engineers.

It was a rare, quiet moment. Your phone buzzed softly on the table with a reminder about an afternoon briefing, but you ignored it for now. You were content just breathing in the moment — the calm before the storm.

“Hey!” A familiar voice called out behind you, startling you slightly.

You turned, coffee in hand, to see George walking toward you. He wore his usual team gear, sunglasses perched on his head, and his hand interlocked with Carmen’s as she strolled beside him. You smiled, happy to see them — until your gaze shifted past them and froze.

Lucas.

Your breath caught in your throat.

There he was, again, standing just behind George and Carmen, wearing a pass around his neck, looking both out of place and oddly confident. You blinked once, then again, thinking maybe your eyes were deceiving you.

“Lucas?” you asked, your voice lifting slightly in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

George chuckled, casual and breezy. “Yeah, about that… I invited him. We were catching up again the other day, and I thought it’d be fun to show him our world a little. You know, give him a proper feel of what we do.”

You were still staring at Lucas, stunned but trying to remain polite. “Right… and now you’re here.”

Lucas smiled, shrugging lightly. “Didn’t expect to get the golden ticket, but I guess I have connections now.”

You laughed awkwardly, your mind trying to catch up with the situation. George gave you a pointed look, as if encouraging you to play along.

“I was actually wondering,” George continued, scratching the back of his neck, “if you could show him around a bit? I’ve got a strategy meeting and Carmen’s tagging along to hospitality — he’d be bored otherwise.”

You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder toward the building where Toto was. A small part of you worried he wouldn’t love the idea, but he’d be in meetings all morning anyway, and besides… Lucas was harmless. Right?

“Yeah, sure,” you finally said, trying to sound upbeat. “I can give you the newbie tour.”

“Appreciate it,” Lucas grinned, falling into step beside you as George and Carmen wandered off toward the Mercedes motorhome. “I feel like I’m in a movie already.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Don’t get too excited yet. It’s mostly sweaty garages and loud radios.”

Still, as the two of you began your walk, weaving through team setups and waving at familiar faces, you had to admit — it was fun. Lucas was wide-eyed and enthusiastic about everything, asking questions like a kid in a candy store. You showed him the pit wall setups, the media zones, even the garage from a safe distance.

At one point, he leaned closer and whispered, “Is it weird being around all this all the time?”

You smiled. “Not anymore. At first it felt surreal — especially the first races. But after a while, it becomes your world.”

He nodded slowly, like he was genuinely listening. “I remember when you used to talk about big dreams. I guess this is what you meant.”

You chuckled, leading him toward the hospitality lounge. “Honestly, I had no idea this would be my life. It just… happened.”

“And Toto?” he asked, his tone suddenly quieter.

You paused. “What about him?”

“Do you ever stop and wonder how you got from... us, to him?”

You turned to face him, unsure how to answer that without sounding cruel or overly sentimental. “I think… people change. Life leads us where we’re supposed to go, you know?”

Lucas nodded slowly, but his eyes lingered on you a bit too long. You quickly looked away, hoping he didn’t see the flicker of doubt that sometimes crossed your mind in moments like this — the question of what if.

But this wasn’t the time for that. You were engaged. You loved Toto. This was your present — and your future.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Lucas said eventually, breaking the silence. “Even if I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

You smiled again, warmer this time. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Just as you rounded the corner back toward the main Mercedes building, you spotted Toto exiting through the glass doors, looking sharp and focused as always. His eyes scanned the paddock — and landed right on you.

His expression froze for half a second when he saw Lucas walking beside you.

You quickly raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, you’re out early.”

Toto walked over, placing a hand gently on the small of your back. “Meeting finished quicker than expected,” he said, eyeing Lucas briefly before leaning in to kiss your temple. “I see we have a guest.”

“Lucas,” you said quickly, “George invited him, and I’ve just been giving him the tour.”

Toto’s lips curved into a polite smile, though his hand subtly tightened around your waist. “Welcome,” he said evenly. “I hope you’re enjoying the behind-the-scenes.”

Lucas nodded. “It’s been… eye-opening.”

You could feel the tension rising between them, though neither said anything out of place. You knew that tone in Toto’s voice — carefully measured, watching, assessing.

“Alright,” you said quickly, trying to defuse whatever unspoken energy was sparking between them, “maybe it’s time for coffee break part two.”

Lucas smiled, seemingly unaware. “Only if I’m invited.”

Toto glanced down at you. “Only if she wants to spend more time with you.”

You laughed lightly. “It’s fine. Come on, Lucas.”

As you walked off, you could feel Toto’s eyes lingering on you and Lucas — watching every step. He didn’t say anything, but you could almost hear the thoughts forming behind his silence.

And what you didn’t see — as Lucas smiled politely and followed you — was the subtle way he looked back at Toto.

Like a challenge. One that had only just begun.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.32

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy this part. If you've missed part 31 or the other parts you can find them on my masterlist :)

Formula 1 is all about speed, but in this story, the real race isn't just on the track. Read on to find out who will win the ultimate race for your heart

The ride through the streets of Monaco felt like a dream. The city lights blurred past as you held onto Franco, the hum of the engine beneath you and the warm night air against your skin. The scent of the sea mixed with the faint aroma of Franco's cologne, making everything feel even more surreal. Every turn, every stretch of road, he took effortlessly, his body moving in sync with the bike. You leaned into him slightly, feeling the security of his presence.

After a while, Franco slowed down, pulling into a small street lined with little shops and restaurants. He parked the bike and turned to you, flipping up his visor with a smirk. "Wait here, preciosa. I'll be right back."

You watched as he disappeared into one of the restaurants, the warm lights from inside casting a glow on his figure before the door shut behind him. A few minutes later, he emerged with a bag in his hand, the delicious smell of fresh food instantly hitting your senses.

"You're really keeping me on my toes tonight," you teased as he handed you a helmet again.

Franco grinned. "That's the plan."

Once again, you hopped onto the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he started the engine. The streets were quieter now, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance filling the air as you rode toward your next destination.

When Franco finally stopped the bike, you looked around and saw that you were by the port. The docks stretched out in front of you, luxury yachts and smaller boats swaying gently in the water. The moon reflected beautifully on the surface, making everything look magical.

"This is our next stop?" you asked curiously, swinging your leg off the bike.

Franco smiled as he took your hand. "Sí. Come on, I still have more surprises for you."

He led you toward one of the smaller boats, and before you could process what was happening, he gently placed his hands over your eyes. "No peeking," he murmured, guiding you forward carefully.

You laughed but let him lead you, your heart racing with excitement. After a few steps, he stopped. "Okay... open them."

You blinked as your eyes adjusted, and your breath caught in your throat.

The little boat in front of you was decorated with fairy lights, casting a warm glow on the deck. There were candles placed around carefully, their flames flickering in the light breeze. At the center, a small table was set up, complete with dinnerware, wine glasses, and a bouquet of flowers.

"Franco..." you turned to him, eyes wide with awe.

He watched you, a pleased expression on his face. "I know we could've gone to some fancy restaurant, but I wanted to do something more special. Just us, no one else."

You felt warmth spread through your chest. "I love it. This is perfect. Thank you."

Franco smirked before leaning in to whisper, "Eres lo mejor que me ha pasado, tenía que hacer algo a tu altura." 

(You are the best thing that has happened to me, I had to do something worthy of you.)

Your heart melted at his words as he reached for your hand, helping you onto the boat. The gentle sway of the water made everything feel even more intimate. You settled into the cosy space he had created, still in awe of how thoughtful he was.

Looking at him, you reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "I love you."

A soft smile spread across his face as he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Te amo, mi amor."

(I love you, my love)

You sighed happily, knowing that this was going to be a night to remember.

"I still can't believe you did all this," you said, taking a sip of wine as you gazed at him.

Franco smirked, leaning back in his chair with that knowing look. "You should expect nothing less, mi amor. You deserve the best."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart fluttered at his words. As you both ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly—teasing, reminiscing about the past months apart, and slipping in quiet, knowing glances that held promises for later.

At some point, Franco reached over, running his fingers along your wrist before intertwining them with yours. "You really have no idea how much I missed you, do you?"

A soft heat crept up your neck. "I think I have a clue."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to that husky tone he always used when he was up to something. "Oh, yeah? Because I don't think you do."

You bit your lip, meeting his gaze. "Then maybe you should show me."

Franco didn't need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he stood, tugging you up with him, pulling you flush against his chest. The warm Monaco air did nothing to cool the sudden fire igniting between you.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmured against your lips, his hands resting on your hips, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver.

"I think it's mutual," you whispered, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt before sliding down his chest.

His lips brushed against yours, barely there, teasing. "You sure you can handle that?"

You responded by pulling him down fully into a kiss—slow at first, deepening with every second. His hands roamed, slipping under the fabric of your top, fingertips tracing along your spine, making you press even closer. The boat rocked gently beneath you, the waves lapping against the dock in rhythm with the pulse thrumming between you both.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was uneven, his eyes dark. "Dinner was great, but this? This is better."

You laughed softly, your forehead resting against his. "I knew you had ulterior motives."

His lips ghosted over your jaw, trailing down your neck, leaving a path of heat. "You love it."

You did. You really did.

The rest of the night stretched ahead, full of possibilities, and you had no doubt Franco intended to make the most of every second.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Welcome home

Hii guys, I hope you enjoy this story based on the recent news about Max, btw I had a feeling it was going to be a girl, he is such a girl dad :) Here's my Max masterist and my main one if you want to read more

The soft glow of the living room lamp cast gentle shadows on the walls as you sat curled up on the sofa, a thick blanket wrapped around you and your daughter nestled into your side. Her small head rested against your chest, warm and relaxed, as you read from the pages of her favorite picture book — something about animals wearing pajamas and going to bed late, ironically matching your current situation.

Your voice was calm but slow, your eyelids growing heavier with each sentence. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t fall asleep, not before Max came home. He’d texted just a little while ago—“Landing now. Can’t wait to see you both.”

You gently yawned and blinked a few times, tightening your hold around your daughter as you turned the page.

Then, you heard it.

The jingle of keys on the other side of the front door. A pause. A click.

Your daughter’s head shot up, eyes sparkling with recognition. “Daddy!” she squealed before scrambling out of your arms and racing toward the door just as it swung open.

Max barely had time to take a step inside before she leapt into his arms, giggling with pure joy. He caught her effortlessly, laughing as he lifted her high. His racing bag fell to the floor unnoticed.

“Hey, liefje,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek and holding her tight. His eyes then lifted and found yours across the room—and softened. “Hey, mama.”

You got up slowly, walking over to them, and he leaned in to kiss you—slow and tender, a kiss that said everything he didn’t have words for in that moment. “I missed you so much,” he whispered.

“I missed you more,” you said, your smile sleepy but real.

Before either of you could say more, your daughter launched into an excited ramble about her day at school—something about a glittery art project and how she and her friend made a rocket ship out of cardboard. Max listened intently, nodding, still holding her as if she weighed nothing.

He carried her down the hallway as she kept talking, her voice growing softer as sleep began to catch up with her. You followed them to the doorway of her room, leaning quietly against the frame as Max tucked her in, brushing hair from her face.

“Love you, daddy,” she mumbled, eyes already closed.

“I love you more, always,” Max whispered, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before standing up and walking with you toward the bedroom.

Once the door was closed behind you both, he exhaled deeply and dropped onto the edge of the bed. “God, I needed this.”

You sat beside him, reaching to touch his face, your fingers running through his messy travel-worn hair. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.” He turned toward you, his hands finding your waist as you leaned into him. “But I’ve been counting the minutes to get back to you.”

You smiled softly, brushing your lips against his again. “I hate being apart.”

“I hate it more,” he said against your skin, his mouth trailing gentle kisses along your neck. “But I’m here now.”

You let him pull you into him completely, warmth returning to your body just from the feel of him—his familiar scent, the scratch of stubble against your cheek, the way his hands knew exactly where to hold you.

And as the night stretched out before you, long after your daughter’s whispers had faded into sleep, you let yourselves forget the world outside. Just the two of you again, making up for lost time.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Unspoken Melody p.21

Hi guys, here's a new part of the story, if you've missed part 20 here it is :) If you want to read more of my stories, here's my masterlist.

Two drivers, one unforgettable concert, and a chance encounter with a pop sensation that leaves Oscar questioning everything he thought about music—and maybe even himself.

The dressing room was buzzing around you—makeup brushes swishing, zippers being tugged, the low hum of a hairdryer in the background. You sat calmly in the chair as your hairstylist curled the last section of your hair, the scent of product lingering in the air. On your lap, your phone buzzed again, lighting up with yet another message from Oscar.

Oscar 🧡: Is it too late to pretend I have the flu? Asking for a friend.

You chuckled softly, trying not to move as your stylist pinned a curl into place.

You: Yes, tell your “friend” that fake boyfriends don’t get to bail on album parties.

He replied immediately.

Oscar 🧡: Even if said fake boyfriend looks like a lost accountant in a club?

You grinned and opened the image he’d sent—two blurry mirror selfies. In one, he wore a navy blue button-up that was slightly too big, and in the other… a paisley shirt that looked like something your dad might’ve worn on holiday in 2004.

You laughed—loud enough that your stylist paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, waving your phone. “Oscar.”

She gave you a knowing smirk and kept curling.

You: Okay, what are these choices? Are you going to my album launch or to an awkward cousin’s wedding?

Oscar 🧡: Harsh. I’m sensing judgment.

You: I am judging. Try the black suit. White shirt, no tie. Trust me.

There was a pause, then:

Oscar 🧡: …Fine. But only because you’re bossy.

You: And because I have taste.

He sent another message right after.

Oscar 🧡: What are you wearing then, Miss Taste? I need to know if I’ll look like your weird cousin or your date.

You looked up into the mirror, catching your own eye as your stylist moved behind you with hairspray. Your robe slipped slightly off your shoulder, and you smirked at your reflection.

You: Right now? A robe and fuzzy socks. So you’re winning in the fashion department, temporarily.

Oscar 🧡: That’s a terrifying sentence.

You: For the party, though, I’ve got this gorgeous black designer dress. Very dramatic. Very main character energy.

Oscar 🧡: I wouldn’t expect anything less from a pop star I’m contractually fake dating.

You laughed again, softer this time, and looked down at the screen like it had just whispered a secret. The last few days had been a blur of media noise, fake planning, and an accidental closeness you hadn’t expected. What had started as sarcastic commentary turned into nightly conversations, jokes, shared memories, weird inside references you never imagined making with him. And now it felt weird to go an hour without texting him.

Before you could reply, a knock came at the door and one of your team members popped their head in.

“Hey, we need you in five for the Vogue behind-the-scenes shoot.”

You sighed, sending one last message before putting your phone down.

You: They’re dragging me to film something. See you there, fake date. Try not to trip over your own charm.

Oscar 🧡: No promises.

You shook your head fondly and stood as your stylist gave your hair one final spritz. The robe would soon be swapped for silk and heels, the quiet for cameras and flashing lights. But part of you already knew the best part of tonight wouldn’t be the dress or the music or even the celebration of your own album.

It’d be the look on Oscar’s face when he saw you. The look he wouldn’t quite be able to hide, even if you both kept pretending like none of this meant anything.

And maybe, just maybe, that’d be your favorite part of all.

Filming for Vogue had taken longer than expected—first the glam shots, then the sit-down interview where you were asked carefully worded questions about the inspiration behind your album and what fans could expect from tonight’s party. You gave your practiced answers, smiled at the camera, and played the role of pop star perfectly.

But now, you were done. Fully dressed, hair set, makeup flawless, nerves buzzing.

You stepped back into the hallway of the studio, your black designer dress hugging you in all the right places, heels clicking softly on the floor as you found your manager by the exit.

“Is the car here?” you asked, brushing a curl behind your ear. “I kind of want to get this over with before my hair becomes a mess again.”

Your manager gave you a mysterious little smile. “Got you a special driver tonight.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Special?”

Before she could answer, the familiar low hum of an engine echoed from the drive. You turned your head just as a sleek McLaren pulled up in front of the studio doors—recognizable even in the dim evening light.

Your mouth fell open slightly.

Oscar.

The passenger window rolled down and there he was, looking annoyingly perfect in his black suit and white shirt—no tie, just like you told him. His curls were slightly messier than usual, probably from rushing, but it somehow worked in his favor. Of course it did.

“Well, well, well,” you said, stepping forward with a smirk. “If it isn’t my favorite driver. At this rate, Oscar, you’re not just in F1—you’re also turning into my private chauffeur.”

Oscar leaned across the console, smug but friendly. “Then I better work on my skills,” he said smoothly. “Because if I remember correctly… you gave me four out of five stars last time.”

You actually laughed at that—eyes wide, impressed. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

He grinned, stepping out of the car. “It haunts me, actually. Still not sure if it was the playlist or the speed limit violations.”

“It was definitely the playlist.”

Oscar chuckled and opened the passenger door for you with an exaggerated bow. “M’lady.”

You turned to your manager, shaking your head fondly. “You’re unbelievable.”

She just smiled and waved. “You two have fun. Remember: cameras start rolling the second you step out at the venue.”

You gave her a mock salute, then turned to Oscar with a smirk. “Alright. Let’s see if you can earn that fifth star tonight.”

He leaned closer, his voice lower, playful. “Only if you promise not to subtract points for me staring too long.”

You blinked—caught slightly off guard—but recovered fast, slipping into the passenger seat with a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Depends,” you murmured. “Staring’s only a problem if it’s not mutual.”

Oscar shut the door gently behind you and walked around to the driver’s side.

Yeah… maybe this fake date was about to get a little more complicated.

@justaf1girl, @bm571158, @raweceekk

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Why You So Obsessed with Me? p4

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Carlos x reader based on the song: Obsessed– Mariah Carey, if you haven't read part 3 here it is:)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You weren’t sure when it started to change.

Maybe it was when you found the umbrella waiting outside your door on the day it poured and you’d forgotten yours. No note. No message. Just something warm, dry, and neatly leaned against your frame like someone knew.

Or when you’d come home from work with a pounding headache, collapsed onto the couch, and found chamomile tea bags already restocked in your kitchen — even though you knew you’d run out a week ago.

Or maybe it was that night when you couldn’t sleep. You sat on the windowsill with your knees to your chest, just watching the city. At some point, you glanced down… and there he was. Leaning against his car. Looking up. He didn’t wave. Didn’t move. Just stood there, like he was guarding you.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel creepy.

It felt safe.

So yeah, maybe you’d been wrong.

Not about everything. But maybe about him.

You’d started replying to his texts. Not with much — a dry “okay” here, a slightly flirty “sure” there — but it was enough to feed the fire in his eyes the next time he saw you.

You’d started calling him Carlos, not Sainz. Started lingering when he was around. Laughing when he made dumb jokes. Letting him place his hand on your lower back when you crossed the street like it was nothing.

He still hadn’t pushed. And that was the most surprising part.

He waited.

Even though it was obvious he wanted more — more of you, more of your time, more of your skin — he stood still, watching, waiting for you to choose him.

And then, one Friday evening, after he dropped you off from a completely unnecessary ride (your Uber was literally three minutes away, but he insisted), he turned to you and asked.

“Can I take you out?” His voice was softer than usual. Less smug. More... sincere.

You blinked, taken aback, lips parted.

“Like... a date?”

Carlos nodded slowly, eyes scanning your face like he was bracing for rejection. “Yeah. A real one.”

You should’ve said no. Old you would have.

But the new you — the you that had caught herself smiling when she saw his name pop up, that didn’t flinch when his voice dropped low near your ear, that sometimes stood by her window hoping to see him below — she wanted to say yes.

So you did.

“…Okay.”

Carlos froze. Like you’d just short-circuited his brain. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile so boyish it made your chest ache.

“Okay,” he repeated, eyes shining. “You won’t regret it.”

The next day, you told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

Just a date. Just dinner. Just Carlos.

But then you found yourself picking out the red lipstick he always seemed to linger on when you wore it. The earrings you’d caught him staring at. The perfume that had once made him murmur “you smell dangerous” with a smirk.

It wasn’t just a date anymore.

It was the beginning of something else.

Something thrilling. Something terrifying.

Something you were no longer entirely sure you wanted to escape.

CARLOS' POV

He hadn’t planned to ask you that night.

In fact, Carlos had already decided he’d wait another week. Or two. Or until you gave him any clearer sign that you were starting to see him — not as the guy who appeared out of shadows, not as the one who always seemed one step too close, but as a man who could be yours. Fully. Obsessively. Quietly loyal and stupidly in love.

But then you looked at him like that. With that lip gloss he knew wasn’t there earlier in the day. With your hair tucked behind your ear the way he liked. With a softness in your expression that hadn’t been there before.

And something in him snapped.

"Can I take you out?" he asked. And he meant out — not to another hidden corner of the city where he could pretend to bump into you, not following behind you like some forgotten shadow, but truly, properly take you out. Show you he could do this right. Like normal people do. (Well, as normal as he could be, anyway.)

The pause felt like it lasted a lifetime. Your lips parted. Your lashes fluttered. And then: “…Okay.”

Carlos blinked. His brain stuttered. Did you just— Did you actually—

He wanted to grab your face and kiss you right there. He wanted to pick you up and spin you around and claim you like he’d been waiting to for months.

But instead, he kept it together. Barely. A smile pulled at his mouth. “You won’t regret it.”

Because you wouldn’t. He’d make damn sure of that.

Later that night, when he was back in his apartment, he lay on his bed with your text confirming the time for tomorrow open on his phone. He stared at it for a long while.

And smiled.

He’d waited. He’d played nice. He’d let you think you had control.

And maybe you did, a little. Maybe he wanted you to.

But deep down, he knew what had changed things. It wasn’t just the car battery “accidentally” dying. Or the guy at your party who’d made you uncomfortable — the same guy who, yes, Carlos had paid to provoke you just enough for him to swoop in like the perfect hero.

No, it was all of it. The long game. The gifts without names. The quiet devotion. The thousand little ways he made your life better without ever asking for credit.

Carlos wasn’t just obsessed.

He was strategic.

And now, after all this time, the door had opened — just a crack.

Enough for him to slip in.

You’d said yes. You’d let him in your home. You’d laughed at his joke. You’d touched his arm without flinching.

You were warming up. Falling, maybe. Not quite his yet…

But soon. Very, very soon.

@sumbellling, @hhhs7, @omgsuperstarg

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.31

Hii guyss, if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist and if you missed part 30, here it is.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

The soft sound of the sea hummed behind you as Charles held you tightly in his arms, his warmth anchoring you in this surreal, perfect moment. You hadn’t even realized the tears streaming down your cheeks until his thumb gently brushed them away.

“You’re crying,” he said with a soft smile, his voice barely above a whisper, lips brushing your forehead.

You laughed lightly through your tears, overwhelmed. “Of course I’m crying, you just proposed!”

He chuckled, still holding you close. “You said yes.”

“I said yes,” you repeated, as if you still couldn’t believe it. The ring on your finger sparkled under the moonlight, a delicate promise of a future you thought you might have lost forever. “I’m going to marry you.”

“You are,” he said, and you saw the emotion swimming in his eyes, glassy with unspoken memories, pain, and above all—love. So much love it almost knocked the breath from your lungs. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your temple, then finally your lips. It wasn’t rushed or passionate, but soft and reverent. A kiss that said: I’m here. We made it.

When he pulled away, you blinked up at him, heart full. But he wasn’t finished.

“I have one more surprise,” he whispered, lacing his fingers with yours. “Come with me.”

Still stunned, you followed him, stepping back into the warm lights of the restaurant. The terrace, now empty save for the soft flickering candles and fairy lights, opened into the main hall. As the door creaked open and you stepped in, you expected silence. But instead

“Surprise!”

Gasps left your lips as you stared ahead, your eyes wide. The restaurant, which had seemed empty before, now sparkled with life. Your family, your dearest friends, people who had held you up during your recovery, who had been there for both you and Charles—every single one of them stood smiling, some teary-eyed, waiting for you.

Your parents rushed to you first, pulling you into a tight hug. “Mi amor, we’re so happy for you,” your mother whispered, voice trembling with emotion. Your father placed a hand on Charles’ shoulder, squeezing gently, a silent thank-you that said everything.

Pierre and Kika came next, Kika screaming dramatically before throwing her arms around you. “About time!” she said between kisses on your cheek. “I’ve been waiting for this proposal forever!”

Pierre smirked at Charles. “You did well, mate. Very well.”

“I had help,” Charles said with a small laugh, nodding toward his family.

Lorenzo and Charlotte were there, Charlotte already talking about wedding dresses while Lorenzo asked if he could be part of the bachelor party. Pascale hugged you tightly, whispering how much she loved you and how she always knew it would be you.

And then, as the crowd parted slightly, you saw him.

Arthur.

Your breath caught. He stood awkwardly a few steps away, his hands fidgeting at his sides, but his eyes—those soft, stormy blue eyes—were full of something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Peace.

He approached slowly, and you watched as he looked at Charles, then at you.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, his voice calm but raw. “Thank you for letting me be here. And... thank you, Charles, for inviting me.”

Charles gave him a small nod, still tense, but you saw the hint of brotherly understanding there.

Arthur turned to you then, eyes glistening. “I know I don’t deserve to be part of this. I know what I did… It’ll take a long time to forgive myself. But I want to try. And I hope this… this is the beginning of a new chapter. One where I’m not the one hurting you, but the one who’s trying to make things right. I just want to be in your life. If you’ll let me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. “I’m happy you’re here, Arthur,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m happy my best friend is back.”

He clung to you, trembling slightly. And for a moment, the weight of the past melted into something softer—something like healing.

Then music began to play—a soft, melodic tune that echoed across the hall. You turned to see Charles with his hand outstretched, a soft smile on his lips.

“May I have this dance, fiancée?”

You laughed, heart light, and nodded. “Always.”

He pulled you into his arms as the soft melody swirled around you. The crowd faded away, the past dulled, the trauma dissolved under the tenderness of the moment. It was just you and him—dancing under fairy lights, beside the sea, beneath the moon.

Your head rested on his shoulder as he whispered, “This is just the beginning, mon amour. I want to give you everything. The life you deserve. A home. A family. Joy. Peace.”

“You already do,” you murmured. “Just by being with me.”

He leaned back to look at you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You saved me,” he said. “That night, you saved me. And every day since, you’ve shown me what love is. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled, tears shining in your eyes again—but this time, they were happy. “Well, luckily, you don’t have to find out.”

He chuckled and twirled you, bringing you back close with a kiss pressed to your forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and as the music played and your friends clapped in the background, you knew—with absolute certainty—that this was your forever.

And it was only just beginning.

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12, @boherahpsody, @urfavouritef1girly, @meglouise00, @charlesgirl16, @a-beaverhausen, @lol6sposts, @linnygirl09, @weekendlusting, @ladyoflynx

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Hi I love you’re storys, could you write something when you and Lando get too meet the newest addition of the family another girl you and Lando had an bet if it’s going to be an girl again you thought that maybe you would get an brother you have been wrong and you would have very much liked too swipe Landos grin of his face once you found out instead you said to him that he soon will have three little girls running after him and that when the time comes you won’t save him at this his smile faltered. Between races and live it took you a few weeks to make the trip but you think it was good that way so that everyone especially the little one had time to adjust. When you arrive you’re sister just woke up and once she’s placed in you’re arms you look at big curios blue eyes and little fist and feet which still have to get used to having so much room from just looking at her and what Gigi and you’re dad tell you you can just tell that she’s going to be a ball of energy just like her big half sisters but when Lando holds her with the biggest grin laughing when she wraps her little hand around his fingers you can only make a joke if it would have been a boy you wouldn’t have to share you’re boyfriends heart with another girl but deep down you know that you will have a lot to laugh about with these little girl.💕

The moment you opened the front door, the familiar smell of home wrapped around you like a warm hug—coffee, wood polish, and something vaguely sweet, probably whatever Gigi had baked that morning. The house felt fuller than usual, though. Softer somehow. And you knew exactly why.

Lando tugged off his jacket beside you, brushing his hand along your back as he looked around, a teasing grin already tugging at his lips.

“Ready to admit I won the bet yet?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Barely through the door and already gloating?”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I told you it was going to be a girl.”

You groaned, dropping your bag to the floor. “I was holding out hope for a brother. A little balance, you know?”

“Face it, babe,” Lando said, leaning close, that grin still intact. “You were very wrong.”

“I swear,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m going to swipe that smug smile off your face.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t—not when the sound of tiny feet came padding around the corner and Khai and Lea came barreling toward you, squealing your names like they hadn’t seen you in years instead of just a few weeks.

The chaos of hugs and giggles distracted you for a minute—until Gigi’s soft voice called from the stairs. “She just woke up. You two ready to meet her?”

You looked at Lando. He nodded, excitement clear in his eyes.

Your sister was swaddled in soft pink, her fuzzy little head peeking out from the blanket as Gigi passed her into your arms. She felt impossibly small, like one wrong breath might wake her—but her big, curious blue eyes were wide open, blinking up at you with quiet wonder.

Her tiny fists wriggled, and her feet stretched, like she hadn’t quite gotten used to all the space she had now, after nine months curled up tight.

“She’s got some lungs,” Gigi said with a smile, brushing a soft hand down your sister’s back. “And a grip like a vice already. Just like Lea.”

“She’s going to be a firecracker,” your dad added from behind you, coffee in hand. “You can just tell.”

You looked down at her, really looked, and smiled.

“You’re going to make so much trouble,” you whispered to her. “I can already feel it.”

Then you looked up—because Lando was standing nearby, his face lit with a kind of joy that made your chest ache a little. When Gigi offered to let him hold her, he didn’t hesitate.

Carefully, he cradled the baby in his arms like she was made of glass. And the second her tiny hand wrapped around one of his fingers, he laughed—a sound so pure and bright it filled the entire room.

“She’s got me already,” he said softly, still looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You tilted your head, grinning. “If she had been a boy, I wouldn’t have to share your heart with another girl.”

Lando glanced over at you, and for a second, that cocky grin faltered into something softer, more vulnerable. “Too late for that now, huh?”

You leaned in, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked at the sleeping baby in his arms. “Soon, there’ll be three little girls running after you. When that day comes,” you said with a wicked grin, “I’m not saving you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, eyes still on the baby. “That’s fair.”

It had taken weeks between races and travel to make this trip. But maybe that had been a blessing—time for the girls to adjust to their new sister, time for her to settle into the world, time for you and Lando to show up when things weren’t quite so fragile.

And now, standing here in the warmest room of the house, watching your boyfriend absolutely melt under the gaze of three future heart-breakers, you realized just how much laughter this little girl was going to bring.

She might’ve taken your shot at a baby brother right out the window, but she’d added something better.

Another reason to come home. Another reason to smile.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.31

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy this part. If you've missed part 30 or the other parts you can find them on my masterlist :)

Formula 1 is all about speed, but in this story, the real race isn't just on the track. Read on to find out who will win the ultimate race for your heart

After spending the afternoon at the McLaren motorhome, you felt fully immersed in the familiar chaos of the paddock once again. Lando and Oscar had kept you entertained with their usual antics—Lando teasing Oscar about his music taste, Oscar pretending not to care but clearly taking it personally. At some point, Andrea had stopped by to ask Lando something, and instead of answering, Lando had simply thrown a grape at him.

"Good to know nothing has changed," you had joked, shaking your head as Andrea sighed dramatically and walked away.

"Hey, we like to keep things interesting around here," Lando had said with a grin.

As the day stretched on, you found yourself relaxing into the rhythm of it all, slipping effortlessly back into the world of Formula 1. You had missed this—the fast pace, the laughter, the way everyone seemed to exist in their own little bubble of racing madness.

By the time the sun started setting, you decided it was time to head back to the hotel. With your date with Franco coming up, you wanted to freshen up and get ready. He had told you to wear something casual, so after a quick shower, you stood in front of your suitcase, debating your options.

Eventually, you settled on a pair of jeans and a nice top—simple, comfortable, but still put-together. You ran a brush through your hair, touched up your makeup just a little, and checked your phone. No new messages from Franco yet, but you figured he'd let you know when he was on his way.

Stepping into the elevator, you rode it down to the hotel lobby, where you planned to wait for him. You had just started scrolling through your phone when a familiar voice called out your name.

Looking up, you spotted Oliver walking toward you with a friendly smile.

"I heard you're back in the F1 chaos for the summer," he said, stopping in front of you.

You grinned. "I am, and I couldn't be more excited. It already feels like I never left."

Oliver chuckled. "Yeah, once you're in, you're kind of stuck." Then, his eyes flickered over your outfit, and he tilted his head slightly. "You look really nice. Big night planned?"

You smiled, already knowing where this was going. "Yeah, I have a date with Franco."

For a split second, Oliver's expression faltered. It was barely noticeable—the way his lips pressed together slightly, the way his brows twitched just the tiniest bit—but you caught it. He recovered quickly, nodding as if he hadn't reacted at all.

"Nice," he said, though the enthusiasm in his voice didn't quite match the word.

You hummed, not pushing the topic further. Instead, he quickly changed the subject.

"My girlfriend is here for the weekend, by the way," he said. "You should meet her."

Your face lit up. "I'd love to! I didn't know she was coming."

"Yeah, she's been wanting to see what all this is about." He smiled. "I think you'll really like her."

"I'm sure I will," you said, genuinely excited.

Oliver was about to say something else when your phone started ringing. Glancing at the screen, you saw Franco's name flashing.

"Hold on," you said, answering the call.

"Hey," Franco's voice came through the line, smooth and teasing. "I'm outside. Everything's ready."

You smiled. "I'll be right there."

Ending the call, you turned back to Oliver. "I have to go, but we should definitely meet up soon. I'd love to meet your girlfriend."

"Yeah," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Have fun tonight."

With a small wave, you made your way toward the hotel entrance, expecting to see a car waiting for you. Instead, you stopped short, blinking in surprise.

Franco was there—but instead of a sleek car, he was sitting on a motorbike, holding out a helmet.

"Your ride is here, m'lady," he said, smirking.

You laughed, shaking your head as you walked closer. "This isn't what I expected."

He tilted his head. "What, you don't like it?"

"Not what I meant," you said quickly. "You always surprise me."

He grinned. "I try my best." Then, as you stepped closer, he carefully adjusted the helmet on your head, his fingers brushing against your skin as he tightened the straps. "Ready for a great night?"

You nodded, smiling up at him. "Always."

With that, Franco climbed onto the bike and patted the space behind him. You swung your leg over, settling behind him and wrapping your arms securely around his waist.

"Hold on tight," he said, revving the engine.

As the bike roared to life, you instinctively pressed yourself closer against his back, gripping onto him as he sped off into the streets of Monaco. The wind rushed past you, the city lights blurring as Franco manoeuvred through the roads with practised ease.

You could feel the adrenaline buzzing under your skin, the thrill of the moment making you laugh softly against his shoulder. Franco heard it, turning his head slightly.

"Enjoying yourself?" he called over the wind.

You squeezed him lightly. "Maybe."

He chuckled, and the sound was lost in the hum of the engine as he took a turn, the city unfolding before you like something out of a dream.

This was going to be a night to remember.

Next part

Tag list: @hs2016, @a-beaverhausen

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Could you please write something when isn’t doing well after a few bad races and when you have a call with Gigi she suggests too bring Lando too Pennsylvania to have some down time you didn’t think of that between the busy live of New York, Monaco and race weekends you always forget about Pennsylvania with the old house and the big garden with the forest right next to it with the girls running around laughing like there is nothing in the world too worry about maybe that’s exactly the thing you need right now. And so a few days later you all sit together before the fireplace the first night you sit on Landos lap wearing you’re Eagles Jacket you can’t remember the last time you laughed so hard or seen Lando so free the girls took hold of him the moment they saw him again they’re little faces lit up with excitement they say there is nothing as pure as the love of children and when you saw Landos reaction to the bone crushing hug they gave him you think that this is the best medicine in the whole wide world.❤️

Lando hadn’t been doing great lately. Race after race, it felt like everything that could go wrong did. A slow pit stop here, a bad quali session there, a crash that wasn’t even his fault... you could see it in his eyes, how much it weighed on him. And no matter how many times you told him it wasn’t the end of the world, he still carried the losses like heavy stones in his chest.

It broke your heart to watch him like that.

One evening, while you sat curled up on your couch in New York with your phone pressed to your ear, venting to Gigi, she interrupted your ramble with an idea.

"Why don’t you bring him here?" she said, her voice warm and soothing. "Come to Pennsylvania. Bring him to the old house. Let him just… breathe. Let the girls run circles around him for a while. It’ll do him good. It’ll do you good too."

You blinked, stunned you hadn't thought of it yourself. Between the hectic chaos of life between New York, Monaco, and the relentless cycle of race weekends, you always forgot about Pennsylvania. About the old family house with the creaky floors and the sprawling backyard that bled into the woods. About the lazy afternoons where the only sounds were laughter and the wind through the trees. About the life that felt a thousand miles away from everything stressful and loud.

Maybe that was exactly what you both needed.

A few days later, you pulled into the long gravel driveway, the house standing proud and familiar against the late afternoon sky, smoke curling from the old stone chimney.

You barely had time to shut off the car before the front door burst open and the girls came sprinting out, screaming your names like they hadn't seen you in a year instead of a couple of weeks.

Khai reached you first, throwing herself into your arms. Lea wasn’t far behind—but this time, she launched herself straight at Lando.

For a second, you thought he might fall over from the sheer force of her hug. But instead, he just laughed, wrapping both arms around her, lifting her right off the ground like she weighed nothing. His whole face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen in weeks.

They say there’s nothing purer than the love of children, and watching it happen right in front of you—seeing Lando’s whole body relax under the crushing affection of two small girls—you believed it.

Maybe Gigi really was a genius.

That night, after dinner and way too many s’mores by the outdoor firepit, you found yourself curled up in the cozy living room, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth.

The girls were sprawled out on the rug, half-asleep from running around all afternoon, their soft breathing filling the quiet room. Your dad and Gigi sat side-by-side on the couch, nursing mugs of tea, looking as content as ever.

And you? You were perched on Lando’s lap in one of the big old armchairs, wearing your worn Eagles jacket over your pajamas, your hair smelling faintly of smoke and marshmallows.

Lando’s arms were lazily wrapped around your waist, his cheek resting against the top of your head. His body was warm against yours, steady and safe.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed as hard as you had today—watching Lando get tackled during tag, or lose a very intense game of hide-and-seek because Khai had somehow convinced him to be the tree.

But more than that, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw Lando this free.

Not thinking about lap times or tire degradation or media scrums. Not worrying about disappointing anyone. Just existing. Just being.

And it hit you—maybe this was the real magic. Not fixing what was broken. Just reminding him of everything he still had. Everything that would always be waiting for him when the rest of the world got too loud.

You looked up slightly, seeing the way the firelight danced over his face, softening the shadows under his eyes. You smiled to yourself.

This was the best medicine in the world. And he didn’t even know he needed it.

Maybe you didn’t either.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Unspoken Melody p.20

Hi guys, here's a new part of the story, if you've missed part 19 here it is :) If you want to read more of my stories, here's my masterlist.

Two drivers, one unforgettable concert, and a chance encounter with a pop sensation that leaves Oscar questioning everything he thought about music—and maybe even himself.

You were curled up next to Oscar on the small couch of his driver’s room, legs tucked under you and your head tilted back in laughter. He had just said something ridiculous—completely deadpan—and it had caught you off guard, sending you into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

Oscar grinned, eyes twinkling as he watched you laugh. He liked making you laugh. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud. And certainly not to you.

There was something about the way you looked at each other—like you were always trying to read the other person’s thoughts, always half a second away from saying something that might change everything. It wasn’t obvious to you, not really. But to anyone walking past? The glances, the quiet smiles, the way his knee brushed against yours and he didn’t move it—yeah, it said more than either of you realized.

A knock on the door broke the moment.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt,” said one of the McLaren PR girls, poking her head in. “We need both of you in the conference room. Like… now.”

You and Oscar exchanged worried glances, the invisible thread between you stretching as you stood up. He held the door open for you, his hand brushing the small of your back without thinking. You didn’t comment, but you noticed. Just like he noticed the way you glanced over your shoulder at him with a quiet little smile that lingered longer than it should have.

Once inside the room, there were two McLaren comms people, one of your label’s PR reps, and your manager, arms crossed and already sighing like she’d been through an emotional marathon.

“So,” your manager began, “the media frenzy is worse than we thought. The photos, the interviews, the way people are dissecting every second of footage between you two…”

The McLaren rep jumped in eagerly. “Which, by the way, is working great for engagement. Oscar, your social numbers are up by nearly thirty percent since this morning.”

You blinked. “That’s… mildly alarming.”

Your manager gave a tired, half-hearted smile. “We’ve been talking, and we think the best course of action is to… lean into it.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “Lean into it how?”

The PR girl could barely contain her excitement. “You two fake date.”

You both spoke at the same time.

“What?!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Just hear us out,” one of the PRs said quickly, as if they expected this. “It doesn’t have to be over-the-top. No fake kissing or anything. Just appearances. You’ll go to the album party together, maybe post a couple of cute things—let the buzz grow. It helps her promo, it boosts Oscar’s visibility for sponsors, and the fans are already convinced.”

Oscar turned to you, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. You looked as stunned as he felt. Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

“Can we… not do that?” you asked, choosing your words carefully. “I feel like we’re already in a weird bubble.”

“And what if people realize it’s fake?” Oscar added, his voice firm but calm. “Wouldn’t that make things worse?”

But your manager just gave you that familiar look—the one that said this is business, not art, not personal. “The decision’s been made. The first appearance will be the album release party next week. Together.”

With that, they began to file out of the room like it was settled. Like your opinion hadn’t mattered. Like your lives were some kind of joint PR strategy now.

You stared at the closed door for a long moment.

Oscar slumped back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, one hand running through his hair. “So… we’re fake dating now.”

You gave a humourless laugh. “I guess so.”

He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Think we can pull it off?”

You shrugged, voice tinged with sarcasm. “We’ve already fooled half the internet by doing absolutely nothing, so yeah. Should be a breeze.”

Oscar cracked a dry smile. "If it blows up in our faces, at least we can disappear from the public eye for a while."

You leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. Then softer, his eyes not leaving yours, “But it’s going to be okay.”

There was something about the way he said it—quiet, steady, like it was just for you—that made your heart stutter for half a second.

You looked at him, really looked at him. The crease between his brows had softened, his lips tilted in that small, reassuring smile he only gave when he wanted you to feel safe. You didn’t know what to say, so you nodded.

“Yeah. I think so too.”

The room felt quieter than it should’ve. Like the world had momentarily muted itself.

Your hand brushed against his on the edge of the couch as you sat down beside him again, and neither of you pulled away.

And maybe it didn’t feel fake.

Maybe that was the problem.

Next part

@justaf1girl, @bm571158, @raweceekk

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Family addition

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Lando (stepbrother) x reader, let me know if you want a part 2 :)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

Everything was perfect. I was studying journalism at one of the best universities in the country. I had a close-knit group of friends I could always count on—Friday night dinners, spontaneous road trips, endless inside jokes. And I had Daniel. Tall, soft-spoken, impossibly kind. My boyfriend for nearly two years.

Life had fallen into place in a way that felt safe. Predictable. Good. Until Mom decided to start dating again.

Now, I wasn’t some heartless daughter who didn’t want her mother to be happy. My dad passed away three years ago, and I had made peace with it—some days more than others. But I knew she deserved to smile again, to fall in love if she wanted to.

And then came him.

Adam was nice. Too nice, actually. The kind of guy who laughed at his own bad jokes and remembered my favourite dessert after just one dinner. I couldn’t hate him if I tried. But his son? That was another story entirely.

Lando. Lando freaking Norris.

First time I met him, he sauntered into the house with his messy hair and cocky grin like he owned the place. He tossed his car keys on the counter, gave me a once-over that lingered a little too long, and said, “So you’re the golden child?”

I hated him immediately.

He was infuriating. Loud, arrogant, and far too aware of his own charm. He teased me every chance he got—poking fun at my serious nature, rolling his eyes when I had a book in my hand instead of a beer, and constantly referring to me as princess in that smug tone that made me want to throw something at his head.

“You know, not everyone finds journalism interesting,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the kitchen counter, eating the last piece of the cake I’d specifically labeled as mine. “But I guess someone has to write about the weather.”

“I guess someone has to be a walking cliché of a spoiled boy with a sports car,” I shot back.

He just winked at me. “You noticed the car? I’m flattered.”

Ugh.

It didn’t help that he was… attractive. In a rugged, annoying, irritating way. And worse—he knew it. The tension between us wasn’t just anger, and we both knew it. But acknowledging that would be dangerous. It would mean admitting that part of me noticed the way his eyes sparkled when he was making fun of me. Or the way he smelled like expensive cologne and trouble. Or the way my heart raced when we fought.

No. This was war. Lando Norris was now my stepbrother, and I was determined to keep my perfect life from turning into a complete disaster.

Mom insisted on having a “family dinner” once a week ever since the engagement, which basically meant me gritting my teeth across the table from Lando while he found new and creative ways to drive me insane.

This time, he showed up late. Of course.

“You’re twenty minutes late,” I muttered under my breath as he walked in, dressed like he’d just stepped off a yacht. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, and that same smirk that made me want to scream.

He flopped into the chair next to mine, completely ignoring me. “Got caught up with some friends,” he said casually, grabbing a piece of bread and eating like he hadn’t been raised with basic table manners.

Mom didn’t seem to care. She just looked at him with the same affectionate smile she always wore when he was around, like he was a little lost puppy she’d adopted instead of a grown man who purposely unplugged my laptop last week while I was writing a final essay.

“So,” Adam said, clinking his fork against his glass, “we have some exciting news.”

Oh no.

Mom beamed. “We’re going away for the weekend. Just the two of us. We thought it would be nice to spend a little time together before the wedding.”

“Oh, that’s great,” I said automatically, even though I already knew this was leading somewhere terrible.

David cleared his throat. “Which means the house will be empty.”

“No problem,” I said quickly. “I’ll stay with Daniel.”

“No,” Mom said, shaking her head. “You have a paper to work on and I don’t want you distracted. Lando will be here too, and it’ll be a good chance for you two to bond.”

Bond.

The word echoed in my head like a death sentence.

Lando turned to me with the most obnoxious grin. “You hear that, princess? Looks like we’re roommates this weekend.”

“I’d rather sleep in a tent,” I muttered.

“I can pitch one for you in the backyard,” he offered sweetly. “Or we could just share a room. You know—for the bonding.”

I kicked him under the table. He yelped, then laughed.

Mom and David were too busy to notice, lost in their rose-colored love bubble. And just like that, it was official: I was going to spend an entire weekend alone in a house with the one person on this planet who could make breathing feel like a competition.

I stared at my plate, appetite gone. Lando leaned closer, voice low in my ear.

“This is going to be fun.”

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.30

Hii guyss, if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist and if you missed part 29, here it is.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

The seasons had changed quietly, subtly, until you noticed that the breeze in Monaco no longer felt like a chill against your skin but a gentle, familiar kiss. Life had settled again. Slowly, patiently, like waves smoothing the jagged rocks of a once-stormy shore. And you had healed. Not just physically—though the pain had long faded and your body no longer flinched at sudden movements—but emotionally, psychologically.

There had been hours of physio, sessions with kind-eyed psychologists who never rushed your silence, who waited until you were ready. There had been nights you cried in Charles’ arms without words, and mornings you woke up to him brushing your hair away from your face, whispering, “You’re safe. I’m here.”

And now? Now, you were okay.

You’d gone back to studying, diving into textbooks and lectures with the same fierce determination that had once carried you through the worst. And the paddock, with all its chaos and color, welcomed you back like an old friend. Charles insisted on holding your hand through the media swarms and made sure you were always close by when he wasn’t in the car. It had become a rhythm, familiar and steady.

Even your relationship with Arthur had begun to shift. You spoke to Charles about it one night, tangled in the sheets, your voice uncertain. You expected him to tense or shut down, but instead, he took a breath and nodded.

"I trust you," he said. "And I want to be there, too. If we do this, we do it together."

So every other weekend, when Charles wasn’t racing, the two of you drove quietly to the facility. Arthur was doing better. Still guarded, still working through his guilt, but no longer buried beneath it. Sometimes he laughed again, tentatively, and Charles, despite everything, would smile back. It wasn’t perfect. It might never be. But it was enough.

Tonight, though, wasn’t about the past. Tonight was for you.

You stood in front of the mirror in your shared apartment, adjusting the necklace Charles had given you months ago—a simple gold pendant that rested above your collarbone like a soft promise. Your dress was light and flowy, the pale fabric catching the golden hour sun like silk. Charles had been unusually secretive about tonight, only saying he had made a dinner reservation and to wear something you felt beautiful in.

He had knocked on the bedroom door ten minutes ago, saying, “I’ll wait in the car. Take your time.” But you had caught a glimpse of him as he left: white shirt slightly undone, sleeves rolled up, black slacks that fit too well, and that smile he reserved just for you.

By the time you walked down to meet him, the sun was kissing the horizon, painting the buildings gold.

"Wow," Charles whispered, standing by the passenger door. His eyes roamed over you, full of adoration. "You’re… you’re breathtaking."

You blushed, leaning into his open arms. "You’re not so bad yourself."

The restaurant was tucked away near the edge of the harbor, nestled atop a terrace that overlooked the sea. The night was warm, and the gentle scent of saltwater danced in the air. Fairylights draped along the railings, flickering like tiny stars, and a soft melody played in the background from a live acoustic guitarist sitting nearby. The moon hung low and golden over the waves, casting everything in a romantic silver glow.

Charles guided you to a small table near the edge, where you could see the lights of the yachts flickering in the distance. He pulled out your chair like a gentleman, always the gentleman, and sat across from you with a soft smile.

Dinner flowed with laughter and wine and little touches under the table—his fingers grazing your knee, your foot brushing against his ankle. He told you stories from the last race, the funny mistake his engineer had made over the radio, how Lewis had beaten him at chess. You told him about school, your new friends, and the assignment that was slowly killing your soul. It was easy. So easy to fall into him, again and again.

As dessert arrived—a delicate raspberry tart you both shared—Charles grew quiet. Not in a nervous way, not really, but like he was holding something important in his chest.

You tilted your head. "What is it?"

He smiled, eyes glimmering under the fairy lights. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

You reached for his hand across the table, squeezing. "I think we both are."

Then he stood.

You blinked, a little confused, watching as he walked around the table and knelt beside your chair. The world seemed to still, your breath catching in your throat as he pulled something from his pocket.

A ring.

Simple, elegant, but undeniably beautiful. A perfect circle of love and intention.

Charles looked up at you, eyes glossy, heart completely on display. "I almost lost you once," he said, voice low, reverent. "And it broke something in me. Because in that moment, I realized there is no world for me without you in it. None."

You gasped, your free hand rising to cover your mouth.

"You are my home. My peace. My beginning and my end. And I want every day, every season, every breath of this life with you."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but your heart had already said yes.

"Will you marry me?"

You nodded before your voice could catch up. "Yes," you whispered, then louder, laughing through your tears, "Yes!"

Charles slid the ring onto your finger, and the second he rose, you were in his arms, kissing him as the terrace erupted into soft claps and smiles from the nearby tables.

Under the fairylights, with the sea as your witness and the stars above, you held onto the man who had never once let go of you—and never would.

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12, @boherahpsody, @urfavouritef1girly, @meglouise00, @charlesgirl16, @a-beaverhausen, @lol6sposts, @linnygirl09, @weekendlusting, @ladyoflynx

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Bed Chem

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max x reader based on the song: Bed chem – Sabrina Carpenter, I hope you enjoy it:)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

I was in a sheer dress the day we met. The kind of dress that made my friends whistle behind my back and strangers turn their heads — lightweight, lilac, dipped in sunlight. Monaco was buzzing, the paddock loud with life, champagne flutes clinking in yachts a few meters away. I wasn’t supposed to be there for more than twenty minutes. Just a quick interview, a PR handshake, a few pictures, and out.

But then, you walked in.

Late, of course. A white jacket slung lazily over your shoulders, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, and that unmistakable Dutch accent like a song I didn’t know I already liked. You barely looked at me at first. Just a nod, distracted, replying to someone over the radio. But then our eyes met — yours impossibly blue, mine caught mid-blink — and time did that thing it does in movies. Everything around us blurred.

You said something like, “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

I said something like, “Not at all.” But in my head, I was thinking, Who’s the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent?

Your friend — Tom, I think — hit me up later that evening. "Hey, Max was asking about you," he said. And maybe I should’ve played it cool. Maybe I should’ve let it hang in the air like a mystery. But instead, I laughed and replied, “Well, he knows where to find me.”

Turns out you did.

You texted me at 1:43 AM.

Max: “You were in a rush earlier. Wanna try that conversation again?”

I stared at the message, cheeks flushed, heart tapping a rhythm I hadn’t felt in months. And before I could second-guess it, I replied.

Me: “Only if you bring the jacket again.”

Max: “Only if you bring the dress.”

The next few days blurred. One moment we were having drinks at some rooftop bar neither of us could pronounce. The next, you were pulling me into an alleyway behind your hotel because “paparazzi are fucking vultures” and you just wanted a second — one damn second — of normal.

But there was nothing normal about the way you looked at me.

Like you were reading every thought I hadn’t dared to say aloud.

Like you knew exactly what was going to happen before it did.

And maybe you did.

Because the second you brushed my hair from my cheek, I knew I was screwed. You picked me up like I weighed nothing. Pulled me down onto your lap in that sleek car of yours. Turned me around in your hotel room like you knew my body better than I did.

Oh, it just made sense.

How you talked sweet — sugar-laced sentences and soft-spoken compliments — but your hands were anything but innocent. How you whispered, “I like you like this,” against my neck, then bit down like a warning.

That’s when I realized: this wasn’t just a fling. It wasn’t lust at first sight, or some high-speed Monaco fairytale.

It was bed chem. The kind that made my knees go weak at the way you said my name. The kind that lived in stolen glances and half-buttoned shirts and breathless laughs between tangled sheets.

And I was obsessed.

Nothing between us was subtle. Not your fingers finding the hem of my dress under a dinner table. Not the way you looked at me like a dare every time someone else tried to catch my attention. Not the way I melted — shamelessly — when you leaned in and whispered things only I was supposed to hear.

“Where art thou, Max Verstappen?” I teased once, sending a voice memo while I watched you from across the paddock. “Why not uponeth me?”

You sent back a laughing emoji, then followed it with, “Back in ten. Keep the jacket warm.”

The days went on. You’d FaceTime me from wherever you were, shirtless, sprawled across hotel beds with your hair a mess and your voice sleepy. “Miss me yet?” you’d ask.

I always did.

Even when I shouldn’t.

Even when I told myself it was just fun, just flirting, just physics and timing and chemistry in bedsheets and car seats and elevators.

Because the truth was, you knew me in ways I hadn’t expected.

You read me like no one else, knew when to push, when to ease off. And you always arrived at the same conclusion I did: this just worked.

We didn’t talk about feelings. That wasn’t our thing.

But there were nights — quiet ones, when your thumb brushed the inside of my wrist and your voice got soft — that you’d say things like, “It’s better than I imagined.” And I knew exactly what you meant.

We didn’t label it.

Not then.

You had races, I had deadlines. Different time zones, different lives.

But every time you texted, Are you free next week? I said yes.

Because I knew. And I think you did too.

We had really good bed chem.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Why You So Obsessed with Me? p3

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Carlos x reader based on the song: Obsessed– Mariah Carey, if you haven't read part 2 here it is:)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that night. Carlos standing under the streetlight like something out of a dark fairytale, stepping between you and danger like he belonged there.

It shook you.

Maybe it was just timing. Maybe it was coincidence. Or maybe he really meant it — all those things he whispered when he thought you weren’t listening. That you were his. That he’d wait. That he’d protect you.

It was enough to make you pause. Not believe him… but hesitate before shutting the door in his face again.

So, when your friends suggested dinner a few days later, you welcomed the distraction. You needed to get out of your own head.

The restaurant was cozy, warm, the clink of glasses and laughter softening the noise in your chest.

You told them what had happened. Every detail.

The flowers. The guy. Carlos.

They didn’t react how you expected.

“He saved you?” one of them said, already smirking. “Like, full-on knight in shining armor?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean… yeah. I guess so.”

“And you didn’t kiss him?”

“I— No! I didn’t kiss him. What? Why would I—”

“Oh come on,” another cut in, swirling her wine. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. Like he wants to murder anyone who even breathes in your direction.”

“Exactly,” someone else chimed. “He’s obsessed with you. Not in a bad way… necessarily.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s literally the definition of a bad way.”

They laughed, but one of them leaned forward, more serious. “All I’m saying is… maybe give him a chance. Just to see. You might be surprised.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no, either.

You left just before midnight, tired but lighter. The street was empty, cool breeze brushing your skin as you slid into your car and turned the key.

Nothing.

You frowned. Tried again.

Nothing. Not even a cough.

“No. No no no,” you muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration.

Sunday night. Middle of nowhere. Perfect.

You tried calling one of your friends, but they’d already taken an Uber back home.

One of them texted back though: “Why don’t you call Carlos? He drives cars for a living. Pretty sure he knows how to fix one.”

You stared at the message.

Your thumb hovered over his name in your contacts for a full minute.

Then, with a sigh, you hit call.

He picked up on the second ring.

“¿Estás bien?” (are you okay?) Just that. Not ‘hello.’ Not ‘what’s wrong?’ Just Are you okay?

You hesitated. “My car won’t start. I think it’s the battery or something, I don’t know. Everyone left and I’m stuck—”

“I’ll be there.”

Click.

No questions. No hesitation.

Fifteen minutes later, headlights swept across the street. A sleek black car pulled up beside you. You didn’t have to see the driver to know it was him.

Carlos got out, hoodie low over his brow, hair messy. He looked half-tired, half-wired — like he’d been waiting for something all night and finally got the call.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, voice low.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just annoyed.”

He opened the hood, leaned over, checked a few things, and then glanced back at you.

“The battery is dead,” he confirmed. “I can call a mechanic to pick it up and tow it.”

You sighed. “That would be… amazing. Thank you.”

He nodded once, pulled out his phone, made the arrangements. Efficient. In control. No questions asked.

When it was done, you looked at him, then at his car.

“You mind driving me home?”

Carlos opened the door for you without a word.

You didn’t plan to invite him in.

You told yourself it was just a drink. A thank-you.

But as you poured something in the kitchen — him leaning against the doorway, watching you like he was afraid to breathe too loud — you felt something soften.

You started talking.

He made a joke. You laughed. He told you about crashing his dad’s old car at seventeen. You told him about getting your license at twenty-one because you were terrified of driving.

He didn’t judge. He didn’t gloat. He just… listened.

And you realized something that scared you a little.

Carlos Sainz was… nice.

Not in the typical, surface-level way. But underneath the intensity and obsession — there was a man who wanted to be seen. Not feared.

You refilled his glass, and he watched you with the kind of quiet that felt almost reverent.

Carlos' POV

She didn’t notice.

Not when I pulled up without directions. Not when I knew exactly where she was.

She didn’t realize she’d never given me her address.

And I wasn’t about to remind her.

Not tonight. Not when she let me in. Not when she laughed at my jokes and leaned a little closer every time I spoke.

She was warming up.

The coldness was melting. The distrust was cracking. I could see it in the way her shoulders relaxed and how her voice lost its edge.

It was working. Finally.

I took a sip of the drink she made me — sweet, a little bitter — and smiled to myself.

She thought she was in control.

But she didn’t know I’d been circling her for months. That I’d memorized the pattern of her footsteps, the scent of her perfume, the way her voice changed when she was lying.

She didn’t know the mechanic I called was a friend I paid to “find” her car a few weeks ago and leave the battery just loose enough to die tonight.

She didn’t know I’d waited outside that restaurant for an hour… just in case.

But soon it would be over.

Because now, she’d called me.

Now, she’d let me in.

And now… she’d never feel safe without me again.

Next part

@sumbellling, @hhhs7, @omgsuperstarg

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.30

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy this part. If you've missed part 29 or the other parts you can find them on my masterlist :)

Formula 1 is all about speed, but in this story, the real race isn't just on the track. Read on to find out who will win the ultimate race for your heart

After spending some time in the McLaren motorhome, catching up with Oscar and Lando, you finally take a deep breath and glance at your phone. You've been so wrapped up in conversation—joking with them, congratulating Lando again on his first win, and laughing at their chaotic banter—that you almost lost track of time.

"You should've been there," Lando says, shaking his head. "It was insane."

You smile. "I know, I know. But I was too busy being a responsible student."

Oscar chuckles. "How's that going for you now that exams are over?"

You shrug. "Weird, honestly. I feel like I should still be studying for something."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Lando teases, earning a playful shove from you. Then, with a smirk, he leans back and folds his arms. "So, what's next for you this summer? More studying?"

"Absolutely not," you reply. "I plan to follow the F1 chaos and the people in it."

Lando snorts. "Sounds about right." Then, his smirk widens. "Speaking of people, you going to see Franco?"

At the mention of his name, you roll your eyes, but the slight warmth that spreads across your cheeks doesn't go unnoticed by the boys.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh, yeah. You guys have been texting non-stop, haven't you?"

"You two are the worst," you mumble, but you can't help but smile.

Lando laughs. "Hey, I'm just saying, you should go and finally see him. I bet he's been waiting."

You sigh dramatically, playing along. "You're right. I should go and finally see him."

With that, you say your goodbyes to Oscar and Lando, promising to catch up with them later. Stepping out of the McLaren motorhome, you take a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and excitement as you make your way toward the F2 paddock.

The moment you arrive, familiar faces greet you. Engineers, staff members, and even some of the drivers stop to say hello, welcoming you back. It feels good to be here again, surrounded by the energy of race weekend.

Just as you're finishing a conversation with a friend, a familiar voice calls out from behind you.

"We spend a few weeks apart, and you've already forgotten about me?"

You turn around instantly, and there he is—Franco, standing a few feet away with that smug little smirk of his. Without hesitation, you rush toward him, jumping into his arms as he catches you with ease.

"I was saving the best for last," you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He chuckles, tightening his hold on you for a second before pulling back slightly. "I swear, FaceTime these last few months hasn't done you justice." His eyes scan over your face like he's memorizing every detail, like he's been waiting for this moment.

Before you can respond, Franco tugs you closer and, without warning, presses you up against the wall of one of the buildings. His lips crash onto yours, the urgency of the kiss making your heart race. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, it feels like the entire paddock disappears.

When he finally pulls away, he leans his forehead against yours, his breath slightly uneven. "Missed doing that," he murmurs.

You smile, brushing your fingers lightly through his hair. "Missed you too."

He grins before stepping back, slipping his hand into yours as you start walking together, catching up on everything that's happened since you last saw each other. He tells you about the crazy race weekends, the ups and downs of the season, and in return, you tell him about how school has been keeping you busy.

"So, how does it feel to be done with exams?" he asks, glancing at you as you walk side by side.

"Honestly? Weird," you admit. "I'm so used to being buried in books and notes that I don't know what to do with myself now."

Franco smirks. "Good thing you have me to remind you how to have fun."

You roll your eyes playfully. "Oh, I'm sure you'll take that job very seriously."

"Of course." He nudges you lightly. "But, seriously, I'm really proud of you. I know how hard you worked, and acing your exams? That's badass."

A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his words. "Thanks, Franco."

He grins. "I mean, I always knew you were smart, but now it's official."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You're impossible."

"Hey, I'm just saying the truth." He squeezes your hand. "Now that school is over, I guess you're stuck with me for the summer."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," you say with a smile.

As you continue walking, Franco tells you about a chaotic trip he and some of the other drivers took to Italy for a few days.

"Kimi almost set the hotel room on fire," he says, shaking his head.

Your eyes widen. "What? How?"

"He was trying to light a candle, but somehow knocked it over, and the curtain caught fire. It was small, but the alarm went off, and we had to deal with hotel security. I swear, that guy is a hazard."

You burst out laughing. "Oh my God. I can't believe I missed that."

"Trust me, it was a mess," Franco says, chuckling. "We had to pretend like nothing happened when we checked out, but I think the staff knew."

Still giggling, you nudge him. "So, are you planning on getting into any more trouble this summer?"

He smirks. "Depends. Are you joining me?"

You shake your head. "You're going to be the reason I get banned from places, aren't you?"

"Probably," he admits shamelessly.

As you near the edge of the paddock, Franco glances at his watch and sighs. "I have to go for now, but"—he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles—"we're having dinner together tonight. No arguments."

You laugh softly, shaking your head at his dramatics. "I wasn't going to argue."

"Good." He winks. "Because this summer? It's going to be amazing."

And with that, he gives you one last lingering look before heading off, leaving you grinning as you watch him go.

Tag list: @hs2016, @a-beaverhausen

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Unspoken Melody

Hii guys, I hope you enjoy this story of Oscar x reader.

When Oscar agrees to join Lando at a concert, he expects little more than a night of loud music and bright lights. Instead, he's captivated by YN, a dazzling pop sensation whose voice and presence strike a chord deep within him.

From strangers to something more, their connection unfolds like a melody-unexpected and enchanting. But as the verses of their story build, the question remains: will their lives harmonize in a beautiful love song, or will the crescendo lead to a bittersweet refrain?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,

Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17,

Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home:

Hii guys, I hope you enjoy this story, a love triangle between the Leclerc brothers.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,

Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17,

Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31